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Widow'd and poor, her angry father gave, A pleasant humour has the girl : her smile
· Again, my Jessy, hear what I advise, For help, and help'd her when her sire denied ; And watch a woman ever in disguise ; When in few years death stalk'd through bower Issop, that widow, serious, subtle, slyand hall,
But what of this, I must have company :
And worms herself into the closet heart ;
Nor let her know, my love, how we unite.
Her various arts and schemes for fresh supplies ;
To these came Jessy, as a seaman thrown 0! watch their movements all: for me 'tis hard,
Indeed is vain, but von may keep a guard ;
Fex hours had pass'd, when, from attendants Jessy, with fear, disgust, alarm, surprise,
Heard of these dulies for her ears and eyes ;
Heard by what service she must gain her bread, Have daily pray'd, a friend discreet and true ; And went with scorn and sorrow to her bed. 0! wonder not that I on you depend,
Jane was a servant fitted for her place, You are mine own hereditary friend.
Experienced, cunning, fraudful, selfish, base ; Hearken, my Jessy, never can I trust
Skill'd in those mean humiliating arts Beings ungrateful, selfish, and unjust;
That make their way to proud and selfish hearts;
By instinct laughi, she felt an awe, a fear,
And then beheld with hatred when it fail'd;
She all the secrets of the mansion told ;
But on the widow'd friend with deep disdain,
From all contagion Jessy kept a part,
Jessy one morn was thoughtful, and her sigh
The widow heard as she was passing by ; Your father loved me ; now, in time of need,
And" Well!" she said. " is that some distant Watch for my good, and to his place succeed.
swain, * Blood doesn't bind-ihat girl, who every day Or aught with us, that gives your bosom pain? Eats of my bread, would wish my life away ;
Come, we are fellow sufferers, slaves in thrall, I am her dear relation, and she thinks
And tasks and griefs are common to us all; To make her fortune, an ambitious minx !
Think not my frankness strange : they love to
And sober mien, that prove I may rely :
Come, hold my clue, and I will lead the way.
“Good Heaven! that one so jealous, envious, | Proud, and yet envions, she disgusted sees base,
All who are happy, and who look at ease.
Some favourites near us, you'll be bless'd to know
To soothe her spleen, we shall ourselves neg.ect
My free-born feet ; I watch'd as well as they ;
And, led by her ill star, I chanced to see
Used in the hours of anger and alarm,
Thus bless'd with secrets both would choose to And, when for her this meanness I display,
hide, She cries, • I heed not what I throw away ;'
Their fears now grant me what their scorn denied. Of secret bargains I endure the shame,
My freedom thus by their assent secured,
And friends of demons, if they help us, make."
"Strange creatures these," thought Jessy, half • But Issop's nature is to pinch and spare.'
inclined Thus all the meanness of the house is mine, To srnile at one malicious and yet kind ; And my reward, to scorn her, and to dine. Frank and yet cunning, with a heart to love
See next that giddy thing, with neither pride And malice prompt—the serpent and the dove. To keep her safe, nor principle to guide ;
Here could she dwell? or could she yet depart? Poor, idle, simple flirt! as sure as fate
Could she be artiol? could she bear with art ? Her maiden fame will have an early date : This splendid mansion gave the cottage grace, Of her beware ; for all who live below
She thought a dungeon was a happier place; Have faults they wish not all the world to know; And Colin pleading, when he pleaded best, And she is fond of listening, full of doubt, Wrought not such sudden change in Jessy's breast. And stoops to guilt to find an error out.
The wondering maiden, who had only read
Safe in themselves, for nature has design'd
But all beside who in the haunts are found
Days full of care, slow weary weeks pass'd on,
Eager to go, still Jessy was not gone; And seems with every look to sympathize; Her uime in triting or in tears she spení, No mirror can a mortal's grief express
She never gave, she never felt content:
The lady wonder'd that her humble guest
She songht no news, no scandal would convey, And, by that proof she every instant gives, But walk'd for health, and was at church to pray; To one so mean, that yet a meaner lives.
All this displeased, and soon the widow cried,
You know my wishes, I your judgment trust;
When mine is sleeping, let your eye awake ;
soul afraid ; Before her reason could exert its power;
The tread of strangers to my ear ascends,
Fed at my cost, the minions of my friends ;
Th' indignant girl, astonish’d, answer'd, “ Nay! Then came the laughing lass, and join'd her there. This instant, madam, let me haste away ;
“ My sweetest friend has dwelt with us a week, Thus speaks my father's, thus an orphan's friend ! And does she love us ? be sincere and speak ; This instant, lady, let your bounty end." My aunt you cannot-Lord! how I should hate The lady frown'd indignant : "What!" she cried, To be like her, all misery and state ;
“A vicar's daughter with a princess' pride!
And pauper's lot! but pitying, I forgive ;
Grateful for this, that when I think of you, How, simple Jessy, do you think to live?
I little fear what poverty can do."
Summond in haste to soothe the fierce disdain. With cheerful mind th' allotted duties take,
“A vile, detested wretch!" the lady cried, And recollect I have a will to make."
· Yet shall she be, by many an effort, tried, Jessy, who felt as liberal natures feel,
And, clogg'd with debt and fear, against her will When thus the baser their designs reveal,
abide ; Replied, " Those duties were to her unfit,
And, once secured, she never shall depart Nor would her spirit to her tasks submit."
Till I have proved the firmness of her heart; In silent scorn the lady sat a while,
Then when she dares not, would not, cannot go, And then replied with stern contemptuous I'll make her feel what 'tis to use me so." smile,
The pensive Colin in his garden stray'd, * Think you, fair madam, that you came to But felt not then the beauties it display'd ; share
There many a pleasant object met his view, Fortunes like mine without a thought or care ? A rising wood of oaks behind it grew; A guest, indeed! from every trouble free, A stream ran by it, and the village green Dress'd by any help, with not a care for me ; And public road were from the gardens seen ; When I a visit to your father made,
Save where the pine and larch the boundary I for the poor assistance largely paid ;
made, To his domesties I their tasks assign'd,
And on the rose-beds threw a softening shade. I fix'd the portion for his hungry hind ;
The mother sat beside the garden door, And had your father (simple man!) obey'd
Dress'd as in times ere she and hers were poor; My good advice, and watch'd as well The broad-laced cap was known in ancient pray'd,
days, He might have left you something with his When madam's dress compellid the village prayers,
praise ; And lent some colour for these lofty airs.
And still she look'd as in the times of old, " In tears, my love! 0, then, my sosten'd Ere his last farm the erring husband sold ; heart
While yet the mansion stood in decent state, Cannot resist ; we never more will part;
And paupers waited at the well-known gate I need your friendship, I will be your friend, “ Alas! my son!" the mother cried, " and why And thus determined, to my will attend."
That silent grief and oft-repeated sigh? Jessy went forth, but with determined soul True, we are poor, but thou hast never felt To fly such love, to break from such control ; Pangs to thy father for his error dealt; * I hear enough," the trembling damsel cried ; Pangs from strong hopes of visionary gain, " Flight be my care, and Providence my guide : For ever raised, and ever found in vain. Ere yet a prisoner, I escape will make ;
He rose unhappy! from his fruitless schemes, Will. thus display'd, th' insidious arts forsake, As guilty wretches from their blissful dreams; And, as the rattle sounds, will fly the fatal But thou wert then, my son, a playful child, snake."
Wondering at grief, gav, innocent, and wild, Jessy her thanks upon the morrow paid, Listening at times to thy poor mother's sighs, Prepared to go, determined, though afraid. With curious looks and innocent surprise ;
* Ungrateful creature," said the lady, “ this Thy father dying, thou, my virtuous boy, Could I imagine ?-are you frontic, miss ?
My comfort always, waked my soul to joy ; What! leave your friend, your prospects-is it With the poor remnant of our fortune left, true ?"
Thou hast our station of its gloom bereft: This Jessy answer'd by a mild “ Adieu !"
Thy lively temper, and thy cheerful air, The dame replied, “ Then houseless may you Have cast a smile on sadness and despair : rove,
Thy acuve hand has dealt to this poor space The starving victim to a guilty love ;
The bliss of plenty and the charm of grace ; Branded with shame, in sickness doom'd to nurse And all around us wonder when they find An ill-form'd cub, your scandal and your curse ; Such taste and strength, such skill and powo Spurn d by its scoundrel father, and ill fed
combined ; By surly rustics with the parish bread :
There is no moiher, Colin, no, noi one Relent you not ?—speak-yet I can forgive ; But envies me so kind, so good a son : Sull live with me.' “With you," said Jessy, By thee supported on this failing side, live?
Weakness itself awakes a parent's pride : No! I would first endure what you describe, I bless the stroke that was my grief before, Rather than breathe with your detested tribe , And feel such joy that 'tis disease no more ; Who long have feign'd, till now their very Shielded by thee, my want becomes my wealth, hearts
And soothed by Colin, sickness smiles at health , Are firmly fir'd in their accursed parts ;
The old men love thee, they repeat thy praise. Who all profess esteem, and feel disdain,
And say, like thee were youth in earlier days ; And all. with justice, of deceit complain;
While every village maiden cries, · How gay, Whom I could pity, but that, while I stay, How smart, how brave, how good is Colin My terror Jr. ves all kinder thoughts away;
Yet art thou sad ; alas ! my son, I know Thy heart is wounded, and the cure is slow;
THE STRUGGLES OF CONSCIENCE
I am a villain ; yet I lie, I am not;
Fool! of thyself speak well:-Fool! do not flatter. When thou hast eased his bosom of its pain,
My Conscience hath a thousand several tongues, 0! I have seen her—she will come again.'
And every tongue brings in a several tale.
Richard III. act v. sc. 3. The matron ceased ; and Colin stood the while Silent, but striving for a grateful smile ;
My Conscience is but a kind of hard Conscience.... He then replied, " Ah! sure, had Jessy stay’d,
The fiend gives the more friendly counsel.
Merchant of Venice, act ii. sc. 2 And shared the comforts of our sylvan shade,
Thou hast it now-and I fear The tenderest duty and the fondest love
Thou play'dst most foully for it. Would not have fail'd that generous heart to
Macbeth, act iii. sc. I.
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, A grateful pity would have ruled her breast,
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, And my distresses would have made me bles..
Rase out the written troubles of the brain, “But she is gone, and ever has in view
And with some sweet oblivious antidote Grandeur and taste ; and what will then ensue?
Cleanse the foul bosom of that perilous stuff Surprise, and then delight, in scenes so fair and
Which weighs upon the heart ?
16. aci v. sc. 3.
Soft! I did but dreamFor many a day, perhaps for many a week,
O! coward Conscience, how dost thou amict me! Home will have charms, and to her bosom speak;
Richard III. act v. sc. 3. But thoughtless ease, and affluence, and pride, Seen day by day, will draw the heart aside : A SERIOUS toyman in the city dwelt, And she at length, though gentle and sincere, Who much concern for his religion felt; Will think no more of our enjoyment here." Reading, he changed his tenels, read again, Sighing he spake—but hark! he hears the ap- And various questions could with skill maintain ; proach
Papist and quaker if we set aside, Of rattling wheels! and lo! the evening coach ; He had the road of every traveller tried ; Once more the movement of the horses' feet There walk'd a while, and on a sudden turn'd Makes the fond heart with strong emotion beat ; Into some by-way he had just discern'd: Faint were his hopes, but ever had the sight He had a nephew, Fulham-Fulham went Drawn him to gaze beside his gate at night; His uncle's way, with every turn content ; And when with rapid wheels it hurried by, He saw his pious kinsman's watchful care, He grieved his parent with a hopeless sigh; And thought such anxious pains his own might And could the blessing have been bought, what spare,
And he, the truth obtain'd, without the toil, might Had he not offer d, to have Jessy come!
share. She came-he saw her bending from the door, In fact, young Fulham, though he little read, Her face, her smile, and he beheld no more ; Perceived his uncle was by fancy led ; Lost in his joy—the mother lent ber aid
And smiled to see the constant care he took, T'assist and to detain the willing maid;
Collating creed with creed, and book with book. Who thought her late, her present home 10 make, At length the senior fix’d; I pass the sect Sure of a welcome for the vicar's sake :
He call'd a church, 'twas precious and elect; But the good parent was so pleased, so kind, Yet the seed fell not in the richest soil, So pressing Colin, she so much inclined,
For few disciples paid the preacher's toil ; That night advanced ; and then so long detain'd, All in an attic room were wont to meet, No wishes to depart she felt, or feign'd ;
These few disciples at their pastor's feet ; Yet long in doubt she stood, and then perforce With these went Fulham, who, discreet and grave, remain'd.
Follow'd the light his worthy uncle gave ;
Till a warm preacher found a way t' impart
Some weighty truths, and of unpleasant kind,
No! there is something I perceive at last,
This man alarms me, and I must begin
These sons of zeal have I derided long,
This Fulham tried : who would to him advance But now begin to think the laughers wrong; A pound or crown, he gave in turn a chance Nay, my good uncle, by all teachers moved, For weighty prize ; and should they nothing share, Will be preferr'd to him who none approved ; They had their crown or pound in Fulham's ware; Better to love amiss than nothing to have loved." Thus the old stores within the shop were sold Such were his thoughts, when Conscience first for that which none refuses, new or old. began
Was this unjust? yet Conscience could not rest,
That should they war he would have work enough Pious he was not, but he feard the pain
Suppose," said she, “ your vended numbers rise Of sins committed, nor would sin again.
The same with those which gain each real prize, Whene'er he stray'd, he found his Conscience (Such your proposal,) can you ruin shun?"-rose,
"A hundred thousand," he replied, “ to one."Like one determined what was ill t’ oppose, Suill it may happen."_“I the sum must pay.'What wrong l'accuse, what secret to disclose : You know you cannot."-" I can run away.' To drag forth every latent act to light,
That is dishonest.”—“ Nay, but you must wink And fix them fully in the actor's sight:
At a chance hit; it cannot be, I think.
The uncle died, and when the nephew read Fail I at meeting ? am I sleepy there?
Or drink at club beyond a certain pitch ?
Which are your charges ? Conscience, tell me Desire of profit, idle habits check'd,
which ?" (For Fulham's virtue was to be correct ;)
" 'Tis well,” said she, “but-". Nay, I pray, He and his Conscience had their compact made
have done : “ Crge me with truth, and you will soon persuade ; Trust me, I will not into danger run." But noi," he cried, “ for mere ideal things
The lottery drawn, not one demand was made ; Give me to feel those terror-breeding stings." Fulham gain'd profit and increase of trade. - Lei not such thoughts," she said, “ your mind “See now," said he-for Conscience yet aroseconfound ;
How foolish 'tis such measures to oppose : Trines may wake me, but they never wound ; Have I not blameless thus iny state advanced ?"In them indeed there is a wrong and right,
Still," mutter'd Conscience, still it might have But you will find me pliant and polite ;
chanced."Not like a Conscience of the dotard kind,
Might!" said our hero. “ who is so exact Awake to dreams, to dire offences blind :
As to inquire what might have been a fact ?" Let all within be pure, in all beside
Now Fulham's shop contain'd a curious view Be your own master, governor, and guide ; Of costly trifles elegant and new : Alive to danger, in temptation strong,
The papers told where kind mammas mighi buy And I shall sleep our whole existence long." The gayest toys to charm an intant's eye ; "Sweet be thy sleep,” said Fulham ; strong Where generous beaux might gentle damsels please must be
And travellers call who cross the land or seas, The tempting ill that gains access to me :
And find the curious art, the neat device Never will I to evil deed consent,
Of precious value and of trifling price. Or, if surprised, O! how will I repent!
Here Conscience rested, she was find pleased to find,
Thus our young Trader and his Conscience dwelt Who would prevent, to justify the sin?)
The charge was strong; he would in part conYet these were trifling bickerings, pelty jars,
fess Domestic strises, preliminary wars ;
Offence there was: but who offended less ? He ventured little, little she express'd
What! is a mere assertion call'd a lie ? Of indignation, and they both had rest.
And if it be, are men compel!'d to buy? Thus was he fix'd to walk the worthy way, 'Twas strange that Conscience on such points When profit urged him to a bold essay :
should dwell, A ume was that when all at pleasure gamed While he was acting (he would call it) well : In lottery chances, yet of law unblamed ;
He bought as others buy, he sold as others sell