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its most ardent admirer. The mellow verdure of the meadows, intermingled here and there with the sombre appearance of ploughed land, the cattle reclining in the shade, the cottage of the rustic peeping from behind the screen of a luxuriant hedge, formed a tout-ensemble which every eye must admire, but which few pens can describe. “A delightful landscape!” said Charles ; “ A rich soil,” said Jonathan. “ What scope for description !" cried the first; “ What scope for improvement!” returned the second.
As we returned, we passed the cottage of the peasant, whom we had seen at his plough in the morning. The family were busily engaged in their several domestic occupations. One little chubby-faced rogue was conducting Dobbin to his stable, another was helping his sister to coop up the poultry, and a third was incarcerating the swine, who made a vigorous resistance against their youthful antagonist. “ Tender !” cried Rhyme ;-he was listening to the nightingale. Very tender !” replied Reason ;he was looking at the pigs.
As we drew near home, we met an old gentleman walking with his daughter, between whom and Charles a reciprocal attachment was said to exist. The lateness of the evening prevented much conversation, but the few words which were spoken again brought into contrast the opposite tempers of my friends. fine evening, Madam," said the man of sense, and bowed;~"I shall see you to-morrow, Mary!” said the lover, and pressed her hand. We looked back upon her as she left us. After a pause, “ She is an angel!” sighed Charles ;“ She is an heiress," observed Jonathan. “She has ten thuosand perfections !” cried Rhyme ;-“She has ten thousand pounds,” said Reason.
We left them the next morning, and spent some days in speculations on the causes which enabled such union of affections to exist with such diversities of taste. For ourselves, we must confess, that while Reason has secured our esteem, Rhyme has run away with our hearts ; we have sometimes thought with Jonathan, but we have always felt with Charles.
The eve of Battle.
“ It is not yet near day. Come, go with me
Under our tents. I'll play the eaves-dropper."-SAAKSPEARE.
The night comes on, and o'er the field
Survey the crowds, who there await,
Turn to yon open tent, and see
Before him, on his desk, he lays
Look yonder-on the dewy sward
And when the musquet's steady aim
weep; And he that lov'd, but could not save, Shall write “ Hic jacet” o'er thy grave.
What wight is that, whose distant nose Gives token loud of deep repose ? What! honest Harry on the ground! I'faith thy sleep is wond'rous sound, For one who looks, upon his waking, To sleep “ the sleep that knows not breaking.” But rest thee, rest! thou merriest soul That ever lov'd the circling bowl ; I look upon his empty cup, And sudden tears uncall’d spring up; Perchance, in this abode of pother, Kind Harry may not drain another. But still our Comrades at the Bell Of Harry's prowess long shall tell ; And dignify with well-earn'd praise The revelry of other days. And then the merry tale will run On many a wager lost and won, On many a jest, and many a song, And many a peal of laughter long, That from our jovial circle broke At Harry's toast or Harry's joke. Again, at Fancy's touch restor'd, Our old sirloin shall grace the board ; Again at Fancy's touch shall flow The tap we drain’d an age ago, And thou, the soul of fun, the life Of noisy mirth and playful strife, May'st sleep in honour's worm-worn bed The dreamless slumber of the dead. But oft shall one sad heart at least Think on the smile, that never ceas'd Its catching influence, till the earth Clos'd o'er the lips that gave it birth.
I'll pour upon thy tranquil rest
Dazzle mine eyes? or do I see +
Daylight” ye studied to exclude ;
Sir Jacob arming! what despair
And her, the maid with yellow hair, * Suum cuique :“So that day I still hail with a smile and a sigh, For his beer with an E, and his bier with an I."'-CANNING. + " Edw. Dazzle mine eyes? or do I see three suns ! Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sün."-SHAKSPEARE.