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a little while, and the moon cometh forth in the 

 east : the shades of Gleddow acknowledge her silver 

 footsteps. Is the fair moon thine handmaid, O 

 Allerton ! that she watcheth thy children as they 

 sleep ? Or doth she delight in the music of the 

 nymphs of Gleddow, as their light hands touch the 

 harp of many silver strings ? Sweet are the wood- 

 notes of the nymphs of Gleddow. Methinks their 

 imperfect sounds now vibrate in mine ear ; or do I 

 hear the drowsy tinkling of the flocks, as they wind 

 slowly along the distant mountain's brow ? Now 

 the rising zephyr swells the lengthened notes, — 

 even now — Hark ! — they are still !" 



J. E. Smith to Mr. Roscoe. 



My dear Sir, Norwich, Aug. 25, 1803. 



Finding myself at length settled at home, and a 

 little composed, I sit down to converse a few mi- 

 nutes with you, and to transport myself in thought 

 at least into your society. How many times shall I 

 wish that I could do so in reality ! I could not at 

 parting say anything that I wished to say. My 

 young companion, as well as myself, thought every- 

 thing during our ride the rest of the day uninter- 

 esting, and Manchester the most comfortless place 

 we had ever seen. We stopped there merely to 

 take my favourite refreshment, tea, and then pro- 

 ceeded to Disley. Here we found ourselves in quiet, 

 and could talk of Allerton and you. The next 



