He had the lightest foot in Ennerdale :
His pace was never that of an old man:
I almost see him tripping down the path
With his two grandsons after him :--but you,
Unless our Landlord be your host to-night,
Have far to travel,--and on these rough paths
Even in the longest day of rnidsummer

LEONARD.

But those two Orphans !

PRIEST.

Orphans !-Such they wereYet not while Walter lived :-for, though their

parents Lay buried side by side as now they lie, The old man was a father to the boys, Two fathers in one father: and if tears, Shed when he talked of them where they were

not, And hauntings from the infirmity of love, Are aught of what makes up a mother's heart, This old man, in the day of his old age, Was half a mother to them. If you weep, sir, To hear a stranger talking about strangers, Heaven bless you when you are among your

kindred! Ay-you may turn that way it is a grave Which will bear looking at.

LEONARD.

These boys—I hope They loved this good old Man!

PRIEST

They did-and truly : But that was what we almost overlooked, They were such darlings of each other. Yes, Though from the cradle they had lived with

Walter, The only kinsman near them, and though he Inclined to both by reason of his age, With a more fond, familiar tenderness, They, notwithstanding, had much love to spare, And it all went into each other's hearts. Leonard, the elder by just eighteen months, Was two years taller: 'twas a joy to see, To hear, to meet them!-From their house the

school Is distant three short miles-and in the time Of storm and thaw, when every water-course And unbridged stream, such as you may have

noticed Crossing our roads at every hundred steps, Was swoln into a noisy rivulet, Would Leonard then, when elder boys remained At home, go staggering through the slippery

fords,

Bearing his Brother on his back. I have seen

him, On windy days, in one of those stray brooks, Ay, more than once I have seen him, mid-leg

deep, Their two books lying both on a dry stone, Upon the hither side: and once I said, As I remember, looking round these rocks And hills on which we all of us were born, That God who made the great book of the

world Would bless such piety

LEONARD.

It may be then

PRIEST,

Never did worthier lads break English bread;
The very brightest Sunday Autumn saw
With all its mealy clusters of ripe nuts,
Could never keep those boys away from church,
Or tempt them to an hour of sabbath breach.
Leonard and James! I warrant, every corner
Among these rocks, and every hollow place
That venturous foot could reach, to one or both
Was known as well as to the flowers that grow

there. Like roe-bucks they went bounding o'er the

hills;

They played like two young ravens on the

crags :
Then they could write, ay and speak too, as well
As many of their betters--and for Leonard !
The very night before he went away,
In my own house I put into his hand
A Bible, and I'd wager house and field
That, if he is alive, he has it yet.

LEONARD.
It seems, these Brothers have not lived to be
A comfort to each other

PRIEST.

That they might
Live to such end, is what both old and young
In this our valley all of us have wished,
And what, for my part, I have often prayed :
But Leonard

'Tis of the elder brother I am speaking:
They had an uncle;-he was at that time
A thriving man, and trafficked on the seas :

And, but for that same uncle, to this hour
Leonard had never handled rope or shroud:
For the boy loved the life which we lead here,
And though of unripe years, a stripling only,
His soul was knit to this his native soil.
But, as I said, old Walter was too weak
To strive with such a torrent; when he died,
The estate and house were sold; and all their

sheep, A pretty flock, and which, for aught I know, Had clothed the Ewbanks for a thousand

years :Well-all was gone, and they were destitute. And Leonard, chiefly for his Brother's sake, Resolved to try his fortune on the seas. Twelve years are past since we had tidings from

him. If there were one among us who had heard That Leonard Ewbank was come home again, From the great Gavel,* down by Leeza's Banks, And down the Enna, far as Egremont, The day would be a joyous festival ; And those two bells of ours, which there you

see