gomeryshire-everywhere at intermitting distances of twelve or sixteen miles, I found the most comfortable inns. One feature indeed of repose in all this chain of solitary resting-houses-viz., the fact that none of them rose above two storeys in height-was due to the modest scale on which the travelling system of the Principality had moulded itself in correspondence to the calls of England, which then (but be it remembered this then was in 1802, a year of peace) threw a very small proportion of her vast migratory population annually into this sequestered channel. No huge Babylonian centres of commerce towered into the clouds on these sweet sylvan routes: no hurricanes of haste, or fever-stricken armies of horses and flying chariots, tormented the echoes in these mountain recesses. And it has often struck me that a worldwearied man, who sought for the peace of monasteries separated from their gloomy captivity— peace and silence such as theirs combined with the large liberty of nature-could not do better than revolve amongst these modest inns in the five northern Welsh counties of Denbigh, Montgomery, Carnarvon, Merioneth, and Cardigan. Sleeping,

for instance, and breakfasting at Carnarvon; then, by an easy nine-mile walk, going forwards to dinner at Bangor, thence to Aber-nine miles; or to Llanberris; and so on for ever, accomplishing seventy to ninety or one hundred miles in a

week. This, upon actual experiment, and for week after week, I found the most delightful of lives. Here was the eternal motion of winds and rivers, or of the Wandering Jew liberated from the persecution which compelled him to move, and turned his breezy freedom into a killing captivity. Happier life I cannot imagine than this vagrancy, if the weather were but tolerable, through endless successions of changing beauty, and towards evening a courteous welcome to a pretty rustic home-that having all the luxuries of a fine hotel, was at the same time liberated from the inevitable accompaniments of such hotels in great cities or at great travelling stations-viz., the tumult and uproar.

Human Fellowship

THE

HE truth is, that at no time of my life have I been a person to hold myself polluted by the touch or approach of any creature that wore a human shape. I cannot suppose, I will not believe, that any creatures wearing the form of man or woman are so absolutely rejected and reprobate outcasts, that merely to talk with them inflicts pollution. On the contrary, from my very earliest youth, it has been my pride to converse familiarly, more Socratico, with all human beings-man, woman, and child-that chance might fling in my

way; for a philosopher should not see with the eyes of the poor limitary creature calling himself a man of the world, filled with narrow and selfregarding prejudices of birth and education, but should look upon himself as a catholic creature, and as standing in an equal relation to high and low, to educated and uneducated, to the guilty and the innocent.

Melancholye

MOTHERWELL

ADIEU! al vaine delightes

Of calm and moonshine nightes;

Adieu! al pleasant shade

That forests thicke have made;

Adieu ! al musick swete

That little fountaynes poure, When blythe theire waters greete The lovesick lyly-flowre.

Adieu! the fragrant smel

Of flowres in boskye dell;

And all the merrie notes

That tril from smal birdes' throates:

Adieu! the gladsome lighte

Of Day, Morne, Noone, or E'en;

And welcome gloomy Nighte,
When not one star is seen.

Adieu! the deafening noyse
Of cities, and the joyes
Of Fashioun's sicklie birth;
Adieu al boysterous mirthe,
Al pageant, pompe, and state,
And every flauntynge thing
To which the would-be-great
Of earth in madness cling.

Come with me, Melancholye,
We'll live like eremites holie,
In some deepe uncouthe wild
Where sunbeame never smylde;
Come with me, pale of hue,
To some lone silent spot,
Where blossom never grewe,
Which man hath quite forgot.

Come with thy thought-filled eye,
That notes no passer by,

And drouping solemne head,

Where phansyes strange are bred
And saddening thoughts doe brood,
Which idly strive to borrow
A smyle to vaile thy moode
Of heart-abyding sorrow.

Come to yon blasted mound
Of phantom-haunted ground,

Where spirits love to be;
And list the moody glee

Of night-windes as they moane,
And the ocean's sad replye
To the wild unhallowed tone
Of the wandering sea-bird's cry.

There sit with me and keep
Vigil when al doe sleepe ;
And when the curfeu bell
Hath rung its mournfull knel,
Let us together blend

Our mutual sighes and teares,
Or chaunt some metre penned,
Of the joies of other yeares!

Or in cavern hoare and damp,
Lit by the glow-worm's lamp,
We'll muse on the dull theme
Of Life's heart-sickening dreame
Of Time's resistlesse powre-
Of Hope's deceitful lips—
Of Beauty's short-livde houre—
And Glory's dark eclipse!

-Or, would'st thou rather chuse
This World's leaf to peruse,
Beneath some dripping vault

That scornes rude Time's assaulte;