But day by day he put the cause aside,
Induced by av'rice, peevishness, or pride.
But now awaken'd, from this fatal time
His conscience Isaac felt, and found his crime:
He raised to George a monumental stone,
And there retired to sigh and think alone;
An ague seized him, he grew pale, and shook-
So,' said his son,' would my poor uncle look.'
And so, my child, shall I like him expire.'
'No! you have physic and a cheerful fire.'
Unhappy sinner! yes, I'm well supplied
With every comfort my cold heart denied.'
He view'd his brother now, but not as one
Who vex'd his wife by fondness for her son;
Not as with wooden limb, and seaman's tale,
The odious pipe, vile grog, or humbler ale:
He now the worth and grief alone can view
Of one so mild, so generous, and so true;
The frank, kind brother, with such open
heart,

All he lamented-and the ready tear Falls as he listens, soothed, and grieved to hear.

'Did he not curse me, child ? '—' He never cursed,

But could not breathe, and said his heart would burst:

And so will mine: '-' Then, father, you must pray;

My uncle said it took his pains away.'

Repeating thus his sorrows, Isaac shows That he, repenting, feels the debt he owes, And from this source alone his every comfort flows.

He takes no joy in office, honours, gain ; They make him humble, nay, they give him pain;

These from my heart,' he cries, 'all feeling

drove ;

They made me cold to nature, dead to love :'
He takes no joy in home, but sighing, sees
A son in sorrow, and a wife at ease:
He takes no joy in office--see him now,
And Burgess Steel has but a passing bow;
Of one sad train of gloomy thoughts possess'd,
He takes no joy in friends, in food, in rest—
Dark are the evil days, and void of peace the
best.

And thus he lives, if living be to sigh,
And from all comforts of the world to fly,
Without a hope in life-without a wish to die.

Oh! torture me no more-I will confess.

2 Henry VI, Act iii, Scene 3.

AN honest man was Farmer Jones, and true,
Grave, cautious, careful, fond of gain was he,
He did by all as all by him should do;
Yet famed for rustic hospitality:
Left with his children in a widow'd state,
The quiet man submitted to his fate;
Though prudent matrons waited for his call,
With cool forbearance he avoided all;
Though each profess'd a pure maternal joy,
By kind attention to his feeble boy :
And though a friendly widow knew no rest,
Whilst neighbour Jones was lonely and
distress'd;

Nay, though the maidens spoke in tender tone
Their hearts' concern to see him left alone-
Jones still persisted in that cheerless life,
As if 'twere sin to take a second wife.

dead,

To find such numbers who will serve instead:
And in whatever state a man be thrown,
'Tis that precisely they would wish their own;
Left the departed infants-then their joy
Is to sustain each lovely girl and boy:
Whatever calling his, whatever trade,
To that their chief attention has been paid;
His happy taste in all things they approve,
His friends they honour, and his food they
love;

His wish for order, prudence in affairs,
And equal temper, (thank their stars!) are
theirs ;

In fact, it seem'd to be a thing decreed,
And fix'd as fate, that marriage must succeed;
Yet some like Jones, with stubborn hearts
and hard,

Can hear such claims, and show them no regard.
Soon as our farmer, like a general, found
By what strong foes he was encompass'd
round-

Engage he dared not, and he could not fly,
But saw his hope in gentle parley lie;
With looks of kindness then, and trembling
heart,

He met the foe, and art opposed to art.

Now spoke that foe insidious-gentle tones, And gentle looks, assumed for Farmer Jones: 'Three girls,' the widow cried,' a lively three To govern well-indeed it cannot be."

Yes,' he replied, 'it calls for pains and care; But I must bear it : '—' Sir, you cannot bear Your son is weak, and asks a mother's eye: That, my kind friend, a father's may supply:' 'Such growing griefs your very soul will tease:

'To grieve another would not give me easeI have a mother '-'She, poor ancient soul! Can she the spirits of the young control ? Can she thy peace promote, partake thy care, Procure thy comforts, and thy sorrows share? Age is itself impatient, uncontroll'd: ' 'But wives like mothers must at length be old.'

Find from a foe prepared entire defeat:
But he was prudent, for he knew in flight
These Parthian warriors turn again and fight:
He but at freedom, not at glory aim'd,
And only safety by his caution claim'd.
Thus, when a great and powerful state
decrees,

Upon a small one, in its love, to seize-
It vows in kindness to protect, defend,
And be the fond ally, the faithful friend ;
It therefore wills that humbler state to place
Its hopes of safety in a fond embrace;
Then must that humbler state its wisdom
prove,

By kind rejection of such pressing love;
Must dread such dangerous friendship to.
commence,

And stand collected in its own defence:-
Our farmer thus the proffer'd kindness fled,
And shunn'd the love that into bondage led.
The widow failing, fresh besiegers came,
To share the fate of this retiring dame :
And each foresaw a thousand ills attend
The man, that fled from so discreet a friend;
And pray'd, kind soul! that no event might
make

The harden'd heart of Farmer Jones to ache.

But he still govern'd with resistless hand, And where he could not guide he would command:

With steady view in course direct he steer'd, And his fair daughters loved him, though they fear'd;

Each had her school, and as his wealth was known,

Each had in time a household of her own.

The boy indeed was, at the grandam's side, Humour'd and train'd, her trouble and her pride:

Companions dear, with speech and spirits mild,

The childish widow and the vapourish child; This nature prompts; minds uninform'd and weak

sore:

The child is pleased to meet regard from age,
The old are pleased ev'n children to engage;
And all their wisdom, scorn'd by proud man-
kind,

They love to pour into the ductile mind;
By its own weakness into error led,
And by fond age with prejudices fed.

The father, thankful for the good he had, Yet saw with pain a whining timid lad; Whom he instructing led through cultured fields,

To show what man performs, what nature yields :

But Stephen, listless, wander'd from the view, From beasts he fled, for butterflies he flew, And idly gazed about, in search of something

new.

The lambs indeed he loved, and wish'd to play With things so mild, so harmless, and so gay; Best pleased the weakest of the flock to see, With whom he felt a sickly sympathy. Meantime, the dame was anxious, day and night,

To guide the notions of her babe aright, And on the favourite mind to throw her glimmering light;

Her Bible-stories she impress'd betimes, And fill'd his head with hymns and holy rhymes;

On powers unseen, the good and ill, she dwelt, And the poor boy mysterious terrors felt; From frightful dreams, he waking sobb'd in dread,

Till the good lady came to guard his bed.

The father wish'd such errors to correct, But let them pass in duty and respect: But more it grieved his worthy mind to see That Stephen never would a farmer be; In vain he tried the shiftless lad to guide, And yet 'twas time that something should be tried:

He at the village-school perchance might gain All that such mind could gather and retain; Yet the good dame affirm'd her favourite child Was apt and studious, though sedate and

mild;

"That he on many a learned point could speak, And that his body, not his mind, was weak.' The father doubted-but to school was sent The timid Stephen, weeping as he went: There the rude lads compell'd the child to fight,

And sent him bleeding to his home at night;

At this the grandam more indulgent grew,
And bade her darling' shun the beastly crew;
Whom Satan ruled, and who were sure to lie,
Howling in torments, when they came to die;'
This was such comfort, that in high disdain
He told their fate, and felt their blows again :
Yet if the boy had not a hero's heart,
Within the school he play'd a better part;
He wrote a clean fine hand, and at his slate,
With more success than many a hero, sate;
He thought not much indeed-but what
depends

On pains and care, was at his fingers' ends.
This had his father's praise, who now espied
A spark of merit, with a blaze of pride:
And though a farmer he would never make,
He might a pen with some advantage take;
And as a clerk that instrument employ,
So well adapted to a timid boy.

A London cousin soon a place obtain❜d, Easy but humble-little could be gain'd : The time arrived when youth and age must part,

Tears in each eye, and sorrow in each heart;
The careful father bade his son attend
To all his duties, and obey his friend;
To keep his church and there behave aright,
As one existing in his Maker's sight,
Till acts to habits led, and duty to delight:
Then try, my boy, as quickly as you can,
T'assume the looks and spirit of a man ;
I say, be honest, faithful, civil, true,
And this you may, and yet have courage too :
Heroic men, their country's boast and pride,
Have fear'd their God, and nothing fear'd
beside;

While others daring, yet imbecile, fly
The power of man, and that of God defy :
Be manly then, though mild, for sure as fate,
Thou art, my Stephen, too effeminate;
Here, take my purse, and make a worthy use
('Tis fairly stock'd) of what it will produce :
And now my blessing, not as any charm
Or conjuration; but 'twill do no harm.'

Stephen, whose thoughts were wandering
up and down,

Now charm'd with promised sights in Londontown,

Now loth to leave his grandam-lost the force, The drift and tenor of this grave discourse; But, in a general way, he understood 'Twas good advice, and meant, My son, be good; '

Rustics though coarse, and savages though wild,

Our cares may render liberal and mild; But what, my friend, can flow from all these pains ?

There is no dealing with a lack of brains.''True I am hopeless to behold him man, But let me make the booby what I can : Though the rude stone no polish will display, Yet you may strip the rugged coat away.'

Stephen beheld his books- I love to know How money goes—now here is that to show: And now,' he cried,' I shall be pleased to get Beyond the Bible-there I puzzle yet.' He spoke abash'd- Nay, nay!'

"

the

friend replied, 'You need not lay the good old book aside; Antique and curious, I myself indeed Read it at times, but as a man should read; A fine old work it is, and I protest I hate to hear it treated as a jest ; The book has wisdom in it, if you look Wisely upon it, as another book: For superstition (as our priests of sin Are pleased to tell us) makes us blind within: Of this hereafter-we will now select Some works to please you, others to direct: Tales and romances shall your fancy feed, And reasoners form your morals and your creed.'

The books were view'd, the price was fairly paid,

And Stephen read undaunted, undismay'd:
But not till first he paper'd all the row,
And placed in order, to enjoy the show;
Next letter'd all the backs with care and speed,
Set them in ranks, and then began to read.
The love of order-I the thing receive
From reverend men, and I in part believe-
Shows a clear mind and clean, and whoso
needs

This love, but seldom in the world succeeds;
And yet with this some other love must be,
Ere I can fully to the fact agree:
Valour and study may by order gain,
By order sovereigns hold more steady reign;
Through all the tribes of nature order runs,
And rules around in systems and in suns:
Still has the love of order found a place,
With all that's low, degrading, mean, and
base,

With all that merits scorn. and all that meets disgrace :

In the cold miser, of all change afraid,
In pompous men in public seats obey'd:
In humble placemen, heralds, solemn drones,
Fanciers of flowers, and lads like Stephen
Jones;

Order to these is armour and defence,
And love of method serves in lack of sense.
For rustic youth could I a list produce
Of Stephen's books, how great might be the

use;

But evil fate was theirs-survey'd, enjoy'd Some happy months, and then by force destroy'd:

So will'd the fates-but these with patience, read,

Had vast effect on Stephen's heart and head.

This soon appear'd-within a single week He oped his lips, and made attempt to speak; He fail'd indeed—but still his friend confess'd The best have fail'd, and he had done his best:

The first of swimmers, when at first he swims,
Has little use or freedom in his limbs ;
Nay, when at length he strikes with manly
force,

The cramp may seize him, and impede his