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in watching. I am very fond of sitting in the 

 projecting bow window, also, at the end of the 

 library : I call it the poetical window, for all that 

 you see fronuit suits the feelings that descriptive 

 poetry excites. 



By the way, I must say that I can read 

 THOMSON'S Seasons now, and other descriptive 

 poetry, with much more pleasure than I could 

 before I came to England, because so much of 

 the scenery described was unknown to me, and 

 so many of the rural occupations I had scarcely 

 seen. 



I shall now remember, much better than I 

 used to do, some of your favourite descriptions, 

 that I have learned over and over again. My 

 aunt says, that it has been remarked, by a philo- 

 sopher who has written a most interesting book 

 on the human mind, that in descriptive poetry 

 we always remember best those scenes which 

 we can picture to ourselves. I am sure this is 

 the case ; for now, as I begin to understand the 

 allusions, it requires but little effort to recollect 

 those beautiful lines of Thomson on harvest- 

 home. 



When I came here, several of the fields were 

 still unreaped : all is now cut, dried, drawn 

 home, and stacked ; and the fields only show, 

 by the yellow stubble remaining in the ground, 

 what treasures gilded the earth but a short time 

 since. 



