and master, and landlord does not exist; and why should he not make the best of husbands? This is a mother's testimony, Anne, and consequently partial; but it is founded on near thirty years' daily experience, and therefore true." "And I believe it," whis
pered the trembling girl.
"I thank you a thousand times for that," exclaimed Lord G-, who had entered unnoticed amidst the agitation of the scene. "Mother, may I hope you have prevailed?" Lady G- held out her arms in a mute appeal to Anne, who hid her answer in a mother's joyful bosom. Somehow, as my cousin afterwards told me, the frolic went round; and he found himself, to his own amazement, embracing the stiff Countess, while the young people, he presumed from analogy, were similarly occupied. So complete a surprise had the whole affair been to honest undesigning Jack, that he would as soon have expected to salute his pet Anne, Empress of Morocco, as Countess of G—.
A lodge in the park is now my old friend's abode; when if the children do not visit grandpapa in the forenoon, he is sure to stroll up in the afternoon to inquire the reason. As for the dowager, she says, and feels that she has only left her chair at the head of the table, for one easier and more suited to her years and infirmities elsewhere.
The gay world, when for a few brief weeks it caught a glimpse of her, was not backward in bestowing, with its proverbial caprice, its unsought favour on the youthful countess. There was a winning sweetness, a native dignity about Anne, which seemed to speak her born for the station she adorned; and if fashion could have gratified her, it would have laid all its tinsel laurels at her feet. But she was still Anne Clavering; and her husband, her father, her mother-in-law, and children, were to her a world of unfading and engrossing interest. The "Green Stockings" are long since forgotten, and have never for a moment prevented the Countess from befriending, to the very utmost of her ample powers, her four less fortunate sisters.
On Fanny, whose husband's greys soon came to the hammer, while his parliamentary privileges alone kept him from jail, she settled, when she became early a widow, a competent annuity. She persuaded the Earl to restore, by an opportune trip to Ireland, and the magic of his name and rank, the fast waning influence of the high-spirited Emma, at Castle Connor. She sat, though this was the hardest sacrifice of all, for a print which sold a thousand copies of the verses with which her brother-in-law, Orlando, now provided for a numerous and increasing family; and as Mr and Mrs Horner wanted nothing from her but countenance and civility, 2 I
she listened unreservedly (during their frequent visits) to Cecilia's long concertos, and beguiled, with endless games at chess, the ennui of the deaf old Nabob. They have all, in their turn, learnt to look up to, and admire the Anne they once thought so insignificant; and as they successively receive protection, patronage or sisterly kindness from the idolized Countess of G-, sometimes ask each other "Can this be the girl we all quizzed with the Green Stockings.""
Methocht fresche MAY befoir my bed upstude,
In weid depaynt of mony diverse hew,
Sober, benyng, and full of mansuetude,
In bright atteir of flouris forgit new.
Hevinly of color-quhyt, reid, brown, and blew,-
Balmit in dew, and gilt with Phebus' bemys;
Quhyl all the house illumynit of her lemys.
Slugart, she said, awalk annone for schame,
And in my honor sumthing thow go wryt;
The lark has done the mirry day proclame.
To raise up luvaris with comfort and delyt;
Yet nocht incress thy curage to indyt,
Quhois hairt sumtyme hes glaid and blissful bene,
Sangis to mak under the levis grene.
DAYLIGHT is springing in the glorious East
Like a pure fountain in a wilderness:
The choral song of Morning Stars has ceas'd;
And soon the Sun, rising in gorgeous dress,
I Will bid his night-watch sleep, for singly he
Must climb great heaven's arch, triumphantly.
Now, 'merging into liberty, the rays
Spread thro' the gloomy Earth in devious ways:
Some the green lake with silvery mantle fold,
Or fringe the fleecy clouds with burning gold;
Others, whom yet the morning's languor fills,
Sleep on the tops of the eternal hills.
The sun is up!-and the glad World smiles:
Seas, rivers, mountains, continents, and isles
Brilliantly sparkle in a thousand ways,
And warble in a thousand strains GoD's praise.
Ascend the top of yon commanding height,
And feast your vision with a splendid sight.
Above-beneath-around-one glory springs,
The glory that a summer morning brings;
When the chill watchers of a dusky night
Have sunk before the Sun's subduing light;
And, flinging off her shroud, the joyous Earth
Rises once more, into resplendent birth;
And smiles and blushes to the emerging Sun,
Cheering him to the race he has begun.-
And there are SMELLS abroad, from herb and flower,
Which, scentless, wept all night, until this hour;
The hawthorn-blossoms, and the lilac wild,
Which I have often climb'd for, when a child;
The honey-suckle, wall and gilly-flower,
That form and scent, at once, the garden bower;
The marigold-the myrtle-lily-rose;
And many an unseen herb that fragrance throws---
(Such as the woodrows, that by rivers spring,
And only sweets exhale when withering ;)-
All fling a fresh and odoriferous scent,
That rises to the upper firmament;
And, mingling with the morning song and prayer,
Breathes for poor mortals sweet petitions there.
And there are SOUNDS abroad,-of warbling rills,
And rivulets, dancing 'mong their native hills;
Of river's gush in yonder winding lea,
And hollow heavings of the distant sea;
Of the lark's matin trill, who, soaring, sings,
And sparrow's homely chirps and flutterings;
Of swallow swift, twittering from spray to spray,
And the small bee's loud humming roundelay;
Of village-dog, who, loosed from his abode,
Frolics and barks along the dusty road;
Of village boys, who, met for morning play,
Raise, 'mong their sports, their shrill and glad huzza;
Of ploughman's whistle, and of milkmaid's song,
And the loud hum of distant city's throng ;-
All form a symphony of happy sound
That makes the pulse play, and the heart rebound;
And throws on all we know a charm so bright,
That we exclaim, "O World of delight!"
Alas, Alas! this World's outward show
A gilded trapping o'er man's life may throw;
The morn may rise, in sparkling beauty clad,
And sea, and hill, and valley may look glad;
All nature may be gay; and even man
May smile upon the smiling-if he can :--
But from the dazzling scenes-the song-the dress-
Can we decide an actor's happiness?-
Can we, without a lingering hanker, say,
Because the world is gay, man's heart is gay ?-
The sun doth laugh, in all his Summer's glow,
Doth laugh on scenes of wretchedness and woe,
And Nature carries her most lovely smile
To Italy's plains and Erin's starving isle :
Even this bright vision, that we just now see,
May mantle pictures of drear misery;
And these refreshing smells and thrilling sounds
May be like flowers upon sepulchral grounds,
Spread o'er the place their fragrance to bestow,
Because-rank putrefaction lies below.
See you, in yonder dell, a little cot, Encircled by a neat-dress'd garden plot ;
With roof new laid with thatch, and white-washed walls, And windows apeing those of gothic halls,
Round which the creeping flowers in beauty play,
And wanton in the exuberance of May.
It is a pleasant and a quiet abode ;
And travellers, as they pass the adjoining road,
Cast on it often a regardful eye,
And love to linger in its boundary.
For here, think they, here, in this quiet dell,
If any where, Peace and Contentment dwell.
But look a little farther-ope the door-
Take but your survey from the cottage floor-
And say,
Oh! say then, after what you see,
If here dwells Pleasure, Peace, or Purity.
One single female on a feverish bed,
Her friends all scatter'd, and her parents dead,
(Alas! deserted such a charming spot ?)
Is the alone indweller of this cot.
And she-unhappy one-is ill at ease;
For guilt has sullied even scenes like these,
And left her there, meek as a turtle dove,
The victim of a fatal, treacherous love.
Look to her eye, that lately beam'd so bright,
And spake a heart kindly at once and light,
Now languid, and her form, erst fresh and hale,
Now, like a broken lily, drooping pale.
No longer is she seen, down in the lea,
Joining the birds' glad morning minstrelsy;
No more at village church, or village fair,-
Alike the paramount-no matter where ;-
Sickness, and shame of neighbour's scornful eye,
Of tongues now slandering what they once spoke high,
Stay her from breathing the salubrious air-
At home a lonely, wretched prisoner.
Yet, yet one friend-(and firm is friendship's knot
Which misery can't undo)-visits her cot;
And softly, soothingly, asks how she fares,
And listens, like a mother, to her cares;
And tries, by village anecdote or news,
Some pleasant meditations to infuse,
To qualify, as if it were by stealth,
With other thoughts, the bitter thought of self.
But nothing can the unhappy girl enchant
From the sad thought that is predominant:
A smile, perhaps, or a word passingly,
Or but a bright'ning up of her dark eye,
Is all;-the faint impressions will not keep,
But steal away, like circles on the deep.
"Listen!" she says" I saw my love last night :-
It was a dream-but truth was ne'er more bright.
Methought, the Sun had sunk deep in the West;
And I, with a fine boy upon my breast,
Sate by my cottage fire, which briskly burn'd;
When lo! the latch uplifted-and I turn'd,
And saw my long lost love! yes!-it was he !-
I flew into his dear arms :-Tremblingly,
He clasp'd me-clasp'd me-kiss'd me o'er and o'er-
And said he'd never leave his Mary more:
'No, no-you will not,' I did fondly cry,--
"You will not leave me here to infamy!
Look, look, my Billy-this is your own boy!'
And then he look'd, and wept for very joy;
And I wept too ;-and on his heaving breast
My head-my dizzy head-wildly I press'd,-
And yielded to his burning kisses-ay-
Till my delirious feelings rose so high,
That, struggling, I awoke amidst their storm :-
My love was far away-my child was yet unborn."
Unhappy Girl!-many a livelong day,
And week, and month, and year may melt away;
And many a summer's sun may tedious shine,
With irksome lustre, on that cot of thine;
And many a meek-eyed moon aloft may sleep;
While, o'er thy baby, thou shalt watch and weep,
And look with trembling hopes to a new day ;-
"He may return, my child, perhaps he may;'
Till Hope, at length, burns dim within thy breast,
And weary-worn, thou sink'st to troubled rest,-
Again to wake and witness no return-
Another and another day to mourn.
O spurn not, sneeringly, the tender tale,
With cry of " Fiction!" ignorant and stale!
Fancy may loosely throw her reins away,
And, visionary, soar from day to day :
But ne'er can her imaginings o'er-go
The sad realities of human wo;
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