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ear to her gentle taie. Her home was beneath the 
shade of a splendid beech, that forms the principal 
ornament of a beautiful lane, which, winding up a 
short hill, leads to a pretty group of cottages, whose 
name, “The Camp,” contrasts strangely with the 
peaceful and retired spot. Here, says tradition, was 
the tierce Roman encamped what time lie warred with 
the rude Briton; but every vestige of his sojourn 
has disappeared, and the antiquary seeks in vain for 
trace of fosse or embankment. 
On the hedges on either side this lane are now 
hanging long stalks ,of various ripe grain, telling of 
the rich burdens which hâve passed that way. Surely 
we cannot view these tokens of abundance without 
gratitude to the Giver of ail. The Harebell speaks 
to us then of the harvest-time, for she loves to 
haunt the lanes and field-ways through which are 
carried the bountiful provision our God hath sent; 
therefore has she been, I think appropriately, termed 
by some “ The Harvest-bell,” though I am told tha,t 
name belongs of right to a species of Gentian. 
Let us not then satisfy ourselves with admiring 
the loveliness of her tint, or the élégant simplicity 
of her form, but listen to the hymn of thanksgiving 
