Among the sweetest of them is the sonnet I allude to, which the reader may pass over if he pleases; but if he reads it, I think he will thank me.

SONNET TO THE MOON.

The moon is sailing o'er the sky,
But lonely all, as if she pined
For something of companionship,
And felt it was in vain she shined.

Earth is her mirror, and the stars

Are as a court around her throne;

She is a beauty, and a queen,

But what of that? she is alone.

Is there not one, not one to share
Thy glorious royalty on high?
I cannot choose but pity thee,

Thou lovely orphan of the sky.

I'd rather be the meanest flow'r

That grows, my mother earth, on thee,

So there were others of my kin

To blossom, bloom, and die with me.

Earth, thou hast sorrow, grief, and death,
But with these better could I bear,
Than guide and rule yon radiant sphere,
And be a solitary there.

With such reflections as these, in which perhaps there was a tinge of melancholy, though not unpleasing, I traversed the dewy lawns and still woods (too still, for it was too late in the year for the nightingale) that lay between Binfield and Oakingham. What they wanted in melody, however, they endeavoured to make up in freshness, which

much felt the exact as well as sublime description of him who excelled in sublimity and exactness :

"Now Heav'n in all her glory shone, and roll'd

Her motions as the great first mover's hand

First wheel'd her course; earth in her rich attire
Consummate, lovely, smiled."

No; I could not think of Lord Castleton, fearing, if I did so, heaven and earth would rebuke me for my selfishness.

And yet with all this rapture (for it was no less) in regard to this lovely planet, I somehow or another felt a want for her. She seemed too dependent upon another, whose deputy only she was, when I would have had her a queen, with power self-derived. She seemed also alone, and to feel that she was so. Peerless, as she rode through the boundless ether, I wished to give her a companion. She appeared a widow, or an orphan, or both. The happiness she diffused to others seemed wanting to herself.

These thoughts possessed me so much, that I invoked the Muse upon them, and before I got to Oakingham, they had arranged themselves in some stanzas, which perhaps I might venture to record, but that long-long since they were composed, the same thought was embodied by a superior genius, whose premature and most affecting death has enhanced the interest of all her productions. *

* L. E. L.

Among the sweetest of them is the sonnet I allude to, which the reader may pass over if he pleases; but if he reads it, I think he will thank me.

SONNET TO THE MOON.

The moon is sailing o'er the sky,
But lonely all, as if she pined
For something of companionship,
And felt it was in vain she shined.

Earth is her mirror, and the stars

Are as a court around her throne;

She is a beauty, and a queen,

But what of that? she is alone.

Is there not one, not one to share
Thy glorious royalty on high?
I cannot choose but pity thee,

Thou lovely orphan of the sky.

I'd rather be the meanest flow'r

That grows, my mother earth, on thee,
So there were others of my kin

To blossom, bloom, and die with me.

Earth, thou hast sorrow, grief, and death,
But with these better could I bear,
Than guide and rule yon radiant sphere,
And be a solitary there.

With such reflections as these, in which perhaps there was a tinge of melancholy, though not unpleasing, I traversed the dewy lawns and still woods (too still, for it was too late in the year for the nightingale) that lay between Binfield and Oakingham. What they wanted in melody, however, they endeavoured to make up in freshness, which

was emitted from every leaf and every tuft and wild-flower which spread itself to the influence of the soft night air. The effect upon the nerves was perfect, and when I saw the lights and buildings of Oakingham, I felt displeased, for they took me back to the world.

Yet I soon remembered that for that world I was destined; and the Royal Oak, where a weekly club still lingered, after a market-day, made me forget my romance; and the bells of the church, on which the ringers, according to good old English custom, were exercising their skill, in I don't know how many bob majors, made me recollect, though without superstition, the allusion of Mr. Manners to-❝ Turn again, Whittington."

Having got me to bed, I gave myself up to serious reflection on the (to me) strange events of the day;-the discovery of my relationship to Mr. Manners, acknowledged by him in so frank and flattering a manner that it was incontestable; the accomplished mind of that gentleman; his great and sudden favour towards me, and the extraordinary prospect he held forth as the possible result of it with Lord Castleton-all this made me resolve to write in detail to Fothergill, and shortly to my family. My bosom swelled with hope, and I fell into a sound and happy sleep, from which I did not wake for several hours.

The next day I executed my purpose, by giying

my quondam tutor the whole history of my rencontre with his friend, and my obligations to that friendship in procuring me originally so much of his notice. I then detailed the wonder of our discovered connection; Mr. Manners' increased kindness in consequence; and, finally, the hope he had held out of some benefit which, with his (Fothergill's) assistance, it might procure for me with Lord Castleton.

From foreseeing that I should have to break in considerably upon the plan of my pedestrian tour, I wrote also to the person who had the care of my rooms at Maudlin, to send me, per coach, a strong reinforcement to my wardrobe.

To my father I communicated the acquaintance I had made with Mr. Manners, and the curious circumstance of the relationship; but said nothing, for the present, of the prospect (distant as it was) of an introduction to Lord Castleton.

Having all these things in train, I began then to think of my engagement to return to the Grange, and once more took the road to Binfield. By way of variety, however, under my landlord's direction, I took a different course, by what is called the Forestroad, which (such is the beauty of this fairy land) was hardly less attractive than Asher's Wood itself.