He was indeed as fond of her as if he had
been her father, and as kind.
Perhaps there was nothing very extraordinary in his goodness to the
gentle and cheerful little girl who kept his walks so trim and his
parlour so neat, who always met him with a smile, and who (last and
strongest tie to a generous mind) was wholly dependent on him--had no
friend on earth but himself. There was nothing very uncommon in that.
But John Hallett was kind to every one, even where the sturdy old English
prejudices, which he cherished as virtues, might seem most likely to
counteract his gentler feelings.
* * * * *
"_The Evening Song of the Tyrolese Peasants_" by Mrs. Hemans, must close
our extracts from the present volume:--
Come to the Sun-set Tree!
The day is past and gone;
The woodman's axe lies free,
And the reaper's work is done.
The twilight-star to Heaven,
And the summer-dew to flowers,
And rest to us is given
By the cool soft evening hours.
Sweet is the hour of rest!
Pleasant the wind's low sigh,
And the gleaming of the west,
And the turf whereon we lie.
When the burden and the heat
Of labour's task are o'er,
And kindly voices greet
The tired one at his door.
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