heartily do we greet the green fields of Harrow and Watford when we have got quite clear of the tunnels of Camden Town and Primrose Hill.

"Good bye to you,"-I cannot but often exclaim as we glide along through cuttings and over embankments-"Good bye to you, busy, bustling, noisy, restless London. They may live in you who will. I hope I never shall. I would almost as soon dwell with Robinson Crusoe on his desolate island as among your miles of endless streets, where no green grass or trees relieve the wearied sight."

And I have another reason for not liking the great city, and it is this-what I have just written has reminded me of it for a place where so many human beings are, it is one of the most desolate places in the world. You may walk its thousands of streets from early morn till closing eve, and never meet a single man, woman, or child, who either knows you or cares anything about you. This feeling of entire solitariness is sure to come over any stranger who for the first time, or indeed at any time, is wandering alone through the thoroughfares of the great city.

For this reason, however, London is a good place to learn one lesson, and that is not to think too much of yourself; for, depend upon it, let your

thoughts of your own importance be what they may, you will soon find that others will think very little about it. Every man there finds his own level. This reminds me of an old gentleman from a small town in Leicestershire, a very important man-—the first man by common consent in the place— who, about fifty years ago, paid a visit to London, but soon hastened home again, highly offended at the manner in which he was treated. "Dame," said he to his wife," what think you? why they made no more of me in London than a common man!"

So much for London. I love the country, with its green grass, and yellow corn-fields, and fragrant turnip crops its solemn woods and lovely orchards -its trees and hedgerows-its oxen, and sheep, and horses-its birds, and fruits, and flowers. Rather than the Lord Mayor's Mansion would I choose a house like that in the picture, with a nice lawn in front, and "tall ancestral trees" around, and a shady summer-house in which I could sit and read undisturbed by noise and dust. Yea, I would be content with a more humble residence than that our engraver has pictured-a cottage of more humble appearance —providing it were spacious, and dry, and clean. There, with my books, and one in particular-the book God gave us, to tell us how, through him who

came and died to save us, we may rise to dwell in heaven itself I think I could be quite happy, and never envy those who dwell in far more splendid city mansions. There I should only hear the hum

"Of the great Babel, and not feel its whirl.”

I was led to think about these things and write them down from having lately paid a visit to both city and country. Of the city I have said enough, but of the delightful spot I visited in the country I would add a few words. I knew the place some fiveand-twenty years ago, when the remains of some old religious building, scarcely habitable, occupied the site. These were removed, and a handsome stone house now stands there. The situation is on the bank of a large pool of water, which belongs to a noble family, whose head, when living a few years ago, was Prime Minister, and who for some time after he retired from public life resided in the adjoining mansion. From the house of my friend we have a beautiful prospect-the placid pool, with swans sailing over its surface, spreading their snow-white wings to catch the breeze-waterfowl and ducks of various kinds scudding round the islands of the pool, or diving into its reedy banks, screaming their noisy joys-and here and there some large fish rising to the surface to catch at its prey, reminds you that there

are more living things beneath than above those waters. Just over the pool a fine clump of noble trees of varied foliage closes the scene, which again opens right and left into a more extended prospect. The whole view, although limited, is very pleasing, forming one of the prettiest nooks in rural England. My friend, too, with much good taste, allowed the old trees of the adjoining orchard to remain, throwing up pleasant walks along its slopes, which, with the lawn and shrubbery, and gardens, make up such a charming abode, that I am always delighted to spend a few days in it. Indeed it is a favourite spot, which one cannot but admire; and what endears it yet more is the fact that its present owner, like his revered father, now entered into rest, is "a lover of good men" "given to hospitality," and a liberal supporter of the cause of Christ, both at home and in distant regions.

But, alas! alas! for how short a time shall we need a house on earth to dwell in, whether that house be in city or country. Happy they who can say, For we know that if our earthly house of this tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building of God, an house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens."

THE HISTORY OF A CORAL ISLET.

FROM POEMS FOR MY CHILDREN," BY MRS. HAWKSHAW.

And they have built more lasting homes And the wind caught the passing tone Than palaces of kings.