trust that I never forgot the lesson taught me; and, whatever my own opinion might be of the trifling circumstance which led Mrs. Percy to make me a sharer in the cause of her deep and abiding grief, I never afterwards felt inclined to the use of words or messages to convey a double meaning. I will close this paper with the motto which introduced it:

"Oh, what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practise to deceive!"

STRONG CONSOLATION.

you

G. S.

FOR whom is "strong consolation" designed? Who are "to have" it? All those who "have fled for refuge to lay hold on the hope." Have you thus fled, are you thus fleeing to Christ, in the earnest desires of your heart, with humble, fervent prayer for his blessings? Do you renounce every other ground of hope, all confidence in yourselves, and all reliance on any worldly good, to take Christ as your only portion? Do "count all but loss for him, that you may win him and be found in him?" Is this "the hope," the blessing which you wish to embrace and ever hold fast as "all your salvation and all your desire?" Is this what passes in your heart before God, and what you wish to act up to in your conduct? May you not then be conscious that you have fled, that you are fleeing to Christ to lay hold on the hope set before you in him? Say then with an eminent saint justly venerated in our church: "The world may shake, the pillars of the earth may tremble under us; the countenance of the heaven may be appalled, the sun may lose his light, the moon her beauty, the stars their glory; but, concerning the man that trusteth in God. what is there in the world that shall change his heart, overthrow his faith, alter his affection towards God, or the affection of God to him? If I be of this note, who shall make a separation between me and my God? Shall tribulation, or anguish, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?' No: I am persuaded that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature,' shall ever prevail so far over 'I know in whom I have believed;' I am not ignorant whose precious

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A NATURALIST'S WALK.

No. I.

THE morning was fine, a few light clouds were spread like veils of gauze in the blue sky; but the lofty head of the bleak and naked Grim* showed a sharp clear outline, prognosticating favourable weather; on which, in the first week in July, 18-, we took a stroll through Ashwood Dale, near Buxton. Along this dale runs the Bakewell-road, and few roads are carried through more romantic scenery. Commencing at the extremity of the lower portion of the village, it follows the course of the Wye, a sparkling, rushing trout stream, which, in a few miles, at a very elevated and precipitous part of the shelf-like road, called Toply Pike, turns off, and pursues its course through Miller's Dale and Monsal Dale, re-appearing between Taddington and Ashbourne, where the road, which has now rapidly declined, is again surrounded by splendid scenery; abrupt, lofty, swelling hills, almost mountains, continued from the embouchure of Monsul Dale, and covered luxuriantly with brushwood. At every turn these bold hills present new features. From time to time, as the clouds roll along, there is a playful change of light upon them, producing most enchanting effects. Alternations of deep shadow and glowing brightness succeed

* A bold hill on the right of the beginning of the back road from Buxton. When shrouded in dense mist, which rolls in volumes down its sides, heavy rain may be confidently expected.

each other sometimes gradually, sometimes instantaneously, and often a partial shadow from some shifting cloud may be traced passing over the hill-side, and then vanishing away. The mingled, broken, and multitudinous tints of the brushwood, the purple hues of the flowering heath and wild thyme, and the outcroppings of grey rock, produce a combination of tones on which a painter might gaze with rapture; while, to add to the effect, the silver stream makes its way through embowering alders, and tall bushes overtopped by the graceful ash. Here the character of the scenery is very different from that between Buxton and Toply Pike.

Leaving Buxton, the road at first lies close to the stream, in a deep gorge, bounded on each side by rugged, bold, towering declivities, or rather a continuous barrier, covered more or less completely with brushwood, hazels, firs, mountain ashes, and other trees capable of taking root in the difficult steep of the mountain side. Here and there huge precipitous masses of grey limestone crop out, overhanging the road, giving à savage sternness to the scene. As we proceed, these masses of rock become still bolder and more frequent; they become more and more continuous; they advance more and more closely to the edge of the road, which at length becomes bounded on the right by a tremendous escarpment of precipitous rock, rising to a great height from the side of the somewhat narrow road; while the Wye runs at the foot of a stern grey barrier of perpendicular rocks, rising to a vast elevation, and assuming a variety of fantastic forms-bold columnar masses, huge castles, lofty battlements, pinnacles and towers, hoary with antiquity, and looking as if built for the race of Anak, or the Titans of fabulous history. At the foot of this continuous precipice, this "enormous barrier," the Wye, runs a turbulent course; now boiling and dashing over mimic falls, now tearing its way between masses of fallen rock imbedded in the stream, and now so imprisoned as to form a smooth, deep sheet, the haunt of the trout, from which escaping, "it boils, and whirls, and foams, and thunders on. The road, too, has gradually risen; so that at length, on the left, the Wye runs in a deep ravine below, till at Topley Pike, we mount a sort of shelf, with an abrupt precipice, overhanging an abyss, fearful to look down upon, and the

The rocks which we have attempted to describe are grey, chequered with manycoloured mosses and lichens, and other creeping plants of varied but interblended tints. Here the ivy may be seen aspiring, but in vain, to reach the summit,-there it embowers some projecting crag; from the deep fissures, at different elevations, spring dark bushes of stunted thorn, and more especially clumps of yew, rooted, as it would seem, in the very substance of the rock, with their short stems twisted into the most fantastic forms; on the ledges, the yellow stone-crop grows in great luxuriance; long pendent streamers of flowing rockweed hang from the beetling crags, and at their base, in every rift and fissure, grow various species of small ferns, of exquisite beauty. Near the commencement of this scene, a very narrow glen or ravine, between abrupt precipitous rocks of the same character, opens suddenly; at its extremity, a mountain rivulet (the Shirbrook,) leaps over the precipice, and forms, especially after rain, a beautiful and very steep waterfall, the roaring of which may be heard at a great distance; the rivulet, then escaping from its tiny basin, runs along the glen, and, passing under the road, joins the Wye. This crag-bound glen is extremely picturesque and romantic, and is known as the Lover's Leap.

Such are the chief features of the scenery, calculated alike to gratify the man of taste and the naturalist, through which we took our way. Art had contributed nothing here; all, excepting the road, is as it was when Buxton was a Roman station, and the mailed warriors of the mighty city gleamed upon the heather-clad mountains around, while their trumpets' clang re-echoed through the dells. Then the golden eagle had its eyrie on Kinder Scout, and Axe Edge, or on the summit of the gigantic precipice of Chee Tor, rising in wild grandeur to the height of about 360 feet. But the Romans have long since passed away, and their adopted war-bird has been banished to remoter solitudes. In these glens and caverns the wolf once made his lair, and lands at Wormhill were held, as Camden states, by a tenure to hunt them. red deer bounded over the hills, and continued even as late as the time of Charles I., by whom the Peak was disforested.

The

The wild boar lurked in the marshy dell, tangled over with dense brushwood, hazels, and dog-roses. The wild cat reared her savage brood in the deep fissures of the craggy precipice, and the beaver tenanted the lonely nooks of the sparkling Wye. These have all disappeared before the spread of population, the drainage of the marshes, the destruction of the forests, and the advancement of the arts of life. These glens were once rarely trod by human foot, save that of the outlaw, who found in their recesses and their caverns a refuge; wild beasts, therefore, abounded in them, and easily evaded observation; but man has at last laid open their strongholds, and encroached upon their ancient territory. Such is the part he ever plays; as soon as the wandering hunter becomes settled in his abode, and his spear and arrow are exchanged for the spade and the plough, then begin his systematic encroachments upon the fierce animals of the chase; he once pursued them for food, he now aims at their extirpation; nor will the most sanguinary laws of tyrants act more than as a temporary check. Yet in these glens, we thought, as we walked musing along, there are some animals which still linger, and which are interesting to the naturalist, who in less lonely spots might search for them in vain; and, surely the destruction of the wolf, and the banishment of the eagle are not to be lamented. Yet, must we confess it, we could not help a lurking wish that it had been other wise. We then traced upwards with our eye an abrupt steep before us, rugged with grim grey rocks. There, in the most perilous spots, on the jutting ledges, on the edge of precipitous crags, a scattered flock of sheep were peacefully feeding on the thyme and mountain herbage. We marvelled how they had attained their situation, and how they were able to maintain it. While thus gazing at these active clamberers, secure amidst the crags, a loud splash caught our ear; it was a trout leaping up at some hovering insect, and falling back again into the crystal water. The Wye abounds with trout, as does also the Derwent into which it flows. It is what is termed a "black water," at its source

Many places in the Peak still retain the name of Robin Hood, as Robin Hood's stride at Birchover, etc. Little John lies buried in Hathersage churchyard, and an outlaw of the name of Poole, according to tradition, took up his abode in a cavern near Buxton, with a very narrow and low entrance. It is called Poole's Hole.

in the moors and mosses of Axe Edge; but in a short distance from these it loses its original character, and becomes beautifully clear. The trout, strange to say, partake of the nature of the water; those in the black stream among the moors are very dark, coloured, indeed, almost black, and of small size; but in the clear and wider parts of the river, they are larger in size, and of a light colour, spotted on the back with brown, and sparingly on the sides with vermilion red, and black. Few fish are more cunning, cautious, vigilant, and active than the trout.

It loves to lie in holes under stones, or under ledges of rock, where, itself secluded from observation, it can watch all that passes. From its accustomed lurking-place, it moves but little during the day; but when the dusk of evening comes on, it sallies forth and pursues its prey. Its course through the water is rapid as an arrow, and it leaps up to the height of several feet above the surface. In this river, and also in the Derwent and the Dove, trout are mostly taken by fly-fishing, either the natural May-fly or artificial flies being used. Wary as the trout is, if the time be favourable, and a proper fly for the season be selected, he rises at it with great determination; and, having seized it, turns short, and feeling the hook, strains every nerve to escape. Let us learn a lesson from the art of the fly-fisher. How many who pass their life in the gay and sparkling scenes of pleasure and frivolity, tempted by false appearances, eagerly seize some fancied good, and find too late that it was a deceptive image, which hid a keen barb, inflicting the tortures of remorse and the agonies of a wounded spirit, and rankling in the soul; a captive unto death, and soon to be landed on the dark shores of eternity. Thus the great enemy throws his deceptive lures, and drags the soul, too late repenting, into endless perdition. Many of the apostles were fishermen, and our Saviour made them fishers of men; but they were to draw men from darkness into light, from error to truth, from the road that leadeth to destruction to that which issues in eternal life. Such was the train of ideas which passed through our mind, as we watched, at a little distance from where the startling trout arose, a man whipping the water with his line, and intent upon his sport. The following lines, from Izaak Walton's " 'Angler's Song," then came to our recollection :

"And when the timorous trout I wait
To take, and he devours my bait,
How poor a thing sometimes I find
Will captivate a greedy mind.

And when none bite I praise the wise,
Whom vain allurements ne'er surprise."

As we passed on, we found along the borders of the stream large tracts covered with the water-dock (Rumex aquaticus,) with its broad leaves, and stems of five feet high. In other spots, a species of beautiful dog-rose grew abundantly, in soft spongy earth, covered with moss.

The number of swifts, swallows, and martins, which make their nest in the fissures of the rocks, or against their face, is astonishing. The former we saw wheeling high in air, dashing along the cliff, and uttering loud screams. Ever and anon they plunged into narrow fissures at a great elevation in the surface of the rock, and there disappeared; no doubt to feed their young with the insects they had captured during their flight. The swallows had their nests evidently placed on rugged ledges, and on the fantastic turret-like projections which continually start out from the face of the grey and time-worn limestone. We watched these birds going from and returning to their strongholds, in the literal sense. Clusters of the nests of the martin were affixed to the sides of the precipitous wall, generally about a third from its summit, and quite inaccessible. Mr. Selby notices the fact that great numbers of this species annually breed about the lofty perpendicular cliffs of St. Abb's Head, on the coast of Berwickshire, a great breeding resort also of various kinds of sea-fowl. It seems that the specific term " Urbica," (belonging to the city,) is not very strictly applicable to the martin; for, though it does rear its "pendent bed " under the eaves of houses and barns, it is not found like the sparrow in our large cities and crowded towns, but prefers the pure air and the open country.

PECUNIARY ADVERSITIES.

M.

LET it be called to mind, that pecuniary adversities have ever constituted a frequent ingredient of those very trials with which the Almighty has seen meet to visit not a few of his distinguished servants. It is true, this part of their afflictions is in a great measure withdrawn from notice, amidst the more prominent and keener distresses which it has accompanied. But was it, therefore,

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the less real? When the wealth of that Arabian prince and patriarch on whom "the blessing of the perishing had come," and who had "caused the widow's heart to sing," was quickly devastated by repeated strokes-had this kind of calamities the less of intrinsic rigour, because thrown into the shade, as it were, by grievous disease, and bereavement, and reproach? When the chosen apostle of the Gentiles, who had probably till then enjoyed all the advantages of life, suffered in his new career "the loss of all things," so as sometimes to hunger and thirst, and be insufficiently clothed-were these privations the less real because we almost lose sight of them, as he also sometimes might, amidst imprisonments and scourgings, and murderous assaults from those whom he toiled to save? In the first-mentioned hardships, Paul was but the forerunner of a cloud of witnesses and confessors, who "took joyfully the spoiling of their goods." We are prone, in their case, as in his, to overlook that species of adversities, just because it is eclipsed by others still more grievous. But, again I would ask, was the forfeiture of property, or the loss of profitable employ and comfortable support, the less afflictive in itself, because then attended with stripes or cruel mockings, mutilation, or exile? Yet these were persons whom our Saviour emphatically pronounced "blessed." Your experience, it is probable, even as to one kind of adversity among the many, will scarcely bear comparison with theirs: but were it equally severe, would this at all imply unkindness on his part, who thus dealt with apostles, with evangelists, with the noble army of martyrs, and who meanwhile bade them "rejoice and be exceeding glad?" You will object, perhaps, that their trials, as being for the name and cause of Christ, were tests and demonstrations of fidelity, and, therefore, grounds of joy; but that yours are devoid of this consolatory character. Remember, however, that when it has pleased God to remove such persecutions, they can no longer form the test of Christian faith and constancy. A submissive and grateful endurance of those afflictions which are common to all, (but of which believers may usually expect an ample share,) with a special reference to their Master's will, must be now amongst the strongest proofs of their allegiance and their trust.*

*Archbishop Leighton intimates, that "a private despised affliction, without the name of suffering

Could you, then, upon a serious review, whether of church history or of Scripture predictions, deem it a clearer token of your Saviour's love and care, if the tide of worldly prosperity had been always rising, if the gale of success were ever with you? But while it behoves you to feel and to acknowledge, that He who "careth for you" must "do right," and also that appointments which are in unison both with his personal example and distinct predictions, may be presumed accordant with his most gracious purposes, it will be more satisfying if you can also discern other weighty and merciful reasons for these appointments. And how, with the New Testament before us, with its assurances that the grand object of God's dispensations is to detach us from this world, recal us to himself, prepare us for eternity-together with some observations of mankind and knowledge of ourselves— how shall we fail to discover such reasons? In the tempers and habits which unchecked prosperity so often generates, what a commentary do we find on the various warnings of the gospel as to the danger of abounding in riches? Not that instances are wanting, either ancient or modern, of good men who may have passed quite unhurt through this ordeal. The "father of the faithful," and Job in his redoubled wealth, and a Thornton and Reynolds in our own times, could be "very rich," not only without "shipwreck of faith and of a good conscience," but perhaps without being the less spiritually-minded, or desiring the less earnestly "a better country.". The question, however, still remains-Have we any reason to be confident that such would have been our own case? No one, I suppose, could frame the presumptuous expectation or extravagant wish, that God might bestow on him correspondent measures of wisdom and of grace, in order that he might be as safe and spiritually prosperous as some of those very wealthy believers. This would be prescribing its methods to Divine sovereignty, with a boldness which strongly evinced the need of humiliation. We must accept our measure as it is; both of natural tendencies and spiritual gifts and then ask,-If that share of means which God intrusted to me had been yearly augmented, or yearly undiminished, does it appear likely that I should not have "trusted more in this world's possessions? Is it probable that,

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for his cause," borne "gladly," is among the highest tests.

amidst an accession of worldly prosperity, or even with no ebb and interruption of it, I should have embraced the gospel so firmly? Can I even assure myself, that as good and right a use would have been made by me of the larger gifts of Providence, as is now made of the less?-It will assist us perhaps in this inquiry, to remember, how we have in past life actually been carried by certain positions of affairs, or impulses of the mind, into aims and undertakings, both laudable and the contrary, which at other periods, both previously and since, we could never have expected to pursue or to achieve; for we shall thus in some sort judge how greatly, how far beyond all present calculation, certain differences in the course and turn of our affairs might have changed the current of our purposes, the nature of our connexions, and "the spirit of our minds." Besides, are you conscious, as it is, of no unfaithfulness towards God in temper or in practice? Have you never had reason, while professing to be his, to appropriate to yourself that ancient charge, "My people have forsaken me, the fountain of living waters, and have hewn out to themselves cisterns?"-Has there been no need for you to be feelingly convinced, that these cisterns are "broken or fragile? When God has disappointed you as to worldly wealth, he has in effect broken one of the chief cisterns which you, or others before you, have diligently hewn. Possibly he has overthrown it at a stroke; "dashed it to pieces like a potter's vessel:" more probably he has let the contents in part escape by unseen flaws; or filter away, as it were, through the very pores of the reservoir. If it had been quite otherwise, if you had hewn more capacious cisterns, and sculptured and adorned them, and no flaw had yet been detected, would you have been so likely to return in humility to Him who says, "If any man thirst, let him come unto me?". - From "Christian Encouragement," by John Sheppard, esq., published by the Religious Tract Society.

CHRISTIANS OFTEN LIKE CHILDREN.

IF you put a bright shilling into a child's hand, he will be pleased with it; but tell him of an estate in reserve for So the Christian is often more delighted him, and he pays little attention to you. with present comforts than with the prospect of future glory.—Dr. Payson.