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,

"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

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 toɔ, Young Henry Gale "-But why delay so long?

spair,

wrong,

'My father dying, to my mother left An infant charge, of all things else bereft ; Poor, but experienced in the world, she knew What others did, and judged what she could do;

Beauty she justly weigh'd, was never blind
To her own interest, and she read mankind:
She view'd my person with approving glance,
And judged the way my fortune to advance;
Taught me betimes that person to improve,
And make a lawful merchandize of love;
Bade me my temper in subjection keep,
And not permit my vigilance to sleep;
I was not one, a miss, who might presume
Now to be crazed by mirth, now sunk in
gloom;

Nor to be fretful, vapourish, or give way
To spleen and anger, as the wealthy may;
But I must please, and all I felt of pride,
Contempt, and hatred, I must cast aside.

"Have not one friend," my mother cried,

66 not one;

That bane of our romantic triflers shun;
Suppose her true, can she afford you aid?
Suppose her false, your purpose is betray'd;
And then in dubious points, and matters nice,
How can you profit by a child's advice?
While you are writing on from post to post,
Your hour is over, and a man is lost;
Girls of their hearts are scribbling; their
desires,

And what the folly of the heart requires, Dupes to their dreams-but I the truth impart,

You cannot, child, afford to have a heart;
Think nothing of it; to yourself be true,
And keep life's first great business in your
view ;-

Take it, dear Martha, for a useful rule,
She who is poor is ugly or a fool;
Or, worse than either, has a bosom fill'd
With soft emotions, and with raptures thrill'd.
"Read not too much, nor write in verse or

prose,

For then you make the dull and foolish foes;
Yet those who do, deride not nor condemn,
It is not safe to raise up foes in them;
For though they harm you not, as block-
heads do,

There is some malice in the scribbling crew.'
'Such her. advice; full hard with her had
dealt

The world, and she the usage keenly felt.

"Keep your good name," she said, "and that to keep

You must not suffer vigilance to sleep: Some have, perhaps, the name of chaste retain❜d,

When nought of chastity itself remain'd; But there is danger-few have means to blind The keen-eyed world, and none to make it kind.

"And one thing more-to free yourself
from foes

Never a secret to your friend disclose;
Secrets with girls, like loaded guns with boys,
Are never valued till they make a noise;
To show how trusted, they their power dis-
play;

To show how worthy, they the trust betray;
Like pence in children's pockets secrets lie
In female bosoms-they must burn or fly.

"Let not your heart be soften'd; if it be,

Let not the man his softening influence see; For the most fond will sometimes tyrants

And such her pupil they succeeded not.

'It was conceived the person I had then Might lead to serious thoughts some wealthy men,

Who having none their purpose to oppose
Would soon be won their wishes to disclose:
My mother thought I was the very child
By whom the old and amorous are beguiled;
So mildly gay, so ignorantly fair,
And pure, no doubt, as sleeping infants are:
Then I had lessons how to look and move,
And, I repeat, make merchandize of love.

'Thrice it was tried if one so young could

bold,

And he would show that spirit in the old;
In boys they loved to hear the rattling tongue,
And he would talk as idly as the young;
He knew the vices our Lotharios boast,
And he would show of every vice the ghost,
The evil's self, without disguise or dress,
Vice in its own pure native ugliness;
Not as the drunkenness of slaves to prove
Vice hateful, but that seeing, I might love.
He drove me out, and I was pleased to see
Care of himself, it served as care for me;
For he would tell me, that he should not spare
Man, horse, or carriage, if I were not there:
Provoked at last, my malice I obey'd,
And smiling said, "Sir, I am not afraid."
'This check'd his spirit; but he said, "Could
you

Have charge so rich, you would be careful too."

'And he, indeed, so very slowly drove, That we dismiss'd the over-cautious love. My next admirer was of equal age, And wish'd the child's affection to engage, And keep the fluttering bird a victim in his cage:

He had no portion of his rival's glee,
But gravely praised the gravity in me;
Religious, moral, both in word and deed,
But warmly disputatious in his creed :
Wild in his younger time, as we were told,
And therefore like a penitent when old.
Strange! he should wish a lively girl to look
Upon the methods his repentance took.

'Then he would say, he was no more a rake
To squander money for his passions' sake;
Yet, upon proper terms, as man discreet,
He with my mother was disposed to treat,
To whom he told, "the price of beauty fell
In every market, and but few could sell;
That trade in India, once alive and brisk,
Was over done, and scarcely worth the risk."
Then stoop'd to speak of board, and what
for life

A wife would cost--if he should take a wife. 'Hardly he bargain'd, and so much desired, That we demurr'd; and he, displeased, retired.

'And now I hoped to rest, nor act again The paltry part for which I felt disdain, When a third lover came within our view, And somewhat differing from the former two;

But all, it seem'd, this study could produce,
Was food for spleen, derision, and abuse;
He levell'd all, as one who had intent
To clear the vile and spot the innocent;
He praised my sense, and said I ought to be
From girl's restraint and nursery maxims free;
He praised my mother; but he judged her

wrong

To keep us from th' admiring world so long; He praised himself; and then his vices named, And call'd them follies, and was not ashamed. He more than hinted that the lessons taught By priests were all with superstition fraught; And I must think them for the crowd design'd,

Not to alarm the free and liberal mind.

'Wisdom with him was virtue. They were

wrong

And weak, he said, who went not with the throng;

Man must his passions order and restrain
In all that gives his fellow-subjects pain;
But yet of guilt he would in pity speak,
And as he judged, the wicked were the weak.
'Such was the lover of a simple maid,
Who seem'd to call his logic to his aid,
And to mean something: I will not pretend
To judge the purpose of my reasoning friend,
Who was dismiss'd, in quiet to complain
That so much labour was bestow'd in vain.

'And now my mother seem'd disposed to try A life of reason and tranquillity;

Ere this, her health and spirits were the best,

Hers the day's trifling, and the nightly rest;
But something new was in her mind instill'd;
Unquiet thoughts the matron bosom fill'd;
For five and forty peaceful years she bore
Her placid looks, and dress becoming wore:
She could a compliment with pleasure take,
But no absurd impression could it make.
Now were her nerves disorder'd; she was
weak,

And must the help of a physician seek ;
A Scotch physician, who had just began
To settle near us, quite a graceful man,
And very clever, with a soft address,
That would his meaning tenderly express.

'Sick as my mother seem'd, when he inquired If she was ill, he found her well attired;