former species is, most probably, the memory of brutes; and its many sources of pleasure to them, as well as to ourselves, are considered in the first part. The latter is the most perfect degree of memory, and forms the subject of the second.

When ideas have any relation whatever, they are attractive of each other in the mind; and the perception of any object naturally leads to the idea of another which was connected with it, either in time or place, or which can be compared or contrasted with it. Hence arises our attachment to inanimate objects; hence, also, in some degree, the love of our country, and the emotion with which we contemplate the celebrated scenes of antiquity. Hence a picture directs our thoughts to the original : and, as cold and darkness suggest forcibly the ideas of heat and light, he who feels the infirmities of age, dwells most on whatever reminds him of the vigour and vivacity of his youth.

The associating principle, as here employed, is no less conducive to virtue than to happiness; and as such, it fréquently discovers itself in the most tumultuous scenes of life. It addresses our finer feelings, and gives exercise to every mild and generous propensity.

Not confined to man, it extends through all animated nature; and its effects are peculiarly striking in the domestic tribes.

THE

PLEASURES OF MEMORY.

PART I.

TWILIGHT'S Soft dews steal o'er the village green, With magic tints to harmonize the scene.

Stilled is the hum that through the hamlet broke, When, round the ruins of their ancient oak, The peasants flocked to hear the minstrel play, And games and carols closed the busy day. Her wheel at rest, the matron charms no more With treasured tales of legendary lore. All, all are fled; nor mirth nor music flows To chase the dreams of innocent repose. All, all are fled; yet still I linger.here! -What pensive sweets this silent spot endear! Mark yon old mansion, frowning through the trees, Whose hollow turret woo's the whistling breeze

That casement, arched with ivy's brownest shade,
First to these eyes the light of heaven conveyed.
The mould'ring gateway strews the grass-grown court,
Once the calm scene of many a simple sport;
When nature pleased, for life itself was new,
And the heart promised what the fancy drew.

See, through the fractured pediment revealed,
Where moss inlays the rudely-sculptured shield,
The martin's old, hereditary nest,

Long may the ruin spare its hallowed guest!
As jars the hinge, what sullen echoes call!
Oh, haste, unfold the hospitable hall!
That hall, where once, in antiquated state,
The chair of justice held the grave debate.
Now stained with dews, with cobwebs darkly hung!
Oft has its roof with peals of rapture rung;
When round yon ample board, in due degree,
We sweetened every meal with social glee.

The heart's light laughter crowned the circling jest ;
And all was sunshine in each little breast.
'Twas here we chased the slipper by its sound;
And turned the blindfold hero round and round.
'Twas here, at eve, we formed our fairy ring;
And fancy fluttered, on her wildest wing.
Giants and genii chained the wondering ear;
And orphan-woes drew nature's ready tear.
Oft with the babes we wandered in the wood,
Or viewed the forest feats of Robin Hood:
Oft, fancy-led, at midnight's fearful hour,
With startling step, we scaled the lonely tower;

O'er infant innocence to hang and weep,

Murdered by ruffian hands, when smiling in its sleep.
Ye house-hold deities! whose guardian eye

Marked each pure thought, ere registered on high:

Still, still ye walk the consecrated ground,

And breathe the soul of inspiration round..

어 As o'er the dusky furniture I bend,

+ Each chair awakes the feelings of a friend.
The storied arras, source of fond delight,

With old achievement charms the wildered sight;
And still, with heraldry's rich hues imprest,
On the dim window glows the pictured crest.
The screen unfolds its many-coloured chart,
The clock still points its moral to the heart!
That faithful monitor, 'twas heaven to hear!
When soft it spoke a promised pleasure near;
And has its sober hand, its simple chime,
Forgot to trace the feathered feet of time?
That massive beam, with curious carvings wrought,
Whence the caged linnet soothed my pensive thought;
Those muskets, cased with venerable rust; [dust,
Those once-loved forms, still breathing through their
Still from the frame, in mould gigantic cast,
Starting to life-all whisper of the past!

As through the garden's desert paths I rove,
What fond illusions swarm in every grove!
How oft, when purple evening tinged the west,
We watched the emmet to her grainy nest;
Welcomed the wild-bee home, on wearied wing,
Laden with sweets, the choicest of the spring!
How oft inscribed with friendship's votive rhyme,
The bark, now silvered by the touch of time;

Soared in the swing, half pleased and half afraid,
Through sister elms that waved their summer-shade;
Or strewed with crumbs yon root-inwoven seat,
To lure the redbreast from his lone retreat !

Childhood's loved group revisits every scene,
The tangled wood-walk, and the tufted green!
Indulgent MEMORY wakes, and, lo! they live!
Clothed with far softer hues than light can give.
Thou last, best friend that heaven assigns below,
To sooth and sweeten all the cares we know ;
Whose glad suggestions still each vain alarm,
When nature fades, and life forgets to charm;
Thee would the muse invoke !-to thee belong
The sage's precept, and the poet's song.
What softened views thy magic glass reveals,
When o'er the landscape time's meek twilight steals!
As when in ocean sinks the orb of day,
Long on the wave reflected lustres play;
Thy tempered gleams of happiness resigned,
Glance on the darkened mirror of the mind.

The school's lone porch, with reverend mosses grey, Just tells the pensive pilgrim where it lay, Mute is the bell that rung at peep of dawn, Quickening my truant-feet across the lawn; Unheard the shout that rent the noontide air, When the slow dial gave a pause to care. Up springs, at every step, to claim a tear Some little friendship, formed and cherished here! And not the lightest leaf, but trembling teems With golden visions, and romantic dreams!

Down by yon hazel copse, at evening, blazed The gipsy's faggot-there we stood and gazed;