the sun, is showing forth his glory in that part of the heavens where he is shining. Then the forest trees, when a high wind is raging among them, are a sight worth looking at. Stout as they are, when He who made them sends forth his winds against them, they bend to and fro like a reed. Even the fog itself, at times, renders a country scene beautiful to gaze on; and a rimy morning in the country is beyond anything I can say in its favour. But I suppose that you will hardly be satisfied without a picture or two in November." "If you please, I should like two or three." 66 Well, then, two or three you shall have. It is the fifth of November, and the school-boys have a famous fire. How their faces shine! They have heaped up fagots, the stump of an old tree, and bundles of furze from the common: the whole pile is in a blaze! There is plenty of smoke, plenty of flame, and plenty of fireworks. One boy has just let off his cannon, and another is crying out aloud, 'Remember, remember The fifth of November Is gunpowder treason and plot; That gunpowder treason Should ever be forgot.' "There! they have kicked the blazing stump; ten thousand sparks are rising in the air; squibs and crackers are flying about in all directions; and every boy, whirling his cap over his head, is hurraing as loud as he can bawl." "You could not have given me a better picture than that." "The air is moist; just the day for a fox chase. Hark! I hear the horn of the huntsman and the cry of the hounds. Let us stand where we are, on the hill, under the cover of the copse. Here they come! the poor, hard-run, weary, and bespattered fox is on his last legs, closely pursued by the eager-eyed, hard-straining dogs. The straggled pack are pouring in from all quarters, and panting steeds and red-coated riders are fast arriving, The hunters are cheering on the dogs, the huntsman is winding his horn, and the hounds are making the distant hills ring with their boisterous music. It is all over with poor reynard: he is caught at last; the huntsman is in at the death; he has lashed away the dogs, he has drawn his knife, he has laid hold of the fox, and has now stuck his brush in his cap as a trophy of his victory." "I never saw a fox chase in my life." "No great loss; for it is, at best, but a cruel sport. One kindly deed to those around you will be more to your credit, than the tails of a dozen foxes won in the chase. But now for my last picture. What a hail storm! it has caught poor old Hannah Stubbs in crossing the village green, where there is no shelter. A famous peppering she will have! Her black bonnet will be all manner of shapes. What large hailstones! The biggest that descend in mighty force, Some have killed birds, broke windows, slates, and tiles, All is confusion at the Green Dragon: the dog has slunk into his kennel; the sign is swinging backwards and forwards; the doors are clapping, the windows are flapping, the broken panes are jingling; and the hailstones are rattling against the window-shutters, as if they would knock them all to pieces." "Poor old Hannah Stubbs will have the worst of it." "I must now leave the garden. You have heard enough to show you that he who looks about him in the country, in November, will find enough to give him pleasure, and quite enough, if he be one who fears God, to fill his heart with thankfulness, and his tongue with praise." "I THOUGHT," said Maurice, one day, as he entered the greenhouse, "that you would be here, Michael; for I have looked every where else for you. Please to tell me now about December in the country. I am so sorry that we are come to the last month. Stop a moment; let me just touch the sensitive plant. There! how it does shrink up! I could really fancy that it was alive." "It is very wonderful; none but an Almighty |