him which must be
loved; and his unprotectedness, his utter defencelessness, have an
irresistible claim on every better feeling. I know nobody who inspires
so deep and tender a pity; he improves all around him. He is useful,
too, to the extent of his little power; will do anything, but loves
gardening best, and still piques himself on his old arts of pruning
fruit-trees, and raising cucumbers. He is the happiest of men just now,
for he has the management of a melon bed--a melon bed!--fie! What a
grand pompous name was that for three melon plants under a hand-light!
John Evans is sure that they will succeed. We shall see: as the
chancellor said, 'I doubt.'

We are now on the very brow of the eminence, close to the Hill-house and
its beautiful garden. On the outer edge of the paling, hanging over
the bank that skirts the road, is an old thorn--such a thorn! The
long sprays covered with snowy blossoms, so graceful, so elegant, so
lightsome, and yet so rich! There only wants a pool under the thorn to
give a still lovelier reflection, quivering and trembling, like a tuft
of feathers, whiter and greener than the life, and more prettily mixed
with the bright blue sky. There should indeed be a pool; but on the dark
grass-plat, under the high bank, which is crowned by that magnificent
plume, there is something that does almost as well,--Lizzy and Mayflower
in the midst of a game at romps, 'making a sunshine in the shady place;'
Lizzy rolling, laughing, clapping her hands, and glowing like a rose;
Mayflower playing about her like summer lightning, dazzling the eyes
with her sudden turns, her leaps, her bounds, her attacks, and her
escapes. She darts round the lovely little girl, with the same momentary
touch that the swallow skims over the water, and has exactly the same
power of flight, the same matchless ease and strength and grace. What a
pretty picture they would make; what a pretty foreground they do make to
the real landscape! The road winding down the hill with a slight bend,
like that in the High Street at Oxford; a waggon slowly ascending, and a
horseman passing it at a full trot--(ah! Lizzy, Mayflower will certainly
desert you to have a gambol with that blood-horse!) half-way down, just
at the turn, the red cottage of the lieutenant, covered with vines, the
very image of comfort and content; farther down, on the opposite side,
the small white dwelling of the little mason; then the limes and the
rope-walk; then the villa