time, and, next to eating, cards and chattering were her highest pleasures. Both she and her husband spoke a lingo of which I did not understand one word in ten though they bawled it most vociferously into my ears. There were four lady boarders besides myself, who talked as loud and as unintelligibly; one was a London lady, east of Temple-Bar; yet with her v-s and her w-s, and the rest of her elegant phrases, I understood her very little better than the rest of them. This was the genteel, elegant society I was led to expect. Added to the home-groupe, there were three boor companions of the squire, viz. the curate, the apothecary-doctor, and a gentleman farmer." Farmer he might be; but, as to the gentleman, we will say no more on that head. The parson was the only one of the group who could speak English, yet I soon found he was every thing but what he ought to be; and the apothecary-doctor was so very clever that I found it would be totally impossible to trust my soul or my body with either of them; and to me, who wished to set myself down for the rest of my life, this idea was particularly comfortable. Friend. But what could they be who could recommend you to such a place? Mrs. H. Why only a lady and gentlemen who had tried it, and boarded there. Friend. I'm astonished! What sort of people could they be? Mrs. H. Very clever and very genteel; ay, you may stare; don't you know many people, especially clever ones, like to be the head of their company? That was their case; there was good eating and drinking, cards, talking and laughing, every one easy in their circumstances, and that was called society; but not being that society I coveted, of sensible, well-informed people, shut up in the country where I could not command or get at better, you cannot wonder that I walked off as soon as possible. Friend. No, in truth, but yet I should think there might be places found where you would meet such society as might he called society. Mrs. H. I have tried it so long and failed, both in town and coun try, that I will try it no longer; and though I can laugh and entertain myself with the absurdities and self-consequence of idiots, &c. I can by no means submit to live with them. One day the city lady, to shew her own consequence as she thought, and by a side-wind to let these, her co-mates, know how grand she had lived in London, thus accosted me. Mrs. W. I think, Ma'am, I have had the pleasure of seeing you at my Lady Mayoress's balls? Mrs. H. I fancy not, Madam; for I never was at a city ball in my life. Willing to step a foot higher, she continued. Mrs. W. I'm sure then, Ma'am, I've seen you at most public places? Mrs. H. I have certainly lived much in public life, Madam, but I have never been any where since I have had this face. Mrs. W. Dearee me! I doesn't understand you, Ma'am! Why can one change one's face? Mrs. H. No necessity for that; surely you know one's face changes of its own accord. (smiling) Mrs. W. Why, to be sure, every body don't carry their years alike. (Bridling up) Now the finest fun of all was, that I was the youngest looking in the company, except the daughter of the people of the house. Mrs. W. But certainly, Ma'am, I've seen you at Court. (This crowned all. Goodness, thought 1, where could you be stuck up there, good woman.) Mrs. H. I fancy not, Ma'am, (smiling, for I suppose she thought, old or young, one must appear there.) It is now above twenty years since I was last there, and ten years ago I don't think any one there would have remembered me till they had heard my name. I suppose she thought the deuce was in me, for sticking to it, that I was old and altered. Miss S. Dear me! if you are so altered as you say, Ma'am, how amazingly handsome you must have been; so handsome as you now are, and with such an uncommon beautiful elegant figure. Mrs. H. My dear Miss Simpson, I thank you greatly for your com pliment, but I perfectly agree with Mrs. Rowe. Come, gentle age, to me thou dost ap pear No cruel object of regret or fear; But still age is age; a sensible woman will be the first to perceive its advances, and it is our own fault alone if age ever appears ridiculous, when by false disguises, and aping to be young, she renders herself so; otherwise, poor thing! how can she help having been born a great while ago; but when she thus tries to conceal what every one else perceives, then lies common sense embalmed in a bed of roses. This created a laugh. Well, Ma'am, says one of the gentlemen, you have put common sense into a sweet situation, however. Mrs. H. If they were not artificial roses, Sir; but even in real roses, that is not her place; and, as Heaven created every thing in its proper place, I am one who wish to keep them there as much as possible. Bless me! says the prig of a parson, what a scrambling now a days would your system occasion, Ma'am, if that was to be the case; as much as we shall have at the last day, when we are all looking for our limbs. Hey, Doctor! and some, perhaps, that you and your fraternity may have dissected, and can't be found. (Laughing at his own wit) Mrs. H. There I differ with you, Sir, I dont imagine there will be any such fuss; for as it is Heaven's appointment, and as God is not the author of confusion, so I think there will be none but what is occasioned in the minds of those who can't so readily find their hearts and their accounts in their right places. This gave a check to the Parson's wit, whether it gave any to his con science I can't tell; but he looked at me as if he would have eaten me with a grain or two of Lot's wife. Friend. Well, but now, my friend, tell me, what is the order of the day for this Hermit's life you are going to pursue? Mrs. H. Thus situated as you perceive, near all the parks, and most of my old friends still left me in London, these apartments I occupy upon a plan that leaves my time as completely my own as I can wish. I shall, therefore, if I meet with agreeable people at the tables of my friends, invite them to come and eat Hermit's fare with me. If I meet such as I do not like, I shall ask them no such question. I shall roam about-see every thing I can likeavoid every thing I cannot. Of which rambles I shall ever wish you, my dear Friend, to partake. Friend. Most assuredly, I shall ever be happy to attend your summons. But pray do you know that you have got a Brother Hermit in London, a very clever fellow whoever he is? Mrs. H. Yes, I met with his book t'other day, but I don't intend to be acquainted with him, though he lives so near me. Friend. Why so; methinks he would be an acquisition to our strolling parties. Mrs. H. No, no,-let him keep to his parties, and I keep to mine. Besides, he lives too much in the great world for me; 'tis too late now for me to re-enter those scenes, and you know I was always most dreadfully afraid of your lady and gentlemen authors; and never wish to encounter any of them but through the booksellers and the circulating libraries, where I may return them without any further trouble, be pleased with their company whilst I may, and return them at once if I like them not. A TWILIGHT DREAM. AN ALLEGORY. "In voluptatis regno virtus non potest consistere."-CICERO. I LAY beneath the shade of spreading trees In silence and in solitude: the sun Cast his last smile along the ocean's cheek, And, having heard her tale, the heav'ns themselves And sought their mossy pillows. The bright streams But I was young, and could not find delight Frowning full on me; whilst a crystal tear And many smaller streams rush'd o'er their banks In the still lap of distance. I was so hush'd Still lured me forward. Then, at length, we reach'd In accents of entreaty, cried "Return!" The sound of that sweet voice fell on my heart, My resolution waver'd; and a dread Came like the chill of death across my soul. I turn'd to fly; but the fair one came And plac'd once more her wand before mine eyes: My senses fled; and when, at length, I woke To reason and perception, I beheld A scene of lonely horror. Not a tree, Nor bush, nor flow'r, nor solitary shrub Through which a waste of blood-red waters flow'd, * Est nemus Hæmoniæ, prærupta quod undique claudit Silva vocant Tempe: per quæ Penêus ab imo Effusus Pindo spumosis volvitur undis. OVIDII METAMORPH. Lib. 1. Until we gain'd a steep and dangerous rock, No objects to the eye were visible; But, Oh! in that brief moment my dark soul I stood a while in darkness and in dread, As they were wont: no! Brooding vengeance cast I shriek'd with terror. "Fool!" she cried, "thou add'st Another reptile to the endless list Of my lone victims. Thousands have pursu'd My steps that lead to gloom and death. But know, To light a world as pleasureless as vain, None have obtain'd me yet. And thou, a slave, To win the goddess, PLEASURE, to thine arms. Look down, proud youth! the stream that glides below Thy time is come." She ceas'd, and pluck'd a thorn (For Pleasure's roses bear a poison'd one,) Then thrust it in my side, and hurl'd me from Of kindness and of power. I turn'd and saw Its troubled waters in the stony laps Of far outstretching crags.-" Now follow me!" She buoy'd me safely till we gain'd the shore. |