John. And when does this come by?
James. The mail? At one o'clock.
John.
What is it now?

James. A quarter to.

John. Whose house is that I see?

Vex'd with a morbid devil in his blood That veil'd the world with jaundice, hid his face

From all men, and commercing with himself,

He lost the sense that handles daily lifeThat keeps us all in order more or lessAnd sick of home went overseas for change.

John. And whither?

James. Nay, who knows? he's here and there.

But let him go; his devil goes with him, As well as with his tenant, Jocky Dawes. John. What's that?

James. You saw the man-on Monday, was it?—

There by the humpback'd willow; half stands up

And bristles; half has fall'n and made a bridge;

And there he caught the younker tickling

trout

Caught in flagrante-what's the Latin

word ?

Delicto: but his house, for so they say, Was haunted with a jolly ghost, that shook

The curtains, whined in lobbies, tapt at doors,

And rummaged like a rat: no servant stay'd:

The farmer vext packs up his beds and chairs,

And all his household stuff; and with his boy

Betwixt his knees, his wife upon the tilt, Sets out, and meets a friend who hails him, 'What!

You're flitting !' 'Yes, we're flitting,' says the ghost

vane:

Up higher with the yew-tree by it, and half

A score of gables.

James. That? Sir Edward Head's: But he's abroad: the place is to be sold. John. Oh, his. He was not broken.

the beds,)

'Oh well,' says he, 'you flitting with us

too

Jack, turn the horses' heads and home again.'

John. He left his wife behind; for so

I heard.

G

You could not light upon a sweeter thing: A body slight and round, and like a pear In growing, modest eyes, a hand, a foot Lessening in perfect cadence, and a skin As clean and white as privet when it flowers.

James. Ay, ay, the blossom fades, and they that loved

At first like dove and dove were cat and dog.

She was the daughter of a cottager, Out of her sphere. What betwixt shame and pride,

New things and old, himself and her, she sour'd

To what she is a nature never kind! Like men, like manners: like breeds like,

they say:

Kind nature is the best: those manners next

That fit us like a nature second-hand; Which are indeed the manners of the great. John. But I had heard it was this bill that past,

And fear of change at home, that drove him hence.

James. That was the last drop in the cup of gall.

I once was near him, when his bailiff brought

A Chartist pike. You should have seen him wince

As from a venomous thing: he thought himself

A mark for all, and shudder'd, lest a cry Should break his sleep by night, and his

nice eyes

Should see the raw mechanic's bloody thumbs

Sweat on his blazon'd chairs; but, sir, you know

Which charts us all in its coarse blacks or whites,

As ruthless as a baby with a worm,

world

To Pity-more from ignorance than will.

But put your best foot forward, or I fear

That we shall miss the mail: and here it

comes

With five at top: as quaint a four-in-hand As you shall see-three pyebalds and a

roan.

EDWIN MORRIS;

OR, THE LAKE.

O ME, my pleasant rambles by the lake, My sweet, wild, fresh three quarters of a year,

My one Oasis in the dust and drouth
Of city life! I was a sketcher then :
See here, my doing: curves of mountain,
bridge,

Boat, island, ruins of a castle, built When men knew how to build, upon a rock

With turrets lichen-gilded like a rock : And here, new-comers in an ancient hold, New-comers from the Mersey, millionaires,

Here lived the Hills-a Tudor-chimnied bulk

Of mellow brickwork on an isle of bowers. O me, my pleasant rambles by the lake With Edwin Morris and with Edward Bull

The curate; he was fatter than his cure.

But Edwin Morris, he that knew the

names,

Long learned names of agaric, moss and fern,

Who forged a thousand theories of the rocks,

Who taught me how to skate, to row, to swim,

Who read me rhymes elaborately good, His own-I call'd him Crichton, for he seem'd

All-perfect, finish'd to the finger nail.

And once I ask'd him of his early life, And his first passion; and he answer'd

me;

It is my shyness, or my self-distrust,
Or something of a wayward modern mind
Dissecting passion. Time will set me
right.'

So spoke I knowing not the things that were.

Then said the fat-faced curate, Edward Bull :

'God made the woman for the use of man,

And for the good and increase of the world.'

And I and Edwin laughed; and now we paused

About the windings of the marge to hear The soft wind blowing over meadowy holms

And alders, garden-isles; and now we left The clerk behind us, I and he, and ran By ripply shallows of the lisping lake, Delighted with the freshness and the sound.

In some new planet: a silent cousin stole Upon us and departed: Leave,' she cried,

"O leave me!' 'Never, dearest, never: here

I brave the worst:' and while we stood like fools

Embracing, all at once a score of pugs And poodles yell'd within, and out they

came

Trustees and Aunts and Uncles. 'What, with him!

Go' (shrill'd the cotton-spinning chorus); 'him!'

I choked. Again they shriek'd the burthen-Him!'

Again with hands of wild rejection 'Go!— Girl, get you in!' She went-and in one month

They wedded her to sixty thousand pounds,
To lands in Kent and messuages in York,
And slight Sir Robert with his watery
smile

And educated whisker. But for me,
They set an ancient creditor to work :
It seems I broke a close with force and

arms:

There came a mystic token from the king
To greet the sheriff, needless courtesy !
I read, and fled by night, and flying

turn'd:

Her taper glimmer'd in the lake below: I turn'd once more, close-button'd to the storm;

So left the place, left Edwin, nor have seen Him since, nor heard of her, nor cared to hear.