CHAPTER XI.

The Scolloped Oysters Shelley's Contrition- The Restitution and the Reparation-His love of Children -Faith in the Platonic Philosophy-Anecdote of a little girl-Doctrine of Pre-existence-Shelley's simplicity of character-Group of Gipsies-Eccentricities of the Poet-His kindness of heart-Salutation of the Gipsy Boy-Shelley's blue coat - A mishap-The Poet's anger.

RETURNING one evening, later than usual, from a long country ramble, a large dish of scolloped oysters had been prepared for their supper, and set within the fender to keep hot. They eagerly crouched to the fire for warmth, when Shelley, setting his feet upon the fender, turned it over, and upset the oysters in the grate.

"It was impossible," says his friend, "that a hungry and frozen pedestrian should restrain a strong expression of indignation, or that he

should forbear, notwithstanding the exasperation of cold and hunger, from smiling and forgiving the accident, at seeing the whimsical air and aspect of the offender, as he held up with the shovel the long anticipated food, deformed with ashes, coals and cinders, with a ludicrous expression of exaggerated surprise, disappointment, and contrition."

A scanty supply of cheese was all that remained to appease their hunger, and this Shelley refused to partake of, declaring it was offensive to his palate; but finding that Hogg was inexorable in only partaking of his share, he greedily devoured his portion, rind and all, after scraping it cursorily with a curious tenderness; they wearily sat over the blazing fire, stretching their frozen limbs, and dropping occasionally some languid expression.

On a sudden Shelley started from his seat, seized one of the candles, and began to walk about the room on tiptoe, in profound silence, evidently engaged in some mysterious search; he continued his whimsical and secret inquisition in the bedroom and the little study.

It had occurred to him that possibly a dessert

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had been sent to his rooms in his absence, and put away. He was not mistaken, for presently he returned, bearing some small dishes, with oranges, apples, almonds and raisins, and a little cake.

These he set by the side of his friend, without speaking, and with the air of a penitent making restitution and reparation, and then resumed his seat.

The unexpected succour was very seasonable; this light fare, a few glasses of negus, warmth, and especially rest, restored their lost vigour and their spirits.

Relating to this period are some anecdotes of his kindness and humanity, not only to his own species, but to the dumb creatures of the earth, dependent on man, for good or evil, for pleasure or pain. But these I pass over, thus briefly alluding to them to exhibit him as he stood in relation to the poor and friendless.

I will first remark, that like all who are truly good, his love for children was deep, earnest and religious. They were endeared to him by his strong faith in the Platonic philosophy; and he used to say that every true Platonist must be a

lover of children, for they are our masters and instructors in philosophy.

In his walks he would often pause-I am again quoting from those delightful papers-to admire the country people, and after gazing on a sweet and intelligent countenance, he would exhibit in the language, and with an aspect of acute anguish, his intense feeling of the future sorrows and sufferings of all the manifold evils of life, that too often distort, by a mean and most disagreeable expression, the innocent, happy, and engaging lineaments of youth.

He sometimes stopped to observe the softness and simplicity that the face and gestures of a gentle girl displayed, and he would surpass her gentleness by his own.

Strolling one day in the neighbourhood of Oxford, he was attracted by a little girl; he turned aside, and stood and observed her in silence. She was about six years of age, small and slight, bare headed, bare legged, and her apparel variegated and tattered.

She was busily employed collecting empty snail shells so much occupied, indeed, that some moments elapsed before she turned her face

towards him. When she did, Shelley was struck by the vivid intelligence of her wild and swarthy countenance, and by the sharp glance of her fierce black eyes; she was evidently a young gipsy.

How much intellect is here," he exclaimed; "in how humble a vessel, and what an unworthy occupation for a person who once knew perfectly the whole circle of the sciences -" this was in accordance with his doctrines of preexistence ;-" who has forgotten them all, it is true, but who could certainly recollect them, although most probably she will never do so."

On another occasion he saw one of these wild children of nature, apparently abandoned, leaning against a bank, oppressed with cold and hunger.

Shelley at once concluded, with his usual precipitation, from the little girl's desolate and wretched appearance, that it had been deserted; and began proposing different schemes to his companion for its permanent relief.

It seemed desirable to procure it some food, and climbing a hill close by, they discovered a cottage, not far from the spot. Shelley induced