trace

Her former pupils, now a lordly race; Whom when she sees rich robes and furs bedeck,

She marks the pride which once she strove to check :

A burgess comes, and she remembers well
How hard her task to make his worship spell;
Cold, selfish, dull, inanimate, unkind,
'Twas but by anger he display'd a mind:
Now civil, smiling, complaisant, and gay,
The world has worn th' unsocial crust away;
That sullen spirit now a softness wears,
And, save by fits, e'en dulness disappears:
But still the matron can the man behold,
Dull, selfish, hard, inanimate, and cold.
A merchant passes, probity and truth,
Prudence and patience, mark'd thee from
thy youth.'

Thus she observes, but oft retains her fears For him, who now with name unstain'd appears;

Nor hope relinquishes, for one who yet
Is lost in error and involved in debt;
For latent evil in that heart she found,
More open here, but here the core was sound.
Various our day-schools: here behold we

one

Empty and still:-the morning duties done, Soil'd, tatter'd, worn, and thrown in various heaps,

His humble portion to the parish-rates.

They sit th' allotted hours, then eager run, Rushing to pleasure when the duty's done; His hour of leisure is of different kind, Then cares domestic rush upon his mind, And half the ease and comfort he enjoys, Is when surrounded by slates, books, and boys.

Poor Reuben Dixon has the noisiest school Of ragged lads, who ever bow'd to rule; Low in his price-the men who heave our coals,

And clean our causeways, send him boys in shoals:

To see poor Reuben, with his fry beside,Their half-check'd rudeness and his halfscorn'd pride,

Their room, the sty in which th' assembly meet,

In the close lane behind the Northgate-street; T'observe his vain attempts to keep the peace, Till tolls the bell, and strife and troubles cease,

Calls for our praise; his labour praise deserves, But not our pity; Reuben has no nerves: 'Mid noise and dirt, and stench, and play, and prate,

He calmly cuts the pen or views the slate. But Leonard!-yes, for Leonard's fate I

grieve,

sleeps ;

The workmen all are from the Babel fled, And lost their tools, till the return they dread: Meantime the master, with his wig awry, Prepares his books for business by-and-by: Now all th' insignia of the monarch laid Beside him rest, and none stand by afraid; He, while his troop light-hearted leap and play,

Is all intent on duties of the day;

No more the tyrant stern or judge severe, He feels the father's and the husband's fear. Ah! little think the timid trembling crowd, That one so wise, so powerful, and so proud, Should feel himself, and dread the humble

ills

Of rent-day charges and of coalman's bills; That while they mercy from their judge implore,

He fears himself a knocking at the door;

When, with a heavy eye and ill-done sum,
No part conceived, a stupid boy will come;
Then Leonard first subdues the rising frown,
And bids the blockhead lay his blunders down;
O'er which disgusted he will turn his eye,
To his sad duty his sound mind apply,
And, vex'd in spirit, throw his pleasures by.
Turn we to schools which more than these
afford-

The sound instruction and the wholesome board;

And first our school for ladies :-pity calls For one soft sigh, when we behold these walls, Placed near the town, and where, from window high,

The fair, confined, may our free crowds espy, With many a stranger gazing up and down, And all the envied tumult of the town; May, in the smiling summer-eve, when they Are sent to sleep the pleasant hours away, Behold the poor (whom they conceive the bless'd)

Employ'd for hours, and grieved they cannot

rest.

Here the fond girl, whose days are sad and

few

Since dear mamma pronounced the last adieu, Looks to the road, and fondly thinks she hears

The carriage-wheels, and struggles with her tears:

All yet is new, the misses great and small, Madam herself, and teachers, odious all; From laughter, pity, nay command, she turns, But melts in softness, or with anger burns; Nauseates her food, and wonders who can sleep

On such mean beds, where she can only weep; She scorns condolence-but to all she hates Slowly at length her mind accommodates ; Then looks on bondage with the same concern As others felt, and finds that she must learn As others learn'd-the common lot to share, To search for comfort and submit to care. There are, 'tis said, who on these seats attend,

And to these ductile minds destruction vend; Wretches (to virtue, peace, and nature, foes) To these soft minds, their wicked trash expose; Seize on the soul, ere passions take the sway, And lead the heart, ere yet it feels, astray: Smugglers obscene!-and can there be who take Infernal pains, the sleeping vice to wake?

Can there be those, by whom the thought defiled

Enters the spotless bosom of a child?
By whom the ill is to the heart convey'd,
Who lend the foe, not yet in arms, their aid,
And sap the city-walls before the siege be laid?
Oh! rather skulking in the by-ways steal,
And rob the poorest traveller of his meal;
Burst through the humblest trader's bolted
door;

Bear from the widow's hut her winter-store; With stolen steed, on highways take your stand,

Your lips with curses arm'd, with death your hand;

Take all but life-the virtuous more would say,
Take life itself, dear as it is, away,
Rather than guilty thus the guileless soul
betray.

Years pass away-let us suppose them past, Th' accomplish'd nymph for freedom looks at last;

All hardships over, which a school contains, The spirit's bondage and the body's pains; Where teachers make the heartless, trembling

set

Of pupils suffer for their own regret ;
Where winter's cold, attack'd by one poor fire,
Chills the fair child, commanded to retire ;
She felt it keenly in the morning air,
Keenly she felt it at the evening prayer.
More pleasant summer; but then walks were
made,

Not a sweet ramble, but a slow parade; They moved by pairs beside the hawthornhedge,

Only to set their feelings on an edge;
And now at eve, when all their spirits rise,
Are sent to rest, and all their pleasure dies;
Where yet they all the town alert can see,
And distant plough-boys pacing o'er the lea.
These and the tasks successive masters

brought

The French they conn'd, the curious works they wrought:

The hours they made their taper fingers strike, Note after note, all dull to them alike; Their drawings, dancings on appointed days, Playing with globes, and getting parts of plays; The tender friendships made 'twixt heart and heart,

When the dear friends had nothing to impart:

All! all! are over;-now th' accomplish'd maid

Longs for the world, of nothing there afraid:
Dreams of delight invade her gentle breast,
And fancied lovers rob the heart of rest;
At the paternal door a carriage stands,
Love knits their hearts and Hymen joins
their hands.

They yet possess not skill the mask to place, And hide the passions glowing in the face; Yet some are found-the close, the sly, the

mean,

Who know already all must not be seen.
Lo! one who walks apart, although so

young,

thy view,

Thy pleasures many, and each pleasure new: Ah!-world experienced! what of thee is told?

How few thy pleasures, and those few how old!
Within a silent street, and far apart
From noise of business, from a quay or mart,
Stands an old spacious building, and the din
You hear without, explains the work within;
Unlike the whispering of the nymphs, this
noise

Loudly proclaims a 'boarding-school for boys:

The master heeds it not, for thirty years
Have render'd all familiar to his ears;
He sits in comfort, 'mid the various sound
Of mingled tones for ever flowing round;
Day after day he to his task attends,-
Unvaried toil, and care that never ends:
Boys in their works proceed; while his employ
Admits no change, or changes but the boy;
Yet time has made it easy ;-he beside
Has power supreme, and power is sweet to
pride:

But grant him pleasure;—what can teachers feel,

Dependent helpers always at the wheel? Their power despised, their compensation small,

Their labour dull, their life laborious all;
Set after set the lower lads to make
Fit for the class which their superiors take;
The road of learning for a time to track
In roughest state, and then again go back :
Just the same way on other troops to wait,-
Attendants fix'd at learning's lower gate.

The day-tasks now are over,-to their
ground

Rush the gay crowd with joy-compelling sound;

Glad to illude the burthens of the day,
The eager parties hurry to their play:
Then in these hours of liberty we find
The native bias of the opening mind;

And half the school are in the stripling's debt:
Suspicious, timid, he is much afraid
Of trick and plot :-he dreads to be betray'd:
He shuns all friendship, for he finds they lend,
When lads begin to call each other friend:
Yet self with self has war; the tempting sight
Of fruit on sale provokes his appetite ;-
See! how he walks the sweet seduction by;
That he is tempted, costs him first a sigh,-
'Tis dangerous to indulge, 'tis grievous to
deny!

This he will choose, and whispering asks the price,

The purchase dreadful, but the portion nice;
Within the pocket he explores the pence;
Without, temptation strikes on either sense,
The sight, the smell;—but then he thinks again
Of money gone! while fruit nor taste remain.
Meantime there comes an eager thoughtless
boy,

Who gives the price and only feels the joy :
Example dire! the youthful miser stops,
And slowly back the treasured coinage drops:
Heroic deed! for should he now comply,
Can he to-morrow's appetite deny?
Beside, these spend thrifts who so friendly live,
Cloy'd with their purchase, will a portion
give :-

Here ends debate, he buttons up his store,
And feels the comfort that it burns no more.

Unlike to him the tyrant-boy, whose sway All hearts acknowledge; him the crowds obey: At his command they break through every rule;

Whoever governs, he controls the school: 'Tis not the distant emperor moves their fear,

But the proud viceroy who is ever near.

Verres could do that mischief in a day, For which not Rome, in all its power, could

pay;

And these boy-tyrants will their slaves distress,

And do the wrongs no master can redress;

The mind they load with fear: it feels disdain For its own baseness; yet it tries in vain To shake th' admitted power;-the coward comes again :

'Tis more than present pain these tyrants give, Long as we've life some strong impressions live;

And these young ruffians in the soul will sow
Seeds of all vices that on weakness grow.
Hark! at his word the trembling young-
lings flee,

Where he is walking none must walk but he;
See! from the winter-fire the weak retreat,
His the warm corner, his the favourite seat,
Save when he yields it to some slave to keep
Awhile, then back, at his return, to creep:
At his command his poor dependants fly,
And humbly bribe him as a proud ally;
Flatter'd by all, the notice he bestows,
Is gross abuse, and bantering and blows;
Yet he's a dunce, and, spite of all his fame
Without the desk, within he feels his shame:
For there the weaker boy, who felt his scorn,
For him corrects the blunders of the morn;
And he is taught, unpleasant truth! to find
The trembling body has the prouder mind.
Hark! to that shout, that burst of empty
noise,

From a rude set of bluff, obstreperous boys; They who, like colts let loose, with vigour bound,

And thoughtless spirit, o'er the beaten ground; Fearless they leap, and every youngster feels His Alma active in his hands and heels.

These are the sons of farmers, and they

come

With partial fondness for the joys of home; Their minds are coursing in their fathers' fields,

And e'en the dream a lively pleasure yields; They, much enduring, sit th' allotted hours, And o'er a grammar waste their sprightly powers;

They dance; but them can measured steps delight,

Whom horse and hounds to daring deeds excite ?

Nor could they bear to wait from meal to meal,

Did they not slyly to the chamber steal,
And there the produce of the basket seize,
The mother's gift! still studious of their

ease,

Poor Alma, thus oppress'd, forbears to rise,
But rests or revels in the arms and thighs.*
'But is it sure that study will repay
The more attentive and forbearing?'-Nay!
The farm, the ship, the humble shop have each
Gains which severest studies seldom reach.

At college place a youth, who means to

raise

His state by merit and his name by praise;
Still much he hazards; there is serious strife
In the contentions of a scholar's life:
Not all the mind's attention, care, distress,
Nor diligence itself, ensure success :
His jealous heart a rival's power may dread,
Till its strong feelings have confused his head,
And, after days and months, nay, years of
pain,

He finds just lost the object he would gain.

But grant him this and all such life can give, For other prospects he begins to live; Begins to feel that man was form'd to look And long for other objects than a book: In his mind's eye his house and glebe he sees, And farms and talks with farmers at his ease; And time is lost, till fortune sends him forth To a rude world unconscious of his worth; There in some petty parish to reside, The college-boast, then turn'd the villageguide;

And though awhile his flock and dairy please, He soon reverts to former joys and ease, Glad when a friend shall come to break his rest,

And speak of all the pleasures they possess'd, Of masters, fellows, tutors, all with whom They shared those pleasures, never more to come;

Till both conceive the times by bliss endear'd, Which once so dismal and so dull appear'd. But fix our scholar, and suppose him

crown'd

With all the glory gain'd on classic ground; Suppose the world without a sigh resign'd, And to his college all his care confined; Give him all honours that such states allow, The freshman's terror and the tradesman's

bow;

Let his apartments with his taste agree, And all his views be those he loves to see;

*Should any of my readers find themselves at a loss in this place, I beg leave to refer them to a poem of Prior, called Alma, or the Progress of the Mind.