214 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 



green lanes and ivy-mantled towers of 

 Merrie England, and of the lakes and 

 mountains of misty Scotland. I wonder 

 whether mayhap in some al fresco repast 

 at Melrose or Dryburgh, or on Ellen s 

 Isle, they may taste the 



Herbs, and other country messes, 

 Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses. 



But the Scribe clings to his hillside, and 

 as again in the darkness of the deepen 

 ing night the fountains of the heavens are 

 opened, and empty themselves upon the 

 earth, he gratefully realizes the blessings 

 of the present, and would fain believe 

 that &quot;contentment is better than wealth,&quot; 

 and home more kindly than &quot; abroad.&quot; 



Not that in imagination he does not see 



The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous pal 

 aces, 

 The solemn temples, 



which he would dearly like to view in 

 visible presence; not that he would not 

 tread with reverent awe the aisles worn 

 by the weary feet of unnumbered genera 

 tions seeking a disentanglement of the 

 insoluble riddle of life. Not that he dues 

 not esteem a certain discontent the main- 



