thing here
breathes mirth and pleasure; constraint is banished; familiarity is
established upon the first acquaintance; and joy and pleasure are the
sole sovereigns of the place. The company are accommodated with
lodgings in little clean and convenient habitations, that lie
straggling and separated from each other, a mile and a half round the
Wells, where the company meet in the morning. The place consists of a
long walk, shaded by pleasant trees, under which they walk while they
are drinking the waters. On one side of this walk is a long row of
shops, plentifully stocked with all manner of toys, lace, gloves,
stockings, and where there is raffling, as at Paris, in the Foire de
Saint Germain. On the other side of the Walk is the Market and as it
is the custom here for every person to buy their own provisions, care
is taken that nothing offensive appears upon the stalls. Here young,
fair, fresh-coloured country girls, with clean linen, small straw hats,
and neat shoes and stockings, sell game, vegetables, flowers, and
fruit. Here one may live as one pleases. Here is likewise deep play,
and no want of amorous intrigues. As soon as the evening comes, every
one quits his little palace to assemble on the bowling-green, where,
in the open air, those who choose, dance upon a turf more soft and
smooth than the finest carpet in the world."

[4] "This chapel," says Hasted, "stands remarkably in three parishes--the
pulpit in Speldhurst, the altar in Tunbridge, and the vestry in Frant.
The stream also, which parted the counties of Kent and Sussex,
formerly ran underneath it, but is now turned to a greater distance."
--_Hist. Kent_, vol. iii.

* * * * *

LOVE.

(_For the Mirror_.)

Sing ye love? ye sing it not,
It was never sung, I wot.
None can speak the power of love,
Tho' 'tis felt by all that move.
It is known--but not reveal'd,
'Tis a knowledge ever seal'd!
Dwells it in the tearful eye
Of congenial sympathy?
'Tis a radiance of the mind,
'Tis a feeling undefin'd,
'Tis a wonder-working spell,
'Tis a magic none can tell,
'Tis a charm unutterable.

LEAR.

* * * * *

GRAYSTEIL.[1]

AN HISTORICAL BALLAD.

(_For the Mirror_.)

Beneath the Douglas plaid, he wore a grinding shirt of mail;
Yet, spite of pain and weariness,