and time,
enables us to pass in the twinkling of an eye over the dreary waste of
waters that separates the exile from the scenes and companions of his
youth. He treads again his native shore. He sits by the hospitable
hearth and listens to the ringing laugh of children. He exchanges
cordial greetings with the "old familiar faces." There is a resurrection
of the dead, and a return of vanished years. He abandons himself to the
sweet illusion, and again

Lives over each scene, and is what he beholds.

I must not be too egotistically garrulous in print, or I would now
attempt to describe the various ways in which I have spent a summer's
day in England. I would dilate upon my noon-day loiterings amidst wild
ruins, and thick forests, and on the shaded banks of rivers--the pic-nic
parties--the gipsy prophecies--the twilight homeward walk--the social
tea-drinking, and, the last scene of all, the "rosy dreams and slumbers
light," induced by wholesome exercise and placid thoughts.[050] But
perhaps these few simple allusions are sufficient to awaken a train of
kindred associations in the reader's mind, and he will thank me for
those words and images that are like the keys of memory, and "open all
her cells with easy force."

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