“‘Of lazy dogs the laziest ever fate Set on two useless legs you surely are, And born beneath some wayward sauntering star To sit for ever swinging on a gate, And laugh at wiser people passing through.’ So spake the bard De Lacy: for they two In frequent skirmishes of fierce debate Would bicker, tho' their mutual love was great.”—p. 35.
Mohun, however, sides with St. Oun, and agrees to escort him in his rambles after the first few shots. He accordingly soon resigns his gun to the keeper Oswald, whose position as one who
“came into possession Of the head-keepership by due succession Thro' sire and grandsire, who, when one was dead, Left his right heir-male keeper in his stead,”
Mr. Cayley evidently regards with some complacence. The friends enter a boat: here, while sailing along a rivulet that winds through the estate, St. Oun falls to talking of wealth, its value and insufficiency, of death, and life, and fame; and coming at length to ask after the history of Sir Reginald's past life, he suggests “this true epic opening for relation:”
“‘The sun, from his meridian heights declining Mirrored his richest tints upon the shining Bosom of a lake. In a light shallop, two Young men, whose dress, etcaetera, proclaims, Etcætera,—so would write G.P.R. James— Glided in silence o'er the waters blue, Skirting the wooded slopes. Upward they gazed On Nornyth's ancient pile, whose windows blazed
“‘In sunset rays, whose crimson fulgence streamed Across the flood: wrapped in deep thought they seemed. ‘You are pensive, Reginald,’ at length thus spake The helmsman: ‘ha! it is the mystic power Fraught by the sacred stillness of the hour: Forgive me if your reverie I break, Craving, with friendship's sympathy, to share Your spirit's burden, be it joy or care.’”—pp. 48, 49.
Sir Reginald Mohun's story is soon told.—Born in Italy, and losing his mother at the moment of his birth, and his father and only sister dying also soon after, he is left alone in the world.
“‘My father was a melancholy man, Having a touch of genius, and a heart, But not much of that worldly better part Called force of character, which finds some plan For getting over anguish that will crush Weak hearts of stronger feeling. He began To pine; was pale; and had a hectic flush At times; and from his eyelids tears would gush.
“‘Some law of hearts afflicted seems to bind A spell by which the scenes of grief grew dear; He never could leave Italy, tho' here And there he wandered with unquiet mind,— Rome, Florence, Mantua, Milan; once as far As Venice; but still Naples had a blind Attraction which still drew him thither. There He died. Heaven rest his ashes from their care.
“‘He wrote, a month or so before he died, To Wilton's father; (he is Earl of Eure, My mother's brother); saying he was sure That he should soon be gone, and would confide Us to his guardian care. My uncle came Before his death. We stood by his bedside. He blessed us. We, who scarcely knew the name Of death, yet read in the expiring flame