« PreviousContinue »
Her sea of leaves; thither we turn our steps,
I love to fee the little goldfmch pluck
The chimney-haunting swallow, too, my eye And ear well pleases. I delight to see How suddenly he skims the glassy pool; How quaintly dips, and with a bullet's speed Whisks by. I love to be awake, and hear His morning song twitter'd to young-eyed day.
But most of all it wins my admiration,
To view the structure of this little work,
A bird's nest. Mark it well, within, without.
No tool, had he that wrought, no knife to cut.
No nail to fix, no bodkin to insert,
No glue to join; his little beak was all.
And yet .how neatly finish'd. What nice hand
Vr,ith ev'ry implement and means of art,
And twenty years apprenticeship to boot,
The bee observe;
She too an artist is, and laughs at man
But see, the setting sun
That silvery meanders here and there;
Happy the man who truly loves his home,
Adriano. BOOK VIII.
THE STORY OF LE FEVRE.
IT was some time in the summer of that year in
which Dendermond was taken by the allies, which
was about seven years before my father came into the country,—and about as many after the time, (hat my uncle Toby and Trim had privau*'y decamped from my father's house in town, in order to lay some of the fmest
su-ires in some of the finest fortified cities in Europe
-when my uncle Toby was one evening getting his supper,
with Trim sitting behind him at a small sideboard;
The landlord of a little inn in the village came into the parlour with an empty phial in his hand to beg a glass or two- of ?ack ; 'Tis for a pojr gentleman,—.—1 think, of the army, .said the landlord, who hiis been taken ill at my house four days age, and has never held up his head since, or had a desire to taste any 'thing, till just now, that he has A fancy for a glass-of sack and a thin to?.st,
. 1 think, says Iip, -taking his hand irom his forehead.,
it would comfort me.
If I could neither beg, borrow, or buy inch a thing., —added the landlord,—I would almost steal it for the
poor gentleman, he is so ill. 1 hope in God he will
still mend, continued he—we are all of us concerned for him.
Thou art a good natured soul, I will answer for thee, cried my uncle Toby; and thou shall drink the poor gentleman's health in a glass of sack thyself,—and take a couple of bottles with my service, and tell him he is heartily welcome to them, and to a dozen more if they will do him good.
Though I am persuaded, said my uncle Toby, as the landlord shut the door, he is a very compassionate fellow —Trim,—yet I cannot help entertaining a high opinion of his guest too; there must be something more than common in him, that in so short a time should win so much upon the affections of his host;—And of his whole family, added the corporal, for they are all concerned for him. —1—Step after him, said my uncle Toby,—do Trim,— andiask if he knows his name.
I have quite forgot it, truly, said the landlord, coming back into the parlour with .he corporal,—but I can ask his son again :—Has he a son with him them? said my uncle Toby,—A boy, roplied the landlord, of about eleven or twelve years of age;—but the poor creature has tasted 'almost as little as his father; he does nothing but
mown aod lament for him night and day: He has
not stirred from the-bed-side these two days.
My uncle Toby laid down his knife and fork, and thrust his plate from before him, as the landlord gave him the account; and Trim, without being ordered, took away without' saying one word and in a few minutes after brought lifau his pipe and tobacco.
Stay/in the room a little, said my uncle Toby—
Trim !—said my uncle Toby, after he had lighted his pipe, and smoaked about a dozen whiffs.—Trim came in front of his master and wade his bow;—my uncle Toby smoaked on and said no. more.——Corporal J said my uu