and princes, and potentates, and tyrants of all ages-and, if possible, doubly powerful at each Turn of the Lane. The Turn of the Lane is the source of many gratifications. If it be the resting-place to the weary, it is also the stepping-stone of the hopeful. Even the poor and disconsolate wayfarer, foot-sore and heart-sore, hungry and weary, who has toiled on his lengthened journey, and longs for the quietness and composure of his home for the night, and impressed too with the beauty of the prospect by which he is surrounded-for there is the spirit of poetry in every man-is disposed to rest at the Turn of the Lane, and to derive fresh vigour for the prosecution of his journey. On market-day nights, when, in winter time, thick darkness has descended to the earth, or the snow has choked up stile, and gateway, and road, the honest farmer or weary labourer, too long detained, greets with gladdened feeling, as bringing him nearer home, the Turn of the Lane; and the timid village girl who has been dispatched on some important errand to the neighbouring hamlet, arrives gladly at the desired point on her way homewards, aud considers herself safe from all danger, as the well known homestead is immediately at hand, nay-she even blesses the Turn of the Lane, her eye meets the joyful beams of the candle shining in the window of the distant cottage. And if the Turn of the Lane be the spot which witnesses the farewell of friend, or family, or kindred-when the last kiss is the prelude to many tears, and even hope is disposed to throw his cheering beams up the long and doubtful vista of the future-when years are crowded into one moment, and all feelings into one feeling; the same spot is, if possible, rendered more sacred. Then is required no dial to tell with unerring gnomon the appointed hour. The sun, in some fair summer eve, is rather considered tardy in his descent, and requires Jove's lightnings to whip him to his appointed goal. Do not they, whose minds and hearts are rightly framed, and whose homage is offered on the altar of truth and sincerity, with the ascending incense of purity and innocence, and who could rear a tabernacle of affection in the very desert of existence-do not they hold in remembrance the Turn of the Lane, and cherish it, even afterwards, to the latest period of their existence ? In all the quiet recesses and peaceful homes of rural life-its magnificent prospects and varied pictures of unostentatious grandeur,— its solemn cathedral woods and silver-sounding brooks-its green pasture slopes and greener sylvan knolls-the song of birds, the attending echoes, the graceful bend of drooping boughs, the lake-waves kissing the marge with unobtrusive, undulating motion-the sparkle of far-off waters, the village spires, the developement of mountains, foliage, and flowers-and all the countless associations, mingled with sights, and sounds, and feelings, which are visible to the eye, impressed upon the ear, and living in the very precincts of the heart;— these, as with a talismanic power, are all conjured up by the simplest of all simple thingsTHE TURN OF THE LANE. THE VILLAGE COQUETTE. With silken coats, and caps, and golden rings, A glass, a glass, a glass! I'll trust my face no more in the fair water, 'tis not bright enough to shew me in my smugness; reach a glass! WEBSTER & ROWLEY. The Thracian Wonder. Nature in her has err'd not, but forgot: She wants a heart. POPE. Ir it be needful to have a leader in the Commons House of Parliament, to introduce those enactments which are required by the necessities of the times;-if it be needful to have a prima donna in the Opera House, to warble Italian to the tune of fifty sovereigns a-night, or a première danseuse to exhibit the symmetry of her legs before the world deemed fashionable, for the trifing compensation of two hundred pounds sterling per week ;-if it be needful to have a leader in the cathedral oratorio, or the orchestrial band, at the bar, or on the bench, at the board of guardians, at the class meeting, in a riot or in a robbery, in the metropolitan circles of fashion, at Almack's, at Crockford's, and other places of unsullied purity and social perfection;-it surely may be a matter of excuse that the Village should also have its Coquette. In all stages, stations, grades, and conditions of life, from the royal palace to the almost roofless cottage, there is more longing for the possession of some fancied good, than clinging to the true enjoyment of the blessings, be they great or small, by which we are immediately surrounded. The power of distance lends enchantment to a magnificent prospect; and beauty owes no small portion of sublimity to the veil by which it is partly hidden. The eye of the eagle may pierce the one; but the hand of intrusion had better not lift the other. The dweller in the smoky city, in the dense marts of trade, or amid the endless din of impetuous machinery, longs for the sweet air of the uncontaminated country, and the pleasures and enjoyments which flow around a residence in fair rural scenes-its peaceful valley, its towering |