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SUMMER THOUGHTS AND RAMBLES.

To sit on rocks.-Byron.

Oh, blest retirement !-Goldsmith.
Ay! these were days, when life had wings,

And flew, oh! flew so wild a height,
That, like the lark which sun-ward springs,

'Twas giddy with too much light.—Moore.

Few people know what to do with themselves when they go into the country. They see a great quantity of blue sky, and several large hills, and a good number of trees, and some fields of grass, and some of corn;

and now and then the odour of a bean-field, or a bed of wild violets, takes their olfactory nerves by surprise, and they snuff it up pleasantly enough, and pass on with their hands in their pockets. Birds, too, curious little specks, far up in the sun-light, or unseen in the woods, pour forth the countless songs of their merry hearts, as if they enjoyed a polite happiness in seeing such respectable members of society

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