And wept in secret; and the reapers And babbled for the golden seal, that hung From Allan's watch, and sparkled by the fire.

To God, that help'd her in her widowhood.
And Dora said, 'My uncle took the boy;
But, Mary, let me live and work with you: For Dora : take her back; she loves you
He says that he will never see me more.'

Then answer'd Mary, 'This shall never O Sir, when William died, he died at

That thou shouldst take my trouble on With all men; for I ask'd him, and he thyself: said,

And, now I think, he shall not have the He could not ever rue his marrying me— I had been a patient wife: but, Sir, he

And clapt him on the hands and on the May God forgive me!-I have been to

Like one that loved him and the lad Kiss me, my children.'

The old man's neck, and kiss'd him many times.

There, on a slope of orchard, Francis laid

And all the man was broken with remorse; A damask napkin wrought with horse and And all his love came back a hundred

fold;

And for three hours he sobb'd o'er
William's child
Thinking of William.

So those four abode
Within one house together; and as years
Went forward, Mary took another mate;
But Dora lived unmarried till her death.

AUDLEY COURT.

'THE Bull, the Fleece are cramm'd, and

not a room

For love or money. Let us picnic there
At Audley Court.'

I spoke, while Audley feast Humm'd like a hive all round the narrow quay,

To Francis, with a basket on his arm,
To Francis just alighted from the boat,
And breathing of the sea.

heart,'

hound,

Brought out a dusky loaf that smelt of

home,

And, half-cut-down, a pasty costly-made, Where quail and pigeon, lark and leveret lay,

Like fossils of the rock, with golden
yolks

Imbedded and injellied; last, with these,
A flask of cider from his father's vats,
Prime, which I knew; and so we sat and

eat

And talk'd old matters over; who was dead,

Who married, who was like to be, and how

The races went, and who would rent the hall:

Then touch'd upon the game, how scarce it was

This season; glancing thence, discuss'd the farm,

With all my The four-field system, and the price of

grain ;

Said Francis. Then we shoulder'd thro' And struck upon the corn-laws, where we

And came again together on the king
With heated faces; till he laugh'd aloud;
And, while the blackbird on the pippin
hung

And rounded by the stillness of the beach
To where the bay runs up its latest horn.
We left the dying ebb that faintly lipp'd
The flat red granite; so by many a sweep
Of meadow smooth from aftermath we To hear him, clapt his hand in mine and

reach'd

The griffin-guarded gates, and pass'd thro' all

The pillar'd dusk of sounding sycamores, And cross'd the garden to the gardener's lodge,

With all its casements bedded, and its walls

And chimneys muffled in the leafy vine.

sang--

'Oh! who would fight and march and
countermarch,

Be shot for sixpence in a battle-field,
And shovell'd up into some bloody trench
Where no one knows? but let me live
my life.

'Oh! who would cast and balance at

a desk,

Upon the cliffs that guard my native land,
I might as well have traced it in the sands;
The sea wastes all but let me live my And saunter'd home beneath a moon, that,
life.

'Oh! who would love? I woo'd a In crescent, dimly rain'd about the leaf

Knock'd down to me, when old Sir Dipt by itself, and we were glad at heart.

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

James. That? Sir Edward Head's: You're flitting!' 'Yes, we're flitting,'

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 him-
self,

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.

says the ghost

(For they had pack'd the thing among 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.

James. He left her, yes.
lady once :

I met my

A woman like a butt, and harsh as crabs.
John. Oh yet but I remember, ten years

back

'Tis now at least ten years—and then she

was

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, In growing, modest eyes, a hand, a foot

You could not light upon a sweeter thing:
A body slight and round, and like a pear

was it?

Lessening in perfect cadence, and a skin

There by the humpback'd willow; half As clean and white as privet when it

stands up

And bristles; half has fall'n and made a

bridge;

flowers.

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

And there he caught the younker tickling At first like dove and dove were cat and

Caught in flagrante-what's the Latin She was the daughter of a cottager,

word?

Delicto: but his house, for so they say,

Was haunted with a jolly ghost, that

shook

Out of her sphere. What betwixt shame

and pride,

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

The curtains, whined in lobbies, tapt at To what she is: a nature never kind!

And all his household stuff; and with his Which are indeed the manners of the great.

EDWIN MORRIS; OR, THE LAKE.

James. That was the last drop in the And on the leads we kept her till she

cup I once was near him, when his bailiff Large range of prospect had the mother

A Chartist pike. You should have seen And but for daily loss of one she loved As one by one we took them--but for

A mark for all, and shudder'd, lest a Might have been happy : but what lot is pure?

Should break his sleep by night, and his We took them all, till she was left alone Upon her tower, the Niobe of swine,

Should see the raw mechanic's bloody And so return'd unfarrow'd to her sty.

That these two parties still divide the What know we of the secret of a man? His nerves were wrong. What ails us,

Destructive, when I had not what I To Pity-more from ignorance than will.

From her warm bed, and up the cork-O ME, my pleasant rambles by the lake,