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crously grotesque and out of place, that, unless choir, and the garland of wild roses sacred to they were set there as a temptation to risibility la Vierge Mère," encircling the walls under for the purpose of testing the canon's and the lightly trefoiled arches that face the gallery vicar's resistance to it, we can in no way ac- channelled in them. We have left, also, the pulpit count for their introduction.*

with its glare of white and gold, its theological As it would be easier to fill a volume than to graces, and its Apollo spiritualized to a winged concentrate into a small space even a portion of angel-s0 out of keeping with the grave beauty the architectural and antiquarian interest apper. of the aisle in which it appears, as to make us taining to the Cathedral of Amiens, we must wish it were not there. leave behind much that is deserving of notice- But we must leave them. If we look back at the maynificent windows, with their exquisite all, it shall be upon the exterior, when the streets tracery, bright tints, and painted stories—all the are still, and the broad, full moonlight of the chapels and monuments, and graves that pave autumn night encompasses the whole, fickerthe aisles, and the ballads and verses, rebuses ing on the giant windows, pencilling with light and jeux de mots (for which we are told to blame the graceful spire, defining with its trans. the times, not the men) of the brotherhood of parent medium the space between the dying Notre-Dame-du-Puy, in honour of the Virgin ! buttresses, and bringing out clear and

We have neglected, too, the sculptured bor. sharp, like separate rays, each pinnacle and derings of fruit, and powers, and shells in the ' minaret.

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A thunder-storm, which had been gathering It's full nine miles from here," he said, up since noon, swept at length in fury over the “and over a bad road after the rain. But my wild moors of Derbyshire. But, in an hour or home is four miles nearer, if you'll accept its 80, the clouds passed away, and the golden glory shelter. It's humble, but my good old mother of the setting sun lay on the mossy crags, the 'll give you a hearty welcome.” sylvan ferns, the thymy sward, and gave the The invitation was gladly accepted, for the fresh-washed mountain flowers a newer fragrance rain yet dripped off the lady's garments, and and a richer dye.

she was worn and spent by the intensity of the A gentleman and lady had driven from Mat- storm. lock that morning, in order to see the moorlands “The place 'll be a bit the nearer, too, ma'am," of the Peak; and leaving their gig at a little said the young farmer, "if you'll ride Dolly rustic inn, had followed the path pointed out, here." As he spoke, he pointed to an old broadand which, in a winding ascent of rather more backed mare which stood tethered in a corner of than two miles, led them far away into one of the hut. “ It's mother's old horse, that's taken the wildest yet most beautiful moors of the Peak. her to town and church this ten year. It's a bit They were accompanied by a fine boy of about rough i' th coat, for it's been out for a month nine years old, and bringing with them milk on th' moor; but it's a gentle cre'tur, and a pad and bread and fruit from the little inn, took oʻstraw, and a sheepskin that be here, 'll do for their noon-day meal beneath the shelter of a a saddle, if you'll take a venture, ma'am.”. rock that, grey and bare, stood solitary amid a The generous offer was again accepted; the waste of sward and mountain heather. This primitive saddle was made, and fastened on with over, they wandered away across the wild ex- a rope found in a corner of the hut; and as soon panse, that had no distance but what the horizon as the storm had in a measure cleared up gare, and unconscious as it were of the gather- though still raining—the lady mounted; her ing clouds, or perhaps thinking they might pass boy sat behind her, and they went on their way, over

, as had been the case for several previous the horse safely led by the young dalesman, by days

, they went on, on their pleasant path, full whose side the gentleman walked and chatted. of intense enjoyment of the solitude and wild It was a long way, however, for often marish beauty which lay around. At length, aware that places had to be passed, and rough paths winda thunder-storm was near at hand, they looked ing through heather and gorse; but at length, about for shelter, but none could be seen. Yet just as the last glory of the sun was waning from hoping they might be nearer some rocks or the hill-tops, they reached the edge of the moor, trees than of which the rapidly-increasing dark- and began a descent towards the valley below. ness allowed them to have a view, they breath- As they looked down upon the scene, both lessly hurried on, the lightning soon playing strangers uttered an exclamation of intense surround them as though they walked in an out- prise and wonder; it was so rich, so beautiful, spread sheet of fire. In a moment more the so new. Before them lay a long and gradual rain descended in a glassy stream; and drenched, descent to a very far distant valley, backed by as if dipped in the sea, they could do no other the heathery moors again, on which the sunlight than pass swiftly on, with the wish, rather than glinted; and all the space between was clothed the expectation, of reaching some temporary with dark woods, varied by broad open spaces shelter. But they were not people to take this of meadow and corn-field, and here and there a disaster to heart; they were lovers of nature, solitary cottage. Through this woodland glided and could reverence its sublimity.

a little river, scintillating like a thread of silver, The darkness was less, and the storm had in where seen through the open foliage; beside it, a degree spent itself, when they reached a little sometimes seen, wound a picturesque lane; and but or sheiling, used evidentlý by such shep- on the opposite bank of this sylvan stream, in berds as brought their flocks upon the moors, one or two spots lay heaps of clay, thrown up It was thatched with turf, and wattled round from the narrow mouths of newly-worked lead. with heather. The whine of a dog had guided mines. Immediately before them, on a wide them to it; and now, after a few short barks, it ledge of the very easy descent, lay a small Pas called back by some one within, and in a detached farm-house, girdled by a picturesque moment more a young man came forward, and garden, orchard, croft, and a whole breadth of seeing the dripping lady and the child, bid'them upland pasture. The garden was divided from enter, in a rough unmodulated voice, but one full the woodland by a rush-fringed pool, into which, of kindness. He was a tall, athletic, and handsome after making many marish places by the way, man, though browned by the wind and sun. At fell the crystal waters of a bounteous spring, once the strangers were at home with him, talked that gushing from the living rock of the moor over their disaster, and asked the way to the inn a stone's throw behind the homestead, lowed where the gig had been left.

first into a vast stone trough, literally covered

round by honeysuckle, foxglove, and the mountain ivy. It overflowed from this, amidst the thymy turf and stones, and so flowed away round a green croft to the pool. The lady, who had an artist's eye, was struck by the whole scene, but more than all by these beauteous waters, left to flow on in waste and rude disorder, and round whose neglected basin, unplucked, untouched, uncared for, a very wilderness of sweets and blooms was gathered; the ivy's leaves, the honeysuckle's petals, the foxglove's tinted stripes, glowing with inexpressive richness in the sinking sun!


goodman's, and, snug and warm in the chimney-corner, was soon occupied with a frisking kitten, that had hitherto been sleeping on the soft cushion of the dame's chair. The old goodwife then led the way up-stairs into her own chamber, took nice lavendered linen and clothes from a deep chest, went with the first downstairs for a few minutes to give them "an air," as she said, " by the back'us fire;" then brought them up again with warin water, saying, as she did so, and as she left the room, "By your leave, ma'am, I'll be seeing after a cup o'tea, for ye mun be nigh famished; and ye mun just be contented i' th' night, for I got a spare bed, and John's already sent our farm-lad off t'th' Coach and Horses, to say ye ba'int a-coming t'-night."

"What a lovely spot!" the strangers said. "It's home here," replied the young man, with something like a tone of pride; "and there's mother standing in the porch, as I might guess, to watch me from the moor. By your leave, sir," addressing the gentleman, "if you lead Dolly to the spring, and go on to that garden-gate you see, I'll run on and prepare my good old mother for your coming."

So saying, he placed the reins in the gentleman's hands, and ran on before, followed by his dog.

A few yards down the descent brought the strangers to the gushing spring; and though wet and tired, they could but stay a minute to admire its crystal beauty, to pluck a token of its scented garlands, and to remark what a little taste and care might make of such a teeming gift of nature.

Yes! educate, and cultivate, and inspire, and Beauty shall be brought home!

A little further on, and the strangers reached the wicket of the homestead, where a comely dame, well stricken in years, stood to welcome them with a motherly look and kind words; whilst the night-wind, which blew her snowy apron to and fro, bore on it the mingled fragrance of garden sweets-the double stock, the sweetbriar, the gilliflower, and the clove-pink. Very heartily the good old soul bid them welcome, and led them in through the deep eavesed porch to her large, quaint homestead-kitchen, stopping often by the way-as dames will doto kiss the boy and coax his flaxen hair. The young man in the meanwhile had roused up the fire with fresh faggots and peat, swung the teakettle further on the crane, and was placing high-backed cushioned chairs round the hearth as the strangers entered.

So saying, and not waiting for thanks, she hastened down-stairs to the performance of her hospitable duties.

The lady, as she changed her garments, could but notice the quaint old-fashioned room, scrupulously clean and neat, filled to repletion with chests, presses, carved chairs, old china of exceeding richness; and matchless glass, such as taper beakers, bottles, and hour-glasses, yet thrust away in corner shelves and on the tops of presses, in perfect ignorance of both their beauty, rarity, or picturesque capability. On the walls were several small oil-paintings; from the frames of these dangled bags of feathers and bundles of dry herbs; and, beside a little filligreed oval mirror-a perfect gem from some old hand long dust-hung a ham! For what purpose put there, no one but the initiated might conceive; for below, in the homestead-kitchen, hung a wealth of this sort of provender—and yet some to spare.

Dressed at length in the dame's quaint attire for she was very tired, and rested by the waythe lady went down stairs, just as the hospitable meal was ready. John's father was now returned-a pale old man with silvery hair-the wood and peat fire blazed high and clear upon the hearth, candles were lighted, whilst the table literally groaned under its richness of country dainties. A broiled fowl, stewed mushrooms, ham, corned beef, pickles, preserves, girdle-cakes, and the famous Derbyshire horn-cakes, pies, and the great morrow's custard-to say nothing of steaming tea. It was a true English meal, as heartily given as it was gratefully accepted.

As soon as it was over, the boy was taken upstairs to rest. This done, the dame took up her knitting, whilst the strangers talked to her husband and son. The gentleman said he had been much struck by the rare beauty of the country, and inquired if a house could not be hired in that neighbourhood, for a few months during the next summer, as he should like to

"And now, John," said the old dame, addressing her son, “you'll find a Sunday suit in the big chest for the gentleman; and whilst I go wi' th' lady up-stairs, just call Sally from th' byre; she mun a'most done milking by this time; and say'll be wanting her in the bak'us."

What the good dame's hospitable intentions were by-and-bye proved; but already there was

a delicious smell afloat of savoury pies, fruit-bring his wife and children.

tarts, and cakes; for it was Saturday, and preparations had been making for the morrow's peaceful festival.

As was natural, the mother's first thought was of her boy; and he was undressed, rubbed dry, wrapped up in an old warm coat of the

"Well I be thinking, Sir," replied old John Arrowsmith-for such was his name-after amoment's thought, "there could be found something o' the sort. There be an old Darbyshire family at Fernside Grange, a mile from here, and they be talking o' going to furren parts the next


anner; and maybe, if a word was spoke in poorest thing or cré'tur hav' its use, I'm thinkane, you mut get it. It be a rare place—with ing, in the eyes of God, and should in the eyes aid woods, and gardens, and orchards, and of man.” brooks about it, fit for a Paradise, though I say Right, dame-very right. The waste will

yet make the perfection of the earth. Doubt So, as these strangers were wealthy, it was not-doubt not; for man is yet a child ! 9.00 arranged that old John should speak a rood word at Fernside, as soon as might be, to

Then a pleasant history followed of the good lae intent that if its owners would accept the dane’s life. After which the strangers retired to distinguished man of science, Mr. Mostyn, for a rest in a homely but scrupulously clean room. tenant during the ensuing summer, he would In the morning the earth was fair again, the sky gladly rent it. If to be let, there could be no

Their gig had been brought from the demur

, as Mr. Mostyn moved in an eminent inn, and so, after a hospitable breakfast, they position, in London, as a demonstrator of took their grateful leave of the princely creatures, chemistry in its relation to practical art.

though but dwelling in a solitary mountain farm, As they talked thus, Mrs. Mostyn sat quietly and went on their way to Matlock, guided by a a listener

, noticing the large picturesque young John Arrowsmith, and stopping, as they toen, lgbted by the partial effects of fire and went along to hear the sabbath service in a picDoodlight-for some part lay in shadow, and turesque village church. When they parted ribia this stole such strips of glistening moon with good John, it was with earnest hopes of fight as fell through the ivied lattice-panes. meeting with him again, and the desire was one Through an open door could be seen a parlour, of sympathy! fall to repletion as the room up-stairs with all sorts That day week Mrs. Mostyn sat amidst her of ancient furniture and curiosities; whilst in children, and their little maid Mary-part maid this homestead-kitchen itself was a grand old- she was, part nursery-governess—and told them fashioned buffet, and on the shelves of a dresser, this sweet story, to their great pleasure. Still a further wealth of china, stuck in corners and more rich this pleasure was, when she said she otherwise bilden away, as though it were a thing was going to send the good old dame a gown. to be ashamed of; whilst an old cover of a dello So they went with her, and sixteen yards of rich treten, a lot of willow-pattern sauce-boat lids, dark silk for a gown was bought, and two plaiu and a plaster parrot with a red head and yellow cambric pocket-handkerchiefs, and

some lace for al was set conspicuously forth. One splendid a cap. And Mr. Mostyn added a shawl, and a Indian bowl was filled with old tobacco-pipes, and book for John, “Stephens'

Book of the Farm;" candles

, and on a remote corner-shelf stood a and before the grand parcel was finally closed, pale of old china-dishes and saucers, set one in tiny, loving childish hands added thereto simple the other—the largest at the bottom, the tiniest offerings. at the top—80 as to stand high up and apex

At Christmas, came a great hamper from Derthe and these were all of such exquisite pel- byshire-a very farm-house in itself--and word acidity as to be seen in the distance.

that Fernside Grange could be let to them was just about to ask the dame through the next summer. from whom she inherited these rich treasures, Mr. Mostyn, as already said, was an eminent en she was attracted by a silken ball with man, and held an important oficial appointment which the kitten played about the hearth. It in connexion with Practical Art. His wife, too, spiled and faded ; and as it trickled towards her, enlightened Manchester manufacturer, who had she stooped and picked it up. She saw it was bestowed on her not only a fortune, but the * Ay, ma'ain," said the good dame, pausing in the fitting wife for, so gifted a man as her husas she spoke, “Kitty ought n't to band. Five children already enriched her home,

But, good as my and to their care and education her time was Ika be, he likes to plague his old mother a bit devo:ed.

Not the least contingerit of their education, I got many and many a hundred yards o* that their mother had been greatly interested. She lied on’t; for ye see, ma'am, in my young Mrs. Mostyn's father's foremen; one of that passe father had bin a riband-weaver at such reliant, self-educated, thoughtful, and untramtimes as fringes and them sort o' things were a

Mrs. Mostyn

male of fringe and braid.


her knitting

hr' a ball o' such rich stuff.

melled by conventual ideas, hold in their hands sal in fashion; so, having a lot by her, it came so much of the future destiny of their country; anne with other things; for she war mighty though not without the increase of these virtues, and o’ me—and left me, when she died, her and the absence of all rant and dogmatisin. brusehold stuit, her china, and a hundred | Mary had been, therefore, taken from a pure and pounds. So, as I dunna like waste, I've never sober hom sent to a government trainingdone nought wi't; for maybe, when I am dead school, and leaving this, had coine into the od uns don't. No, me dunna do toe vaste were countless things of delicacy, order, tas:e and and of

smetimes; and so, wun I were at the buffet

beauty, which fitted her for her coming duties, i The walls were now papered, the floor carpeted, without leaving her to be discontented either with the pictures gathered together, and nicely hung ; her position or her prospects.

the filligreed mirror also, round which had beta. The summer came, and the children and Mrs. twined a fresh - gathered garland of ivy, a Mostyn went to Fernside Grange, though she beautifully-carved buffet was exquisitely garoccasionally returned to town to her husband, nished with lovely shapes ir glass and china, the whose vacation had not yet come. When it did, once hideous pyramid of lessening plates and and they joined their children in Derbyshire, saucers, were now, in portion, set one into the and heard of their rambles on the moor, their other-lesser and lesser ascending, till a deep cup visits to the mountain farm, and countless other crowned the top. Round each of these saucers delights, one thing was soon clear, that John were wild and garden flowers, in the cup roses Arrowsmith was Mary's admirer. And John of many hues, the whole forming a pyramid of having nothing to conceal, but being, on the scent and loveliness. In the middle of the room contrary, a very noble fellow, came the next day; stood a table, covered by a cloth made from old. and seeing Mr. and Mrs. Mostyn alone, spoke damask silk, and fringed with deep green fringe out at once his love for Mary, and asked their from the hoard in the old buffet. In the middle consent to his courtship. Aš Mary did not ne- of this table stood the quaint oriental bowl, filled gative this point, it was cheerfully given, and with geraniums, woodbine, and foxglove-inthe courtship proceeded, much to the joy of the stead of candles ! old people, who had taken a vast liking to the Some of the chairs were covered with this old young stranger.

embroidered silk; another by brown bolland, The next spring John went up to London, on which was outlined, in green and russetand there was a grand wedding—the young coloured braid, a long strip of ivy stem and couple going home by way of Manchester to see leaves, as though cast across it by a careles their friends.

hand. The cradle was decked with misin, That same summer Mrs. Mostyn and her trimmed with the same old fringe—the snory family spent in Normandy; but in the autumn curtains round the casement also ! of the succeeding year Fernside being again to Did I not say, educate ; and deformity and let, was taken for two months, and Mr. and waste should be turned to beauty and propora Mrs. Mostyn and their children made one jour- tion ! ney-it being now the official vacation.

In a moment more, the young mother was by Having never seen Mary since her marriage, the dear mistress's side; in another

, the lovely and knowing that she had but a few months first-born was raised and placed within those previously been made a mother, Mrs. Mostyn, loving arms. with graceful delicacy, resolved to make her first “ You have made your room very beautiful," visit alone. So the afternoon after her arrival said Mrs.

Mostyn, when she had learnt that she set off, having first seen her husband and John and his parents were well. elder children depart on their way to some “ You taught me,” replied the grateful mofavourite spot on the moors. She had, as she ther, “ and made me what I am.” fancied, the greater chance of seeing Mary alone, She did not say so audibly ; but as she pressed as the old people had, upon their son's mar- her fond lips down upon the infant's face, riage, removed to a cottage a little distance from glancing as she did so at the luxuriant gifts of the farm.

nature gathered from moor and hill, she felt 2 It was a glorious autumn afternoon, and the conscious pride and happiness

, that through sun lay glad and warm upon the moors. Ap- education, care, and love, she had enriched a proaching the farm by the road through the humble dwelling with refinement—and, in the woodland, Mrs. Mostyn saw at once that changes purest and the noblest sense, brought Beauty had been effected; but as these had been the Home! work of the young husband's hands, she did not linger, though it gladdened her to see that the glorious mountain spring poured itself out to SETTEMBRINI TO GIGIA. waste no longer. The old stone trough had (Written from one of the frightful Neapolitan parte been cleansed, the weeds and brambles cut away sons, where this innocent and unfortunate man Tai around it, the foxglove and the eglantine trained unjustly confined.) as a sylvan fringe above its crystal beauty; and what at last gushed forth in limpid waves, had From his Letter given in the Edinburgh Recieron been led, in a turf-sided channel, round the

for October, 1851. bowery garden before it fell into the pool.

Entering the homestead kitchen, with its picturesque parlour beyond, there might change be seen indeed. The red-headed parrot and tureen

I wish–0 dear and most unhappy wife ! covers were gone, as were the pile of costly

I wish to write to thee, for time wanes fast; saucers and basins also, though some of the less

These sixteen hours upon thy husband's life valuable china occupied their place. But at

The judges sit, nor yet the die is cast ; tracted by a glimpse of a cradle, the lady passed

And if they doom me to the death at last, into the parlour, where all the artistic treasures

Thee never more shall I behold—no more. of this quaint old house had been gathered.

My heart-strings !-my dear children! But 'tis


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