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in the pages either of a real or fictitious representa- 
tion of human life, with a zest that almost identified 
himself with the characters he read of. Whether 
he saw a delineation of human passions and events 
in the pages of Robertson, Froissart, Brantome, or 
Roscoe, or met with them in those of Lady Morgan, 
Mrs. Ratcliffe, Richardson, Fielding, or Sir Walter 
Scott, his sympathies were called forth, and he 
would weep or rejoice as the master pen of the writer 
touched his heart and charmed his imagination. 
It was his knowledge of history that made his 
company so delightful in travelling ; for never did 
he pass a spot, marked by an event in our national 
history, without reminding his companion, and thus 
furnishing topics of discourse from place to place, 
and peopling a desert with forms long since at rest, 
and ideas that were as amusing as the prospect be- 
fore them; while, to enrich the scene, and fill each 
step with interest, the habitats of plants were always 
noticed, and their sure recurrence gave a delight 
well known to those of similar pursuits. 
The writer can never forget some occurrences of 
this kind, and will mention one, because it happened 
in a road generally thought dull and wearisome, 
except to men of the turf, and that is Newmarket 
heath, .a tract he always passed with particular plea- 
sure, from the exhilarating effect of the pure air. 
Here it was, one “ incense-breathing morn,” he 
pointed out to her notice the Carduus acaulis, whose 
close and stunted growth his companion had attri- 
buted to the barren soil and frequent treading upon. 
Soon after a wide field covered with the rich blos- 
