SECOND DAY.

Go, let the diving Negro seek

For gems hid in some forlorn creek :
We all pearls scorn,

Save what the dewy morn

Congeals upon each little spire of grass,

Which careless shepherds beat down as they pass; And gold ne'er here appears,

Save what the yellow Ceres bears.

SIR HENRY WOOTTON.

Das Wasser rauscht, das Wasser schwoll;

Ein Fischer sass daran,

Sah nach dem Angel ruhevoll,

Kühl bis an's Herz hinan.

GOETHE.

SECOND DAY.

SENEX, JULIAN, SIMON PARADICE.

Julian. WELL, though not wedded to seclusion, I confess there are many charms in a Country life; but much depends on association.

Senex. He only whose early days were spent amidst rural scenes can truly love the Country. Yet, as I stroll through these meadows, I feel, though lovely to look upon, they are, to my eyes, less beautiful than they were. The cowslip

and the harebell blossom still; trees that were young when I was a boy are still growing, and looking green; the lark carols

as blithely as ever; the grasshopper vaults as high, and chirps as gaily; and the thrush sings from the hawthorn that feeds him in the winter. While Nature each season renews her livery, man has but one Spring; and through the long vista of declining years regards the happy hours of youth as the first sinner looked back on Paradise.

Still glides the stream, and shall not cease to glide;
The Form remains, the Function never dies;
While we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise-
We men, who in our morn of youth defied
The elements, must vanish.

J. I wonder what our friend Simon thinks of the country?

S. You can ask him. I'll wager he would prefer his own native meadows to the streets of London, notwithstanding the legends once current hereabouts that they are paved with gold. Believe me, the countryman looks anxiously for the return of the swallow and the cuckoo. Doesn't

he, Simon?

What is it they sing of the

cuckoo in our country?

Simon. The cuckoo's a vine bird

A zengs as a vlies,

A brengs us good tidins,
And tells us no lies;

A zucks th' smael birds' eggs,

To make his voice clear,

And the mwore a cries "Cuckoo !"

The zummer draaws near.

Now, vor my paart, I dwont pertickler like the wosbird. A's too vond o' other people's whoams; and, as to a's voice, a allus zims to I to ha' zummut in 's kecker. If a 'd yeat a feaw scare o' snails, as the blackbirds and dreshes do, instead o'smael birds' eggs, a 'd vind 's zengin' mended 'oondervul, I'm zhure. But it's pleazant time when the cuckoo's about-that 's zartin. The whate be chittin'; the mawing graass looks vrum; the elmin trees ha' got ael their leaves on, and the young rucks are makin' a caddle.

D