eautiful, and the feeling of summer came over our bosoms; the
flowers blossomed and the birds sang; and, as the sun looked from the
blue sky, the quiet of nature banished from our thoughts all the poor and
paltry cares that embitter life, and all the pitiful considerations which
are but too apt to be the only concerns of the busy and bustling, from
their awaking in the morning to their lying down on the pillow of evening
rest. Peter and myself felt this forcibly; he, as he confessed to me,
having entirely forgot the four pan-soled loaves that were, that morning,
left by his laddie, Peter Crust, in the oven, and burned to sticks; and
for my own part, do what I liked, I could not bring myself to mind what
piece of work I was employed on the evening before till, far on the road,
I recollected that it was a pair of mouse-brown spatterdashes for worthy
old Mr Mooleypouch the meal-monger.

Oh, it is a pleasant thing, now and then, to get a peep of the country!
To them who live among shops and markets, and stone-walls, and butcher-
stalls, and fishwives--and the smell of ready-made tripe, red herring,
and Cheshire cheeses--the sights, and sounds, and smells of the country,
bring to mind the sinless days of the world before the fall of man, when
all was love, peace, and happiness. Peter Farrel and I were transported
out of our seven senses, as we feasted our eyes on the beauty of the
green fields. The bumbees were bizzing among the gowans and bluebells;
and a thousand wee birds among the green trees were churm-churming away,
filling earth and air with music, as it were a universal hymn of
gratitude to the Creator for his unbounded goodness to all his creatures.
We saw the trig country lasses bleaching their snow-white linen on the
grass by the waterside, and they too were lilting their favourite songs,
Logan Water, the Flowers of the Forest, and the Broom of the
Cowdenknowes. All the world seemed happy, and I could scarcely
believe--what I kent to be true for all that--that we were still walking
in the realms of sin and misery. The milk-cows were nipping the clovery
parks, and chewing their cuds at their leisure;--the wild partridges
whidding about in pairs, or birring their wings with fright over the
hedges;--and the blue-bonneted ploughmen on the road cracking their whips
in wantonness, and whistling along amid the clean straw in their carts.
And then the rows of snug cottages, with their kailyards and their
gooseberry bu