Yon brick-built mansion! 6 't was the chosen abode
Of England's late domestic royal pair, 7
Tho' now deserted in its loneliness

For more luxurious haunts-fit was the spot
For the good sovereign of a free-born race
His subjects' grateful homage to receive.
As, in the vista seen, they inward blest
His patriarchal virtues, he in turn
Might gladly view their loyalty and bliss.

Long might I here have loitered and admired
The pleasing landscape, bounded north and south
By garden walls obscured amid the trees;
While at the east a military lodge

Of massive structure and commanding front 8
Looks full adown the midway flowing stream

To Buckingham House, which shuts the western view.
But time forbad: and turning to the right,
Hard by St. James's Palace, whence derived
The adjoining park its name, I took a path
Leading northwestward, up a gentle slope

Of velvet greensward, 9 east and north o'erlooked
By subjects' palaces, outvying far

The royal ones beneath; and as full oft

I stole a backward glance, thy gothic towers,
Westminster's venerable abbey, rose

In simple grandeur o'er the foreground trees.
The point at length attained, where a long train
Of splendid equipages gilds the way,
And horse and foot, from every quarter met,
Flock thro' one narrow portal; 1 changed is now
The extended prospect-o'er a spacious lawn,
Whose verdant surface sinks, then swells afar,
Seen thro' the half unfoliaged trees which grace
The gentle vale between, bounded at length
By mantling woods which crown the distant heights,
The eye delighted wanders-near at hand
A gay promiscuous throng sweeps to and fro,
In idle pageantry, along a track

Whence Nature banished, Fashion reigns supreme.
With mingled scorn and pity I withdrew

From hence, and sought a less frequented way
To indulge my solitary thoughts on all around.
Do I then tread the ground heretofore trod
By England's greatest statesmen, who awhile
Retired from senatorial duties, here

Unbosomed their deep thoughts in converse high
With Nature's God, his energy imploring

6 Old Buckingham House.

9 The Green Park.

8 The Horse Guards.

7 George III and his queen.
1 Hyde Park Gate.

To establish peace on earth?—Methinks I trace
In those bold features, in that thoughtful mien,
No faint resemblance to the well-known bust, 2
Which, or in sculpture or in print, o'erlooked
(Unheeded then) our infant fireside sports;
Since gazed at with aspiring rapture, while
The proud name dwells upon our father's lips-
"T is he! 't is Holland! not unworthy son
Of a greater sire !3 emerged from yonder host,
His chariot makes a wider circuit, he
Alone, and wrapt in contemplation, passes by-
Nor statesmen only, but the great and good
Of every class, haply at intervals

Of well-earned leisure, have recruited here
Their way-worn strength for labours yet to come.
This broad canal, 4 whose either shady bank
Now swarms with life; the mother with her train
Of chubby children, sporting round their sire;
The schoolboys' coupled ranks, the youthful pair
Blest in each other, brothers, bosom friends
Who rarely meet, horsemen, and here and there
A solitary like myself partaking

The joy of all, prove to the grateful heart
How much of happiness there is on earth
For those who will be happy!

At each step

New beauties met my eye, when suddenly

A barrier, unseen before, forbad

My further progress; 't was a deep-sunk wall,

Artfully hidden, not to intercept

The inviting view beyond-yet sure those groups
Bespeak the enclosure public?—I pursued

The winding fosse, a postern soon descried,

And entered, hailing the benign retreat. 5

Here wintry boughs, buds bursting, and young leaves
Of liveliest green, in rich variety

Cluster together; here the feathered tribe

Warble their loves, and ever and anon

The restless cuckoo breathes his well known note
To the rustling gale; o'er the dank soil beneath,
Strewed with the pride of many a by-gone year,

The yellow starwort 6 shines, while varied moss

Creeps o'er each straggling root, and climbs each rugged stem. 'T was a wood scene, with all the accompaniments

Of early spring, embellished here and there

2 Of Fox.

3 A poetical licence; the present Lord Holland being Fox's nephew. 4 The Serpentine River.

5 Kensington Gardens.

Ranunculus ficaria, or pilewort, poeticè starwort, from its starry appearance.

By grass plot avenues of the lofty beech,

Or spreading chestnut, 'neath whose grateful shade,
Benches invite delay; there the elders sat,

And watched their young ones' gambols, while at large
The now disbanded schoolboys roved, and I
Gazed at the picture of my boyish days,
Till by degrees the thought of those I loved
Stole o'er my senses, and possessed my soul.
Oh! that I had ye here, my friends, to share
My present bliss, or e'en that ye could know,
Or guess it kindness then would bid
ye take
A part, and taking ye would double give.
Present natheless or absent, conscious or
Unconscious, still the thought of you delights.
And soothes me, aids my best reflexions on
Our mortal and immortal state, and thus
Contributes largely towards the undefined,
The inexplicable charm of solitude.
And where is solitude more deeply felt,

Or where more highly relished, than in the midst
Of thousands, creatures like ourselves, who pass,
But heed us not? we unobserved the while
May to no small advantage study them,
The chiefest, noblest of created beings.

Thy once frequented palace, Kensington,
Now stood forlorn; its low uneven front,
Flanked by a garden wall, and half obscured
By a vast greenhouse weed-grown from neglect,
Were but unsightly objects, which the eye
Dwelt not upon, while, from the adjacent copse
Of aged evergreens, the wakeful bird
Mingled his strain in the wild melody.
Now after many a pause and lingering look
At various passing beauties-at the woods
Here sloping to the water's edge, there wide
Receding to admit the distant view

Of domes and spires and towers-at parent swans
Teaching their young to stem the buoyant wave
By seeming hard pursuit, the outer gate
Stood open before me. At the unwelcome sight,
I sighed-must I then leave thee, Paradise?
Yes, cried a voice within, where duty calls,
'Tis thine to follow; and wouldst thou enjoy
These scenes aright, go to yon city, there
Live actively and usefully, stand firm

In virtue's cause, and, as thy means afford,
Succour the needy, and protect the oppressed;
Then will that inward peace, which heaven bestows
As the reward of virtue here, attend

Thy lonely rambles, and diffuse o'er all
A charm unknown to those whose life is spent
In rural idleness. Happy the few

Whom ease enervates not, and who can find
Fit occupation in retirement; but to excel
In goodness, thou must intermix

And grapple with thy fellows, till at length
Thine earthly course be run, when having fought
A good fight, thou wilt sink to rest in peace,
And confidence of thy reward to come.

NORVICO-LONDINENSIS.

THE YEAR.

JUNE.

We are at length brought to the noon of the

year;

the gentle beauty of the spring is departed, and the splendour of summer is diffused over the face of nature. The reign of this season may now be said to be completely established. The wintry frosts and storms which too frequently render the commencement of May, in this our variable clime, cheerless and gloomy, are all withdrawn; and June, the "child of the sun," comes forth in all the pride of manly beauty.

Perhaps from this, we may be considered to recant what we said in praise of May, in our former number; this is in nowise our intention. But, while we declare the beauty of May to be most congenial to our feelings, we would allow every month, even drear December, to have its share of charms; and he who perceives them not, is blind, miserably blind, to one of the highest pleasures the human soul is susceptible of.

What principally distinguishes this month from the preceding is the appearance of perfection which is beginning to steal over every thing in creation. The purposes for which innumerable classes of beings were appointed have been accomplished; and they have died away, and given place to other classes, which will in like manner be succeeded by others, till, all the ends of their existence being answered, returning winter will close the series.

During the early part of this month, the music of the "feathered tribes" is as sweet as in May; but after the period of the

summer solstice, the warblers begin to fail in their melody; the song of the chaffinch ceases entirely; the redbreast rarely sings, but about the middle of August he takes up his full song again, and continues it through the winter to June again. In the beginning of the month the voice of the cuckoo sounds huskily, and before the close this peculiar characteristic of the springtide is no longer heard.

Many of our birds are now attending to a second brood, and some even to a third. Swallows and martins bring out their young ones at the end of the month, and feed them first on the tops of neighbouring houses and chimneys, and afterwards on the wing; sand martins bring their young out at the same time; while their congener, the swift has only unfledged young.

In the shallows of our streams now the young fry of many species of fish may be seen in large shoals. Young toads and frogs often leave the water, and appear in great quantities in the neighbourhood of low wet ground.

The entomologist's harvest is now commencing; the most splendid of our British insects begin to come abroad, but not in such numbers as in the following months, July, &c. The marble, meadow-brown, heath, and ringlet butterflies are abundant; in the twilight the privet and poplar hawk-moths are abroad, and among the gooseberry and currant bushes the magpie moth is seen in great numbers. The larva or caterpillars of some of the most beautiful of our lepidopterous insects are found on the trees and plants on which they feed; these are often collected and preserved till they arrive at their perfect state. Insects that inhabit the waters abound too, and the voracious tribe of dragon flies are skimming about from morn till night over rivers and marshes, and sometimes even visiting gardens at a distance from those places in quest of food.

The rambles of the botanist are equally productive; the numerous species of marsh plants are beginning to flower, and in the upland the most brilliant of Flora's train disclose their charms. Among the fences we find the bittersweet nightshade, the black briony, the small bindweed, and the wild roses, and many others that flowered last month. In the fields there are the poppies, thistles, corn cockle, and silverweed; and, among the shaded hedgerows, the hound's-tongue, moneywort, scabious, mallow, and agrimony, the deadly nightshade, and St. John's-wort; and, more