"For still I tried each fickle art, Importunate and vain; And while his passion touched my heart, I triumphed in his pain. "Till quite dejected with my scorn, He left me to my pride; And sought a solitude forlorn, In secret where he died. "But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, And well my life shall pay; I'll seek the solitude he sought, And stretch me where he lay. "And there forlorn, despairing, hid, I'll lay me down and die; 'Twas so for me that Edwin did, And so for him will I."— "Forbid it, Heaven!" the hermit cried, And clasped her to his breast: The wond'ring fair one turned to chide,— 'Twas Edwin's self that prest! "Turn, Angelina, ever dear, My charmer, turn to see Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here, Restored to love and thee! "Thus let me hold thee to my heart, And every care resign: And shall we never, never part, My life—my all that's mine? "No, never from this hour to part, We'll live and love so true; The sigh that rends thy constant heart Shall break thy Edwin's too." [Illustration: "_Two young ladies richly dressed, whom he introduced as women of very great distinction and fashion from town._"—_p._ 35. ] While this ballad was reading, Sophia seemed to mix an air of tenderness with her approbation. But our tranquillity was soon disturbed by the report of a gun just by us; and, immediately after, a man was seen bursting through the hedge to take up the game he had killed. This sportsman was the squire's chaplain, who had shot one of the blackbirds that so agreeably entertained us. So loud a report, and so near, startled my daughters; and I could perceive that Sophia, in the fright, had thrown herself into Mr. Burchell's arms for protection. The gentleman came up, and asked pardon for having disturbed us, affirming that he was ignorant of our being so near. He therefore sat down by my youngest daughter, and, sportsman like, offered her what he had killed that morning. She was going to refuse, but a private look from her mother soon induced her to correct the mistake, and accept his present, though with some reluctance. My wife, as usual, discovered her pride in a whisper; observing that Sophy had made a conquest of the chaplain, as well as her sister had of the squire. I suspected, however, with more probability, that her affections were placed upon a different object. The chaplain's errand was to inform us that Mr. Thornhill had provided music and refreshments, and intended that night giving the young ladies a ball by moonlight on the grass-plot before our door. "Nor can I deny," continued he, "that I have an interest in being first to deliver this message, as I expect for my reward to be honoured with Miss Sophia's hand as a partner." To this my girl replied that she should have no objection, "if she could do it with honour. But here," continued she, "is a gentleman," looking at Mr. Burchell, "who has been my companion in