CHAPTER VI. In spring time we rear, we do sow, and we do plant, A PLEASANT place, and a peaceful abiding place, was the village of Lindford; pity that the curse of political partisanship, and religious controversy, should ever have found it out. Almost a pity, I was about to say, that educationthough education, properly applied, is the greatest of blessings to man-should ever have entered that happy rural retreat. Pity that beer-shops should have accumulated-pity that speculative madness had not remained in the cities, than to have wandered there, and changed the whole face of that tranquil spot by a steaming, smoking engine, and a station; and though Lindford still has its ivy-covered church, its sparkling river, its broad fields, and its rich woodlands, its houses are doubled, as are the wants and requirements of its former simple inhabitants. When my story opens, however, the residence of Michael Coddington was one of the most simple and most humble of rural abodes; the reader will not have much trouble in realising its description-not a country village of England but can produce its fellow-consisting of two or three rooms, with a small out-house, or general store, and a plot of garden, wherein the monthly rose flourishes, and in more recent days, the brightest of dahlias, and the manycoloured hollyhocks bloom and abound. The kitchen was the public-room, indeed the home of its inhabitants. And here, on a fine autumnal evening, a cheerful and much loving, though most humble labourer's family were assembled. The windows were thrown open, for the weather was sultry, and seated around their frugal supper-board, were gathered, father and mother, daughter and son. The meal was truly simple enough; but yet how sweet and welcome to those who have earned it by the labour of the day, and have never felt the want of luxuries. It consisted solely of a coarse brown loaf, some cheese, young onions, and a bowl of milk; but those who partook of it were simple in mind, and as free from care as was the fare homely, and while the honest, hard-working man helped his loved children, and had the joy of their presence, little cared he for ought beyond his roof. How fondly that untaught, uneducated man listened to the childish prattle of his darling Mary, who was now pouring forth, in tones of almost infantine pleasure, the doings and sayings of the parish-school. How the fond mother treasured in her heart the frank and bold remarks of her boy, who, older than the sister, now corrected her village tale, or chided her young flow of spirits; truly it was a pleasant scene for the eye of man to dwell on -truly is it a welcome one for the mind of man to fancy. These village children, so young, and yet so superior, from the little knowledge they possessed, above many others, and though, in good truth, their station was of the lowest to look on them, would have charmed the painter and engaged the heart of all. The little Mary, fair as the lily, with large laughing blue eyes, looked up to the face of her rough and honest father, who, delighted with her pratling fondness, now laid aside the hunch of bread and cheese, which formed his well-earned and wholesome supper, to part, with apparent ad miration, the golden and silky locks which shaded a countenance almost angelic. And when the speaking mouth opened to reveal some new source of pleasure, which had occurred during their morning rambles from the school-house, he closed those lips with his own rough ones, and folding her in his arms, pressed her fondly to his breast, with the sole utterance of "bless thee, my darling." And the boy, his countenance bore few marks of beauty; but what is, perhaps, far superior in man, honesty shone truly forth on his open countenance, and if genius or talent reigned not there, intelligence and firmness of character were as distinctly marked, as were kindness of heart and simplicity of mind. These were the inmates of the cottage, these the beings, and there are many such, who, though born and bred beneath a roof of thatch, nurtured in nature's simple lap, often rise by honest labour, and virtuous paths to walk on |