lent," answered he, "and have only come, I spy out the nakedness of the land." see, to "No, indeed," I replied; "but I came, I own, to ascertain how your experiment answered, and what progress you had made in that code of ethics which is to reform the world. But I see no books; and, though plenty of pens and paper, not even a sheet of manu script." "To tell you the truth," said he, "my books are not yet unpacked." I started, which a little disconcerted him. "However," he added, "though I have yet put nothing on paper, I have thought a great deal." "And were the thoughts," asked I, "so profound that they could not be translated into language?" "Not so. But to confess the real fact, I was at first so transported with liberty, and having got free from that confounded London, that, what with that, riding, and playing at trap-ball "What!" said I; "is there a school in the forest?" "No," returned he; "I mean with my landlord's children. You know I was always fond of chil dren." "True," said I," and the landlord's seem very fine ones, particularly the females; I suppose they play at trap-ball too? They do sometimes," said he, with a little hesitation; "but then it is merely to make out the game with their little brothers. But, to have done with this, I will fairly disclose how I came to retard the commencement of my design, though with all appliances for it, in this abode of 'retired leisure."" He then informed me of his impressions during the first days of his retirement in this secluded nook, so formed, he said, for philosophic contemplation. "You see," observed he, "how romantically it is situated; how wild, yet how cultivated; how remote from disturbance, yet in a moment, if you please, in the midst of all the magnificence of art. For what can equal the grandeur of those towers, so associated with the ideas of history and royalty; overhanging, as they at the same time do, the majestic gloom of these venerable oaks, which might seemingly tell of tales before the flood! I assure you, when I first saw this spot, I approached it with reverence; and scarce ever greet it even now, when returning from a walk or ride, except in the language of Mason: 'How nobly does this venerable wood, The soft air Salutes me with its cool and temp'rate breath; "Amen!" cried I, somewhat moved with the emphasis with which he repeated the lines. "Well," continued he, "my first hours, I may say days, were absorbed by the landscapes around me; *Elfrida. and a beautiful landscape, you know, is a great moral lesson." "All very well," returned I, "if you had come to study mere inanimate nature; but as men and women were your objects "Pray let me proceed," said he. "I walked every step on classic ground; for in this neighbourhood Pope passed his early life, and first cultivated his muse by singing the praises of the forest; and you may suppose how proud and satisfied I felt, without attempting, for a time at least, to do more." To all this I agreed, and could not help myself feeling his enthusiasm, so that I thought I was a little cruel when I told him he might as well have railed at man or woman kind from his lodgings in Piccadilly. "Better, perhaps," said he, "as it turned out; for to these simple pleasures I have described it was owing that I did not immediately begin my work." He then informed me that having been, during his ride from London, full of his speculations on the world, and worked himself up to a pitch of sacred fury, the moment he arrived he called for his writing apparatus, and actually grasped his pen, and spread his paper with vigour. Thought after thought, however, rushed in such rapid succession into his mind, that he did not know where to begin, or how to choose, and the evening being particularly mild and pleasant, and the sun setting in glory, he thought he could ruminate quite as well or better out of doors than in. Having, therefore, ordered a light supper, chiefly of milk and fruit (as became a philosopher), he sallied forth to enjoy nature in a stroll in the Great Park, while it was getting ready. Here he wandered in the twilight, 66 Rapt in meditation holy, Mixt with divinest melancholy;" and so great was the charm, after London, that he stayed out till the twilight had become night, and his poetic imagination got so predominant over his worldly realities, that he had nothing of the satirist left in his composition. While this pastoral fit was on him, his roasted apples and cream were brought in by the freshcoloured Sarah, whom he afterwards christened Hebe, and whose freshness and sparkling struck him at once with pleasure and surprise. "There was a natural grace," he said, "about her, that put Lady Thomasina to shame, notwithstanding her Paris education.” At this I could not help laughing; for I had not been able to distinguish this Hebe of his from any of her sister milkmaids. I, therefore, complimented him on the strength of his imagination, owning that I had not discovered the charm of manner in her which seemed so to possess him. He told me, very gravely, I was like the rest of the worldlings, who had no taste for nature; but went on with his history. He passed the night, it seems, both sleeping and waking, in planning satirical pictures of human folly and wickedness; now a Democritus, now a Heraclitus; in which neither friend nor foe was spared. In short, he resolved to dip his pen in gall, and he got up early in the morning to shape and sharpen sentences which had occurred to him in the night, as only properly biting in reprehending the abuses he meant to expose. But the morning was peculiarly soft; the sun had warmed every thing into life, without destroying its freshness. Every thing was gratifying, nay delicious, to the senses; his mind soothed, his body refreshed. It was impossible to preserve ill-humour, even if it had not been, as it was, factitious; and, under this enchantment, Hebe laid a clean white cloth for his breakfast, under a lime-trec so sweet and fragrant, and seemed so sweet and fragrant herself, that he forgot a spleen which was more artificial than real, and gave hiraself up to the full enjoyment of what he then alone called nature. His breakfast and his mind were the better for it. Lady Thomasina's wrongs, and the minister's lack of fidelity to his professions, were forgotten, at least for that day; though he some time after relapsed into the same moodings and indignation at the jilting nature of the women, and the specious deceptions of politicians and party men, which drove him to this retreat. Far, however, from finding the stern treatise of morals illustrated by living characters which he had projected, the only ebullition which I discovered was the following rhapsody, which, much laughing at himself, he showed me, as what he said was the only true philosophy. It was entitled |