And the stately koodoo exultingly bounds,
Undisturbed by the bay of the hunter's hounds;
And the timorous quagha's wild whistling neigh
Is heard by the brak fountain far away:
And the fleet-footed ostrich over the waste
Speeds, like a horseman that travels in haste;
And the vulture in circles wheels high overhead,
Greedy to scent and to gorge on the dead;
And the grisly wolf, and the shrieking jackal,
Howl for their prey at the evening fall;
And the fiend-like laugh of hyenas grim
Fearfully startles the twilight dim.

Afar in the desert I love to ride

With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side;
Away-away, in the wilderness vast,
Where the white man's foot hath never passed,
And the quivered Koranna, or Bechuan,
Hath rarely crossed, with his roving clan;
A region of emptiness, howling and drear,
Which man hath abandoned from famine and fear;
Which the snake and the lizard inhabit alone,
And the bat flitting forth from his old hollow stone;
Where grass, nor herb, nor shrub, takes root,
Save poisonous thorns that pierce the foot,
And the bitter melon, for food and drink,
Is the pilgrim's fare by the Salt Lake's brink;
A region of drought, where no river glides,
Nor rippling brook with osiered sides,
Nor reedy pool, nor mossy fountain,
Nor shady tree, nor cloud-capped mountain,
Are found, to refresh the aching eye;
But the barren earth, and the burning sky,
And the black horizon round and round,
Without a living sight or sound,
Tell to the heart, in its pensive mood,

That this is - Nature's Solitude.

And here, while the night-winds round me sigh,
And the stars burn bright in the midnight sky,
As I sit apart by the caverned stone,
Like Elijah at Horeb's cave, alone,
And feel as a moth in the Mighty Hand
That spread the heavens and heaved the land -
A "still small voice" comes through the wild,
Like a father consoling his fretful child,
Which banishes bitterness, wrath and fear-
Saying, "MAN IS DISTANT, BUT GOD IS NEAR."

WILLIAM AND MARY HOWITT.

This interesting couple seem to go hand in hand in all their intellectual pursuits, their union appearing to be that of spirit to spirit, and not limited by the mere conventionality of the wedded state. In the preface to a volume of poetry published under their united names, they say, "Poetry has been our youthful amusement, and our increasing daily enjoyment, in happy, and our solace in sorrowful, hours." Mary Howitt is distinguished for her successful imitations of the old ballad, for the attractiveness of her miscellaneous writings for young people, and for her translations from the Swedish of Miss Bremer's tales. The Book of the Seasons, Rural Life in England and Social and Rural Life in Germany, are the most prominent works of Mr. Howitt. The latter was written in Germany, after a three years' residence there. This worthy pair belong to the society of Friends.

[From the "Book of the Seasons."]

THE LOVE OF NATURE.

IF I could but arouse in other minds that ardent and evergrowing love of the beautiful works of God in the creation, which I feel myself — if I could but make it in others what it has been to me

"The nurse,

The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul

Of all my moral being"

if I could open to any the mental eye which can never be again closed, but which finds more and more clearly recorded before it beauty, wisdom and peace, in the splendors of the heavens, in the majesty of seas and mountains, in the freshness of winds,

the ever-changing lights and shadows of fair landscapes, the solitude of heaths, the radiant face of bright lakes, and the solemn depths of woods—then indeed should I rejoice. O, that I could but touch a thousand bosoms with that melancholy which often visits mine, when I behold little children endeavoring to extract amusement from the very dust, and straws, and pebbles, of squalid alleys, shut out from the free and glorious countenance of nature, and think how differently the children of the peasantry are passing the golden hours of childhood; wandering, with bare heads and unshod feet, perhaps, but singing a childish, wordless melody," through vernal lanes, or prying into a thousand sylvan, leafy nooks, by the liquid music of sunny waters, amidst the fragrant heath, or on the flowery lap of the meadow, occupied with winged wonders without end! O, that I could but baptize every heart with the sympa. thetic feeling of what the city-pent child is condemned to lose; how blank, and poor, and joyless, must be the images which fill its infant bosom, to that of the country one, whose mind

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"Will be a mansion for all lovely forms,

His memory be a dwelling-place

For all sweet sounds and harmonies!"

I feel, however, an animating assurance, that nature will exert a perpetually increasing influence, not only as a most fertile source of pure and substantial pleasures pleasures which, unlike many others, produce, instead of satiety, desire-but also as a great moral agent; and what effects I anticipate from this growing taste may be readily inferred, when I avow it as one of the most fearless articles of my creed, that it is scarcely possible for a man in whom its power is once firmly established to become utterly debased in sentiment, or abandoned in principle. His soul may be said to be brought into habitual union with the Author of Nature

"Haunted forever by the Eternal Mind."

THE FAIRIES OF CALDON-LOW.

A MIDSUMMER LEGEND.

"AND where have you been, my Mary, And where have you been from me?” "I've been to the top of the Caldon-Low, The midsummer night to see!"

"And what did you see, my Mary, up on the Caldon-Low?"

All

"I saw the blithe sunshine come down, And I saw the merry winds blow."

"And what did you hear, my Mary, All up on the Caldon-Hill?"

"I heard the drops of the water made, And the green corn-ears to fill."

"O, tell me all, my Mary,

All, all that ever you know;
For you must have seen the fairies,
Last night, on the Caldon-Low."

“Then take me on your knee, mother,
And listen, mother of mine ;-

A hundred fairies danced last night,
And the harpers they were nine.

"And merry was the glee of the harp-strings, And their dancing feet so small;

But, oh, the sound of their talking

Was merrier far than all!"

"And what were the words, my Mary,

That you did hear them say?"

"I'll tell you all, my mother,But let me have my way!

"And some, they played with the water,
And rolled-it down the hill:-

And this,' they said, 'shall speedily turn
The poor old miller's mill;

"For there has been no water
Ever since the first of May;
And a busy man shall the miller be
By the dawning of the day!

O, the miller, how he will laugh, When he sees the mill-dam rise! The jolly old miller, how he will laugh, Till the tears fill both his eyes!'

"And some, they seized the little winds,
That sounded over the hill,

And each put a horn into his mouth,
And blew so sharp and shrill:

"And there,' said they, the merry winds go,

Away from every horn;

And those shall clear the mildew dank

From the blind old widow's corn!

"O, the poor, blind old widow,

Though she has been blind so long, She'll be merry enough when the mildew 's gone, And the corn stands stiff and strong!'

"And some, they brought the brown lint-seed, And flung it down from the Low:

'And this,' said they, 'by the sunrise, In the weaver's croft shall grow!

"'O, the poor, lame weaver,

How he will laugh outright,
When he sees his dwindling flax-field
All full of flowers by night!'

"And then upspoke a brownie,

With a long beard on his chin:— 'I have spun up all the tow,' said he, B And I want some more to spin.