ry of day, and the silent wonders of a starlit night, appeal
to their minds in vain. There are no signs in the sun, or in the moon,
or in the stars, for their reading. They are like some wise men, who,
learning to know each planet by its Latin name, have quite forgotten
such small heavenly constellations as Charity, Forbearance, Universal
Love, and Mercy, although they shine by night and day so brightly that
the blind may see them; and who, looking upward at the spangled sky,
see nothing there but the reflection of their own great wisdom and
book-learning.

It is curious to imagine these people of the world, busy in thought,
turning their eyes towards the countless spheres that shine above us,
and making them reflect the only images their minds contain. The man who
lives but in the breath of princes, has nothing his sight but stars for
courtiers' breasts. The envious man beholds his neighbours' honours
even in the sky; to the money-hoarder, and the mass of worldly folk, the
whole great universe above glitters with sterling coin--fresh from the
mint--stamped with the sovereign's head--coming always between them and
heaven, turn where they may. So do the shadows of our own desires stand
between us and our better angels, and thus their brightness is eclipsed.

Everything was fresh and gay, as though the world were but that morning
made, when Mr Chester rode at a tranquil pace along the Forest road.
Though early in the season, it was warm and genial weather; the trees
were budding into leaf, the hedges and the grass were green, the air was
musical with songs of birds, and high above them all the lark poured
out her richest melody. In shady spots, the morning dew sparkled on
each young leaf and blade of grass; and where the sun was shining, some
diamond drops yet glistened brightly, as in unwillingness to leave so
fair a world, and have such brief existence. Even the light wind, whose
rustling was as gentle to the ear as softly-falling water, had its hope
and promise; and, leaving a pleasant fragrance in its track as it went
fluttering by, whispered of its intercourse with Summer, and of his
happy coming.

The solitary rider went glancing on among the trees, from sunlight
into shade and back again, at the same even pace--looking about him,
certainly, from time to time, but with no greater thought of the day
or the scene through which he moved, than that he was fortunate (being
choicely dressed) to have such favourable weat