susceptibility, or in love to his Creator. Beauty is here embodied in a thousand shapes, fantastic formations, romantic featherings, magical fabrics, and creations of surpassing delicacy and loveliness. These are the works of his hands, who "doeth great things and unsearchable; marvellous things without number," Job v. 9.

The wood scene is a striking one. The oaks, with ruddy brown and yellow sere leaves, the elms, birch, and other trees finely sprayed, and the holly, with its red berries and glossy green leaves, rejoicing amid the snow, powdered thick or sparingly with frost or rime. The ditch and bank furnish a rich and tangled variety of dark, dry wood, withered foliage, reedy grass, sedge, and weeds of all kinds, overhung with straggling purple-coloured briers. In the midst of these, are numberless miniature caverns, holes, cracks, and crevices; safe and snug retreats for beetles, spiders, rats, mice, and such "small gear" as make the wood their covert, and revel in their warm and comfortable retreat, while the harmless wintry winds blow over them disregarded.

I have placed part of a rime-covered web on my gloved hand, to examine its texture with my magnifying glass. To the naked eye it is composed of pearls; but the glass reveals its composition to be of diamonds. As I gaze upon it, it writhes with the heat of my hand, as though it were alive: its diamonds become dim. There! It is going! It is gone!

"And such, alas! is human life,
That sheds the brightest ray;
It sparkles through its little hour,
And then it fades away."

In days long gone by, I have entered public rooms, lighted up and adorned for the festive dance; the floor has been elaborately chalked with some imposing design; the walls have been decorated with gildings and vivid colourings; and, from the ornamented roof, brilliant festoons, and costly chandeliers of glittering cut glass have hung, bursting with a blaze of light on the eye of the beholder: but what were those brilliant festoons and glittering chandeliers compared with the countless myriads of pearly and diamond wreaths that so redundantly bedeck the vegetation around me! They were povertystricken in comparison with this boundless infinity of glowing beauty. Here all is fair, fantastic, wild, and wonderful.

Think not that this arresting prodigality is wasted; that it is flung to the idle winds! There is, doubtless, some benevolent design accomplished by it beyond the mere gratification of man, though we are too purblind to discover it. Let me gaze with thankfulness; let me "stand still, and consider the wondrous works of God," Job xxxvii. 14.

The smooth surface of the snow, in my pathway, brings before my imagination the frozen plains over which the Laplander urges his flying deer; and the extended wilds, across whose slippery surface the fleet dogs of Kamtschatka drag the sledges of their fur-clad masters. The deserts of Siberia rise around me, where the Russian banishes those who call forth his displeasure, to waste their lives and strength in perpetual bondage. How bitter is the chain of servitude! How sweet the breath of freedom!

"Place me where winter breathes his keenest air, And I will sing, if liberty be there : And I will sing, at liberty's dear feet,

In Afric's torrid clime, or India's fiercest heat."

The snow-drift, stretching over that sloping bank, conjures up before me the everlasting hills and peaky cliffs, where the glacier glitters in the sun, and the trembling avalanche overhangs the valley. I see the Switzer chamois hunter, with his iron-shod pole and spiky shoes, pursuing his watchful and nimble-footed game, from height to height, from crag to crag, from rugged rift to fearful precipice. Hunger, toil, and danger, are his companions, and the bleak wintry winds are abroad on the mountainous wilds of snow his foot must traverse; but exercise gives strength and agility to his sinewy frame; enthusiasm lights up his eager eye, and enterprise animates his glowing heart.

Among the myriads of spiders that have woven their filmy webs over all created things around me, not one is to be seen; either they are coiled up closely in their hiding places, or the frost has killed them. The workmanship, adorned with rime, appears to be ostentatiously displayed, while the nimble-footed workmen have retired from view. How quiet is all around me! A lonely crow has given a lonely caw in flying over my head; and a wren, in hopping from a holly bush, has somewhat rustled its frosted leaves; but other sounds have not yet reached me. How eloquent is silence!

In these solitary scenes, the littlenesses

the village accounts of him had interested my boyish fancy. Mixing with these thoughts, came the sable muse of Blair, and I repeated his striking pic

ture:

"Here the lank-sided miser, worst of felons!
Who meanly stole, (discreditable shift!)
From back and belly too, their proper cheer;
Eased of a tax it irked the wretch to pay
To his own carcase, now lies cheaply lodg'd;
By clamorous appetites no longer teas'd,
Nor tedious bills of charges and repairs.

But, ah! where are his rents, his comings in? Ay now you've made the rich man poor indeed;

Robb'd of his gods, what has he left behind?
Oh cursed lust of gold! when for thy sake
The fool throws up his interest in both worlds,-
First, starved in this, then-

The poet concludes his picture by assigning to the soul of his hero an eternity of woe; but recollecting I was but fallible man, and therefore had no right to condemn my fellow man, I checked myself from adopting his harsh phraseology, and amidst perplexing thoughts, asked, And yet, whither has the soul of old Gripe departed? And I added,

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-If it be true,

What Plato and his sapient followers say,
That the soul shifts at death its house of clay;
That when he dies, the coward's soul is joined
Unto some feeble form of woman kind;
That the grim murderer is housed within
A savage's uncouth and rugged skin;
That the lascivious, full of lust and wine,
Becomes a grovelling and disgusting swine;
The vain and the inconstant, birds that fly
The subtle air, they know not where or why.
And the dull soul, and those that love their ease,
Fishes become, and revel in the seas."

Upon these philosophic principles, old Gripe has exchanged his being in this life for that of a mole, or a worm, and is now grovelling in the dark bowels of the earth, in search of that sordid pelf, which while living, was so dear unto him. But, if this be not true, as it certainly is not, Whither, I ask again, has the soul of old Gripe departed? My fallibility, and charity which "thinketh no evil," forbids me to say. I judge not him, but I call on the reader to remember that covetousness is idolatry, and excludes from the kingdom of heaven.

A miser is usually considered as a blot in the creation, and yet the deformity attracts many eyes, and his habits secure him a notoriety, which many a legitimate candidate for fame fails to obtain. This record, therefore, will only serve to perpetuate for old Gripe the reputation which he possessed whilst in existence, and which extended to many villages in the vicinity of his

own. Old Gripe was, indeed, an extraordinary specimen of the muckworm family, and seemed guided by an hereditary instinct; for he was the last of a race of misers. The same itch for gold was felt in the palm of every hand of the family of the Gripes. Strange tales have been handed down traditionally of his immediate progenitor. How, to save the pasturage of his own meadows, he followed his thousands of sheep as they grazed on the waste common; how like 66 a thing of shreds and patches" he dressed, warming himself in the winter with hay bands; how he received, as he walked along, the pittance of charity with hypocritical thankfulness, begging Heaven to bless the donor; and how, to fill his coffers, he was ever careful to defraud his species.

With so illustrious an example of self-denial constantly before his eyes, could we expect the hero of our record to disregard or despise it? And yet ation would be far from unreasonable. observation teaches us that the expectIndeed, it is proverbially said, that what is hoarded in thrift is expended in prodigality; that, in fact, misers beget spendthrifts. But the family of the Gripes formed an exception to this rule. The sons followed the example of the sires to the very letter of the law of selfishness. Old Gripe's brothers were all misers, but they were not speculators; they held with the tenacity of a giant grasp what they possessed, watching with delighted eyes the process by which large funded sums generated sums still larger. Old Gripe himself was immersed in business, and was always eager to clutch at a bargain. If a man in distress proffered anything to him, he never shrank from the negociation; but rarely offered more than a third part of its value, accompanying the offer with the chuckling exclamation, "Ready money, boy! ready money, boy!" Having thrown out the tempting bait, he would reiterate the phrase to the utter silencing of all argument that might urge the truer value of the property, until its hapless owner sighed and received the gold. In this way, many things fell into old Gripe's hands, and his bargains were always such as denoted the shrewd calculator and the man of business. Ignorant as he was; for his sire, of course, "could not afford" to have him educated, yet was he learned in all sordid matters, and knew the value

would stand in the road opposite his miserable cottage, and with the most rueful look that ever clouded "the human face divine," he would cry out to every passer by, neighbour or stranger, "I am ruined, boy! I am ruined, boy! got nothing to eat, boy!"

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So unconquerable was Gripe's delusion on this point, that, though his good dame, in order to awake him from his melancholy dream of famine, would sometimes privately fill his larder, and take him to behold the goodly things therein, the exhibition was of no avail. The sight of such extravagance only tended to convince him that his worst fears were realized. He would then rush to his coffers, and on his bended knees count and recount his gold, to ascertain if his dame had intruded on the forbidden store, and still, whilst thus employed, he would mutter, Gripe, I am ruined, boy! I am ruined, boy!" As was to be expected, the knowledge of old Gripe's riches, and his seeming defencelessness, at length tempted the cupidity of some midnight marauders. Armed robbers broke into the miser's castle and fairly took possession of every part of it, save his stronghold, the chamber in which he slept, and where he kept his treasure. Roused by their approach, he advanced to the defence, and so successfully maintained his position that the robbers were glad to sound a retreat, with the loss, it was said, of one of their band. In the morning, the simple-hearted rustics gathered round the miser's door to compliment him on his courage, and congratulate him on his deliverance from such imminent danger. Gripe, however, appeared to think as little of his own prowess as of their congratulations; and his only reply to every one was, "Saved the gold, boy; could not get the gold, boy." And henceforth this sole object of his adoration grew, if possible, more precious in his sight.

This absorbing worship occupied him in health, and maintained its exclusive influence on the bed of sickness. With the prospect of death before him, he still saw only his idol. In vain did our worthy old rector set before him life or death, as his to choose for eternity. The unhappy wretch had even then no choice but gold! "Any gold there, boy?" he would ask with all eagerness, whether the anxious pastor spoke of worlds of bliss or worlds of woe.

But if the physician of the soul was unwelcome and unavailing, with even more reluctance did old Gripe listen to the physician of the body. As soon as he entered the room, he gave him to understand that, having always done without him, he could still dispense with his assistance. "There is nothing the matter with me, boy," said he, turning his eyes from the practitioner to that quarter of the room in which was deposited his household gods.

Long was the dispute maintained between the doctor and the failing miser; but at length the former outwitted his unwilling patient, by threatening to charge him double for every drop of physic he refused, and to avoid this infliction, old Gripe drained each nauseous draught to the very dregs.

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But old Gripe was now past the aid of medicine. Avarice had acted like a sword in his bones, and had consumed his very vitals. This soon became apparent to the physician, who as a last prescription prescribed the lawyer. It would require the pencil of a Hogarth to do justice to the scene presented in old Gripe's room when the professional man became an actor therein. The dying man knew his visitor, and exclaimed, the recollection of many a bygone transaction flashing through his memory, "Got an estate to sell, boy?" The lawyer looked grave, as a lawyer knows how," and in his usual cautious style told him that he was come to assist him to set his house in order. Such language, not being clear to Gripe's comprehension, the man of law was compelled to tell him in plain terms that "his friends wished him to write down whom he would like to leave his money to?" Direful to poor old Gripe was this inquiry; and raising himself with difficulty in his bed, he said, “I shall get better, boy." By dint of long and earnest persuasion, he was, however, induced to will away his estates; but when the lawyer came to the disposal of the gold, Gripe murmured, "I shall keep that, boy;" "I shall get better, boy," was the reply to every argument affecting this precious mass, and it was only by entering into his humour and affecting to believe that he would do so, representing to him that to will it away was not depriving him of it until he could no longer retain it, that he was at length induced to bequeath it. As the lawyer left the apartment