To them I made known my design of giving half-a-crown to a quick-sighted lad to look for my lost ring, with the promise of another if he found it. My fair friends directly replied, that their eyes were as sharp as those of any boy on the farm; and as four pairs of eyes would have an advantage over one pair, they would at once proceed in the search. It was a pleasant picture to see youth and beauty ardently exercising their bright eyes in a kindly undertaking. A churlish word and an act unkind While a generous deed shall a glow impart, To light the eye and glad the heart. kind With me it was almost a hopeless affair, but with my friends it was otherwise. Hope, ardour, and perseverance animated them, and at last, the young lady, the officer's daughter, who had taken a more extended circle than the rest, under an impression that the ring might have rolled farther than I had expected, gave the joyous exclamation, "Here it is!" In the fullness of my heart I proffered my acknowledgments, and impressed my thanks upon her lips. Thus was my lost treasure recovered, and an additional interest imparted to my mourning ring. I said that the broad, flat meadow, so thickly strown with mushrooms, reached down to the precipitous bank of the flowing stream, and fair is the wooded height on the opposite side of the running water. Who stands upon the steep may learn A lesson from the river; How still deep water glideth by, The shallow babbleth ever. Thus oft affection in the heart, And onward rolls as silently As the deep water glideth. CHAPTER XVI. A SPRINKLING OF RURAL ATTRACTIONS. The dry ditch, old stone quarry, and lonely lane.-The grasshopper, corncrake, and blackbird.-The ploughman, shepherd, hedger, molecatcher, mower, haymaker, and reaper.-Field flowers.-Moors and mountains.-Oaks, streams, and insects; sheep and horses, clouds, orchards and clover field.-The frosty morning.-The moon, owlet, weasel, and rat.-Sea-shore, ruined abbey, and country churchyard. TO a lover of nature the gratifications of the country are unbounded. Spring, summer, autumn, and winter; heat and cold, wet and dry; morning, noon, and night; all add to the great variety presented to the eye and the heart. Beauty reigns around, the skies are lit up with sunshine, and unseen hands scatter our paths with flowers. In summer-tide the laughing hours The earth, when winter looks forlorn. From the first streak of morning light to the last gleam of closing day, one source of pleasure succeeds another. To number up my own delights in the country would be impossible. To use the words of an old friend,—I like to sit on the edge of a dry ditch, where the dog-rose, and the bramble, and wild convolvulus are seen; and the chickweed and hayrif grow together, with the dandelion. I like to stand in an old stone quarry, gorgeous with hanging creepers. I love to mutter to myself in the lonely lane, to speak aloud in the fields, and to sing on the wide-spread common, with my heart as well as my tongue, "When all thy mercies, O my God, Transported with the view, I'm lost I like to listen to the simmering sound of the grasshopper; the rapid tapping of the woodpecker against the hollow tree; the creaking cry of the corncrake in the mowing grass; the mellow pipe of the blackbird in the brake; the melodious song of the throstle in the copse, and the sweet melancholy music of the nightingale in the wood. I like to see the ploughman at his work early, whistling a sprightly tune, while the lark is warbling above him; the shepherd, as he goes forth in the grey of the morning, with his shaggy dog; the hedger, with his mittens, boots, and bill-hook; and the mole-catcher laden with his traps. I like to look on the mower as he scythes down the long grass; to hear the laugh of the merry haymakers; and to see the reapers cutting the corn, and gathering the sheaves into the garner. I like to gather field-flowers, the pale primrose, the yellow cowslip, the purple violet, and the daffodil, dancing in the breeze; to pick up the snow-white mushroom from the dewy grass, to pluck hazel nuts in the coppices, and the ripe blackberry from the straggling thorn. He who cannot feel thankful to God for a blackberry, has no right to pluck it from its thorny stem. I like the heath-covered mountain and the moor; the broken ground, thick with the bright yellow-blossomed furze; the red sandy rock, festooned with pendent plants and clinging ivy; and the lonely pond, choked up with long grass, flags, and bulrushes. I like to slake my thirst at the spring in the hollow of the green bank; to see the yellow frog leap from the brink into the crystal water, gracefully diving to the bottom; and to gather fresh green water cresses in the limpid brook. I like to steal behind the old oaks in a park, approaching unperceived the stag, the deer, and the timid fawn, as they lie in their lairs among the fern, or browze among the moss and tufted grass;—to hide myself in the wood, that I may see the nimble squirrel mounting the tall trees, and creep-. ing into his warm nest, or leaping from branch to branch, poised by his spreading tail. I like to sit in a retired nook, on the brink of a stream, overhung with tangled brushwood, watching the fish leaping from the waves, and the moor-hen plashing among the roots of the trees, under the high bank; and to stand on the edge of an old moat, whose dark and neglected waters are covered with the broad leaves of the waterlily, when the rat ventures forth, pushing his impeded way to the island in the midst, or plunging suddenly beneath the water. I like the singing and the flight of birds; the waving of the yellow corn in the wind; the breezy, whispering sound of the leaves on the trees, and the sedge on the river's side; I love the fresh foliage of spring, the ruddy glow of summer, the rich tints of autumn, and the bracing air of a winter's day. I like to sit on a stile, under a spreading oak, when the sun is somewhat declining in the west; to watch the busy world on the wing; the birds warbling above me, the butterfly fluttering joyously in the sun, the gnats dancing in the air, and the dragon-fly darting along the surface of the running stream. I love to fling bits of paper into the running brook, and to watch their course; to gaze on the clear bright water as it ripples over the red sand, or polished pebble stones; and to follow, with scrutinising glance, the sharded beetle as he hides himself in the grass I like to wander in a wood, when the winds are abroad; when the trunks of the trees bend, the branches creak, and the rattling sere leaves are rudely scattered by the blast; to watch the rooks at eventide, as they skim along over farmhouses and church spires, hills and valleys, woods and water, on their way to the distant rookery; to stand on the brow of the hill, as the shadows of evening approach, and to listen to the tinkling of the sheep-bell, in the valley below. I like to note the different features of the sheep, as they move about in the fields; to breathe the sweet breath of the cows as they graze, or chew the cud in the meadow; to watch the calves as they uncouthly run their races, scampering along with their tails in the air; to gaze on the broadchested, heavy-heeled waggon-horses, neighing and kicking up their heels on the green turf; and to muse and moralise on old blind Dobbin, as he stands half asleep under the shed, his ribs and hip bones sticking out, his lower lip hanging down, and his off hind foot resting on the tip of his shoe. I like to pluck a bud from an overhanging bough, and musingly pull it to pieces, admiring its wondrous construction, and thinking to myself, "No mortal eyes but mine have beheld these hidden beauties ;"-to gaze on the sunlit clouds of heaven, till my cheeks are wet with tears, and my heart yearns for light, and life, and immortality. I like to see the acorns and oak-balls on the knotted oaks; the fruit on the orchard trees; the wiry stems and clustering hops in the hop-yard; the straggling poison-berry plant, with its red and yellow berries; and the flowery |