nerves of the ear, whereas the melodies of the field and fallow, the wood and wold, those melodies of morn the poet deemed to be untold, surpass them in tender sweetness. It is an education in mental-balance to listen for the trill of the skylark, perhaps the most sublime music in nature, or for the notes, now akin to the weird themes of Chopin, now to the ravishing melodies of Schubert, that issue in spring from thrush, blackbird, linnet; or the home-going diapason of the dove, or in their merrier moods, to the chirp of chaffinch or robin. And these lovely songsters, if only there be no devilish saltpetre, no mischievous brat, no other demon of destruction nigh your dwelling, will soon forget that you are fashioned in the form of a brute, and join their treble to the chords of your piano, come to your call, and share your afternoon tea as though you were another St. Francis. Experto crede. But you must be far enough away from London smoke, and the model farmer, who poisons God's creatures lest he should lose a dozen grains of worthless wheat, and the stupid gamekeeper, and all the crew of butchers. There are such riches to be found in nature by diligent searching, and therein, at all events, inheres an ideal-perhaps not the highest, yet one liberated from that quality of brutality, i.e., crass selfishness, which has rendered the name of Briton a bye-word. Of course if you wish to make money this is the wrong road, for it does not lead to Capel Court or Wall Street; or, if you wish to spend money, this again is the wrong road, for its sign-post never points to Hyde Park Corner or Monte Carlo. But if you have an idea of living for the life that is in you, the life of colour and sound, of fancy and sympathy, then the solitudes of old England will afford, not indeed a paradise, but an endless variety of object lessons. The land from Cornwall and Kent to Cumberland teems with undiscovered treasures. Here you shall encounter labourers' cottages, built long ago on the lines of truth, and free from the least taint of vulgarity-nests that a cultured taste might easily convert into things of beauty as exquisite as, though less artificial than, the Little Trianon itself; here desecrated courts, needing but the magic touch of intelligence to revive the splendour of Elizabethan and Tudor magnificence. England-to put it tersely-needs exploring and preserving. We want some evangelist to preach the sacredness of the beautiful; to cry aloud and shout against the reckless axe, and the defacement and destruction of the relics of a better past; to preach the salvation of the goldfinch and the green woodpecker, not to mention other and rarer species. Perhaps, when the age of thought succeeds that of incessant locomotion, when the world will have sickened of the game of Sisyphus, and people abandon the dream of being millionaires, then to live with nature and with art will become the new summum bonum. No doubt money means much, but it is a means to an end—not the end itself; and after all the richest are those whose days afford them the maximum of wholesome gratification, whose sun sets in radiance, leaving the reflection of love, joy, peace. COMPTON READE. CHAPTER VII. THE PLEASURES ARISING FROM THE BY GEORGE NORTON, M.A. AMONG the common desires of mankind there are perhaps none that more plainly indicate the possession of bodily activity and healthy mental tastes than the love of field sports, and the desire for dominion over some part, however small, of the earth's surface, for the advantages and pleasures arising from its occupancy and cultivation. By means principally of the chase the subsistence of the human race in its earliest ages was obtained. But at the present day the uses of field sports are recreation and the means of maintaining vigour and hardihood of body. With regard, however, to the cultivation of the soil, that is an occupation of ever increasing importance, and an art that may be carried to far greater and higher perfection than it has, at any time or place, yet reached. It is not intended here to enlarge upon the pleasures and advantages enjoyed by the owners of large estates and wide domains, by reason of the importance and influence attached to such possessions, which can be enjoyed only by a few; nor is it intended to dilate upon the economical or technical aspects of the farmer's or gardener's art; but simply to advert to a few of the advantages and pleasures attendant on the possession of farms and gardens, even on a small scale-advantages and pleasures which are within the reach of great numbers. Among the higher pleasures of farming may be reckoned the sight and observation of nature in her lovely and ever-changing moods; for there is no business that brings a man into such close touch with the operations of nature as farming. It is well said in Emerson's pleasant essay on farming, "The farmer stands close to nature; he obtains from the earth the bread and the meat; the food which was not he causes to be." And, "the profession has in all eyes its ancient charm, as standing nearest to God, the great first cause." Then there is the satisfaction in many cases of bringing, by judicious drainage, or other appropriate means, a piece of wet, heavy, or barren ground into wholesome fertility and productiveness. The man who has effected this, or any like improvement, not only is sure of pleasure from what he has done, but may also, in a humble way, be considered a benefactor of his country; which indeed has been said of every one who makes two blades of grass to grow where but one grew before. To watch the progress of one's crops gives an interest and pleasure continually increasing as experience and knowledge increase. And to walk round a farm for that purpose is generally enlivened by observing the habits of the wild animals that share with us the occupancy of the land;—now a hen partridge pretending to be hurt in order to draw us away from her tiny brood running at our feet; now a hawk swooping down upon his quarry; now a stoat or weasel; and occasionally some rare bird visitant of our island. Natural history, busied with technical classification, and derived only from books, is often a dry and tedious study; but when to some degree of scientific knowledge is added the observation of real animal life in the fields and woods, it becomes a charming pursuit, and may be a cause of the production of books of such delightful character as Izaac Walton's "Angler," or Gilbert White's "Selborne." Judicious planting on land, suitable for the purpose, gives to the planter, in the care and observation of his rising woods, continual pleasure; which may be increased by the anticipation of certain, if distant, profit, to be enjoyed probably by a descendant or relative. And the lover of field sports, possessing only a small farm, is seldom without some means of gratifying his tastes. Although his fields may have bred only two or three coveys of birds, there are generally some rabbits, and may be fishing. On a farm of about 100 acres, at one time possessed by the writer, the rabbits were so abundant that they could be kept under only by continual shooting and ferreting. And a small brook (in size little more than a ditch, but always running) was found to contain small trout up to half-a-pound in weight, of which a dish could generally be obtained with the line. The advantages and pleasures of a garden are so great and manifold as to be generally acknowledged by all classes, from the philosopher and statesman to the mechanic and labourer. The great Bacon, the founder of modern science, had evidently given much attention and thought to gardening, and in his well-known essay "Of Gardens" calls it "the purest of human pleasures, and the greatest refreshment to the spirits of man." And Sir William Temple, the wise and sagacious statesman and skilful gardener, to whom we owe some of our best peaches, figs and grapes, says, "The most exquisite delights of sense are pursued in the contrivance and plantation of gardens, which, with the fruits, flowers, shades and fountains, and music of birds which frequent such happy places, seem to furnish all the pleasures of |