How the heart swells, as if it felt the huge space from hill to hill, consciously occupied by deity. Such scenes must be enjoyed silently; you are passive-intensely satisfied-you feel the religion of nature-you look towards the grim yews between one and two thousand years old, flung into 'frantic attitudes,' as Lord Lindsay says of the cedars of Lebanon, as though the cross had transfixed in them the agonized spirits of their old worshippers, and you muse on the Druids-you criticize the formation of Box Hill, and remember that sea-shells are found on its top, and you think of the Deluge,— you consider who drew the ground plan of this fair spot, and you revert to the Creation.

Many who have travelled in Switzerland and Italy have found the wooden bench on this terrace a sort of Comus's seat; and like Comus, I might tell them

I know each dingle," &c.

but I will not fatigue my companions by shewing them all at once. The lower part of the park is priory land. The old priory, afterwards the mansion-house, stood half-way between the two bridges, and the lofty vaulted kitchen or refectory, still exists, with a niche above the wide fire-place; but the principal part of the present building is modern, and in the occupation of farm servants. Medals have been dug up in the garden, which the medalist of the British Museum has pronounced to be pocket-pieces, sent by the monks of Bayeux to their brethren in England, as Christmas presents.

It was at Norbury Priory that Sir F. Stidulph received John Evelyn, when he walked over from Wotton; and we can fancy the good old gentleman, not a little pleased at the opportunity of shewing off his trees to the famous planter and delightful writer,-brushing his beaver, taking down his walking-staff, and trotting off his guest to the upper park: for, says Evelyn, 'here are such goodly walks and hills shaded with yew and box, as render the place extremely agreeable; it seeming from these evergreens to be summer all the winter.' He also mentions, the walnuts innumerable, which he was told brought in a considerable revenue.' In fact, they have, in some seasons, sold for £300.; at other times for no more than 5 shillings.

The air of Norbury has always been fostering. Sir Thomas Lawrence was here encouraged to make his first and only attempt at modelling, and finished an eminently successful likeness of his venerable friend, of whom he always spoke and wrote in terms of the warmest affection. I am not afraid,' he says, 'of forgetting this dear man, and know that I am the better for his life and death. It is thus a blessing as well as a distinction, to have known him.' And again, I go to Norbury, to witness grief and resignation, the one as sincere, the other as pious as can exist in the tenderest and most virtuous minds. Mr. Lock is to be buried, by his own accurate directions, in the simplest manner, and exactly as his mother was-a walking funeral, and the coffin borne by his labourers.'

It was at Mr. Lock's table that the lively Fanny Burney met an interesting foreigner, brave, unfortunate, and speaking broken English. How could a young novelist's heart resist such attractions, when their owner did his best to win it? There seems, however, to have been parental disapproval to overcome; for we find Mr. Lock interceding for the lovers, bringing forward letters from the Prince de Poix and Count Lally Tollendahl in General d'Arblay's favour; obtaining, at length, a reluctant and apparently ungracious consent to the marriage, and himself taking Dr. Burney's place at the altar of Mickleham Church, and giving away the bride.

With affectionate care, he had hunted out a small cottage at Bookham, adapted to the slender finances of the young couple; and here, after they had been left awhile to their own resources, the relenting father sought them out, without giving notice of his intentions, and sending in his name from his post-chaise, 'ere he could reach the little threshold of the little habitation, his daughter was in his arms. How long (and I think the naughty Fanny's tears blotted her writing) how long she there kept him she knew not, but he was very patient at the detention! tears of pleasure standing in his full eyes at his rapturous reception.'

The good Doctor probably expected that the popular novelist of her day, and dresser to Queen Charlotte, would do better for herself than marry a poor émigré. She on the other hand, with a head full of Orvilles and Delvilles, thought General D'Arblay cut out according to pattern. And then

Yet

what scenes he had for his wooing! the painted room! the Druid's grove! the cathedral walk! one would like to know that there had been a greater struggle than seems to have taken place between her affection for him and for so kind a father. To eke out her slender means, she wrote Camilla, and published it by subscription. Kind Mrs. Lock took infinite pains to procure subscribers; and with the proceeds of the book, Mr. Lock built the authoress a pretty cottage at Westhumble, on a piece of his own ground, which received the name of Camilla Lacy. Here we will suppose her existence to have been quite paradisiacal; yet we are angry with her for shewing so little power of description in the novel she wrote among such beautiful scenery.

There is more freshness and nature in the city scenes of Evelina' than in the country scenes of 'Camilla.' She gives you no little peeps,-glimpses, as it were, of Norbury between the trees; her heroine's rural walks do not recal real fields and lanes, with stiles and wild flowers and brambles, and the cuckoo in the distance. On the other hand, 'Conversation Sharpe' could illustrate abstract truths by easy and graceful allusions to the beautiful scenery around him. 'There are few difficulties,' he writes, that hold out against real attacks. If we do but go on, some unseen path will open among the hills,' and so on. He reminds his friend, Francis Horner, of the long and singular conversation that had taken place between them in the woods of Norbury, and refers to

T. Allor

'The Druid grove, where many a reverend yew, Hides from the thirsty beam the noon-tide dew.' Such a man deserved, if not to have a Norbury Park, yet to live, as he did, on its skirts, like a fringe on its petticoat.'

A word, at parting, on the sylvan prides of the park. Evelyn commemorates its walnuts, yews, and oaks, but makes no mention of its beeches. Perhaps they were not flourishing in his time, but I could now show him, if he were here to see, a beech whose branches extend over an area of upwards of 100 feet in diameter; another whose white, smooth trunk runs up a perpendicular height of 160 feet;

Radclyffe