Who fed me from her gentle breast. 
And hush’d me in her arms to rest,
And on my cheeks sweet kisses prest? 

                      My Mother.

Who sat and watched my infant head
When sleeping on my cradle bed. 
And tears of sweet affection shed? 

                      My Mother.

Who ran to help me when I fell,
And would some pretty story tell,
Or kiss the place to make it well? 

                      My Mother.

Who taught my infant lips to pray. 
And love God’s holy Book and day. 
And walk in Wisdom’s pleasant way? 

                      My Mother.

And can I ever cease to be
Affectionate and kind to thee,
Who wast so very kind to me? 

                      My Mother.

Ah! no, the thought I cannot bear,
And if God please my life to spare,
I hope I shall reward thy care. 

                      My Mother.

When thou art feeble, old, and grey. 
My healthy arm shall be thy stay,
And I will soothe thy pains away,

                      My Mother.

After dinner we decided to visit the Castle of Peveril of the Peak, and as the afternoon was very fine we were able to do so, under the guidance of our friend.  We were obliged to proceed slowly owing to my partially disabled foot, and it took us a long time to reach the castle, the road being very narrow and steep towards the top—­in fact, it was so difficult of approach that a handful of men could have defeated hundreds of the enemy.  We managed to reach the ruins, and there we reposed on the grass to view the wild scenery around us and the curious split in the limestone rocks through which led the path known as the “Winnats,” a shortened form of Wind Gates, owing to the force of the wind at this spot.  The castle was not a large one, and there were higher elevations quite near; but deep chasms intervened, and somewhere beneath us was the largest cave in England.  While we were resting our friend related the history of the castle, which had been built by William Peverell in 1068, and rebuilt by Henry II in 1176-7 after he had received here the submission of Malcolm, King of Scotland.  Peverell was a natural son of William the Conqueror, who had distinguished himself at the Battle of Hastings, for which William had bestowed upon him many manors in Derbyshire.  What was known as the Peak of Derbyshire we found was not one single rock, as we supposed, but a huge tableland with rising heights here and there.  Our friend, whose name was William, told us a legend connected with the Peverell family.  Pain Peverell, the Lord of Whittington, in Shropshire, had two daughters, the elder of whom was very beautiful, and had so many admirers that she could not decide which of them to