night, and though I told him to stay at home till I rose, he's scampering over the fields like a Calmuc +Tartar.

Hum. He's a fine fellow.

Sir R. He has a touch of our family. Don't you think he is a little like me, Humphrey?

Hum. No, not a bit; you are as ugly an old man as ever I clapped my eyes on.

Sir R. Now that's plaguy impudent, but there's no flattery in it, and it keeps up the independence of argument. His father, my brother Job, is of as tame a spirit-Humphrey, you remember my brother Job?

Hum. Yes, you drove him to Russia five-and-twenty years

ago.

Sir R. I did not drive him.

Hum. Yes, you did. You would never let him be at peace in the way of argument.

Sir R. At peace! Zounds, he would never go to war. Hum. He had the merit to be calm. Sir R. So has a duck-pond. He received my arguments with his mouth open, like a poor-box gaping for half-pence, and, good or bad, he swallowed them all without any resistance. We could n't disagree, and so we parted.

Hum. And the poor, meek gentleman went to Russia for a quiet life.

Sir R. A quiet life! Why, he married the moment he got there, tacked himself to the shrew relict of a Russian merchant, and continued a *speculation with her in furs, flax, potashes, tallow, linen, and leather; what's the consequence? Thirteen months ago he broke.

Hum. Poor soul, his wife should have followed the business for him.

Sir R. I fancy she did follow it, for she died just as he broke, and now this madcap, Frederic, is sent over to me for protection. Poor Job, now he is in distress, I must not neg lect his son.

Hum. Here comes his son; that's Mr. Frederic.

Fred. O, my dear uncle, good morning! Your park is nothing but beauty.

Sir R. Who bid you caper over my beauty? I told you to stay ia-doors till I got up.

Fred. So you did, but I entirely forgot it.
Sir R. And pray, what made you forget it?
Fred. The sun.

Sir R. The sun! he's mad! you mean the moon, I believe. Fred. O, my dear uncle, you do n't know the effect of a fine spring morning, upon a fellow just arrived from Russia. The day looked bright, trees budding, birds singing, the park was so gay that I took a leap out of your old *balcony, made your deer fly before me like the wind, and chased them all around the park to get an appetite for breakfast, while you were snoring in bed, uncle.

Sir R. Oh, oh! So the effect of English sunshine upon a Russian, is to make him jump out of a balcony, and worry my deer.

Fred. I confess it had that influence upon me.

Sir R. You had better be influenced by a rich old uncle, unless you think the sun likely to leave you a fat legacy. Fred. I hate legacies.

Sir R. Sir, that's mighty singular. They are pretty solid tokens, at least.

Fred. Very melancholy tokens, uncle; they are posthumous dispatches, affection sends to gratitude, to inform us we have lost a gracious friend.

Sir R. How charmingly the dog argues!

Fred. But I own my spirits ran away with me this morning. I will obey you better in future; for they tell me you are a very worthy, good sort of gentleman.

Sir R. Now who had the familiar impudence to tell you that?

Sir R. Why Humphrey, you did n't?

Hum. Yes, but I did though.

Fred. Yes, he did, and on that score I shall be anxious to show you obedience, for 't is as meritorious to attempt sharing a good man's heart, as it is paltry to have designs upon a rich man's money. A noble nature aims its attentions full breast high, uncle; a mean mind levels its dirty Tassiduities at the pocket.

Sir R. [Shaking him by the hand] Jump out of every window I have in the house; hunt my deer into high fevers,

my fine fellow! Ay, that's right. This is spunk, and plain speaking. Give me a man, who is always flinging his dissent to my doctrines smack in my teeth.

Fred. I disagree with you there, uncle.
Hum. And so do I.

Fred. You! you forward puppy! If you were not so old, I'd knock you down.

Sir R. I'll knock you down, if you do. I won't have my servants thumped into dumb flattery.

Hum. Come, you are ruffled. Let us go to the business of the morning.

Sir R. I hate the business of the morning. Don't you see we are engaged in discussion. I tell you, I hate the business of the morning.

Hum. No you do n't.

Sir R. Don't I? Why not?

Hum. Because 't is charity.

Sir R. Pshaw! Well, we must not neglect the business, if there be any distress in the parish. Read the list, Humphrey. Hum. [Taking out a paper and reading.] "Jonathan Huggins, of Muck Mead, is put in prison for debt."

Sir R. Why, it was only last week that Gripe, the attorney, recovered two cottages for him by law, worth sixty pounds.

Hum. Yes, and charged a hundred for his trouble; so seized the cottages for part of his bill, and threw Jonathan into jail for the remainder.

Sir R. A harpy! I must relieve the poor fellow's distress. Fred. And I must kick his attorney.

Hum. [Reading.] "The curate's horse is dead."

Sir R. Pshaw! There's no distress in that.

Hum. Yes, there is, to a man that must go twenty miles every Sunday, to preach, for thirty pounds a year.

Sir R. Why won't the vicar give him another nag? Hum. Because 't is cheaper to get another curate already mounted.

Sir R. Well, send him the black pad which I purchased last Tuesday, and tell him to work him as long as he lives. What else have we upon the list?

Hum. Something out of the common; there's one Lieutenant Worthington, a disabled officer and widower, come to lodge

at farmer Harrowby's, in the village; he is, it seems, very poor, and more proud than poor, and more honest than proud. Sir R. And so he sends to me for assistance.

Hum. He'd see you hanged first! No, he'd sooner die than ask you or any man for a shilling! There's his daughter, and his wife's aunt, and an old corporal that served in the wars with him, he keeps them all upon his half-pay.

Sir R. Starves them all, I'm afraid, Humphrey.
Fred. [Going.] Good morning, uncle.

Sir R. You rogue, where are you running, now?
Fred. To talk with Lieutenant Worthington.

Sir R. And what may you be going to say to him? Fred. I can't tell till I encounter him; and then, uncle, when I have an old gentleman by the hand, who has been disabled in his country's service, and is struggling to support his motherless child, a poor relation, and a faithful servant, in honorable indigence, impulse will supply me with words to express my sentiments.

Sir R. Stop, you rogue; I must be before you in this business.

Fred. That depends on who can run the fastest; so, start fair, uncle, and here goes.-[Runs out.]

Sir R. Stop, stop; why, Frederic-a *jackanapes-to take my department out of my hands! I'll disinherit the dog for his assurance.

Hum. No, you won't.

Sir R. Won't I? Hang me if I-but we'll argue that point as we go. So, come along Humphrey.

LXXXIX. THE WELL OF ST. KEYNE.

FROM SOUTHEY.

ST. KEYNE was a Welch princess, who lived and died near the well which was named after her. It was popularly believed, that she laid upon this well the spell described in this ballad.

*AN; an obsolete word, meaning if.

1. A WELL there is in the west country,

And a clearer one never was seen;
There is not a wife in the west country,

But has heard of the well of St. Keyne.

2. An oak and an elm-tree stand beside,
And behind does an ash-tree grow,
And a willow from the bank above,
Droops to the water below.

3. A traveler came to the well of St. Keyne:
Joyfully he drew nigh,

For from cock-crow he had been traveling,
And there was not a cloud in the sky.

4. He drank of the water, so cool and clear,
For thirsty and hot was he;

And he sat down upon the bank

Under the willow-tree.

5. There came a man from the neighboring town, At the well to fill his pail;

On the well-side he rested it,

And he bade the stranger thail.

6. "Now art thou a bachelor, stranger?" quoth he,
For an thou hast a wife,

The happiest draught thou hast drank this day
That ever thou didst in thy life.

7. "Or has thy good woman, if one thou hast,
Ever here in Cornwall been?

For an she have, I'll venture my life,

She has drank of the well of St. Keyne."

8. "I have left a good woman, who never was here," The stranger he made reply;

"But that my draught should be better for that,

9. "St. Keyne," +quoth the Cornish-man, "many a time Drank of this crystal well;

And before the angel summoned her,
She laid on the water a spell.

10. "If the husband, of this gifted well
Shall drink before his wife,

A happy man thenceforth is he,

11.

For he shall be master for life.

But if the wife should drink of it first,
God help the husband then!"

The stranger stooped to the well of St. Keyne,

And drank of the water again.