Bev. Your pity had been kinder to my. fame ; but you have traduced it; told a vile flory to the public ear, that I have wronged my fister.

me.

Lew. 'Tis falfe. Shew me the man who dares accufe

Bev. I thought you brave, and of a foul fuperior to low malice; but I have found you, and will have vengeance. This is no place for argument.

Lew. Nor fhall it be for violence. Imprudent man! who, in revenge for fancied injuries, would pierce the heart that loves him. But honeft friendship acts from itself unmoved by flander, or ingratitude. The life you thirst for fhall be employed to ferve you.

Bev. 'Tis thus you would compound them. First do a wrong beyond forgivenefs, and, to redress it, load me with kindness unfolicited. I'll not receive them. Your zeal is troublesome.

Lev. No matter, it fhall be useful..
Bev. It will not be accepted.

Lero. It muft You know me not..

Bev. Yes, for the flanderer of my fame; who, under fhew of friendship, arraigns me of injustice; buzzing in every ear foul breach of truft and family dishonour.

Lew. Have I done this? Who told you fo?

Bev. The world. 'Tis talk'd of every where. It pleafed you to add threats, too. You were to call me to

an account-Why, do it now, then; I fhall be proud of fuch an arbiter.

Lew Put up your fword, and know me better. I have never injured you. The bafe fuggeftion comes from Stukely; I fee him, and his aims.

Bev. What aims? I'll not conceal it; 'twas Stukely that accufed you.

Lew Torid him of an enemy

-Perhaps of two—

He fears difcovery, and frames a tale of falfehood to

ground revenge and murder on.

Bv. I must have proof of this:
Lew. Wait till to-morrow then.
B. I will.

Lew. I go to ferve you. Forget what's paft, as I do; and cheer your family with fmiles. To morrow may confirm them, and make all happy. (Exit.)

Bev. (paufing.) How vile, and how abfurd is man! This boalted honour is but another name for pride, which eafier bears the concioufnefs of guilt, than the world's juft reproofs. But 'tis the fashion of the times; and in defence of falsehood and falfe honour, men die martyrs; I knew not my nature was fo bad. (Stands mufing.)

*

POETRY.

THE Compiler has selected such pieces of poetry as, in his opinion, afford many opportunities for the scholar to exert his talents to advantage. A reader of nice and delicate discrimination will readily perceive in every poetical composition, however trifling, several situations wherein he may afford amusement, and produce aftonishing effects on the minds of his hearers. In the delivery of some paffages, fo much depends upon fuch a nicety of expression, look and manner, in the reader that it will be impoffible to point out the exact method. Graces, like these, which give the greatest beauty to a poem, cannot be reduced to any precise rules; but must be left to the discriminating tafte and powers of the reader * to find out; and the occafional remarks added to each piece, it is presumed, will greatly assist him in the research.

CHAPTER CXV.

THE OLD BEGGAR OF CUMBERLAND.

I

SAW an aged beggar in my walk,

And he was feated by the highway fide

On a low structure of rude mafonry,

Built at the foot of a huge hill, that they
Who lead their horfes down the fteep rough road
May thence remount at eafe. The aged man
Had placed his staff across the broad fmooth stone
That overlays the pile, and from a bag,

All white with flour, the dole of village dames,
He drew his fcraps and fragments, one by one,
Andfcann'd them with a fix'd and ferious look
Of idle contemplation. In the fun,
Upon the fecond step of that fmall pile
Surrounded by thofe wild, unpeopled hills,
He fate, and eat his food in folitude;

And ever, fcatter'd, from his palfied hand,
That ftill attempting to prevent the waste
Was baffled ftill, the crumbs in little fhowers
Fell on the ground, and the small mountain birds,
Not venturing yet to peck their destin'd meal,
Approached within the length of half his staff.
Him, from my childhood, have I known, and then
He was fo old, he feems not older now;
He travels on, a folitary man,

So helpless in appearance, that for him

The fauntering horse-man traveller does not throw
With careless hand his alms upon the ground,
But flops, that he may fafely lodge the coin
Within the old man's hat; nor quits him fo,
But ftill, when he has given his horse the rein,
Towards the aged beggar turns a look
Side-long and half-reverted. She who tends
The toll-gate, when in fummer at her door
She turns her wheel, if on the road the fees
The aged beggar coming, quits her work,
And lifts the latch for him that he may pafs.
The post-boy, when his railing wheels o'ertake
The aged beggar, in the woody lane,

Shouts to him from behind, and, if perchance
The old man does not change his course, the boy
Turns with lefs noify wheels to the road-fide,
And paffes gently by, without a curfe
Upon his lips, or anger at his heart.

He travels on, a folitary man;

His age has no compaion. On the ground
His eyes are turned, and, as he moves along,
They move along the ground; and evermore,
Inftead of common and habitual fight

Of fields with rural works, of hill and dale,
And the blue-sky, one little fpan of earth
Is all his profpect. Thus, from day to day,
Bow bent, his eyes forever on the ground,
He pliés his weary journey, feeing ftill,
And never knowing that he fees, fome straw,
Some fcatter'd leaf, or marks, which, in one track,
The nails of cart or chariot wheel have left
Imprefs'd on the white road, in the fame line,

At distance ftill the fame. Poor traveller !
His ftaff trails with him; fcarcely do his feet
Disturb the fummer duft; he is fo ftill
In look and motion that the cottage curs,
Ere he have pafs'd the door, will turn away
Weary of barking at him. Boys and girls,
The bufy maids and youths, all pass him by.
But deem not this man useless-Statesmen! ye
Who are fo reftlefs in your wifdom, ye

Who have a broom still ready in your hands
To rid the world of nuifances; ye proud,

Heart-fwolen, while in your pride ye contemplate
Your talents, power, and wisdom, deem him not
A burthen of the earth. While thus he creeps
From door to door, the villagers in him
Behold a record which together binds
J'aft deeds and offices of charity.
Wher'er the aged beggar takes his rounds,
The mild neceffity of ufe.compels

To acts of love; and habit does the work
Of reafon, yet prepares that after joy
Which reafon cherishes.

And the foul,

By that fweet of pleafure unpurfu'd
Doth find itself infenfibly difpof'd
To virtue and true goodness

Then let him pass, a bleffing on his head !
And while, in that raft folitude to which
The tide of things has led him, he appears
To breathe and live but for himself alone,
Unblam'd, uninjur,d, let him bear about
The good which the benignant law of heaven
Has hung around him, and while life is his,
Still let him prompt the unletter'd villagers
To tender offices and penfive thoughts.
Few are his pleasures; if his eyes, which now
Have been fo long familiar with the earth,
No more behold the horizontal fun
Rifing and fetting, let the light at least
Find a free entrance to their languid orbs.
And let him, where and when he will, fit down
Beneath the trees, or by the graffy bank
Of high-way fide, and with the little birds

Share his chance-gather'd meal, and, finally,
As in the eye of nature he has lived,
So in the eye of nature let him die.

CONTENTMENT.

Within my breaft may peace a dwelling find;
May my good will extend to all mankind.
Free from neceffity, bleft with health,
Give me content; let others toil for wealth.
In bufy fcenes of life, let me exert

A careful hand, and wear an honeft heart.
In journeying on, as I advance in age,
May I look back with pleasure on the ftage.
And as yon fetting fun withdraws his light
To shine in other worlds ferene and bright,
May I with joy refign my vital breath,
Nor anxious tremble at the approach of death;
Which will, I hope, but rob me of this clay,
And to a better world my foul convey.

CHAPTER CXVI.

HOW TO READ COLLIN'S ODE ON THE PASSIONS.

If

A piece of poetry, better adapted to the practice of reading than the following, cannot be recommended to the scholar. read with propriety, it will soon correct the monotonist of that sanieness of tone, which so disgusts in most common readers, and with which no person can ever reasonably except to give pleasure to those who are so unfortunate as to be his hearers.

W

THEN Mufic, heav'nly ma'd] was young,
While yet in early Greece the fung,

The Paffions oft, to hear her shell,
Throng'd around her magic cell,
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,[2]
Poffeft, beyond the Mufes' painting.
By turns they felt the glowing mind
Diflurb'd, delighted rais d, refin'd.[3]

[1] Read the words marked in an impressive manner. [2] The words in this fine to be read as conveying a kind of echo to the sense. The first in a high voice, expressive of exultation. The second in a 'tone of fear and trembling; the third expressive

of rage; the last in a eak voice, low and fainting, with a pause

at each word.

[3] Read this line as recommended in the reading of the fifth line