LETTER II.

A Morning in Spring-Rareness of a Taste for the Beauties of Nature-Hardship of being condemned to a Town Life at this season of the Year-Poem on the subject.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

I am glad you like my project, whatever you may ultimately think of its execution. I shall therefore proceed with new vigour and alacrity. Even the slight praise implied in the approval of a scheme not realized, confers pleasure. I am gratified, too, that you have found so good a precedent in the example of Seneca. In one respect (if all that is said by learned men be true) I shall possess an advantage over that eminent writer: I mean in the circumstance of having an actual correspondent, and thus being able to disencumber myself of my productions as they are written; whereas the author of the EPISTOLÆ MORALES is supposed by some of his commentators (Lipsius, for instance), to have assumed the epistolary form merely as an eligible vehicle for the conveyance of his thoughts, without any regular

transmission of the letters to the friend to whom they are addressed. The Roman, according to this theory, seems to have been as sensible as myself of the convenience of not being shackled by formal methods, or tethered to a particular subject-of taking up the pen only when he was in the humour for writing, and laying it down when he had nothing more to say. Beyond this I fear there are few points of resemblance between us, and I have certainly no pretensions to his weight and gravity, as I shall forthwith proceed to prove.

I am now sitting in my little parlour, and if you were here, man of business as you are, you could not help feeling enchanted. It is one of the richest mornings in spring: vegetation is bursting forth with a progress almost visible to the eye. The hawthorn hedges are nearly in full foliage, and display that tender green, so delightful yet so evanescent. lilac, the poplar, the elm, the beech, the sycamore, exhibit various degrees of forwardness: some are in bud, some in leaf, and others in that state of imperfect expansion, half bud, half leaf, which has a grace and elegance, if not a richness, to be remarked at no other

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time. The lively verdure of the fields is so grateful to the eye, that I could gaze upon it for ever: a delicate fragrance breathes from the sweetbriar, and from a number of the early garden-flowers, and there is a peculiar scent of freshness from the opening buds of a hundred shrubs and trees. But, above all, the melody of innumerable birds sends a delicious sensation to the heart. Even now, as I sit with my window open, I can distinguish the skylark, the wren, the chaffinch, the linnet, and the thrush in such charming confusion, that it is almost impossible to follow the notes of any of them. Besides, if I attempt it, my attention is immediately called to some other "rill of song" which bubbles up close to my ear. To a vacant mind it is" enchantment all," and I am irresistibly led to exclaim, with the poet

"Oh! Nature, how in every charm supreme,
Whose votaries feed on rapture ever new;
Oh! for the voice and fire of seraphim,
To sing thy glories with devotion due!"

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You will probably smile at all this as enthusiasm, and I have no doubt you will find many to join you. There are few, as far as my ob

servation extends, who enjoy the beauties of nature with much zest. Persons in general can relish a poetical description of them and feel an exhilaration of spirits when they exchange the smoky atmosphere of a town for the pure air and fresh verdure of the fields; but they cannot dwell upon them without weariness for any length of time, nor enter at all into their minuter appearances. Natural scenery does very well connected with other objects, with the pleasures of company and conversation, and the animation of exercise; but take these away, and it ceases to be a source of enjoyment. He, however, who has the true tone of feeling, the genuine taste, sees, with indescribable emotions, not only the general appearance of objects, but graces and beauties unmarked by other eyes. He dwells with delight on the peculiar form of a tree, the rich tint of a flower, the lights and shades of a landscape, the blue depths of the sky, and requires nothing else to fill his mind :

"The meanest flow'ret of the dale,

The simplest note that swells the gale,
The common sun, the air, the skies,

To him are opening Paradise."

shall have regular employment for two or three hours in the day; I shall improve my faculties, and possibly become a more profound and consistent thinker; and I shall attain facility in the art of composition. It is possible my letters, when collected together, may make a book: a book, in modern times, is often productive both of profit and of fame; mine may prove what others have proved before it; and should the result be otherwise, it will be no great matter. I shall not be left worse than I am, either in pocket or reputation. Thus, it appears that I am sure to obtain some advantages, and cannot incur any risks-a dilemma in which I am excessively fond of being placed.

As to your part of the affair-the reading of the letters-I hope it will not prove intolerably burdensome, since I shall regularly transmit them to you as they are written. A manuscript volume of letters might alarm you into a nervous fever, but a single sheet may prove only a gentle soporific. By this arrangement, I shall at the same time serve In writing a book, the obje rather too distant for a

or one acting under ne

own purpose

be attaine