Followed out, the result of these directions is noble :

"He is the happy man whose life even now
Shows somewhat of that happier life to come,
The world o'erlooks him in her busy search
Of objects more illustrious in her view;
And occupied as earnestly as she,

Though more sublimely, he o'erlooks the world,
She scorns his pleasures, for she knows them not;
He seeks not hers, for he has proved them vain.” *

And now we must draw to an end. Such is the verdict of most of the poets, the men of thought and culture, the men of sensitiveness and reflection; and does not that verdict almost justify the old Greek legend that the Earth-Mother is the source of all Use and all Beauty? From the honest endeavour to win a living from the soil, up to that which concerns eternal life, she leads us in the right direction. Love without excitement, Beauty without a snare, Patriotism without rancour, Simplicity without monotony, a Feast without indulgence; these are some of the treasures in her keeping. The young lad needs sharp discipline, and the instinct so strong within him, "yearning for the large excitement," is a true one, and should be wisely gratified; the philanthropist in his busiest years goes where men are thickest and most suffering; but for the ordinary family life, for the child as well as for the mature mind, and for quiet old age, there is no guardian or companion so skilful, so kind, and so peaceful as our Mother-Earth.

CONSTANCE L. MAYNARD,

Cowper, "The Task," Book vi.

CHAPTER X.

COUNTRY PLEASURES AND INTERESTS.

BY LADY HOPE, the daughter of General Sir Arthur Cotton, K.C.S.I., and widow of Admiral Sir James Hope, G. C.B.

Has written "Our Coffee Room," "Wild Hyacinths,” “Sunrise and Sunset,” “A Red Brick Cottage," and many other books, chiefly bearing on the social, domestic and spiritual welfare of the working classes; also many tracts for circulation amongst themselves; as well as articles and stories in periodicals.

COUNTRY life possesses its own charms for the pleasureseeker as well as for the agriculturist. The lady, with her horticultural as well as artistic pursuits, her botany and her love of bird and animal life, finds ample employment for her finest tastes in the country, whether the Weald of Sussex, the undulating and park-like demesnes of Surrey, the broad flats of Norfolk, or the wolds of Yorkshire. Each county has its own charms; and mournfully veiled must be the eye that fails to find these delectable enjoyments, these interests that abound for every earnest mind. They are scattered at our feet, above, around us, on every side.

In spring we see the early tints clothing the near and distant woods; we hear the first songs of the wild birds, as they fill the land with their orchestra of harmonies, so varied, so sweet, and always the most cheering of country sounds. The farmers are busy at their work, each field in preparation for summer supplies; the garden beds are blooming with hyacinths and tulips; the river is gay with a myriad boats.

When summer approaches we have our foliage in rich masses, sunshine streaming through our wooded dells, and over the long sweeps of hill and down. We ride and drive, and walk, exploring each pretty nook, flower studded, and each mossy bank, until we are obliged to exclaim, "The lines are fallen unto me in pleasant places! I have a goodly heritage." We see the tiny cottages, with their gabled roofs tiled and thatched, and old-fashioned gardens brimful of the sweetest thingsthyme and honeysuckle, sweet-briar and mignonette, roses and wallflower. I know some lovely villages where each cottage stands in its own gay surroundings, a very picture of country brightness; the bees from the hives beside the porch revel in the wealth of honey-yielding flowers, and the children play in never-ending delight close to the open window, or shady tree, beside which "mother" sits. How different from the close, hot streets where the crowds of London children spend their strangely unnatural lives! Nothing is their own. Jostled here and there, crippled for want of space, compelled to use the gutter as their playground, and to forego the healthgiving ozone of country air, who can wonder that they suffer for the want of a happy, childlike life?

"I was born in the country," poor women in London have said to me; and they have wept as they said it.

Some poor people from the slums of Westminster were enjoying a ramble upon the slopes of Box Hill one delicious afternoon in June, when a young woman was overheard to say to another :

"I wonder whether this is what they call scenery? I have read about it in books, but I never saw it before. It is wonderful! It is just Paradise!"

She refused to believe that there could be more beautiful scenery in other parts of the world; whilst another added→→

Well! I am glad I have seen a mountain at last!" The seaside has its charms of rock and coast, the stretch of shingle on the shore, the high, uprising cliff, where we may wander with unlimited space of ocean before us, reaching to its own distant horizon, decked with tiny sails, and little puffs of smoke like clouds, just here and there.

Autumn, with its glowing tints on every woodland scene, and the golden richness of its corn-fields, tells a tale of passing beauty which to many minds brings a peculiar sadness, but to me a singular joy. For it seems to tell of a love and thoughtful care which can gild for us so strangely the blessings that are here, before we part with them, in preparation for still better things above.

The winter, too, has its own delights, though here a minor chord sounds in our ears. To the rich there are pleasures without end: hunting, riding, skating, walking, and now the famous tobaganning-an unknown delight in England until of late, but now a very popular amusement with old and young. There is the cosy fireside, the blazing log, and bright coal flame all inviting us to the pleasures of our home.

But the poor suffer proportionately. They have not our remedies against cold, and they shiver in the bitter wind. Might not some of our leisure hours be spent in making garments for them, or in using our talents for deft handiwork by earning some comforts for our neighbours in the great cities who are poor?

My father, Sir Arthur Cotton, has given much attention to the subject of Land Cultivation, and has proved, by his annual and most practical experiments, that we have as yet scarcely touched the wealth of England;

• “Thorough Cultivation," by Sir Arthur Cotton, K.C.S.I. Publisher: Clark, Dorking.

that by digging deeper, more thoroughly aerating the soil, and in some cases enriching it by adding some deficient material, as chalk for instance, we should reap SEVEN TIMES the crops we reap at present.

His pamphlets on this subject are well worth considering, and only an enterprising cultivator is needed, with a small amount of capital and land, who will carry out in practical experiment, and on an efficient scale, these definite suggestions, with the aid of calculations given.

Surely it would be worth the time and thought of some young man of education and energy to work out these theories which have already been very fairly tested, though not so fully as might be possible on a small farm, and by a man who possesses, and is willing to expend, both time and acreage to a small extent on the experiments.

If we study rightly the use of our Creator's best gifts, we shall value indeed the delights of country life! ELIZABETH REID HOPE.