There is a land, of every land the pride, Beloved by heaven o’er all the world beside, Where brighter suns dispense serener light, And milder moons emparadise the night. A land of beauty, virtue, valour, truth, Time-tutor’d age, and love-exalted youth; The wandering mariner, whose eye explores The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores, Views not a realm so beautiful and fair, Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air; In every clime the magnet of his soul, Touch’d by remembrance, trembles to that pole. For in this land of heaven’s peculiar grace, The heritage of Nature’s noblest race, There is a spot of earth, supremely blest, A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest; Where man, creation’s tyrant, casts aside His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride; While in his softened looks benignly blend The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend. Here woman reigns--the mother, daughter, wife, Strews with fresh flowers the narrow way of life; In the clear heaven of her delightful eye An angel guard of loves, and graces lie; Around her knees domestic duties meet, And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet. Where shall that _land_, that _spot of earth_ be found? Art thou a man? a patriot? look around; Oh, thou shalt find, howe’er thy footsteps roam, That land _thy_ country, and that spot _thy_ home. * * * * * Mr. Editor,--As your _Table Book_ may be considered an extensively agreeable and entertaining continuation of your _Every-Day Book_, allow me a column, wherein, without wishing to draw attention too frequently to one subject, I would recur again to the contributions of your correspondent, in vol. ii. page 1371, of the _Every-Day Book_, my observations at page 1584, and his notices at page 1606. Your “Old Correspondent” is, I presume, a native of this part of the country. He tells us, page 1608, that his ancestors came from the Priory; in another place, that he is himself an antiquarian; and, if I am not much mistaken in the signatures, you have admitted his poetical effusions in some of your numbers. Assuming these to be facts, he will enter into the feeling conveyed by the lines quoted at the head of this article, and agree with me in this observation, that every man who writes of the spot, or the county so endeared, should be anxious that truth and fiction should not be so blended together as to mislead us (the inhabitants) who read your miscellany; and that we shall esteem it the more, as the antiquities, the productions, and the peculiarities of this part of our county are noticed in a proper manner.