the sense. But perhaps, Madam, while I thus reprehend others, you'll think it just that I should give them an opportunity to retaliate; and indeed I have made this remark only to have an opportunity of introducing to the company a ballad, which, whatever be its other defects, is, I think, at least free from those I have mentioned.

A BALLAD.

TURN, gentle hermit of the dale,
And guide my lonely way
To where yon taper cheers the vale,
With hospitable ray.

For here forlorn and lost I tread,
With fainting steps and slow;
• Where wilds immeasurably spread
'Seem length'ning as I go.'

'Forbear, my son,' the hermit cries,
To tempt the dangerous gloom:
For yonder faithless phantom flies
'To lure thee to thy doom.

Here, to the houseless child of want,
My door is open still;

And though my portion is but scant,
'I give it with good will.

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 foast I bring;

A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied,
And water from the spring.

Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego; All 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 neighbouring 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 smil'd;
And skill'd in legendary lore,
The ling'ring hours beguil'd.

Around in sympathetic mirth,
Its tricks the kitten tries;
The cricket chirrups in the hearth,
The crackling fagot flies.

But nothing could a charm impart
To sooth the stranger's wo;
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 habitations spurn'd, 'Reluctant dost thou rove?

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

G

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
His lovelorn 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, Nor 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 heaven 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 wo to me! • Their constancy was mine.

For still I tried each fickle art,
Importunate and vain:

'Andwhile 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.

And there forlorn, despairing hid,
'I'll lay me down and die.
'Twas so for me that Edwin did,
6 And so for him will I.'

"Forbid it, heav'n! the hermit cried,
And clasp'd her to his breast;
The wond'ring fair one turn'd to chide,
'Twas Edwin's self that prest!

Thus let me hold thee to my heart,
And every care resign;

'And shall we never, never part,
My life-my all that's mine!

No, never from this hour to part,
We'll live and love so true;
'The sigh that rends thy constant heart,
• Shall break thy Edwin's too.'

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. This sportsman was the squire's chaplain, who had shot one of the black birds 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. Thorn