hich gave a view
of the distant landscape, there was a serenity in the scene which could
only be compared to the serenity of Mr. Prigg's benevolent countenance;
and there was a calm, deeply, sweetly impressive, which could only be
appreciated by a mind at peace with itself in particular, and with the
world in general. Then came from a neighbouring wood the clear voice of
the cuckoo. It seemed to sing purposely in honour of the good man; and I
fancied I could see a ravenous hawk upon a tree, abashed at Mr. Prigg's
presence and superior ability; and a fluttering timid lark seemed to
shriek, "Wicked bird, live and let live;" but it was the last word the
silly lark uttered, for the hawk was upon him in a moment, and the little
innocent songster was crushed in its ravenous beak. Still the cuckoo
sang on in praise of Mr. Prigg, with now and then a little note for Mrs.
Prigg; for the cuckoo is a very gallant little bird, and Mrs. Prigg was
such a heavenly creature that no cuckoo could be conscious of her
presence without hymning her praise.

"Listen," said Mrs. Prigg, "isn't it beautiful? I wonder where cuckoos
go to?"

"Ah, my dear!" said Prigg, enraptured with the clear notes and the
beautiful scene; but neither of them seemed to wonder where hawks go to.

"Do you hear the echo, love? Isn't it beautiful?"

O, yes, it was beautiful! Nature does indeed lift the soul on a quiet
evening from the grovelling occupations of earth to bask in the genial
sunshine of a more spiritual existence. What was Bumpkin? What was
Snooks to a scene like this? Suddenly the cuckoo ceased. Wonderful
bird! I don't know whether it was the presence of the hawk that hushed
its voice or the sight of Mr. Prigg as he stood up in the carriage to
take a more extended view of the prospect; but the familiar note was
hushed, and the evening hymn in praise of the Priggs was over.

So the journey was continued by the beautiful wood of oaks and chestnuts,
along by the hillside from which you could perceive in the far distance
the little stream as it wound along by meadow and wood and then lost
itself beneath the hill that rose abruptly on the left.

The stream was the symbol of life--probably Bumpkin's life; all nature
presents similes to a religious mind. And so the evening journey was
continued with ever awakening feelings of delight and gratitude until
they once more entered their peaceful home. And this brings me to
another consideration wh