Arcady of beauty, every nook of which we have been acquainted with, and loved, from childhood.

TALBOT. For my part I am glad that it has been so— old songs are ever the dearest, and really good verse never stales by repetition. If HARTLEY will recite the two poems he has mentioned, I shall listen to them with delight.

HARTLEY. The assurance is encouraging; yet, lest I weary you in spite of it, I will merely repeat the concluding portion of Coleridge's poem.

"Farewell, O Warbler! till to-morrow eve,

And you, my friends! farewell, a short farewell!
We have been loitering long and pleasantly,

And now for our dear homes. That strain again!
Full fain it would delay me! My dear Babe,

Who, capable of no articulate sound,

Mars all things with his imitative lisp,
How he would place his hand beside his ear,
His little hand, the small forefinger up,

And bid us listen! and I deem it wise

To make him Nature's playmate. He knows well
The evening star; and once when he awoke

In most distressful mood (some inward pain
Had made up that strange thing an infant's dream),

I hurried with him to our orchard-plot,

And he beheld the moon, and hush'd at once,
Suspends his sobs, and laughs most silently,

While his fair eyes, that swam with undropp'd tears,
Did glitter in the yellow moon-beam! well!-
It is a father's tale: But if that Heaven
Should give me life, his childhood shall grow up
Familiar with these songs, that with the night
He may associate joy.-Once more, farewell,

Sweet nightingale! Once more, my friends, farewell.”

This is beautiful poetry; but I must be prosaic enough to remark that to take a screaming infant from its cradle, and to rush with it into the chill moonlight, is the height of midsummer madness. Such an erratic expedition was eminently characteristic of Coleridge, who seldom acted like his fellow mortals.

STANLEY. And wherefore should he? Men are not sheep; and he who likes not the common pasture is at liberty to feed elsewhere. For my part I had rather be what is popularly termed "a character," than one of your stereotyped respectabilities.

HARTLEY. At the risk of being personal, I must say that STANLEY'S external appearance betrays no sign of the eccentricity after which he affects to hanker. On the contrary, he is evidently prone servilely to follow the fashion, and, even while rusticating at Lynton, acts upon the sound advice of Polonius. Methinks, from this and divers other signs, that some of our Devonshire beauties have won his regard :

Proudly dark, or softly fair,
Raven-black or auburn hair;

Eyes like hazel-nuts in hue,

Or laughing love through heavenly blue;
Bosoms white;—with dainty veins

Leading down in purple stains

To the warm young hearts that beat
Joyful in their safe retreat;
Little arms that tapering slope,
Little hands inspiring hope,
Slender waists, yet not too slight
To be clasp'd with full delight;
Pretty ankles, tiny feet

Softly stepping down the street.

Woo them, win them if you may;
They are like an April day

When the modest sun shines out
Half in earnest, half in doubt,—
Burning sometimes through the cloud,
Hidden sometimes in a shroud;
Rain-drops fall on golden flowers,
Birds sing sweet in hidden bowers,
Buds peep out through last year's leaves,
Swallows twitter on the

eaves,

Earth is very young and fair,

Yet untann'd by summer's glare,—
Such are they, and such to see

Well may steal thy heart from thee.

STANLEY. Saul among the prophets,-HARTLEY among the poets. I did not know before that he employed his leisure in rhyme-making. Perhaps, however, like singlespeech Hamilton, he has made but this one attempt. If so, as he dedicates it to me, I am bound to be grateful. Happily he does not limit my affections, but asks me to love all Devonshire damsels; a broad request, yet one easy to fulfil. From this moment I embrace them mentally, and wish that they had

To kiss them all at once from north to south."

HARTLEY.

Who does not know that even this general affection, fanciful though it be, may lead the heart to settle on some precious and special object; nay, does not Coleridge say-and who knew better than he?—that all desires and hopes lead to this result.

"All thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,
All are but ministers of Love,

And feed his sacred flame."

That these ministrants may succeed in kindling the love torch in your heart—ay, and in TALBOT's also—is a consummation devoutly to be desired.

TALBOT. Desire such a result for me if you will; but do not expect it. At present, my single blessedness is all-sufficing, and "wraps me round like a cloak." Plautus, you know, tells us that the man who would know what trouble is should manage a ship or marry a wife!

STANLEY.

And Lord Bacon says that unmarried men are "best friends, best masters, best servants;" and he adds—“he was reputed one of the wise men that made answer to the question when a man should marry, 'A young man not yet, an elder man not at all.'”

HARTLEY. There are yet higher authorities in favour of the holy estate of matrimony; for have I not Shakspeare and Dr. Primrose on my side? Indeed, the argument of the worthy Whistonian, that the honest man who marries and brings up a large family does more service to society than he who continues single and only talks of population, is, I dare affirm, unanswerable. And I agree with his wife also, that there are no such wives in Europe as our own. Bachelors may survive in London; in a country retreat they are the most miserable of men.

TALBOT. The bachelors are best fitted to judge of their own state, and they will tell you that if they lose some joys they escape many cares. Is it not significant,

by the way, that Collins, who wrote the exquisite rural lyric called "To-morrow," does not include in the wishes he cherishes for his old age a wife in the chimney corner. Perhaps the poor man, of whom we know nothing, was himself cursed with a shrew :

"In the downhill of life, when I find I'm declining,
May my lot no less fortunate be

Than a snug elbow-chair can afford for reclining,
And a cot that o'erlooks the wide sea;

With an ambling pad-pony to pace o'er the lawn,
While I carol away idle sorrow,

And blithe as the lark that each day hails the dawn
Look forward with hope for to-morrow.

"With a porch at my door both for shelter and shade too,
As the sun-shine or rain may prevail ;

And a small spot of ground for the use of the spade too,
With a barn for the use of the flail :

A cow for my dairy, a dog for my game,

And a purse when a friend wants to borrow;

I'll envy no nabob his riches or fame,

Nor what honours await him to-morrow.

"From the bleak northern blast may my cot be completely

Secured by a neighbouring hill;

And at night may repose steal upon me more sweetly

By the sound of a murmuring rill:

And while peace and plenty I find at my board,

With a heart free from sickness and sorrow,

With my friends may

I share what to-day may afford,

And let them spread the table to-morrow.

"And when I at last must throw off this frail covering Which I've worn for three-score years and ten,

On the brink of the grave I'll not seek to keep hovering, Nor my thread wish to spin o'er again: