zy Haystack; Sheep in the Field, Bees in the Honeysuckle; and a
little rippling Rivulet flowing on continually.

"Why, now you have sett me quite at Ease!" cries he, turning his bright
Eyes thankfully towards the Sky. "I begin to like the Place, and to
bless the warm Sun and pure Air. Ha! so there is a rippling Rivulet,
that floweth on continually! . . . Lord, forgive me for my peevish
Petulance . . . for forgetting that I could still hear the Lark sing her
Morning Hymn, scent the Meadow-sweet and new-mown Hay, detect the Bee at
his Industry, and the Woodpecker at his Mischief, discern the Breath of
Cows, and hear the Lambs bleat, and the Rivulet ripple continually!
Come! let us go and seek _Ned_."

And, throwing his Arm about me, draws me to him, saying, "This is my best
Walking-stick," and steps forward briskly and fearlessly.

Truly, I think _Ned_ loves him as though he were his own Father; and,
indeed, he hath scarce known any other. Kissing his Hand reverently, he
says,--"Honoured _Nunks_, how fares it with you? Do you like _Chalfont_?"

"Indeed I do, _Ned_," responds Father heartily. "'Tis a little _Zoar_,
whither I and my fugitive Family have escaped from the wicked City; and,
I thank God, my Wife has no Mind to look back."

"We may as well go in now," says Mother.

"No, no," says Father; "I feel there is an Hour of Summer's Sunset still
left. We will abide where we are, and keep as long as we can out of the
Smell of your Soapsuds. . . . Let's sit upon the Ground."

"And tell strange Stories of the Deaths of Kings," says _Ned_, laughing,

"That was the Saying, _Ned_, of one who writ much well, and much amiss."

"Let's forgive what he writ amiss, for the Sake of what he writ well,"
says _Ned_.

"That will I never," says Father. "If paltry Wits cannot be holy and
witty at the same Time, that does not hold good with nobler
Spiritts. . . . If it did, they had best never be witty at all. Thy
Brother _Jack_ hath yet to learn that Strength is not Coarseness."

_Ned_ softly hummed--

"Sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's Child!"

"Ah! you may quote me against myself," says Father; "you may quote _Beza_
against _Beza_, and _Erasmus_ against _Erasmus_; but that will not shake
the eternal Laws of Purity and Truth. But, mind you, _Ned_, never did
anie reach a more lofty or tragic Height than this Child of Fancy; never
did any represent Nature more purely to the Life; and e'en where the
Polishments of A