-Whence comes it, then, that yonder we behold Five graves, and only five, that lie apart, Unsociable company and sad ;

And, furthermore, appearing to encroach

On the smooth play-ground of the Village-school?”

The Vicar answered. "No disdainful pride

In them who rest beneath, nor any course
Of strange or tragic accident, hath helped

To place those Hillocks in that lonely guise.
-Once more look forth, and follow with your eyes
The length of road which from yon mountain's base
Through bare enclosures stretches, 'till its line
Is lost among a little tuft of trees,—

Then, reappearing in a moment, quits

The cultured fields,-and up the heathy waste
Mounts, as you see, in mazes serpentine,
Towards an easy outlet of the Vale.

-That little shady spot, that sylvan tuft,
By which the road is hidden, also hides
A Cottage from our view,—though I discern,
(Ye scarcely can) amid its sheltering trees,
The smokeless chimney-top.-All unembowered

And naked stood that lowly Parsonage (For such in truth it is, and appertains To a small Chapel in the Vale beyond)

When hither came its last Inhabitant.

Rough and forbidding were the choicest roads By which our Northern wilds could then be crossed ;

And into most of these secluded Vales

Was no access for wain, heavy or light.

So, at his Dwelling-place the Priest arrived

With store of household goods, in panniers slung
On sturdy horses graced with jingling bells,
And on the back of more ignoble beast;
That, with like burthen of effects most prized
Or easiest carried, closed the motley train.
Young was I then, a school-boy of eight years;
But still, methinks, I see them as they passed
In order, drawing tow'rds their wished-for home.
-Rocked by the motion of a trusty Ass

Two ruddy Children hung, a well-poised freight,
Each in his basket nodding drowsily;

Their bonnets, I remember, wreathed with flowers

Which told that 'twas the pleasant month of June ;

And, close behind, the comely Matron rode,

A Woman of soft speech and gracious smile,
And with a Lady's mien.-From far they came,
Even from Northumbrian hills; yet theirs had been

A merry journey-rich in pastime-cheered

By music, prank, and laughter-stirring jest ;

And freak put on, and arch word dropped-to swell

The cloud of fancy and uncouth surmise

That gathered round the slowly-moving train.

-"Whence do they come? and with what errand charged?

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Belong they to the fortune-telling Tribe

"Who pitch their Tents beneath the green-wood Tree?

"Or are they Strollers, furnished to enact

"Fair Rosamond, and the Children of the Wood,

"And, by that whiskered Tabby's aid, set forth

"The lucky venture of sage Whittington,

"When the next Village hears the Show announced

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By blast of trumpet?" Plenteous was the growth

Of such conjectures, overheard; or seen

On many a staring countenance pourtrayed
Of Boor or Burgher, as they marched along.
And more than once their steadiness of face
Was put to proof, and exercise supplied

S S

To their inventive humour, by stern looks,
And questions in authoritative tone,

From some staid Guardian of the public peace,
Checking the sober steed on which he rode,
In his suspicious wisdom: oftener still,
By notice indirect or blunt demand
From Traveller halting in his own despite,

A simple curiosity to ease.

Of which adventures, that beguiled and cheered Their grave migration, the good Pair would tell, With undiminished glee, in hoary age.

A Priest he was by function; but his course From his youth up, and high as manhood's noon, (The hour of life to which he then was brought) Had been irregular; I might say, wild: By books unsteadied, by his pastoral care Too little checked. An active, ardent mind ; A fancy pregnant with resource and scheme To cheat the sadness of a rainy day: Hands apt for all ingenious arts and games; A generous spirit, and a body strong

To

cope with stoutest Champions of the bowl;

Had earned for him sure welcome, and the rights
Of a prized Visitant, in the jolly hall

Of country Squire; or at the statelier board
Of Duke or Earl, from scenes of courtly pomp
Withdrawn,-to while away the summer hours
In condescension among rural guests.

With these high Comrades he had revelled long,
Had frolicked many a year; a simple Clerk
By hopes of coming patronage beguiled
And vexed, until the weary heart grew sick.
And so, abandoning each higher aim

And all his shewy Friends, at length he turned
For a life's stay, though slender yet assured,
To this remote and humble Chapelry;
Which had been offered to his doubtful choice
By an unthought of Patron. Bleak and bare
They found the Cottage, their allotted home:
Naked without and rude within; a spot
With which the scantily-provided Cure
Not long had been endowed: and far remote
The Chapel stood, divided from that House
By an unpeopled tract of mountain waste.