THE next morning we were again visited by Mr. Burchell, though I began, for certain reasons, to be displeased with the
frequency of his return; but I could not refuse him my company and fireside. It is true his labor more than requited his
entertainment, for he wrought among us with vigor, and either in the meadow or at the hay-rick put himself foremost. Besides,
he had always something amusing to say that lessened our toil, and was at once so out of the way, and yet so sensible, that I
loved, laughed at, and pitied him. My only dislike arose from an attachment he discovered to my daughter. He would, in a
jesting manner, call her his little mistress, and when he bought each of the girls a set of ribands, hers was the finest. I knew not
how, but he every day seemed to become more amiable, his wit to improve, and his simplicity to assume the superior airs of
wisdom.

   Our family dined in the field, and we sat, or rather reclined, round a temperate repast, our cloth spread

upon the hay, while Mr. Burchell gave cheerfulness to the feast. To heighten our satisfaction, two blackbirds answered each
other from opposite hedges, the familiar redbreast came and pecked the crumbs from our hands, and every sound seemed but
the echo of tranquillity. "I never sit thus," said Sophia, "but I think of the two lovers so sweetly described by Mr. Gray, who
were struck dead in each other's arms. There is something so pathetic in the description, that I have read it a hundred times with
new rapture.""In my opinion," cried my son, "the finest strokes in that description are much below those in the 'Acis and
Galatea' of Ovid. The Roman poet understands the use of contrast better, and upon that figure artfully managed, all strength in
the pathetic depends." @@ "It is remarkable," cried Mr. Burchell, "that both the poets you mention have equally contributed to
introduce a false taste into their respective countries, by loading all their lines with epithet. Men of little genius found them most
easily imitated in their defects, and English poetry, like that in the later empire of Rome, is nothing at present but a combination
of luxuriant images, without plot or connection; a string of epithets that improve the sound, without carrying on the sense. But
perhaps, madam, while I thus reprehend others, you'll think it just that I should give them an opportunity to retaliate, and indeed
I have made this remark only to have an opportunity of introducing to the company

a ballad, which, whatever be its other defects, is, I think, at least free from those I have mentioned."
 

                                          A BALLAD
 

1: "Turn, gentle Hermit of the Dale,
2: And guide my lonely way,
3: To where yon taper cheers the vale
4: With hospitable ray.
5: "For here forlorn and lost I tread,
6: With fainting steps and slow;
7: Where wilds, immeasurably spread,
8: Seem length'ning as I go."
9: "Forbear, my son," the Hermit cries,
10: "To tempt the dangerous gloom;
11: For yonder faithless phantom flies
12: To lure thee to thy doom.
13: "Here to the houseless child of want
14: My door is open still;
15: And though my portion is but scant,
16: I give it with good-will.
17: "Then turn to-night and freely share
18: Whate'er my cell bestows;
19: My rushy couch and frugal fare,
20: My blessing and repose.
21: "No flocks that range the valley free,
22: To slaughter I condemn;
23: Taught by that Power that pities me,
24: I learn to pity them:
25: "But from the mountain's grassy side,
26: A guiltless feast I bring;
27: A scrip with herbs and fruit supplied,
28: And water from the spring.

29: "Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego;
30: All earth-born cares are wrong;
31: Man wants but little here below,
32: Nor wants that little long."
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   Illustration absent.
 
 

33: Soft as the dew from Heav'n descends,
34: His gentle accents fell ;
35: The modest stranger lowly bends,
36: And follows to the cell.
37: Far in a wilderness obscure,
38: The lonely mansion lay;
39: A refuge to the neighboring poor,
40: And strangers led astray.

41: No stores beneath its humble thatch
42: Requir'd a master's care;
43: The wicket, opening with a latch,
44: Receiv'd the harmless pair.
45: And now, when busy crowds retire
46: To take their ev'ning rest;
47: The Hermit trimm'd his little fire,
48: And cheer'd his pensive guest;
49: And spread his vegetable store,
50: And gayly press'd and smil'd;
51: And skill'd in legendary lore,
52: The ling'ring hours beguiled.
53: Around, in sympathetic mirth,
54: Its tricks the kitten tries,
55: The cricket chirrups in the hearth,
56: The crackling faggot flies.
57: But nothing could a charm impart
58: To soothe the stranger's woe;
59: For grief was heavy at his heart,
60: And tears began to flow.
61: His rising cares the Hermit spied,
62: With answ'ring care opprest:
63: "And whence, unhappy youth," he cried,
64: "The sorrows of thy breast?
65: "From better habitations spurn'd,
66: Reluctant dost thou rove?
67: Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd,
68: Or unregarded love?
69: "Alas! the joys that fortune brings
70: Are trifling, and decay;
71: And those who prize the paltry things,
72: More trifling still than they.

73: "And what is friendship but a name,
74: A charm that lulls to sleep;
75: A shade that follows wealth or fame,
76: But leaves the wretch to weep?
77: "And love is still an emptier sound,
78: The modern fair one's jest:
79: On earth unseen, or only found
80: To warm the turtle's nest.
81: "For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush,
82: And spurn the sex," he said:
83: But while he spoke, a rising blush
84: His lovelorn guest betray'd.
85: Surprised he sees new beauties rise,
86: Swift mantling to the view;
87: Like colors o'er the morning skies,
88: As bright, as transient too.
89: The bashful look, the rising breast,
90: Alternate spread alarms;
91: The lovely stranger stands confest
92: A maid in all her charms.
93: "And ah! forgive a stranger rude,
94: A wretch forlorn!" she cried;
95: "Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude
96: Where Heaven and you reside.
97: "But let a maid thy pity share,
98: Whom love has taught to stray;
99: Who seeks for rest, but finds despair
100: Companion of her way.
101: "My father liv'd beside the Tyne,
102: A wealthy lord was he;
103: And all his wealth was mark'd as mine,
104: He had but only me.

105: "To win me from his tender arms,
106: Unnumber'd suitors came;
107: Who praised me for imputed charms,
108: And felt or feign'd a flame.
109: "Each hour a mercenary crowd
110: With richest proffers strove;
111: Among the rest young Edwin bow'd,
112: But never talk'd of love.
113: "In humble, simplest habit clad,
114: No wealth nor power had he;
115: Wisdom and worth were all he had,
116: But these were all to me.
117: "And when, beside me in the dale,
118: He caroll'd lays of love,
119: His breath lent fragrance to the gale,
120: And music to the grove.
121: "The blossom opening to the day,
122: The dews of Heav'n refined,
123: Could nought of purity display
124: To emulate his mind.
125: "The dew, the blossom on the tree,
126: With charms inconstant shine;
127: Their charms were his, but woe to me!
128: Their constancy was mine.
129: "For still I tried each fickle art,
130: Importunate and vain;
131: And while his passion touch'd my heart,
132: I triumph'd in his pain.
133: "Till quite dejected with my scorn,
134: He left me to my pride;
135: And sought a solitude forlorn,
136: In secret where he died.

137: "But mine the sorrow, mine the fault,
138: And well my life shall pay;
139: I'll seek the solitude he sought,
140: And stretch me where he lay.
141: "And there forlorn despairing hid,
142: I'll lay me down and die;
143: 'T was so for me that Edwin did,
144: And so for him will I."
145: "Forbid it, Heav'n!" the Hermit cried,
146: And clasp'd her to his breast;
147: The wond'ring fair one turn'd to chide,-
148: 'T was Edwin's self that prest.
149: "Turn, Angelina, ever dear,
150: My charmer, turn to see
151: Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here,
152: Restor'd to love and thee.
153: "Thus let me hold thee to my heart,
154: And ev'ry care resign;
155: And shall we never, never part,
156: My life,-my all that's mine?
157: "No, never, from this hour to part,
158: We'll live and love so true;
159: The sigh that rends thy constant heart
160: Shall break thy Edwin's too."

   While this ballad was reading, Sophia seemed to mix an air of tenderness with her approbation. But our tranquillity was soon
disturbed by the report of a gun just by us, and immediately after a man was seen bursting through the hedge, to take up the
game he had killed. This sportsman was the 'Squire's chaplain, who had shot one of the blackbirds that so agreeably

entertained us. So loud a report, and so near, startled my daughters; and I could perceive that Sophia, in the fright, had thrown
herself into Mr. Burchell's arms for protection. The gentleman came up, and asked pardon for having disturbed us, affirming
that he was ignorant of our being so near. He therefore sat down by my youngest daughter, and, sportsman-like, offered her
what he had killed that morning. She was going to refuse; but a private look from her mother soon induced her to correct the
mistake, and accept his present, though with some reluctance. My wife, as usual, discovered her pride in a whisper, observing,
that Sophy had made a conquest of the chaplain, as well as her sister had of the 'Squire. I suspected, however, with more
probability, that her affections were placed upon a different object. The chaplain's errand was to inform us that Mr. Thornhill
had provided music and refreshments, and intended that night giving the young ladies a ball by moonlight, on the grass-plot
before our door. "Nor can I deny," continued he, "but I have an interest in being first to deliver this message, as I expect for my
reward to be honored with Miss Sophy's hand as a partner." To this my girl replied, that she should have no objection, if she
could do it with honor. "But here," continued she, "is a gentleman," looking at Mr. Burchell, "who has been my companion in the
task of the day, and it is fit he should share in its amusements." Mr. Burchell returned her a compliment

for her intentions; but resigned her up to the chaplain, adding that he was to go that night five miles, being invited to a harvest
supper. His refusal appeared to be a little extraordinary, nor could I conceive how so sensible a girl as my youngest could thus
prefer a man of broken fortunes to one whose expectations were much greater.

   But as men are most capable of distinguishing merit in women, so the ladies often form the truest judgments of us. The two
sexes seem placed as spies upon each other, and are furnished with different abilities, adapted for mutual inspection.