24 Journal .-JANUARY. [Part I. 



day to see the house I formerly occupied. How small ! 

 It is always thus: the words large aud small are car- 

 ried about Avith us in our minds, and we forget real 

 dimensions. The idea, such as it was received, remains 

 during our absence Irom the object. When I returned 

 to England, in 1800, after an ai3sence from the country 

 parts of it, of sixteen years, the trees, the hedges, even 

 the parks and woods, seemed so small! It made me 

 laugh to hear little gutters, that I could jump over, 

 called Rivers! The Thames Mas but a ''Creek!" 

 But, when, in about a month after my arrival in London, 

 I went to Farnham, the place of my birth, Avhat was my 

 surprise! Every thing was become so pitifully swjoZ// I 

 had to cross, in my post-chaise, the long and dreary heath 

 of Bagshot. Then, at the end of it, to mount a hill, called 

 Hungry Hill ; and from that hill I knew that I should 

 look down into the beautiful and fertile vale of Fam- 

 ham. 3Iy heart fluttered with impatience, mixed Mith 

 a sort of fear, to see all the scenes of mv childhood ; 

 for I had leanit before, tlie death of niy lather and 

 mother. There is a hill, not far from the town, called 

 Crooksbury Hill, which rises up out of a flat, in the 

 form of a cone, and is planted with Scotch fir-trees. 

 Here I used to take the eggs and young ones of crows 

 and magpies. This hill Mas a famous object in the 

 neighbourhood. It served as the superlative degree of 

 height. " ^5 high as Crooksburi/ Hill" meant, with us, 

 the utmost degree of height. Therefore, the first object 

 that my eyes sought was this hill. / could not believe 

 my eyes! Literally speaking, I for a moment, thought 

 the famous hill removed, and a little heap put in its 

 stead ; for I had seen in New Brunswick, a single rock, 

 or hill of solid rock, ten times as big, and four or five 

 times as high! The post-boy, going down hill, and not 

 a bad road, whisked me, in a few minutes to the Bush 

 Inn, from the garden of which I could see the prodi- 

 gious sand hill, where I had begun my gardening works. 

 What a nothing! But now came rushing into my 

 mind, all at once, my pretty little garden, my little blue 

 smock-frock, my little nailed shoes, my pretty pigeons 

 that I used to feed out of my hands, the last kind words 

 aiid tears of my gentle aud tender-hearted and affec- 



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