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But the ethereal visions that beguile

The lonely heart from treasured hour or smile:
Such visions as the bard of Otter's stream
Hailed in the frenzy of a youthful dream;
As when, O absence! in thy lingering night,

He hymned the coming hour of love's delight— "Dim hour, that sleep'st on pillowing clouds afar". Or, screened from his spirit's morning star,—— "Thou gentle look, that didst my soul beguile!" Shaping an unborn hour-a vanished smile.

And in ambition!-mark the nobler flame,
Pure in his breast as from the God it came :
Unfostered by the fiendish thoughts that rear
Their pyramid o'er all to freedom dear;
Unsullied by the agonies that mar

Man's peace, enkindled at the trump of war.
Not his the flame that fires a Cæsar on-
He scorns all laurels past the Rubicon:
His are the brighter wreaths that glory reaps
In bays o'er which no widowed nation weeps!

* Coleridge.

THE RUNAWAY.

BY MISS MITFORD.

ONE of the most retired-looking spots in our thicklypeopled neighbourhood, is the pretty little nook called Sandleford Green; a small, very small patch of greensward, formed by a casual receding of the fields at a place where two narrow shady lanes cross each other, leaving just room enough in one angle for a clear mirrorlike pond, with glorious old thorns dipping into it from the surrounding hedges, whilst a village pound inclosing a noble oak, occupies another corner, and a third is completely overshadowed by two large horse-chestnut trees standing like sentinels on either side of a gate, which leads through a short, deep lane to the only dwelling within sight or hearing. No spot is, apparently, so entirely out of the way and out of the world, as Sandleford Green! And yet the well-beaten footpaths, two or three of which striking in different directions across the fields met in this spot as a common centre, intimated that the little Green was a place of some

resort, as indeed it actually was, not so much as a thoroughfare, but from its own independent attraction. The one solitary and unostentatious tenement of which it boasted, being famous all through the county for its home-brewed ale: the fine Sandleford beer, most emphatically called strong, holding so high a rank amongst the consumers of that formidable beverage, that people sent for it far and near; and the liveried groom of two or three neighbouring squires might often be seen galloping on their thorough-bred hunters to seek this only liquor worthy to wash down their master's Stilton, at the same moment that poor Dame Wheeler's little girl was crossing the style for her sick grandmother's daily half-pint; and half the rustics in the parish pouring in from north, south, east, and west, to enjoy in Joseph Dobson's own tap-room, or beneath his honeysuckledporch, their own less moderate potations. "First come first served," was Joseph's motto, and although our moral Boniface was on the whole a man of impartiality, it is doubtful whether he had not some pleasure in keeping the lacqueys in attendance, and the grandees whom they served in expectation, whilst he administered to the wants of his humbler and more sociable customers. A chuckling, bustling, merry knave was our landlord, and a freespoken; had a vote for the county, which he regularly bestowed on the opposition candidate, be the ministers whom they might. Joseph thought no honest man could ever vote for the ministry; that was

his creed,-owed no one a shilling, and was too confident in the power of his ale to have any dread of the magistrates and the License Act:-"Old Sir Thomas can't finish his dinner without a glass of my beer," thought Joseph; "and I may be as saucy and independent as I please."

Whatever might be the merits of the Sandleford ale, of which I confess myself nowise qualified to judge, holding beer in all its varieties as an abomination even more flagrant than the other detestable drinkable called wine, whatever might be the charms of Joseph's beverage, there could be no question as to the beauty and picturesqueness of his habitation.

It was a high, narrow, tower-like house, with chimneys like turrets, and every sort of gable-end and inequality of which a building is capable, harmonised and enriched by an old vine, which after creeping up one side of the house nearly covered the roof, garlanding the very chimneys, and wreathing its luxuriant abundance of leaf and fruit and tendril wherever a shoot could find place, until it fairly hung over on the other side-until its rich festoons nearly met the branchy honeysuckle, (Milton's "twisted eglantine,") which climbing up, shaded a rude, but fanciful and airy porch, such as is often seen in Wouverman's pictures, adding grace and lightness even to them. Nor was the garden which reached on one side to a small meandering brook, the large garden, full of beds of vegetables and berry

bushes, almost hidden by wide flower-borders, very nicely kept; or the long strip of beautiful greensward, the meadow, orchard, or pleasure ground (for it might pass for either of these), with its fine grove of old fruit trees, pear, plum, cherry and apple, terminated by its smooth bowling green and goodly arbour, at all unworthy of the picturesque dwelling to which they were appended. The territory behind, a miniature farm yard, with stabling for two, cart-room for one, a commodious cow shed, and pigsties, goosehouses, and hen-houses out of number, its populous duck pond, and its abundance of noises,-horses neighing, cows lowing, calves bleating, pigs grunting, geese gabbling, ducks quacking, cocks crowing, hens cackling, and doves cooing-was also a lively stirring scene, especially when animated by the presence of mine host, portly, sturdy and comely, an excellent representative of his own brown stout, with twenty pigeons fluttering about him (for Joseph, amongst other fancies, was a great pigeon fancier), and two or three pet tumblers or fantails perched on his shoulder. In short, every thing about the place, from the two rosy smiling lasses, his daughters, down to the fat yard dog and sleek tabby cat, seemed emblems of rural plenty and English independence; meet appendages to the sign of the Foaming Tankard, which swung in creaking magnificence from a post in front of the dwelling.

By far the most interesting inmate, however, of this

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