And talk'd of boys and girls with so much glee,

That I began to wish the thing could be. 'Still when the day that soon would come was named,

I felt a cold fit, and was half ashamed; But we too far proceeded to revoke, And had been much too serious for a joke: I shook away the fear that man annoys, And thought a little of the girls and boys. 'A week remain'd,-for seven succeeding days

Nor man nor woman might control my ways; For seven dear nights I might to rest retire At my own time, and none the cause require; For seven blest days I might go in and out, And none demand, "Sir, what are you about?"

For one whole week I might at will discourse On any subject, with a freeman's force.

'Thus while I thought, I utter'd, as men sing In under-voice, reciting "With this ring," That when the hour should come, I might

not dread

These, or the words that follow'd, "I thee wed."

'Such was my state of mind, exulting now And then depress'd-I cannot tell you howWhen a poor lady, whom her friends could send

On any message, a convenient friend,

Who had all feelings of her own o'ercome, And could pronounce to any man his doom; Whose heart indeed was marble, but whose face

Assumed the look adapted to the case; Enter'd my room, commission'd to assuage What was foreseen, my sorrow and my rage.

'It seem'd the lady whom I could prefer, And could my much-loved freedom lose for her,

Had bold attempts, but not successful, made, The heart of some rich cousin to invade ; Who, half resisting, half complying, kept A cautious distance, and the business slept. 'This prudent swain his own importance knew,

And swore to part the now affianced two: Fill'd with insidious purpose, forth he went, Profess'd his love, and woo'd her to consent: "Ah! were it true!" she sigh'd; he boldly

swore

His love sincere, and mine was sought no more.

་

All this the witch at dreadful length reveal'd,

And begg'd me calmly to my fate to yield:
Much pains she took engagements old to state,
And hoped to hear me curse my cruel fate,
Threat'ning my luckless life; and thought it
strange

In me to bear the unexpected change:
In my calm feelings she beheld disguise,
And told of some strange wildness in my eyes.

'But there was nothing in the eye amiss, And the heart calmly bore a stroke like this; Not so my mother; though of gentle kind, She could no mercy for the creature find. "Vile plot!" she said." But, madam, if they plot,

And you would have revenge, disturb them not."

""What can we do, my son ? "" Consult

I rode or walk'd as I was wont before,
But now the bounding spirit was no more;
A moderate pace would now my body heat,
A walk of moderate length distress my feet.
I show'd my stranger-guest those hills sublime,
But said, "the view is poor, we need not
climb."

At a friend's mansion I began to dread
The cold neat parlour, and the gay glazed bed;
At home I felt a more decided taste,
And must have all things in my order placed;
I ceased to hunt, my horses pleased me less,
My dinner more; I learn'd to play at chess;
I took my dog and gun, but saw the brute
Was disappointed that I did not shoot;
My morning walks I now could bear to lose,
And bless'd the shower that gave me not to
choose:

In fact, I felt a languor stealing on;
The active arm, the agile hand were gone;
Small daily actions into habits grew,
And new dislike to forms and fashion new:
I loved my trees in order to dispose,
I number'd peaches, look'd how stocks arose,
Told the same story oft-in short, began to
prose.

'My books were changed; I now preferr'd
the truth

To the light reading of unsettled youth;
Novels grew tedious, but by choice or chance,
I still had interest in the wild romance:
There is an age, we know, when tales of love
Form the sweet pabulum our hearts approve;
Then as we read we feel, and are indeed,
We judge, th' heroic men of whom we read;
But in our after life these fancies fail,
We cannot be the heroes of the tale;
The parts that Cliffords, Mordaunts, Bevilles
play

We cannot, cannot be so smart and gay.
'But all the mighty deeds and matchless

But when the heroes of a novel come, Conquer'd and conquering, to a drawingroom,

We no more feel the vanity that sees Within ourselves what we admire in these, And so we leave the modern tale, to fly From realm to realm with Tristram or Sir Guy.

'Not quite a Quixote, I could not suppose That queens would call me to subdue their foes;

But, by a voluntary weakness sway'd,
When fancy call'd, I willingly obey'd.

'Such I became, and I believed my heart Might yet be pierced by some peculiar dart Of right heroic kind, and I could prove Fond of some peerless nymph who deign'd to love,

Some high-soul'd virgin, who had spent her time

In studies grave, heroic and sublime;
Who would not like me less that I had spent
Years eight and forty, just the age of Kent;
But not with Kent's discretion, for I grew
Fond of a creature whom my fancy drew;
A kind of beings who are never found
On middle-earth, but grow on fairy-ground.
'These found I not; but I had luck to find
A mortal woman of this fairy kind;
A thin, tall, upright, serious, slender maid,
Who in my own romantic regions stray'd;
From the world's glare to this sweet vale
retired,

To dwell unseen, unsullied, unadmired;
In all her virgin excellence, above
The gaze of crowds, and hopes of vulgar love.

'We spoke of noble deeds in happier times, Of glorious virtues, of debasing crimes : Warm was the season, and the subject too, And therefore warm in our discourse we grew. Love made such haste, that ere a month was flown

Since first we met, he had us for his own:
Riches are trifles in an hero's sight,
And lead to questions low and unpolite;
I nothing said of money or of land,
But bent my knee, and fondly ask'd her hand;
And the dear lady, with a grace divine,
Gave it, and frankly answer'd, "it is thine."

'Our reading was not to romance confined, But still it gave its colour to the mind; Gave to our studies something of its force, And made profound and tender our discourse;

Our subjects all, and our religion, took
The grave and solemn spirit of our book:
And who had seen us walk, or heard us read,
Would say, "these lovers are sublime indeed."
'I knew not why, but when the day was
named

My ardent wishes felt a little tamed;
My mother's sickness then awaked my grief,
And yet, to own the truth, was some relief;
It left uncertain that decisive time

That made my feelings nervous and sublime. 'Still all was kindness, and at morn and eve I made a visit, talk'd, and took my leave: Kind were the lady's looks, her eyes were bright,

And swam, I thought, in exquisite delight;
A lovely red suffused the virgin cheek,
And spoke more plainly than the tongue
could speak;

Plainly all seem'd to promise love and joy, Nor fear'd we ought that might our bliss destroy.

་

'Twas not the lighter red, that partly streaks The Catherine pear, that brighten'd o'er her cheeks,

Nor scarlet blush of shame-but such disclose
The velvet petals of the Austrian rose
When first unfolded, warm the glowing hue,
Nor cold as rouge, but deep'ning on the view:
Such were those cheeks-the causes unex-
plored

Were now detected in that secret hoard;
And ever to that rich recess would turn
My mind, and cause for such effect discern.
Such was my fortune, O! my friends, and such
The end of lofty hopes that grasp'd too much.
This was, indeed, a trying time in life,
I lost at once a mother and a wife;
Yet compensation came in time for these,
And what I lost in joy, I gain'd in ease.'-

But,' said the squire, 'did thus your
courtship cease?

Resign'd your mistress her betroth'd in peace?

Yes; and had sense her feelings to restrain, Nor ask'd me once my conduct to explain; But me she saw those swimming eyes explore, And explanation she required no more: Friend to the last, I left her with regretNay, leave her not, for we are neighbours yet. 'These views extinct, I travell'd, not with

taste,

But so that time ran wickedly to waste; I penn'd some notes, and might a book have made,

But I had no connexion with the trade; Bridges and churches, towers and halls, I saw, Maids and madonnas, and could sketch and draw:

deed,

And yet, in spite of all, I could proceed!
I went, I saw-Shall I describe the hoard
Of precious worth in seal'd deposits stored
Of sparkling hues? Enough-enough is told,
'Tis not for man such mysteries to unfold.
Thus far I dare-Whene'er those orbits swam
In that blue liquid that restrain'd their flame,
As showers the sunbeams-when the crimson
glow

Of the red rose o'erspread those cheeks of snow,

I saw, but not the cause-'twas not the red Of transient blush that o'er her face was

spread;

In the not making was more gratified.

'There was one feeling upon foreign ground, That more distressing than the rest was found; That though with joy I should my country see, There none had pleasure in expecting me.

'I now was sixty, but could walk and eat; My food was pleasant, and my slumbers sweet;

But what could urge me at a day so late
To think of women ?-my unlucky fate.

'It was not sudden; I had no alarms,
But was attack'd when resting on my arms;
Like the poor soldier; when the battle raged.
The man escaped, though twice or thrice

engaged,

But when it ended, in a quiet spot
He fell, the victim of a random-shot.

'With my good friend the vicar oft I spent
The evening hours in quiet, as I meant;
He was a friend in whom, although untried
By ought severe, I found I could confide;
A pleasant, sturdy disputant was he,
Who had a daughter-such the Fates decree,
To prove how weak is man-poor yielding
man, like me.

'Time after time the maid went out and in, Ere love was yet beginning to begin; The first awakening proof, the early doubt, Rose from observing she went in and out. My friend, though careless, seem'd my mind to explore,

66

Why do you look so often at the door?" I then was cautious, but it did no good, For she, at least, my meanings understood; But to the vicar nothing she convey'd Of what she thought-she did not feel afraid. 'I must confess, this creature in her mind Nor face had beauty that a man would blind; No poet of her matchless charms would write, Yet sober praise they fairly would excite: She was a creature form'd man's heart to make Serenely happy, not to pierce and shake; If she were tried for breaking human hearts Men would acquit her-she had not the arts; Yet without art, at first without design, She soon became the arbitress of mine; Without pretensions-nay, without pretence, But by a native strange intelligence Women possess when they behold a man Whom they can tease, and are assured they can;

Then 'tis their soul's delight and pride to reign O'er the fond slave, to give him ease or pain, And stretch and loose by turns the weighty

viewless chain.

'Though much she knew, yet nothing could

she prove;

I had not yet confess'd the crime of love;
But in an hour when guardian-angels sleep,
I fail'd the secret of my soul to keep;
And then I saw the triumph in those eyes
That spoke-" Ay, now you are indeed my

prize."

I almost thought I saw compassion, too, For all the cruel things she meant to do. Well I can call to mind the managed air That gave no comfort, that brought no despair,

That in a dubious balance held the mind, To each side turning, never much inclined. 'She spoke with kindness-thought the honour high,

And knew not how to give a fit reply; She could not, would not, dared not, must not deem

Such language proof of ought but my esteem ;
It made her proud-she never could forget
My partial thoughts,-she felt her much in
debt:

She who had never in her life indulged
The thought of hearing what I now divulged,
I who had seen so many and so much,-
It was an honour-she would deem it such:
Our different years, indeed, would put an end
To other views, but still her father's friend
To her, she humbly hoped, would his regard
extend.

Thus saying nothing, all she meant to say,
She play'd the part the sex delights to play;
Now by some act of kindness giving scope
To the new workings of excited hope,
Then by an air of something like disdain,
But scarcely seen, repelling it again;
Then for a season, neither cold nor kind,
She kept a sort of balance in the mind,
And as his pole a dancer on the rope,
The equal poise on both sides kept me up.

Is it not strange that man can fairly view
Pursuit like this, and yet his point pursue?
While he the folly fairly will confess,
And even feel the danger of success?
But so it is, and nought the Circes care
How ill their victims with their poison fare,
When thus they trifle, and with quiet soul
Mix their ingredients in the maddening bowl.
Their high regard, the softness of their air,
The pitying grief that saddens at a prayer,
Their grave petitions for the peace of mind
That they determine you shall never find,
And all their vain amazement that a man
Like you should love-they wonder how you

can.

For months the idler play'd her wicked part, Then fairly gave the secret of her heart. "She hoped "-I now the smiling gipsy view

"Her father's friend would be her lover's too, Young Henry Gale "-But why delay so long?

She could not tell-she fear'd it might be wrong,

"But I was good "-I knew not, I was weak, And spoke as love directed me to speak. 'When in my arms their boy and girl I take, I feel a fondness for the mother's sake; But though the dears some softening thoughts excite,

I have no wishes for the father's right. 'Now all is quiet, and the mind sustains Its proper comforts, its befitting pains; The heart reposes; it has had its share Of love, as much as it could fairly bear, And what is left in life, that now demands its care?

'For O! my friends, if this were all indeed, Could we believe that nothing would succeed; If all were but this daily dose of life, Without a care or comfort, child or wife; These walks for health with nothing more in view,

This doing nothing, and with labour too; This frequent asking when 'tis time to dine, This daily dosing o'er the news and wine;

This age's riddle, when each day appears
So very long, so very short the years;
If this were all-but let me not suppose-
What then were life! whose virtues, trials,
woes,

Would sleep th' eternal sleep, and there the scene would close.

'This cannot be-but why has Time a

pace

That seems unequal in our mortal race?
Quick is that pace in early life, but slow,
Tedious and heavy, as we older grow;
But yet, though slow, the movements are
alike,

And with no force upon the memory strike,
And therefore tedious as we find them all,
They leave us nothing we in view recall;
But days that we so dull and heavy knew
Are now as moments passing in review,
And hence arises ancient men's report,
That days are tedious, and yet years are
short.'

A Mother's advice-Trials for a young LadyAncient Lovers-The Mother a Wife Grandmamma-Genteel Economy-Frederick, a young Collegian-Grandmamma dies-Retreat with Biddy-Comforts of the Poor-Return Home-Death of the Husband-Nervous Disorders-Conversion -Frederick a Teacher--Retreat to Sidmouth Self-examination - The Mother dies-Frederick a soldier-Retirement with a Friend-Their Happiness how interrupted -Frederick an Actor-Is dismissed and supported-A last Adventure.

THREE days remain'd their friend, and then again

The Brothers left, themselves to entertain; When spake the younger-' It would please me well

To hear thy spinster-friend her story tell;
And our attention would be nobly paid
Thus to compare the Bachelor and Maid.'
'Frank as she is,' replied the squire, 'nor

one

Is more disposed to show what she has done With time, or time with her; yet all her care And every trial she might not declare

To one a stranger; but to me, her friend,
She has the story of those trials penned;
These shalt thou hear, for well the maid I
know,

And will her efforts and her conquests show.
Jacques is abroad, and we alone shall dine,
And then to give this lady's tale be mine;
Thou wilt attend to this good spinster's life,
And grieve and wonder she is not a wife;
But if we judge by either words or looks,
Her mode of life, her morals, or her books,
Her pure devotion, unaffected sense,
Her placid air, her mild benevolence,
Her gay good humour, and her manners free,
She is as happy as a maid can be;
If as a wife, I know not, and decline
Question like this, till I can judge of thine.'
Then from a secret hoard drew forth the

squire

His tale, and said, 'Attention I requireMy verse you may condemn, my theme you must admire.'

'I to your kindness speak, let that prevail, And of my frailty judge as beings frail.