But he resolved those secrets to obtain,
And quash rebellion in his lawful reign.

;

Stephen, though vain, was with his father mute;
He fear'd a crisis, and he shunn'd dispute;
And yet he long'd with youthful pride to show
He knew such things as farmers could not know
These to the grandam he with freedom spoke,
Saw her amazement, and enjoy'd the joke:
But on the father when he cast his eye,
Something he found that made his valour shy;
And thus there seem'd to be a hollow truce,
Still threat'ning something dismal to produce.
Ere this the father at his leisure read

The son's choice volumes, and his wonder fled;
He saw how wrought the works of either kind
On so presuming, yet so weak a mind;
These in a chosen hour he made his prey,
Condemn'd, and bore with vengeful thoughts away;
Then in a close recess the couple near,

He sat unseen to see, unheard to hear.

There soon a trial for his patience came;

Beneath were placed the youth and ancient dame,
Each on a purpose fix'd-but neither thought

How near a foe, with power and vengeance fraught.
And now the matron told, as tidings sad,

What she had heard of her beloved lad;
How he to graceless, wicked men gave heed,
And wicked books would night and morning read;
Some former lectures she again began,

And begg'd attention of her little man ;
She brought, with many a pious boast, in view
His former studies, and condemn'd the new :
Once he the names of saints and patriarchs old,
Judges and kings, and chiefs and prophets, told;
Then he in winter nights the Bible took,

To count how often in the sacred book

The sacred name appear'd, and could rehearse
Which were the middle chapter, word, and verse;
The very letter in the middle placed,

And so employ'd the hours that others waste.

"Such wert thou once; and now, my child, they say Thy faith like water runneth fast away; The prince of devils hath, I fear, beguiled The ready wit of my backsliding child."

On this, with lofty looks, our clerk began His grave rebuke, as he assumed the man."There is no devil," said the hopeful youth, "Nor prince of devils: that I know for truth. Have I not told you how my books describe The arts of priests, and all the canting tribe? Your Bible mentions Egypt, where it seems Was Joseph found when Pharaoh dream'd his dreams: Now in that place, in some bewilder'd head, (The learned write) religious dreams were bred;

Whence through the earth, with various forms combined, They came to frighten and afflict mankind,

Prone (so I read) to let a priest invade

Their souls with awe, and by his craft be made
Slave to his will, and profit to his trade:
So say my books, and how the rogues agreed
To blind the victims, to defraud and lead;
When joys above to ready dupes were sold,
And hell was threaten'd to the shy and cold.
"Why so amazed and so prepared to pray?
As if a Being heard a word we say :
This may surprise you; I myself began
To feel disturb'd, and to my Bible ran:
I now am wiser-yet agree in this,

The book has things that are not much amiss;
It is a fine old work, and I protest

I hate to hear it treated as a jest:
The book has wisdom in it, if you look
Wisely upon it as another book."

"Oh! wicked! wicked! my unhappy child,
How hast thou been by evil men beguiled!"
"How! wicked say you? You can little guess
The gain of that which you call wickedness:
Why, sins you think it sinful but to name

Have gain'd both wives and widows wealth and fame;
And this because such people never dread

Those threaten'd pains; hell comes not in their head:
Love is our nature, wealth we all desire,
And what we wish 'tis lawful to acquire;
So say my book-and what beside they show
'Tis time to let this honest farmer know.
Nay, look not grave; am I commanded down
To feed his cattle, and become his clown?
Is such his purpose? Then he shall be told
The vulgar insult-

Hold, in mercy hold!
Father, oh! father! throw the whip away;
I was but jesting; on my knees I pray—
There, hold his arm-oh! leave us not alone:
In pity cease, and I will yet atone

For all my sin."- -In vain; stroke after stroke,
On side and shoulder, quick as mill-wheels broke ;
Quick as the patient's pulse, who trembling cried,
And still the parent with a stroke replied;
Till all the medicine he prepared was dealt,
And every bone the precious influence felt;
Till all the panting flesh was red and raw,
And every thought was turn'd to fear and awe;
Till every doubt to due respect gave place.-
Such cures are done when doctors know the case.
"Oh! I shall die-my father! do receive
My dying words; indeed I do believe.
The books are lying books, I know it well;
There is a devil, oh! there is a hell;

And I'm a sinner; spare me, I am young,
My sinful words were only on my tongue;
My heart consented not; 'tis all a lie :

Oh! spare me then, I'm not prepared to die.'

"Vain, worthless, stupid wretch!" the father cried;
"Dost thou presume to teach-art thou a guide?
Driveller and dog, it gave the mind distress
To hear thy thoughts in their religious dress;
Thy pious folly moved my strong disdain,
Yet I forgave thee for thy want of brain;
But Job in patience must the man exceed
Who could endure thee in thy present creed.
Is it for thee, thou idiot, to pretend

The wicked cause a helping hand to lend?
Canst thou a judge in any question be?

Atheists themselves would scorn a friend like theo
"Lo! yonder blaze thy worthies; in one heap
Thy scoundrel favourites must for ever sleep :
Each yields its poison to the flame in turn,
Where whores and infidels are doom'd to burn;
Two noble faggots made the flame you see,
Reserving only two fair twigs for thee:
That in thy view the instruments may stand,
And be in future ready for my hand:

The just mementos that, though silent, show
Whence thy correction and improvements flow;
Beholding these, thou wilt confess their power,
And feel the shame of this important hour.

"Hadst thou been humble, I had first design'd
By care from folly to have freed thy mind;
And when a clean foundation had been laid,
Our priest, more able, would haye lent his aid :
But thou art weak, and force must folly guide;
And thou art vain, and pain must humble pride:
Teachers men honour, learners they allure;
But learners teaching, of contempt are sure;

Scorn is their certain meed, and smart their only cure "

MISCELLANEOUS.

THE BIRTH OF FLATTERY.

It has been held in ancient rules,
That flattery is the food of fools;
Yet now and then your men of wit

Will condescend to taste a bit.-SWIFT.

The Subject-Poverty and Cunning described-When_united, a jarring Couple-Mutual reproof-the Wife consoled by a Dream-Birth of a Daughter-Description and Prediction of Envy-How to be rendered ineffectual, explained in a Vision-Simulation foretells the future Success and Triumphs of Flattery-Her power over various Characters and Different Minds; over certain Classes of men; over Envy himself-Her successful Art of softening the Evils of Life; of changing Characters; of meliorating Prospects, and affixing Value to Possessions, Pictures, &c.-Conclusion.

MUSE of my Spenser, who so well could sing
The passions all, their bearings and their ties ;
Who could in view those shadowy beings bring,
And with bold hand remove each dark disguise,
Wherein love, hatred, scorn, or anger lies:
Guide him to Fairyland, who now intends
That way his flight; assist him as he flies,

To mark those passions, Virtue's foes and friends,

By whom when led she droops, when leading she ascends.

Yes! they appear, I see the fairy train!

And who that modest nymph of meek address?

Not Vanity, though loved by all the vain ;

Not Hope, though promising to all success;
Nor Mirth, nor Joy, though foe to all distress;
Thee, sprightly siren, from this train I choose,
Thy birth relate, thy soothing arts confess;
'Tis not in thy mild nature to refuse,

When poets ask thine aid, so oft their meed and muse.

In Fairyland, on wide and cheerless plain,
Dwelt, in the house of Care, a sturdy swain ;
A hireling he, who, when he till'd the soil,
Look'd to the pittance that repaid his toil,
And to a master left the mingled joy
And anxious care that follow'd his employ.
Sullen and patient he at once appear'd,

As one who murmur'd, yet as one who fear'd;

Th' attire was coarse that clothed his sinewy frame.
Rude his address, and Poverty his name.

In that same plain a nymph, of curious taste, A cottage (plann'd, with all her skill) had placed; Strange the materials, and for what design'd The various parts, no simple man might find; What seem'd the door, each entering guest withstood, What seem'd a window was but painted wood; But by a secret spring the wall would move, And daylight drop through glassy door above: 'Twas all her pride new traps for praise to lay, And all her wisdom was to hide her way; In small attempts incessant were her pains, And Cunning was her name among the swains. Now, whether fate decreed this pair should wed, And blindly drove them to the marriage bed; Or whether love in some soft hour inclined The damsel's heart, and won her to be kind, Is yet unsung: they were an ill-match'd pair, But both disposed to wed-and wed they were. Yet, though united in their fortune, still Their ways were diverse; varying was their will; Nor long the maid had bless'd the simple man, Before dissensions rose, and she began :

"Wretch that I am! since to thy fortune bound, What plan, what project, with success is crown'd? I, who a thousand secret arts possess,

Who every rank approach with right address;
Who've loosed a guinea from a miser's chest,
And worm'd his secret from a traitor's breast;
Thence gifts and gains collecting, great and small,
Have brought to thee, and thou consum'st them all,
For want like thine-a bog without a base—
Ingulfs all gains I gather for the place;
Feeding, unfill'd; destroying, undestroy'd;
It craves for ever, and is ever void :
Wretch that I am! what misery have I found,
Since my sure craft was to thy calling bound!"
"Oh! vaunt of wortless art," the swain replied,
Scowling contempt, "how pitiful this pride!
What are these specious gifts, these paltry gains,
But base rewards for ignominious pains?
With all thy tricking, still for bread we strive,

Thine is, proud wretch! the care that cannot thrive;
By all thy boasted skill and baffled hooks,

Thou gain'st no more than students by their books.
No more than I for my poor deeds am paid,

Whom none can blame, will help, or dare upbraid.
"Call this our need, a bog that all devours,-
Then what thy petty arts, but summer flowers,
Gaudy and mean, and serving to betray
The place they make unprofitably gay?
Who know it not, some useless beauties see,-
But ah! to prove it was reserved for me.'

Unhappy state! that, in decay of love, Permits harsh truth his errors to disprove;