If a summer's day be thus rife with pleasure, scarcely less so is a day in winter, though with some little drawbacks, that give, by contrast, a zest to its enjoyments. It is difficult to leave the warm morning bed and brave the external air. The fireless grate and frosted windows may well make the stoutest shudder. But when we have once screwed our courage to the sticking place, and with a single jerk of the clothes, and a brisk jump from the bed, have commenced the operations of the toilet, the battle is nearly over. The teeth chatter for a while, and the limbs shiver, and we do not feel particularly comfortable while breaking the ice in our jugs, and performing our cold ablutions amidst the sharp, glass-like fragments, and wiping our faces with a frozen towel. But these petty evils are quickly vanquished, and as we rush out of the house, and tread briskly and firmly on the hard ringing earth, and breathe our visible breath in the clear air, our strength and self-importance miraculously increase, and the whole frame begins to glow. The warmth and vigour thus acquired are inexpressibly delightful. As we re-enter the house, we are proud of our intrepidity and vigour, and pity the effeminacy of our less enterprising friends, who, though huddled together round the fire, like flies upon a sunny wall, still complain of cold, and instead of the bloom of health and animation, exhibit pale and pinched and discolored features, and hands cold, rigid, and of a deadly hue. Those who rise with spirit on a winter morning, and stir and thrill themselves with early exercise, are indifferent to the cold for the rest of the day, and feel a confidence in their corporeal energies, and a lightness of heart that are experienced at no other season. NETLEY ABBEY. ROMANTIC ruin! who could gaze on thee Untouched by tender thoughts, and glimmering dreams Accordant with thy silent majesty! The far blue hills-the smooth reposing sea The lonely forest-the meandering streams The farewell summer sun, whose mellowed beams Whose green arms round thee cling-the balmy air- D. L. R. But even the timid and luxurious are not without their pleasures. As the shades of evening draw in, the parlour twilight -the closed curtains-and the cheerful fire-make home a little paradise to all. Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast; Cowper. The warm and cold seasons of India have no charms like those of England, but yet people who are guiltless of what Milton so finely calls " a sullenness against nature," and who are willing, in a spirit of true philosophy and piety, to extract good from every thing, may save themselves from wretchedness even in this land of exile. While I am writing this paragraph, a bird in my room, (not the Caubul songster that I have already alluded to, but a fine little English linnet,) who is as much a foreigner here as I am, is pouring out his soul in a flood of song. His notes ring with joy. He pines not for his native meadows-he cares not for his wiry barshe envies not the little denizens of air that sometimes flutter past my window, nor imagines, for a moment, that they come to mock him with their freedom. He is contented with his present enjoyments, because they are utterly undisturbed by idle comparisons with those experienced in the past or anticipated in the future. He has no thankless repinings and no vain desires. Is intellect or reason then so fatal, though sublime a gift that we cannot possess it without the poisonous alloy of care? Must grief and ingratitude inevitably find entrance into the heart, in proportion to the loftiness and number of our mental endowments? Are we to seek for happiness in ignorance? To these questions the reply is obvious. Every good quality may be abused, and the greatest, most; and he who perversely employs his powers of thought and imagination to a wrong purpose deserves the misery that he gains. Were we honestly to deduct from the ills of life all those of our own creation, how trifling, in the majority of cases, the amount that would remain! We seem to invite and encourage sorrow, while happiness is, as it were, forced upon us against our will. It is wonderful how some men pertinaciously cling to care, and argue themselves into a dissatisfaction with their lot. Thus it is really a matter of little moment whether fortune smile or frown, for it is in vain to look for superior felicity amongst those who have more "appliances and means to boot," than their fellow-men. Wealth, rank, and reputation, do not secure their possessors from the misery of discontent. As happiness then depends upon the right direction and employment of our faculties, and not on worldly goods or mere localities, our countrymen might be cheerful enough, even in this foreign land, if they would only accustom themselves to a proper train of thinking, and be ready on every occasion to look on the brighter side of all things.* In reverting to home-scenes we should regard them for their intrinsic charms, and not turn them into a source of disquiet by mournfully comparing them with those around us. India, let Englishmen murmur as they will, has some attractions, enjoyments and advantages. No Englishman is here in danger of dying of starvation as some of our poets have done in the inhospitable streets of London. The comparatively princely and generous style in which we live in this country, the frank and familiar tone of our little society, and the general mildness of the climate, (excepting a few months of a too sultry summer) can hardly be denied by the most determined malcontent. The weather is indeed too often a great deal warmer than we like it; but if "the excessive heat" did not form a convenient subject for complaint and conversation, it is perhaps doubtful if it would so often be thought of or alluded to. But admit the objection. What climate is without its peculiar evils? In the cold season a walk in India either in the morning or the evening is often extremely pleasant in pleasant company, and I am glad to see many sensible people paying the climate the compliment of treating it like that of England. It is now * "I was ever more disposed," says Hume, "to see the favourable than the unfavourable side of things; a turn of mind which it is more happy to possess, than to be born to an estate of ten thousand a year." fashionable to use our limbs in the ordinary way, and the "Garden of Eden"* has become a favourite promenade, particularly on the evenings when a band from the Fort fills the air with a cheerful harmony and throws a fresher life upon the scene. It is not to be denied that besides the mere exercise, pedestrians at home have great advantages over those who are too indolent or aristocratic to leave their equipages, because they can cut across green and quiet fields, enter rural by-ways, and enjoy a thousand little patches of lovely scenery that are secrets to the high-road traveller. But still the Calcutta pedestrian has also his gratifications. He can enjoy no exclusive prospects, but he beholds upon an Indian river a forest of British masts -the noble shipping of the Queen of the Sea-and has a fine panoramic view of this City of Palaces erected by his countrymen on a foreign shore;-and if he is fond of children, he must be delighted with the numberless pretty and happy little faces-the fair forms of Saxon men and women in miniature —that crowd about him on the green sward; he must be charmed with their innocent prattle, their quick and graceful movements, and their winning ways, that awaken a tone of tender sentiment in his heart, and rekindle many sweet associations. SONNETS, WRITTEN IN EXILE. MAN's heart may change, but Nature's glory never ;- The cloudless eye lets in the bloom and light Of earth and heaven to charm and cheer us ever. Though youth hath vanished, like a winding river Lost in the shadowy woods; and the dear sight Of native hill and nest-like cottage white, 'Mid breeze-stirred boughs whose crisp leaves gleam and quiver, And murmur sea-like sounds, perchance no more My homeward step shall hasten cheerily ; Yet still I feel as I have felt of yore, And love this radiant world. Yon clear blue sky These gorgeous groves-this flower-enamelled floor Have deep enchantments for my heart and eye. * So called, because the grounds were laid out in a tasteful style, under the direction of Lord Auckland's sister, the Honorable Miss Eden. II. Man's heart may change, but Nature's glory never; Of sun-illumined skies may seem less bright, Or gathering clouds less grand, yet she, as ever, Is lovely or majestic. Though fate sever III. Man's heart may change, but Nature's glory never ;— The common earth is here-the common sky- A FATHER'S love. Then learn, O man, to deem D. L. R. For the sake of my home readers I must now say a word or two on the effect produced upon the mind of a stranger on his. approach to Calcutta from the Sandheads. As we run up the Bay of Bengal and approach the dangerous Sandheads, the beautiful deep blue of the ocean suddenly disappears. It turns into a pale green. The sea, even in calm weather, rolls over soundings in long swells. water is varied by different depths, and in The hue of the passing over the edge of soundings, it is curious to observe how distinctly the form of the sands may be traced by the different shades of green in the water above and beyond them. In the lower part of the bay, the crisp foam of the dark sea at night is instinct with phosphoric lustre. The ship seems to make her way |