Edinburgh:

Printed by R. & R. Clark.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

DESIGNED BY BIRKET FOSTER,

ENGRAVED ON WOOD BY EDMUND EVANS, AND PRINTED BY R. & R. CLARK,

Book First-The Sofa.

VIGNETTE. ARGUMENT TO BOOK FIRST.

VIGNETTE TITLE TO THE SOFA.

PAGE

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3

The rural walk through lanes

Of grassy swarth, close cropp'd by nibbling sheep,

And skirted thick with intertexture firm

Of thorny boughs.

9

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 list'ning ear,
Groves, heaths, and smoking villages, remote.

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.

A cottage, whither oft we since repair:
'Tis perch'd upon the green hill-top, but close
Environ'd with a ring of branching elms,
That overhang the thatch, itself unseen
Peeps at the vale below.

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13

15

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Not distant far, a length of colonnade

Invites us.

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.

The summit gain'd, behold the proud alcove
That crowns it!

The sheepfold here

Pours out its fleecy tenants o'er the glebe.

The grove receives us next;

Between the upright shafts of whose tall elms

We may discern the thresher at his task.

The lark is gay,

That dries his feathers, saturate with dew,
Beneath the rosy cloud, while yet the beams
Of dayspring overshoot his humble nest.
The peasant, too, a witness of his song,
Himself a songster, is as gay as he.

Then forests, or the savage rock, may please,
That hides the sea-mew in his hollow clefts.

But needful food,

Though press'd with hunger oft, or comelier clothes,
Though pinch'd with cold, asks never.-Kate is crazed!

I see a column of slow-rising smoke

O'ertop the lofty wood that skirts the wild,

A vagabond and useless tribe there eat
Their miserable meal.

Methinks I see thee straying on the beach,
And asking of the surge that bathes thy foot,
If ever it has wash'd our distant shore.

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The moonbeam, sliding softly in between

The sleeping leaves, is all the light they wish.

44