In virgin fearlessness, with step that seemed Caught from the pressure of elastic turf Upon the mountains, gemmed with morning dew, In the prime morn of sweetest scents and airs; Serious and thoughtful was her mind, and yet, By reconcilement, exquisite and rare, The form, port, motions, of this cottage girl, Were such as might have quickened or inspired A Titian's hand, addressed to picture forth Oread or Dryad, glancing through the shade, What time the hunter's earliest horn is heard Startling the golden hills. "EXCURSION" - WORDSWORTH. On one of those mild days, which occur now and then during the winter, and which bear with them a peculiar charm, Mrs. Middleton and I had strolled out together, after breakfast, into her own flower-garden. She was making a winder nosegay of the few hardy flowers that had outlived the frost, and that seemed reviving in the strange softness of this January day. "What a morning for a ride! my own Ellen," said my aunt, as we leant on the stone wall, which felt quite warm with the rays of the wintry sun. "What do you say to ordering the horses, taking a long gallop, and coming home with me with a bloom on your dear cheeks, which look too often like that flower, and too seldom like this one;" and she showed me, with a smile, a white camellia, and a China rose, which she had just gathered in the green-house. "I will do as you wish, dear aunt--please myself, and have the merit of obedience into the bargain; and I shall take these flowers too, to put in my hair this evening. But where shall I ride?" "If you have no choice, my darling, I will give you an errand. You know Bridman Manor?" "O yes! the ruins of the old hall, which my maid used to call the 'ghost-house,'--the old-fashioned gardens, with their broken statues and evergreen alleys, that always put me in mind of your favourite lines, by Mary Howitt-- 'O, those old abbey gardens, with their devices rich; Their fountains and green solemn walks, and saints in many a niche.' I shall like of all things to go there to-day; but what is your errand?" "Why, I do not know if I ever told you that your uncle had been so kind as to give up to me that pretty cottage of his, that stands on the east side of Bridman-terrace wall, for old Mrs. Tracy, who was my nurse, and afterwards Henry's. You have seen her, have you not, Ellen?" "No," I answered; "but I have often heard you mention her."