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 conscience with 'em. I have heard an account of a saint, one Phil Neri, who in the midst of his devotions was lifted up several yards from the ground. Now I do suspect, Nol, thou wilt finish by being a saint of his order; and nobody will promise or wish thee the luck to come down on thy feet again, as he did. So! because a rabble of fanatics at Huntingdon have equipped thee as their representative in Parliament, thou art free of all men's houses, forsooth! I would have thee to understand, sirrah, that thou art fitter for the house they have chaired thee unto than for mine. Yet I do not question but thou wilt be as troublesome and unruly there as here. Did I not turn thee out of Hinchinbrook when thou wert scarcely half the rogue thou art latterly grown up to? And yet wert thou immeasurably too big a one for it to hold. _Oliver_.--It repenteth me, O mine uncle! that in my boyhood and youth the Lord had not touched me. _Sir Oliver_.--Touch thee! thou wast too dirty a dog by half.