"Then turn to-night, and freely share
Whate'er my cell bestows;

My rushy couch, and frugal fare,
My blessing, and repose.

"No flocks, that range the valley free,

To slaughter I condemn;

Taught by that Power that pities me,
I learn to pity them.

"But from the mountain's grassy side,
A guiltless feast I bring;

A scrip with herbs and fruits supply'd,
And water from the spring.

"Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego,
For earth-born cares are wrong.
Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long."

Soft, as the dew from heav'n descends,
His gentle accents fell:

The modest stranger lowly bends,
And follows to the cell.

Far in a wilderness obscure
The lonely mansion lay;

A refuge to the neighb'ring poor,
And strangers led astray.

No stores beneath its humble thatch
Requir'd a master's care;

The wicket, opening with a latch,
Receiv'd the harmless pair.

And now, when busy crowds retire
To take their evening rest.
The hermit trimm'd his little fire,
And cheer'd his pensive guest:

And spread his vegetable store,
And gaily press'd and smiled,
And, skill'd in legendary lore,

The lingering hours beguiled.

Around, in sympathetic mirth,

Its tricks the kitten tries,
The cricket chirrups in the hearth,
The crackling faggot flies

Goldsmith, Vicar of Wakefield.

3

But nothing could a charm impart,
To soothe the stranger's woe;
For grief was heavy at his heart,
And tears began to flow.

His rising cares the hermit spied, With answering care opprest: "And whence, unhappy youth," he cried, "The sorrows of thy breast?

"From better habitation spurn'd,
Reluctant dost thou rove;

Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd,
Or unregarded love?

"Alas! the joys that fortune brings
Are trifling, and decay;

And those who prize the paltry things,
More trifling still than they.

And what is friendship, but a name,
A charm that lulls to sleep:

A shade that follows wealth or fame,
But leaves the wretch to weep?

"And love is still an emptier sound,
The modern fair one's jest;

On earth unseen, or only found
To warm the turtle's nest.

"For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush,

And spurn the sex!" he said:

But, while he spoke, a rising blush
The love-lorn guest betray'd.

Surpris'd he sees new beauties rise
Swift mantling to the view,
Like colours o'er the morning skies,
As bright, as transient too.

The bashful look, the rising breast,
Alternate spread alarms:

The lovely stranger stands confest
A maid in all her charms.

And, "Ah, forgive a stranger rude,
A wretch forlorn," she cried,
"Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude,
Where heav'n and you reside.

"But let a maid thy pity share,

Whom love has taught to stray;

Who seeks for rest, but finds despair
Companion of her way.

"My father liv'd beside the Tyne,

A wealthy lord was he;

And all his wealth was mark'd as mine, He had but only me.

"To win me from his tender arms,
Unnumber'd suitors came,

Who prais'd me for imputed charms,
And felt, or feign'd a flame.

"Each hour a mercenary crowd

With richest proffers strove: Among the rest young Edwin bow'd, But never talk'd of love.

"In humble, simplest habit clad,
No wealth nor power had he;
Wisdom and worth were all he had,
But these were all to me.

"The blossom opening to the day,
The dews of heav'n refin'd,
Could nought of purity display,
To emulate his mind.

"The dew, the blossom on the tree, With charms inconstant shine;

Their charms were his, but, woe to me,

Their constancy was mine.

"For still I tried each fickle art,

Importunate and vain;

And while his passion touch'd my heart, I triumph'd in his pain:

"Till, quite dejected with my scorn,
He left me to my pride;

And sought a solitude forlorn,
In secret, where he died.

'But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, And well my life shall pay;

I'll seek the solitude he sought,
And stretch me where he lay-

While this ballad was reading, Sophia seemed to mix an air of tenderness with her approbation. But our tranquillity was soon disturbed by the report of a gun just by us, and, immediately after, a man was seen bursting through the hedge, to take up the game he had killed. The sportsman was the Squire's chaplain, who had shot one of the blackbirds that so agreeably entertained us. So loud a report, and so near, startled my daughters; and I could perceive that Sophia, in the fright, had thrown herself into Mr. Burchell's arms for protection. The gentleman came up, and asked pardon for having disturbed us, affirming that he was ignorant of our being so near. He therefore sat down by my youngest daughter; and, sportsman like, offered her what he had killed that morning. She was going to refuse; but a private look from her mother soon induced her to correct the mistake, and accept his present, though with some reluctance. My wife, as usual, discovered her pride in a whisper, observing that Sophy had made a conquest of

the chaplain, as well as her sister had of the Squire. I suspected, however, with more probability, that her affections were placed upon a different object. The chaplain's errand was to inform us that Mr. Thornhill had provided music and refreshments, and intended that night giving the young ladies a ball, by moonlight, on the grass plat before our door. "Nor can I deny,” continued he, "but I have an interest in being first to deliver this message, as I expect, for my reward, to be honoured with Miss Sophia's hand as a partner." To this my girl replied, that she should have no objection, if she could do it with honour: "But here," continued she, "is a gentleman," looking at Mr. Burchell, "who has been my companion in the task for the day, and it is fit he should share in its amusements." Mr. Burchell returned her a compliment for her intentions, but resigned her up to the chaplain, adding, that he was to go that night five miles, being invited to a harvest supper. His refusal appeared to me a little extraordinary; nor could I conceive how so sensible a girl as my youngest, could thus prefer a man of broken fortunes to one whose expectations were much greater. But as men are most capable of distinguishing merit in women, so the ladies often form the truest judgments of us. The two sexes seem placed as spies upon each other, and are furnished with different abilities, adapted for mutual inspection.

CHAPTER IX.

Two Ladies of great Distinction introduced. Superior Finery ever seems to confer superior Breeding.

MR. BURCHELL had scarce taken leave, and Sophia consented to dance with the chaplain, when my little ones came running out to tell us that the Squire was come with a crowd of company. Upon our return, we found our landlord, with a couple of under-gentlemen, and two young ladies, richly dressed, whom he introduced as women of very great distinction and fashion from town. We hap