After descending we stroll about the ruins, entering one ruined apartment after another, making our guesses and conclusions as to the use of each one. The chapel with its fine Gothic windows is not to be mistaken, neither is the kitchen, with its huge chimneys and enormous fireplace, a mute yet eloquent witness to the old English hospitable life; but where is the room in which the Lords of Dudley held their former state, and with a nod and frown consigned some luckless wight to the gruesome dungeon beneath the moat? And where is my lady's chamber, in which the waiting maidens once were wont to attire their mistress for some stately pageant or sprightly dance?

The waving branches of the ancient trees peer through the empty casements, and make melancholy answer, shaking solemnly their hoary tops, "We know, though we may not tell." But brighter voices of the happy" to-day" bid us forget the "has been," and call us to

Come away; no more of mirth
Is here, or merry-making sound;
The house was builded of the earth,
And shall fall again to ground."

If the work of man, though hewn from the solid limestone on which it stands, has fallen into decay, yet beyond and around ever living nature smiles with ineffable sweetness, and bids us laugh and sing as she does; while the sun's broad face cheerfully beckons us to follow him while we may, and idly wander through the enchanted glades, and to fancy as we go that somewhere here Titania held her court, and her little fairies "danced, danced on the green, and yet was there no footing seen."

Along these winding walks which intersect the park in bewildering profusion, how many a loving couple have sauntered in the past! A veritable paradise for lovers-all under the benignant greenwood tree, the white-armed birch and the forest elm. Here have they sworn eternal constancy, and told to each other that old, old story, which, like the return of spring, is ever changeless, and yet is always new. Perhaps in the olden days of the fair-haired Saxon founder, many a simple peasant told here his love to bashful blue-eyed maids; and later on, when the roar of cannon from the ancient keep told of civil war and unnatural strife, some gaily bedizened cavalier met in one of the great weird caverns beneath, a soberly clad Puritan maid, and there by stealth they plighted their troth, careless of who would be victors in the raging contest going on above and around.

66

Doubtless some of our readers can remember the days when they were courting Sophonisba, or Mary Jane, and how they used to bring their fair charmers here, and have, as the Yankees say, a high old time." The irregularities of the paths, the numerous precipitous declivities, all afforded many an opportunity of grasping the beloved one's hand, or even waist, to aid her to surmount the difficulties of the situation.

I think, too, the Dudley boys are to be particularly envied in having such a glorious place to play at hide-and-seek in. They, indeed, must have many a very "high old time" amidst the gloomy caverns, and deep

gorges which here abound. How well can they play at pirates, robbers, and outlaws! How nice to be a boy again, if only to be a Blood-stained Bandit, or a Wicked Baron! In these most delightful caverns one could defy a host of virtuous pursuers, and for one whole holiday fairly revel in imaginary crime; carry off some lovely maiden-betrothed to a detestable hero, of course-and there in the deepest lair of the forest laugh to scorn her cries and tears, and the reproaches of her ridiculous relatives; until our time came, and we were dragged out by minions to suffer the penalty usually meted out to the villains of romance.

Wherever the prospect is most charming and picturesque in the thickly wooded grounds, seats have been provided to enable the visitors to gaze leisurely at the lovely little vignettes of scenery which are ever being presented to view. When all the wicked peers have been abolished and their estates handed over to the tender mercies of Mr. Henry George and his admirers, let us hope that the present kind-hearted and munificent descendant of Humble Ward, who has fairly overwhelmed the Black Country with his gifts and charities, may have his property spared if only for the happiness he has tried to confer upon those less liberally treated by old Dame Fortune than he and his have been.

Time and space will not allow of more than mention of that incomparable gem of beauty, the Wren's Nest; and, besides, my feeble powers could never do justice to its beauties-its woodland scenery, its deep gorges, grey precipices, and awful caves and gigantic buttresses, supporting the limestone hollowed out by the workings of the miners for centuries. The deepening shadows and failing twilight bid us leave its stupendous marvels and return to our every-day life once more. Already the beacon lights flash out from a hundred fiery furnaces around, and the clang and din made by the hosts of the grim sons of Vulcan sound faintly in the distance; the old grey Castle sits enthroned above its green belt of woods, and seems but a lovely unreality which will vanish like a dream at opening day. Every moment we expect to hear the defiant neigh of some proud steed bearing on his back a steel-clad knight, who will pass by us and disappear in the woods beyond. And we know that he will be on his way to the Castle gate to blow the horn which in fairy story always hangs above the portal; then he enters the Courtyard, destroys in fierce combat the wicked giant, and rescues that most unhappy of princesses (until he appears), and then they both will live happily for ever afterwards.

These summer idylls are all too few in our lives-would there were more of them-when we can go to some such pleasing land of drowsyhead, and be children once again; and come home deliciously tired and sleepy, with our heads filled with sweet thoughts and pleasant fancies; and so good night, with lullaby

"Sing me now asleep;

Then to your offices, and let me rest.
Philomel with melody

Sing in our sweet lullaby :

Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby."

W. H. T.

Three Memories of a Life.

BALLAD.

HERE are three little spots in this island home,
That I do love

All others above;

And whatever my lot, or wherever I roam,

More sweet and dear
Their charms appear!

By the yellow sea-sands, in the soft rich spring, 'Twas there we met;

IT

The Influence and Doctrine of Circumstance.

́T was Eastertide. The sun shone forth with genial warmth, the birds were trilling sweet songs, the air was full of a rich fragrance, and the freshness of new life in budding branch, hedgerow and flower, awakened again a belief in the truth of the resurrection of the dead. The balmy atmosphere of the morning and the enchanting solicitudes of nature filled the spirit of Horace with yearning for rest and refreshment. He had been toiling hard for many months, and the incessant stir and anxiety inseparable from devotion to business made him long for the mountains and the woods. After a few hours' travelling he found himself far away from the bustle of the Midland Metropolis, and surrounded by the glorious mountains and valleys of Coniston, Borrowdale, and Buttermere, the blue rippling waves of Windermere and Derwentwater, and the towering heights of Helvellyn and Skiddaw. And issuing forth from these extensive prospects there came to him those spiritual influences which fall with sweetest tenderness upon man's heart when released from daily drudgeries, and brought into communion with the world of nature and the mysteries of 'life; and in his first ramble, as the full view of the lake burst upon him, had he given expression to his thought he would have exclaimed :

Oh! Windermere, how fair art thou !

How clear thy waters seem,

Reflecting yonder rugged brow,

How bright they glance and gleam!
Now dost thou speak of sweet repose,
Of peace and glory fair;
To-morrow wilt thou tell of woes,
Of work, and wear and tear.

Now art thou placid, full of rest,
Fanned by sweet zephyrs warm ;
To-morrow shall thy tranquil breast
Be lashed into a storm.

Ah! such is life! to-day we're glad
And full of brightest hope,

To-morrow finds our hearts are sad,
And in the dark we grope.

Horace was accompanied by his old friend Bernard, and day after day they wandered along the shores of lakes and through romantic woods, the sun gleaming brightly and shedding upon everything a rich radiance, though ever and anon overshadowed by clouds distilling gentle rain, and producing marvellous new effects on the foliage of the pines, whose deep rich green, contrasted with the bright fresh spring verdure, and the rapid interchange of light and shade, irresistibly suggested many sacred lessons of life, and love, and truth. Much they conversed on the influence of the peculiar environment of each other's life

upon their

individual character, and gradually slipped into quite a philosophical dialogue on the influence and doctrine of circumstance, often, however, interrupted by some sudden change in the scenes through which they passed, and furnished with new illustrations by the incessant vicissitude · of sunshine and shower.

In the course of their conversations Bernard said, “I never remember such a day as this in my history. It has been, I think, the happiest I have ever lived, for I feel my spirit to be in perfect harmony with Nature. I have seemed to hear her voice and to see in her ministries a reflection of the duties and purposes of life. But is it not sad that so few comparatively, even of those who are privileged to gaze on this lovely scenery, seize the meaning—the hidden revelation of nature?”

“Yes,” replied Horace, “it is strange; and how thankful should we be that to us are given eyes which can interpret, though very imperfectly, the lessons of nature. Think now of the action of surroundings on a man. A day or two ago I was in a great city, amid its business and bustle, and far from influences such as these; and what were my thoughts? How small is the area occupied by the city, compared with that of the country! And is there not, perhaps, a corresponding cramping of the spirit when untouched by these influences of nature? What a strange contrast there is between our circumstances to-day and those of even yesterday! How marvellous a power does circumstance exert upon our thought, our feeling, our life! Have you ever considered the purpose of circumstance?”

“Yes, Horace, I have often thought very much of the influence of one's environment, and have heard much of being superior to and rising above circumstance. But I don't know whether I have ever seriously considered what you term the purpose of circumstance.”

"Well, you must pardon my moralising, but the thoughts which have been frequently in my mind in a strange indefinite form, seem now to present themselves with greater clearness under the influence of these enchanting scenes. I have often asked myself the question—What is the purpose of life? What is life? Innumerable answers have been suggested, but the conclusion to which I have at length arrived is something like this: We find ourselves on the earth as beings possessed of a trinity of powers, with physical forms, mental faculties, and spiritual intuitions. Our endowments of mind and heart are only nascent, exist in various combinations, and need development and culture. We find, too, that there is hidden within us a force of evolution which we can either check or augment by means of that subtle and wonderful consciousness which is called the will.

"Now, I hold that the purpose of circumstance is to evolve the powers of Love by force of the will, and so to develop the Christian graces of joy, peace, fortitude, long-suffering, goodness and truth. But most men, instead of considering their own circumstances, weighing the effect they have upon them, how they control them, and how they might control their circumstances, are apt to grumble at them, and envy the apparently more fortunate lot of their fellows. For it is no easy matter always to