present one, however, enjoys the fame of standing on the identical spot of its happy predecessor, and the still higher fame of being reared from an acorn from that hallowed tree. This descendant of the favoured one is surrounded by high iron railings, to keep it from the sad fate of its father. We see the necessity for this precaution from the fact, that the stones into which these railings are fixed, are cut and carved all over with the names and initials of visitors anxious to perpetuate their foolish names by the destruction of property not their own.

You have a fine view here of the Cley Hills and the Wrekin; and a walk of something less than two miles brings you to the Spring Coppice and the White Ladies. Our host took us a pleasant drive down the lanes, which gave us a good view of these two places so intimately connected with the fame of Boscobel. Through like lanes so peculiar to England, and so dear to Englishmen, we rode on through that neat, clean little place, Albrighton, with its row of trees running through its one street, and its quaint old church, with its rather rich living and fine vicarage, giving you a good idea of the peace and plenty that abound here. During our drive a heavy storm of rain forced us to seek shelter in the out-buildings of Mr. Wilson's farm of the White Ladies; and there, within sight of Charles's place of concealment, we had time to run over the events which have made the period of our history one of the most memorable yet recorded. Nor was it a sad reflection for the honour of poor, weak, erring man, that, though this fugitive

prince was known to so many, and his escape aided by persons in the humblest condition, with a thousand pounds offered by Parliament for his detection, not one betrayed him, or attempted to make a profit out of their connexion with royalty. The faithful loyalty of these men and women threw a glory round the scenes which their actions had made famous ; and the remembrance of their noble deeds gave an additional beauty to scenery which was indeed beautiful in itself. The sweet wild flowers which graced and made fragrant every spot, seemed to gain a purer grace and a deeper fragrance from the flowers of loyalty, fidelity, and devotion, which had had their birth, flowering, and perfection on the same soil. Boscobel House is worthy of a visit for its own sake; it is still more worthy of a visit from the fact that it was once tenanted by so true and honest a man as William Penderel. To us the house was far dearer from this fact, than from the accident that in the year 1651 the defeated and flying Charles, of the "blessed restoration" memory, found shelter, safety, and protection in its walls.

148

A CLIMB UP MALVERN.

ONCE more on the wing! While the clear autumn days continue, and before winter, with its rain, and frost, and snow, sets in, keeping us to our fire-side and books, let us once more take the field, and ramble through the lane, or climb the grass-sided and mosscrowned hill, winning health, and winning it by that labour which "physics pain." And what days more lovely for such a trip than our bright September ones? so clear, so bracing, so full of life-giving energy, and robed in the richest beauty, and adorned with garments of the most glowing splendour! There is no sight more glorious than a wood during this finest of all rambling months. The leaves, just hanging on the verge of death, receive that dying glory which so often lights up the face of those about to leave the world for ever. They are literally flooded with colour; from the palest yellow to the deepest red, they possess every tint, and gladden the eye with every variety of hue; and if in the same scene, as mostly occurs, you get the deep green of the fir and the pine, and the light green of the spruce, the glossy leaves of the laurel, and the sparkling berries of the mountain-ash and holly, we know of nothing more beautiful, more attractive, fuller of suggestiveness to the thoughtful

mind, than such a September scene as we have endeavoured to sketch. So, while such are to be found, we turn our back once more on the dark and noisy town, and our faces towards the ever attractive, and now to us irresistible, Malvern Hills.

A two hours' ride on the Bristol and Gloucester Railway brought us to the fair and historical city of Worcester, whose claims upon us are for the present put aside; and mounting on the outside of a coach, which waits at the station, to convey us to Malvern, we pass through the city in which King John reposes, and whence King Charles the Second fled defeated and forlorn. Our journey was made before the branch line conveying visitors to Malvern was opened.

The distance from Worcester is about eight miles ; and, but for ascending the hill at the end, would have been for us a walking journey. Taking this fact into consideration, much as we should have liked the ramble, we deemed it prudent to take the coach. The ride is a fine one. Scarcely are you a mile from Worcester before the first view of the "grand old hills" bursts upon your sight, filling you with a sense of their grandeur, which, even at seven miles' distance, makes you thankful that you are on the road to climb them. On you ride between orchards of apple and pear trees, whose rich ripe fruit hang in clustering bunches from their overloaded boughs, reminding you of the old story of the Hesperides; only no dragons guard the entrance to these golden-apple gardens. No sight is finer than that of large apple

orchards, such as are now on either side of us, with every tree covered and bowed down with its beautiful fruit, adorned with every tint which old Father Autumn knows so well to place upon the cheeks of his favourite children. To the pleasure derived from such sights were added the picturesque groupings of men and women engaged in the easy and pleasant task of gathering in the rich harvest which awaited them; the due reward of former toil, of long hope, and trusting labour. Occasionally the scene was varied by the view of some large hop-field whose gracefully winding plants hang in rich festoons of beauty, captivating even the uneducated eye to admire and praise. Through such scenes for little more than an hour, which we would willingly have made many hours, did we ride, with the object of our journey almost always in sight; its fine green sides adorned with the far-seen white houses of the favoured inhabitants of Great Malvern.

But here we are at our destination, anxious for the climb for which we came. Still we must spare a few minutes for a ramble to and around the fine old Abbey Church, which no one ought to visit Malvern and miss. When we were there, it was undergoing repairs; and it was to us most gratifying to find that these modern additions were being made in the spirit of the old builders, and promised not to injure the solemn unity which is characteristic of our famous mediæval ecclesiastical buildings. Time, however, presses; and now we are on the foot of the ascent, surrounded by donkeys, women, and boys, the two