cottage near, which has long since been removed from the place. The poor widow was what mankind called deformed, but He who made all things knows best what form to give them. Men think this outer tree deformed; but the birds never thought so, for they have built their nests in it, and sung in it their morning and evening songs; the sun never thought so, for he has shone upon it as favourably as upon others; and spring never thought so, for she has ever given it a leaf as green as those of its companions.

The crooked and poverty-stricken widow had a son; but the poor lad, frightened by his playmates at school, at the age of nine years became an idiot. This was a heavy affliction, though not without some alleviation, for her son grew up affectionate, tractable, inoffensive, and happy. To roam about with younger children, and to do as they bade him do, was his delight, but if ever he was scared, he ran off directly to his mother. It was a strange sight to see a human being run to so weak a thing for protection; but, weak as she was, to him she was a tower of strength.

The poor widow was pious, and though her son showed it not as others do, yet what he had been taught in his earlier days of holy things clung to his heart in his idiocy. When his mother knelt in prayer he knelt beside her; when she went to the house of God he went also, and was as her shadow. Her Bible, though he never read it, was to him as a holy thing. Twenty times a day, at least, did he repeat the words, "Above the stars!"

Often did the poor widow come here with her son; but once she came in great distress, for the few articles of furni ture she had were about to be taken from her for rent. "Where is the friend that will help us?" said she, for a moment giving way to her grief. Her son directly gave utterance to his accustomed expression,

"Above the stars!"

The widow wept, but her tears were not tears of grief. Her wavering faith had been revived by the words of her son. She returned home; relief was at hand; she was not forgotten by Him who watches over the widow and the fatherless.

Let such as have children weak in their intellects receive patiently the mysterious visitation, looking upwards. Such children are usually made happy by trifles which otherwise would yield them little pleasure. They are strangers to many solicitudes, and in their weakness they are under the care of one who is mighty. If the widow's son afflicted his mother by his helplessness, he comforted her by his affection.

The widow died—as all must die—and her weak-minded, inoffensive son came to this place alone, looking about as though he would find her. "Where is your mother?" asked one of his playmates; his eye glanced upwards for a moment, and then burst forth from his lips his wonted words, "Above the stars!"

The sun is now getting westerly, and I must bid farewell to Taggard's Tump. Haply many a musing wanderer, tempted by the pure breath of heaven to walk abroad, here drinks in the glories of creation, till he feels as I have done his heart to be filled with thankfulness, and his spirit to be lifted up" above the stars!"

CHAPTER XX.

SOMETHING ABOUT WOODS AND COPPICES.

Entrance of the coppice.-The shade, the sylvan seclusion of the leafy labyrinth and the wild wilderness of young trees.-Flowers.-Cottage children.-Gathering nuts.---Fall of the leaf.-The wood.-The giant trees.-Productiveness of the oak.-The adder.--The varied tones of trees in the wind.-The storm.

THERE is peace in the green grassy field, daisied and

buttercupped-and something more in the knolly slope where grow the cowslip and the dancing daffodil; but they are not like the tangled coppice. I am about to enter the latter. With a prodigal hand has the High and Holy One strewn our paths with pleasures! A thousand leafy bowers invite me, rich in shade, in solitude, and in sylvan seclusion -ornamented with the overhanging hazel, whose tortoiseshell stems and redundant foliage are more than lovely. These are temples where peace and quietude reside, and where joy offers up to the Eternal, with a full heart, the incense of praise.

Already am I lost in the leafy labyrinth-the delightful intricacy of sprays and foliage, sunny openings, and shadowy recesses. Shall I seat myself on the dry grass that has covered this little mound? Shall I lie at length on the green moss that has clothed the slope? Within my reach

is the wood-sorrel, sharp and pleasant to the taste; the luscious and juicy blackberry, the wild strawberry, the shining scarlet hips, and the ripe, brown-shelled clusters that are gathered and cracked with equal delight. Could fairy hands realize the creations of fancy, what could they do more than is already done here!

What a wilderness of young trees, flaunting honeysuckles, and sweet-scented briers! Here blooms the rose, there hangs the woodbine, yonder breathes the violet. Angels on their mission to beautify the earth with flowers have profusely decorated the coppice.

"God might have bade the earth bring forth

Enough for great and small,

The oak-tree and the cedar-tree,
Without a flower at all.

Then wherefore, wherefore were they made,

All dyed in rainbow light,
All fashioned with supremest grace,
Up-springing day and night?

Our outward life requires them not;

Then wherefore had they birth?
To minister delight to man;

To beautify the earth;

To comfort man; to whisper hope,
Whene'er his faith is dim;

For who thus careth for the flowers
Will much more care for him."

My eye is admiring the beauty and my ear drinking in the music of the coppice. This is freedom! This is a real revel of the heart! This is indeed enjoyment! After all, princes are poor; and the bare-headed, bare-legged, liberty

loving peasant lad has a park that monarchs may sigh for in vain.

Again have I reached the skirt of the coppice, where a sweet cottage is seen in the distance; and yonder is a group of ragged cottage children, pulling down the brown-shelled clusters of the hazel with their nut-hooks, half of them with their faces besmeared with blackberries. Happy childhood! A nut bough and a blackberry brier are to thee abundance and delight.

The ground is here and there strewn with yellow and crimson leaves, while some are borne by the breeze in the air.

"How call ye this the seasons' fall,

That seems the pageant of the year?
Richer and brighter far than all

The pomp that spring and summer wear.
Red falls the westering light of day

On rock and stream and winding shore;
Soft woody banks and granite grey

With amber clouds are curtained o'er.
The wide, clear waters sleeping lie
Beneath the evening's wings of gold;
And, on their glassy breast, the sky
And banks their mingled hues unfold.
Far in the tangled woods, the ground
Is strewn with fallen leaves, that lie
Like crimson carpets all around,
Beneath a crimson canopy."

I must now enter the wood. Oh, what can exceed the cool, the balmy, the soft, the soothing influence of forest scenery! The bulky stems and spreading branches of ancient trees are goodly objects. The ivy climbs high among them, the squirrel springs from bough to bough, and the crow is cradled far up towards the skies.