inclined to blow them all the days of their lives. Poor Gideon was one of this sort, but even he was tired of the sport at last. He had a log-house, with abundance of swampy land that he could not drain, and plenty of fir-trees that he could not fell. Hard was his struggle, but at last the hot sun and the swampy fog were too much for him; the fever laid hold of him, and he came back to the land of his fathers poorer than he left it. Gregory opened his cottage-door wide to receive his broken-down brother, and, to make a long story short, the three brothers dwelt together in affection and peace, and the blessing of God rested upon them.

"Whatever else we may forget, sir, it behoveth us never to forget God, for his mercy is in the heavens and his faithfulness reacheth unto the clouds. The three brothers, as I said, dwelt together. They read God's holy word, bent their knees together at a throne of grace, and would have continued to walk together to the house of God in company to their lives' end, had not the infirmities of Ambrose and Gideon gained upon them; but their faith was strong in Him who lived and died for sinners, and they trusted in him. It is fifteen years come Bartlemas since Ambrose was carried to the grave, and his brothers, knowing that he had looked onwards to a glorious resurrection, were enabled to say, with submission to God's holy will, "The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord."

Having thus spoken, the old man stood up, and walked gently to the hillock which had neither brier nor green turf. 'And here lies Gideon,' said he, his voice a little faltering, ' for yesterday he too was carried to the grave, the “house appointed for all living," but he knew in whom he trusted. It becomes us all, sir, to be ready to depart, but especially such an old man as I am, for there is but a step between me and death. "All the days of my appointed time will I

wait, till my change come. ." "Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his.”'

“And what became of the remaining brother?' said I, more than half suspecting that I was talking with him. 'What became of Gregory?' said I, as he lifted his broadbrimmed hat, with the crape round it, from his hoary head, and bent to me, about to take his leave. 'He remains,' said he, in the village still, preparing for the future, for though he is yet able to hobble about the scenes of his childhood, and to sit at eventide in the old church porch, looking on the graves of his brothers, he well knows that his time is short. Many have been God's unmerited mercies to me,' continued he, wiping away with his sleeve, the tear that had risen in his eye, and this is not the least of them, that, rejoicing in the hope set before me, I can still say, though health and strength have departed, "The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord."

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE VILLAGE INN.

Rural scenes, however varied and variable, are essentially the same.-Jeremy Taylor's description of the rising sun.-Sketch of summer.' -The softening effect of distance on a landscape.-The beer-shop.-The Village Inn. Its attractions. Its occasional visitors.-Poor Mary.

AMID all the changes of this mutable world, country scenes, varied and variable as they may be, are essentially the same. Talk of old times! These are the same, old times, new times, and all times. We may change, and manners and customs may change, but the birds, the trees, the flowers, and all the pickings of rural life, remain the same. The air is fresh, the sky is blue, the sun is bright, the leaves are green, the flowers are fair as they used to be, and he who wanders among them will never be weary of their delights. He will look around him with love and joy, and find, from the rising to the setting sun, objects of delight.

Jeremy Taylor says of the rising sun,- "When the sun approaches towards the gates of the morning he first opens a little eye of heaven, and sends away the spirits of darkness, and gives light to a cock, and calls up the lark to matins, and bye-and-bye gilds the fringes of a cloud, and peeps over the eastern hills, thrusting out his golden horns like those which decked the brows of Moses, when he was forced to wear a veil, because himself had seen the face of God; and

still, while a man tells the story, the sun gets up higher, till he shows a full, fair light and a face, and then he shines one whole day, under a cloud often, and sometimes weeping great and little showers, and sets quietly; so is a man's reason and his life."

Let me here, while the fit is on me, give a slight sketch of summer :

It was summer, and lovely Nature, decked in her loveliest dress, was keeping holiday. The trees were rich in foliage, the full-blown flowers flung around their sweets, and the bee and the butterfly, with myriads of other winged insects, were abroad on the same errand-to make the most of the joyous hours.

The fields gave promise of a goodly harvest, and the heart felt that the pledge would be redeemed. The landscape was soft yet radiant; a rich hazy golden light was abroad. The windows of the distant houses seemed in a blaze, and a sparkling star glittered on the weather-cock of the village church.

The horses in the pasture lands had sought the shade of the large trees, shaking their heads to get rid of the gnats, and lashing the flies from their flanks with their tails; the cattle were standing in the brook or in the buttercupped meadow of green and gold. The heart of the husbandman was merry, the voice of laughter rang from the hay-field, the patient angler sat in the shady nook, and the shrill chirp of the grasshopper was heard among the blossomed clover. "Oh what a garden has a grasshopper!"

Hope, expectation, and promise pervaded all things; that summer was come was a truth that every heart acknowledged, for it was inscribed on all created things-the hot breeze breathed it around. The fruits and flowers declared it; the birds sang it, and the bright, glowing, glorious sun

wrote legibly, in letters of gold, both on the earth and in the heavens, "Summer is abroad!"

The effect of distance on a landscape is very pleasing. Before we can discover the individual beauty of shrubs and flowers, and moss, and sedgy grass, and green leaves, we must approach them; but on the bolder and vaster objects of natural scenery, distance bestows an additional beauty. The rifted rock, the rushing river, the hanging wood, the rugged cliff, and the cloud-capped mountain, are the more agreeable when seen from afar. Distance smoothes their ruggedness and renders the prospect so harmoniously sweet, so meltingly soft and fading, that you cannot tell the mountains from the skies, nor earth from heaven.

"At summer eve, when heaven's aerial bow

Spans with bright arch the glittering fields below,
Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye,
Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky?
Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear
More sweet than all the landscape smiling near?
"Tis distance lends enchantment to the view,
And robes the mountain in its azure hue.
Thus with delight we linger to survey

The promised joys of life's unmeasured way;
Thus from afar each dim discovered scene

More pleasing seems than all the past hath been!
And every form that fancy can repair

From dark oblivion, glows divinely there."

The Village Inn must appear among my Pickings of Rural Life, being too important an object to be altogether neglected. The pot-house, or beer-shop, which has sprung up of late years, called Tom-and-Jerry in the Midland counties, and Kidley-Wink in the West of England, is very different to the Village Inn or alehouse of more ancient standing.