furnishing that house, and she added with pride that she had lived in her youth in the family of Lady Egerton, who was no high lady, and now was in the habit of coming to her house whenever she was at Jedburgh, and a hundred other things; for when she once began with Lady Egerton, she did not know how to stop, nor did I wish it, for she was very entertaining. Mr Scott sat with us an hour or two, and repeated a part of the Lay of the Last Minstrel. When he was gone our hostess came to see if we wanted anything, and to wish us goodnight. On all occasions her manners were governed by the same spirit: there was no withdrawing one's attention from her. We were so much interested that William, long afterwards, thought it worth while to express in verse the sensations which she had excited, and which then remained as vividly in his mind as at the moment when we lost sight of Jedburgh." (From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, Sept. 20, 1803.)-ED.

[This was actually composed the last day of our tour between Dalston and Grasmere.]

FLY, some kind Harbinger, to Grasmere-dale ! 1
Say that we come, and come by this day's light ;
Fly upon swiftest wing round field and height,2
But chiefly let one Cottage hear the tale;
There let a mystery of joy prevail,
The kitten frolic, like a gamesome sprite,3
And Rover whine, as at a second sight
Of near-approaching good that shall not fail:

1 1836.

Fly, some kind spirit, fly to Grasmere Vale!

1815.

Glad tidings! spread them over field and height,

The kitten frolic with unruly might,

1815.

1815.

The happy kitten bound with frolic might,

1827.

And from that Infant's face let joy appear;
Yea, let our Mary's one companion child—
That hath her six weeks' solitude beguiled
With intimations manifold and dear,

While we have wandered over wood and wild

Smile on his Mother now with bolder cheer.

"Sunday, September 25, 1803.-A beautiful autumnal day. Breakfasted at a public-house by the road-side; dined at Threlkeld; arrived at home between eight and nine o'clock, where we found Mary in perfect health, Joanna Hutchinson with her, and little John asleep in the clothes-basket by the fire." (From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, 1803.) ED.

THE BLIND HIGHLAND BOY.

A TALE TOLD BY THE FIRE-SIDE, AFTER RETURNING TO THE
VALE OF GRASMERE.

[The story was told me by George Mackereth, for many years parishclerk of Grasmere. He had been an eye-witness of the occurence. The vessel in reality was a washing-tub, which the little fellow had met with on the shores of the Loch.]

Now we are tired of boisterous joy,
Have romped enough, my little Boy!
Jane hangs her head upon my breast,
And you shall bring your stool and rest;
This corner is your own.

There! take your seat, and let me see

That you can listen quietly:

And, as I promised, I will tell

That strange adventure which befel

A poor blind Highland Boy.

A Highland Boy!-why call him so?
Because, my Darlings, ye must know
That, under hills which rise like towers,1
Far higher hills than these of ours!
He from his birth had lived.

He ne'er had seen one earthly sight,
The sun, the day; the stars, the night;
Or tree, or butterfly, or flower,

Or fish in stream, or bird in bower,
Or woman, man, or child.

And yet he neither drooped nor pined,
Nor had a melancholy mind;

For God took pity on the Boy,

And was his friend; and gave him joy
Of which we nothing know.

His Mother, too, no doubt, above
Her other children him did love:

For, was she here, or was she there,
She thought of him with constant care,
And more than mother's love.

And proud she was of heart, when, clad
In crimson stockings, tartan plaid,
And bonnet with a feather gay,
To Kirk he on the sabbath day
Went hand in hand with her.

1

II.

1836.

In land where many a mountain towers,
2 A

1807.

A dog, too, had he; not for need,
But one to play with and to feed;
Which would have led him, if bereft
Of company or friends, and left
Without a better guide.

And then the bagpipes he could blow-
And thus from house to house would go;
And all were pleased to hear and see,
For none made sweeter melody

Than did the poor blind Boy.

Yet he had many a restless dream;
Both when he heard the eagles scream,
And when he heard the torrents roar,
And heard the water beat the shore
Near which their cottage stood.

Beside a lake their cottage stood,
Not small like ours, a peaceful flood;
But one of mighty size, and strange;
That, rough or smooth, is full of change,
And stirring in its bed.

For to this lake, by night and day
The great Sea-water finds its way
Through long, long windings of the hills,
And drinks up all the pretty rills

And rivers large and strong:*

See the In Memoriam of Tennyson, stanza XIX.
Then twice a day the Severn fills;
The salt sea-water passes by,
And hushes half the bubbling Wye,
And makes a silence in the hills, &c.

ED.

Then hurries back the road it came-
Returns, on errand still the same;
This did it when the earth was new;
And this for evermore will do,

As long as earth shall last.

And, with the coming of the tide, Come boats and ships that safely ride Between the woods and lofty rocks; And to the shepherds with their flocks Bring tales of distant lands.

And of those tales, whate'er they were,
The blind Boy always had his share;
Whether of mighty towns, or vales
With warmer suns and softer gales,
Or wonders of the Deep.

Yet more it pleased him, more it stirred,
When from the water-side he heard

The shouting, and the jolly cheers;
The bustle of the mariners

In stillness or in storm.

But what do his desires avail?

For he must never handle sail;

Nor mount the mast, nor row, nor float In sailor's ship, or fisher's boat,

Upon the rocking waves.

His Mother often thought, and said,
What sin would be upon her head
If she should suffer this: "My Son,
Whate'er you do, leave this undone

The danger is so great."