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WALKING TO THE MAIL.

And all my heart turn'd from her, as a

thorn Turns from the sea; but let me live my

life.' He sang his song, and I replied with

mine: I found it in a volume, all of songs, Knock'd down to me, when old Sir

Robert's pride, His books — the more the pity, so I saidCame to the hammer here in March

and this I set the words, and added names I knew. *Sleep, Ellen Aubrey, sleep, and dream

of me: Sleep, Ellen, folded in thy sister's arm, And sleeping, haply dream her arm is

mine. Sleep, Ellen, folded in Emilia's arm; Emilia, fairer than all else but thou, For thou art fairer than all else that is. 'Sleep, breathing health and peace

upon her breast: Sleep, breathing love and trust against

her lip: I go to-night: I come to-morrow morn.

I go, but I return: I would I were The pilot of the darkness and the dream. Sleep, Ellen Aubrey, love, and dream of

me.' So sang we each to either, Francis

Hale, The farmer's son, who lived across the bay, My friend; and I, that having where

withal, And in the fallow leisure of my life A rolling stone of here and everywhere, Did what I would; but ere the night we

John. I'm glad I walk'd. How fresh

the meadows look
Above the river, and, but a month ago,
The whole hill-side was redder than a fox.
Is yon plantation where this byway joins
The turnpike?

James. Yes.
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? No, not the County Member's with the

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. James.

No, sir, he, 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

life That keeps us all in order more or less And 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 Mon.

day, 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

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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

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, jets out, and meets a friend who hails

him, “What! You're flitting!' “Yes, we're flitting,'

says the ghost (For they had pack'd the thing among

the beds). "Oh well,' says he, 'you fitting with us

too Jack, turn the horses' heads and home

again.' John. He left his wife behind; for so

I heard. Jamies. He left her, yes. I met my

lady once: A woman like a butt, and harsh as crabs.

John. Oh yet but I remember, ten

nice eyes

Should see the raw mechanic's bloody

thumbs Sweat on his blazon'd chairs; but, sir,

you know

That these two parties still divide the

worldOf those that want, and those that have :

and still The same old sore breaks out from age

to age

years back

With much the same result. Now I

myself, A Tory to the quick, was as a boy Destructive, when I had not what I would. I was at school - a college in the South: There lived a flayflint near; we stole his

fruit, His hens, his eggs; but there was law

for us;

We paid in person. He had a sow, sir.

She, With meditative grunts of much content, Lay great with pig, wallowing in sun and

mud. By night we dragg'd her to the college

tower

'Tis now at least ten years - and then

she was 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

From her warm bed, and up the cork.

screw stair With hand and rope we haled the groan

ing sow, And on the leads we kept her till she

pigg'd. Large range of prospect had the mother

SOW, And but for daily loss of one she loved As one by one we took them — but for

this As never sow was higher in this world Might have been happy: but what lot is

pure?

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,

We took them all, till she was left alone
Upon her tower, the Niobe of swine,
And so return'd unfarrow'd to her sty.
John. They found you out?
James.

Not they. John.

Well --- after all What know we of the secret of a man? His nerves were wrong.

What ails us, who are sound, That we should mimic this raw fool the

world, Which charts us all in its coarse blacks

or whites, As ruthless as a baby with a worm, As cruel as a schoolboy ere he grows 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

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:

And well his words became him: was he

not A full-cell'd honeycomb of eloquence Stored from all flowers? Poet-like he

spoke.

comes

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

roan.

EDWIN MORRIS;

My love for Nature is as old as I; But thirty moons, one honeymoon to that, And three rich sennights more, my love

for her. My love for Nature and my love for her, Of different ages, like twin-sisters grew, Twin-sisters differently beautiful. To some full music rose and sank the sun, And some full music seem'd to move and

change With all the varied changes of the dark, And either twilight and the day between; For daily hope fulfill'd, to rise again Revolving toward sulfilment, made it

Sweet To walk, to sit, to sleep, to wake, to

breathe.'

OR, THE LAKE. Ove, 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, million

aires, 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.

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And for the good and increase of the

world. A pretty face is well, and this is well, To have a dame indoors, that trims us up, And keeps us tight; but these unreal ways Seem but the theme of writers, and in

deed Worn threadbare. Man is made of solid

stuft.

But Edwin Morris, he that knew the

names,

G

-as

I say, God made the woman for the man, But you can talk: yours is a kindly vein : And for the good and increase of the I have, I think, - Heaven knows, world.'

much within;

Have, or should have, but for a thought * Parson,' said I, ‘you pitch the pipe

or two, too low :

That like a purple beech among the greens But I have sudden touches, and can run Looks out of place: 'tis from no want in My faith beyond my practice into his :

her: Tho' is, in dancing after Letty Hill, It is my shyness, or my self-distrust, I do not hear the bells upon my cap, Or something of a wayward modern mind I scarce have other music: yet say on. Dissecting passion. Time will set me What should one give to light on such a

right.' dream?' I ask'd him half-sardonically.

So spoke I knowing not the things •Give?

that were. Give all thou art,' he answer'd, and a Then said the fat-faced curate, Edward light

Bull : Of laughter dimpled in his swarthy cheek; "God made the woman for the use of 'I would have hid her needle in my

man, heart,

And for the good and increase of the To save her little finger from a scratch

world.' No deeper than the skin : my ears could And I and Edwin laughed; and now we hear

paused Her lightest breath; her least remark About the windings of the marge to hear was worth

The soft wind blowing over meadowy The experience of the wise. I went and

holms came;

And alders, garden-isles; and now we left Her voice fled always thro' the summer The clerk behind us, I and he, and ran

By ripply shallows of the lisping lake, I spoke her name alone. Thrice-happy Delighted with the freshness and the days!

sound. The flower of each, those moments when we met,

But, when the bracken rusted on their The crown of all, we met to part no

crags, more.'

My suit had wither'd, nipt to death by

him Were not his words delicious, I a beast That was a God, and is a lawyer's clerk, To take them as I did? but something The rentroll Cupid of our rainy isles. jarr'd;

'Tis true, we met; one hour I had, no Whether he spoke too largely; that there seem'd

She sent a note, the seal an Elle vous A touch of something false, some self

suit, conceit,

The close, “ Your Letty, only yours ; ' and Or over-smoothness: howsoe'er it was,

this He scarcely hit my humour, and I said: Thrice underscored. The friendly mist

of morn • Friend Edwin, do not think yourself Clung to the lake. I boated over, ran alone

My craft aground, and heard with beatOf all men happy. Shall not Love to

ing heart me,

The Sweet-Gale rustle round the shelving As in the Latin song I learnt at school,

keel; Sneeze out a full God-bless-you right and And out I stept, and up I crept: she left?

moved,

land;

more:

While the gold-lily blows, and overhead The light cloud smoulders on the summer

crag.

ST. SIMEON STYLITES.

Like Proserpine in Enna, gathering

flowers : Then low and sweet I whistled thrice;

and she, She turn'd, we closed, we kiss'd, swore

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

cried, O leave me!' 'Never, dearest, never:

berc 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, Turlands 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

ALTHO’ I be the basest of mankind, From scalp to sole one slough and crust

of sin, Unfit for earth, unft for heaven, scarce

meet For troops of devils, mad with blasphemy, I will not cease to grasp the hope I hold Of saintdom, and to clamour, mourn and

sob, Battering the gates of heaven with storms

of prayer, Have mercy, Lord, and take away my

sin. Let this avail, just, dreadful, mighty

God, This not be all in vain, that thrice ten

years, Thrice multiplied by superhuman pangs, In hungers and in thirsts, fevers and cold, In coughs, aches, stitches, ulcerous throes

and cramps, A sign betwixt the meadow and the cloud, Patient on this tall pillar I have borne Rain, wind, frost, heat, hail, damp, and

sleet, and snow; And I had hoped that ere this period closed Thou wouldst have caught me up into thy

rest, Denying not these weather-beaten limbs The meed of saints, the white robe and

the palm. O take the meaning, Lord: I do not

breathe, Not whisper, any murmur of complaint. Pain heapid ten-hundred-fold to this, were

still Less burthen, by ten-hundred-fold, to bear, Than were those lead-like tons of sin,

that crush'd My spirit flat before thee.

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.

Nor cared to hear? perhaps : yet long

ago I have pardon'd little Letty; not indeed, It may be, for her own dear sake but this, She seems a part of those fresh days to me; For in the dust and drouth of London lise She moves among my visions of the lake, While the prime swallow dips his wing,

O Lord, Lord, Thou knowest I bore this better at the

first, For I was strong and hale of body then; And tho' my teeth, which now are dropt

away,

or then

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