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She purchased wares so showy and so fine, | Or, in more cheerful tone, from spirit light. The venders all believed th' indulgence Why,thank you,Biddy, pretty well to-night.'

mine:

But I, who thrice was woo'd, had lovers three,
Must now again a very infant be;
While the good lady, twenty years a wife,
Was to decide the colour of his life:
And she decided. She was wont t' appear
To these unequal marriages severe;
Her thoughts of such with energy she told,
And was repulsive, dignified, and cold;
But now, like monarchs weary of a throne,
She would no longer reign-at least alone.
She gave her pulse, and, with a manner sweet.
Wish'd him to feel how kindly they could
beat;

And 'tis a thing quite wonderful to tell
How soon he understood them, and how well.

The good old lady often thought me vain, And of my dress would tenderly complain; But liked my taste in food of every kind, As from all grossness, like her own, refined: Yet when she hinted that on herbs and bread Girls of my age and spirit should be fed, Whate'er my age had borne, my flesh and blood,

Spirit and strength, the interdict withstood; But though I might the frugal soul offend Of the good matron, now my only friend, And though her purse suggested rules so strict:

Her love could not the punishment inflict: She sometimes watch'd the morsel with a frown,

come:

Now, when she married, I from home was sent, And sigh'd to see, but let it still go down.
With grandmamma to keep perpetual Lent; Our butcher's bill, to me a monstrous sum,
For she would take me on conditions cheap, | Was such, that summon'd, he forbore to
For what we scarcely could a parrot keep:
A trifle added to the daily fare
Would feed a maiden who must learn to spare.
With grandmamma I lived in perfect ease;
Consent to starve, and I was sure to please.
Full well I knew the painful shifts we made
Expenses all to lessen or evade,

And tradesmen's flinty hearts to soften and persuade.

Poor grandmamma among the gentry dwelt Of a small town, and all the honour felt; Shrinking from all approaches to disgrace That might be mark'd in so genteel a place; Where every daily deed, as soon as done, Ran through the town as fast as it could|

run:-

At dinners what appear’d—at cards who lost

or won.

Our good appearance through the town was known, Hunger and thirst were matters of our own; And you would judge that she in scandal dealt

Who told on what we fed, or how we felt. We had a little maid, some four feet high, Who was employ'd our household stores to buy;

For she would weary every man in trade, And tease t'assent whom she could not persuade.

Methinks I see her, with her pigmy light, Precede her mistress in a moonless night; From the small lantern throwing through the street

The dimm'd effulgence at her lady's feet; What time she went to prove her well-known skill

With rival friends at their beloved quadrille. And how's your pain?' inquired the gentle

maid,

For that was asking if with luck she play'd; And this she answer'd as the cards decreed, 'O Biddy! ask not-very bad indeed;'

Proud man was he, and when the bill was paid,
He put the money in his bag and play'd,
Jerking it up, and catching it again,
And poising in his hand in pure disdain;
While the good lady, awed by man so proud,
And yet disposed to have her claims allow'd,
Balanced between humility and pride,
Stood a fall'n empress at the butcher's side,
Praising his meat as delicate and nice—
Yes, madam, yes! if people pay the price.'
So lived the lady, and so murmur'd I,
In all the grief of pride and poverty:
Twice in the year there came a note to tell
How well mamma, who hoped the child was
well;

It was not then a pleasure to be styled,
By a mamma of such experience, Child!
But I suppress'd the feelings of my pride,
Or other feelings set them all aside.

There was a youth from college, just the one
I judged mamma would value as a son;
He was to me good, handsome,learn'd,genteel,
I cannot now what then I thought reveal;
But, in a word, he was the very youth
Who told me what I judged the very truth,
That love like his and charms like mine
agreed,

For all description they must both exceed :
Yet scarcely can I throw a smile on things
So painful, but that Time his comfort brings,
Or rather throws oblivion on the mind,
For we are more forgetful than resign'd.
We both were young, had heard of love
and read,

And could see nothing in the thing to dread,
But like a simple pair our time employ'd
In pleasant views to be in time enjoy'd;
When Frederick came, the kind old lady
smiled

To see the youth so taken with her child:

A nice young man, who came with unsoil'd feet A fate so awful and so sudden drove
In her best room, and neither drank nor eat: | All else away, and half extinguish'd love.
Alas! he planted in a vacant breast

The hopes and fears that robb'd it of its rest.

And, vulgar wretches! sold whate'er they found:

All now appear`d so right, so fair, so just, Strange people came ; they search'd the house
We surely might the lovely prospect trust;
around,
Alas! poor Frederick and his charmer found
That they were standing on fallacious ground:
All that the father of the youth could do
Was done and now he must himself pursue
Success in life; and, honest truth to state,
He was not fitted for a candidate :

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Now then assured ourselves that all was well, Twas right our friends of these designs to tell;

For this we parted.-Grandmamma, amazed,
Upon her child with fond compassion gazed;
Then pious tears appear'd, but not a word
In aid of weeping till she cried, ‘Good Lord!'
She then, with hurried motion, sought the
stairs,

And calling Biddy, bade her come to prayers.
Yet the good lady early in her life
Was call'd to vow the duties of a wife;
She sought the altar by her friends' advice,
No free-will offering, but a sacrifice:
But here a forward girl and eager boy
Dared talk of life, and turn their heads with
joy.

To my mamma I wrote in just the way
I felt, and said what dreaming lasses say;
How handsome Frederick was, by all con-
fess'd,

How well he look'd,how very well he dress'd;
With learning much, that would for both

provide, His mother's darling, and his father's pride, And then he loves me more than mind can gness,

Than heart conceive, or eloquence express.

No letter came a doubtful mind to ease,
And, what was worse, no Frederick came
to please;
To college gone—so thought our little maid-
But not to see me! I was much afraid;
I walk'd the garden round, and deeply sigh'd.
When grandmamma grew faint! and dropt,
and died:

The secret hoards that in the drawers were kept,

The silver toys that with the tokens slept, The precious beads, the corals with their bells,

That laid secure, lock'd up in secret cells, The costly silk, the tabby, the brocade, The very garment for the wedding made, Were brought to sale, with many a jest thereon!

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Now left by all the world, as I believed,
I wonder'd much that I so little grieved;
Yet I was frighten'd at the painful view
Of shiftless want, and saw not what to do:
In times like this the poor have little dread,
They can but work, and they shall then be fed ;
And Biddy cheer'd me with such thoughts
as this,

'You'll find the poor have their enjoyments, Miss!'

Indeed I saw, for Biddy took me home
To a forsaken hovel's cold and gloom;
And while my tears in plenteous flow were
shed,

With her own hands she placed her proper bed,

Reserved for need-A fire was quickly made,
And food, the purchase for the day, display'd:
She let in air to make the damps retire,
Then placed her sad companion at her fire;
She then began her wonted peace to feel,
She bought her wool, and sought her fa-
vourite wheel,
That as she turn'd, she sang with sober glee,
Begone, dull Care! I'll have no more with
thee;'
Then turn'd to me, and bade me weep no

more,

But try and taste the pleasures of the poor.

When dinner came, on table brown and bare Were placed the humblest forms of earthen

ware,

With one blue dish, on which our food was Something there comes to break the strongest

placed,

For appetite provided, not for taste:
I look'd disgusted, having lately seen
All so minutely delicate and clean;
Yet, as I sate, I found to my surprise
A vulgar kind of inclination rise,
And near my humble friend, and nearer drew,
Tried the strange food, and was partaker too.

I walk'd at eve, but not where I was seen, And thought, with sorrow, what can Frederick mean?

I must not write, I said, for I am poor;
And then I wept till I could weep no more.
Kind-hearted Biddy tried my griefs to heal,
This is a nothing to what others feel;
Life has a thousand sorrows worse than this,

A lover lost is not a fortune, Miss!
One goes, another comes, and which is best
There is no telling-set your heart at rest.

VOW,

Or mine had been my gentle Mattie now.
When the good lady died—but let me leave
All gloomy subjects—'tis not good to grieve.'!
Thus the kind Scotchman soothfed me; he
sustain'd

A father's part, and my submission gain'd:
Then my affection; and he often told
My sterner parent that her heart was cold:
He grew in honour-he obtain’d a name—
And now a favourite with the place became :
To me most gentle, he would condescend
To read and reason, be the guide and friend;
He taught me knowledge of the wholesome
kind,

And fill'd with many a useful truth my mind:'
Life's common burden daily lighter grew;
And even Frederick lessen'd in my view:
Cold and repulsive as he once appear'd,
He was by every generous act endear'd;
And, above all, that he with ardour fill'd
My soul for truth-a love by him instill'd;
Till my mamma grew jealous of a maid
To whom an husband such attention paid:

At night we pray'd-I dare not say a word Not grossly jealous; but it gave her pain,
Of our devotion, it was so absurd;
And very pious upon Biddy's part,
But mine were all effusions of the heart;
While she her angels call'd their peace to

And she observed, 'He made her daughter

shed,

And bless the corners of our little bed.
All was a dream! I said, is this indeed
To be my life? and thus to lodge and feed,
To pay for what I have, and work for what
I need?

Must I be poor? and Frederick, if we meet,

Would not so much as know me in the street? Or, as he walk'd with ladies, he would try To be engaged as we were passing byAnd then I wept to think that I should grow Like them whom he would be ashamed to

know.

On the third day, while striving with my fate,
And hearing Biddy all its comforts state,
Talking of all her neighbours,all her schemes,
Her stories, merry jests, and warning dreams;
With tales of mirth and murder! O! the nights
Past, said the maiden, in such dear delights,
And I was thinking, can the time arrive
When I shall thus be humbled,and survive?-
Then I beheld a horse and handsome gig.
With the good air, tall form, and comely wig
Of Doctor Mackey-I in fear began
To say, Good heaven, preserve me from the
man!

But fears ill reason,-heaven to such a mind
Had lent a heart compassionate and kind.
From him I learnt that one had call'd to know
What with my hand my parents could bestow;
And when he learn'd the truth, in high dis-
dain

He told my fate, and home return'd again. Nay, be not grieved, my lovely girl; but few Wed the first love, however kind and true;

vain;

And what his help to one who must not look
To gain her bread by poring on a book?'
This was distress; but this, and all beside,
Was lost in grief-my kinder parent died,
When praised and loved, when joy and health
he gave,
He sank lamented to an early grave:
Then love and woe-the parent and the child,
Lost in one grief, allied and reconciled.

Yet soon a will, that left me half his worth, To the same spirit gave a second birth: But 'twas a mother's spleen; and she indeed Was sick, and sad, and had of comfort need; I watch'd the way her anxious spirit took, And often found her musing o'er a book; She changed her dress, her church, her priest, her prayer,

Join'd a new sect, and sought her comforts there;

Some strange coarse people came, and were so free

In their addresses, they offended me;
But my mamma threw all her pride away-
More humble she as more assuming they.
And what,' they said, as having power,

"are now

The inward conflicts? do you strive? and how?'

Themselves confessing thoughts so new and wild,

I thought them like the visions of a child. Could we,' they ask, 'our best good deeds condemn?

And did we long to touch the garment's hem? And was it so with us? for so it was with } them.'

A younger few assumed a softer part,
And tried to shake the fortress of my heart;
To this my pliant mother lent her aid,
And wish'd the winning of her erring maid:
I was constrain'd her female friends to hear;
But suffer'd not a bearded convert near:
Though more than one attempted, with their
whine,

And Sister! sister! how that heart of thine?'
But this was freedom I for ever check'd:
Mine was a heart no brother could affect.

But, would I hear the preacher, and receive
The dropping dew of his discourse at eve?
The soft, sweet words?' I gave two precious

hours

To hear of gifts and graces,helps and powers;
When a pale youth, who should dismiss the
flock,

Gave to my bosom an electric shock.
While in that act he look'd upon my face
As one in that all-equalizing place:
Nor, though he sought me, would he lay aside
Their cold, dead freedom, or their dull, sad
pride.

And so they were, and every neighbouring

всепе,
That make the bosom, like the clime, serene;
Yet were her teachers loth to yield assent;
And not without the warning voice we went;
And there was secret counsel all unknown
To me-but I had counsel of my own.
And now there pass'd a portion of my time
In ease delicious, and in joy sublime-
With friends endear'd by kindness - with
delight,-

In all that could the feeling mind excite,
Or please, excited; walks in every place
Where we could pleasure find and beauty

trace,

or views at night, where on the rocky steep
Shines the full moon, or glitters on the deep.
Yes, they were happy days; but they are fled!
All now are parted-part are with the dead!
Still it is pleasure,though 'tis mix'd with pain,
To think of joys that cannot live again!
Here cannot live; but they excite desire
Of purer kind,and heavenly thoughts inspire!
And now my mother, weaken'd in her mind,
Her will, subdued before, to me resign'd.
Wean'd from her late directors, by degrees
She sank resign'd, and only sought for ease:
In a small town upon the coast we fix'd;
Nor in amusement with associates mix'd.
My years-but other mode will I pursue,
And count my time by what I sought to do.
And was that mind at ease? could I avow
That no once leading thoughts engaged me
now?

Of his conversion he with triumph spoke,
Before he orders from a bishop took:
Then how his father's anger he had braved;
And safe himself,his erring neighbours saved.
Me he rejoiced a sister to behold
Among the members of his favourite fold;
He had not sought me, the availing call
Demanded all his love, and had it all;
But now thus met, it must be heaven's design. Was I convinced th' enthusiastic man
Indeed! I thought, it never shall be mine; Had ruin'd what the loving boy began?
Yes, we must wed. He was not rich: and II answer doubting-I could still detect

Had of the earthly good a mean supply;
But it sufficed. Of his conversion then

Feelings too soft-yet him I could reject--
Feelings that came when I had least employ,

He told, and labours in converting men; When common pleasures I could least enjoy-
For he was chosen all their bands among-When I was pacing lonely in the rays
Another Daniel! honour'd, though so young.
He call'd me sister: show'd me that he knew
What I possess'd; and told what it would do;
My looks, I judge, express'd my full disdain;
But it was given to the man in vain:
They preach till they are proud, and pride
disturbs the brain.

Is this the youth once timid, mild, polite?
How odious now, and sick'ning to the sight!
Proud that he sees, and yet so truly blind,
With all this blight and mildew on the mind!
Amazed, the solemn creature heard me vow
That I was not disposed to take him now.
Then,art thou changed, fair maiden? changed
thy heart?'

I answer'd, 'No; but I perceive thou art.'

Still was my mother sad, her nerves relax'd,
And our small income for advice was tax'd,
When 1, who long'd for change and freedom,
cried,

Let sea and Sidmouth's balmy air be tried;

Of a full moon, in lonely walks and ways→
When I was sighing o'er a tale's distress,
And paid attention to my Bible less.
These found, I sought me remedies for these ;
I suffer'd common things my mind to please,
And common pleasures: seldom walk'd alone,
Nor when the moon upon the waters shone;
But then my candles lit, my window closed,
My needle took, and with my neighbours
prosed:

And in one year-nay, ere the end of one,
My labour ended, and my love was done.
My heart at rest, I boldly look'd within,
And dared to ask it of its secret sin;
Alas! with pride it answer'd: Look around,
And tell me where a better heart is found.
And then I traced my virtues: O! how few,
In fact, they were, and yet how vain I grew;
Thought of my kindness, condescension,

ease,

My will,my wishes, nay, my power to please;
I judged me prudent, rational, discreet,
And void of folly, falsehood, and deceit ;
I read, not lightly, as I some had known,
But made an author's meaning all my own;

In short, what lady could a poet choose
As a superior subject for his muse?
So said my heart; and Conscience straight
replied―

'I say the matter is not fairly tried:
I am offended, hurt, dissatisfied;
First of the Christian graces, let me sec
What thy pretensions to humility?
Art thou prepared for trial? Wilt thou say
I am this being, and for judgment pray?
And with the gallant Frenchman, wilt thou

cry,

And now our humble place grew wond'rous gay;

Came gallant persons in their red array:
All strangers welcome there, extremely wel-
come they.
When in the church I saw inquiring eyes
Fix'd on my face with pleasure and surprise;
And soon a knocking at my door was heard;
And soon the lover of my youth appear’d—
Frederick, in all his glory, glad to meet,
And say, his happiness was now complete.
He told his flight from superstitious zeal;

When to thy judge presented, thus am I-But first what torments he was doom'd to Thus was I form'd these talents I pos

sess'd

So I employ'd them-and thou knowst the rest?'

Thus Conscience; and she then a picture drew,

And bade me think and tremble at the view.
One I beheld-a wife, a mother-go
To gloomy scenes of wickedness and woe;
She sought her way through all things vile
and base,

And made a prison a religious place:
Fighting her way-the way that angels fight
With powers of darkness-to let in the light;
Tell me,my heart,hast thou such victory won
As this, a sinner of thy sex, has done,
And calls herself a sinner? What art thou?
And where thy praise and exaltation now?
Yet is she tender, delicate, and nice,
And shrinks from all depravity and vice;
Shrinks from the ruffian gaze, the savage
gloom,

That reign where guilt and misery find a home:

Guilt chain'd, and misery purchased; and with them

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But thou hast talents truly! say the ten:
Come, let us look at their improvement then.
What hast thou done to aid thy suffering kind,
To help the sick, the deaf, the lame, the blind?
Hast thou not spent thy intellectual force
On books abstruse, in critical discourse?
Wasting in useless energy thy days,
And idly listening to their common praise,
Who can a kind of transient fame dispense,
And say a woman of exceeding sense.
Thus tried, and failing, the suggestions fled,
And a corrected spirit reign'd instead.

My mother yet was living; but the flame
Of life now flash'd,and fainter then became ;
I made it pleasant, and was pleased to see
A parent looking as a child to me.

feel:

The tender tears he saw from women fallThe strong persuasions of the brethren allThe threats of crazed enthusiasts, bound to keep

The struggling mind, and awe the straying sheep

From these, their love, their curses, and their creed,

Was 1 by reason and exertion freed.'
Then, like a man who often had been told
And was convinced success attends the bold,
His former purpose he renew'd, and swore
He never loved me half so well before:
Before he felt a something to divide
The heart, that now had not a love beside.

In earlier times had I myself amused, And first my swain perplex'd, and then refused ;

Cure for conceit; - but now in purpose grave,

Strong and decisive the reply I gave.
Still he would come, and talk as idlers do,
Both of his old associates and his new;
Those who their dreams and reveries receive
For facts, and those who would not facts
believe.

He now conceived that truth was hidden, placed

He knew not where,she never could be traced; But that in every place, the world around, Might some resemblance of the nymph be found:

Yet wise men knew these shadows to be vain, Such as our true philosophers disdain,— They laugh to see what vulgar minds pur

sue

Truth, as a mistress, never in their viewBut there the shadow flies, and that, they cry, is true.

Thus, at the college and the meeting train'd,
My lover seem'd his acme to have gain'd;
With some compassion I essay'd a cure:
'If truth be hidden, why art thou so sure?"
This he mistook for tenderness, and cried,
If sure of thee, I care not what beside!'
Compell'd to silence, I, in pure disdain,
Withdrew from one so insolent and vain;
He then retired; and I was kindly told,
In pure compassion grew estranged and

cold.'

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