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Creeds to reject, pretensions to deride,
And, following thee, to follow none beside."

Such was the speech; it struck upon the ear
Like sudden thunder, none expect to hear.
He saw men's wonder with a manly pride,
And gravely smiled at guest electrified :
"A farmer this!" they said; "O! let him seek
That place where he may for his country speak;
On some great question to harangue for hours,
While speakers hearing, envy nobler powers!"

Wisdom like this, as all things rich and rare,
Must he acquired with pains, and kept with care;
In books he sought it, which his friends might view,
When their kind host the guarding curtain drew.
There were historic works for graver hours,
And lighter verse, to spur the languid powers;
There metaphysics, logic there had place;
But of devotion not a single trace-
Save what is taught in Gibbon's florid page,
And other guides of this inquiring age;
There Hume appear'd, and near, a splendid book
Composed by Gay's good lord of Bolingbroke:
With these were mix'd the light, the free, the vain,
And from a corner peep'd the sage Tom Paine :
Here four neat volumes Chesterfield were named,
For manners much and easy morals famed;
With chaste Memoirs of Females, to be read
When deeper studies had confused the head.

Such his resources, treasures where he sought
For daily knowledge till his mind was fraught:
Then when his friends were present, for their use
He would the riches he had stored produce;
He found his lamp burn clearer, when each day
He drew for all he purposed to display:
For these occasions, torth his knowledge sprung,
As mustard quickens on a bed of dung;
All was prepared, and guests allow'd the praise,
For what they saw he could so quickly raise.
Such this new friend; and when the year came
round,

The same impressive, reasoning sage was found ;
Then, too, was seen the pleasant mansion graced
With a fair damsel-his no vulgar taste;
The neat Rebecca-sly, observant, still,
Watching his eye, and waiting on his will;
Simple yet smart her dress, her manners meek,
Her smiles spoke for her, she would seldom speak;
But watch'd each look, each meaning to detect,
And (pleased with notice) felt for all neglect.

With her lived Gwyn a sweet harmonious life,
Who, forms excepted, was a charming wife :
The wives indeed, so made by vulgar law,
Affected scorn, and censured what they saw;
And what they saw not, fancied; said 'twas sin,
And took no notice of the wife of Gwyn:
But he despised their rudeness, and would prove
Theirs was compulsion and distrust, not love;
"Fools as they were! could they conceive that

rings

And parsons' blessings were substantial things?"
They answered "Yes;" while he contemptuous
spoke

Of the low notions held by simple folk;
Yet, strange that anger in a man so wise
Should from the notions of these fools arise;
Can they so vex us, whom we so despise?
Brave as he was, our hero felt a dread

If to his bosom fear a visit paid,

It was, lest he should be supposed afraid;
Hence sprang his orders; not that he desired
The things when done; obedience he required;
And thus, to prove his absolute command,
Ruled every heart, and moved each subject hand
Assent he ask'd for every word and whim,
To prove that he alone was king of him.

The still Rebecca, who her station knew,
With ease resign'd the honours not her due;
Well pleased, she saw that men her board would

grace,

And wish'd not there to see a female face;
When by her lover she his spouse was styled,
Polite she thought it, and demurely smiled;
But when he wanted wives and maidens round
So to regard her, she grew grave and frown'd:
And sometimes whisper'd, "Why should you respect
These people's notions, yet their forms reject?"

Gwyn, though from marriage bond and fetter free,
Still felt abridgement in his liberty;
Something of hesitation he betray'd,
And in her presence thought of what he said.
Thus fair Rebecca, though she walk'd astray,
His creed rejecting, judged it right to pray;
To be at church, to sit with serious looks,
To read her Bible and her Sunday books:
She hated all those new and daring themes,
And call'd his free conjectures, "devil's dreams :"
She honour'd still the priesthood in her fall,
And claim'd respect and reverence for them all;
Call'd them "of sin's destructive power the foes,
And not such blockheads as he might suppose."
Gwyn to his friends would smile, and sometimes say
""Tis a kind fool, why vex her in her way?"
Her way she took, and still had more in view,
For she contrived that he should take it too.
The daring freedom of his soul, 'twas plain,
In part was lost in a divided reign ;
A king and queen, who yet in prudence swayed
Their peaceful state, and were in turn obey'd

Yet such our fate, that when we plan the best,
Something arises to disturb our rest:
For though in spirits high, in body strong,
Gwyn something felt-he knew not what-

Wrong:

He wish'd to know, for he believed the thing,
If unremoved, would other evil bring:
"She must perceive, of late he could not eat,
And when he walked, he trembled on his feet;
He had forebodings, and he seem'd as one
Stopp'd on the road, or threaten'd by a dun;
He could not live, and yet, should he apply
To those physicians-he must sooner die."

The mild Rebecca heard with some disdain,
And some distress, her friend and lord complain
His death she fear'd not, but had painful doubt
What his distemper'd nerves might bring about;
With power like hers she dreaded an ally,
And yet there was a person in her eye;-
She thought, debated, fix'd; "Alas!" she said,
"A case like yours must be no more delay'd:
You hate these doctors, well! but were a friend
And doctor one, your fears would have an end ·
My cousin Mollet-Scotland holds him now-
Is above all men skilful, all allow;
Of late a doctor, and within a while

Lest those who saw him kind should think him led; He means to settle in this favour'd isle;

Should he attend you, with his skill profound,
You must be safe, and shortly would be sound.'
When men in health against physicians rail,
They should consider that their nerves may fail :
Who calls a lawyer rogue, may find, too late,
On one of these depends his whole estate :
Nay, when the world can nothing more produce,
The priest, th' insulted priest, may have his use;
Ease, health, and comfort lift a man so high,
These powers are dwarfs that he can scarcely spy;
Pain, sickness, languor keep a man so low,
That these neglected dwarfs to giants grow.
Happy is he who through the medium sees
Of clear good sense-but Gwyn was not of these.
He heard, and he rejoiced: "Ah! let him come,
And till he fixes, make my house his home."
Home came the doctor-he was much admired;
He told the patient what his case required;
His hours for sleep, his time to eat and drink;
When he should ride, read, rest, compose, or think.
Thus join'd peculiar skill and art profound,
To make the fancy-sick no more than fancy-sound.
With such attention who could long be ill?
Returning health proclaim'd the doctor's skill.
Presents and praises from a grateful heart
Were freely offered on the patient's part;
In high repute the doctor seem'd to stand,
But still had got no footing in the land;
And, as he saw the seat was rich and fair,
He felt disposed to fix his station there :
To gain his purpose he perform'd the part
Of a good actor, and prepared to start :
Not like a traveller in a day serene,

When the sun shone and when the roads were clean;
Not like the pilgrim, when the morning gray,
The ruddy eve succeeding, sends his way;
But in a season when the sharp east wind
Had all its influence on a nervous mind;
When past the parlour's front it fiercely blew,
And Gwyn sat pitying every bird that flew,
This strange physician said—“ Adieu! adieu!
Farewell!-Heaven bless you!—if you should-
but no,

You need not fear-farewell! 'tis time to go."
The doctor spoke, and, as the patient heard,
His old disorders (dreadful train!) appear'd ;
"He felt the tingling tremor, and the stress
Upon his nerves that he could not express;
Should his good friend forsake him, he perhaps
Might meet his death, and surely a relapse."
So, as the doctor seem'd intent to part,
He cried in terror, "O! be where thou art:
Come, thou art young, and unengaged; O! come,
Make me thy friend, give comfort to mine home;
have now symptoms that require thine aid,
Do, doctor, stay ;"- th' obliging doctor stay'd.
Thus Gwyn was happy; he had now a friend,
And a meek spouse on whom he could depend :
But now possess'd of male and female guide,
Divided power he thus must subdivide :
In earlier days he rode, or sat at ease
Reclined, and having but himself to please
Now if he would a favourite nag bestride,
He sought permission: "Doctor, may I ride ?"
(Rebecca's eye her sovereign pleasure told,)
"I think you may, but guarded from the cold,
Ride forty minutes."-Free and happy soul!
He scorn'd submission, and a man's control;

But where such friends in every care unite All for his good, obedience is delight.

Now Gwyn a sultan bade affairs adieu,
Led and assisted by the faithful two;
The favourite fair, Rebecca, near him sat,
And whisper'd whom to love, assist, or hate;
While the chief vizier eased his lord of cares,
And bore himself the burden of affairs:
No dangers could from such alliance flow,
But from that law that changes all below.
When wintry winds with leaves bestrew'd the
ground,

And men were coughing all the village round;
When public papers of invasion told,
Diseases, famines, perils new and old;
When philosophic writers fail'd to clear
The mind of gloom, and lighter works to cheer:
Then came fresh terrors on our hero's mind,
Fears unforeseen, and feelings undefined.

"In outward ills," he cried, "I rest assured
Of my friend's aid; they will in time be cured:
But can his art subdue, resist, control
These inward griefs and troubles of the soul?
O! my Rebecca! my disordered mind,

No help in study, none in thought can find;
What must I do, Rebecca?" She proposed
The parish-guide; but what could be disclosed
To a proud priest?" No! him have I defied,
Insulted, slighted,-shall he be my guide?
But one there is, and if report be just,

A wise good man, whom I may safely trust:
Who goes from house to house, from ear to ear,
To make his truths, his gospel truths, appear;
True if indeed they be, 'tis time that I should hear:
Send for that man, and if report be just,
I, like Cornelius, will the teacher trust;
But if deceiver, I the vile deceit
Shall soon discover, and discharge the cheat."
To doctor Mollet was the grief confess'd,
While Gwyn the freedom of his mind express'd;
Yet own'd it was to ills and errors prone,
And he for guilt and frailty must atone.

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My books, perhaps," the wavering mortal cried, Like men deceive; I would be satisfied; And to my soul the pious man may bring Comfort and light-do let me try the thing." The cousins met, what pass'd with Gwyn was told. "Alas!" the doctor said, "how hard to hold These easy minds, where all impressions made At first sink deeply, and then quickly fade; For while so strong these new-born fancies reign, We must divert them, to oppose is vain : You see him valiant now, he scorns to heed The bigot's threatenings, or the zealot's creed ; Shook by a dream, he next for truth receives What frenzy teaches, and what fear believes; And this will place him in the power of one Whom we must seek, because we cannot shun." Wisp had been ostler at a busy inn, Where he beheld and grew in dread of sin; Then to a Baptists' meeting found his way, Became a convert, and was taught to pray; Then preach'd; and being earnest and sincere, Brought other sinners to religious fear; Together grew his influence and his fame, Till our dejected hero heard his name: His little failings were, a grain of pride, Raised by the numbers he presumed to guide

A love of presents, and of lofty praise
For his meek spirit and his humble ways;
But though this spirit would on flattery feed,
No praise could blind him and no arts mislead :-
To him the doctor made the wishes known
Of his good patron, but conceal'd his own;
He of all teachers had distrust and doubt,
And was reserved in what he came about;
Though on a plain and simple message sent,
He had a secret and a bold intent :

Their minds, at first were deeply veil'd; disguise
Form'd the slow speech, and oped the eager eyes;
Till by degrees sufficient light was thrown
On every view, and all the business shown.
Wisp, as a skilful guide who led the blind,
Had powers to rule and awe the vapourish mind;
But not the changeful will, the wavering fear to
bind:

And should his conscience give him leave to dwell
With Gwyn, and every rival power expel,
(A dubious point,) yet he, with every care,
Might soon the lot of the rejected share;
And other Wisps he found like him to reign,
And then be thrown upon the world again.
He thought it prudent then, and felt it just, '
The present guides of his new friend to trust;
True, he conceived, to touch the harder heart
Of the cool doctor, was beyond his art;
But mild Rebecca he could surely sway,
While Gwyn would follow where she led the

way:

So to do good, (and why a duty shun,
Because rewarded for the good when done?)
He with his friends would join in all they plann'd,
Save when his faith or feelings should withstand;
There he must rest, sole judge of his affairs,
While they might rule exclusively in theirs.

When Gwyn his message to the teacher sent,
He fear'd his friends would show their discontent;
And prudent seem'd it to th' attendant pair,
Not all at once to show an aspect fair:
On Wisp they seem'd to look with jealous eye,
And fair Rebecca was demure and shy;
But by degrees the teacher's worth they knew,
And were so kind, they seem'd converted too.
Wisp took occasion to the nymph to say,
"You must be married: will you name the day?"
She smiled," "Tis well; but should he not com-
ply,

Is it quite safe th' experiment to try?"

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My child," the teacher said, who feels remorse, (And feels not he ?) must wish relief of course; And can he find it, while he fears the crime?You must be married; will you name the time?" Glad was the patron as a man could be, Yet marvell'd too, to find his guides agree; "But what the cause?" he cried; 'tis genuine love for me."

Each found his part, and let one act describe The powers and honours of th' accordant tribe:A man for favour to the mansion speeds, And cons his threefold task as he proceeds; To teacher Wisp he bows with humble air, And begs his interest for a barn's repair: Then for the doctor he inquires, who loves To hear applause for what his skill improves, And gives for praise, assent,—and to the fair He brings of pullets a delicious pair;

Thus sees a peasant with discernment nice,
A love of power, conceit, and avarice.

Lo! now the change complete the convert
Gwyn

Has sold his books, and has renounced his sin;
Mollet his body orders, Wisp his soul,
And o'er his purse the lady takes control;
No friends beside he needs, and none attend-
Soul, body, and estate, has each a friend;
And fair Rebecca leads a virtuous life-
She rules a mistress, and she reigns a wife.

TALE IV.

PROCRASTINATION.

Heaven witness

I have been to you ever true and humble.

Henry VIII. act iv. sc. 4. Gentle lady,

When first I did impart my love to you,

I freely told you all the wealth I had.

Merchant of Venice, act iii. sc. 2.
The fatal time

Cuts off all ceremonies and vows of love,
And ample interchange of sweet discourse,
Which so long sunder'd friends should dwell upon.
Richard III. act v. sc. 3.

I know thee not, old man; fall to thy prayers.
Henry IV. Part 2, act v. sc. 5.
Farewell

Thou pure impiety, thou impious purity,
For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love.

Much Ado about Nothing, act iv. sc. 2.

LOVE will expire, the gay, the happy dream
Will turn to scorn, indifference, or esteem:
Some favour'd pairs, in this exchange are bless'd
Nor sigh for raptores in a state of rest;
Others, ill match'd, with minds unpair'd repent
At once the deed and know no more content;
From joy to anguish they, in haste, decline,
And with their fondness, their esteem resign:
More luckless still their fate, who are the prey
Of long protracted hope and dull delay;
'Mid plans of bliss the heavy hours pass on,
Till love is wither'd, and till joy is gone.

This gentle flame two youthful hearts possess'd,
The sweet disturber of unenvied rest:
The prudent Dinah was the maid beloved,
And the kind Rupert was the swain approved:
A wealthy aunt her gentle niece sustain'd,
He, with a father, at his desk remain'd;
The youthful couple, to their vows sincere,
Thus loved expectant; year succeding year,
With pleasant views and hopes, but not a prospec

near.

Rupert some comfort in his station saw,
But the poor virgin lived in dread and awe;
Upon her anxious looks the widow smiled,
And bade her wait," for she was yet a child."
She for her neighbour had a due respect,
Nor would his son encourage or reject;
And thus the pair, with expectations vain,
Beheld the seasons change, and change again:
Meantime the nymph her tender tales perused,
Where cruel aunts impatient girls refused;

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While hers, though teasing, boasted to be kind,
And she, resenting, to be all resign'd.

The dame was sick, and when the youth applied For her consent, she groan'd, and cough'd and cried :

Talk'd of departing, and again her breath
Drew hard, and cough'd, and talk'd again of death:
Here you may live, my Dinah! here the boy
And you together my estate enjoy;"
Thus to the lovers was her mind express'd,
Till they forehore to urge the fond request.
Servant, and nurse, and comforter, and friend,
Dinah had still some duty to attend ;

But
yet their walk, when Rupert's evening call
Obtain'd an hour, made sweet amends for all ;
So long they now each other's thoughts had known,
That nothing seem'd exclusively their own;
But with the common wish, the mutual fear,
They now had travell'd to their thirtieth year.
At length a prospect open'd; but, alas!

Long time must yet, before the union, pass;
Rupert was call'd in other clime, t' increase
Another's wealth, and toil for future peace ;
Leath were the lovers; but the aunt declared
Twas fortune's call, and they must be prepared ;
"You now are young, and for this brief delay,
And Dinah's care, what I bequeath will pay;
All will be yours; nay, love, suppress that sigh;
The kind must suffer, and the best must die:"
Then came the cough, and strong the signs it gave
Of holding long contention with the grave.
The lovers parted with a gloomy view,
And little comfort but that both were true;
He for uncertain duties doom'd to steer,
While hers remain'd too certain and severe.
Letters arrived, and Rupert fairly told
His cares were many, and his hopes were cold;
The view more clouded, that was never fair,
And love alone preserved him from despair :'
In other letters, brighter hopes he drew,

His friends were kind, and he believed them

true."

་་

When the sage widow Dinah's grief descried, She wonder'd much, why one so happy sigh'd: Then bade her see how her poor aunt sustain'd The ills of life nor murmur'd nor complain'd. To vary pleasures, from the lady's chest Were drawn the pearly string and tabby vest; Beads, jewels, laces, all their value shown, With the kind notice,-"They will be your own.' This hope, these comforts, cherish'd day by day, To Dinah's bosom made a gradual way; Tul love of treasure had as large a part, As love of Rupert, in the virgin's heart. Whether it be that tender passions fail, From their own nature, while the strong prevail; Or whether avarice, like the poison tree,* Kills all beside it, and alone will be ; Whatever cause prevail'd, the pleasure grew In Dinah's soul, she loved the hoards to view; With lively joy those comforts she survey'd. And love grew languid in the careful maid.

Allusion is here made, not to the well known species of nomach, called the poison oak, or toxicodendron, but to the upus, or poison tree of Java: whether it be real er imaginary, this is no proper place for inquiry.

12

Now the grave niece partook the widow's cares Look'd to the great and ruled the small affairs; Saw clean'd the plate, arranged the china show, And felt her passion for a shilling grow: Th' indulgent aunt increased the maid's delight, By placing tokens of her wealth in sight; She loved the value of her bonds to tell, And spake of stocks, and how they rose and fell. This passion grew, and gain'd at length such

sway,

That other passions shrank to make its way; Romantic notions now the heart forsook, She read but seldom, and she changed her book: And for the verses she was wont to send, Short was her prose, and she was Rupert's friend. Seldom she wrote, and then the widow's cough, And constant call, excused her breaking off; Who, now oppress'd, no longer took the air, But sate and dozed upon an easy chair. The cautious doctor saw the case was clear, But judged it best to have companions near; They came, they reason'd, they prescribed—at last, Like honest men, they said their hopes were past; Then came a priest-'tis comfort to reflect, When all is over, there was no neglect; And all was over-by her husband's bones, The widow rests beneath the sculptured stones, That yet record their fondness and their fame, While all they left the virgin's care became ; Stocks, bonds, and buildings ;-it disturb'd her rest, To think what load of troubles she possess'd: Yet, if a trouble, she resolved to take Th' important duty, for the donor's sake; She too was heiress to the widow's taste, Her love of hoarding and her dread of waste. Sometimes the past would on her mind intrude, And then a conflict full of care ensued; The thoughts of Rupert on her mind would press, His worth she knew, but doubted his success; Of old she saw him heedless; what the boy Forebore to save, the man would not enjoy; Oft had he lost the chance that care would seize, Willing to live, but more to live at ease: Yet could she not a broken vow defend, And Heaven, perhaps, might.yet enrich her friend Month after month was pass'd, and all were

spent

In quiet comfort and in rich content:

Miseries there were, and woes the world around,
But these had not her pleasant dwelling found:
She knew that mothers grieved, and widows wept,
And she was sorry, said her prayers, and slept :
Thus pass'd the seasons, and to Dinah's board
Gave what the seasons to the rich afford;
For she indulged, nor was her heart so small,
That one strong passion should engross it all.

A love of splendour now with avarice strove,
And oft appeared to be the stronger love:
A secret pleasure fill'd the widow's breast,
When she reflected on the hoards possess'd;
But livelier joy inspired th' ambitious maid,
When she the purchase of those hoards display'd
In small but splendid room she loved to see
That all was placed in view and harmony;
She much delight in every object found;
There, as with eager glance she look'd around,
While books devout were near her to destroy
Should it arise, an overflow of joy.
н 2

Th' elastic carpet rose with crimson glow,
All things around implied both cost and care,
What met the eye was elegant or rare :
Some curious trifles round the room were laid,
By hope presented to the wealthy maid;
Within a costly case of varnish'd wood,
In level rows her polish'd volumes stood;
Shown as a favour to a chosen few,

To prove what beauty for a book could do:
A silver urn with curious work was fraught;
A silver lamp from Grecian pattern wrought:
Above her head, all gorgeous to behold,
A time-piece stood on feet of burnish'd gold;
A stag's head crest adorn'd the pictured case,
Through the pure crystal shone th' enamell'd face:
And while on brilliants moved the hands of steel,
It click'd from prayer to prayer, from meal to meal.
Here as the lady sate, a friendly pair

Stept in t'admire the view, and took their chair:
They then related how the young and gay
Were thoughtless wandering in the broad highway;
How tender damsels sail'd in tilted boats,

And laugh'd with wicked men in scarlet coats;
And how we live in such degenerate times,
That men conceal their wants and show their
crimes;

While vicious deeds are screen'd by fashion's name,
And what was once our pride is now our shame.
Dinah was musing, as her friends discoursed,
When these last words a sudden entrance forced
Upon her mind, and what was once her pride
And now her shame, some painful views supplied;
Thoughts of the past within her bosom press'd,
And there a change was felt, and was confess'd:
While thus the virgin strove with secret pain,
Her mind was wandering o'er the troubled main;
Still she was silent, nothing seem'd to see,
But sate and sigh'd in pensive revery.

The friends prepared new subjects to begin,
When tall Susannah, maiden starch, stalk'd in ;
Not in her ancient mode, sedate and slow,
As when she came, the mind she knew, to know;
Nor as, when listening half an hour before,
She twice or thrice tapp'd gently at the door;
But, all decorum cast in wrath aside,

"I think the devil's in the man!" she cried;
"A huge tall sailor, with his tawny cheek,
And pitted face, will with my lady speak;
He grinn'd an ugly smile, and said he knew,
Please you, my lady, 'twould be joy to you;
What must I answer?"-Trembling and distress'd
Sank the pale Dinah, by her fears oppress'd;
When thus alarm'd, and brooking no delay,
Swift to her room the stranger made his way.
"Revive, my love!" said he, "I've done thee

harm,

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Be fair; nor longer k
Am I forsaken for a t
Heaven's spouse thou
That God accepts her
True I am shatter'd,
And service done, an
My cheek (it shames
And the brown buff i
Perchance my speech
Th' untamed have be
Have been trepann'd
And wrought for weal
It touch'd me deeply,
In gaining riches for
Speak then my fate;
Time lost, youth fled,
This doubt of thee-
But certain truth-m

Give me thy pardon," and he look'd alarm: Meantime the prudent Dinah had contrived Her soul to question, and she then revived. “See! my good friend,” and then she raised her They stop the breath head, Give way to weakne "The bloom of life, the strength of youth is fled; These are unmanly s

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