To check the progress of each idle shoot
That might retard the ripening of the fruit?
Our purpose certain! and we much effect,
Wesomething cure, and something we correct;
But do your utmost, when the man you see,
You find him what you saw the boy would be,
Disguised a little; but we still behold
What pleased and what offended us of old.
Years from the mind no native stain remove,
But lay the varnish of the world above.
Still, when he can, he loves to step aside
And be the boy, without a check or guide;
In the old wanderings he with pleasure strays,
And reassumes the bliss of earlier days.

'I left at school the boy with pensive look,
Whom some great patron order'd to his book,
Who from his mother's cot reluctant came,
And gave my lord, for this compassion, fame;
Who, told of all his patron's merit, sigh'd,
I know not why, in sorrow or in pride;
And would, with vex'd and troubled spirit,
cry,

"I am not happy; let your envy die."
Him left I with you; who, perhaps, can tell
If fortune bless'd him, or what fate befell:
I yet remember how the idlers ran
To see the carriage of the godlike man,
When pride restrain'd me; yet thought the

deed

new,

But none the progress would with wonder view :

It was a debt contracted; he who pays
A debt is just, but must not look for praise:
The deed that once had fame must still
proceed,

Though fame no more proclaims "how great the deed!"

The boy is taken from his mother's side,
And he who took him must be now his guide.
But this, alas! instead of bringing fame,
A tax, a trouble, to my lord became.

"The boy is dull, you say,-why then by
trade,

By law, by physic, nothing can be made; If a small living-mine are both too large, And then the college is a cursed charge: The sea is open; should he there display Signs of dislike, he cannot run away."

'Now Charles, who acted no heroic part, And felt no seaman's glory warm his heart, Refused the offer-anger touch'd my lord."He does not like it-Good, upon my word

If I at college place him, he will need
Supplies for ever, and will not succeed ;-
Doubtless in me 'tis duty to provide
Not for his comfort only, but his pride-
Let him to sea!"-He heard the words again,
With promise join'd—with threat'ning; all
in vain :

Charles had his own pursuits; for aid to these
He had been thankful, and had tried to please;
But urged again, as meekly as a saint,

He humbly begg'd to stay at home, and paint.

"Yes, pay some dauber, that this stubborn fool

school."

'As both persisted,

Choose, good sir, your way," The peer exclaim'd, " I have no more to say. I seek your good, but I have no command Upon your will, nor your desire withstand." Resolved and firm, yet dreading to offend, Charles pleaded genius with his noble friend: "Genius! " he cried," the name that triflers

give To their strong wishes without pains to live; Genius! the plea of all who feel desire Of fame, yet grudge the labours that acquire: But say 'tis true; how poor, how late the gain,

And certain ruin if the hope be vain!"
Then to the world appeal'd my lord, and cried,
"Whatever happens, I am justified."
Nay, it was trouble to his soul to find
There was such hardness in the human mind:
He wash'd his hands before the world, and

swore

That he "such minds would patronize no more."

'Now Charles his bread by daily labours sought,

And this his solace, so Corregio wrought." Alas, poor youth! however great his name, And humble thine, thy fortune was the same: Charles drew and painted, and some praise obtain'd

For care and pains; but little more was gain'd: Fame was his hope, and he contempt display'd For approbation, when 'twas coolly paid: His daily tasks he call'd a waste of mind, Vex'd at his fate, and angry with mankind: "Thus have the blind to merit ever done, And Genius mourn'd for each neglected son."

now;

But once at twilight walking up and down,
In a poor alley of the mighty town,
Where, in her narrow courts and garrets, hide
The grieving sons of genius, want, and pride,
I met him musing: sadness I could trace,
And conquer'd hope's meek anguish, in his face.
See him I must but I with ease address'd,
And neither pity nor surprise express'd;
I strove both grief and pleasure to restrain,
But yet I saw that I was giving pain.
He said, with quick'ning pace, as loth to hold
A longer converse, that "the day was cold,
That he was well, that I had scarcely light
To aid my steps," and bade me then good
night!

For his employers knew not whom they paid, Nor where to seek him whom they wish'd to aid:

Here brought, some kind attendant he address'd,

And sought some trifles which he yet possess'd;

Then named a lightless closet, in a room Hired at small rate, a garret's deepest gloom. They sought the region, and they brought him all

That he his own, his proper wealth could call: A better coat, less pieced; some linen neat, Not whole; and papers many a valued sheet; Designs and drawings; these, at his desire, Were placed before him at the chamber fire, And while th' admiring people stood to gaze, He, one by one, committed to the blaze, Smiling in spleen; but one he held awhile, And gave it to the flames, and could not smile. 'The sickening man-for such appear'd the fact

Just in his need, would not a debt contract; But left his poor apartment for the bed That earth might yield him, or some wayside shed;

Here he was found, and to this place convey'd, Where he might rest, and his last debt be paid: Fame was his wish, but he so far from fame, That no one knew his kindred, or his name, Or by what means he lived, or from what place he came.

'Poor Charles! unnoticed by thy titled friend,

Thy days had calmly past, in peace thine end:
Led by thy patron's vanity astray,
Thy own misled thee in thy trackless way,
Urging thee on by hope absurd and vain,
Where never peace or comfort smiled again!
'Once more I saw him, when his spirits fail'd,
And my desire to aid him then prevail'd;
He show'd a softer feeling in his eye,
And watch'd, my looks, and own'd the
sympathy:

'Twas now the calm of wearied pride; so long As he had strength was his resentment strong, But in such place, with strangers all around, And they such strangers, to have something found

Allied to his own heart, an early friend,
One, only one, who would on him attend,
To give and take a look! at this his journey's

end;

One link, however slender, of the chain That held him where he could not long remain ;

The one sole interest !-No, he could not now
Retain his anger; Nature knew not how;
And so there came a softness to his mind,
And he forgave the usage of mankind.
His cold long fingers now were press'd to mine,
And his faint smile of kinder thoughts gave
sign;

His lips moved often as he tried to lend
His words their sound, and softly whisper'd
"friend!

Not without comfort in the thought express'd By that calm look with which he sank to rest.'

and gay,

So forced on study, so intent on play, Swept, by the world's rude blasts, from hope's dear views away?

Some grieved for long neglect in earlier times, Some sad from frailties, some lamenting crimes;

Thinking, with sorrow, on the season lent For noble purpose, and in trifling spent; And now, at last, when they in earnest view The nothings done-what work they find to do!

Where is that virtue that the generous boy Felt, and resolved that nothing should destroy?

He who with noble indignation glow'd
When vice had triumph? who his tear

bestow'd

On injured merit? he who would possess
Power, but to aid the children of distress!
Who has such joy in generous actions shown,
And so sincere, they might be call'd his own;
Knight, hero, patriot, martyr! on whose
tongue,

And potent arm, a nation's welfare hung;
He who to public misery brought relief,
And soothed the anguish of domestic grief.
Where now this virtue's fervour, spirit, zeal?
Who felt so warmly, has he ceased to feel?
The boy's emotions of that noble kind,
Ah! sure th' experienced man has not
resign'd;

Or are these feelings varied? has the knight,
Virtue's own champion, now refused to fight?
Is the deliverer turn'd th' oppressor now?
Has the reformer dropt the dangerous vow?
Or has the patriot's bosom lost its heat,
And forced him, shivering, to a snug retreat?
Is such the grievous lapse of human pride?
Is such the victory of the worth untried?
'Here will I pause, and then review the
shame

Of Harry Bland, to hear his parent's name; That mild, that modest boy, whom well we knew,

In him long time the secret sorrow grew; He wept alone; then to his friend confess'd The grievous fears that his pure mind oppress'd;

And thus, when terror o'er his shame obtain'd A painful conquest, he his case explain'd: And first his favourite question'd-" Willie, tell,

Do all the wicked people go to hell?" 'Willie with caution answer'd, "Yes, they do,

Or else repent; but what is this to you ?
"O! yes, dear friend : he then his tale
began-

He fear'd his father was a wicked man,
Nor had repented of his naughty life;
The wife he had indeed was not a wife,
Not as my mother was; the servants all
Call her a name-I'll whisper what they
call.

She saw me weep, and ask'd, in high disdain,
If tears could bring my mother back again?
This I could bear, but not when she pretends
Such fond regard, and what I speak com-
mends;

Talks of my learning, fawning wretch! and tries

To make me love her,-love! when I despise.
Indeed I had it in my heart to say
Words of reproach, before I came away;
And then my father's look is not the same,
He puts his anger on to hide his shame.

'With all these feelings delicate and nice, This dread of infamy, this scorn of vice, He left the school, accepting, though with pride,

His father's aid-but there would not reside; He married then a lovely maid, approved Of every heart as worthy to be loved;

Mild as the morn in summer, firm as truth, And graced with wisdom in the bloom of youth.

'How is it, men, when they in judgment sit On the same fault, now censure, now acquit ? Is it not thus, that here we view the sin, And there the powerful cause that drew us in? 'Tis not that men are to the evil blind, But that a different object fills the mind. In judging others we can see too well Their grievous fall, but not how grieved they fell;

Judging ourselves, we to our minds recall, Not how we fell, but how we grieved to fall.

'Or could this man, so vex'd in early time, By this strong feeling for his father's crime, Who to the parent's sin was barely just, And mix'd with filial fear the man's disgust; Could he, without some strong delusion, quit The path of duty, and to shame submit? Cast off the virtue he so highly prized, "And be the very creature he despised?

'A tenant's wife, half forward, half afraid, Features, it seem'd, of powerful cast display'd, That bore down faith and duty; common fame

Speaks of a contract that augments the shame. There goes he, not unseen, so strong the will,

And blind the wish, that bear him to the mill;
There he degraded sits, and strives to please
The miller's children, laughing at his knees;
And little Dorcas, now familiar grown,
Talks of her rich papa, and of her own.
He woos the mother's now precarious smile
By costly gifts, that tempers reconcile;
While the rough husband, yielding to the pay
That buys his absence, growling stalks away.
'Tis said th' offending man will sometimes
sigh,

And say, "My God, in what a dream am I?
I will awake" but, as the day proceeds,
The weaken'd mind the day's indulgence

needs;

Hating himself at every step he takes,
His mind approves the virtue he forsakes,
And yet forsakes her. O! how sharp the pain,
Our vice, ourselves, our habits to disdain;
To go where never yet in peace we went,
To feel our hearts can bleed, yet not relent;
To sigh, yet not recede; to grieve, yet not
repent!'

His brother's eye, and what he now survey'd ; 'These are the costly trifles that we buy, Urged by the strong demands of vanity, The thirst and hunger of a mind diseased, That must with purchased flattery be appeased;

But yet, 'tis true, the things that you behold Serve to amuse us as we're getting old : These pictures, as I heard our artists say, Are genuine all, and I believe they may; They cost the genuine sums, and I should grieve

If, being willing, I could not believe.

And there is music; when the ladies come,
With their keen looks they scrutinize the room
To see what pleases, and I must expect
To yield them pleasure, or to find neglect:
For, as attractions from our person fly,
Our purses, Richard, must the want supply;
Yet would it vex me could the triflers know
That they can shut out comfort or bestow.
'But see this room: here, Richard, you will
find

Books for all palates, food for every mind;
This readers term the ever-new delight,
And so it is, if minds have appetite :

Now, Richard, now, I stalk around and look
Upon the dress and title of a book,
Try half a page, and then can taste no more,
But the dull volume to its place restore;
Begin a second slowly to peruse,
Then cast it by, and look about for news
The news itself grows dull in long debates,—
I skip, and see what the conclusion states;
And many a speech, with zeal and study made
Cold and resisting spirits to persuade,
Is lost on mine; alone, we cease to feel
What crowds admire, and wonder at their
zeal.

'But how the day? No fairer will it be? Walk you? Alas! 'tis requisite for me— Nay, let me not prescribe-my friends and guests are free.'

It was a fair and mild autumnal sky, And earth's ripe treasures met th' admiring

eye,

As a rich beauty, when her bloom is lost, Appears with more magnificence and cost: The wet and heavy grass, where feet had stray'd,

Not yet erect, the wanderer's way betray'd;Showers of the night had swell'd the deep'ning

rill,

The morning breeze had urged the quick'ning mill;

Assembled rooks had wing'd their sea-ward flight,

By the same passage to return at night, While proudly o'er them hung the steady kite, Then turn'd him back, and left the noisy

throng,

Nor deign'd to know them as he sail'd along. Long yellow leaves, from oziers, strew'd around,

Choked the small stream, and hush'd the feeble sound;

While the dead foliage dropt from loftier trees Our squire beheld not with his wonted ease, But to his own reflections made reply,

deed,

Had I possess'd such food when I could feed;
When at the call of every new-born wish
I could have keenly relish'd every dish-

die.'

'We must;' said Richard, and we would not live

To feel what dotage and decay will give;