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another, who is on the floor above, throws | creases the charms of meadow scenery. down in small quantities at a time. The purer air of the stream, as it

A writer, familiar with the details of this very interesting occupation, says: "We cannot boast of our vineyards; but we question whether Italy itself can show a more beautiful and picturesque scene than an English hop-garden in picking time." The hops have luxuriantly climbed to the tops of their poles, and hang on all sides their heads of flowers in festoons and garlands, while the groups of pickers proceed to gather in the beautiful produce.

"Steals through the thicket with unheeded course, Laving the enamelled banks,"

tempts the wanderer to its brink to behold its beauties.

Probably when the heat of the sun is most powerful, the beasts and sheep will seek the brink of the stream:

"Rural confusion! On the grassy bank
Some ruminating lie; while others stand
Half in the flood, and, often bending, sip
The circling surface. In the middle droops
The strong laborious ox, of honest front,
Which incomposed he shakes, and from his sides
The troublous insects lashes with his tail,
Returning still."

A more interesting period could not be chosen than when afternoon declines into the mellow eve. As "sober evening" takes her appointed station,

"A holy peace

Pervades the woodland solitude;"

"A fresher gale

Begins to wave the wood, and stir the stream,
Sweeping with shadowy gust the fields of corn."

How delightful are now the woods: the sylvan scenery is doubly interesting from the aid they lend in producing the desired effect; for as summer gradually passes, their beauties, though changed, are not decreased. The pleasing associations which accompanied their early appearance have departed; but other thoughts, not less interesting, are suggested, when their opening foliage is exchanged for the full flush of vegetable beauty; each shrub and as the pleasant field is traversed, and tree attracting attention from its own peculiar loveliness. No symptom of the decline of nature has yet appeared, and all who enter the wood feel a peculiar pleasure in treading the soft turf, while the dews yet hang their gems on the leaf and the flower, when the freshness of the atmosphere has a cheering influence; and nature appears gathering strength to withstand the heat of the sun, which has just mounted the horizon. Perhaps the wood is sought when the shadows have attained a deeper hue, and the fragrance is wafted from the bean-field, while the fields of grain undulate to the gently breathing air.

If now we enter and "tread the dewy lawn" of the meadow, the verdure of the grass, the varied flowers, the songs of birds, and the eddying flight of the swallow, as it skims the surface of the pasture, will not fail to afford us pleasure.

The

"Shadowy trees, that lean

So elegantly o'er the water's brim,"

The evening song of the lark ascends from the cool grass; and among the thousand pleasing objects which are presented to our contemplation, we find

"Still evening coming on, and twilight grey."

The faint breeze sweeps over the field,
laden with perfumes as refreshing as they
are fragrant; and as the green of the
distant hills changes during the twilight
to a greyish hue, their outlines are en-
larged, the trees assume a more gigantic
appearance, and soft dews ascend. The
stars have scarcely hung their silver
lamps in the sky, when faint upshootings
of light in the eastern horizon foretell the
rising of the moon; the grey clouds roll
away at her approach, and with a majes-
tic grandeur, peculiarly her own,

"A lovelier, purer light than that of day
Rests on the hills,"

are full of beauty. It has been remarked, as she calmly glides through the broad that the weeping willow,

"Which dips

Its pendent boughs, stooping as if to drink," is the only one of its species that can be called beautiful; but those who have seen the common willow, unlopped, as Nature intended it to be, must confess that it adds much interest to the landscape; and even when pollarded, it in

expanse of the firmament, and throws her clear and mellow light on the silent valley, the unruffled lake, and especially on the harvest-field. Nor is this all:

"Her placid beams, Through thinly-scatter'd leaves and boughs grotesque, Mottle with mazy shades the orchard slope; Here, o'er the chestnut's fretted foliage grey Upon the crags, deepening with blacker night And massy, motionless, they spread; here shine

Their chasms; and there the glittering argentry
Ripples and glances on the confluent streams."

The circumstance of the harvest moon rising several nights successively, almost at the same time, immediately after sunset, has given it an importance in the eyes of farmers; but it is not the less remarkable for its singular and splendid beauty. No moon during the year can bear any comparison with it. At its rising it has so peculiar a character, that the more we are accustomed to expect and observe it, the more it strikes us with astonishment. Any one who can watch its rising should do so. The warmth and dryness of the earth,-the clearness and balmy serenity of the atmosphere at this season, the sounds of voices borne from distant fields, and the freshness which comes with the evening, combine to render the moonlight walk peculiarly delightful. "It comes not as in common, as a fair but flat disc on the face of the sky,-we behold it suspended in the crystal air in its greatness and rotundity; we perceive the distance beyond it as sensibly as that before it; and its apparent size is mag. nificent. In a short time, however, it has acquired a considerable altitude; its apparent bulk has diminished; its majestic grandeur has waned; and it sails on its way calmy beautiful, but in nothing differing from its usual character."* While the labours of the harvest-field are often conducted beneath the rays of the moon, there are employments in the stackyard to which the heavily-laden wain is conducted. The rumbling sound of the passing wagons, the sharp crack of the whip, the directions to the men, the varying and indistinct forms as they move from place to place, and the broad shadows which fall from every object, please alike from their interest and peculiarity.

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"Rural employments," says an complished writer, "are, in general, pleasing in themselves; and the associa tions with which they are connected lend them an additional charm; but I scarcely know of any agricultural occupation which combines so many sources of agreeable sensations as the moonlight labours of the farmer, in the calmness

and sweetness of an autumnal night. It wants but one accompaniment to render it complete and inexpressibly sublime; and that is the voice of prayer and praise ascending from the roof of the pious

• Howitt.

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ON SCRIPTURE INTERPRETATION.*

My dear Friend,—Your letters are always welcome, the last doubly so, for being unexpected. If you never heard before of a line of yours being useful, I will tell you for once, that I get some pleasure and instruction whenever you write to me. And I see not but your call to letterwriting is as clear as mine, at least when you are able to put pen paper.

to

I must say something to your queries about 2 Samuel xiv. I do not approve of the scholastic distinctions about inspiration, which seem to have a tendency to explain away the authority and certainty the penmen of Scripture were ever so of one half of the Bible at least. Though well informed of some facts, they would, as you observe, need express, full, and infallible inspiration to teach them which the Lord would have selected and recorded for the use of the church, amongst many others which to themselves might appear equally important.

However, with respect to historical passages, I dare not pronounce positively that any of them are, even in the literal sense, unworthy of the wisdom of the Holy Ghost and the dignity of inspiration. Some, yea, many of them, have often appeared trivial to me; but I check the thought, and charge it to my own ignorance and temerity. It must have some importance, because I read it in God's book. On the other hand, though I will not deny that they may all have a spiritual and mystical sense, (for I am no more qualified to judge of the deep things of the mind of the Spirit than to tell bottom of the sea;) yet if, with my presyou what is passing at this moment at the ent modicum of light, I should undertake to expound many passages in a mystical sense, I fear such a judge as you would think my interpretations fanciful, and not well supported. I suppose I should have thought the Bible complete, though

From an interesting volume just published: "One Hundred and Twenty-nine Letters from the Rev. John Newton to the Rev. William Bull."

it had not informed me of the death of Rebekah's nurse, or where she was buried. But some tell me that Deborah is the law, and that by the oak I am to understand the cross of Christ; and I remember to have heard of a preacher who discovered a type of Christ crucified in Absalom hanging by his hair in an oak. I am quite a mole, when compared with these eagle-eyed divines, and must often content myself with plodding upon the lower ground of accommodation and allusion, except when the New Testament writers assure me what the mind of the Holy Ghost was. I can find the gospel with more confidence in the history of Sarah and Hagar, than in that of Leah and Rachel; though without Paul's help, I should have considered them both as family squabbles, recorded chiefly to illustrate the general truth, that vanity and vexation of spirit are incident to the best men in the most favoured situations; and I think there is no part of Old Testament history from which I could not (the Lord helping me) draw observations that might be suitable to the pulpit, and profitable to his people. So I might, perhaps, from Livy or Tacitus. But then, with the Bible in our hands, I go upon sure grounds. I am certain of the facts I speak from, that they really did happen. I may likewise depend upon the springs and motives of actions, and not amuse myself and my hearers with speeches which were never spoken, and motives which were never thought of, till the historian rummaged his pericranium for something to embellish his work. I doubt not, but were you to consider Joab's courtly conduct only in a literal sense, how it tallied with David's desire, and how gravely and graciously he granted himself a favour while he professed to oblige Joab.—I say in this view you would be able to illustrate many important Scriptural doctrines, and to show that the passage is important to those who are engaged in studying the anatomy of the human heart.

But sat verbum sapienti. I have said enough or too much. I could, after all, preach very willingly upon God's devising means to bring his banished home again, and take occasion to lisp my poor views of that mysterious and adorable contrivance, without taking upon me to say that either Joab or the woman of Tekoa thought of the gospel when they cooked up that affair between them, or that even it was the express design of

the Holy Ghost, in the place. These points are always true, and always to be remembered, asserted, and repeated:

1st. That man, by the entrance of sin, is a banished creature, driven far away from God, from righteousness, from happiness.

2nd. That he must have remained in this state of banishment for ever, if God had not devised to bring him home again. 3rd. That these means are worthy the Divine contriver, full of glory, holiness, wisdom, and efficacy; ergo,

4th. Man, who was far off, is by faith actually restored and brought nigh by Jesus Christ.

Had it not been for Joab's courtly conduct, we should not have been favoured with this expression, so apt and suitable for the basis of a gospel sermon; nor could I have been gratified with your thoughts upon the subject, or have had the pleasure of presenting you with mine.

I am sorry for your bodily complaints, but hope I may ascribe a part of them to low spirits; I am therefore unwilling to think you so bad as you think yourself. We are pretty well. Love to Mrs. Bull. Believe me most sincerely yours, JOHN NEWTON.

Dec. 15th, 1778.

KADER; OR, SCENES IN THE FOREST.

WITH what a girdle of beauty has the High and Holy One encircled the world in the lines of forestry that belt the earth in different parts. Here pines spread their fan-like branches, thickly hung with trailing moss, and studded with red and blue cones, over myriads of acres in monotonous regularity; and there cedar, oak, ash, beech, birch, and other bough-spreading and umbrageous trees of greater variety, adorn the teeming ground. How vast in height! how stupendous in extent! how glowing in colour! how grateful in shade, and how beautifully varied in form and foliage!

There's that within the silence and the shade
Of forest trees, that flings upon the mind
A thought-creating and oppressive gloom,
Mingled with solemn awe and sacred fear.

But vastness, and altitude, and extent, and beauty, and shade, and variety are but a part of the qualities of these vegetable girdles of the earth. These present themselves more immediately to the eye; but there are other things connected

ment.

with the forests of the world that claim
especial regard. Forests are the home
of unnumbered creatures that find there
food, and, shelter, and shade, and enjoy-
In the forest the huge elephant
finds an asylum suited to his nature.
The lordly lion stretches himself in his
lair, and screens himself from the mid-
day beam. The ferocious tiger springs
upon his prey; the jackal raises his
sudden shriek; and among the bound-
less branchery of spreading trees, the
sloth reposes in gorged torpidity. Glowing
as is the varied hue of autumnal vegeta-
tion, the vivid colours of the feathered
race that feed and flutter amid forest
trees, impart an added interest to the
scene; when a swift-winged bird, radiant
with golden hues, darts through the
shadowy covert like a flying flower, the
feathery meteor delights while it sur-
prises,

One cannot but admire the stately stems
Of towering trees; their huge and bulky boles
And spreading branches spell our wondering eyes.

Europe, and Asia, and Africa have their forests; but it is in America that we find forest-trees the most abundant, varied, and on the largest scale. Here the forest patriarchs, mossed with venerable age, encircled with countless creepers, and beautified and studded with

parasitic plants, stretch widely forth their giant branches, and tower upwards a hundred feet towards the skies. The planes and the tulip-trees are superb, and European trees attain a greater growth. The Crow Indians and the Sioux, the Blackfeet, the Osages, the Sacs, the Pawnees and the Camachees, could tell something about forests worth hearing.

Amid the forests of South America are ravines of frightful depth, whence come steaming up exhalations from the saturated soil mingled with the scent of aromatic herbs, the rank odour of luxuriant weeds, and the sweet perfume of unnum

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bered flowers, rich in glowing hues and varied beauty. Birds of gay plumage flit through the forestry, chattering monkeys climb and cling among the spreading branches, and the huge and terrific boa, coiled around the trunk of a tree, resembling his scaly folds, lies lurking, ready to dart on his unsuspecting prey. Crouch'd low and still, with watchful glistening

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been glowing in his meridian brightness,
and when the silvery moon has been
coldly shining in the blue vault of heaven.
It is eventide. The lynx and the black
fox are on the prowl, and flying squirrels
are skimming like birds from branch
to branch of the high pines of the
Russian forest. Mischief is abroad, for
a stealthy band of seeming ruffians with
Calmuck and Cossack caps are lurk-
ing near the entrance of the road that
runs right onward through the gloom,
Two of them have quarrelled, and for a
moment the bright blades of their wea-
pons have glittered in the moonbeam;
but their leader has interfered. A hand-
some horse-drawn sledge is entering the
forest, and now it is beset by the savage
throng. An old baldheaded man with
white moustaches is forcibly dragged
from it, and dashed to the ground; but
servants are at hand, and the flash and
report of fire-arms, and the glittering of
steel blades, add to the terror of the scene.
The white-moustached count is killed,
but the ruffians are overpowered, and
Kalamski, the robber-captain, is taken,
In England death is inflicted by hang-
ing, in France by the guillotine, in Ger-
many by the sword, in Turkey and
China by the bowstring, and in Russia by
the knout, which is more terrible than
any. Kalamski, prepare thee for the
knout, for it will soon be prepared for
thee!

Full is the measure of thy cruel crimes,

And shame shall hand thee down to future times.

Loud is the bellowing blast, and fearful the red glare of earth and heaven! The lightnings have been abroad, the

thunderbolt has fallen, and dread is the confusion that prevails: the forest is on fire! Thousands of charcoal trees con

sumed lie on the ground, and thousands half consumed are yet standing; while farther on, the all-devouring flame is spreading devastation far and wide. It runs along the withered moss; it ascends the dry-trees, fed by the resin and turpentine they contain. Bears, and wolves, and foxes, are hurrying from the flaming ruin, and birds are taking wing amid the roaring of the flames, the crackling of the burning branches, and the wild crash of the falling trees. A golden eagle is calmly and majestically soaring in safety far above the spreading ruin. On, on goes the fiery scourge-awful, dreadful, and sublime! Of all earthly spectacles,

no sight is more terrible than that of a peated cry of rage. Natives armed with forest on fire.

We gaze the fearful scene with wondering eyes,
As onward still the flaming tempest flies.

No animal is fonder of the forest than the wolf. Sulky and savage he dwells in the dark cavern, or slumbers through the day in the shadowy fastnesses of the woods, till nightfall comes, and then steals forth, made bold by hunger, to pursue his prey. A pack of wolves, each the size of a Newfoundland dog, grizzly and gaunt, are in hot pursuit of a horse which has strayed into the skirts of the forest. He flies o'er the open ground, and plunges amid the thick brushwood in vain. They have followed him for hours; and now, toilworn and spent, he has fallen to the ground; his feet entangled by the writhing roots of an aged tree. The grisly monsters are around him, snarling, showing their sharp, white teeth, and licking their longing lips. The glaring eyeballs and heaving chest of the hapless steed set forth the extremity of his distress. No longer can his desperate hoofs keep his tormentors at bay, for they are now tearing away at their living feast.

Poor hapless steed! this is thy mortal hour,
For fierce are they that have thee in their power.

spears, and bows, and arrows, and a few Europeans with their rifles, are on that side of the jungle where the lion is seen, for the lioness has escaped to the forest. Kader is standing alone under a baniantree that grows near the narrow part of a wide chasm, on the opposite side of the jungle, his naked Coorg knife, with its broad heavy blade, narrowing towards the haft, in his hand. Kader is right in lion, annoyed by the hunters and the the post that he has taken, for, see! the dogs, has retreated through the jungle, springing over the chasm close to the banian-tree; and Kader's heavy knife, swung round with force, has almost severed one of the monster's hind feet from the leg. A shout is raised, the dogs gather round, the hunters come up, and the limping lion, after a prolonged struggle, in which Kader is slightly wounded, falls beneath the rifle balls that find the way to his brain.

Fearful is the deadly strife
In which the lion gives his life.

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Kader has hunted the tiger in the thick jungle, and the elephant in the forest, where the towering palmyra, and cocoa-nut, and areeka, and jaggree palm, and talipat and banian trees have mingled with those of giant stems and spreading branches; for his heart is in the chase. He will soon leave India for New HolThe village is in an uproar, for a lion land, for he has heard of the kangaroo, and lioness, roused by the hunters from and never hunted it. He has joined in the neighbouring forest, have rushed on the chase of the wild boar, and been a party of coolies, and a woman and two ripped by his tusks; yet still he is a children have been torn. The dreaded hunter, for strong is his love for the cruel monsters have taken shelter in the jungle sports to which he has been bred. Many adjoining the forest, and here come the a companion has Kader saved from death; hunters, led on by Kader, a Coorg, fami- for, prodigal of his own life, he has often liar with desperate scenes, for almost jeopardized it to save that of another. from his childhood has he been a hunter. There is little doubt but he will die a His figure, though slender, is wiry, and hunter. The shade of spreading trees, of great strength. Skilled in his weapons, and the dark gloom of the forest, are his and inured to toil, he fears no danger. delight; for, knowing the habits of wild Habited only in a girdle, and white trow-beasts, and being skilled in their destrucsers not quite reaching the knee, that well-known weapon, the fearful Coorg knife, hangs at his side, with a smaller one stuck in his belt. The jungle is approached, and some of the dogs sent in are already killed, and others maimed. A spear has been thrown, and a flight of arrows; and the awful voice of the king of the forest is heard in anger. Not the deep hollow growl like distant thunder, but the short, and broken, and oft-re

tion, he goes fearlessly and recklessly
into scenes of peril. Kader, thy courage
may carry thee too far, and thy very
confidence may lead thee to destruction!

Oh, what is man? an empty, idle dream!
A bubble bursting on an onward stream!

The forests of New Holland are straggled and broken, and the shrubs and wide-spreading trees are not so close

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