Pleasant it was when woods were green,

And winds were soft and low, To lie among some sylvan scene, Where, the long drooping boughs between, Shadows dark and sunlight sheen

Alternate come and go;

Or, where the denser grove receives
No sunlight from above,
But the dark foliage interweaves
In one unbroken roof of leaves,
Underneath whose sloping eaves
The shadows hardly move.
Beneath some patriarchal tree
I lay upon the ground;
His hoary arms uplifted he,
And all the broad leaves over me,
Clapped their little hands in glee

With one continuous sound.

The green trees whispered low and mild;
It was a sound of joy!

They were my playmates when a child,
And rocked me in their arms so wild!
Still they looked at me and smiled
As if I were a boy;

And ever whispered, mild and low,

"Come, be a child once more !"
And waved their long arms to and fro,
And beckoned solemnly and slow;
Oh! I could not choose but go

Into the woodlands hoar.

We have said that in such a scene we can live in the past as well as in the present. Let us add that we can live also in the future, as, forgetting the winter which must first come, we may anticipate the greenness and brightness of the spring and summer which will bring to us again Nature clothed in its most beautiful dress.

Oh! earth is ever beautiful,

In sunshine or in shade;
The freshness of her early prime
Hath ever with her stayed;
The blessing of her Maker's smile
Rests on her through all years;
And though we sometimes look on her
Through sorrow's blinding tears,
They make but for a moment dim
The glory that she wears.

If we think of Nature in this way, we shall be compensated even for the disappointments of the past season, which has not been what most of us would have liked it to be; but then He who rules the seasons and guides the planets in their course knows best.

A DAY IN THE CITY.

C. H.

'London!" exclaims the good dame. "I've never been there, and I never want to go. My grandmother went to London once, and lost her purse. Oh! sir, don't get among those cardsharpers, whatever you do.'

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I hate cards as much as I love London," I said; "and I do love London, because I was born there.' I arrived at London Bridge Station at about 9 a.m. There was not much change. The same motley crowd on the bridge-merchant and mendicant, banker and beggar, clerk and costermonger, all mingled together. Beneath was the Thames, with its fleet of shipping, and those strange-looking vessels, the Dutch eel boats, and above for a wonder-a clear blue sky.

How Eastcheap, Tower Street, and Fenchurch Street have changed within the last few years! When I was a boy, merchants and clerks worked in the old-fashioned buildings which had been the houses of the wealthy citizens before the period of railways and suburban villas; but most of these old houses (in one of which Sir Richard Whittington may have lived and worked) have disappeared, and in their place we have large "blocks," with some dozen sets of offices in each building.

How crowded the old city is! and how the citizens rush about, actively engaged in getting their living! I stand at the entrance of the Corn Market, and think of the time when I should have known about every other passer-by. Now I am not recognised by anybody. Things soon change! I watch the young men and boys hurrying in and out, and remember that but a few years ago I was one of them.

My companions have, no doubt, seen many changes, like myself; and here is a new generation doing what we did in the old times!

These young fellows look well and happy; and it is a great mistake to suppose that London is unhealthy. If you lead a sober, regular life, London city is about as healthy a place as you can live in.

I wander down Thames Street, still very narrow, and blocked up with vans and carts. Billingsgate Market has been pulled down and built up again since I was there, and now I go to that favourite haunt of every London child, the great playground of the city - the Custom House Quay. Some years ago I knew all the regular

frequenters of the place by sight or by name, if not to speak to; now, I don't see one familiar face. There's a policeman in place of the old beadles; there are the Custom House Volunteers being drilled, as I have seen them many a time, only I don't know who these young men are; and I am a stranger where I was once so well known.

Many boys who read this may soon be working in the city, in office, shop, or warehouse; to them anything about London has, of course, a special interest; so I will tell you all I saw and did

during my "day in the city." I went over the new market at Billingsgate, and had a look at the Coal Exchange, which was built, by the way, on the site of the house in which I was born. I wander over Tower Hill, a quiet spot now, though so many people were beheaded there in the stormy days of the past; I penetrate into the Minories, and down a narrow lane into Leman Street, where little Jew boys and girls, with great black eyes, curly hair, and brown skins, are playing

about

every where.

I linger in this neighbourhood, because I like the Jews. No race has suffered

more

from

the persecutions

of its fel

low-creatures. I have

always

found
the

White-
chapel
Jews
honest,

indus-
trious,
and
ready
to help

their

poorer
neigh-

bours.
Hence,

you never

see a Jew begging.

I go from Whitechapel, through Aldgate, into Fenchurch Street. I see many changes here, for I am old enough to recollect Aldgate pump and the old church at the corner, both now things of the past.

Leadenhall Market has not altered much, though there was a talk of doing away with it altogether. The avenue in which so many dogs and birds are exhibited for sale is still there; and

a little time to spare,' he said on his return, -"before my train left; so I went to see the West

A queer little old-fashioned figure, with a frock

A' wants a pinch o' salt, please," said the child, looking up with two dark, solemn eyes beneath the brim of a very old hat.

"A pinch o' salt, my little maid! and what may that be for ?" cried Mrs. Clarke, still more surprised.

66

Petatles," said the little girl; "'twas the boys sent me," and she grew red.

"Be you come to live in that house yonder, then," said Mrs. Clarke," as the man have nailed up all the windows of ?"

"All but one," said the little maid, slowly. "Jack tell'd I to creep out o' that'n, an' a' crope." "Crope out o' that narrow little un! did you ever? and got down all safe? Well!" cried the woman. "John, come here, and see this little maid who crope out o' that there narrow little window yonder. Only think!"

"A pinch o' salt, please," said the child again, when John Clarke came out.

"Ay, Katie Brown-a pinch o' salt a' wants,' said Katie, shaking back her curls. "The petatles is getting cold," she added reproachfully. "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed John, "if you baint a queer little maid; he, he, he! What be you a boiling taturs for now ? it's tea time."

“Father aint left no tea, and we's hungry," said Katie, her voice shaking.

"Well, he's a nice father," said John, looking grave," to leave his children locked up, and nothing but taturs.”

66

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"Jack stealed the taturs," observed Katie; pinch o' salt, please." And she began to cry. Well, well, you shall have yer salt. Wife, fetch the salt. Never left nothing, didn't he?'tis cruel; and salt for the taturs, it do make 'em more 'tiseting now-ho! ho! ho! and what a bad boy to steal," said John, growing grave again.

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"Well," said John to his wife, "if ever a' seed such a sight! and what a father, to leave three children all nailed up wi' no vittles from sun rise to set!"

"And no mother, poor things, John, and I've heard a' beat 'em all round morning and night, first thing."

"'Tis a bad case, a very bad case, where a man can't be made to care for his children—and them boys to steal.”

Ay, I hears they be bad boys-and so a' nails up th' windows as they shouldn't get out, or they'd run away-they would."

"Dear, dear, dear," said John, " 'tis a sad tale." Katie had reached the small, miserable little cottage she called home, and she stood beneath a narrow window, placed rather high up in the wall.

"Jack!" called Katie from below.

Instantly two heads popped out of the window, one above the other.

"Well, you've been long enough, Katie," said Jack, "the taturs is cold. Look sharp now, and tie the string around you."

"Where dy'e get th' bread?" said Bill, eyeing Katie's burden. "Same place as th' salt?" "Can't tie the string," said Katie, taking no notice of his question.

They had dangled a thin piece of string down to her, and her two small fingers were fumbling with the knots-in vain.

66

Come, sharp-Katie-look sharp." "Can't tie th' string," said Katie again. "Us be starved almost."

"Can't tie th' string."

"And th' taturs all ready."

"Can't tie th' string," persisted Katie. "Oh you stupid, you! Wish I could get out o' this window," cried Jack, getting angry.

Katie began to cry, and her crying went into a dismal howl, as she stood there, all forlorn, the bread and salt beside her on the ground, the string held in her hands.

66

'Why, what is the matter?" said a voice, and some one came through the weedy garden to Katie's side.

"Can't tie th' string," said Katie, stopping her tears to stare at the lady-a lady with a kind, questioning face.

66

I can," said her new friend. "Are you little Katie Brown?"

66

Ay," said Katie, brushing away the last tear from her eye lashes.

"I've heard all about you," said the lady; and so you like salt with potatoes-well, you shall go and enjoy them now; give me the string."

A moment more and the string was secured round her, and Katie slowly pulled up, supported by the lady, who saw her disappear safely through the window.

"Hooray, bread, salt, and all!" cried Jack and Bill in a breath.