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thought by all the folk he died of ankering after his master, for he never looked up after.' What trifles often influence our feelings! Do you

know that this, and the interest she seemed to take in this good brute, suddenly changed her in my eyes, so that from thinking her a harridan, I almost thought her comely.

“At length I followed the danie into the house, before which movement, had not my design been long pondered, or had I been ignorant of the comforts of the place when in my youth I so delighted in it, I

I perhaps might have returned immediately, and given you the triumph of converting me. But I had not resolved so rashly. Rain and wind, I felt, prevailed among inhabited as well as uninhabited houses; and the gardens of Kew or Richmond, if abandoned, might not excel St. Julian's left without its master.

“ So I took courage to encounter all the disadvantages of my new possession, whatever they might be, and, as I advanced into the house, I was gradually and agreeably consoled. The hall, which had been the refectory of the friars, though perhaps too large for my fortune, was not so for my taste, especially when I recollected the blazing of its fire in winter, and the sort of gymnasium it afforded to my childhood both in winter and summer, when its whole space was left to my will and pleasure by my indulgent uncle. Nor was my pleasure lessened by seeing my grandfather's arms, in almost original freshness, hung up over the fireplace, according to the good old custom, at the close of a shrievalty in the county.

a “I presently got familiar with a number of old acquaintances in the different rooms; pictures and pieces of furniture, which, to do my good housekeeper justice, were kept in clean order; and, though the reverse of modern taste as to lightness and convenience, made up for it in respectability and the pleasure of old remembrances. This pleasure increased as I mounted the principal staircase to explore the room and casement I have described; and I was pleased to find my old oak chair, and its crimson cushion of Genoa velvet, exactly in the same place and condition as when I left them to seek advancement and (as I was told) happiness in Lincoln's Inn. In truth, they seemed to greet me as old friends, who were so glad of my return, that they forgave my having abandoned them. The casement let in the same prospect which had so charmed me in my youth; and the same birds, as I thought, were still circling in airy mazes round the orchard. At this window, therefore (could I help it?), I became a fixture for many minutes, and rambled back through many a year, forgetting all that had intervened of business and struggle since then, and wholly unconscious of the noiseless foot of time. But the rain had now quite ceased, the sun had succeeded, and the garden looked so inviting, that I hurried out of doors, and found pleasures of the same sort fully equal to those within. A long green walk was still as smooth and shaven, and as inviting to contemplation, as when I used to pace it, after losing myself in Clarendon, and blessing myself that I did not live amid the horrors of civil war. The garden, however, I must reserve

a

for another letter, though I cannot help telling you

in this, my pleasure in renewing my acquaintance with another old friend, in the shape of an antiquated sundial, as old as the Priory itself, and which, in childhood, I thought a conjurer for telling us what it was o'clock. A gate near this let me into a meadow, bounded by that sudden mountain scenery which so beautifully characterises this lovely valley; and on one of the heights, the well-known house of Lord W. seemed to beckon me as of old to visit it. The evening, therefore, being still before me, I resolved to climb

up to it once more, in order to enjoy the grand view, which I knew it would give me, of my native land. Nor was I the less tempted from remembering it was famous for the resort of nightingales, to whose notes I had long been a stranger. My only wonder was that Lord W. never visited it himself. But this subsided when I recollected that Lord W. was never happy any where but in Parliament. However, my visit did not disappoint me; for, though the house and grounds showed all the signs of uninhabitancy, not only did I enjoy the glorious view of mountain and valley, so exciting in Welsh scenery, but the ramage I sought seemed more varied and sweeter than ever. This, together with the empty halls, brought to mind some lines of Coleridge, which you will think appropriate:

• I know a grove Of large extent, hard by a castle huge, Which the great lord inhabits not; and so This grove is wild with tangling underwood, And the trim walks are broken

up,

and grass,

Thin grass, and kingcups grow within the paths.
But never in one place I knew
So many nightingales; and far and near,
In wood and thicket, over the dusky grove,
They answer, and provoke each other's song
With skirmish and capricious passagings,
And murmurs musical, and swift jug, jug,

And one low piping sound more sweet than all.' “This made my little excursion delicious, and the consequence of all this imagery, both of the past and present, I must consider as happy; for all doubt as to my plan, had there been any, was now dispelled ; my resolution was confirmed. But I will not go on, though I have still much to say. Meantime I have given you enough for a dozen dreams; so adieu.”

“P.S. Upon second thoughts I will write no more; for if I satisfy your curiosity to the full, I know your indolence so well, that you will never perform your promise of coming to see me. If

you wish, therefore, to know more, put yourself into the Ellesmere coach, and in a few miles more you may find the lay prior of St. Julian's in the midst of his glory, the glory of being able to do what he pleases with himself and his time.”

No. XIV.

THE PRIORY.

“ This sacred shade and solitude, what is it?

'Tis the felt presence of the Deity.
Few are the faults we flatter when alone."

Young.
“ Ah! yet, ere I descend into the grave,
May I a small house and large garden have."

COWLEY.

I am almost ashamed to proceed with my story of Mordaunt; for, except to give me commissions for what he wanted in London, he kept his word in not writing to me; and the indolence to which he adverted on my part grew to such a height by indulgence, that it was full five years before I mustered

mustered up exertion enough to visit St. Julian's. As to the subject of his flight from London, we both seemed to have forgotten it. At last a letter arrived, so full of kindness, and at, the same time of reproach for not performing my promise, that it made my blood tingle, so that, consciencestruck, I travelled all night and all day till I got to Llangollen. Thence I proceeded with a guide to St. Julian's, where I arrived at not quite three hours and a half post meridiem. What makes me thus particular was the situation in which I found

my

friend. A fresh-coloured, active, middle-aged servant in a groom's fustian jacket took my horse to the stable,

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