lamb--she wander'd in her mind, 'twas clear--
But soon the piteous murmur died away,
And quiet in her father's arms she lay--
They their dead burthen had resign'd, to take
The living so near lost. For her dear sake,
And one at home, he arm'd himself to bear
His misery like a man--with tender care,
Doffing his coat her shivering form to fold--
(His neighbour bearing _that_ which felt no cold,)
He clasp'd her close--and so, with little said,
Homeward they bore the living and the dead.

From Ambrose Gray's poor cottage, all that night,
Shone fitfully a little shifting light,
Above--below:--for all were watchers there,
Save one sound sleeper.--_Her_, parental care,
Parental watchfulness, avail'd not now.
But in the young survivor's throbbing brow,
And wandering eyes, delirious fever burn'd;
And all night long from side to side she turn'd,
Piteously plaining like a wounded dove,
With now and then the murmur--"She won't move"--
And lo! when morning, as in mockery, bright
Shone on that pillow, passing strange the sight--
That young head's raven hair was streak'd with white!
No idle fiction this. Such things have been
We know. And _now I tell what I have seen_.

Life struggled long with death in that small frame,
But it was strong, and conquer'd. All became
As it had been with the poor family--
All--saving that which never more might be--
There was an empty place--they were but three.

C.

[12] A fresh-water spring rushing into the sea called Chewton
Bunny.

* * * * *

IMAGINARY CONVERSATION. BY WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.

OLIVER CROMWELL AND SIR OLIVER CROMWELL.

_Sir Oliver_.--How many saints and Sions dost carry under thy cloak,
lad? Ay, what dost groan at? What art about to be delivered of? Troth,
it must be a vast and oddly-shapen piece of roguery which findeth no
issue at such capacious quarters. I never thought to see thy face again.
Prythee what, in God's name, hath brought thee to Ramsey, fair Master
Oliver?

_Oliver_.--In His name verily I come, and upon His errand; and the love
and duty I bear unto my godfather and uncle have added wings, in a sort,
unto my zeal.

_Sir Oliver_.--Take 'em off thy zeal and dust thy consci