If question'd, fairly answer-and that done,
Shrink back, be silent, and thy father's son;
For they who doubt thy talents scorn thy boast,
But they who grant them will dislike thee most:
Observe the prudent; they in silence sit.
Display no learning, and affect no wit;
They hazard nothing, nothing they assume,
But know the useful art of acting dumb.
Yet to their eyes each varying look appears,
And every word finds entrance at their ears.
"Thou art religion's advocate-take heed,
Hurt not the cause, thy pleasure 'tis to plead ;
With wine before thee, and with wits beside,
Do not in strength of reasoning powers confide;
What seems to thee convincing, certain, plain,
They will deny, and dare thee to maintain ;
And thus will triumph c'er thy eager youth,
While thou wilt grieve for so disgracing truth.
"With pain I've seen, these wrangling wits

among,

Faith's weak defenders, passionate and young; Weak thou art not, yet not enough on guard, Where wit and humour keep their watch and ward:

Men gay and noisy will o'erwhelm thy sense, Then loudly laugh at Truth's and thy expense; While the kind ladies will do all they can

To check their mirth, and cry, The good young man!

"Prudence, my boy, forbids thee to commend The cause or party of thy noble friend; What are his praises worth, who must be known To take a patron's maxims for his own? When ladies sing, or in thy presence play Do not, dear John, in rapture melt away; "Tis not thy part, there will be listeners round, To cry divine! and doat upon the sound; Remember too, that though the poor have ears, They take not in the music of the spheres ; They must not feel the warble and the thrill, Or be dissolved in ecstasy at will; Besides, 'tis freedom in a youth like thee To drop his awe, and deal in ecstasy!

"In silent ease, at least in silence dine, Nor one opinion start of food or wine :

Let others frown and envy; she the while
(Insidious syren!) will demurely smile;
And for her gentle purpose, every day
Inquire thy wants, and meet thee in thy way;
She has her blandishments, and though so weak,
Her person pleases, and her actions speak :
At first her folly may her aim defeat;

But kindness shown at length will kindness meet
Have some offended? them will she disdain,
And, for thy sake, contempt and pity feign;
She hates the vulgar, she admires to look
On woods and groves, and dotes upon a book;
Let her once see thee on her features dwell,
And hear one sigh, inen liberty farewell.

But, John, remember we cannot maintain
A poor, proud girl, extravagant and vain.
Doubt much of friendship: shouldst thou find
a friend

Pleased to advise thee, anxious to commend ;
Should he the praises he has heard report,
And confidence (in thee confiding) court;
Much of neglectful patrons should he say,
And then exclaim- How long must merit stay!
Then show how high thy modest hopes may
stretch,

And point to stations far beyond thy reach ;
Let such designer, by thy conduct, see
(Civil and cool) he makes no dupe of thee;
And he will quit thee, as a man too wise
For him to ruin first, and then, despise.

Such are thy dangers;—yet if thou canst steer Past all the perils, all the quicksands clear, Then may'st thou profit; but if storms prevail, If foes beset thee, if thy spirits fail,No more of winds or waters be the sport, But in thy father's mansion find a port." Our poet read." It is in truth," said he, "Correct in part, but what is this to me? I love a foolish Abigail! in base And sordid office! fear not such disgrace: Am I so blind?" "Or thou wouldst surely see That lady's fall, if she should stoop to thee!"

s of thy father's simple boil'd and roast;
Nor always these; he sometimes saved his cash,
By interlinear days of frugal hash:

Wine hadst thou seldom; wilt thou be so vain
As to decide on claret or champagne ?
Dost thou from me derive this taste sublime,
Who order port the dozen at a time?
When (every glass held precious in our eyes)
We judged the value by the bottle's size:
Then never merit for thy praise assume,
Its worth well knows each servant in the room.

Hard, boy, thy task to steer thy way among
That servile, supple, shrewd, insidious throng;
Who look upon thee as of doubtful race,
An interloper, one who wants a place :
Freedom with these let thy free soul condemn,
Nor with thy heart's concerns associate them.
"Of all be cautious--but be most afraid
Of the pale charms that grace my lady's maid;
Of the sweet dimples, of that fraudful eye,
The frequent glance design'd for thee to spy;
The soft bewitching look, the fond bewailing sigh:

John saw not this; and many a week had pass'd While the vain beauty held her victim fast; The noble friend still condescension show'd, And, as before, with praises overflow'd ; But his grave lady took a silent view Of all that pass'd, and smiling, pitied too.

Cold grew the foggy morn, the day was brief,
Loose on the cherry hung the crimson leaf;
The dew dwelt ever on the herb; the woods
Roar'd with strong blasts, with mighty showers the
floods :

All green was vanish'd, save of pine and yew
That still display'd their melancholy hue,
Save the green holly with its berries red,
And the green moss that o'er the gravel spread.

To public views my lord must soon attend;
And soon the ladies-would they leave their friend!
The time was fix'd-approach'd-was near-was

come:

The trying time that fill'd his soul with gloom.
Thoughtful our poet in the morning rose,
And cried, "One hour my fortune will disclose

Terrific hour! from thee have I to date
Life's loftier views, or my degraded state,
For now to be what I have been before
Is so to fall, that I can rise no more."

The morning meal was past, and all around
The mansion rang with each discordant sound;
Haste was in every foot, and every look
The traveller's joy for London journey spoke :
Not so our youth; whose feelings, at the noise
Of preparation, had no touch of joys;

He pensive stood, and saw each carriage drawn,
With lackeys mounted, ready on the lawn:
The ladies came; and John in terror threw
One painful glance, and then his eyes withdrew;
Not with such speed, but he in other eyes
With anguish read-"I pity, but despise-
Unhappy boy! presumptuous scribbler!--you
To dream such dreams!-be sober, and adieu!"
Then came the noble friend-"And will my lord
Vouchsafe no comfort? drop no soothing word?
Yes, he must speak." He speaks, "My good young
friend,

You know my views; upon my care depend;
My hearty thanks to your good father pay,
And be a student.-Harry, drive away."

Stillness reign'd all around; of late so full
The busy scene, deserted now and dull:
Stern is his nature who forbears to feel
Gloom o'er his spirits on such trials steal;
Most keenly felt our poet as he went
From room to room without a fix'd intent.

And here," he thought, "I was caress'd ; admired Were here my songs; she smiled, and I aspired: The change how grievous" As he mused, a dame

Busy and peevish to her duties ame;
Aside the tables and the chairs she drew,
And sang and mutter'd in the poet's view:-
"This was her fortune; here they leave the poor;
Enjoy themselves, and think of us no more:
I had a promise-" here his pride and shame
Urged him to fly from this familiar dame;
He gave one farewell look, and by a coach
Reach'd his own mansion at the night's approach.
His father met him with an anxious air,
Heard his sad tale, and check'd what seem'd de-
spair.

Hope was in him corrected, but alive;

My lord would something for a friend' contrive;
His word was pledged; our hero's feverish mind
Admitted this, and half his grief resign'd;
But when three months had fled, and every day
Drew from the sickening hopes their strength away,
The youth became abstracted, pensive, dull;
He utter'd nothing, though his heart was full:
Teased by inquiring words and anxious looks,
And all forgetful of his muse and books;
Awake he mourn'd, but in his sleep perceived
A lovely vision that his pain relieved:
His soul transported, hail'd the happy seat,
Where once his pleasure was so sure and sweet;
Where joys departed came in blissful view,
Til. reason waked, and not a joy he knew.

Questions now vex'd his spirit, most from those Who are call'd friends because they are not foes: John!" they would say; he starting, turn'd around; [sound; John there was something shocking in the

Ill brook'd he then the pert familiar phrase,
The untaught freedom, and th' inquiring gaze,
Much was his temper touch'd, his spleen provoked,
When ask'd how ladies talk'd, or walk'd, or look'd?
'What said my lord of politics? how spent
He there his time? and was he glad he went?"
At length a letter came, both cool and brief.
But still it gave the burden'd heart relief:
Though not inspired by lofty hopes, the youth
Placed much reliance on Lord Frederick's truth;
Summon'd to town, he thought the visit one
Where something fair and friendly would be done
Although he judged not, as before his fall,
When all was love and promise at the hall.
Arrived in town, he early sought to know
The fate which dubious friendship would bestow.
At a tall building trembling he appear'd,
And his low rap was indistinctly heard;
A well known servant came-" A while," said he,
"Be pleased to wait, my lord has company."

Alone our hero sat; the news in hand,
Which though he read, he could not understand:
Cold was the day in days so cold as these
There needs a fire, where minds and bodies freeze.
The vast and echoing room, the polish'd grate,
The crimson chairs, the sideboard with its plate;
The splendid sofa, which, though made for rest,
He then had thought it freedom to have press'd;
The shining tables, curiously inlaid,
Were all in comfortless proud style display'd,
And to the troubled feelings terror gave,

That made the once dear friend, the sickening slave.

"Was he forgotten?" Thrice upon his ear Struck the loud clock, yet no relief was near. Each rattling carriage, and each thundering stroke On the loud door, the dream of fancy broke :

Oft as a servant chanced the way to come,

Brings he a message?" no! he pass'd the room: At length 'tis certain : Sir, you will attend At twelve on Thursday!" Thus the day had end Vex'd by these tedious hours of needless pain, John left the noble mansion with disdain; For there was something in that still, cold place, That seem'd to threaten and portend disgrace. Punctual again the modest rap declared The youth attended, then was all prepared; For the same servant, by his lord's command, A paper offer'd to his trembling hand: "No more!" he cried; "disdains he to afford One kind expression, one consoling word ""

With troubled spirit he began to read That "In the church my lord could not succeed;" Who had "to peers of either kind applied, And was with dignity and grace denied: While his own livings were by men possess'd, Not likely in their chancels yet to rest. And therefore, all things weigh'd, (as he, my lord, Had done maturely, and he pledged his word,) Wisdom it seem'd for John to turn his view To busier scenes, and bid the church adieu!" Here grieved the youth; he felt his father's

pride

Must with his own be shock'd and mortified: But when he found his future comforts placed Where he, alas! conceived himself disgraced In some appointment on the London quays, He bade farewell to honour and to ease;

His spirit fell, and from that hour assured
How vain his dreams, he suffer'd and was cured.

"Our brother, speak!" they all exclaim'd; “ cx

plain

Thy grief, thy suffering :"-but they ask'd in vain The friend told all he knew; and all was known, Save the sad causes whence the ills had grown:" But, if obscure the cause, they all agreed

And he was cured; for quiet, love, and care

To walk in this appointed road of life;

On these low duties duteous he would wait,
And patient bear the anguish of his fate.
Thanks to the patron, but of coldest kind,
Express'd the sadness of the poet's mind;
Whose heavy hours were pass'd with busy men
In the dull practice of th' official pen;
Who to superiors must in time impart
(The custom this) his progress in their art:
But so had grief on his perception wrought,
That all unheeded were the duties taught;
No answers gave he when his trial came,
Silent he stood, but suffering without shame;
And they observed that words severe or kind
Made no impression on his wounded mind;
For all perceived from whence his failure rose,
Some grief whose cause he deign'd not to dis-
close.

A soul averse from scenes and works so new,
Fear ever shrinking from the vulgar crew;
Distaste for each mechanic law and rule,
Thoughts of past honour and a patron cool;
A grieving parent, and a feeling mind,
Timid and ardent, tender and refined:
These all with mighty force the youth assail'd,
Till his soul fainted, and his reason fail'd:
When this was known, and some debate arose
How they who saw it should the fact disclose,
He found their purpose, and in terror fled
From unseen kindness, with mistaken dread.

Meantime the parent was distress'd to find
His son no longer for a priest design'd;
But still he gain'd some comfort by the news
Of John's promotion, though with humbler views:
For he conceived that in no distant time
The boy would learn to scramble, and to climb:
He little thought a son, his hope and pride,
His favour'd boy was now a home denied:
Yes! while the parent was intent to trace
How men in office climb from place to place,
By day, by night, o'er moor, and heath, and hill,
Roved the sad youth, with ever-changing will,
Of every aid bereft, exposed to every ill.
Thus as he sat, absorb'd in all the care
And all the hope that anxious fathers share,
A friend abruptly to his presence brought,
With trembling hand, the subject of his thought;
Whom he had found afflicted and subdued
By hunger, sorrow, cold, and solitude.

Silent he entered the forgotten room,

As ghostly forms may be conceived to come;
With sorrow-shrunken face and hair upright,
He look'd dismay, neglect, despair, affright;
But dead to comfort, and on misery thrown,
His parent's loss he felt not, nor his own.

The good man, struck with horror, cried aloud,
And drew around him an astonish'd crowd;
The sons and servants to the father ran,
To share the feelings of the grieved old man.

Yet slow their progress, and, as vapours move
Dense and reluctant from the wintry grove,
All is confusion till the morning light
Gives the dim scene obscurely to the sight;
More and yet more refined the trunks appear,
Till the wild prospect stands distinct and clear;
So the dark mind of our young poet grew
Clear and sedate; the dreadful mist withdrew:
And he resembled that bleak wintry scene,
Sad, though unclouded; dismal, though serene.
At times he utter'd, "What a dream was mine!
And what a prospect! glorious and divine!
O! in that room, and on that night, to see
These looks, that sweetness beaming ali on me;
That syren flattery-and to send me then,
Hope-raised and soften'd, to those heartless men;
That dark brow'd stern director pleased to show
Knowledge of subjects, I disdain'd to know;
Cold and controlling-but 'tis gone, 'tis past;
I had my trial, and have peace at last."

Now grew the youth resign'd; he bade adieu
To all that hope, to all that fancy drew;
His frame was languid, and the hectic heat
Flush'd on his pallid face, and countless beat
The quickening pulse, and faint the limbs that bore
The slender form that soon would breathe no

more.

Then hope of holy kind the soul sustain'd, And not a lingering thought of earth remain'd; Now Heaven had all, and he could smile at love. And the wild sallies of his youth reprove; Then could he dwell upon the tempting days, The proud aspiring thought, the partial praise; Victorious now, his worldly views were closed, And on the bed of death the youth reposed.

The father grieved-but as the poet's heart Was all unfitted for his earthly part; As, he conceived, some other haughty fair Would, had he lived, have led him to despair; As, with this fear, the silent grave shut out All feverish hope, and all tormenting doubt; While the strong faith the pious youth possess'd, His hope enlivening, gave his sorrows rest; Soothed by these thoughts, he felt a mournful joz For his aspiring and devoted boy.

Meantime the news through various channels spread, [dead. The youth, once favour'd with such praise, was Emma," the lady cried, "my words attend, Your syren smiles have kill'd your humble friend The hope you raised can now delude no more, Nor charms, that once inspired, can now restore." Faint was the flush of anger and of shame

But is he dead? and am I to suppose
The power of poison in such looks as those?'
She spoke, and, pointing to the mirror, cast
A pleased gay glance, and court'sied as she pass'd
My lord, to whom the poet's fate was told,
Was much affected, for a man so cold:
'Dead!" said his lordship, "run distracted, mad!
Upon my soul I'm sorry for the lad;

And now, no doubt, th' obliging world will say
That my harsh usage help'd him on his way:
What! I suppose, I should have nursed his muse,
And with champagne have brighten'd up his
views;

Then had he made me famed my whole life long,
And stunn'd my ears with gratitude and song.
Still should the father hear that I regret
Our joint misfortune-yes! I'll not forget."-
Thus they:-The father to his grave convey'd
The son he loved, and his last duties paid.

"There lies my boy," he cried, " of care bereft
And Heaven be praised, I've not a genius left:
No one among ye, sons! is doom'd to live
On high-raised hopes of what the great may give ;
None, with exalted views and fortunes mean,
To die in anguish, or to live in spleen:
Your pious brother soon escaped the strife
Of such contention, but it cost his life,
You then, my sons, upon yourselves depend,
And in your own exertions find the friend."

TALE VI.

THE FRANK COURTSHIP.

Yes, faith, it is my cousin's duty to make a courtesy, and say, "Father, as it please you;" but for all that, consin, let him be a handsome fellow, or else make another courtesy, and say, "Father, as it pleases me."

Much Ado about Nothing, act ii. sc. 1. He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain-he must speak truth. King Lear, act ii. sc. 2. God hath given you one face, and you make yourselves another; you jig, you amble, you nick-name God's crea. tires, and make your wantonness your ignorance.

Hamlet, act iii. sc. 1.

What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true?
Am I contemn'd for pride and scorn so much?
Much Ado about Nothing, act ii. sc. 1.

GRAVE Jonas Kindred, Sybil Kindred's sire,
Was six feet high, and look'd six inches higher;
Erect, morose, determined, solemn, slow,
Who knew the man, could never cease to know;
His faithful spouse, when Jonas was not by,
Had a firm presence and a steady eye;
But with her husband dropp'd her look and tone,
And Jonas ruled unquestion'd and alone.

He read, and oft would quote the sacred words,
How pious husbands of their wives were lords;
Sarah called Abraham lord! and who could be,
So Jonas thought, a greater man than he?
Himself he view'd with undisguised respect,
And never pardon'd freedom or neglect.
They had one daughter, and this favourite child
Had oft the father of his spleen beguiled;
Soothed by attention from her early years,
She gain'd all wishes by her smiles or tears:

But Sybil then was in that playful time, When contradiction is not held a crime; When parents yield their children idle praise. For faults corrected in their after days.

Peace in the sober house of Jonas dwelt,
Where each his duty and his station felt:
Yet not that peace some favour'd mortals find,
In equal views and harmony of mind;
Not the soft peace that blesses those who love,
Where all with one consent in union move;
But it was that which one superior will
Commands, by making all inferiors still;
Who bids all murmurs, all objections cease,
And with imperious voice announces-Peace!
They were, to wit,' a remnant of that crew,
Who, as their foes maintain, their sovereign slew,
An independent race, precise, correct,
Who ever married in the kindred sect:
No son or daughter of their order wed
A friend to England's king who lost his head;
Cromwell was still their saint, and when they met,
They mourn'd that saints* were not our rulers yet.
Fix'd were their habits: they arose betimes,
Then pray'd their hour, and sang their party
rhymes :

Their meals were plenteous, regular, and plain;
The trade of Jonas brought him constant gain;
Vender of hops and malt, of coals and corn-
And, like his father, he was merchant born:
Neat was their house; each table, chair and stool
Stood in its place, or moving moved by rule;
No lively print or picture graced the room;
A plain brown paper lent its decent gloom;
But here the eye, in glancing round, survey'd
A small recess that seem'd for china made;
Such pleasing pictures seem'd this pencill'd ware,
That few would search for nobler objects there-
Yet turn'd by chosen friends, and there appear'd
His stern, strong features, whom they all revered
For there in lofty air was seen to stand
The bold protector of the conquer'd land;
Drawn in that look with which he wept and swore,
Turn'd out the members, and made fast the door,
Ridding the house of every knave and drone,
Forced, though it grieved his soul, to rule alone.
The stern still smile each friend approving gave,
Then turn'd the view, and all again were grave.
There stood a clock, though small the owner's

need,

For habit told when all things should proceed;
Few their amusements, but when friends appear'd
They with the world's distress their spirits cheer'd
The nation's guilt, that would not long endure
The reign of men so modest and so pure:
Their town was large, and seldom pass'd a day
But some had fail'd, and others gone astray;
Clerks had absconded, wives eloped, girls flown
To Gretna Green, or sons rebellious grown;
Quarrels and fires arose ;-and it was plain
The times were bad; the saints had ceased to
reign!

A few yet lived to languish and to mourn
For good old manners never to return.

This appellation is here used not ironically, nor with malignity; but it is taken merely to designate a morosely devout people, with peculiar austerity of marners.

Jonas had sisters, and of these was one Who lost a husband and an only son; Twelve months her sables she in sorrow wore, And mourn'd so long, that she could mourn no

more.

Distant from Jonas, and from all her race.

She now resided in a lively place;
There, by the sect unseen, at whist she play'd,
Nor was of churchmen or their church afraid ·
If much of this the graver brother heard,
He something censured, but he little fear'd;
He knew her rich and frugal; for the rest
He felt no care, or, if he felt, suppress'd;
Nor for companion when she ask'd her niece,
Had he suspicions that disturb'd his peace;
Frugal and rich, these virtues as a charm
Preserved the thoughtful man from all alarm;
An infant yet, she soon would home return,
Nor stay the manners of the world to learn;
Meantime his boys would all his care engross,
And be his comforts if he felt the loss.

The sprightly Sybil, pleased and unconfined,
Felt the pure pleasure of the opening mind.
All here was gay and cheerful; all at home
Unvaried quiet, and unruffled gloom :
There were no changes, and amusements few;
Here all was varied, wonderful, and new:
There were plain meals, plain dresses, and grave
looks;

Here, gay companions and amusing books:
And the young beauty soon began to taste
The light vocations of the scene she graced.
A man of business feels it as a crime
On (alls domestic to consume his time;
Yet this grave man had not so cold a heart,
But with his daughter he was grieved to part:
And he demanded that in every year
The aunt and niece should at his house appear.
"Yes! we must go, my child, and by our dress
A grave conformity of mind express;
Must sing at meeting, and from cards refrain,
The more t' enjoy when we return again."

Thus spake the aunt, and the discerning child
Was pleased to learn how fathers are beguiled.
Her artful part the young dissembler took,
And from the matron caught th' approving look:
When thrice the friends had met, excuse was sent
For more delay, and Jonas was content;
Till a tall maiden by her sire was seen,
In all the bloom and beauty of sixteen;
He gazed admiring;-she, with visage prim,
Glanced an arch look of gravity on him;
For she was gay at heart, but wore disguise,
And stood a vestal in her father's eyes:
Pure, pensive, simple, sad; the damsel's heart,
When Jonas praised, reproved her for the part;
For Sybil, tond of pleasure, gay and light,
Had still a secret bias to the right;
Vain as she was-and flattery made her vain-
Her simulation gave her bosom pain.

Again return'd, the matron and the niece Found the late quiet gave their joy increase; The aunt, infirm, no more her visits paid, But still with her sojourn'd the favourite maid. Letters were sent when franks could be procured, And when they could not, silence was endured; All were in health, and if they older grew, It seem'd a fact that none among them knew:

The aunt and niece still led a pleasant life,
And quiet days had Jonas and his wife.

Near him a widow dwelt of worthy fame,
Like his her manners, and her creed the same⚫
The wealth her husband left, her care retain'd
For one tall youth, and widow she remain'd;
His love respectful all her care repaid,
Her wishes watch'd, and her commands obey'd
Sober he was and grave from early youth,
Mindful of forms, but more intent on truth;
In a light drab he uniformly dress'd,

And look serene th' unruffled mind express'd,
A hat with ample verge his brows o'erspread,
And his brown locks curl'd graceful on his head;
Yet might observers in his speaking eye
Some observation, some acuteness spy;
The friendly thought it keen, the treacherous
deem'd it sly;

Yet not a crime could foe or friend detect,
His actions all were, like his speech, correct;
And they who jested on a mind so sound,
Upon his virtues must their laughter found;
Chaste, sober, solemn, and devout they named
Him who was thus, and not of this ashamed.

Such were the virtues Jonas found in one
In whom he warmly wish'd to find a son:
Three years had pass'd since he had Sybil seen;
But she was doubtless what she once had been,
Lovely and mild, obedient and discreet;
The pair must love whenever they should meet
Then ere the widow or her son should choose
Some happier maid, he would explain his views
Now she, like him, was politic and shrewd,
With strong desire of lawful gain imbued
To all he said she bow'd with much respect,
Pleased to comply, yet seeming to reject;
Cool and yet eager, each admired the strength
Of the opponent, and agreed at length:
As a drawn battle shows to each a force,
Powerful as his, he honours it of course;
So in these neighbours, each the power discern d
And gave the praise that was to each return'd.

Jonas now ask'd his daughter; and the aunt, Though loath to lose her, was obliged to grant :But would not Sybil to the matron cling, And fear to leave the shelter of her wing? No! in the young there lives a love of change, And to the easy they prefer the strange! Then too the joys she once pursued with zeal, From whist and visits sprung, she ceased to feel, When with the matrons Sybil first sat down, To cut for partners and to stake her crown, This to the youthful maid preferment seem'd, Who thought what woman she was then esteem'd But in few years, when she perceived, indeed, The real woman to the girl succeed, No longer tricks and honours fill'd her mind, But other feelings, not so well defined; She then reluctant grew, and thought it hard To sit and ponder o'er an ugly card; Rather the nut tree shade the nymph preferr'd, Pleased with the pensive gloom and evening bird Thither, from company retired, she took The silent walk, or read the favourite book

The father's letter, sudden, short, and kind, Awaked her wonder, and disturb'd her mind; She found new dreams upon her fancy seize Wild roving thoughts and endless reveries