"By cock and pye, sir, you shall not away to-night * * * I will
not excuse you; you shall not be excused; excuses shall not be
admitted; there is no excuse shall serve; you shall not be excused * *
* Some pigeons, Davy; a couple of short-legged hens; a joint of
mutton; and any pretty little tiny kickshaws, tell William Cook."
I now bade a reluctant farewell to the old hall. My mind had
become so completely possessed by the imaginary scenes and
characters connected with it, that I seemed to be actually living
among them. Every thing brought them as it were before my eyes; and as
the door of the dining-room opened, I almost expected to hear the
feeble voice of Master Silence quavering forth his favorite ditty:
"'Tis merry in hall, when beards wag all,
And welcome merry shrove-tide!"
On returning to my inn, I could not but reflect on the singular gift
of the poet; to be able thus to spread the magic of his mind over
the very face of nature; to give to things and places a charm and
character not their own, and to turn this "working-day world" into a
perfect fairy land. He is indeed the true enchanter, whose spell
operates, not upon the senses, but upon the imagination and the heart.
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