INVENTION OF THE STUFFED SEAT.

At length a generation more refined Improved the simple plan; made three legs four, Gave them a twisted form vermicular, And o'er the seat, with plenteous wadding stuffed, Induced a splendid cover, green and blue, Yellow and red, of tapestry richly wrought And woven close, or needle-work sublime. There might ye see the piony spread wide, The full-blown rose, the shepherd and his lass, Lapdog and lambkin with black staring eyes, And parrots with twin cherries in their beak.

THE CHAIR INVENTED; CANE AND LEATHER BOTTOMS.

Now came the cane from India, smooth and bright
With nature's varnish; severed into stripes,
That interlaced each other, these supplied
Of texture firm a lattice-work, that braced
The new machine, and it became a chair.
But restless was the chair; the back erect
Distressed the weary loins, that felt no ease;
The slippery seat betrayed the sliding part
That pressed it, and the feet hung dangling down,
Anxious in vain to find the distant floor.
These for the rich the rest, whom fate had placed
In modest mediocrity, content

With base materials, sat on well-tanned hides,
Obdurate and unyielding, glassy smooth,
With here and there a tuft of crimson yarn,
Or scarlet crewel, in the cushion fixed,

If cushion might be called, what harder seemed
Than the firm oak, of which the frame was formed.
No want of timber was then felt or feared
In Albion's happy isle. The lumber stood
Ponderous and fixed by its own massy weight.

INVENTION OF THE ARM-CHAIR.

But elbows still were wanting; these, some say, An alderman of Cripplegate contrived; And some ascribe the invention to a priest, Burly and big, and studious of his ease. But, rude at first, and not with easy slope Receding wide, they pressed against the ribs, And bruised the side; and, elevated high, Taught the raised shoulders to invade the ears. Long time elapsed or e'er our rugged sires Complained, though incommodiously pent in, And ill at ease behind. The ladies first 'Gan murmur, as became the softer sex.

INVENTION OF ELBOWED SETTEES; SOFAS. Ingenious fancy, never better pleased Than when employed to accommodate the fair, Heard the sweet moan with pity, and devised The soft settee; one elbow at each end, And in the midst an elbow it received. United yet divided, twain at once.

So sit two kings of Brentford on one throne; And so two citizens, who take the air,

Close packed, and smiling, in a chaise and one.

But relaxation of the languid frame,
By soft recumbency of outstretched limbs,
Was bliss reserved for happier days. So slow
The growth of what is excellent; so hard
To attain perfection in this nether world.
Thus first necessity invented stools,
Convenience next suggested elbow-chairs,
And luxury the accomplished Sofa last.

SLEEP AND THE SOFA ; NURSE; COACHMAN; CURATE; CLERK. -THE GOUT.

The nurse sleeps sweetly, hired to watch the sick,

Whom snoring she disturbs. As sweetly he,
Who quits the coach-box at the midnight hour,
To sleep within the carriage more secure,
His legs depending at the open door.
Sweet sleep enjoys the curate in his desk,
The tedious rector drawling o'er his head ;
And sweet the clerk below. But neither sleep
Of lazy nurse, who snores the sick man dead;
Nor his, who quits the box at midnight hour,
To slumber in the carriage more secure ;
Nor sleep enjoyed by curate in his desk;
Nor yet the dozings of the clerk, are sweet,
Compared with the repose the Sofa yields.
O may
I live exempted (while I live
Guiltless of pampered appetite obscene)
From pangs arthritic, that infest the toe
Of libertine excess. The Sofa suits

The gouty limb, 't is true; but gouty limb,
Though on a Sofa, may I never feel:

THE RURAL WALK; SHEEP; LUNCH; HIPS AND BERRIES; THE SCHOOL-BOY'S RAMBLE.

For I have loved the rural walk through lanes Of grassy swath, close cropped by nibbling sheep, And skirted thick with intertexture firm Of thorny boughs; have loved the rural walk O'er hills, through valleys, and by rivers' brink, E'er since a truant boy I passed my bounds, To enjoy a ramble on the banks of Thames; And still remember, nor without regret, Of hours, that sorrow since has much endeared, How oft, my slice of pocket store consumed, Still hungering, penniless, and far from home, I fed on scarlet hips and stony haws, Or blushing crabs, or berries, that emboss The bramble, black as jet, or sloes austere. Hard fare but such as boyish appetite Disdains not; nor the palate, undepraved By culinary arts, unsavory deems. No Sofa then awaited my return; Nor Sofa then I needed.

YOUTH AND MELLOW AGE. ELASTICITY. — FRIENDSHIP. — SYMPATHY IN THE LOVE OF NATURE.

Youth repairs

His wasted spirits quickly, by long toil
Incurring short fatigue; and, though our years,
As life declines, speed rapidly away,
And not a year but pilfers as he goes

Some youthful grace, that age would gladly keep, -
A tooth or auburn lock; and by degrees
Their length and color from the locksthey spare ; —
The elastic spring of an unwearied foot,

That mounts the stile with ease, or leaps the fence;
That play of lungs, inhaling and again
Respiring freely the fresh air, that makes
Swift pace or steep ascent no toil to me,—
Mine have not pilfered yet, nor yet impaired
My relish of fair prospect; scenes that soothed
Or charmed me young, no longer young, I find
Still soothing, and of power to charm me still.
And witness, dear companion of my walks,
Whose arm this twentieth winter I perceive
Fast locked in mine, with pleasure such as love,
Confirmed by long experience of thy worth
And well-tried virtues, could alone inspire-
Witness a joy that thou hast doubled long.
Thou knowest my praise of nature most sincere,
And that my raptures are not conjured up
To serve occasions of poetic pomp,

BURAL SIGHTS; MOVING PLOUGH; THE OUSE ; CATTLE; ELMS; HUT; HEDGE-ROWS; TOWER; BELFRY AND SPIRE; GROVES; VILLAGES.

How oft upon yon eminence our pace Has slackened to a pause, and we have borne The ruffling wind, scarce conscious that it blew, While admiration, feeding at the eye, And still unsated, dwelt upon the scene. Thence, with what pleasure have we just discerned The distant plough slow moving, and beside His laboring team, that swerved not from the track, The sturdy swain diminished to a boy! Here Ouse, slow winding through a level plain Of spacious meads with cattle sprinkled o'er, Conducts the eye along his sinuous course Delighted. There, fast rooted in their bank, Stand, never overlooked, our favorite elms, That screen the herdsman's solitary hut ; While far beyond, and overthwart the stream, That, as with molten glass, inlays the vale, The sloping land recedes into the clouds; Displaying on its varied side the grace Of hedge-row beauties numberless, square tower, Tall spire, from which the sound of cheerful bells Just undulates upon the listening ear, Groves, heaths, and smoking villages, remote. Scenes must be beautiful, which daily viewed, Please daily, and whose novelty survives Long knowledge and the scrutiny of years: Praise justly due to those that I describe.

RURAL SOUNDS; MUSIC OF THE WINDS AND WATERS; RILLS;
MUSIC AND NOISES OF THE BIRDS.

Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds,
Exhilarate the spirit, and restore
The tone of languid nature. - Mighty winds,
That sweep the skirt of some far-spreading wood
Of ancient growth, make music not unlike

The dash of ocean on his winding shore,
And lull the spirit while they fill the mind;
Unnumbered branches waving in the blast,
And all their leaves fast fluttering, all at once.
Nor less composure waits upon the roar
Of distant floods, or on the softer voice
Of neighboring fountain, or of rills that slip
Through the cleft rock, and, chiming as they fall
Upon loose pebbles, lose themselves at length
In matted grass, that with a livelier green
Betrays the secret of their silent course.
Nature inanimate employs sweet sounds,
But animated nature sweeter still,

To soothe and satisfy the human ear.
Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one
The live-long night: nor these alone, whose notes
Nice-fingered art must emulate in vain,

But cawing rooks, and kites that swim sublime
In still repeated circles, screaming loud,
The jay, the pie, and e'en the boding owl,
That hails the rising moon, have charms for me.
Sounds inharmonious in themselves, and harsh,
Yet heard in scenes where peace forever reigns,
And only there, please highly for their sake.

THE WEATHER-HOUSE TOY.

Peace to the artist, whose ingenious thought
Devised the weather-house, that useful toy!
Fearless of humid air and gathering rains,
Forth steps the man- an emblem of myself!
More delicate his timorous mate retires.
When winter soaks the fields, and female feet,
Too weak to struggle with tenacious clay,
Or ford the rivulets, are best at home,
The task of new discoveries falls on me.

THE PEASANT'S NEST. ADVANTAGES AND INCONVENIENCES
OF SOLITUDE.

At such a season, and with such a charge,
Once went I forth; and found, till then unknown,
A cottage, whither oft we since repair :
"T is perched upon the green hill-top, but close
Environed with a ring of branching elms,
That overhang the thatch, itself unseen
Peeps at the vale below; so thick beset
With foliage of such dark redundant growth,

I called the low-roofed lodge the Peasant's Nest.
And hidden as it is, and far remote
From such unpleasing sounds, as haunt the ear
In village or in town, the bay of curs
Incessant, clinking hammers, grinding wheels,
And infants clamorous, whether pleased or pained,
Oft have I wished the peaceful covert mine.
Here, I have said, at least I should possess
The poet's treasure, silence, and indulge
The dreams of fancy, tranquil and secure.
Vain thought! the dweller in that still retreat
Dearly obtains the refuge it affords.

Its elevated site forbids the wretch

To drink sweet waters of the crystal well;

He dips his bowl into the weedy ditch,
And, heavy laden, brings his beverage home,

Far fetched and little worth; nor seldom waits,
Dependent on the baker's punctual call,
To hear his creaking panniers at the door,
Angry and sad, and his last crust consumed.
So farewell envy of the Peasant's Nest !
If solitude make scant the means of life,
Society for me!-thou seeming sweet,
Be still a pleasing object in my view;
My visit still, but never mine abode.

THE DOUBLE ROW OF CHESTNUT-TREES.

Not distant far, a length of colonnade
Invites us. Monument of ancient taste,
Now scorned, but worthy of a better fate.
Our fathers knew the value of a screen
From sultry suns: and, in their shaded walks
And long-protracted bowers, enjoyed at noon
The gloom and coolness of declining day.
We bear our shades about us; self-deprived
Of other screen, the thin umbrella spread,
And range an Indian waste without a tree.
Thanks to Benevolus1he spares me yet
These chestnuts ranged in corresponding lines;
And, though himself so polished, still reprieves
The obsolete prolixity of shade.

THE RUSTIC BRIDGE. THE MOLE AND HIS PLOTS.

Descending now (but cautious lest too fast)
A sudden steep, upon a rustic bridge
We pass a gulf, in which the willows dip
Their pendent boughs, stooping as if to drink.
Hence, ankle deep in moss and flowery thyme,
We mount again, and feel at every step
Our foot half sunk in hillocks green and soft,
Raised by the mole, the miner of the soil.
He, not unlike the great ones of mankind,
Disfigures earth: and, plotting in the dark,
Toils much to earn a monumental pile,
That may record the mischiefs he has done.

THE LOOK-OUT. CHEAP IMMORTALITY.

The summit gained, behold the proud alcove That crowns it! yet not all its pride secures The grand retreat from injuries impressed By rural carvers, who with knives deface The panels, leaving an obscure, rude name, In characters uncouth, and spelled amiss. So strong the zeal t' immortalize himself Beats in the breast of man, that e'en a few, Few transient years, won from the abyss abhorred Of blank oblivion, seem a glorious prize, And even to a clown.

AN ENGLISH PROSPECT DESCRIBED; SCENERY AROUND OLNEY;
SHEEP; HAY-CART; WOODLANDS; ASH, LIME, BEECH,
Now roves the eye;

And posted on this speculative height,
Exults in its command. The sheepfold here
Pours out its fleecy tenants o'er the glebe.
At first, progressive as a stream, they seek

1 John Courtney Throckmorton, Esq., of Weston Underwood.

The middle field; but, scattered by degrees,
Each to his choice, soon whiten all the land.
There from the sunburnt hay-field homeward creeps
The loaded wain; while, lightened of its charge,
The wain that meets it passes swiftly by:
The boorish driver leaning o'er his team
Vociferous, and impatient of delay.

Nor less attractive is the woodland scene,
Diversified with trees of every growth,

Alike, yet various. Here the gray smooth trunks
Of ash, or lime, or beech, distinctly shine,
Within the twilight of their distant shades;
There, lost behind a rising ground, the wood
Seems sunk, and shortened to its topmost boughs.
FOREST TREES; WILLOW; POPLAR; ASH; ELM; OAK;
MAPLE; BEECH; LIME; SYCAMORE.

No tree in all the grove but has its charms,
Though each its hue peculiar; paler some,
And of a wannish gray; the willow such,
And poplar, that with silver lines his leaf,
And ash far-stretching his umbrageous arm;
Of deeper green the elm; and deeper still,
Lord of the woods, the long-surviving oak.
Some glossy-leaved, and shining in the sun,
The maple, and the beech of oily nuts
Prolific, and the lime at dewy eve
Diffusing odors; nor unnoted pass
The sycamore, capricious in attire,
Now green, now tawny, and, ere autumn yet
Have changed the woods, in scarlet honors bright.

THE OUSE.

O'er these, but far beyond (a spacious map
Of hill and valley interposed between),
The Ouse, dividing the well-watered land,
Now glitters in the sun, and now retires,
As bashful, yet impatient to be seen.

Hence the declivity is sharp and short,
And such the reäscent; between them weeps
A little Naiad her impoverished urn
All summer long, which winter fills again.

THE THROCKMORTON ESTATE. AVENUES OF TREES.

The folded gates would bar my progress now, But that the lord of this enclosed demesne, Communicative of the good he owns,

Admits me to a share; the guiltless eye
Commits no wrong, nor wastes what it enjoys.
Refreshing change! where now the blazing sun?
By short transition we have lost his glare,
And stepped at once into a cooler clime.
Yet, fallen avenues! once more I mourn
Your fate unmerited, once more rejoice
That yet a remnant of your race survives.
How airy and how light the graceful arch,
Yet awful as the consecrated roof
Reechoing pious anthems! while beneath
The checkered earth seems restless as a flood
Brushed by the wind. So sportive is the light

1 See the foregoing note.

The grove receives us next;
Between the upright shafts of whose tall elms
We may discern the thresher at his task.
Thump after thump resounds the constant flail,
That seems to swing uncertain, and yet falls
Full on the destined ear. Wide flies the chaff,
The rustling straw sends up a frequent mist
Of atoms, sparkling in the noonday beam.
Come hither, ye that press your beds of down,
And sleep not; see him sweating o'er his bread
Before he eats it. - -'T is the primal curse,
But softened into mercy; made the pledge
Of cheerful days, and nights without a groan.

PERPETUAL ACTIVITY IN NATURE. — UTILITY OF WINDS.-
THE OAK.

By ceaseless action all that is subsists.
Constant rotation of the unwearied wheel,
That nature rides upon, maintains her health,
Her beauty, her fertility. She dreads

An instant's pause, and lives but while she moves.
Its own revolvency upholds the world.
Winds from all quarters agitate the air,
And fit the limpid element for use,

Else noxious: oceans, rivers, lakes, and streams,
All feel the freshening impulse, and are cleansed
By restless undulation: e'en the oak
Thrives by the rude concussion of the storm:
He seems indeed indignant, and to feel
The impression of the blast with proud disdain,
Frowning, as if in his unconscious arm

He held the thunder: but the monarch owes
His firm stability to what he scorns,
More fixed below, the more disturbed above.

TOIL A BLESSING. HEALTH. HEALTHY OLD AGE. - EASE.

The law, by which all creatures else are bound, Binds man, the lord of all. Himself derives No mean advantage from a kindred cause, From strenuous toil his hours of sweetest ease. The sedentary stretch their lazy length When custom bids, but no refreshment find, For none they need the languid eye, the cheek Deserted of its bloom, the flaccid, shrunk, And withered muscle, and the vapid soul, Reproach their owner with that love of rest, To which he forfeits e'en the rest he loves. Not such the alert and active. Measure life By its true worth, the comforts it affords, And theirs alone seems worthy of the name. Good health, and, its associate in the most,

Good temper; spirits prompt to undertake,
And not soon spent, though in an arduous task;
The powers of fancy and strong thought are theirs ;
E'en age itself seems privileged in them,
With clear exemption from its own defects.
A sparkling eye beneath a wrinkled front
The veteran shows, and, gracing a gray beard
With youthful smiles, descends towards the grave
Sprightly, and old almost without decay.

Like a coy maiden, ease, when courted most,
Furthest retires- an idol, at whose shrine
Who oftenest sacrifice are favored least.

SUPERIORITY OF NATURE TO ART.

The love of Nature, and the scenes she draws,
Is Nature's dictate. Strange! there should be found,
Who, self-imprisoned in their proud saloons,
Renounce the odors of the open field
For the unscented fictions of the loom ;
Who, satisfied with only pencilled scenes,
Prefer to the performance of a God
The inferior wonders of an artist's hand!
Lovely indeed the mimic works of Art;
But Nature's works far lovelier. I admire,
None more admires, the painter's magic skill,
Who shows me that which I shall never see,
Conveys a distant country into mine,
And throws Italian light on English walls :
But imitative strokes can do no more
Than please the eye- -sweet Nature's every sense.
The air salubrious of her lofty hills,

The cheering fragrance of her dewy vales,
And music of her woods - no works of man
May rival these; these all bespeak a power
Peculiar, and exclusively her own.

Beneath the open sky she spreads the feast;
"T is free to all-'t is every day renewed;
Who scorns it starves deservedly at home.

ENJOYMENT OF NATURE BY THE RELEASED PRISONER; THE CONVALESCENT; BY THE MARINER CRAZED WITH THE LONGING FOR LAND SCENERY.

He does not scorn it, who, imprisoned long In some unwholesome dungeon, and a prey To sallow sickness, which the vapors, dank And clammy, of his dark abode have bred, Escapes at last to liberty and light : His cheek recovers soon its healthful hue; His eye relumines its extinguished fires; He walks, he leaps, he runs — is winged with joy, And riots in the sweets of every breeze. He does not scorn it, who has long endured A fever's agonies, and fed on drugs; Nor yet the mariner, his blood inflamed With acrid salts: his very heart athirst, To gaze at nature in her green array, Upon the ship's tall side he stands, possessed With visions prompted by intense desire : Fair fields appear below. such as he left Far distant, such as he would die to find ; He seeks them headlong, and is seen, no more..

-.

THE LOVE OF LIFE; HOWEVER APPARENTLY UNDESIRABLE.-
INVETERATE CARD-PLAYERS.

Yet thousands still desire to journey on,
Though halt, and weary of the path they tread.
The paralytic, who can hold her cards,
But cannot play them, borrows a friend's hand
To deal and shuffle, to divide and sort
Her mingled suits and sequences; and sits,
Spectatress both and spectacle, a sad
And silent cipher, while her proxy plays.
Others are dragged into the crowded room
Between supporters; and, once seated, sit,
Through downright inability to rise,
Till the stout bearers lift the corpse again.
These speak a loud memento. Yet even these
Themselves love life, and cling to it, as he
That overhangs a torrent to a twig.

They love it, and yet loathe it; fear to die,
Yet scorn the purposes for which they live.
Then wherefore not renounce them! No-the dread,
The slavish dread of solitude, that breeds
Reflection and remorse, the fear of shame,
And their inveterate habits, all forbid.

THE TRULY GAY. THE LARK. THE PEASANT. THE FASHIONABLE AND VICIOUS GAY.

Whom call we gay? That honor has been long The boast of mere pretenders to the name. The innocent are gay-the lark is gay, That dries his feathers, saturate with dew, Beneath the rosy cloud, while yet the beams Of day-spring overshoot his humble nest. The peasant too, a witness of his song, Himself a songster, is as gay as he. But save me from the gayety of those, Whose headaches nail them to a noonday bed; And save me too from theirs, whose haggard eyes Flash desperation, and betray their pangs For property stripped off by cruel chance; From gayety, that fills the bones with pain, The mouth with blasphemy, the heart with woe.

NATURE'S VARIETY ADAPTED TO MAN'S LOVE OF CHANGE.-
THE SEA-CLIFF; THE QUIET, INLAND VALE.
The earth was made so various, that the mind
Of desultory man, studious of change,
And pleased with novelty, might be indulged.
Prospects, however lovely, may be seen
Till half their beauties fade; the weary sight,
Too well acquainted with their smiles, slides off
Fastidious, seeking less familiar scenes.
Then snug enclosures in the sheltered vale,
Where frequent hedges intercept the eye,
Delight us; happy to renounce a while,
Not senseless of its charms, what still we love,
That such short absence may endear it more.
Then forests, or the savage rock, may please,
That hides the sea-mew in his hollow clefts
Above the reach of man. His hoary head,
Conspicuous many a league, the mariner
Bound homeward, and in hope already there,
Greets with three cheers exulting. At his waist
A girdle of half-withered shrubs he shows,
And at his feet the baffled billows die.
The common, overgrown with fern, and rough
With prickly gorse, that shapeless and deformed,
And dangerous to the touch, has yet its bloom,
And decks itself with ornaments of gold,
Yields no unpleasing ramble; there the turf
Smells fresh, and rich in odoriferous herbs
And fungous fruits of earth, regales the sense
With luxury of unexpected sweets.

CRAZY KATE.

There often wanders one, whom better days Saw better clad, in cloak of satin trimmed With lace, and hat with splendid riband bound. A serving maid was she, and fell in love With one who left her, went to sea, and died. Her fancy followed him through foaming waves To distant shores; and she would sit and weep At what a sailor suffers; fancy too, Delusive most where warmest wishes are, Would oft anticipate his glad return, And dream of transports she was not to know. She heard the doleful tidings of his death And never smiled again! and now she roams The dreary waste; there spends the live-long day, And there, unless when charity forbids, The live-long night. A tattered apron hides, Worn as a cloak, and hardly hides, a gown More tattered still; and both but ill conceal A bosom heaved with never-ceasing sighs. She begs an idle pin of all she meets, And hoards them in her sleeve; but needful food, Though pressed with hunger oft, or comelier clothes, Though pinched with cold, asks never. - Kate is crazed.

THE GYPSY CAMP.

I see a column of slow-rising smoke O'ertop the lofty wood that skirts the wild.