whistling "Cherry-ripe," pretending to walk by himself, and to
be thinking of nobody; but every now and then he pauses in his
negligent saunter, and turns round outright to steal a glance at
Mabel, who, on her part, is making believe to walk with poor Olive
Hathaway, the lame mantua-maker, and even affecting to talk and to
listen to that gentle, humble creature, as she points to the wild
flowers on the common, and the lambs and children disporting amongst
the gorse, but whose thought and eyes are evidently fixed on Jem
Tanner, as she meets his backward glance with a blushing smile, and
half springs forward to meet him: whilst Olive has broken off the
conversation as soon as she perceived the pre-occupation of her
companion, and begun humming, perhaps unconsciously, two or three
lines of Burns, whose "Whistle and I'll come to ye, my lad," and "Gi'e
me a glance of thy bonny black e'e," were never better exemplified
than in the couple before her. Really, it is curious to watch them,
and to see how gradually the attraction of this tantalising vicinity
becomes irresistible, and the rustic lover rushes to his pretty
mistress like the needle to the magnet. On they go, trusting to the
deepening twilight, to the little clerk's absence, to the good humour
of the happy lads and lasses who are passing and repassing on all
sides--or rather, perhaps, in a happy oblivion of the cross uncle, the
kind villagers, the squinting lover, and the whole world. On they
trip, arm in arm, he trying to catch a glimpse of her glowing face
under her bonnet, and she hanging down her head, and avoiding his gaze
with a mixture of modesty and coquetry, which well becomes the rural
beauty. On they go, with a reality and intensity of affection which
must overcome all obstacles; and poor Olive follows her with an
evident sympathy in their happiness which makes her almost as enviable
as they; and we pursue our walk amidst the moonshine and the
nightingales, with Jacob Frost's cart looming in the distance, and the
merry sounds of Whitsuntide, the shout, the laugh, and the song,
echoing all around us, like "noises of the air."

_Mary Russell Mitford._

ON GOING A JOURNEY

One of the pleasantest things in the world is going a journey; but I
like to go by myself. I can enjoy society in a room; but out of doors,
nature is company enough for me. I am then never less alone than when
alone.

"The fields his study, nature was his book."

I can