purple, brown, and yellow. No need for | shafts of purple and golden light between. us to feel the strong pure air blown across it; it typified in a glance the "wind-swept moorlands of the west." We could scent the breath of the strong air, the heather, the mingled odors of herb and earth which make the moorlands keen with fragrance. We felt all impatience for a drive out upon the desolate, fascinating region; but Brunt shook his head. "Not tew-day, zur," he said, looking at the sky. "Yew can't go on to the moor if it has been rainy." "Why not, Brunt?" Why, zur, it be so moist and soggy like the horses can't stand in it; they gets they feet caught tew once, zur." A day or two later, however, our desire was gratified, and we drove across the bridge, and round by a pretty, peaceful country, the road curving about a hill. We came suddenly upon a strong, fresh breeze charged with life. At the same moment we found the surroundings swiftly changing; from a green-embowered lane we emerged upon a rocky, trackless hill-side, thick with furze and heather, except were gray bowlders were heaped up. The ground was soft and elastic, with a luxuriant vegetation. Above, the sky was half hidden by swift-flying clouds that cast deep shadows on the moor, with The moor seemed endless, yet when we reached a high point we looked down upon a wide sweep of country, a group of villages framed in the rich landscape of two counties, Devon and Somerset. Church and tower, park and hamlet, lay peacefully below us, while the wild, dark upland we were driving across had a peculiar character of its own, suggesting perhaps some unpainted picture, some touch of Hardy's pen, some bit of witchcraft, yet in reality wholly unfamiliar to our eyes and minds. A gale was blowing furiously before we reached the lower plains again, the twilight was fitful enough to satisfy our ghostliest fancies, and the two or three figures we passed of women gathering brambles and furze seemed to close in the scene with a curious effect. Color, fragrance, solitude, and stormthe moorland had shown us all its elements, and it emphasized our impressions of the western country vividly. There was growing animation in the country during the last days of our stay; understood when we learned that at a neighboring town the great "pleasure fair" of the county was shortly to take place. Perhaps the English fairs no longer congregate all the lads and lassies for fun and frolic as in the olden times; yet As we drove away, a gust of wind sent some leaves rustling down upon the coach, not red and glistening autumn foliage such as we knew was coloring the banks of the Hudson across the water, but faded yellow leaves-the color that made an old-time poet speak of autumn as the "time of fading and decay." As we curved the hill-side, we looked back, and saw the little village embosomed in its rich uplands, peaceful, active, and primitive-a picture worth seeking and carrying away. SPRING STEPS. I. there is enough of primitive festivity to the long lines of hedge and border. about them to make them amusing and entertaining spectacles. From far and near the farmers send their goods for sale on the great day the market-place is the scene of action, and all the minor inns of the town are brave with the decorations and good cheer of the occasion. Quite early in the day we arrived in the market town, which was a jumble of old times and new, one end fine with villas, crescents, and squares, and the smartness of provincial fashion, the other sleepy, quaint, and old-fashioned. The marketplace stood midway, circled around with fine market buildings, in which by ten o'clock every variety of booth was arranged. Out in the square the side shows and stalls were prominent, and the scene presented an appearance of the most exciting animation: "cheap Johns" raising their voices above the clown's shrill demand upon the public attention, jugglers tossing their knives deftly, and gypsies calling upon all the "pretty ladies" and gentlemen to have their fortunes told"Now, my lady, now, good gentleman, while luck 'waits ye." In the midst of these varied performances the soberer booths were ranged, all made attractive by the confection known as "fairings"a twisted colored sweet which all English children expect to have on fair-day. An aged friend of ours sent in some of the fanciful candy on this day, remarking he remembered buying it sixty years before, and nearly every fair-day since. By night-time the fun and festivity culminated. A public ball was given in one of the market rooms; flaring lamps and torches flung a delusive glare over the tents, booths, and stands; the crowd became more emphatically of the countryside, and the clamor was rather boisterous. I don't know quite how long the festivity was kept up, nor how many sheep and cattle were sold; but as we drove out of the town early the next morning, we encountered slowly drawn vans and carts full of a jumble of goods and sleepy-looking people; a shepherd was lazily driving a remnant of his flock down a lane; a group of farmers were talking, with their thumbs in the air and their voices mellow. Our little village looked very peaceful when we came back to it for a final leave-taking. October had fairly come to send a deeper glow across the moorlands, and a fuller tone ONCE more upon the hills my eager feet, The happy heralds of the spring-time meet. Hides close, but vainly, its bright bloom begun, II. Not yet the tender feet of bright-eyed May The moss-veiled bosses of the woodland press; Torn by the copses in his northward stress, The timid hues that flush the sleeping grass, I Forever green, both weald and wold would lack stand, this April-waning morn, between In happy presage of the Spring's sweet birth, 66 HIERONYMUS POP AND THE BABY. HIERONYMUS'S CHARGE. 'Onymus Pop," said the mother of that gentle boy, "you jes take keer o' dis chile while I'm gone ter de hangin'. An' don't you leave dis house on no account, not if de skies fall an' de earth opens ter swaller yer." Hieronymus grunted gloomily. He thought it a burning shame that he should not go to the hanging; but never had his mother been willing that he should have the least pleasure in life. It was either to tend the baby, or mix the cow's food, or to card wool, or cut wood, or to pick a chicken, or wash up the floor, or to draw water, or to sprinkle down the clothesalways something. When everything else failed, she had a way, that seemed to her son simply demoniac, of setting him at the alphabet. To be sure, she did not know the letters herself, but her teaching was none the less vigorous. "What's dat, 'Onymus?" she would say, pointing at random with her snuff brush to a letter. "Q"-with a sniff. "Is you sho' ?"-in a hollow voice. Woe be unto young Pop if he faltered, and said it might be a Z. Mother Pop kept a rod ready, and used it as if she was born for nothing else. Naturally he soon learned to stick brazenly to his first guess. But unfortunately he could not remember from one day to another what he had said; and his mother learned, after a time, to distinguish the forms of the letters, and to know that a curly letter called S on Tuesday could not possibly be a square-shaped E on Thursday. Her faith once shattered, 'Onymus had to suffer in the usual way. The lad had been taught at spasmodic intervals by his sister Savannah-commonly called Sissy-who went to school, put on airs, and was always clean. Therefore Hieronymus hated her. Mother Pop herself was a little in awe of her accomplished daughter, and would ask her no questions, even when most in doubt as to which was which of the letters G and C. "A pretty thing!" she would mutter to herself, "if I must be a-learnin' things from my own chile, dat wuz de mos' colicky baby I ever had, an' cos' me unheerdof miseries in de time of her teethin'." It seemed to Hieronymus that the cli- | max of his impositions had come, when he was forced to stay at home and mind the baby, while his mother and the rest of them trotted off, gay as larks, to see a man hanged. It was a hot afternoon, and the unwilling nurse suffered. The baby wouldn't go to sleep. He put it on the bed-a feather-bed-and why it didn't drop off to sleep, as a proper baby should, was more than the tired soul of Hierony mus could tell. He did every thing to soothe Tiddlekins. (The infant had not been named as yet, and by way of affection they addressed it as Tiddlekins.) He even went so far as to wave the flies away from it with a mulberry branch for the space of five or ten minutes. But as it still fretted and tossed, he let it severely alone, and the flies settled on the little black thing as if it had been a licorice stick. After a while Tiddlekins grew aggressive, and began to yell. Hieronymus, who had almost found consolation in the contemplation of a bloody picture pasted on the wall, cut from the weekly paper of a wicked city, was deprived even of this solace. He picked up "de miserbul little screechowl," as he called it in his measles," muttered Hi, gazing on the squirming atom with calm eyes of despair. Then, running his fingers over the neck and breast of the small Tiddlekins, he cried, with the air of one who makes a discovery, "It's got de heat! Dat's what ails Tiddlekins!" There was really a little breaking out on the child's body that might account for his restlessness and squalls. And it was such a hot day! Perspiration streamed wrath. He trotted it. He sang to it the | down Hi's back, while his head was dry. soothing ditty of ""Tain't never gwine to rain no mo'; But all was vain. Finally, in despair, he undressed Tiddlekins. He had heard his mother say, "Of'en and of'en when a chile is a-screamin' its breff away, 'tain't nothin' ails it 'cep'n pins." But there were no pins. Plenty of strings and hard knots; but not a pin to account for the antics of the unhappy Tiddlekins. How it did scream! It lay on the stiffly braced knees of Hieronymus, and puckered up its face so tightly that it looked as if it had come fresh from a wrinkle mould. There were no tears, but sharp regular yells, and rollings of its head, and a distracting monotony in its performances. "Dis here chile looks 's if it's got de There was not a quiver in the tree leaves, and the silver-poplars showed only their leaden side. The sunflowers were dropping their big heads; the flies seemed to stick to the window-panes, and were too languid to crawl. Hieronymus had in him the materials of which philosophers are made. He said to himself, "Tain't nothin' but heat dat's de matter wid dis baby; so uf cose he ought ter be cooled off." But how to cool him off-that was the great question. Hi knitted his dark brows and thought intently. It happened that the chiefest treasure of the Pop estate was a deep old well that in the hottest days yielded water as refreshing as iced Champagne. The neighbors all made a convenience of the Pop well. And half way down its long cool hollow hung, pretty much all of the time, milk cans, butter pats, fresh meats-all things that needed to be kept cool in summer days. He looked at the hot, squirming, wretched black baby on his lap; then he looked at the well; and, simple, straightforward lad that he was, he put this and that together. "If I was ter hang Tiddlekins down de well," he reflected, "twouldn't be mo' dan three jumps of a flea befo' he's as cool as Christmas." With this quick-witted youth to think was to act. Before many minutes he had stuffed poor little Tiddlekins into the well bucket, though it must be mentioned to his credit that he tied the baby securely in with his own suspenders. Warmed up with his exertions, content in this good riddance of such bad rubbish as Tiddlekins, Hieronymus reposed himself on the feather-bed, and dropped off into a sweet slumber. From this he was aroused by the voice of a small boy. "Hello, Hi! I say, Hi Pop! whar is yer?" "Here I is!" cried Hi, starting up. "What you want?" Little Jim Rogers stood in the doorway. "Towzer's dog," he said, in great ex citement, and daddy's bull-pup is gwine ter have a fight dis evenin'. Come on quick, if yer wants ter see de fun." Up jumped Hi, and the two boys were off like a flash. Not one thought to Tiddlekins in the well bucket. In due time the Pop family got home, and Mother Pop, fanning herself, was indulging in the moral reflections suitable to the occasion, when she checked herself suddenly, exclaiming, "But, land o' Jerusalem! whar's 'Onymus an' de baby?" "I witnessed Hieronymus," said the elegant Savannah, "as I wandered from school. He was with a multitude of boys, who cheered, without a sign of disapperation, two canine beasts, that tore each other in deadly feud." "Yer don't mean ter say, Sissy, dat 'Onymus Pop is gone ter a dogfight?" "Such are my meaning," said Sissy, with dignity. "Den whar's de baby?" For upon their ears, as Savannah would have said. answer, a long low wail smote |