lady joined her; and sitting down, she began to divert herself with her bracelets.

"Are there not pretty walks about in this neighbourhood?" inquired Flora.

"Ask Mrs. Newton," observed Mr. Clarke, "she explores more than any one I know, except Hamilton; they can tell all about the country, either geologically, botanically, or picturesquely considered."

Flora turned to Mrs. Newton.

Yes, I think in the summer and autumn it is delightful. There is such a variety."

"Dear me," observed Mrs. Alder, "I am astonished to hear you say so, there is to me, such sameness, such tameness in the walks

s;

just up the hill, to see the same view every day, or along the Malvern-Wells road, and back again."

Mrs. Newton would have been silenced by

this observation, but Mr. Hamilton took her

part.

"What is the charm to you?" added he, addressing her.

"I cannot deny that you look upon the same landscape," replied she, smiling and looking down, "if you go always to the same place; but even then it is so glorious, so extensive, such a rest to one's eyes to stretch them over the plain at one's feet, that I do not think I should ever tire of it. But you need not take the same walk every day, there are paths enough over the hills, each with its own views, and its own beauties."

"Yes, yes," said Mr. Hamilton, "there is a charm in a vast extent, a grandeur, a feeling of power in being able to take in so much at one glance, which makes the great flat alluvial plain of Gloucester and Worcester

satisfying and enchanting to me. I like nothing better than the view from some parts of the Wych road, especially when the Severn is in flood."

"Then the delight of feeling the freedom of those hills," continued Mrs. Newton, "the turf under one's feet, the fresh air on one's face, the power to go which way one chooses; the sense of conquest in surmounting a steep ascent; the refreshment of a glass of sparkling water when one is weary; oh! and the burst of landscape when you reach the top," continued she, growing enthusiastic as she spoke, "whether in sunshine or storm, that

view from Malvern's lofty height' is one

never to be forgotten!"

"We will go up to the top of the Beacon,"

said Flora to Astley.

"Go to the Herefordshire

Beacon,"

said Mr. Clarke, "but that is beyond a

walk. You have been there Mrs. New

ton ?"

"Oh! yes, we went there, and when we had climbed the eastern side, and reached the centre of the camp, the very highest point, we saw exactly before us a tremendous hail-storm rapidly advancing from the west. It had blotted out every trace of the landscape at our feet, and was already creeping up the hill. I shall never forget the contrast of the black cloud on one side, and the sunny expanse on the other!"

"What did you do?" inquired Mr. Hamilton, "there was no shelter there."

"We went down into the fosse beneath the rampart, and sitting under shelter of a plaid, for we had no umbrellas, waited patiently till the storm passed over.

Oh !

it was lovely; worth getting wet for. The

hail was violent for a few minutes, but the

cloud was flying across the country, before a strong breeze, and the black curtain rolled away, like a solid wall; and the sun-beam that followed was glorious; such a rainbow lay at our feet! not an arch, but a semicircle, painted on the top of the cloud, in colours more brilliant than I ever saw. How sorry

I was when it slowly vanished."

"And left you to moralise on the vanity of earthly glory," said Mr. Clarke, with a tragi-comic expression of face. "Did you

write a sonnet thereupon ?"

"I never wrote

a sonnet in my life,

Mr. Clarke; and it was, too, really grand and beautiful. It would have made even you serious."

"For five minutes!" suggested Mr. Hamilton.

"Well, I don't know. It takes a good Ideal to do that," said Mr. Clarke.

"You