I will not say that we became noisy after tea, but it is certain that we were childishly gay. The delighted Mrs. Wilson, followed by the young people, made the circuit of her domains. The dairy, the cheese-chamber, the poultry-yard were explored, and poor Malcolm was left a while in captivity in the pig-stye, for his daring crime of attempting to give Alice a green gown. By means of that secret intelligence at which you so wickedly laugh, Mrs. Wilson and myself were old friends in half an hour. She found out that Miss Cowley was not a fine lady; and Miss Cowley discovered that the farmer’s wife was worth all the fine ladies that have ever swarmed as butterflies of the hour. She brought to my mind the very image of the good woman before Rhadamanthus, and I doubt not but she could as satisfactorily demand his passport; for though she has not a daughter to produce as a notable housewife, yet she has made as many cheeses as her counterpart, and will trace as numerous a progeny to bless her memory. She seconded my motion for the family to walk home with us, and it was agreed to, with certain limitations as to the time and extent of our demands; which were forgotten by each in their turn. At length we set out on our return home; a cloudless sky, and a full-orbed moon not only favoured us, but there was a serenity in the air which is seldom found in so advanced a season, and which seemed to favour the still lingering leaf as it trembled on its parent stem. There is something in a calm autumnal evening which so resembles the closing in of a well-spent life, that it naturally leads the mind to contemplation, nay, to a _pensiveness_, though not melancholy, which “loves not noisy folly.” Our gay spirits yielded to the influence of the objects around us. We sauntered, rather than walked, and insensibly the party separated, and our chat was broken into several divisions. Mrs. Heartley and myself, with the captain, had even lost sight of our company, which had advanced before us. Mr. Flint with enthusiasm supported the opinion of a plurality of worlds; and I sung a verse of Addison’s sublime hymn.—“The spacious firmament on high.” My companions partook with me in the pious fervour of the poet; and we moved so slowly, that had not the sound of an horse’s feet accelerated our steps, the traveller might have thought us statues, or ghosts. An angle in the road was in our path, and on turning it, Mr. Snughead appeared. He paid his compliments to me with a familiarity which even startled me. “This is fortunate!” cried he, stopping his horse and endeavouring to dismount, “now my incredulity is corrected! for will you credit me, when I tell you that in listening to the seraphic strains you sung, I said, “Can any mortal mixture of earth’s mould Breathe such divine inchanting ravishment?”