ess in her voice, so like
an echo of comfort in her heart, that it almost made Edward start.

The party in the other boat were noisier, whether or not they were
happier, than those in whose wake they followed. Mr Walcot had begun
to be inspired as soon as the oars had made their first splash, and was
now reciting to Sophia some "Lines to the Setting Sun," which he had
learned when a little boy, and had never forgotten. He asked her
whether it was not a sweet idea--that of the declining sun being like a
good man going to his rest, to rise again to-morrow morning. Sophia was
fond of poetry that was not too difficult; and she found little
disinclination in herself now to observe her father's directions about
being civil to Mr Walcot. The gentleman perceived that he had won some
advantage; and he persevered. He next spoke of the amiable poet,
Cowper, and was delighted to find that Miss Grey was acquainted with
some of his writings; that she had at one time been able to repeat his
piece on a Poplar Field, and those sweet lines beginning--

"The rose had been washed, just washed in a shower."

But she had never heard the passage about "the twanging horn o'er yonder
bridge," and "the wheeling the sofa round," and "the cups that cheer but
not inebriate;" so Mr Walcot repeated them, not, as before, in a high
key, and with his face turned up towards the sky, but almost in a
whisper, and inclining towards her ear. Sophia sighed, and thought it
very beautiful, and was sorry for people who were not fond of poetry. A
pause of excited feeling followed, during which they found that the
gentlemen were questioning a boatman, who was awaiting his turn to tow,
about the swans in the river.

"The swans have much increased in number this season, surely. Those are
all of one family, I suppose--those about the island," observed Mr
Grey.

"Yes, sir; they can't abide neighbours. They won't suffer a nest within
a mile."

"They fight it out, if they approach too near, eh?" said Enderby.

"Yes, sir; they leave one another for dead. I have lost some of the
finest swans under my charge in that way."

"Do you not part them when they fight?" asked Walcot.

"I would. I always part little boys whom I see fighting in the streets,
and tell them they should not quarrel."

"You would repent meddling with the swans, sir, if you tried. When I
knew no better, I meddled once, and I thought I should hardly get away
alive. One of the cre