Or could we enter we should still repine, Unless we could the knowledge too resign.

praise,

In our own view you must our value raise;
And must we not, to this mistaken man,
Appear as like his picture as we can ?
If you will call-nay, treat us as divine,
Must we not something to your thoughts in-
cline ?

If men of sense will worship whom they love,
Think you the idol will the error prove?
What! show him all her glory is pretence,
And make an idiot of this man of sense?
Then, too, suppose we should his praise
refuse,

And clear his mind, we may our lover lose;
In fact, you make us more than nature makes,
And we, no doubt, consent to your mistakes;
You will, we know, until the frenzy cools,
Enjoy the transient paradise of fools;
But fancy fled, you quit the blissful state,
And truth for ever bars the golden gate.

H. True! but how ill each other to upbraid,

'Tis not our fault that we no longer staid; No sudden fate our lingering love supprest, It died an easy death, and calmly sank to

rest:

To either sex is the delusion lent, And when it fails us, we should rest content, 'Tis cruel to reproach, when bootless to repent.

E. Then wise the lovers who consent to wait,

And always lingering, never try the state;
But hurried on, by what they call their pain
And I their bliss, no longer they refrain;
To ease that pain, to lose that bliss, they run
To the church magi, and the thing is done;
A spell is utter'd, and a ring applied,
And forth they walk a bridegroom and a
bride,

To find this counter-charm, this marriage rite,
Has put their pleasant fallacies to flight!
But tell me, Henry, should we truly strive,
May we not bid the happy dream revive?
H. Alas! they say when weakness or when

And make a humbler Eden of our state; With this advantage, that what now we gain, Experience gives, and prudence will retain. E. Ah! much I doubt-when you in fury

broke

That lovely vase by one impassion'd stroke,
And thousand china-fragments met my sight,
Till rising anger put my grief to flight;
As well might you the beauteous jar repiece,
As joy renew and bid vexation cease.

H. Why then 'tis wisdom, Emma, not to keep

These griefs in memory; they had better sleep.

There was a time when this heaven-guarded isle,

Whose valleys flourish-nay, whose mountains smile,

Was sterile, wild, deform'd, and beings rude Creatures scarce wilder than themselves pursued;

The sea was heard around a waste to howl, The night-wolf answer'd to the whooting owl, And all was wretched-Yet who now surveys The land, withholds his wonder and his praise? Come, let us try and make our moral view Improve like this-this have we power to do.

E. O! I'll be all forgetful, deaf and dumb, And all you wish, to have these changes come. H. And come they may, if not as heretofore,

We cannot all the lovely vase restore;
What we beheld in Love's perspective glass
Has pass'd away-one sigh! and let it pass-
It was a blissful vision, and it fled,
And we must get some actual good instead:
Of good and evil that we daily find,
That we must hoard, this banish from the
mind;

The food of Love, that food on which he thrives,

To find must be the business of our lives; And when we know what Love delights to

see,

We must his guardians and providers be.

As careful peasants, with incessant toil, Bring earth to vines in bare and rocky soil, And, as they raise with care each scanty heap, Think of the purple clusters they shall

reap;

So those accretions to the mind we'll bring, Whence fond regard and just esteem will spring;

Then, though we backward look with some regret

On those first joys, we shall be happy yet. Each on the other must in all depend, The kind adviser, the unfailing friend; Through the rough world we must each other aid,

Leading and led, obeying and obey'd;

Favour'd and favouring, eager to believe What should be truth-unwilling to perceive What might offend-determined to remove What has offended; wisely to improve What pleases yet, and guard returning love. Nor doubt, my Emma, but in many an hour Fancy, who sleeps, shall wake with all her power;

And we shall pass-though not perhaps remain

To fairy-land, and feel its charm again.

Richard meets an Acquaintance of his Youth -The Kind of Meeting-His School-The Doctor Sidmere and his Family-Belwood, a Pupil-The Doctor's Opinion of himThe Opinion of his Wife-and of his Daughter-Consultation- The LoversFlight to Gretna Green-Return no moreThe Doctor and his Lady-Belwood and his wife-The Doctor reflects-Goes to his Sonin-law-His Reception and Return.

'I MET,' said Richard, when return'd to dine, In my excursion, with a friend of mine; Friend! I mistake, but yet I knew him well, Ours was the village where he came to dwell; He was an orphan born to wealth, and then Placed in the guardian-care of cautious men ; When our good parent, who was kindness all, Fed and caress'd him when he chose to call; And this he loved, for he was always one For whom some pleasant service must be done,

Or he was sullen-He would come and play
At his own time, and at his pleasure stay;
But our kind parent soothed him as a boy
Without a friend; she loved he should enjoy
A day of ease, and strove to give his mind
employ :

She had but seldom the desired success,
And therefore parting troubled her the less;
Two years he there remain'd, then went his

way,

I think to school, and him I met to-day.

'I heard his name, or he had past unknown, And, without scruple, I divulged my own; His words were civil, but not much express'd, "Yes! he had heard I was my brother's guest;

Then would explain, what was not plain to me,
Why he could not a social neighbour be.
He envied you, he said, 'your quiet life,
And me a loving and contented wife;

You, as unfetter'd by domestic bond,

Me, as a husband and a father fond:
I was about to speak, when to the right
The road then turn'd, and lo! his house in
sight.

"Adieu!" he said, nor gave a word or sign Of invitation-" Yonder house is mine; Your brother's I prefer, if I might chooseBut, my dear sir, you have no time to lose." 'Say, is he poor? or has he fits of spleen? Or is he melancholy, moped, or mean? So

cold, so distant- -I bestow'd some pains

Upon the fever in my Irish veins.'

Well, Richard, let your native wrath be tamed,

The man has half the evils you have named; He is not poor, indeed, nor is he free From all the gloom and care of poverty.' 'But is he married? '—' Hush! the bell, my friend;

That business done, we will to this attend; And, o'er our wine engaged, and at our ease, We may discourse of Belwood's miseries; Not that his sufferings please me-No,

indeed;

That we may doubt,' said George; in
men so weak

You may in vain the strong affections seek;
They have strong appetites; a fool will eat
As long as food is to his palate sweet;
His rule is not what sober nature needs,
But what the palate covets as he feeds;
He has the passions, anger, envy, fear,
As storm is angry, and as frost severe;
Uncheck'd, he still retains what nature gave,
And has what creatures of the forest have.
'Weak boys, indulged by parents just as
weak,

Will with much force of their affection speak; But let mamma th' accustom'd sweets withhold,

And the fond boys grow insolent and cold. 'Weak men profess to love, and while untried

May woo with warmth, and grieve to be denied ;

But this is selfish ardour,-all the zeal
Of their pursuit is from the wish they feel
For self-indulgence-When do they deny
Themselves? and when the favourite object fly?
Or, for that object's sake, with her requests
comply?

Their sickly love is fed with hopes of joy,
Repulses damp it, and delays destroy;
Love, that to virtuous acts will some excite,
In others but provokes an appetite;
In better minds, when love possession takes
And meets with peril, he the reason shakes;
But these weak natures, when they love
profess,

Never regard their small concerns the less. That true and genuine love has Quixoteflights

May be allow'd--in vision it delights;
But in its loftiest flight, its wildest dream,
Has something in it that commands esteem.
But this poor love to no such region soars,
But, Sancho-like, its selfish loss deplores ;
Of its own merit and its service speaks,
And full reward for all its duty seeks.'

— When a rich boy, with all the pride of youth,

Weds a poor beauty, will you doubt his truth? Such love is tried-it indiscreet may be, But must be generous

'That I do not see; Just at this time the balance of the mind Is this or that way by the weights inclined;

In this scale beauty, wealth in that abides,
In dubious balance, till the last subsides;
Things are not poised in just the equal state,
That the ass stands stock-still in the debate;
Though when deciding he may slowly pass
And long for both-the nature of the ass;
'Tis but an impulse that he must obey
When he resigns one bundle of the hay.'

Take your friend Belwood, whom his

guardians sent

To Doctor Sidmere-full of dread he went; Doctor they call'd him—he was not of us, And where he was--we need not now discuss: He kept a school, he had a daughter fair, He said, as angels,--say, as women are.

'Clara, this beauty, had a figure light, Her face was handsome, and her eyes were bright;

Her voice was music, not by anger raised; And sweet her dimple, either pleased or praised;

All round the village was her fame allow'd, She was its pride, and not a little proud. "The ruling thought that sway'd her father's

mind

Was this I am for dignity design'd:
Riches he rather as a mean approved,
Yet sought them early, and in seeking loved;
For this he early made the marriage vow,
But fail'd to gain-I recollect not how;
For this his lady had his wrath incurr'd,
But that her feelings seldom could be stirr❜d;
To his fair daughter, famed as well as fair,
He look'd, and found his consolation there.
'The Doctor taught of youth some half a

score,

Well-born and wealthy-He would take no more;

His wife, when peevish, told him, "Yes! and glad"

It might be so-no more were to be had: Belwood, it seems, for college was design'd, But for more study he was not inclined: He thought of labouring there with much dismay,

And motives mix'd here urged the long delay. 'He now on manhood verged, at least began To talk as he supposed became a man.

"Whether he chose the college or the school Was his own act, and that should no man rule;

He had his reasons for the step he took, Did they suppose he stay'd to read his book?" 'Hopeless, the Doctor said, "This boy is one With whom I fear there's nothing to be done." His wife replied, who more had guess'd or knew,

"You only mean there's nothing he can do; Ev'n there you err, unless you mean indeed That the poor lad can neither think nor read." "What credit can I by such dunce obtain ? "

Her fears and wishes she in part confess'd, Her thoughts and views she carefully suppress'd;

Her Jemmy said at length, "He did not heed His guardian's anger-What was he, indeed? A tradesman once, and had his fortune gain'd In that low way, such anger he disdain'd— He loved her pretty looks, her eyes of blue, Her auburn-braid, and lips that shone like dew;

And did she think her Jemmy stay'd at school

gain;

'Tis true he has no passion for his books, But none can closer study Clara's looks; And who controls him? now his father 's gone,

There's not a creature cares about the son. If he be brought to ask your daughter's hand, All that he has will be at her command;

Not he, by Jove! for what he had to seek He would in English ask her, not in Greek; Will you be mine? are all your scruples gone? Then let's be off-I've that will take us on. 'Twas true; the clerk of an attorney there Had found a Jew,-the Jew supplied the heir. 'Yet had he fears-" My guardians may condemn

pray?

Becoming guide to one who guidance needs
Is merit surely-If the thing succeeds,
Cannot you always keep him at your side,
And be his honour'd guardian and his guide?
And cannot I my pretty Clara rule?
Is not this better than a noisy school?"

'The Doctor thought and mused, he felt and fear'd,

them?

The more they strive my pleasure to restrain, The less they'll find they're likely to obtain ; For when they work one to a proper cue, What they forbid one takes delight to do."

66

heard ;

But he was angry-that at least was right, And gave him credit in his lady's sight;Then, milder grown, yet something still

severe,

He said, "Consider, Madam, think and fear; " But, ere they parted, softening to a smile, Farewell!" said he "I'll think myself awhile."

'James and his Clara had, with many a pause And many a doubt, infringed the Doctor's laws;

At first with terror, and with eyes turn'd round

On every side for fear they should be found: In the long passage, and without the gate, They met, and talk'd of love and his estate; Sweet little notes, and full of hope, were laid Where they were found by the attentive maid; And these she answer'd kindly as she could, But still "I dare not "waited on "I would;

I see her looks when she beholds the men
All crowd about me-she will simper then,
And cry with her affected air and voice,
O! my sweet Clara, how do I rejoice
At your good fortune!'-' Thank you, dear,'
say I;

6

But some there are that could for envy die.'"

'Mamma look'd on with thoughts to these allied,

She felt the pleasure of reflected pride;
She should respect in Clara's honour find-
But she to Clara's secret thoughts was blind;
O! when we thus design we do but spread
Nets for our feet, and to our toils are led :
Those whom we think we rule their views
attain,

And we partake the guilt without the gain. 'The Doctor long had thought, till he be

came

A victim both to avarice and shame ;

From his importance, every eye was placed On his designs-How dreadful if disgraced! "O! that unknown to him the pair had flown

To that same Green, the project all their own! And should they now be guilty of the act, Am not I free from knowledge of the fact? Will they not, if they will?"-"Tis thus we

meet

The check of conscience, and our guide defeat. 'This friend, this spy, this counsellor at rest, More pleasing views were to the mind address'd. 'The mischief done, he would be much dis

pleased,

For weeks, nay, months, and slowly be appeased ;

Yet of this anger if they felt the dread, Perhaps they dare not steal away to wed; And if on hints of mercy they should go, He stood committed-it must not be so.

In this dilemma either horn was hard,Best to seem careless, then, and off one's guard;

By such expressions-Why should be repent? New trial came-The wife conceived it right To see her parents; "So," he said, "she might, If she had any fancy for a jail,

But upon him no creature should prevail;

I must exclaim that instant-Vile deceit ! Then will my daughter, weeping, while they kneel,

For its own Clara beg my heart may feel:
At last, but slowly, I may all forgive,
And their adviser and director live."

'When wishes only weak the heart surprise, Heaven, in its mercy, the fond prayer denies; But when our wishes are both base and weak, Heaven, in its justice, gives us what we seek.

'All pass'd that was expected, all prepared To share the comfort-What the comfort shared?

'The married pair, on their return, agreed That they from school were now completely

freed;

Were man and wife, and to their mansion now Should boldly drive, and their intents avow: The acting guardian in the mansion reign'd, And, thither driving, they their will explain'd: The man awhile discoursed in language high, The ward was sullen, and made brief reply;

To go and starve, or study at a school!" "O! but to see her parents!"-" Well!

the sight

Might givé her pleasure-very like it might, And she might go; but to his house restored He would not now be catechised and bored." It was her duty ;- "Well!" said he again, "There you may go-and there you may remain !"

Already this?-Even so he heard it said How rash and heedless was the part he play'd; For love of money in his spirit dwelt, And there repentance was intensely felt : His guardian told him he had bought a toy At tenfold price, and bargain'd like a boy : Angry at truth, and wrought to fierce disdain, He swore his loss should be no woman's gain; His table she might share, his name she must, But if aught more-she gets it upon trust.

For a few weeks his pride her face dis-
play'd-

He then began to thwart her, and upbraid;
He grew imperious, insolent, and loud—
His blinded weakness made his folly proud;
He would be master,—she had no pretence
To counsel him, as if he wanted sense;
He must inform her, she already cost
More than her worth, and more should not
be lost;