sigh "Vo atque dolor! all the day. To keep the mind healthy we must keep the body healthy also, and nothing conduces so much to bodily health as good hard exercise, and a moderate share of this world's comforts, whether in minister or layman. There you have, voilà tout, the case in a nut-shell. To return to the "Association." The morning of the auspicious day showed not the slightest trace of rain. The sky was blue as turquoise, and the breeze from the sea, bracing and refreshing, and high in air the skylark carolled her matin hymn till lost in the empyrean. At an early hour the little town was as full as it could well hold of visitors, and as soon as the first serious business of the day, breakfast, could be disposed of, the various groups began to wend their way towards a meadow, where the preaching was to come off in a large wooden pulpit, or rather platform, large enough to hold the preachers and the elité of the neighbourhood. Before we proceed thither, let me introduce to your notice some of the features of the "road" to this not sporting but religious meeting. Of course, I cannot point out to you the racy details of the "Derby" road; no drags full of guardsmen, no dogcarts driven by sporting publicans, no whitechapel piloted by sturdy "costers." The chief characters in this shifting scene are farmers and their wives, arrayed in the most resplendent attire; knee-breeches and blue coats predominating amongst the former, while the latter wear immense hats, some two feet high, with wide brims. Placid content reigns upon the bucolic face here, for the summer has been fine, and the harvest abundant beyond his most sanguine hopes; and now again in the autumn, when Hertha is laying herself down to die shrouded in her seemly robe of fallen crimson leaves, the apple-crop promises to be fair and plentiful. So, of course, serenity is enthroned upon the farmer's face, and he has the kind word and pleasant smile for all, while his house lies open to the visitors to eat and drink their fill. Then the servant lads and lassies, these I promise you are no mean sight. Gorgeous is their array, utterly regardless of expense, their entire "get-up," from the wide-awake trimmed with gay blue ribbon to the hob-nailed boots, polished respendently. Johnnie is a creature to look at respectfully, while Mary in the tall hat, and pure white capribbon, smirks and bridles at every little word of compliment from her rustic admirer. "Great is the company of preachers," of all sizes, all shapes; some grown hoary in the service of the Lord, others raw, shy, and diffident of their powers; some affable and pleasant, arm-in-arm with the farmer, and nodding cheerily to their various acquaintances; others moody, solemn, lank Prester-Johns, bearing on their faces the impress of the ascetic hardness within. Saintly ones are they, and not to be approached save with reverence. If my readers have read Burns' "Holy Fair," they have seen a gallery of these worthies photographed by a master hand. But we have loitered owre long over this motley, moving crowd; let us join them and wend our way to the scene of action. Long before we reach it, we hear sounds, loud, distinct, almost reaching a bellow, and find on arriving that a "choice vessel" has arisen and is about commencing his discourse. In order to make his voice audible over the length and breadth of the field, and to overcome the noisy hum of mingled flirtation and conversation going on, the orator has to exert his lungs to the utmost; sometimes aiding his voice by applying his hand to his mouth, much in the same way as we see steamer captains give their orders. The excitement appears to be the most intense amongst a knot of elders, and women, who are congregated round the preaching platform. The louder the minister shouts, the more impassioned his oratory becomes, the more excited become the audience. Frequent "Amens" and แ "Hear him" are heard; some of the more enthusiastic ones commence moaning and rock themselves to and fro, with the wildest gestures; some are so far gone, that they can do nought but lie down and kick up their heels madly. All this time fresh arrivals throng into the field till it looks like a parterre of gay flowers. Vendors of refreshments, and strange to say, of light literature-(I actually saw the "London Journal "* amongst them)-wend their way between the rows of attentive or listless listeners. Here you come upon a group of lads and lassies gaily chatting, flirting, laughing, as oblivious to the preacher as if no such man existed. It is holiday time, for them, poor things, and little reck they whether the occasion be religious or the contrary. In another quarter, a couple of would-be divines have disputed concerning some point of Scripture, and at it they go statim, arguing and refuting, till the perspiration streams from their faces. A never-failing element of course are the children who, if anything, are more restless and gamesome on this solemn day than the others. A shocking disturbance these "ne'erdoweels" create amongst the the more staid, diving into the crowds, and upsetting quiet folks; while ever and anon some luckless urchin is caught by the stern hand of authority, and sternly ordered to listen to the howler in the pulpit; no easy task for him, poor child, and he casts longing eyes after his more fortunate companions. And so the little game goes on-flirting, eating, drinking, sleeping, preaching till the first orator has literally prostrated himself by his intense efforts and quits the rostrum. A hymn is now given out, and from that mighty throng rises the grand anthem of praise to the Bountiful, while, "keeping time," "keeping time," the deep swell of the Ocean chimes in, and the skylark carols a blithe treble in the blue distance. I never heard anything approaching the grandeur of this hymn sung in this place. I have heard the mighty organ of Magdalen, Oxford, shake the building, as the chaunt rose to its fretted roof. I have heard more refined, delicate music, but nothing to equal the rude * A fact. beauty of this melody; spell-bound I remained, and forgot the silly, flaunting crowd around me, and drank in every glorious note from the singers' lips. After the singing came more preaching. In This time, a milder and more persuasive orator in English, whose sermon seemed to attract attention; and it deserved to, for it was characterized by earnest fervour and deep solemnity. He talked "as a dying man to dying men," and trusted more to the truth of his remarks than to any ornament or exaggeration, and consequently the excitement was less intense, and the silence broken only by an occasional "Amen" deep and fervent. Nor all this while were creature comforts forgotten or slighted. every house is spread a large collection of viands which do delight the inner man, and hither all are invited to come and forget the difference of opinion over a bowl of " cwrw da." A very fair notion these homely Welsh people have of hospitality, at any rate. The feast is quite Gargantuan in the character of its dishes, and the good things, as says our little friend Mr. Bouncer, "piled up mountaynious." Giant hams, flanked by smoking platters of vegetables; immense pies, hiding beneath their crusty surface wondrous things in flesh and fowl; thin oatmeal cakes peculiar to the country, which in their crisp, delicate way, are delicacies by no means to be sneezed at; nec tu sperne puer, the strong good ale, which circles round the festive board in large pewter measures. Here are the preachers again, no longer blatant and authoritative, but seeing that their flock is well attended to, the while that they exchange merry smiles with the fair ones. The out-door preaching is now over for the day, and the people begin to wend out from the field to the chapel, where the Rev. Thomas Jones, or Morgan, or Rees, as the case may be, is about to dole forth sundry crumbs of spiritual comfort in his "sixthly and lastly." After the noise and turmoil of the day, the field looks quite desolate now, and reminds one of the battle-plain, on which the pitying moon looks down; but along the road wend loving couples, Colin and Rosalind, billing and cooing and telling to each other their little loves, and hopes, and fears. I look upon them kindly and tenderly, fully appreciative of their love, and bethink me of a time when- Bah! never mind, 'twere best left unsaid all this; why should I "wear mine heart upon my sleeve for daws to peck at?" The paddock close to the meadow, where the horses have been put, presents a scene wild and picturesque as in an American corrall. Furious riders rushing hither and thither, making ineffectual attempts to grasp the recreant steeds by the mane; horses tearing wildly, careering round at full speed; lights flashing, shouts and cries; till at length the paddock is cleared, and the riders sally forth into the night. GWYNETH. 80 LADY MAUD. I. O LADY MAUD, your eyes are wet, your cheeks are wan with care, Untended fall the glorious locks of shining chestnut hair. Then why so tearful, Lady Maud? without, the clouds have fled; E'en now a prisoned sunbeam casts a halo round your head. II. Your favourite steed stands at the door, obedient to your call, III. O is it that a passing wind has swept some flow'ret down, IV. It is not for a withered flower or favourite bird I sigh, It is not that I have not wealth, or friends and spreading land, V. But 'tis the knowledge that I once deceived a noble mind, And turned from one who loved me well, unheeding and unkind. VI. And 'tis for this my eyes are sad, and that I never care To fly my hawk, or ride my steed, or braid my light brown hair. He loved to stroke those shining locks in joyful times of yore, And now they're sacred, and no hand shall ever touch them more. VII. O Lady Maud, he is not dead, tho' on the battle's plain W. B. RAILWAY ROMANCES: OR STORIES TOLD IN A TRAIN. I.-MIRIAM GILBERT'S SORROW. BUSINESS rather than pleasure obliges me frequently to travel by rail, and in very different directions. One week I am away among the wolds and moors of the north, with long tracts of blackened ground, roaring furnaces, and clanging hammers; next I am gliding swiftly away among the bright flower-dotted meadows and sloping hills of the western counties, and anon I am above the grimy house-tops and poisonous chimneys which hedge in the metropolitan railways. In these frequent journeys I have not failed to notice many people whose appearance seemed to entitle them to the somewhat doubtful denomination of "a character," and I have not unfrequently gathered strange stories and anecdotes from their talk. Although Englishmen, especially travelling Englishmen, are not a communicative race, yet a long railway journey is usually productive of conversation from the most taciturn, and I have seldom been obliged to take refuge in a book or a newspaper during my many journeys. It was about two years ago that I had occasion to travel to a place about sixty miles from London, and found myself, on entering the train at Euston Square, in company with three other travellers. They were all common-place enough, and not very promising company. In one corner remote from me sat a vacuous-looking youth in a stiff collar and alarmingly loud tie, who gazed thoughtfully at nothing out of the window, and seemed to be thinking about it. Next to him was a sickly man in spectacles, who seemed to be hopelessly bewildered by his "Bradshaw ;" and knowing the extremely lucid character of that work, there is no reason to suppose that I was wrong in my conjecture. The remaining traveller sat opposite to me, and was a stout, benevolentlooking man, with a shrewd twinkle in his eye, and a certain methodical way about his dress, his hair, and his whole person which led me to the conclusion that he was a "business man," probably in some of those mysterious places known as “Houses in the City." When we had gone some distance, I drew the shrewd man's attention (for I had mentally christened him the shrewd man) to a singular case of bank forgery recorded in the day's newspaper. "It is a singular case, certainly," said he in a cheerful, pleasant voice, when he had glanced over the account, "but I have known many such ; twenty years of banking life initiate a man into many such facts." VOL. VI. G |