102 THE MEWSTOJSE. 



But Sam is ready to answer, in ihc words of Lord * 

 Byron. 



^' To sit on rocks, to muse on pigs fed well, 

 To send a bullet spinning o'er the green 

 Where conies free from man's dominion dwell 

 And smuggling feet have never (seldom) been. 

 To house the cocks and hens, for Ah ! I ween 

 They need a shelter from the winter's cold. 

 This is not Solitude — " 



Not a bit of it : solitude's only an " illagent hum- 

 bug/' Surrounded by crab-pots and sea-gull's eggs, 

 scolding waves and frowning rocks ; cabbages, chick- 



ens and onions, what can Sam know about Solitude. 

 When approached in fine weather the Mewstone 

 is much less imposing than when seen in a mist; 

 but there is a great advantage in being able to survey 

 it on a clear day. The north face seems wholly in- 

 capable of cultivation, not merely from the great 

 precipitousness of its dechvity, but also from the 

 scantiness of earthy stratum, which is just sufficient 

 to allow of its being covered with a green carpetting ; 

 along the narrow, inaccessible paths of which hun- 

 dreds of rabbits may be seen burying away from the 

 gaze of an intruder. 



