: i: i~I
DIAL OF LOVE:
0 Cbr(itmau Book
FOR THE YOUNG.
DARTON & CO., HOLBORN HILL.
Lvx to thank my friends, the Public, for much k
; and, lastly, for the cordial reception which they 1
i to my little Periodical, Tan DIAL or Lova,"
six Numbers of which are now presented as a Ch
Book for those who have not seen it from montl
a regards the future Numbers of this little Maguasi
this opportunity of announcing to my young Besn
I shall not tantalize them with any unfinished sto
shall have the beginning, middle, and end of e
F at once; so that each Number will be complete
f. I shall also, with the commencement of the y
lowledge and reply to some of the many Letters whi
vie from my young friends. A page or two will
gently devoted to Correspondence. Let all, there
have anything to say to me, write freely. I love
dren, and my wish is that the Children should love
fishing them all a merry Christmas and a happy I
, I bid them a short farewell.
e Hermitu Were Hill, Hi jfe,
DIAL OF LDVE.
THE CHILDREN'S HOLIDAY.
L GOOD many year ago, a young couple, on a fine morning
it the beginning of June, were driving, on their wedding
rip in an open carriage, along a pleasant valley in Derby.
hire. They left behind them a little town, the irmuar
tone house of which covered the lower alope of the ill
end ju r t ouced the level of the valley, along which ound-
d, rather than in, a blithe little river, bank-full. snnine as
upwards towards heaven, crowned the higher part of the
town, and when seen from some of the adjacent heights,
where the town itself was concealed, seemed to be embraced
by the surrounding green hills.
They left this pleasant little town behind them, and
drove onward along, a narrow valley which was barely wide
enough to admit a green meadow on either hand as a beau-
tiful border to the white limestone road, and the merry little
sparkling and singing river which bore it company, for
they ran side by side, like country childes on their way
home from school The blue sky was Ot the dome of
heaven itself ad huge piles of saiwry dm4i l s lumber-
ing in the vat Expans of smu hbiM tilte lis wy plumage
of angel' winp.
The litt vally woA blat to the right mA hm to the
left, acesodiug a the km 4( the great rouno MIs were
planted oinm ja lilal, ma mew a ik side ml sow on
that. &6s6 6 t wam" I leak Air bases
so nearly ieto ealA d n at a little diMsw they
seemed to dm uMip sl u A a me won-
dered how the road dMi='&l4* Wui I ilair i Sence.
At such points where the two hill-sides were brought so
near to the traveller new objects of admiration presented
themselves. At this beautiful beginning of June, in the
maturity of spring and the early beauty of summer, he would
see the slopes of the hills covered, not alone with wild blue
hyacinths, but with lilies of the :valley, the fragrance of
which filled the air, and with the broad, graceful leaved
Solomon's seal, which, standing aloft amid ancient gray
stones, showed in the sunshine and shade of the woods its
artificial-looking lowers, which seemed as if they were
modelled in white and green wax. Thebird's cherry, a tree
of singularly light and elegant growth, drooped amid the
Tat aU& ON IOaTI.
heavier -sses of tree, and waved its light a pdet
blossomsin the breeze.
The young couple of whom I spoke, having Md a r kal
this valley for a few miles, reached a vilage, composed of
the neatest cottages, built of gray limestone ad rooted
with slabs of the same. These cottages stood irregulaly,
sometimes alone, sometimes two or three together, and
then with wide spaces between filled up with gardens
and orchards full of flowers and the promise of abundant
fruit. The pleasantest feature however, in this village pio-
ture, was that almost every variety of climbers-roses
jasmines, clematises, and honeysuckles-covered the entire
fronts of most of the cottages; and these, springing fom
the very stones of the little street, or from little open
flower-beds in which grew all sorts of flower and with
out fence or paling of any kind to guard them, produced
not only a pleasing rustic effect, but suggested ideas of good
neighbourhood and security.
Children, glowing with health and brilliant with good
hmnour, played in little groups before these garlanded
doorways. Here lay a snow-white lamb, evidently home-
reared, in the sun; there strutted along, or stood lad
scratched for them, a big motherly hen, brown or black,
freckled with gold, with a whole brood of chicken at her
heels; peasant women, old and young, were seen through the
open doors, engaged in their various household occupation;
flocks of white pigeons basked in the sushine amoag the
golden stone-erops of the roofs; and here sad there ruddy.
faced men were busy at work. It was like some lovely pie.
ture of Aradian life. Up in the bright, blu sky, ad
above the green hill-tops that looked upen this psaefl
valley, the larks were singing by thousands, until the air
seemed ringing with their jubilant voices; the sueooos
-1k-4-1 P-- A -kk .11 J6---- :- "-__ --* -- J--I-"-*_j --M6- ^-- -*
I&* MAI J NM V atMVY.
wearing each other; the bleating of lambh was hed in tie
meadow, which lay in the embrace of the river, and now and
hen a cook crowed lazily, a cocks ae wont to do s noon-
layapproames; presentlythe chimes of the littlegry church,
rhich stood half buried in lime-tres, told, with a low soft
melody, that chanticleer was right, andthat it wa now noon.
A more perfect picture of rural seluionand peace could
lot have been met with; and the young happy couple, who
ssed through it, felt it in its fll extent. Shey would
ave liked to linger there; even to have puad their days
here would have aemed to them, in the young morning ot
heir married life, to have been a lot of no common felicity.
3ut it was not to be their lot. They paed onwards; but
b remained impressed on their memory deeply and brightly,
a if in the colours of morning.
Years went on; life withits lights and shadows went on;
hey had sorrows and trials, as who has not They tr-
elled; they changed their home several time, but still they
remembered, the wife especially, that pleasant, peaceful
alley with its cottage homes, and thought that there was
tone fairer on earth.
Dear young reader, the husband and wife of whom I
ave told you were the parents of Herbert and Meggie.
he children's mother had often told them of that beautiful
)erbyshire valley, and the flower-garlanded cottages, and
he merry children that played in the village street. She
ten said that she longed to leave the bustle and worry of
jondon, and to go for some weeks into that quiet country
lace. Sheoften saidthat it would do her good; and that,
f she might choose where among ll the beautiful scenery
f gland b would go, it should be to that lovely and
The wishes of the mother, thus earnestly expressed, made
Deep impression on the children. They too wished that
lley7 Vuom WO mwnVI W U WAu Iu u v moU %0mU1= a
whydidnot their paents set ofl t one, in the hwely mn.-
mar weather, and go there They weae re, itftiy -we
grown up, they would! Had not theys Ud thier th r
Bay how easyit was, now that the rairod *w mask tb go
into Derbyshire, where the country wu s fresh sad bea-
tiful; and why, then, did not their parents go and take
them and Mary, who loved beautiful scenery so mc, and
Alfred, who was such a great fisherman, who had bought
such fine fishing-rods, and even a landing-net, wit his own
money; why did not their parents take them all during
their holidays, into those lovely scenes which they seemed
to remember with so much pleasure P
The children could not tell; for the mode of action in
parents is often very incomprehensible to children. Child
dren often think that their parents hardly keep faith with
them in their great pleasures, however conmientions they
may be with regard to mall ones. Herbert and Meggie
were almost inclined to think so.
Herbert and Meggie are much older than they were when
you saw them last; he was now nearly twelve, she jwt
turned ten; they, therefore, were able to reason very eon0
rectly, as they thought, on many things, among the res, on
the conduct of grown people,their parents included; Mad,
as regarded these great pleasures:of which I have been
speaking, they often thought them unaccountable.
For instance, sitting by the winter reside, Herbert who
was very fond of the country and all sorts of animals, might
say that he wished he lived at a frm where there were
plenty of cows, and horses, and pigs, and poultry to look
after, and where one might get up at four o'clock oa a sam-
mer's morning, and walk into meadows full of oowdIps
Then, his father would perhaps say, that next summer,
during Herbert's holidays, they certainly would go into the
country r for that he too was of Herbert's opinion, and that
meadows fulloof cowslips and all glittering with dew were
very pleasant, and that they would go into Derbyshire; they
would have lodgings in some simple, old-fshioned house,
and there the children should run wild, u it were, among
the fields and woods, and lay up a store of health and joy
that would last them for years. The father always entered
with all his heart into the scheme, and nothing made Her.
bert and Meggie happier than for him to imagine, for their
gratifoation, what sort of an old-fashioned house it should
be in which they would live; what the people would say,
and what they themselves should do; how Herbert should
go fishing with Alfred; how Meggie should accompany
Mary an her sketching excursions; how the mother should
sit through whole summer mornings on green hill-sides
among old mossy stones, overlooking a vast extent of coun-
try, which they knew was such a delight of hers with a
pleasant book on her knee, which she could read or not, as
she liked; and how the father, like a great spirit of joy and
friendly participation, should take part with all by turns
and then diversify the scene by being the leader to some
great excursion to Chatbworth, or Haddon, or Castleton, or
to some much older and yet stranger place, to one of the old
circles of the Druids on the remote hill-tops, or to ancient
decaying houses where hardly the memory of the former
possessor remained, although traes of his labour and plea.
ure in his summer-houes and gardens, laid out on the bare
hill side, remained as imperishable as the rook itself.
It was like listening to a fairy tale, to hear the father, on
a winter's night, tell of all the delightfl wonders that
awaited them next year in Derbyshire. The children be.
lived every word, for the father sincerely intended all he
said. He would talk of this longed-for journey occasionally
all through the spring, and the mother quietly smiled.
Tna DIA ofr rsx. 7
hose quiet miles of the mother oten trobm the e.-
hin; they did not think that she believed in tir going.
nd when mmmer actually came, and. they bd their hi--
ys, they did not go. Thos quiet smAil ao th mother
had meant what they imagined. No, they could noat umd
stand it; their father was not busier t summer than
he had been last winter: he was at home; they wee al at
home; yet there was no eparatiM for going out. Their
father still aid that the aikeds made it very eay to go, yet
they went not; and when they asked him about i he mid
that perhaps they should go ewat summer.
"I don't believe we ever shall go I" aid Herbert to Meg.
gie. Meggie was of ute ame mind. It was vry nnaat
ory' and very unintelliible, more especially as Alfred alo
book it so quietly;'and Mary, in her gentle and moalising-
way, aid, "You know, dear children, we cannot have every-
thing we wish for; nobody can. We must be thankful
that we are all in health, and all together at home, where-
we are so happy; for many people have not eem that
uount of pleasure." I
Meggie tried to think that Mary's words were vey true,.
because she had long since learned to repeat her ister-
greatly; but Herbert was lo reasonable. He aid that.
his father had promised that they should go into Derby-
shire, and he should never again believe that there wa any-
chance of their going I :;
(To b cotusml.)
EVERYTHING HAS SOMETHING.
Tas snail she has her little house;
A soft warm skin has clothed the mouse;]I
The sparrow she has feathers light;
The butterfly has wings so bright.
The eagle he has pinions strong;
The fish has fins to swim along;
The little plant hasflowers so fair;
The flower itself has perfume rare.
And tell me, child, what you possess ?
" Shoes have I, and a nice warm dress;
Father and mother, and life and love;
And all were given by God above."
I watchedL and t
THU P1AL 01 LO0
JACK IN LUCK.
ianM HOLLYMOCS, a rich and fat fanner in oe of
LCK, a poor boy whom he employs on his farm.
ors, his village cronies.
tL,, witM obby, the village wheelwright's daughter.
acx's GANxDMorTaR, a very poor woman, who takeain
is very rheumatic.
large meadow, at one end of mwic is a as
kaded with willow, where cattle staud eo
ele; not far of an old stonoQurry paoly
nith buses; a thick edge on one a ide aW prt
large cornfeld old crabtreet, hawthirw and
owwd it fron a thick adergowth qof blacit
did rose. In this quarry, and with their i
edge, sit JACK and hia three village eofspiias
a, the middle of Sunday afternoon; the ite
eased ringing for afternoon service.
arxn HOLLTHOM, (alowly Wralkiap fthe
other side tkie hedge; h walks with a wpeeati
V hoii;h unbutrtol his uirtcoat, and astm
i heed with AlMa re i ei lnire .) Itf .
to-day! Nioe weather for ripping corn thn
is through the hedge and seeithe cattle in the ro
TME DIAL OF LC
nb things I they know what's good for them
ely on, talking to himself.) Now I wonder i
mg rascal Jack's doing. I would rather have
mds out of my own pocket than have caught I
SI Not that I care for victuals-but the princi
ng! If he'll take one thing he'll take another:
r, I have made up my mind ; the old woman sha
SUnion, as I told Parson Groves this very mor
give Jack another trial; but he shall live in t
I I'll keep a sharp eye on him; thus he may, ii
ain his character; he shall not have the temptation
even for his grandmother! (He comes up to t)
quary, and hearing voice pauses.) As I liv<
t young vagabond, and a pack of his cronies!
ish is infested with lads I What a gabble !-0
WVhat! Old Hollyhocks, eh!-Um! So they ar
iim, are they P (He listed.)
Piae BoT. If 1 had as much money as old He
wouldn't be such ahunks as he is!
Izoown BOT. Father says they've made him or
poor because he's so hard; why, if you had 1
le of his he'd have the law of you I How it m
ix'as BoY. I wouldn't touch anything of
wves's; but I should like to smash all his eggs I
xaaEM, behindd the hedge.) You young rascal,
'HIBD Boy. But I say, Jack, do ye think ol
ks will make your grandmother go into the U
se of this ? Our folks said so at dinner.
out my supper; and, w good luck would have it, at
; I thought so then, miss gave me such a let fr my
TrrT GIB4, (wit baby.) Misis Hollkyooks wjy
, I know; she sent mother eaudle wenm baby ws bomn,
got Mrs. Groves to give us some blankets in the
JACr. So, when their backs were turned, I tied it all up
in my handkerchief-there was nearly hal a loaf of bread,
some cold bacon, and cheese. I thought what a relish it
would be for grandmother.
P FAza, (behind the hedge.) Id give something now to
know if that chap is speaking the truth.'
JAcx. I went out of the kitchen, through the fold-yard
into the lane, without meeting anybody; for someway I
didn't want anybody to see me carrying off my supper in
that way-and yet it doesn't seem to me as if there was
anything wrong in it-it wasn't stealing. However, no
sooner had I got out of the fold-yard gate, than who should
come stumping up, with his big stick, but old Hollyhocks :
he looked as red as a fire, and Hollo, Jack I" says he; "what
are you carrying of in that bundle " It's nothing," said
I," master I" for I didn't wanthim to know, he's so hot-tem-
pered. Come, my lad," says he, in his sharp way, none
of your excuses I Let me see this minute what you're car-
ryingoff "Carrying off?" says I. "I'm carrying off
nothing-I'm not a thief, Master Hollyhocks "Undo
your bundle, and let me see whether you're a thief or not !"
says he, and stamped with his big stick. Shouldn't I
have liked to have knocked him down with it P I guess I
FixaU, behindd the hedge, sAaking hAi stic.) Mind if I
don't lay it about you one of these days I
JAxK. "I'm no thief" says 1; "and I'm carrying off
nothing." "Don't tell me any lies," says he, getting quite
savage; ntie that handkerchief: how do I know that you
hadn't been snaring a young leveret, or have been robbing
the hen-roos." My face was as red as fire; I untied the
handkerchief and then he saw the bread and cheese and
baon; "Who gave you leave to carry victuals away with
you P" says e; "and haven't you enough to eat without
eteaigr' "I didn't steel them," ys I. "We'lliAthat
out" say he; and ordering me to pick up the ting, for I
hd laid them on the road before him, he took hold tf my el.
lar and pulled me along with him to the houe.
Gn=. Why did you not tell him it was your supper,
JAr Well, I don't know; only I felt so angry. I
twisted myself out of hisgripe, however, and followed him.
"It's not the value of the victuals," ys he, turning to me.
"I'd sooner give a poor body a bit of vituals than do them
Bors. I due my Ha! ha! ha
JAC. Just against the dairy door we met misis coming
out. "Has Jack had his supper?' ays he to her. "Yes,"
says she. "Have you given him any victuals to carry
homer' says he. "No," sys she. "Well, then," sys he,
ack has stolen some!" and with that he watched my
handkerchief and showed her what I had got. "It's my
supper," ays I, "missis I" Don't tell me any lies says
she: "I saw you eating your supper!" for I did make be.
lieve I was eating; but, as sure as I am sitiag hae, I di
not eat mre than a mouthful. Don't tell i an my lim,v
says she, "Jack. This is not what I looked for in yea!
You're a very bad boy, and I'll not encourage you in wiek.
ednewa" So she took and emptied all into the pil
r Aj. Oh, what a shame!
JACK. I couldn't speak at first; at last ays I, "It's yo
that are telling lies, missis; it's none of me r" I thought
Mister Holyhoeks would have knocked me down; but, rys
she, quite ealm, Youre making bad worse, with your in
lenoel If you had asked me for broken victuals, I perhaps
should have given you some; for the's always plenty hen,
t4 Tr DIAL. or LOTE.
pin so over let me know of your doig such a thing again,
for many a one gets hanged," ay she, that has begun
.it less wickedness than that "
FiAnxa, (uiisd i Ae scdp.) Well, now ray word ot
GIIL, (with baby.) Oh, Jack, I do so wish you had
told her all-the truth-and about your poor old grand-
JACe. She wouldn't have believed me if I had; besides,
if I bad spoken then I must have cried, and I wouldn't let
either him or her see me crying, but when I got into the
lane where nobody could see me, didn't I ry a bit! I lay
down on the gra, with my face to the ground,ever so long.
I would have run away out of the parish to London or any,
where, if it had not been for leaving grandmother-and oh!
I felt to hate old Hollyhocks no, that I couldn't have eared
what happened to him.
GIML. Oh, Jack!
JACK. When people are hard ad unjust it makes one
wicked, I'm n e it doea Ilay thereagood while, and then
something came and tonuced me ; I oked p, it was poor
old Pincher, so I gave him a gret knock with -my &at for
his mu ter's ake. Poor ld thing, he yelped t and looked
o pitiful at me, as if he would say, '(Ay,Jaok1 I~idla't think
you would have used me o." I couldn't stand that look in
old Pincher's face, so I called him to me, and hugged him;
and didn't I cry a bitI After that'I ceeldn't have hurt
even oW Hollyhooks.
FAiz n, (b6id the A*e.) Poor little hbp!
LUTIsM GzL, wit 6*y, (efoji her eye, w it her
pisnfre.) How I wiab that old Hollyhocks cWd bear
JAcK. I met grandmother just at the klI enr, coming
in lmk imn mA-fI r it wag &Aar nin n* al i m wn&arA n nao
a mUi 01 nI f UL Lw miA aB uuw wu -SU I ro umu w R i
bad all week, she had. gotbno msny, and w td m tith
bit of wges. I dkla't tell her ayiting about it, bat aid I
*a t*red mad ald go to be6 e she lohdw the eer 4 a m
went to the shbp. Grandmawthe sleeps in the hBas plaee
and I in the loft above; I wa so troabled in my mind ]
could not sleep properly; I woke, and then I heard her dowa
below, turning over in her bed and sighing. "Grandmo
their says I, speaking down the ladder to her, what'si
amiss P Are you badly "P Gotosleep," sys he; mthma
ails me more than common." I thought she spoke sharp
but for all that I fell off into a dose agrin, sad then again
woke, and she was turning over and sighing just as before,
and then I heard her praying. I knew by this that some.
thing must be amiss, so I got up quietly;' it was then early
morning, just getting light, and I head a cock crow ever sc
far off; I looked down the ladder from the loft, and it ww
just light enough for me to see grandmother sitting up in
bed, wriining her hands and rocking to and fro. Grand.
mother," says I whsater is mais P At you badly "
" Oh, my lad!" ay sie, "I never thought to hae lived t
see this dayI What celd make you do it P ow could
you think of steal. victuals from Hollybooks I Oh, my
lad !.my lad.! Gsandmother," says I, "it's story 1" So ]
told her all, and how I wanted to bring home something nioc
for her, because she .had nothing but tes and bread and po-
tatoes all week; how I had not had any supper myel, ad
how Missis Hollyhocks had thrown it all to the pigs I What
a night we had! I dropped asleep on grandmother's bed,
and when I woke it was broad day. Grandmother had not
slept a wink all night I
Boy. How did she come to hear about it, Jack P
JAIK. Why, she went as I told you to Madley's, to get
some things. The shop was full of folks who were all talk-
___ __ __ __ ~
aw uU ves uu nVW uLs .U U U Ml- UD W W A~ 5 n UUWy
bopped; from something she heard she knew they were
walking about me, and she would know what it was-poor
Id grandmother And then they told her that Farmer
hollyhocks had caught me stealing; that he told the wag-
oner so himself and the waggoner's wife told somebody,
ad so everybody knew I
Ax,. Oh, what a shame
FiAxzn, (turning away.) Well, I'm as sorry for it as if
had no hand in it. Poor Jack! I must ask my missis
'bat had better be done. [He goes of, down the cornfeld.
GiuL, (to the baby, which wakes.)
[The baby will not be husA-a-bied, and the girl moves
of, carrying with her the basin and cloth.
JAcx. Thank your mother for the dinner, Besy; and if
u see grandmother, tell her I shan't come home till dusk.
feel so ashamed of going through the village when every-
)dy thinks me a thief. I wish I could set off to London,
* to sea, or somewhere; and so I would if it was not for
GIRL. Keep your heart up, Jack! and I'll go to your
[She goes away singing to the 6aby, and the 6oyr:
follow her, leaving Jack alone in the quarry.
(To Iets etinued)
dPI YIhI VI IP
And in the morning, ere the heat,
The bee beholds it as she goes,
And thinks-" That is my coffee sweet-
In china pure a driven snows.
rli MAn. 01 LOTZ.
How charming are these cup, aA cean I"
Its probonis it plunges deep;
It drinks, ed wsys-" How nioe I wen
That her the sugar mWst be chrp."
In Summer, God once more commands-
"Now let the sparow's feast be spread!"
And see! the chery-tree it stands
All hung with cherries ripe and red I
"Yes I that's for me!" exclaims the sparrow;
My appetite is keen,-I'll-dine;
'Twill give me strength in bone and marrow,
And in my song so blithe and fine."
In Autumn, Goed once more proclaims-
"Away! They an have had their fil"
Cold sweep the winds across our frames;
The rime-frost settles on the hill
The leaves are yellow, er, and red,
And one by one they quit the bough;
And what from earth has raised its head,
Again to earth returneth now.
In Winter, God doth say-" Now close I
What still remains, that safely keep."
And Winter spreads his feathery snows,
And thanketh God, and goes to sleep.
Wlks is to emdta, asl ao 2t 1 In jm
AxoirGuT the pleasure which are now to be enjoyed by,
young readers, there are none which we can recommend
them more heartily than those which are everywhere to
found in gardena and fields. Happy are the children 1
summer pamrB warm ea u- Dl ,q'y w'ooo, green
fields, ab-Clk s invite as
best ubtMK*witaige *mi* r coming we gene
now! T p -a l their work, w ala mB
plesantr m any plkyj hr %0 m3 g J*o m'il
than to have ni tii hst4 bor* O L- me bIm
fower to anoties add plgO.luag. lBm r hbLmA
aa into the most odorous btiknmm d ~W l iaiwra
MlimVolw ey We may sqffasG to bmpi & A ye
s bmwghi iato ouch dlos eoaMtm t the p 4b
ma 1a11.s weavwmrrwefer t bowj iurtj akA.
lgw mod le u-muthb woud.e n md;MM g
.....S conq o 4s t 4What MSfbb odours
-AuVImWd awsp chano And ]eew-
4-e dea thm mnwt scents say be, we may blpetty
amre "t they gie thlm no lamdnhe; oates fmt ry,
they Sm to imqi the wit.y and wo~d i iptiity.
They dart hem s : most :t%1 Ng,'
enter the .g.a .i.i I sal0 i4 nsages
of flower li the dwP Mr w w*l sr what they
are about, aos out J powdea d sA seaed like the
courtiers of the last agplad yet alitlrile have a blithe
sense that they ae doing tlhir dty, and gathering honey
for the hive.
Butterflie are a different sort of gentry. They flit about,
bent solely on please; but then that-si their business:
they neglect no duties, like many butterflies of the human
race and they are commendable, because in their pleasures
they serve a public object-that is, of exhibiting to our
eyes their lovely colours; and their gay, carefree manners
ae quite charming, amid all the other pleasant things o1
hammer. It is delightful. in this busy bustling ge, to see
IWPW lTAT. 9AW fAWV
but to enjoy themselves; who have no money to get, no
houses to build, no axe to wield, no carriag to drive, no
streets to sweep; who do not, in fot, ea a fig about having
great estates, or being worth a plum, or being g t railway
kings like George Hudson; who never mind in the least
what is the price of stock, for they ae sure of fnding
stocks, white and red, ten-week, champion or Brompon,
wherever they go, through everybody's gardens, which ae
their gardens. Yes, butterflies are your only philosopher,
for they despise all philosophy but that of living without
care. Even Diogenes put himself to the trouble of getting
a tub to live in, and then growled at those who stood in
his sunshine; but your merry butterflies, they despise tubs
too, and they growl at nobody. If any one cuts eo their
sunshine, they know there is a world full beside, and they
soar away into it. And if there comes cold or night-why,
they just go in doors and take a nod, and know nothing
Is it not a pleasure then to see these gay creature abroad
in all their brave attire, getting as much honey as the bees,
but having no trouble to hoard it P And what flower
there are for them now to ramble amongst I jamine irises,
sweet phlox, lychnises, lilies, heaths, roses, lematis, fox
gloves, lupines, sweet-peas, pinks, thrifts, larkspur, laen-
der, marigolds, and others without end I
But come I such of us as can; let us over the gardnfen ce
into the country. Ha what a sweet place the country is
now! How bright I how warm! what floods of deep, green
grass, al dashed and enamelled with lowers I Why, whole
fields look like real gold with the millions of buttercups.
And how the swallows are soaring and skimming about in
the high elear air. Hark! there is the cuckoo I Andhow
rich and full of foliage the trees look! And see there
what beautiful little birds are perching in them. They are
young uuei, juay nown oui ox mneir nese, juss gom away
from home, like us; come out to enjoy the country. We
don't hear any birds singing now. No; they have enough
bo do to look after all those young holiday birds, who, like
most young holiday keepers in the country, are so prodigi-
Wsly hungry! I
Never mind; we have got our provision basket, and they
have got theirs. Do you ask me where P All about in
these trees, and bushes, and green grass, a famous and apt
nurse, called Mother Nature, has hidden good things and
hung up little baskets full of-what P Oh, locusts and wild
honey, and a great many kinds of bird-bread and sandwiches,
md cakes and other delicacies just to their taste, and which
the old birds know very well where to find. Hark! what a
chuckling and a tweedling, and a chattering there is in that
pleasant green willow. It is Peggy Whitethroat, who has
brought a treat for her half dozen young ones, and they are
dl crying out at once, "Here I am; me, mother! me! Oh.
what capital caterpillar-cream! what delicious midge-biscuit !
what incomparable fly-pudding!" There, Peggy has stopped
their mouths for about five minutes, and the whole downy,
yellow-billedbrood of little epicures are nodding on the bough
But what an exquisite smell! What can it be ? And
that ringing sound r Is it abell? No; look over the hedge:
it is a hay-field, or going to be one, for the mowers are
knowing all that flood of rich, flowery gras down. Let us
go and look at them, for there are a thousand beauties in a
leld of mowing grass; only follow me, and keep out of the
Ray of the scythes, for I should not like to have to carry any
>f you home minus a pair of legs.
Well, this is charming There are no places in the world
that I recollect with more pleasure than mowing grass-fields
md hay-fields. See here, how that row of stout fellows
-~~ I~U VC YVY
sweeps down the deep, resh, moist gras with their litter
ing scythes. What a fragrance low from it, such u.asn
perfumer of Paris could compound. ee, what low-t '
cornflowers, crimmon birnet, yellow ratt, modest eyae
light, and brilliant red clover luscious as boney itselI Seel!
what is this It is a ball of fine dry grass, half buried i
the ground, out of which comes a faint, squeaking so*n.
Open it gently. There! what a sight I A whole Amuilof
little, naked, young field-mice. See how they more about
their heads, though they have not yet opened their eye.
They think their mother has come to give them food. D9n'I
hurt them. Close the nest gently, and place them carefully
again in the hollow of the ground where they were before,
Don't let the mowers see you, or they would kill them; tr
farmers look on all mice as depredtors and enemies. .'1t
these poor ield-mice do not eat con: they only eat a little
grass. Perhaps, after all, they will not escape the rak
which rakes up the hay; but they must .ke .their iuanoe,
poor things, for they cannot be remov9, ele the 1ld 'ip
would never ad them; but we, a will be minawoap
Look! the mower have found something else. Another
grmy ball; another mouse's nest? No; there j a 1ou
busing in it. Therefies out a b.e. It is a bee's At;,
is the nest of one of those old-fashioaed, h s4ohL a
humble-bees which we see so often in the powers, b
garden and field. The man whp holds it, pea i d r
veals a cluster of yellowishalooking repd 0iFAelsd-
herinr together. There are *om of them MatlS annitamrn
mIlI all~f At TA"1
11 the birds and other living thin
rhe partridge is obliged to ly fr
i, and the hare hops away, follow
into the areen corn.
muIK-worr ana ne curious sun-new au nun)
ad,' and other sweet flowers, salute the e:
cheerful sounds; an,
the old forest trees.
and anlv thev
nn summer awam.
s a few of the pleasant thing tl
7 in July. And happy are su
Sfor those of us who cannot, t
Sof them. It is always cheei
lumbers of our fellow-creatures
rem of God, enjoying the blessi
i atrKmh htI
^ ;u .*
BstYIar Ihrdinatws o lirbld pmsed ov the had d
poor Margery Dwr, imd fr easi her chk ud whi-imed
her hair. Mgury ws a poor hard-working womn, an
hadbeesaal h berlife log. Een rt her gret ag .hi
THj M&JJl us JATVm.
kept at the washing-tub and the ironing-board from early
morning to a late hour of the night; for Mrgery was very
poor, and her small gains a a washerwoman were all she
had to depend upon.
She had to maintain an aged husband, who was bed-
ridden; and a useless son, who was thoughtless and un-
grateful, given to drink, and to all those violent passions
which rise out of the drunkard's nature as naturally as
steam from boiling water. He would come home at night
from the alehouse, and, staggering into the room, oeturn
the nicely cleaned linen of her customers, d soil it under
his feet on the floor. He weld roll about with tipy care-
lessnes, frightening the ]pr old woman, hindering her
in her work, amd demn MWla some piece of mnsiisef or
other, either to the clothes or the furniture. It wv only
the other day "tat he broke her marg by braig abiwkr
pot under its rolls. The poor old ini- -IaI- I "ln i.
his tracke-be in the inner room, s-lr eaArlS -
ingon, and l* pitie his poor wifta fwimat hd Be
do, poor cri ppl
It m eaBysa eay rp l, thbtwi#ds d an& mt s a
sik bamndmd a bad se, gg had bm dt lot
indeed. Brohs IdbIee, oa yOU* upward, a &li"iB u
mind Shns&vtrML b w.abort, ma ahb beMe that
hwnuss khin Shrwwase e tht pain and a w and
diculty ft trial would come to ,a eaid mu time or
other; ad AbhIa no'doubb that w lh alnc wld pro
to be blessitgo i the e4d, part ofa ud Ither's berish-
ing. his wa the simneMI of poor old Mar ] and it
kept upber spirits through many dreary horn.
Oten, when the brass hand o the little Duth ed
tad tscted rer he ironinbow, toldttht mmny houw ed
the ght ad pMed away, md he ald bonea wr aeh ,
l wold emme hrs with the thought that a time weold
uB BUZII 0O LOVI.
ome when the yoke would be esy sad the burdus liW
and the weary and the heavy laden get a resting-plaoe and
home. So did this poor gentle old woman pus thraogh
the toiling hours, in hope, in patience, in love, in qmw .
You, little boys and girls, who have comfortable homes,
who sleep in warm beds at night, who playthrough the da's
bright hours in airy nurseries or pleasant gardeimns, who hame
wholesome food and good clothes and comfortable shelter,
and, above all, the tender cherishing of father, mother,
sisters, friends-think sometimes of the poor, cold, hngry,
iAl worn-out with labour, in cheerless homes where the light
is dim and even the pure air does not find its way-think
of the poor, and you will see how brave and beautiful a soul
it is that, in spite of all miseries, keeps its faith bright and
its love warm.
Such a one was Margery Daw. Her poor ik husband
was getting gradually worse; and though he had the bonet.
of tender nursing, and of as much comfort as her somrty
means would buy, he drooped day by day, and died in a
very short time. And now came a time of gmaest zpua-
the funeral, and the doctor's bill. Poor agery hadalrady
parted with her best articles of clothing; the Duth clock
was taken by the baker in part payment of his bill for
bread; chairs and tables, tea-caddy and looibglas, went
one bj one to the broker's shop till every debt was paid.
And now, at last, nothing was left but her washing and
ironing materials, a little scanty clothing, and her own bed.
But Margery did not sink under her misfortunes. She
had a brave spirit. To beg she wa ashamed. She did not
fear privation when duty required it; and she thought that
the eye which watched the fall of the sparrow, and the hand
which fed the young ravens, would surely befriend her a
her poverty. She was very old; rheumatism was in her
limbs, and her health began rapidly to fail. Wants begn
to increase, and a little money must be got somewhere. I
she took her bed to the broker's, and with the money s]
obtained from it paid for the few things she had boug
the day before.
When she got home, in the evening, she was wet thronu
with rain; her old body was aguish and chilly, her ban
trembled, her eyes were sunken into hollows and had
jaded weary look. Poor old woman! she was very serious
ill. Her next-door neighbour was a green-grocer, and ke:
a little donkey-cart with which he carried out his fruit ai
vegetables. He had some dry clean straw in his stab]
and when he heard that old Margery had parted with h
bed, he came into her room with a large bundle of it, ai
helped her to strew it under her ironing-board. Marge
thanked her kind neighbour, bade him good night, ai
having thrown a sheet over the straw, lay down upon:
commending herself to the care of heavenly powers.
There is a song which says that the angels whisper
sleeping babes. It may be so; but why only to babes
The old as well as the young need these whisperings, ai
there are some now in the twilight of age, and bowed dov
with toil and care, who tell us that in the very hour
their deepest and saddest gloom streaks of light were see
and sounds of consolation heard. Hope fluttered over the
in dreams, and pictures of rest and blessedness floated
Old Margery fell into a feverish slumber.
Trip trip! trip! Patter! patter I patter Eh! wh
a twinkling of little feet I what a waving of gauzy wing
what a fluttering to and fro of airy forms! What! is ti
dreary little cottage-dark, cold, and miserable-going to
turned into airy land P We thought it was forest dells, und
the midsummer moon, the green sward and the wrinkle,
.* ,! A L 3__ 1 J ._ e.2 --
through the air, and coming straight in the direction of
argery's cottage. As they passed over a wood they wem
heard by a troop of little goblin fays, who wer rating in
he dark boughs.
"Up, goblins, up!" said the chief among them; "the
pits are abroad to-night, going to the cottage of Margery
law. Make haste make haste I we can get there befoa
hem. May-be, there's some fun going forward I o make
aste, my merry goblins, make haste I"
Away they went, darting along like fire, and got to the
cottage before the spirits arrived there.
" Hollo said one of them, entering and rolling his head
aom side to side with a grin from ear to ear; "What's the.
weaning of this P
Old Margery Dw, sold her bed to lie upon sraw.
Isn't she a dirty slat, to sel her bed d alie upon dirt?
>h, Margery! Magery! don't lie there, old girl. Buy a.
mr-poster the first thing in the morning. Bed-tick and
fathers are better than straw for an old body like yours."
"Ha ha! ha!" cried the little goblins in chorus.
"Here's a droll and funny sight
Margery Dw in winter's night
Blowing cold nor'wester.
Sure old has turned her had I
She thinks the straw's afater.bed,
An ironnl-board a tester.
"Haw! haw! haw strange mistakeof rgery Dawl"
"HBdh! hush Fiel fie!" said other voice, as the
?irits entered the rooin. "Why ae you here, you rude
d jocular goblins P Know that, within that bent and aged
rm, there lives one of the bravest and most beautiful of
mis, and that this night it will depart for the spirit realm.
ie on your rude mirth in an hour so solemn I Goaway'
_ __ __ _____
he thought i
led voices a
chamber. There were two gentlemen standing sear 1
"I had no idea," said the curate, "that poor old Marg
lad come to such distress. I certainly should have di
something among my neighbours to make her old age m
comfortable, if the case had been made known to me."
"Hern was a brave and independent spirit," replied
,&. "As . .
doctor. oe maae no parade ox ner ars; mae toia snem
to her God only, and from Him obtained her strength and
"A really great character," said the curate. "How oftea
have I had occasion to observe, that in these lonely and ob.
scure corners of poverty there is a deep and living spirit of
piety, which puts to shame the eloquent but merely showy
pretensions in higher places."
Very true," rejoined the doctor. "We are apt to think
the ocean grandest when roaring brake splash into clouds
of spray over rocks and and-banks; yet the mariner knows
that tkere it is shallow water. In the deep seas there is
sublimity without noise."
"Have you heard of Margery' son P" inquired the
"Ye," maid the doctor; "his father's deth,somemonths
back, seemed to awaken his better feelings. He grew
ashamed of his indolent and useless life, and, with his
mother's consent, started of to sea. There has hardly been
time yet to hear of him."
"I wish," added the curate, "he had witnessed the tran-
quil death-bed of his mother. It would have made him
feel the real beauty of a life devoted to quiet duty and gene.
rous self-sacrifice. I hope, however, that even without this
solemn lesson he will go on steadily improving."
"I hope so," said the doctor, "and I think it likely.
Meanwhile, let you and me, my friend, provide a decent
burial for old Margery, and join her neighbours in showing
respect to her memory."
Vigtz for tot 1urnftrq.
COCK-ALU AND HEN-ALL!.
IN this tale i shown to you
How large the boast of Cock-alu;
But, when he comes to act, you'll see
Small hope indeed for Hen-alie;
And thus you clearly will perceive,
That who has great things to achieve
Must not stand talking, but must do,
Else he will fail like Cock-alu.
Wil utter no v irglori bout
But tln s onward, tausueh ud true,
With but the host ead in viw.
Ox-Awv and Ien-alie at on the perch above the beea.
Is. It was four o'clock in the morning, and Cook-ain
ped hiswings and crowed; then, turning t Henalie, he
1: Hen-alie, my little wife, I love you better than all
world; you know I do. I always told you so! I wl
anything for you; Ill go round the world for you; Ill
rel as r as the sun for you I Yo know I would Tell
What shall I do for you P"
Crow I" aid Hen-alie.
'Oh, that is such a little things" said Cock-alu, and
wed with all his might. He crowed soloud that he woke
Sfarmer's wife, and the dog and the cat, and all the
eons and hones in the stable, and the cow in the stal
crowed so loud that all the neighbours' cocks hed him
I answered him, and they woke all their people; and thus
ck-alu woke the whole parish.
'I've done it rarely this morning I" aid Cock-alu; "I
1 you I would do anything to please you!"
Mhe next morning, at breakfast, a Hen-alie was picking
as out of the bean-straw, one stuck in her throat; and
Swas soon so ill that she was just ready to die.
'Oh, Cock-alu," said she, calling to him in the yard,
ere he stood clapping his wings in the unahine, "runand
ch me a drop of water from the silrepring in the
ech-wood I Fetch me a drop quickly, while the dew is in
for that is the true remedy."
But Cock-alu was so busy crowing against a neighbour
it he took no notice.
"Oh, Cock-alu, do run and fetch me the water from th
re-spring, orIhall die; for the bean sticks inmy thwot,
I_ __ _
TWE DIAL 01 LOVE.
ana nothing Dut Waa wta aeG m i can cute me i .
Cock-alu dear, run quickly !"
Cock-alu heard her this time, and set off, crowing as
went. He had not gone far before he met the snail.
"Where are you going, snail says he.
"I'm going to the cow-cabbage," says the nail; "a
what urgent business may it be that takes you out th
early, Cock-alu says the snail.
"I'm going to the silverapring in the Beech-wood,
fetch a drop of water for my wife Hen-alie, who has go
bean in her throat," says Cock-alu.
"Oh," says the snail, "run along quickly, and get t
water while the dew is in it; for nothing else will get a be
out of the throat. Don't stop by the way, for the bull
coming down to the ilver-spring to drink, and he'll troul
the water. Gather up my silver-trail, however, and g
it to Hen-alie with my love, and I hope she'll soon
Cock-alu hastily gathered up the silver-trail which i
snail left. "This will make Hen-alie a pair of stockings
said he, and went on his way.
He had not gone far before he met the wood-pige
Good morning, pigeon," says he; "and which way are y
I am going to the pea-field," says the pigeon, to I
peas for my young ones; and what may your business
this morning, Cock-alu P"
Im going to the silver-spring in the Beech-wood,
fetch a drop of water for my wife Hen-alie, who has go
bean in her throat."
Im sorry to hear that," says the pigeon; "but don't
me detain you, for water with the dew in it is the best thi
to get a bean out of the throat; and let me advise you
make haste, for the bloodhound is going to lap at the spri
ith you my blue velvet neck-ribbon, and give it to Hen.
ie with my love, and I hope she'll soonbe better."
" Oh, what a nice pair of garters this will make for Hen.
Ie !" exclaimed Cook-ali, and went on his way.
He had not gone far before he met the wild-at. "Good
mning, friend," say Cook-ain, "and where may you be
ing to this morning "
" I'm going to get a young wood-pigeon for my breakfast,
iile the mother is gone to the pea-field," says the wild-
b; "and where may you be travelling to this morning,
" rm going to the silverpring in the Beech-wood," re
led Cock-aln, "to get a drop of water for my little wife
en-alie, who has got a bean in her throat."
"That's a bad business says the wild-t, "but a drop
water with the dew in it is the right remedy; so don't
;me keep you; and you had better make hte, fr the
odman i on hi ayto il a treebyth spring,andifa
nch fall into it, the water will be troubled; no o with
a I but carry with you a lash of gueen from my right
e, and give it to Hen-alie with my love, and I hope she'll
)n be better."
"Oh, what beautiful green light, like the green on my
t tail-feather I I'll keep it for myaq a it fiter for me
n for Hen-alie said Cock-slu.
So he hung the green light on his tail-feathe, whih
de them very handsome, and he went on his way.
He had not gone far before he met with the sheepdeg.
Wood morning, sheep-dog," says Oock-alu; "where We
SI'm going to hunt up astray lamb foray mater," ae
sheep-dog; "and what brings you abroad 7"
'rm going to the silverpring in the Beech-wood, to Ig
bean in her throat," says Cock-alu.
Then why do you stop talking to me 2" says the shee]
dog, in his short way; "your wife's bad enough, rll warra
me; and a drop of waterwith the dew in it is the thing to i
her good. Be of with you The farmer is coming to It
the spring dry this morning, I left him sharpening his ms
tock when I set out. You'll be toolate, if youdon't mind!
and with that the sheep-dog went his way.
"An unmannerly fellow," says Cock-al, and stood lool
ing after him; Ill not go at hia bidding, not Ii" so I
clapped his wings and crowed in the wood, just to showth
he set light by his advice. "And never to give me an
thing for poor little Hen-alie, that lies sick at home with
bean in her throat! the ill-natuied chrl 1" cried Cook-alu
himself,and then he stood and crowed again with all h
After that he marched on, and before long reached ti
Beech-wood, but as the ilver-spring lay yet a good way o
he had not gone far in the wood before he met the squirre
Good morning, squinel," says he; "what brings yp
abroad so early "
U Early do you call it, Cock-alu says thesquirrel; "wl
rve been up these four hours; I just stopped to give tV
young ones their breakfasts, and then set of to ilver-sprii
for a drop of water while the dew was init for my poor c
husband, who lies sick a-bed. I'm now on my way ba
again, for there is nothing like water with dew in it; r
got it here in a cherry leaf. And pray you, what bui
my take you abroad, Cock-alu P
"The same as yours," replied Cock-ala; U'm going
water too, for my wife Hnali, who has got a bn in h
_ ____ __
Wdkm in Qt Cbrft mi ~d w k 4)mm
TAUuis the month Od Harvu; d rural baI~q. -MA md
jolity. Itina pond time hir skovb inio the oounk7. 1'iii
we m, GWod' plity spred with a bsuutles had ove
YoLM. LoS. 2
00 WAJLU AB TAD UUUTSI.I
the whole earth. Ouw AYiM t ur ee all in the best
spirited, and they have eam to be so; for tW ee in every-
thing before their ys p u" t d the r mau ai o goodneeof
the Almighty Father, wbeae psig aevu fail that seed-
time and harvest bshll aatil to As Mof the world. In
the pastures the cattle pn I Slt otent, or lie in ls-
cious eae; while the fldsd, ktr wr v their winter fodder
hu been housed, are again green with M for their aw
Let us out then to partake of 48 gaenwma See!
there come huge loads of bably alsdm "p the dady lame
homewudas; for barley is gemnrl pipe very sly, andit is
mown sad carted loose like hay. lee what tuil of the light
ydlow ion catch on the overhanging bouga wa4 like
garanda of peaceful triumph. The horse dra wiinly,
Sif they knew what they were bringing. 'h waggone.
ausk their whips,'a if to expre. the &gledMiu of their
heart; and trop of women and children, 1 Ml rustic
attire, nod mrily to iem as they re on heirw lf M glen
The villags g amtdy deented ofuMir t il ,b
are out to 1sa at ml m and th e vWt b a llm arted out
and intrute to the lesser ohrM who oit in me shady
corner of the aldth tl Ma ed amsue them with showing
them Igay IIow t wl thm a they seep. The dogs
are with the children too, glad to be tumbled about and
made playfellows of.
Look now we are got into great oat-field. The men
are mowing down the rich, bright flood of corn, and wo-
men and boys follow and gather the swath iano sheavs Wnd
bind them, and rear them up in what they call shock. But
we will go on to the wheat.eld, for there are the gleaners
a* well as the reapers. Here we are hark I they ae not
mowing here, but outing down the corn with ickle. That
is because the wheat-straw is much stronger, and there is a
danger, if it be very ripe of the shock of the mowing sat-
IN MEE CVNTSY.
e women ant cldren are gathering. Idttle boys and gi
* coming to their mothers to get them to tie up their
wsming.; bigger boys and girls are pr ud to do that them-
Ires. And, besides the gleanings, all the gleaners hare
Vg hng before them, or their aprons turned up into a sort
'begto put ll the ea into that have broken short offom
a straw. Only think what plenty there will be in the
ttage Wheat for rich ftrmenty, and milk-delielos food
hest to eary to the mill; and then what mouse puddings,
d dumplings, and nioe brown lotes! I ean aee the e-
ge children with brown dumplings and treacle to their
owners, that they think more luxurio than an a alderam
es turtle even.
But let ua notice what lovely flowers there ae amongst
eoorn. How bright are those oaret poppies; how lovel
t scarlet pimpernel that grow humbly but fl of beauty
the foot of the orn. What brilliant m ses of the purple
white oonvolvula ran up the stalks of the eorn, twining
mnd it, and hanging in most elegant wan of blossom
on it. But let r follow this headland between the hedge
d the oorn. The grass has been mown om it, and we
ll do no harm by walkinon it. ee those rih masse
honmyakl still thrown out of the tall hedge, huaion a
nay iteland gorgeous in its coloring of gold and pink.
a the swet blue of the woody nightahade, hanging moc
40 WALU IN TMa OOVTRlIT.
deatly amongst the hasle boughs. And look here at t
noble thistles that lift up their crimson crowns proudly a a
king. Yes, much a we despise thistles, their flowers,
pecially the large ones, are exactly shaped like royal d
demand are not only intensely crimson, but have a honey
smell See there, too, that delicate plant that, like a whi
foam, or a foamy network, has covered that little wild roi
bush: that is called the ladies' bed-straw, and very char
ing bed-straw it must be, so fragrant and soft.
But haI see that I That shining thing which lies on t
bank amid all this rich grass and chaos of flower. It ii
inake, coiled up as you might Eooil up a whip-lash, with
head and keen glittering eyes in the very centre. Doi
start; it won't hurt us. It is only the harmless comm
English snake, which, though it quivers its forked tong
and hisses imposingly at us, has no means or intention
injuring us. All its assumed aspect of menace is only
make us afraid of going too near it, so that it may s
quietly away. There see I it is drawing itself out as y
might draw a measuring tape out of its round ase, a
stealthily it glides away with its greenish striped and shi
body into the bushes, much more afraid of us than we
But come away-don't stay peering into that birds' ne
There is nothing in it but the scaly dust which the count
people call fledge-dust, and which the young birds ah
while they were feathering. They're all away into t
broad fields, leading a fine summer's life of it, amonu
flowers, and grass, and green leaves, and sunshine: n
getting down to the clear stream to bathe and fash t
cool water over them; and now sitting all together on a
bough rooked by the breeze, and sleeping, perhaps dress
ing. Oh I if one could but know what sort of things bi
dreams are They must be very curious. Perhaps they
-T_IM _'L__AI_- _-_ --a ^- AA___ -A __iL__ _--_
AU AII IV M ON1mmt.
whih many of thAm ill ly, when the old weather ap
proehes, to new lowers ad streams in Afriek India, or
China; for these itote features made the ova4and journey
long before e nglishmen, adventurers a we think or.
selves. The eokoo is gone already; and the noisy, raping
oorn-erake has become quiet, m if thinking of depature
but the swallows am live yet, lying very high in the cle air
s if they euld never have enough of lying in that ethereal
region. And there Me the flook-*hoeet hagliah rook
that nerveleae u, allbIakeningA efidgghboutri pastures;
and the stalings sweeping rouandi oirdles and ettling like
a dens sble loud on the fields What a pleasant thing to
think of all the happiness these joeamd, careless features
of nature enjoy through the long summer,' with all the
race of bees, and moths, and butterfles, that add their
beauty to the seene.
But here we ae t the little river. What a sweet
EnglisA moane It i too large to be called brook, and
yet it is but a little rive. It is not many yard over, but
with what a qiet grace it goe gliding through these green
patare and orn-fields. How the woods, mad the tree.
and bushe, seem to hangover it in very afetion. How
ea is its flowing water; how pleasant are its grassy
banks, on which the erimson looe-strife and the pink-
lowered willow-hetb atad, as if gaming on their own rosy
redletion in the food. And what green plants and lowers
grow in the very stream. There are water-ags, and tall
whispering reeds, and taller bulruahes. There, in the
hallow plaee, the arow-hed, o called fom the shape of
its laes, stands in whole beds, all covreo d with deliate
white lower as with star. In the"quiet pool under those
rdant willow, ee what expense of white and yellow
'wtaliles, their leaves spread on the morfee of the strema
MMke n ~ i tanp d ,ad the white like eegaat
halicesa of white marble 'wi& green outside.. See what
WALS IN !NM COUNYZY.
long bowing trail of vegetation heae and dance in the
more rapid part of the river, with their white lowers
emerging into the sunny air: these ae the. water
rannlolses. And there are the purple watrviolet,
and the tarry-fowered water-plantains; but still more
beautiful the lowering rush. With what a stately look it
stands, a yard or more in height, bearing on its branching
lowerstems its richly-coloured owners. It seems a if
Nature had meant to make a paraol; but, in a sudden
vagary, tipped every spoke with a lovely blossom.
But whistle There moves something all amongst those
arrow-heads. Ha there peeps out a little black head, with
a very keen pair of light eyes. Whist itis waterat;let
us watch him. But don't move-scarcely brethe-the
slightest stir or sound would alarm him. Thereheh comes
there he awims out from his verdant hiding-place. He
paddles across the team, visiting here and there some
water-plant in his way, which seems to suit his taste
amazingly. Now he lands on a little sand bank, and trima
his whiakerintheun. There again I ee I twoothra come
out 6r0n opposite banks and make for the same mid-stream
station. There they play their antic like so many kittens,
then look a i sleep in the n. You move and the whole
trio pop under the water, quick as the flah of a gun, and
disappear. You may track their coure by air-bubble
which come to the surface, but them you do not aee agin.
They gain their holes in the banks, and will keep themselves
invisible while you stay.
How charming it i to watch thelife of little creatures
when they think themselves unseen. You then perceive
that there is a life that we know little of in the retired spoft
of the country. Alifewhich the tyranny ofman intrupt
ad pails grievously. The dragonfies in their gitteaing
olor, the butterflies as gargou, all the tribes of lies ad
glded beede, Iit to and f sad mae not for a.
WAiul 2n ConBT. 48
bird and many little fou-footed etlre a hkow us to be
cruel enmies, and.fe to a eb distance Am ua. U i
only when they think s r sway tht they unbed their
minds," and become as ll offun and holio as ohldnm.
Lsten There s a quick, short note frm yoader mas of
g inthe river. It is he all of a wdhm B per.
footly still again, ad watch The all continumes nsm ti
but nothing is sen. Aaon and ver you per ve the
water end out some eddying eirle nea the nrins nad
then a bird about the siie of a baMam.-owl, ofalmot bek
plumag, om cautiously out. It repeats its short y, and
makes a continual firting with it tail. Now the emr is
angered by other, and out omes other bird iig its
tail with a mouh self-compleney as the other. LTey
meet sil on together, and there I-they are mataly eing
out of the water and wandering on the green b But
here they make no noise. They feelthat they s whom
they may be surprised, and they areas sting s po and
go peaking about withthe sobriety of bhss. BRtb slmtm
is a former coming riding towards the cormn-t toy
see him at a distance, run rapidly and plunge ate he
river, whee, like the water-rat, they dive and swim, d
disappear in the reeds.
uh are the pleasures we may enjoy now baithe ounty.
But we could spend hours till on the bank of thi Mrea
-watching the fsh that will come ailing to and fr, just a
feel as when they we no one-watching the l other
peering from the shaded bank wander the tmes, in wat fr
some of theae ame s iha y lrh. B the aree a rsa of
other soene that all ua away at this seaom; md we i
go. We ae off to thdese.ide or th hop-Selds-whowr
COK.-ALUJ AND HEN-ALEI
(aCbest Mh. N.)
"AH, wellday I" 1ji the equirel'j u the's hbad thing!
it run along with you; for the old sow is coming down with
or nine little pigs, and if they trouble the water it mil be
11 too late for poor little Hen-alie 1"
And with that the squirrel leapt :up into the oak-tree
bor where Oook-alu stood for that was her way home and
A him without further ceremony.
"HamphI" maid Cock-ala ; she might have given me some
fthe water out of her cherry-leaf for my poor little Hem.
lies" And so saying he walked on through the Beeh-
rood, and*u he met no more creatures he oon rseatd the
But it wa now noon-day, and there was not a dmrp of dew
i the water, and the bull had been down and drak and the
oodhoond had lapped, and the old aow and her nine little
ig had wallowed in it mo the water wam troubled and be-
id"e that the woodman had felled the tre whih now lay
roes the spring, and the farmer wa digging teaew water
eZr, so the spring waS getting lower wery minat. 0ook
lu had come quite too late, there was not a drop lef for
oor little Hen-asie.
When Cook-lu aw this he was very meh disooneartd;
e did not know what to do; he rtood a Nile while eoa i.
ain, and then he aet off as hard an he could go to Ae
pdinl'n house to beg a drop of water from her. Bat the
PLeW l Hied a long way off in the wood, and th it wa a
oiderable time before he go the
Whr he reNehd the *quirrel's house bowever, nobody
ra at home. He knocked and knocked for s long tims
nd at lhut he walked in, but they were all gone oa; he
@ed therefore into the antry to aee if he could and the
cooaoxv Ar a.-1tsaU. 46
no water; At length he w the M re-up = arry.l e like a
water jug, standing t the g qeiral's beside, bu it was
empty, there Wa not a ingl droep in &t.
"This is a bad bsase r esid ooWelb to himwsl asd
turned to lee the house. At Ae quin'rs door be met
Woodpecker," Oy7 he, where is the "pirrEB gone to F
I want to beg a drp of water o the il4piug for my
wife Hen-lie, who has got a bea in her tbrot i"
"Lak--day!" Wid the woodpecker, "the old piral
drank every drop, and drained the jug into the berin; he
lay sik in bed this morning, but there was seeh rirta in
the water that he got well as soo a- h dnk it; nd now
he has taken hi wife and the little ones out an iriag; tey
will not be bok till night, I know. But if yon will iMre
my message with me I willbe mne and deliver it, fr the
equirel and I re verayneighbourly."
Oh groaned Oock-lu; U but what would be the use
of leaving a message if they hare no wtr to gle mrl
With that he came down traom the old pine tee whenethe
nquirel lived, set oat on his way home again, ad aos st
length out of the Beech-wood, but it was then getting to
He esme to his own yard. There w theperch on whieh
he and Hen-aiehad so often sate, and there wv the be
straw, and there lay poor Hen-lie just a he had let her.
Henlie, my little wife," aid he, arming loodly a he
name up that he might put a obserful foe on the Itter,
UI hae bean ery anlcky; I could not get yoa may wr,
but I Ihare got something so nie for you. I he hoo
yoa a pair of ilrsgause stookings which the Mal h sent
you, and a pair of blue velvet garters to wear with th,
whioh theigndo ganrme r" -
I"Thmke T" id oor little mw e. aa in&nvrrwk
oo0--ZU u A" IMA-M.
"I eold not bring you water, for the ilvspring is dry,"
said ook-aa, feeling very unhappy, and yet wishing to x-
use himself; "there's not a drop of water left in it I"
M Then it's all over with mer' ighed poor little Hen-.lie
"Don't be down-hearted, my little wife," aid Coak4,
trying to seem cheerful, I will give you something better
than all; I will give you the green-fire flash fro the wilM
as right eye, which he gave me to wear on mytail-fmther.
Look ulp my poor little Henslie, and' Igive i a ll to you '
Alas r sighed poor little Hendie, what good wilithey
do met Oh, that somebody only loved me'well meuh to
hae brought me one drop of silve4pring water t,
All this while something very nioeewas happenal whieh
I mut tell you.
TIher was in the poultry-yard a shabby, littl, drb.
colored hen, very small and very much despisedI Oook4
would not look at her, nor Hen-lhe 4tha r she hi no
teIl-dbeer atll, and long black legs whah looked a if
ahe bad borrowed them bom a hen'twies her si: she ws,
in short, the meanest, most mll-eondi owned he in the yad.
All the time, however, that Ook4-ta wa out am is
fttiless errd, she had been comdteting Hanle in the
bet way she could, and assuring he that ok4kl wm d
soo be bak again with the water bm the lalio~
Bat wh e he ame buek wMha a 'agle dr, Mai tm
Aolrdthefe filk ne stookings adMuterN g im
WK&9AV An4 ]ME-AI.U.
ao mw U w, WmaWruH mju mr WUnu -u amu ur mau uWGO
p would carry hr out of the wood and down to the silve
rin which she reached in a wonderfully short time.
Fortunately the silvrpring ,had towed into its new
mel as clearly as ever, and the evening dew had dropped
virtues into it. The owl were shouting "Kah-itI"
m one end of the wood to the other. The dark lea-
an-winged bats and the dusky white and buf-coloured
th were flitting about the broad hadows of the tree;
b the little hen took no notice of any of them. On she
at, thinking of nothing but that which she had to do;
I reaching the silver-spring, she gathered up twelve dap
water, and hurrying back again, came into the yard jut as
r Hen-alie wu saying, "Oh, that somebody had loved me
1 enough to fetch me only one drop of silver.-pring water'
That I do!" maid the shabby little hen, and droppt
drop after another into her beak.
%he fint drop loosened the been, the second softened it,
I the third sent it down her throat.
In-alie was well again Cock-alu was ready to dhp
wings and crow for joy; and the little hen turned quietly
y to her solitary perch.
Nay," said Hen-alie, "but you shall not go unre-
ded; see, here is a pair of silk stocking for yo, and
b is green fire which will make the most beautiful fa-'
* in the world grow all over your body I Take them all
good little thing, and to-morrow morning you wil come
the handsomest hen in the yard!"
D it was. There must have been magic in those dlk
king and that green fire, for the shabby little thing
now transformed into a regular queen-hen. The hru r'
thought she must have strayed away from some bemau
speign country, and gave her a famous breakht to tbep
Cock-al was very attentive to her; and as to aea'
Ais** t*m -t'-*.-a - *, &,- .. 1.-. ..& k .lOd
JACK IN LUCK.
(amWNme s Am P.H)
A few how later.
AwUxm HounTHOCIs, (leami eer thkfald-atwd te,
iMeA qMe ifto a ke.) Well, our parson preached ea
rmon thi morning, and poor Jack preached another thi
afternoon, and both on the sam text-" Be not oer-hasty is
judgment." I hae been so; there's no mistake about that
but, u my missis says, and she's always right-though hi
was oer-hasty as well a me,-ifs not too late to set thing
Jac'm GaNAOTnm, (who comes up mmslw d.) Oh
Mater Hollyhoks, have you men anything of my poor lad
Are's been out all day, and rm feared some misortune'
bppened to him And what he'd got in.his handkerohi
was only hi supper-
BAImn. My good woman
JAc's GazxaxonmI. Master Hollyhock, you mum
her me-Pre a right to be he onbehehalf of my poor la
-ai good a lad-
FisaC Liten tome!
JAuX's Guaxomu. No, Master Hollyhos, I wi
sat listen ti you hear what rte got to my. Jack's I
honest a lad as my in the pariah-and he hn't wroge
yoa of a thing'ss worth-
FAmm. Hold your tongue, and harken to what rF
got to my
Jha's OG asmixonm If you were to my it hom a
tllthi time ne year, I wouldn't believe it. Tou t
Jak t rictue i out at your kitolnW-I tell yeo, i
ZAM Ut 1.10
lyhook, be did no oh tbhingl mt nys mI M-
wnedhimnse or comes to anybad nd arbthis, it's ye,
tar Hollyhocks, tht will be Maswuabe fr i n md-
Pr.AM. My good woman
rACE's G0amMxomm. Oh, Mast Helybooks, how
Id you be so hud s to take away poor lad's dameer,
you have done! (Ae cri.)
FAzxz. My good womn--
tams Gr, (comm unt in p out q fres*, top dAr
seei the formr-thes m u derto o addbrms JleeR
NAotAr.) Plese miss rve been to your bhous, nd
ldn't ind you. Jack will come home at dusk hour.
FAm n, (to the k~ttk gir.) Bun, my litte weah, and
.Jack to come here. Tell him not to be dad of me or
miMsis eithe--tell him I've found all out, and know now
4 he is a good and honet lad.
rAc's GazUxoTHm (Arrid.) Oh, Mste Holly-
faxz.m B anad tell him to come at once, and thM's
penee for you, (ke gieI er the uoiy,)-tell him his old
ndmother has been rating me finely, but that she is
ng home with me to supper.
Ia4, (rmmnsv qf) Oh my!-won't Jak be glad
Flvn's GzAumoosi. Oh, Master Hollyhoos What
Sall this mean? it wellnigh oversets me*
FA xu. It's oontold, my good woam. Old Jemer
ilyhooksis not o bad folks my-that' all Hde's bu
That he has made a mistake, and hes not boe mee
iFAn's sapaoems. 0 think the Lord (AL*
P iAer hadu nsd w"ia m r I eart tha.NhiudW .)
BhmAt. No y all nam of you be thwomfs r b.
a must go hom ad hae some supper with am ad m
i&. Fro tis day you l sll hare your 8unday di
THE H oIWI IIOLIDAT.
*Mk u s-a we will pare you half-pint of skima.ilk a
jAlkh'I GNaID xoU. HeaSv ba you, Mastr Holly-
hocks (he cries.)
[The FimAX open tkhfold-ward gate, and sde entmr.
JAeCK' GnuarMOTHU. Then you won't send me to the
FiuXnz. Union! No You shall come and wah here
Wad have good victuals-we'll mend up your old cottage,
and you must get rid of your rheumatism. I ca, may be,
give Jak better wage in awhile. So we won't tlk of the
[JOE's OHmoms sriene agaait orjoy,. at both.
THE CHILDREN'S HOLIDAY.
(CitaM.diwU p. 7.)
Tau following winter, however, when the evenings were
long, tad the father again, during tea, or for an hour
tatrward, talked to the children before the evening md-
ing began, and the conversation turned to the probable ex-
ouaons and pleaures of the following summer, apd he
aid that they would all go off somewhere o others d4
g tlM holidays, Herbert was wailing enough to l.te,
and willing enough to believe. Where should they go to i
Ptapt into Cornwall, perhaps into eotanad, pjekpf
into the he of Mn; bat certainly tihy Vld go soe
whet Ie, Ba mach ocmaon spite of that heb ad
WIbMHtwb was w uit e au rdy to believe &d to nl
PoR ery word that his fther sMid, vitp :vrety a
It was a fvm ite them ad he t fhA Uho
lately the most b aetid and imtrig porf
was soliitd, mer and over agaa to *l how ii
i: if they should go somewhm on te berde d
among thesDaidyDi.m t dogs-te ieppuis
rds; or on the wild emast of fNorthmbei o
where their father had had may a wd and
denture; or in Oornwall or the New erst in
re; or wherever We it might be
r the spring, the scheme from some cso aM other
red, and a great deal wa said about it, ee to
rery few weeokof the holidays Meggi who was
circumspect in such thing, told her ind,
sports, that they were:all going somewhm, really
were going; and this, spite of Mary's gSiae wa.
b calculate too positively, lest after a they should
This suggestion of Mary's was very diaisps
ie rebelled against it; May siod, thaedr
ad better ask their mother.
other mailed quietly, a ual; aid it wv ld be
Ohtful to go; that she hoped they should hi yewe
that she was not quite sure.
idren had no uatifodm in talking either with
he or Mary. Alfred might a new tebig Iae,
they thought, looked very moue a if he b.
ey would go; but they did not y mueh to eim,
he was not only the moet reserved penen inS Ie
ut when he did choose to open his mind to tem
r any other subject, he rhodemontede in sauh
y way, that tha tough it used them, they yet
Sno lfth in his words,
d' holiday had begun; Ierbets were afew weeks
he father a d mother mut hr talked the ahe
tse, for they we new both in th Iae m ld;
s rfwe go; we thought we
wu # Arvu&JW yUULIrMVW nLuuu u yU IMUL S u VSuuw
heerfully; "I have made up my mind to go; and, what i
more, I shll met of on Thusday, for then your holidays
Herbert, will have began. I shallgo firt to that village
which your mother remember with so much pleasure, and
take lodgings for you all; and she and you must follow."
It was Monday when thee important words were spoken,
The children jumped for joy.
"It is fixed; it i settled!" sid they; "now nobody
need hare ay doubt."
"Now I wa not wrong in telling the Davenport tbai
we were really and truly going," mid Meggie.
Thi was a little triumph over Mary, who had so otte
advid her at to be over haty in her aeration.
SThe Mbtr ad mother arranged many things, regarding
vIMmmiM ma TAw.
rhich tbr dhdm heard mo a vwed. Tht is Wy th
ents btre, and all hfidsn know ; h ban is ktObM
any agreeable surprises ll out for them t hey iwr hm m
teanlly what the next hour may produe. Good Paren
re to their children what a good Prvidene is to hi a
nre, man; he has in store for him goodthings, oa whid he
mws nothing. hildrem, in the sae wy, areo As o-
ished by some uaforesemn aud uningined joy when thy
"ast expect it.
Thus it wua on Wednesday aftaroon. Huteret hal
heard hi mother my that she should on that day put up his
either's things fA the journey. BoS e nev books lay s
he table and his father's writing-case, ready to be pakeld
t the bottom of the portmteata. Herbrt almeet ied
hat hewer one of the new boos, tat hetoo might go Iit
is other and see that beautiful county village abht whiel
is imagination was so muhe edited. Hewas s impariM
hat he knew not what to do and speed on the time til his
another and the rest shouldjfollow. aggie, too, wm de-
peately impatient, but he didn't think she wa so imsa
ient as himself.
His father and mother were walking together in the gar-
len this evening, and Herbert was trying to thrust himself
between some narrow scrols of iron rilng; he Lad got
me leg half through already, and though it lled up the
whole space he still tried to free it forward, for he wM at
6 loss how to employ himself, and this impossible piece of
ork suited him.
Just then his parents came up to him, eaeh with a eah"t
l expmdeion on their eoantmanms.
Herbt" said his moer, u what would be the pge
at plMa you eould enjoy P"
HrbmetsMy thog ththat this quetin i baktio
PSing oat htis.sss, or breekiog his lg howelk w iM
?EU CIWhIU'U XOtIDhAT.
been quite nre, considering how he was employed, but that
both him father and mother looked so kind: he uid, there-
fore, that he did not know.
His mother told him that she knew, and that his father
knew also; and that"this greatest pleasure, let it be what it
might, was to be his.
He stood at once on his two legs before them,'and gaed
earnestly into their faces without speaking.
"You are going," said his mother, with your father in
the morning; you and he are going to that pleasant village,
where you must try to find a home for us. Is not this a
great pleasure P I not this the greatest pleasure you could
Anybody who had seen Herbert would have been quite
ure of that: his face was crimson with a lush of delight;
his eyes looked twice their ordinary size. He sprang from
the stone steps on which he stood, and rushed away to com-
maniate the joyful tidings to Meggie.
"I am going to-morrow morning with papa! I am going
before anybody else! and how glad I shall be to see you
and all the rest "
When Alfred came home in the evening, he heard the
news. Herbert was going the next morning, and they were
to take Brenda with them. Who Brenda was I will tell
you presently; in the mean time, Alfred sid it wa a jolly
thing" for Herbert. Herbert thought so too, I can assure
I will now tell you about Brenda: she was a little rough
Imle-ofky terier, and would have looked very like a
blackish brown doormat, had it not been for four little
shaggy faet that peeped out, and a beautiful face with long
haggy ea and bright black eyes tat shone out like dia-
mand fam belaeh a complete overhangig pet-house of
i, a pointed blak noae, a an immise growth of beard
and whiskers, and a line of snow-white hair down her break
which the children called her shirt-frill. SB- was a rve
handsome little dog of her kind, and being th sole property
of Herbert was great ~vourite with him. Brenad's great
est favourite, however, was Herberts father; and so grem
was her attachment to him that, een when she appear
aaleep, if he croesed the room, or even spoke, she would wns
her tail if she did not look up.
Brenda had sundry little aooomplishment: she would si
up and beg, and would wear spectacle thus sitting up, wit]
an open book before her, upon which she would gaue witl
such apparent gravity a gave the idea of reading and um
derstanding what she read. She would give her right
paw to shake hands, and even lie down and pretend to b
dead at your bidding, with other such like little achieve
ments which the children had taught her to perform.
Brenda was to go with them, was to travel by railway
Herbert communicated all this to her; but he could gai
nothing further from her than a loving look, and her pam
which she offered, no doubt, in token of her satisfation i
FOR A VERY LITTLE CHILD.
I naui two eyes, so bright and lear,
And they see things aar and near;
The bird, the tree, the flowret small,
And the ble sky that bends o'er all:
God gave thee twobrigt eyes to me,
And hi am all things which I ee
05B A TVBT MWul 0UD.
Two ea hare I upon my head
Per a to hear whatever is id
To ewar my mother's wods so ild,
SBe good and getl, little child "
To hear my father say, Come here,
My child, for thou to me art dear "
I have one month, us all may ee,
Bat well its us is known to me;
For I mn talk with it all day,
And everything I think can my:
Om kugh, and sing, and morn and even
Can pray to God above in heaen.
I have two hands, ao ot and white-
This is the left, and this the right;
ive little fingers stand on each,
With which to hold, to feel, and reach;
But when I grow a tll a you,
A deal of usel work they'll do.
I have two feet at my command,
With which to walk, or run, or stand;
And should I tumble down, why then,
I must with speed jump up again !
But, when I grow both bold and strong,
I shall quite boldly march along.
One hart I ha, and hee it i I
A little hart brimful of blim;
Father sad other it lov so well I
Wk gae this wrm heart I an tell;
ThB hMta w give by God abovi
The whoe gave me fad love I
THE INDIAN BIDS.
Oixz summer, by some extraordinary chmane, a pair ol
Indian birds came into an English wood. It was a wonder
fully fine summer; there had been no rain for two months
excepting such as had fllen in soft shower during tih
night; the atmosphere was warm and lear; the mn row
in the morning from an opal sky, and silvery mists asm ded
like clouds of incense, from the valleys to the hill-top, a i
in his honour; and in the evening, he saok beyond thi
distant sea, in a pomp of gold and orimaon and purple
Singing up almost into the mid-sky exqasite tint of gdo
It was a wonderful summer; the lowes of the earth
were more beautiful and abundant than ever.. In the pin
there had been such beds of woodruf filling the air i
frigrance, and mise of the valley and wild hyaminths; met
--kk1.-^_- rJ U~lt_ *l AJ w^_ 1_ L --
TM INDIAl BIDoI.
there were h honeyuckle and ild roses, such lych
nims and wil4 pinks and golden money-wort by the little
stream that a derlf through the wood much blue peri-
winkles and white strw~tsa md creamy meadow-sweet;
and later in the yewr me would be such asses of golden
Aaron's rod, and su expanse of arimsag heth, that I
assure yen there couA l be been found a pere beau-
tiful w la the rich tepia "l *i t e which the tldian
birds had ooe,
This wood was ll of alhbdl d iibfM A ii a so
propitious bad ben ti season, tkt ia te at every spies
abounded; and thM wm moh ploty of food of ery va.
riety that it mseme to the met oquiamed of te birds
a if want and distrsi wr mr anmry tles-were only
myths, imaginations, whl had their n in the dark ages
of ignorance and supertition. It was astonishing how
completely thi fine abundant season had annihilated all
remembrance of sorrow and suffering. Of course the young
broods of this season, now growing into big birds, wearing
remdably large and wide feather clothes, oould not be ex-
peoted to know anything of winter discomfort and starva-
tio, beuse they were only eggs this lat spring; bat the
rmoeetion ofit, I say, seemed ventohave paed awayfrom
the minds of the older birds. Thus, as it would have been
difficult to have found a pleasanter or more afuent wood
than thi, would it have been equally difficult to have found
a oe well-to-do, prosperous, lf-satisfied, sad self.on.
oi snee than its feathered inhabitants. The clamour of
their n goilg nag through the wood rom morning till
night; the little silent flowers heard it, and were glad; aod
the little vely rivule, that ran singing sad purling over its
grpsh bed, speaking kind words as it went on to the little
gi0sr auiiU e oM its banks, and to the feathery ferus nd
seMd h banding bst'st ta e that bowed over it, lied
W iL milv m ir iua hhau.
ua INuIA ED1. UP
Thee wuas, I a m d world of rejoicing in the weL
Th little moles underground, t hough tny weon AMe
een, and never heard by any change, yt were as mairr
their own quiet way a the day was long; and as to th
woodmie, they lived there by hudreds, and hiLd m ftPo-
sumlyin matumt on tawnya helped ohesatnuv mad the
ret of the yW th bdt, rich, ead tnma de oot
with which the great treasury of the esth is hL Bquinb
too lived thaoe and had many a ang and mubsr l nest
in the forks of the branches or the hollm of the bleak
where they dwelt in good-fellowship with the iangdovr,
the misl.tbhrah, and the woodpecker.
Wel, a I told you, it was in thi wood tht pair of
green Indian birds fimnd themselves.
"It is a ry anie wood" said they oe to aothr, as
they looked road them rom the topmoo branch of a fie
old pla tree ery early on midsmamer moaning; "a very
nice wood, conadering where it Is-in si a poor country,
and among uch ignorant creatures. We will etaily
settle down here. Look, there's a wne-4y, as I le I ad
another! and mothel Who woidd have expected to hA
eaneie- here BnsplAiapl
"What a capital break&st I And the water is vy good
below; water appears to be the same in all comutries."
A I -- a ---
Whilst the stranger birds were thus regaling themselves,
and conversing in their Indian tongue, of which, of course,
not a syllable could be understood in the wood, a consider
able excitement was going on.
It happened that a squirrel, who lived in a forked branch
of a frtree hard by, and who, being an early riser, was out
betimes to get himself an appetite for his breakgst, leaped
up to the topmost branch of his tree to look about him,
and fom this point beheld what he at fAnt took to be two
extraordinary lowers at the top of the plane-tree; but as
the plane-tree coording to his knowledge never bore such
lowers, he leaped forward a tree or two to take a nearer
survey, and then ascertained that certainly they were birds I
Down came be, therefore, very silently, but with the ut-
mot speed, to communicate the tidings to his wife and chil-
drn, who were yet in bed; on his way however he met
the woodpeker, who like himself was an early riser.
Come along with me," say the squirrel, glad to meet
his neighbour, for they lived in the same tree; "come along
with me; I'll how you something worth looking at I"
With that they both sprang again to the tree-top, and
beheld th two strangers sitting exactly as the squirrel had
before seen them. But the sun, which just at that moment
had risn up from the east in unclouded mjesty, poured his
la light upon their beautiful plumages and brought
out al its geens and blues and reds, and all its lusrous
god; whlb the birds themselves that belonged to the
east, whee the nm is worshipped as a divinity, bowed their
heads and then ried them again, and the breeze played in
their graced hdeadethbe., and they made altogether. I
But they ere strn and motndim h to the wy of dth
roodpecker and the jao,who, living on he tise vwheMs
bood, had been alled up to them.
The woodpker eand the jay, who knew of notig whie
isted beyond their own wood, ad who inmmdiWmate
seted evil under a1 thief gorgeouness of phumag sad a
his bowing to the sun, turned to each oth, and eldaimd,
Did you ever" Then they nodded their heds and
prang away, without a word to the quirrel, to emmamli
ste the strange tidings to all their feathered elativs.
In avery short tim, therefore the whole wood was wake;
he strangers had been seen by hundreds, if not thoesnds,
f eyes, and you might have heard from one ead to the
their such exclamaions as these: "What ea they be "
Wht are they come here forP" "They ae Turkhrd
lodoubt!" "They are Jew-birda They e pag.
irdsl" "They are rbams!" "They are daw dreemd
ip in peacocks' feathers!" "We'll strip their borrowe
lames oif" "We'll drive them out of the woodl"
We want noe of them!" and such like.
The woodpecker, the jay, and numbers of their aeighhboru
l round, suoh as the ring.dov the misn lthru., aed a
nantity o o others of very repectable charter, met tog
hereto discuss this extraordinary event.
"There must be something wrong about thm," eid the
roodpeker, who ft himself a srt of arade an the nlsisot;
it cannot be right to havefeathery ares nd pgran-U
oks t My friend the king% ah end I mynsel itm i
rear thoes oonus; but them he is the rltfr and I am
he Wo ckor : the peaoek doesthe sam, sad in a mud
ighmedegra but then look what a di ems I he hai qe
a his taIl; sad ough the robin weMs a sealet waistoo
ua W m e tm A mdA& thsh he INS a&,imbi i dAs a& Im
Mte ad aaIum, d about foeiga biad s ma which th
yWdpeekr iear d4 "U ValtieM thsre a, no doubt, be
there must be some limit eve to vmrim. We klow wh
fw gpowin thi wod, and what tree alo but we am
me any ratiMis bond theat: o, oartinl, maritVy he
ith lit. AM to foWi bird, we kw thbtth ue
kh thwse h, ft inutow the maury-bird, which ib a
mtet bnlisih bt it uhame piemme to come into the wood
ad there tih lore-bird and the mamaw U we hve heou
and the ptroquat Woe kbow, beoeMe the old lady wh
liyv at te end ft the wood ham oe to keep her company
but thm I Hlie in a golden ege. Tb panoquet, it i
s hia geep feathers, omethi g like thee mr magens bh
thM hen ia ai s~nwt, ad has a hooked boak, which make
I tlo dife~sr e. As fbr te bird, they must be gc
ail o-4tey hal not hooked beaks; it would not d4 t
tolite tlim; there war no knowing what aichief the
Wight do--why, trey might set the wood on fite I"
.lo the. .ightl" chimad in mi iTelo; -et us dri
them out at once!" "We'll mae th woodood hetohol
tFMsir',idd the mgpie, mning nto be witty "So w
will" maid whole aob of little birdw-paew,4 Sfnhe
Mod wak lie.
In the mean timt, the Idili bitis, thinking to se
thteaid d-to ian mthe wood, had hboen the plaoe wheo
* t tI an ; it ws in athe e dM t pmetf whu
ini b* hM1. 4i.wusm, ma iuhi, stehing on
- him lik e 6mt M* edmi ran l itw itnt rohdi
mutdV t- Satviiew wf U. tins e.hs~ umudfa .
- r them y woChrsii p the Create.
Wht &i .km I IH4 ra 6iiudsa abon uw ia*
*a. Ufit lMa u wr illat iuth deiiht t*wig abs
gdthe, b jgmnd h-- iu I A"i thwvaerald
mI NHA RIN
ev togsth a tomtma daofi iyl amgmis d a vl
lmd him de heajep em% i wMR te b o gr 7MMk ib
d sad th. young a nM A l mat img g eom h-
edth prt of the work wa done a whole mob of birda .M
led tihe, lying down upon hem, rtri MAthW idth
air il, mad bufeag he with thmain wiug, yMagrw
lled to pie the niamly intmrwov twiS tad Mla st
a mas and lish to the winds.
e two rangers one to the other; "but we must not t
They there~ s lw sway fr a lile wl md whi d th
bblehled disp d MnommeAied thlir biingd ; b be-
Sthey ad epiared the damage whih had bedb da
eair enemies wam agn upoa them, this i. Awsr ad
an numus than befom the ispemo and liaatinn
es ereoae4l ad kchateMred; t rooks s d dmT di.
omd mad molded; the mags wme thu mad the jCi
Ld ravens, 'and oardonmws, ad b ledes nd hW't
i r. w e ina din ad d disod in tA~ wod uas d iser
an hald mbrn; o d I am ahamui to my tit em ew
aokhbId, the missethrh, the de, se the %igh0ii e
ok their pst in the maMl; the inagfhiU am e wp hm
a Iittl qi tMsO, aad tbe owlOm hisivy tod, inthl dd
dined abbey i th wooda.v Thae was aregalumpay
maght up against tusMetwo Holitar aner I eowt
aped withtMa ld Iva i mo tha I Q n toei and
smpsmts was the ble tha was Mgt th the tpod
dow the tinee esmad withha&@a 0 iouwMhwoib
any gimn4ae san goada-id ameo, aid vwhi i
ed ty the lih d who keLps the i"h te fa ls*
ie" a e wood. a was m hiswayM bme at
retaken to the hose f the old wldy who kpIte
i4 ildr h a i t t they wnes athm a t hUr udMeb
TE WDuA BNMI.
the til lad, receiving sizpene from the good old lady for
hi trouble, went home joyflly and laid the bematiful fa.
then between the lavee of his little old Bible and prayer.
But to return to the birds. lt was now getting to-
wwds evening; the sun had set, and the Indian birds, dis-
heartenedd sd adly mawled and hurt by the illusage they
had received, flew from spot to spot in the hope of finding
met; but wherever they went their perecutors wee after
At length deep night fell down into the wood, and with
night eame ilence and an appearance of peace.
h We hare no resting-place in the wood," said the Indian
bird one to theother; "every bird i our enemy; let ua go
therefore and ask a night's lodging fom the bat; he is nota
rd entirely, he is half a mouse; all creatures pereute
him; he dares not to come out in the daylight from that
emaue; he know what sorrow and persecution me; let us
therefore go to him, he will have pity on us "
The bat lived at the back of the ruined abbey, in dark
amviee, so that neither the owl nor anything else could see
him; he wa flying about his door when the two stranger
eame up oftly and prayed for a night's lodging. But the
heart of the bat had been made hard by the il-usge which
he had received; it had made him very surly: he asid that
he never met with kindness and therefore why should he
show any? He shut his door and his window, both ofwhich
had been open, and bade them be o( or he would go and
fateh the owl, who would moon drive them away
The two melancholy birds slowly winged their way
through the night; r ad ir they Sew, and the little msar
that bsone benignly from the deep blue sky seemed to weep
dewy teer of love and pity upon them.
Bmly the next morning, oon after unrlms the old night.
Imple having "ng a hymn in honour of the Great aher
rm nasua m. a
who keep all his features through the Blght, dropped of
into a pleasant dose, when he was woke up again by his old
"Lsten," aid he, to something I hae to s to you.
No sooner had you finished your song than the poet who
lives in the wood, ad who oomes out so often late and ery
to hear you sing, spoke aloud a ong of his own, a divine
song I He aid thatGod made all features, and love all;
the sparrow as the eagle, the owl a the nightingale he
said that black or white, green or gray, all belong to him;
that he enfolds all in vastemboe of laoe, a that none
can rightly paie or serve him who live not in his spirit
loe. Oh, myhusband ifthis i tron nd I belive it is
thn is even thy song of praise imperfeeto then Go a
msut hare made the green InM birds whm we nsseeire
"It is aso" Mid the old nihingle mouenmmily, *eva
tay were reats of God; ad ifi, who is all plm ,
had piMnes with thmn, hor mok mve ought not we owh
Sbut the amsartus a dayl "
Againthe ghtingal s g and the pst sli.rd.a "It
is a wondm al sa aid he to himself *a ong whi is
ftted lr all eRatiMn-a song of adoasion, and a my ofrM
po saoow Il "
LETTEB8 FROM SOUTH AFBICA.* '
Fort Beafort, Souwt 4fric, July 5tI.
M Dun Mm. Howrr,
Ma uM says she is sure you will be glad to hear
from me; partly for my own iake, and partly because I can
give you some information repeating this strange country
of which very little i really known in England. We are
now on the frontier of South Africs, about 700 miles from
Cape Town. Graham'e Town in the chief town on the
frontier: it i a great straggling place, with some good
shops in it. The shopkeepers here are richer than any one
else. It is a fine place for mechanic, who get plenty of pay
and employment. The country is very grand, with mou-
tain thoum nds of feet high, but the want of water takes
much from its beauty. Some part are covered with mi-
mos bushes; but at Port Peddie, where we were last year,
there i little else.but vast plains strewed with ant-heaps.
I will tell you about these by and by.
I must first describe the'inhabitants of the country." The
Buahmna is the original one; you would think him to be
the connecting link between animals and men, for he reem-
blea a baboon, and is not more than four feet and a half
remonie to bring run. A Miionay cme Dy, Mlo
among them, and told them that their witchcraft was o
ure; but that hewouldpy for rain. Theytoldhm, tl
if he did ot,bring rain by praying fr it, thy would I
him. He prayed tht God would be pleased to mnd r
S LBang lmm low AIM areA.
a, though there had bem liMe lign of it bdwe it wehy
Beide the fialbiantk I he" mantioMe there tothe
arbth.ee the Zoolbs, a vy warlie tribe. They hae
aglr rimeat., ech distinguished by its shield: a ge-
lean described the view of a Zoolah my to mamme. He
ad Mome soldiers under his command re onan eapediion
inst the Zoolab ; the troops crossd hill, nd bmoueed
br the night on the dlope of it. It wai bright moonlight,
ad they aw wha they imagined to be herds of ea e
t the foot ofthe hill; but when morning dswaed they amr,
hat, insted of attl, it was a tribe of Zooldh sleeping
ander thi shields made of balloek' hide% and s the sn
hot down upon the valley, a solitary fig srpped upon an
ant..bp, and he waed an ass i, o jarelin, the whole
aibe rose om under their shields, nd peunted an mmy
t mnge warriors.
'r is another tribe of people I have not desodbed;
hes e the Griqua, a rae between the Boer and the
lAttIento: they live Aoross the Omge Bwve, and e at
reMnat awMr with the Boer. As they are or allies on
he bounday of the British fiotier, troop we gone to
dsm to help them they live betwe two and three hm.
ed miles om this. It is fard tht thDuth will give
double btheyae now rebls,b hat wee bdlyused in our irt
reti-a with them, so they went gradaly aro the Ormge
iver, whee they wish to fanr a goveremet for thm-
I must now tell you something about the miam, inmsmete,
ad bird of thief country. Some of the plns e ovred
hr many mles with ant-heaps these ant-heap are not be.
gun a firt alway by ants, a some suppose, bIt we ftea
deerted mole-hs on which the ants build their dwell
rUmU N Ow Owm I AMJL
iaNg, whuob me s am ha ta smears scen Mate 0 <
them; soldiers in camp find them very usefdL The al
ber is a curious creature with a long nout, with whilh I
destroys the ants.
Wolves se very common, but theynever attack m
one curious little creature, the meercat, I hare never
described: it ha bright black eyes and a long black mno
a ft broad back sad short legs, and t strog til; am
times it stands upon its hind leg, and then i tai gte st
aad helps to support it; it is not much bigger .thn
Thee ae ome curious birds here, but none tat sing
they do in England. The bell-bird i so called from itu
trying a note like a village bell; it sounds skrangy to o
ear as we ride among the mountains and pease of this w
Some of the snake mre venomonu-te oobnrapdl a
boom-slang or tree-onake. One night, mamma was play
the guitar in the sitting-room, when a long nake ran ft
under the flounce ofher drea; we oppose it was rattl
by the lights and music. There is a strange aidr, t
which makes a net with a lid to it in the ground; this
has a perfect hinge, by whih the insect opens i
I have not told you of the honey-bird-- little great
which goes before the traeller, singing all the way til
guides. him to the clefts of the roeks where the wild b
have their nests; when the bee me dislodged by the tm
ler the little bird goe in and helps himself I think
swalows who leave dgland at the beginning of the win
mat come here, for about December they begin to bn
in thi country, making strong little net under the va
dahs and in old building. About May, ye ee them a
blig together a if to rtrn m pberap they oOm ad g
NK rnrua nIoM smU AI m eL.
hitbmhr, or en by Turkey, though the Holy Land, aad
-rOds the Isthmus of Bues into Africa. ,
It is thought that Europe and Afica w oen jeiaed
where Gibraltar now stands, for you know tha e wild
ankeys at Gibralta. We think the rhinoeros df thi
country mat be the same the unioor of o ld, t it has
e horn jutting out of the middle of its forehead. A gi.
lemMn had walkingstick with him one day when he called
a pa~p i t was about four feet long: we weee mprdto
hod that it was a rhinoeeroa' horn, and was lke the weed
if the English yew. The locusts here give one a peai
dea oi wt the lodust-plgue in igypt mst hare bee, for
Shave een them darken the sky in their flight like a el0
md when we e riding fat they will knook againt one
ae with aM much o as a bird would do a they ll y the
mume way, and cover the country for miles.
We ase obliged to make our joarny in thLs country
Shosebak, unler we choose to travel in wagmu, whieh
p at about three miles a hour. It takes three ds te
p My mleu, and if the rivrsm have risen yea muy be
miaed the weeks on their banks. The olime is always
a neIaes--either very hot o very cold; showed of dust
N total s of rain snow on the mountain tops and seomeh.
ng heat in the valleys; violent storms or great calm
You must muase my writing this lttr so badly, as a
boon bit me averely the other day; they are ugly things
i mae petso Budtth monkeysareaully prey: lik
o ses than bat when we are ridia and thy leap about,
Ming to each other from rock to rook, swinging from
e takes by their tails. Weknow aladywho ha aeu eni
P a om- leon; it is the colour of water it pets ea-
whib when a the window-sill, or red up a oder's
'I mua tdll aon where e aw the fh em ik ai ala-.
- mAW AfErnlA:
om bd a sip, Iwei vst tpw a Asrflit telutid ia ti
grille a ntor the old mion of woue dimdmlsiad tb
lad that ms the mne ladA o tUiaNg bo'is them Ms
btk whm wb i added rtAlgps Bay, in arh, we fieal it v
As Im going to give you an u iomt tour juum
the intarir af Aiua, whiOh puirpbq I head haUve dae
kA, I my as wll til. yoa that m wre shipmekd
aTdley,daff0 Tniowii&AagxItt we had-tfdtimse
aa, mAd ehildrsmmipea huiNa d ad thirds pos
hA bmedi Itwa "dmp in tih aigh&" when the ot
came on; the anhicho ins wamta pat ofthe staafn t
d awamy, #Ad th m gushed up mhe fentain in tl ft
ptt of th lhip: We mn d toa ge d ,n though the i
wtb lying do*w, aMnt on em vid iand than mo Ae a o4
ad wewer aummy up to am bmse in wrtre elkIstI a
a4tass got -oom blMmI haiW b bmr n e I Wra m
llor t wwfohot ri amt t b weh AiLnk,p Ai tu
nat mi vth Yim ti ship i hed ly. The lightalag
not show 4 f#6r IM6 in fMi in "t a Vthak edW a
be liut a %Wai the thtader ad the t fceisd togtL
mad the wind MhwledW ak Bghry -Miee. Mni put a <
a table, for she and the rert were now nearly hamuedie
water; you may suppose we longer for morning; at last
dawned, and then mamma and I were cariiid down to f
fore-pariztti 46hip, mmbom it *e ahe safest: by this tfi
we had hopes she would settle down in the sand, which a
dia at last, a mile from the Bhore.
There were no other ladies on board, but many soldier
wivea, who were dreadfully frightened. The men behar
very well: at Airt it was feared they might break open
72 Lum OM r oaox oraTZ Aa
spirit torn; but, when amnma andlwere carried pst them,
they were a steady a on parade. Near us lay the Wat
loo, with convict on board: he kept ring guns of distress,
with her lag halfmat high, but no boat could reach her,
for ahe wa on the roks and I am very sorry to tel you that
she wa completely wrecked, and nearly two hundred people
drowd. Itras vey dreadul. We red better, for aer
a le we got ahore by mea of a rope ixed to an Mabr
in theo ad; a young ofler of the 27th dambed into the iai
on honrseba, and carried me through it on the mMal
before him. Mamma and the soldiersn' wire w&e aiely
landed by the Malay boatmen.
.As aon Ie reach hed ore, an old hiend had his aige
ready for u, ad drove us dripping wet to his country
houe. A lergyman and hi a ily mw visiting him athe
time. The clergyman's wife and edest daughter were ros
kind to a; ad when mamma opened her eye, sfer good
sleep, the young lady, who was vry petty and miaail, W
the frit peon sh saw at her bedside: this poor young
lady, aareely seventeen, was afterwud drowd is the
Conloueor; we wer very fond of her, sad paw wmt an
boed wit h b the day ahe smiled fvm the Cape.
This mse a melancholy ending to my Atter; but you
must exuse it. I will tell you more about the country and
its people in my net.
I remain, dear Mrs. Howitt,
Your affectionate little friend,
3at-soulle ani Bas-silM in ltptitmbr.
BxMuam is overI The months of spriging, growing
ripening are spent: it is now the time of maturity, and
gathering of cp and frait. The days are decreasing;
yo.. .I Wo.. a
4 inr-ooS AID A s A-IDnis n IPurmnx .
mornings and evenings are becoming sensibly cool. The
beautiful white fogs may be seen rising at evening in the
alley like A thin tissue of lae, or like the garments of a
spirit becoming more and more viable. It grows, swells,
spread, rolls over hedg and banks; and early in the
morning, when you look out, you see it like a white sea
lling the whole vlls with the tops of the trees rising out
f it. But atthe pproachof the sun, ghot-like, it vaishe
ad the days am gnrally bright, dry, and warm, with a
ky o a le ad blue a the heavenly hyaline. Ye, though
mmer is ov, autumn-beautiful, solemn, majestic,
autumn-Is but just begun. You see his tints already here
d there on th trees. The birds have ceased to sing, all
mt the robin flowers have almost eased to blow. You
nay yet fnd the bright yellowhorned poppy on the sea-
shore; and the fennel in beds, a of green and gold, on the
Doemebanks, The autumnal circus in the meadow; the
pasel gras of Parnuss in the mahes, with a few
Athrs with wild mints ad eleatmpau: but the army of
lowsr ha marched of in the highway of the mahes, and
are gone till another summer. In the'gWdsn, the flowery
amGuniliesu hre left only asters, groundsels,'eryanthemums,
reopss, autumnal o rocus ad the lik, or their repre-
It is the ti of frits, wild sad cultiated. The hedges
-up with the an-4nd staDlkng om Aeld to del af tbM
It i delicious now in the early morning hours. The air
is cool and fresh; the dew llieke a rain of dimano os
the gur. The sun comes up over the woods or hills n a
quiet splendour that seems full of Smiles and ustlasoton
that the world's corn and fruit, that he ha ripened with mdh
daily are, are all or mostly housed. See, in the greei n moi
gra, what white fine globe, like ball of ivory. They are
mushrooms. Turn them up. How beautifully pink they
are beneath. See, there are more. How charming it is cato
ing sight of freh ones, and rushing upon them. Iremember
so many pleasant hours employed in gathering them. Eer
and anon you are astonished to me others appearing where
not more than an hour ago, you gathered ome. They eem on
these warm dewy mornings, especially dber rain, to spring
out of the ground in an instant. NowI we hae a bket
full-let us of hence, and have them tewed for breakfrt
There ae abundance yet for everybody de wo chooses to
It is grand fun, too, going to gather blackberries. Of late
years this fine but long despised frit, ha become more and
more esteemed and sought after. In many parts of the
country, even the country people, with whole tribes of
children running about and doing nothing yet totally
neglect it. There it hangs, in rich black glossy bunches, in
the lanes, on the commons, and along the hedges of the
fields, and they do not areto gather it, and send it to make
And yet what famous puddings, and pies, and jam it makes.
Some people my the puddings and pies are too sweet and
insipid; but if they will only put plenty of the fruit that is
not fully ripe, but only a rich crimson colour, along with the
rest it will Rive a fine and delicate addity to it.
76 vSNT-ooDn AxD sI,3A'zIs iN sliThintr .
Many a pleasant ramble may country-loving people have
blackberry gathering. Many each a one have we ourselves
enjoyed of late years. Away we go, with our basket, in one
of which we carry our luncheon to eat under some pleasant
hedgeside, or in some sunny woodland glade. The corn is
cleared from the fields, so that we can ramble unrestrained.
The fresh air, the light sunshine, the cheerful spirit of all
nature, give a charm to our simple pursuit.
Such excursions afford an agreeable variety to a sea-side
visit. There, amidst sea-meadows and sea-side paths, grow
often millions of fine blackberries. There whole flocks of
gulls whiten the ploughed lands like expanses of snow; and
clouds of black starlings whirl round and round, and darken
the ground, or cover whole trees with their dusky hue, and
fll the air with their joyous warbling.
But, of all country expeditions in autumn, none excel
nutting excursions. Bight merry is it for a party of country
friends to set out, in some country vehicle, to the woods and
pleasant woodland lanes for a day's nutting. Let your dress
be such as does not fear a few tugs and scratches in passing
briers amongst the bushes. People of mature years may
enjoy the pleasures of their youth again, and enter into all
the spirit of young people and children. How delightful,
far away from the noise and dust of cities, around you only
green old pastures, clear streams dancing along secluded
valleys, where the sunshine quivers on the polished leaves of
the alders. Here tall hazels, showing their clustered and
often crimson tinted nuts, ready to patter down out of their
shells if you shake the boughs too roughly. A troop of merry
people, all eager to gather more than their neighbours; some
strong young fellows pulling down the boughs with crooks,
and young maidens, girls and boys, all with jocund chatter
and laughter plucking the brown and glossy nuts from
amidst the leaves.
is 51a.&ThIN TV 2
Then away to the woods, and, amidst its varied shadow aad
sunshine, ending thousands and thousands, till their bags
and baskets all full; and they assemble in some suas
hollow, and eat their rustio diners in high delight, with talk
and laughter. Ah I what palaces or halls can give a lif like
And, in these old woods, numbers of other pleaset sights
and sounds there are. The hawk soaring over your hads
high, high in the clear air, motionless as if it were posed
lifeless in the sky; the old raven aroaking from his accus-
tomed tree with the blasted top; the deep-voiced coo of the
wood-pigeons; the wild cry of the woodpeker; and the
merry motions of the gladsome squirrel. And,besidethese,
what variety of splendid fhngi, or toadstools, there e now
in the woods, which, though they are most of them poison-
ous, are admirable to look at. Some of the richest cimso,
some white as sow and glossy as pearl, some of the colonu
of gingerbread, some bright yellow, and some actually like
great round snowballs.
It is the time now, too, to away to the sea-side: to look
out for pleasant lodgings, where you can see the tide come
rolling in and going out; see the ships sailing to and fo,
and all the busy skimming about of the fishermen in their
boats: to bathe in the clear, sparkling, and foaming water
splashing and tumbling about amongst the everSeoming
wave like young tritons, and then to get a famous run on
the airy downs, and so, hungry as hunters, to an early dinner,
It is the time now to devour all sorts of ish, oysters, shrimps,
prawns, soles, founders, halibut, or others that the people
are for ever bringing about. It is the time now to furnish
yourselves, you little boys and girls with wooden spadeI
and little wheelbarrows and wooden baskets, and dig tre
mendous holes in the sands, that the eamay have something
,. 3. .L a 4- 44m. ,4 nm-.Am n in fllina them un saninl
5 AND U-51D15 II 53
It is time now to go out on the rocks that project into the
sea and at high-water are under the waves, and see all the
dark-red sea-anemones, that like precious stones fill all the
little hollows in the black stone; and to gather sea-weeds
and pebbles, all that are thought very great treasures at the
moment and hoarded up, but in awhile are looked upon as
so much lumber. It is the time now to make long sea-side
rambles, and fling stones into the sea without any danger
of filling it up; and see great dogs dash in amongst the
waves, and fetch out pieces of wood or their masters' sticks.
It is the time to sail out in boats, and hear wonderful
stories from the boatmen, of storms and wrecks and amaz-
ing escapes, and all such sort of things; and to make your
shoes very salt, and very difficult for Dolly to black them,
who ays, it is a thing unpossible, seeing as how they are
as slt as herrings, and won't take no shine at all." And,
amid all these runnings, and seeking, and bathing, and
sailings, and fish-eatings, and gathering of all kinds of
marine trumpery, to find one thing that you don't perceive
at first that you are carrying home with you; and that is,
a great stock of-health.
These are the country pleasures of September, while the
rural esquires are all busy in their pleasures -knocking
down partridges. These are golden hours for the young-
may tens of thousands enjoy them!
LIT us sit down with Fanny and talk about her playthings,
for these playthings will be found worth talking about.
Fanny is a sweet little girl of eight years old, and her
aunt and godmother, like the godmother of a fairy tale, sent
her on her last birthday this beautiful box of toys. Look
at them! They are all for the doll's use, and the doll her-
self was the good godmother's present last birthday. Well,
here they are: the doll's tea and dinner service, knives and
forks and spoons, wine.glasses and tumblers, together with
a little damask table-cloth, and napkins to match.
Yes; there sits Fanny with the doll at her side, and
here sit we; and, taking up the little soup tureen, which
is of English ware, white with a bright gold rim, and with
handles looking like little wreaths of flowers, we thus talk
about it, speaking slowly, that both you and Fanny may
No art has experienced so many improvements, or gone
through so many changes, as that of constructing vessels tc
contain the food and drink of man. The simple shell of the
gourd, gathered and dried, was perhaps the earliest upon
record; bladders and skins came next; then rude forms ol
hollowed wood; lastly, clay vessels, moulded by the hand
and hardened by fire: and these last have proved the fore
runners of the most refined and perfect specimens of a mosi
elegant and varied art; still however formed by the potter'i
hand, and hardened in the furnace.
This soup tureen, and all the dishes and plates belong
ing to your dinner set, were made in Staffordshire, in th
manufactory established by Josiah Wedgewood, and an
ailed "Wedgewood ware." Josiah Wedgewood was a very
enterprising man, connected with the Staffordshire potte-
es, who introduced many improvements into the potteries
f that place.
It was in the year 1792 that Wedgewood commenced the
ret discoveries which so much improved this art in our
country. Before that date all the china and earthenware
rhich were used in the families of the gentry were brought
rom France; nothing was made in England, but a very
common, ugly, and unserviceable kind of earthenware, the
iost elegant specimens of which were white, daubed with
rightful figures and landscapes of a coarse blue colour.
Earthenware is made from clay, mixed with flints ground
o powder. Clay is a peculiar sort of earth, more soft and
ulpy than the fine mould you see on flower-beds, but less
tiff and heavy than the clods you have seen turned up by
he ploughshare. The most esteemed clays are those
rhich, when burnt, become white in colour, and are easily
The clay from which the Staffordshire ware is manufao-
ured comes from Dorsetshire, and another inferior kind
rom Devonshire; they are both of excellent quality for
working, and possess great whiteness when burnt; whilst
ither clays have particles of iron mixed with them. When
his is the case, they are red or yellow in colour, and are
consequently less valuable.
When the clay is dug from the pit, it is first roughly
reed from stones and other impurities, after which it is sent
a carts or by canals to the manufactory, where it is refined
The first process of this refining consists in throwing
he clay into a large vessel called a cylinder. This cylinder
contains a number of knives placed around an upright shaft
a the centre, which shaft revolves, thus cutting the clay
Awry's urATT=Gras. 81
into a thousand pieces, and forcing it downwards until it
sses through a hole in the bottom of the cylinder. It is
then thrown into a vat with water, which likewise has a
revolving shaft in the centre, furnished with wooded arms,
somewhat in the form of gates, which beat and splash the
water and clay together until it is thoroughly mixed into a
soft thick pulp. The heavy and hard parts, such a stones
nd bits of gravel, fall to the bottom. The fine pulp is then
drawn off the vat and passed through several sieves, which
render it yet more fine, until it is at last sufficiently pure
to mix with ground flints, and.to be converted into soup-
tureens, plates, and dishes.
The flints used are chiefly those common kinds of flint
which, before the introduction of lucifer matches, were used
for striking a light. They are very hard; and in order to
make them more easy to grind, they are first made red-hot
in a kiln, and then thrown into cold water; after which they
are broken by heavy hammers, which are worked by ma-
These broken flints are next placed in a vat, with a
revolving shaft in the centre, similar to the one in which
the clay and the water are mixed, only that the arms of the
shaft are made to carry heavy stones, which fall upon the
Bints, and at last reduce them to powder. A little water
is introduced into the vat with which this powder mixes, the
iner parts remaining on the surface, while the heavier sink
bo the bottom, the surface being from time to time drawn
of into another vessel. It is then strained through lawn or
silk sieves, in the manner of the clay, and is then ready for
mixing with the clay.
The proportion of fint to clay is generally about one to
mixture becomes harder and closer, u the heat causes tt
moisture to evaporate. It is then cut into large piece
and taken out for use.
It is now formed into the shape required by means of
machine'called the potter's wheel. This is a piece of rouw
board, on which the clay mixture is fixed, and then shape
by aid of the hand and of the motion the wheel gives to tl
board. The vessel, when so formed, is taken off the bors
and left to dry partially. When sufficiently dry, it is place
in a turning lathe; that is to say, is fixed on the end of
piece of wood which turns round rapidly, the workman hol
ing in his hand a very sharp tool, with which he adds to i
shape and smoothness; after which it is finished still mo
neatly with a steel instrument. The handles, if there are an
are attached to the vessel, and it is taken to the stove to I
The handles are always made separately, and are join
to the body with a soft mixture of clay and water, called 1
the workmen slip," this slip unites the parts in the ma
ner of cement. The joins are then smoothed off with a w
sponge; and, if the article is of a superior quality, the who
surface is rubbed over with a small bundle of hemp.
A great many articles of pottery cannot be made on tl
wheel, on account of their shape; these are made in moul
by two processes: one, by which the clay is pressed into t]
moulds; the other, by which it is poured into a double mou
when it is almost liquid. The latter is chiefly in use f
articles of a superior elegance.
By the next process the vessels manufactured are place
in kilns to be baked. In this state they are called "biscuit
and are not capable of containing water. They are th,
painted and ilazed. and amnin renlancd in the nvn.
rjAn'l nITIATUTH. 88
Glse is compounded in many different ways, according
the situation of the manufactories, the taste of the maker,
id the purposes to which the articles are to be applied;
it the ordinary ingredients consist of preparations of
etals, flints, and alkali, which is a kind of burnt salt found
L the ashes of vegetables; ground glass is also used. All
azing is occasionally apt to crack; and this, whenit occurs,
won destroys the beauty and evenness of the surface.
Figures and colours, for the decoration of earthenware,
re laid on by means of a printed piece of paper, or calico.
he lay, before glaing, quickly and completely absorbs
ie colour from the paper. The paper is then washed off
ith fresh cold water, and the vessel is returned, a I have
Ad you, to be hardened in the kiln.
Such are the means by which your pretty dinner set was
iade: it is of the kind called Staffordshire or Wedgewood
are, and is of the very best quality. The rim of gold, which
arrounds each article, was laid on in the same way as colour;
ad after being withdrawn for the last time from the kiln,
he gold was burnished with hardened steel andpolished
loodstone, until it became bright and shining as you see.
The first town in England in which earthenware was
iade is supposed to have been Burlem, in Staffordshire;
ut the manufacture appears to have been most rudely con-
uoted, until about the year 1690, when two Germans, named
lers, who came from Niiremburg, brought over many im-
rovements; and from that date this manufactory, in all its
ranches, has continued to expand and increase in value and
re found in Staffordshire itself mingled w
'which the ovens and kilns are built.
me time we were behind every nation in
extremely white on the surface; but the body is of a coar
dark-grey colour, and the white glaze is easily chipped off, sa
as to show the inferior foundation. The French have also 1
material they call demi, or half, porcelain; but it is poor ani
dull in effect, being totally white, but wanting the luster
and elegance of the pure white china which is used, by al
in France who can afford it, among the gentry and middle
The Dutch have long been famous for earthenware
The town of Delfk has given name to a common spqciee
the manufacture of which was established in 1810. Pre
viouly to that date, the ItalianU a ost monopolisd th<
vivify I a 3MTORMe.
trade. The town of FP sa was remarkable for the beauty
of the forms of the articles made there, although fashioned of
the coarset materials. It is aid that a great sculptor and
painter, named Michael Angelo, condescended to constrmet
some models for is manufactory: it has since declined;
but the name Famea, given abroad to all common crockery
is derived from the town de'aenza.
Many ancient nations possessed the art of pottery; and
the forms they employed are usually remarkable for their
beauty. The Persians were famous for a species of earthen-
ware which was lustrous and bright, as though gilded. An
imitation of this effect is at present produced by a mixture
of metallic substances with the colouring matter: it is not
expensive, being produced with inferior metals, and is called
gold, or silver, lustre ware.
The Egyptians have left specimens of their skill in pot.
tery; so have the Greeks and the Romans: but the people
most famed for this manufacture were the Etrurians, a
people of ancient Italy, whose urns and vases are still
reckoned unsurpassed for elegance of shape; they are prin-
cipally of dark red or dull yellow, the figures being drawn
in black, the border a peculiar scroll known: everywhere
now as an Etruscan pattern.
The Egyptian ware was black, and it was from this that
Wedgewood drew the idea of his invention of black
earthenware, which is greatly admired, being finished with-
out glaze: he also invented a yellow ware, made and
finished in the same manner.
And here, for the present, we will close the box of toys.
On the next occasion, we will talk about the drinking
BIRDS OF PASSAGE.
BXHOrL the bird-legions,
As sadly they soar
To far distant regions
From Albion's shore,
With the wild tempests' blowing
Their mourning is blent.
"Where, where are we going P
Who has for us sent P,"
'Tis thus unto God that they make their lament.
S"We leave them with sadness,
Those rocks by the main;
There dwelt we in gladness,
There never knew pain.
Mid the blossoming trees there
We builded our nest;
By the wing of the breeze there
Were rocked into rest:
Now, now must we follow an unknown behest!
"The leafy tree bowered o'er
The home of the dove;
The dew-drops were showered o'er
The moss-rose for love.
Now green fields are serving,
Now roses have blown,
And the soft winds' careering
To tempest hath grown,
And with white hoar-frost flowers the meadows are strewn.
"Why tarry we longer,
Now summer is done,
When cold growth stronger
And darkens the sun P
What boots it our singing P
Here leave we a grave:
For far away winning,
God wn1a to u pve.
So hail to thee hail to thee wild ocean wave I"
Thua mag the birdlegions,
As onward they led
And moon bightw rogio
Around them ae spread
Where the Tine.tsadril vagrat
The elm.tree have crowned,
And mid myrtles fragrant
The bright waters bound;
And with songs of rejoicing the woodlands resound.
When life's hope shall fail thee,
And dark billows roll;
When tempests assail thee,
Mourn not, oh my soul I
The bird finds green meadows
Beyond the sea's roar;
And, passing death's shadows,
For thee is a shore
Illumed by a sun that will set never more I
~~01I A~ ~r-~~
THE CHILDREN'S HOLIDAY.
(ONiwued fl p. as.)
IT was" mere talk no longer. Herbert, his father, and
Brenda were really gone. Meggie improvised in a very wild
way as soon as she saw the cab drive off with them to the
We're going I we're going I We're really going I
We're going into Derbyshire I Oh the grey hills of Derby-
shire the green valleys I the bright waters! the old hbl
of Derbyshire 1"
Meggie sang these words to a wild tne that suited them;
exciting herself greatly by so doingF Both her moIer mad
THE CHILDBIIN' HOLIDAY. 80
self ill; and that it was very silly to behave in that frantic
sort of way. But Meggie was beside herself with joy. They
told her, therefore, to go and look out all the things which
she wished to take with her; and this, which was rather a
great undertaking, sobered her.
Herber, his father, and Brenda had a pleasant journey,
and slept that night at the pleasant little town which his
parents had left fiveand-twenty years ag, when they drove
down the beautiful valley. It was a pleasure to Herbert to
look out from his chamber window the next morning, and
oe the green wooded hills rising all round them, and to
catch glimpses of the little river gliding on through its gree
meadows in the most brilliant sunshine.
What a beautiful life they should lead in the country!
thought Herbert, now that they really were here. How
different it was to London I those little grey-tone house,
with their grey-stone lagged roofs; the felds on the hill-
sides divided with stone fences; the solitary barns standing
here and there on the hill-side in the solitary field. How
unlike all this was to anythingfwhich he had yet seen t
He would have been very well pleased to have been located
there at once; nevertheless, his father and he sallied out
early to the lovely little village with the flower-wreathed
houses, to find, if possible, a home there for the present.
Jasmine, and honeysuckle, and roses still sprung from the
causeway stones of the village streetaand covered the fronts
of the cottages; rosy-cheeked children still played before
the doors; and cheerful women were seen looking from the
easements but there was no house in which the strangers
fom London could be accommodated. The whole village was
up to help them in their inquiries; but some strangers, more
fortunate than themselves, already occupied the parlour and
space chambers of the efrm-house. They went to the shool-
master's ad the mnuioaWutr's; they went to a eottas all
90 THNI OHcIDI's HOOLDlT.
one mass of lowers, with little diamond-paned windows, and
with virgin's bower covering even its chimney: it was a
cottage with a porch, and a sun-dial, and a hill-side garden
full of lowers and bees, and with an old-fashioned arbour
in one corner; but, als I the good woman sold cheese and
bacon, and the parlour served her as her little shop; there
was no hope for them under her roof.
Herbert felt almost angry in his disappointment; he was
so grieved that his mother could not be accommodated there,
in that cottage, which seemed of all others' the one she
would choose; he even proposed to his father, that they
should ask the old woman to give up the shop for their
accommodation; but as his father did not encourage the
idea they turned reluctantly away.
Out of the village, therefore, they at length found, what
Herbert called, a temporary home. He called it so, because
it was not as romantic and picturesque as he wished:
nevertheless, it had a large garden opening into pleasant
meadows, and was in itself cheerful and airy; and the news
of this said temporary home was received at the old home
with much satisfaction.
And now the joyful day was come when they were all in
the country together; when the long-talked-of and little-
believed-in journey was made; and here were they in the
very heart of Derbyshire, with green hills round them,
sparkling waters, extensive views, old halls, farm-houses,
mines, druidical stones, fossil remains wild lowers, liberty,
The people where they lodged had a hose, three cows,
fve children, a large garden, an orchard, and four felds.
Herbert had made acquaintance with all these before Meggie
came; and therefore he could introduce her to everything,
and give her all kind of information: the horse's name, he
told her, was Diamond; and when the people, whose name
rTH OHLDf tl' HOzLIDA. 91
was Plumer, wanted to go out, they borrowed a tax-cart
from a neighbour. They were all going out next day; and
there stood the tax-cart in the yard, having been cleaned
that verysafternoon. The names of the cows were Daisy
Brindle, and Py-wipe; and they all three fed in the long
meadow which ran along the side of the pretty sparkling
river Wye. Herbert knew the road up to the stone-quar
ries, to the old cotton-mill, to the Wickstead woods, to the
hill from the top of which Chateworth could be seen; he
knew where the shoemaker and tailor lived, and the mau
who sold fishing lines; he had eaten oat-cake, and troul
fresh caught from the river; he knew where the finest fish
frequented; and he had seen, according to his account,
thousands and millions of fish basking in the sunshine
This last however was information for Alfred; Meggie cared
nothing about fishing, which Herbert thought very,strange
and foolish, because he had very grand ideas of fishing,
and of the fishing excursions he and Alfred should make
The morning after her arrival, Herbert took Meggie his
favourite walk through the Wickstead woods up to the hill
whence she might see Chatsworth. These woods had a par-
ticular charm for him; he hardly knew why: but they wer
shadowy and pleasant, and half-way up were two stone
troughs, into which was collected the water which lowed
from the higher part of the hill; the inside of the troughs
was lined with a thick growth of the greenest moss; the
water was very clear, and long trails of the mos waved
to and fro with the motion of the water, spreading out
and contacting its delicate foliage ; and all this Herbert
thought very beautiful. He called thee troughs the tra
vellers' drinking-cups;" and he was now impatient to show
them to Meggie.
The top of the wood brought them to the top of the hill
CIIZ CNILDZIUX' HOLIDAY.
and here were open fields, divided by stone fences. It was
very breesy and pleasant, and on the broad unultivated
margins of the road grew a great variety of plants, now in
fuI blossom-mountain-cistus, wild marjomm, ladies-bed-
straw, hare-bells, ragwort, foxgloves, hard-irons, and little
nodding thistles of great beauty. Meggie, who was a lover
of Sowes, was delighted; and while Herbert pointed out to
her the difrent distant hills and moors, the names of which
he had already learned, she gathered a sheaf of lowers, de-
termined, when she got home, to write all their names down,
and thus see, during her stay in the country, how many
different lowers she oouldind.
Just as they reached the hill-top, but before they could
catch a glimpse of Chateworth, and when they were think-
ing of nothing less than of thunder, they were startled by
a loud peal; and, looking round, they saw a black cloud
behind them, coming up, as it were, from the wood. While
they hesitated as to what they should do, large drops of rain
fell. The only house they knew of was below the wood;
therefore turning back, away they hurried down the steep
wood-path again, pat the travellers' drinking-cups, to which
they now paid little attention, for it now poured with rain,
and every now and then they could see pale lightning ashes,
and then heard the rattling thunder above their heads.
They were quite wet through when they reached the little
house below the wood. Herbert said, therefore, that it
would be bet to go on in the rain; and so they might have
done had not the poor woman, who had watched them from
her window, opened her little door and invited them in till
the min was over; and Meggie, who was always afaid of
hurting people's feelings, insisted upon sacepting her kind.
ness. It was a very little house, consisting only of one room,
in which stood the old woman's bed. The old woman how-
ever was very hospitable, and gave them each a piece of oat-
Mits OHLDmr's MOUnDt.
cakem whth, though it was sour, Meggie ft Mvi h eat,
for the same reason that she had come into her bomI ad
though She spoke in a very broad Derbyshire dilecst, they
did not let her suppose that to them there was g
queer in it. She was very kind, and kept them I1 their
wet clothes were dry, becaeue she oould not lend them an
umbrella, as she had taken the cotton cover from her t6
dye it; and in proof of this she showed them the ban while.
bone-ribs and stick as they were reared up, helpless enough,
beside the clock. She said her umbrella wu fifteen year
old; tAt* the covering had been taken of and washed once
bedoee :ad that now, when it was dyed and made up, it
woilt ~t like new.
Thd next day there was a great fMte at Haidon Hall.
The little town was all astir; country people was driving
in all sorts of old-fashioned vehicles, and the townspeople
stood in groups at their doors and in the street talking
together. In the afternoon the shops were shut as if it
weie Sunday, the bells began to ring, and people were all
dressed in their bet, as if it was a great holiday. And now
Mr. aid Mrs. Plumer, and a very handsome old lady ot
seventy, who was come from some distant peak village for
the merry-making, all made their appearance; and Mr.
Plumer's black horse having been put into the tax-cart, it
was led to the garden door, and Meggie and Herbert came
down stair to see them off. How Meggie wished that her
father and mother, and they all, were going there too I
Whilst she was expressing this wish to Herbert, good
Mrn. Pher invited her, if her mamma would comment, to
take aswt with them in the tax-cart, and thus dire p to
the door of tli old Hall and see ome of the preparation.
She was to drie there with them, and to return with the
little Plame and their eldest brother, who were already
ms*g so as to be there when the tx-cart arrived.
LmW5W U .IiUWIuUM&H Mm W f'j uUW4 "44 -_ mwy
The ead, as they drove along, wa thronged with carriages
of all kinds, and everybody was dressed in their bet, all
laughing and looking very merry. Now and then a Igetl
an's carriage swept put them, and it too contained ladies
and gentlemen going to the fete. Everybody knew every-
body on the road; and there was such a continual greeting
and salutation as was quite amusing, and such a deal of talk
about Lord John and the Duke as excited Meggie's imagi-
Haddon Hall is a beautiful old place, of which you have
a slight little sketch at the beginning, which Mary made one
day soon afterwards. Meggie loved old halls beyond any
other kind of building; and Haddon Hall became to her,
fom this day, as you will see, quite a place of enchantment.
The nearer they drove to the house the greater were the
throng and the excitement; farmers and their wives and
daughters, many of whom were carrying light band-boxem
and basket, containing various article of finery which had
yet to be put on, were walking, in the light of the setting
sun, up to the great gate, amid ladies who had come in cloe
carriages, and who were therefore completely attired, with
lower in their hair and bouquets in their hands. There
were crowds of farmers, with rosy faces and broad shoul-
des, in their old-fahioned Sunday coats, talking together,
or walking slowly onward towards the same point of attrac-
tion, the great entrance gate, but yet not seeming quite u
much at their ease a they would have done in their own fields.
However they were all in high good humour, and Meggie
could not help laughing herself at the repeated loud peal
of laughter which she heard, intermingled with the neighing
aad whinnying of wild and excited farmer' horses which
steed below, and which seemed as if they too were laughing
at all this fa, which was just about to begin.
il~l VPLIYYI ~PI~LV~~
iM OGn Et'IIt OPIDAT.
Meggie rerned home full of what she had seea the
randeur of the old grey Hall, with its towe and ag, a
nany window, with its old tree, andit throng of W-
embling guests, which to Meggie, who had read both history
nd romance, furnished an interesting picture of what the
Mte was intended to represent-England in the old feudal
ges, when the great lord assembled his friends and retains
in some great occasion of rejoicing.
After tee, to Meggie's great joy, the whole family set out
o see, from the opposite hill, the fireworks, which were to
1e displayed in the old garden of the Hall. The road was
till animated with guests driving to the fete; and country.
ien and women, attired in their highest degree of holiday
iety, were still advancing towards the great gate. Here
ad there lights shone from the upper windows and as it
rew dusk, the children amused themselves by watching
romen arranging their hair, putting on grand caps, and pull-
g out long ringlets. The grand rooms of state, the old
enquetting-hll, and the old dining-room, were fitted up
ir the occasion with hundreds of lamps-nay, indeed, the
hole old place was all a-light; mountains of beef adbread
erebeing consumed; there was musio and dancin in the
sautiful gallery where the Vernons and the Manners of
ie old times, who were now all dead and gone, had danced
store upon the same oaken foor, that wonderful oor
which, though such an immense extent, was yet made out
Sone single tree. Down in the great kitchen, where for
any and many a year no fire had er burned, roaring logs
wre now blasing, and smoke areered up the wide chimney,
ling with consternation and putting to light hundreds of
ckdaws, which had built and reared their young there in
disturbed possession for many a long.year.
In this great kitchen it was that the young running foot