THE BROOK. 343 



had forgotten to breathe. Though it thus lingers and 

 broadens, the fountain is not at the distance of an hour's 

 walk ; and that walk is across little swells, fragrant with 

 the vernal grass, the white blossom of the creeping tre- 

 foil, the wafted sweets of the wild hyacinth, or the more 

 powerful perfume of the bean-blossom, according to the 

 season. And the inhabitants of those little cottages, as 

 one passes along to the foot of the mountain, and which 

 are so pleasingly simple, with their thatch and their 

 white walls, and their trailing briars and their cluster- 

 ing roses, with here and there a poeony or a tulip 

 when the horticultural skill and pride are more than 

 common they are as innocent as they look. They 

 are in happy ignorance, both of the grandeur of the 

 world and of its grievances. The storm that unroofs 

 the cottage, or sends the swathes of hay or the sheaves of 

 corn coursing each other over the field the fine day that 

 follows, and permits all to be recovered and safe the 

 revolving year the sun, the moon, and the stars in 

 their courses the weekly prayer and the weekly sermon 

 the noise of the mill, and the noise of the " smithy " 

 these are the world to them ; and to their minds and 

 their desires, they are more than the conquest from 

 Rhodope to the Indus was to the monarch of Macedon. 

 Those who have not visited such scenes, and known 

 such people, have something yet to learn something 

 which is one of the most delightful parts of natural 

 history. Simple as those people are, there are in them 

 the germs of all the arts and sciences, and fineries and 

 blandishments of life. The gold is there, and we want 

 only the coiner with his stamp, to make them pass 

 current among those whose superior value in exchange 



