howed the sweet and
peaceful scene which there presented itself; for the cottage was
enclosed in a small dell, the green sides of which seemed to shut out
all the world, enclosing within their narrow limits, a running brook,
and hives of bees, and many fragrant flowers.

Tamar was equally successful, and equally well pleased with her
arrangements in other parts of the cottage; the kitchen opened on one
side to a little flower garden, on the other to the small yard, where
Mrs. Margaret intended to keep her poultry, and the whole domain was
encompassed by the small green field, which made up the extent of the
dell, and was the only bit of land left to the representative of the
house of Dymock. But Mrs. Margaret had reckoned that the land would keep
a little favourite cow, and with this object Tamar had taken great pains
to learn to milk.

When all was ready, Mrs. Margaret with many tears took leave of Dymock's
Tower; she had not seen the process of preparation in the cottage, and
was therefore perfectly astonished when she entered the house. Tamar
received her with tears of tenderness, and the worthy lady having
examined all the arrangements, blessed her adopted one, and confessed
that they had all in that place that man really required. Neither did
she or Tamar find that they had more to do than was agreeable; if they
had no servants to wait upon them, they had no servants to disarrange
their house. They had engaged an old cottager on the moor to give them
an hour's work every evening, and for this they paid him with a stoup of
milk, or some other small product of their dairy; money they had not to
spare, and this he knew,--nor did he require any; he would have given
his aid to the fallen family for nothing, had it been asked of him.

In wild and thinly peopled countries, there is more of neighbourly
affection,--more of private kindness and sympathy than in crowded
cities. Man is a finite creature; he cannot take into his heart many
objects at once, and such, indeed, is the narrowness of his
comprehension, that he cannot even conceive how the love of an infinite
being can be generally exercised through creation. It is from this
incapacity that religious people, at least too many of them, labour so
sedulously as they do to instil the notion of the particularity of the
work of salvation, making it almost to appear, that the Almighty Father
brings beings into existence, merely to make them miserable,--but we are
wanderin