cottage, and saw her in her grave-clothes within an hour
to be buried--when we stood at her burial--and knew that never more were
we or the day to behold her presence--we learned then how immeasurably
misery can surpass happiness--that the soul is ignorant of its own
being, till all at once a thunder-stone plunges down its depths, and
groans gurgle upwards upbraiding heaven.

How easily can the heart change its mood from the awful to the
solemn--from the solemn to the sweet--and from the sweet to the
gay--while the mirth of this careless moment is unconsciously tempered
by the influence of that holy hour that has subsided but not died, and
continues to colour the most ordinary emotion, as the common things of
earth look all lovelier in imbibed light, even after the serene moon
that had yielded it is no more visible in her place! Most gentle are
such transitions in the calm of nature and of the heart; all true poetry
is full of them; and in music how pleasant are they, or how affecting!
Those alternations of tears and smiles, of fervent aspirations and of
quiet thoughts! The organ and the AEolian harp! As the one has ceased
pealing praise, we can list the other whispering it--nor feels the soul
any loss of emotion in the change--still true to itself and its wondrous
nature--just as it is so when from the sunset clouds it turns its eyes
to admire the beauty of a dewdrop or an insect's wing.

Now, we hear many of our readers crying out against the barbarity of
confining the free denizens of the air in wire or wicker Cages. Gentle
readers, do, we pray, keep your compassion for other objects. Or, if you
are disposed to be argumentative with us, let us just walk down stairs
to the larder, and tell the public truly what we there behold--three
brace of partridges, two ditto of moorfowl, a cock pheasant, poor
fellow,--a man and his wife of the aquatic or duck kind, and a woodcock,
vainly presenting his long Christmas bill,--

"Some sleeping kill'd--
All murder'd."

Why, you are indeed a most logical reasoner, and a most considerate
Christian, when you launch out into an invective against the cruelty
exhibited in our Cages. Let us leave this den of murder, and have a
glass of our home-made frontignac in our own Sanctum. Come, come,
sir,--look on this newly-married couple of CANARIES.--The architecture
of their nest is certainly not of the florid order, but my Lady
Yellowlees sits on it a well-satisfied bride. Come