beyond which a hill rises, whose sides are covered with ripening corn-fields, meadows of vivid green, and fields where the rich red color of the earth contrasts beautifully with the fresh hedgerows and tall, dark elm trees, whose shadows have stretched themselves for evening rest down in the low rosy sunset.  It is all still and bright, and the Sabbath bells come up to me over it all with intermitting sweetness, like snatches of an interrupted angels’ chorus, floating hither and thither about the earth.

Monday.—­We contrived to get some saddle-horses, and rode out into the beautiful country round Exeter, but the preface to our poem was rather dry prose.  We rode for about an hour between powdery hedges all smothered in dust, up the steepest of hills, and under the hottest of suns; but we had our reward when we halted at the top, and looked down upon a magnificent panorama of land and water, hill and dale, broad smiling meadows, and dark shadowy woodland—­a vast expanse of various beauty, over which the eye wandered and paused in slow contentment.  As we came leisurely down the opposite side of the hill, we met a gypsy woman, and I reined up my horse and listened to my fortune:  “I have a friend abroad who is very fond of me.”  I hope so.  “I have a relation far abroad who is very fond of me too.”  I know so.  “I shall live long.”  More is the pity.  “I shall marry and have three children.”  Quite enough.  “I shall take easily to love, but it will not break my heart.”  I am glad to hear that.  “I shall cross the sea before I see London again.”  Ah!  I am afraid not.  “The end of my summer will be happier than its beginning”—­and that may very easily be.  For that I gave my prophetess a shilling.  Oh, Zingarella! my blessing on your black eyes and red-brown cheeks!  May you have spoken true!...

Meantime, my companions, my father and Mr. Kean, were discussing the fortunes of Poland.  If I were a man, with a hundred thousand pounds at my disposal, I would raise a regiment and join the Poles.  The Russians have been beaten again, which is good hearing.  Is it possible this cause should fall to the earth?  On our way home, had a nice smooth, long canter by the river-side.  We turned off our road to visit a pretty property of Mr. F——­’s, the house half-way up a hill, prettily seated among pleasant woods.  We galloped up some fields above it to the brow of the rise, and had three mouthfuls of delicious fresh breeze, and a magnificent view of Exeter and the surrounding country....  After dinner, off to the theater; it was my benefit, “The Gamester.”  The house was very full, and I played and looked well; but what a Stukely!  I was afraid my eyes would scarcely answer my purpose, but that I should have been obliged to “employer l’effort de mon bras” to keep him at a proper distance.  What ruffianly wooing! and not one of the actors knew their parts.  Stukely said to me in his love-speech, “Time has not gathered the roses from your