THIRD DAY. 7 1 



nent of the rook, whose hard bill wilt 

 make more impression on the frost-bound 

 earth on a winter's morning than you can 

 make with a knife. He is formidable, 

 too, on account of his numbers. But see, 

 as we ascend the hill, the sun rises to 

 meet us, and chanticleer, from the old 

 grange yonder, proclaims his approach. 

 Hark ! how the shrill reveille is repeated 

 around, a note of warning to the village 

 clown, who turns heavily on his pallet and 

 lapses into another nap ere he rises for 

 the day's toil. The lark starts from his 

 bed, and, shaking the dew from his wing, 

 pours out a flood of melody as he ascends 

 into the yet misty air. Are not these sights 

 and scenes that should make a man love 

 the country, even though at other seasons, 



" When blood is nipt and ways be foul," 

 and the swoln streams deluge the mea- 

 dows, he turns to and prefers the comforts 

 of his fireside ? 



