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wriggling about, his own mother would not know him, so enshrouded is he in sand. That comes of one's suffering himself to be led by the nose - even in retirement-during these troubled times. Yes, Jonathan, about a pounder.

The wallet is empty of all viands now-Jonathan-and in the chapel alehouse it may happen that the sole fare may be but ham and eggs. You see this crutch. We unscrew the cross, and out of the bole emerges a fishing-rod, of which the pieces may be put up so as to suit minnow, trout, grilse, or fish. Now for trout. One of the seals dangling at our watch-chain is a reel. 'Tis an ensnaring seal, Jonathan-and on all our love-letters it leaves its irresistible, four horse-hairs thick, 'twould

ble impress. A silk reel-line you observe, Jonathan, and gut like gossamer, to whose invisibility in water are attached the murderous midges with black half-heckle on the yellow bodies, and brown mallard

wings, adjusted by the microscopic

eye and fairy finger of Margaretthat is, Mrs Widow Phin. Not a breath of air-the river is low-and bright the sun-nor will he reach for an hour to come those castellated clouds. But let us lay our lures among the lucid murmurs, and in a minute shall you see the silver-shiners in various sizes dancing on the gravel or the greensward, up from the not unsuccessful imitation of the minnow to what might seemnay, may be the salmon's self.

Aye-there are two to begin withone at the tail-fly, and one at the topbobber. We always angle with five hooks, Jonathan, on an occasion like this, when to garnish the grosser we desire some fry. Why, they seem smoults! How can that be in the Duddon in May? Trouts. But born and bred in this gravelly shallow, their scales are as silver, and you almost suppose you see through them, as you hold up their twisting slipperiness between you and the sun. Ha! there's a two-year-old off-at-score, as if on a half-mile race with a swarm of subscribers. But he will soon lose his fastness, Jonathan-and we have him hard in hand -that he may not bolt off the course in among those birch-roots. You see that small circle of sand, "sharpening its mooned horns" - thither shall we persuade the sumph to sail; -Jonathan, don't you almost find him already wallopping in your wallet? There he has swum himself ashore and there, like a serpent

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You seem surprised, Jonathan, at our incessant sport. 'Tis the tackle as much as the touch. In such clear, warm water as this, the very sight of great, big, fat fly, like drowned bummer, er, would sicken trout-and if tied to the end of a cafrighten a pool out of its seven senses. But these flies-scarcely flies-these midges, moving like motes on the water, solicit the fishy stomach with almost airy allurement, which the largest lobbers-as you see

even when lying indolently beneath

the bank, retired from the glare of noon that stupifies their panting brethren in the unprotected channel, have not the philosophy to resist. They sail slowly up to the slow speck, and just putting out their tongues-so-lick in the inextricable barb. It gives them no pain, Jonathan-merely a puzzle; and you may well think, that, for a while, they can with difficulty believe their eyes, when they see, by the receding stones, that they are journeying towards the opposite "banks and braes o' bonnie Duddon," from which, almost before some of them have leisure to distinguish the sward from the stream, they are transferred into thy wallet, Jonathan, that seems quick with child.

You think we have killed somewhere from ten to twelve pound; and such slaughter-pretty well in a sunbright hour-will suffice to eke out the ham and eggs into no despicable dinner. Bless us-Seathwaite Chapel! and there are our friends sitting with the landlord in the honeysuckled porch of the alehouse, each with what seems a jug in his dexter hand. The scamps! that would not stay for the sonnets, though recited by an angel's tongue. Alas! there is little love of poetry left in this low life of ours-so now for the Ham and Eggs.

The kitchen clock is striking six as we stoop our anointed head beneath the sla slate-roofed and at six, to a second, stands our door-way

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watch, such is the sympathy between the worthies. We cheerfully confess that we have occasionally seen a clean tablecloth in a Scotch small wayside or hedgerow inn. But nine hundred and ninety-nine times in the thousand, they have shewn mustard. In England, again-the dirty is supposed to be as one to a million. April snows are tolerably white, and so are April clouds and April lambs-but they are grey in comparison with this cloth bleached in May sun and shower, whose drapery descends in graceful folds from this Round Table standing firm on one leg as if it had four, at equal distance from hearth and door, bed and window. Such bread! baked of finest flour for the nonce in a pan-oven that raises the light-brown crust almost into the delicacy of the coating of bridecake, while close-grained even as that "mighty magic," kythes, as you break it, the crumbling inconsisteney of the fair interior! Graceful from the gridiron that crump circle of oatmeal wafers, broad as the bottom of a beehive; and what honey-comb! The scent is as of thyme, and by some conjuration, preserved has been the cellular framework all winter through, and therein lies the dewy flower-distilment, as clear as when the treasure was taken at harvest-close from the industrious people, who in a moment hushed their hum. That is our pot of porridge; and oh! it is exquisite when supped with cream! Of all liquid lustres, the loveliest sure is that of elder-flower wine. And delicately blending hospitality with the welcome due to all who peaceably enter here, the Mistress has placed that crystal at the Elder's elbow, saying, with a smile, that "quality have commended it," and 'tis in truth delightful sma' drink, and tastes racily of the tree. Aren't these pretty patterns of suns and sun-flowers, stars and roses, impressed on the glistening countenance of that glorious butter? Till now never saw we yellow. Put a spoon into that cream-it stands for a few moments straight-and then slowly declining, leans on the edge of the jug, like a young lady about to go into a swoon. The sight reminds us of the phial of concentrated Essence of Coffee in the fob of our jacket. There it is, and nobody must mistake it for the ketchup. All the hens in Seathwaite must have been laying to-day; else how these plates

of poached, and these bowls of boiled? Seldom to be seen such a Teapot. But for the stroop, you might mistake it for a Tureen. Who expected to see you here? Yes it is THE ROUND-towering by himself on that chest of drawers. No-not by himself-beneath his shadow reposes an unmistakeable Brandy-bottle; nor will the froth on that ale-jug melt, till into it Christopher has dipped his Roman proboscis.

'Tis pleasing thus to compress all the meals that are usually scattered over the day into One mighty anonymous meal, in matter multiform, multifarious, and multitudinous, as in spirit the myriad-minded Shakspeare. Hark! how deliciously salutes our ears the hissing, and the fizzing, and the pabbling of the great pan in which the basted trouts are writhing as if in torments, while the gudewife herself, though she has had her tea and toast, feels herself called on now, as she values her temporal and eternal welfare, to bring household honour and conjugal pride to the aid of conscience and religion, that the Christian heroine may prove victorious over the temptation of the fish, and gain an immortal conquest over the savoury sin soliciting her, as Satan did Eve, with insidious whispers from the heart of that seducing Fry! She turns, but tastes them not-and just putting the fork to her lips, with a scientific whawmle empties the great pan into the great platter, and bearing the feast at arm's length and bosom-high, makes her entree into the Parlour like a Queen. Assuredly, next to the satisfactionof a good conscience is that of a wellfilled stomach. They are likewise kindred. So are hunger and remorse. We feel now that we have well performed our part in life-and are willing to leave the world to write our epitaph. Seem made for us, as if the carpenter had taken our measure, back and bottom of this easiest of all easy-chairs. Yet we see from these quaintly carved numerals 'tis a hundred years old. Contemporary with it all the rest of the oaken furniture; for we know that the wife of the landlord of New-Field was sole heiress of a statesman, and though the HillFarm and all its sycamores were sold to pay " ten mortgages rolled into one," in consequence of many strange calamities that kept befalling her humble house, the " family plenish ing" was preserved, and fortune smiles now on the worthy pair, yet in the prime of life, though with sons and daughters ripe for love or war. That was a pretty creature who now took away the cheese-and the stripling who shook hands with Jonathan, when he has filled up a bit, will be a likely lad for the Belt at Carlisle.

The scene shifts to the seat beneath the sycamore that hangs its twilight o'er the inn, ere it has touched the open atmosphere, which be gins, however, to breathe of the stilly spirit of the late afternoon. Cuckoo! cuckoo! cuckoo! The mellow monotone is not unmusical-but what means Shallow-bill by that flitting cry?" With soul as strong as a mountain river," from the top of the pine beside the chapel-tower bursts out the bold blackbird into a delirium of song and seems delighted at intervals, to listen to its echoes tinkling hurriedly among the rocks. Who shall sing a second to that song? Not Sontag's ag's self-though surnamed the Nightingale.

"In nature," says Coleridge, “there is nothing melancholy," wisely meaning that no living thing is created for unhappiness, and that the ordinary language of inferior life is expressive of pleasure. We wish we could say that in nature there is nothing discordant; but were we to say so, the bray of that ass would give us the lie. If he be gifted by nature with a musical ear, there must be some peculiarity in his throat and lungs that prevents him from carrying his ideas into execution. The distinguished donkey has finished his solo, and we trust will not be offended by our declining to call " encore." Yet he has been unconsciously exerting his vocal powers to enhance the delight of the ensuing silence : and in the hush, how pleasant the lowing of the kine, for 'tis the season of

"The day is placid in its going, To a lingering stillness bound, Like a river in its flowing,

Can there be a softer sound?" The loveliest of all light is that which precedes the moon, while yet her unseen orb is journeying up from behind the hill, and you are uncertain over what place she will raise her silver rim. Expect her rising as you will, the suddenness always adds a slight surprise to your delight, and for a moment you are doubtful if it be indeed the moon. Fullseen now in slow ascension, how she deepens the whole blue serene of heaven! For a while you know not that there are any stars. But look! there is one large and lustrous-and now is the sky bedropt with diamonds, dim as if dewy; but there will be no rain to morrow, for no aerial tresses are dishevelled along the " lift;" and the few clouds there are braided into folds of perfect peace. From heaven we withdraw our eyes, and they fall quietly on the house of God. Troutbech Chapel-Langdale Chapel - Wythburn Chapel - Buttermere Chapel-Wastdale Chapel - Seathwaite Chapel-we bless you all! And every other holy edifice that cheers the Sabbath-silence of the mountains with its single bell. Children are ye of one mother-church, and true to her religious faith, in your humble ritual, as minster or cathedral, "Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, The pealing anthem swells the note of praise."

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A sort of slumbrous softness seems as if it were dewily sealing our eyes, and sleep whispers us to steal away with her into the land of dreams. Seven long leagues of a mountain-walk are something to a man of seventy 'tis seventeen hours since Christopher and the Sun arose

calves; the milky mothers are musi--and more than an hour ago " the

cal in their affection, and seldom have we heard a more harmonious concert of cows NT

But now 'tis gloaming-at least so thinks that batas dips the flittermouse fearlessly within a foot of our heads, and then keeps wavering to and fro between the sycamore and the barn. The most cheerful objects

seem almost solemn in the duskwhile

Audous oved (Long noor not

wearied sun betook himself to rest." The remaining luminary not the Moon-must follow the example; his age entitles him to the singlebedded-room-and his night's rest is broken by the mildest snore. Good-night, boys-and, Jonathan, see they do not get into mischief when.. their guardian has gone to roost. "To-morrow for fresh fields and pastures newal rods saquga hrA.

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ISMENE AND LEANDER. IN THREE BALLADS.

(From the German of Hölty.)

SINCE Adam did the fruit receive Of sin, there ne'er has been a More beauteous progeny of Eve Than was the fair Ismene.

FIRST BALLAD.

1

She was just in her eighteenth year-1
A sight that quite entrances,
Full-heaving breast, and auburn hair,
And fire in all her glances.

Her figure all the grace bespeaks
That was to Venus given;
Two blushing roses were her cheeks,
Her eyes the blue of heaven.
Her mouth a blooming Paradise,

With ceaseless smiles abounding,
And when she sung there seem'd the voice,
Of angel choirs resounding.

And yet if fame be not a liar,

In deeds Ismene boasted,

For which she now, at Old Nick's fire,
Is broil'd, I ween, or roasted :
For spawn of frogs, and hairs she threw
Into the parson's churn,
Diseased the flocks, and with mildew
She blasted all the corn.

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And every charm, from Satan, she
Of witchery inherits,
And at her call attendant be
Swarms of infernal spirits.
Swifter she cuts the liquid air,
Upon her broomstick sailing,
While loosely streams her waving hair,
Than steam-coach on a railing.i

And always on the first of May,
She danced, upon the Brocken,
The merry midnight hours away,

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With scarce a muslin frockon
And then, at times, was wont to vise,
And play the beau, Old Clooty
And feast, with lustful look, his eyes T
On the half-naked beauty...

Then kiss'd so greedily her hand,tu Dira -
As if he would devour it,
Dow
And lay, ev'n on the sulphur strand,
With love quite overpowered.pool

And many a weary hour he spent,
Poor soul! a-billet-douxing
And when, at length, to bed he went,
His dreams were all of wooing.

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And found, one day, where crystal streams
Through flowery meads meander,
Asleep, and dreaming golden dreams
Of future bliss, Leander.

He dreamt of lovely Adelaide
To him her hand extending;
And blessedness the marriage bed
And honey-moon attending.
Already seem'd the priest to join
The loved with the lover;
And marriage-ring, and vestments fine,
Before his fancy hover.....

And bridal maids already plait

The garlands for the wedding; to
And to the dance of neighbours met
Are pipe and fiddle aiding.
What think you then? the cunning witch,
As she this way did wander,
Approach'd and gave his ears a twitch,
And said, "Get up, Leander."

And she was like in every whit
To her whose love he courted;
Leander from his dreaming fit,
Bewitch'd with joy, upstarted;
And round her neck his arms he threw,
And many a kiss imprinted;
And "Are you here, my own love true?"
He cried, like one demented.

Then hied they thence to shady trees,
Because the sun's heat fried them,
And there the swain bewilder'd sees t
A sight that quite surprised him
A splendid car before him stood, be
With gold and silver flashing,
And coachman gay, in merry mood,
The milk-white horses lashing.

Of ivory the car was made,

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With purest opal blended, Nor mayor nor monarch ever had A chariot half so splendid. They mount, and seat themselves within The curricle together;

The horses rush through thick and thin

Leander knows not whitherto ra

'Tis strange, but authors are agreed
They soar aloft to Heavenpla e cons
And eagle's flight, with lightning's speed
Unto their heels is given.d ozi hua
But we will let our couple steer 75

Their airy flight together, Jeontis mene

And if this ballad good appear,
You soon shall have another.

The car its airy voyage steer'd With never-ceasing motion, Until at length an isle appear'd Green glittering in the ocean. In distant southern seas it lay,

Which never Cook sailed over, Nor those so famous in their day, Great Dampier and Vancouver.

And sure it was a paradise,

SECOND BALLAD.

All earthly bliss unfurling;
Joy murmur'd sweet in every breeze,
And in the streams was purling.
A dwelling fit for gods, I ween,
So famed in ancient story;
In thousand dancing floods was seen
Bright Phœbus' golden glory.

And zephyrs bland from op'ning flowers
In every mead snatch'd kisses;
Such love as in our youthful hours

Is wont at times to bless us.
And round about, in magic glare,
The hyacinths were blooming,
And apricots and peaches fair
All fragrant and perfuming.

And angel-voices in the breeze
Were accents sweet expressing;
And turtle dovelets on the trees
Were cooing and caressing.
Beneath the shade of matted vines,
O magical creation!
Out-gush'd the most delicious wines
Into a golden basin.

And in the lawn was distant seen
A splendid palace towering,
All proudly built of beryls green,
And rays of glory showering;
The windows were of purple hue,
All set around with garnet;
Wide folding-doors of sapphires blue
Did mightily adorn it.

More bright than mortal mind conceives,
The roof with gold was cover'd,
And round about the drooping eaves
An emerald glory hover'd.
A magic castle, sure it was,
Erected by the devil;

God save us! where the fairies pass
Their days and nights in revel.

Within, a large saloon received
Ismene and her lover,
Where tapestries the sight deceived,
All gaily pictured over;

Jove, changed into a milk-white swan,
Among the reeds was skulking,

And by the hand of Titian

Mars put to shame by Vulcan.

The mighty Sultan eke was seen
His concubines caressing,
And masks, array'd in motley sheen,
In Venice were grimacing:
And Mussulmans in paradise

With fairest houris gamboling,
And Dian through the forest trees
With all her virgins rambling.

And here they lived a life of glee,
Beside the smiling ocean,
And every morning was bohea
Or chocolade their potion.
And when the summer sun at noon
Had reach'd the highest heaven,
A banquet in the large saloon
With festal pomp was given.

Ismene winks and straight appear,
Obedient to her wishes,
Before Leander was aware,

All sorts and shapes of dishes.
And sturgeons rich, and lampreys fair,
Were brought in at her bidding,
And roasted beef, and roasted hare,
And last of all, plumb-pudding.

And jellies bright, with seedcake baked
By skilful hand of fairies,
And more than you could well expect
Of currants and strawberries.
And glasses stood in close array
Of beer and ale and perry,
And after dinner good tokay
And claret made them merry.

And then they spent sweet hours of bliss
Beneath an arbour shady,
Where cards, backgammon-board, and

chess,

And lemonade were ready;
And waited till the evening's red
Wide o'er the west was streaming,
And to their supper then they sped,
From golden dishes gleaming.

And when the groves, in silent night,
Selene silver'd over;

Then wander'd forth in bright moonlight,
Ismene with her lover.
Beneath a branching myrtle's shade
They laid themselves reclining,
Where Phœbe's silver glory play'd
Betwixt the leaflets shining.

And arm in arm entwined they lay,
Their heart's desire indulging;

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