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,

lead :

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 op'd 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 be 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,

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 comply,

Is it quite safe th' experiment to try ? '— '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;

stand;

There he must rest, sole judge of his affairs, While they might rule exclusively in theirs.

Soul, body, and estate, has each a friend; And fair Rebecca leads a virtuous life— She rules a mistress, and she reigns a wife.

Heaven witness

I have been to you a true and humble wife.
Henry VIII, Act ii, Scene 4.
Gentle lady,

When I did first impart my love to you,
I freely told you all the wealth I had.
Merchant of Venice, Act iii, Scene 2.

The leisure and the fearful time
Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love,
And ample interchange of sweet discourse,
Which so long sunder'd friends should dwell
upon. Richard III, Act v, Scene 3.
I know thee not, old man; fall to thy prayers.
2 Henry IV, Act v, Scene 5.

Farewell, Thou pure impiety, and impious purity, For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love. Much Ado about Nothing, Act iv, Scene 1.

LOVE will expire, the gay, the happy dream Will turn to scorn, indiff'rence, or esteem: Some favour'd pairs, in this exchange, are bless'd,

Nor sigh for raptures 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 succeeding year,
With pleasant views and hopes, but not a
prospect 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;

6

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; 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 forbore 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;
Loth were the lovers; but the aunt declared
'Twas fortune's call, and they must be pre-
pared;

'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;
Till 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 av'rice, like the poison-tree,*
Kills all beside it, and alone will be ;
Whatever cause prevail'd, the pleasure

grew

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 ;
Stock, 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,

view;

For she indulged, nor was her heart so small, That one strong passion should engross it all.

A love of splendour now with av'rice strove, And oft appear'd 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; There, as with eager glance she look'd around, She much delight in every object found; While books devout were near her to destroy, Should it arise, an overflow of joy.

Within that fair apartment, guests mightsee The comforts cull'd for wealth by vanity: Around the room an Indian paper blazed, With lively tint and figures boldly raised; Silky and soft upon the floor below, 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 adorned the pictured case, Through the pure crystal shone th' enamell'd face;

Dinah was musing, as her friends dis

coursed,

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 reverie.

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 list'ning 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 check, 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,