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friends, and to their home withdrew;
vicar to her sire applied
help'd her when her sire denied;
years death stalk'd through bower
11.

id sons of sons, were buried all :
unded, and had wealth to spare
grief she once was doom'd to share:
in misery's school, and taught to feel,
›joice an orphan's woes to heal :
ight, who look'd within her breast,
conceived how bounteous minds are

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vast mansion look'd the lady down
buildings of a busy town;

→ her friends of either sex, and all
she lived on terms reciprocal:
the hours with their accustom'd ease,
clined, but not compell'd to please;
ere others in the mansion found,
osen, and by duties bound;

e rivals, each of power possess'd,

it maid, poor friend, and kindred guest.
ame Jessy, as a seaman thrown
storm upon a coast unknown

as flattering, civil seem'd the race,
own the dangers of the place. [freed,
rs had pass'd, when, from attendants
ter'd-" This is kind indeed;
love! that I for one like you
pray'd, a friend discreet and true;
not that I on you depend,
me own hereditary friend.
-y Jessy, never can I trust
rateful, selfish, and unjust;
= present, and my load of care
will serve to lighten and to share:
me, Jessy; let not those below
nce on your friendship know;
ey look, be in their freedoms free-
do
you convey to me."

y say

sy's thoughts to Colin's cottage flew, such speed she scarce their absence

w.

-ves her mistress, and should she depart, service, and she breaks her heart;

Close in your thoughts, in your professions free
Again, my Jessy, hear what I advise,
And watch a woman ever in disguise;
Issop, that widow, serious, subtle, sly—
But what of this-I must have company :
She markets for me, and although she makes
Profit, no doubt, of all she undertakes,
Yet she is one I can to all produce,
And all her talents are in daily use;
Deprived of her, I may another find
As sly and selfish, with a weaker mind:
But never trust her, she is full of art,
And worms herself into the closet heart;
Seem then, I pray you, careless in her sight,
Nor let her know, my love, how we unite.

Do, my good Jessy, cast a view around,
And let no wrong within my house be found;
That girl associates with-I know not who
Are her companions, nor what ill they do;
'Tis then the widow plans, 'tis then she tries
Her various arts and schemes for fresh supplies;
'Tis then, if ever, Jane her duty quits,
And, whom I know not, favours and admits :
O! watch their movements all; for me 'tis hard,
Indeed is vain, but you may keep a guard;
And I, when none your watchful glance deceive,
May make my will, and think what I shall leave.'
Jessy, with fear, disgust, alarm, surprise,
Heard of these duties for her ears and eyes;
Heard by what service she must gain her bread,
And went with scorn and sorrow to her bed.
Jane was a servant fitted for her place,
Experienced, cunning, fraudful, selfish, base;
Skill'd in those mean humiliating arts

That make their way to proud and selfish hearts;
By instinct taught, she felt an awe, a fear,
For Jessy's upright, simple character;
Whom with gross flattery she a while assail'd,
And then beheld with hatred when it fail'd;
Yet trying still upon her mind for hold,
She all the secrets of the mansion told ;
And to invite an equal trust, she drew
Of every mind a bold and rapid view;
But on the widow'd friend with deep disdain,
And rancorous envy, dwelt the treacherous Jane :-
In vain such arts; without deceit or pride,

and wishes, looks and thoughts she With a just taste and feeling for her guide,

ws,

us care by close attention shows:
faithful? in temptation strong?

ot wrong me? ah! I fear the wrong :
er loved me; now, in time of need,
my good, and to his place succeed.
doesn't bind-that girl, who every day
bread, would wish my life away;
Hear relation, and she thinks
her fortune, an ambitious minx!
courts me for the prospect's sake,
the knows I have a will to make;

my will delay'd, I know not how-
are here, and I will make it now.
idle creature, keep her in your view,

From all contagion Jessy kept apart.
Free in her manners, guarded in her heart.

Jessy one morn was thoughtful, and her sigh
The widow heard as she was passing by;
And-" Well!" she said. "is that some distant
swain.

Or aught with us, that gives your bosom pain?
Come, we are fellow sufferers, slaves in thrall,
And tasks and griefs are common to us all ;
Think not my frankness strange: they love to

paint

Their state with freedom, who endure restraint;
And there is something in that speaking eye
And sober mien, that prove I may rely:
You came a stranger; to my words attend,

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"Good Heaven! that one so jealous, envious, | Proud, and yet envious, she disgusted sees

base,

Should be the mistress of so sweet a place;
She, who so long herself was low and poor,
Now broods suspicious on her useless store;
She loves to see us abject, loves to deal
Her insult round, and then pretends to feel:
Prepare to cast all dignity aside,

For know your talents will be quickly tried;
Nor think, from favours past, a friend to gain,
"Tis but by duties we our posts maintain:
I read her novels, gossip through the town,
And daily go, for idle stories, down;

I cheapen all she buys, and bear the curse
Of honest tradesmen for my niggard purse;
And, when for her this meanness I display,
She cries, I heed not what I throw away;'
Of secret bargains I endure the shame,
And stake my credit for our fish and game;
Oft has she smiled to hear her generous soul
Would gladly give, but stoops to my control.'
Nay! I have heard her, when she chanced to come
Where I contended for a petty sum,
Affirm 'twas painful to behold such care.
'But Issop's nature is to pinch and spare.'
Thus all the meanness of the house is mine,
And my reward, to scorn her, and to dine.

"See next that giddy thing, with neither pride
To keep her safe, nor principle to guide;
Poor, idle, simple flirt! as sure as fate
Her maiden fame will have an early date:
Of her beware; for all who live below
Have faults they wish not all the world to know;
And she is fond of listening, full of doubt,
And stoops to guilt to find an error out

And now once more observe the artful maid, A lying, prying, jilting, thievish jade; I think, my love, you would not condescend To call a low, illiterate girl your friend: But in our troubles we are apt, you know. To lean on all who some compassion show, And she has flexile features, acting eyes, And seems with every look to sympathize; No mirror can a mortal's grief express With more precision, or can feel it less; That proud, mean spirit, she by fawning courts, By vulgar flattery, and by vile reports; And, by that proof she every instant gives, To one so mean, that yet a meaner lives.

Come, I have drawn the curtain, and you see Your fellow actors, all our company; Should you incline to throw reserve aside, And in my judgment and my love confide, I could some prospects open to your view, That ask attention; and, till then, adieu."

"Farewell!" said Jessy, hastening to her room, Where all she saw within, without, was gloom : Confused, perplex'd, she pass'd a dreary hour, Before her reason could exert its power; To her all seem'd mysterious, all allied To avarice, meanness, folly, craft, and pride; Wearied with thought, she breathed the garden's air,

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All who are happy, and who look at ease.
Let friendship bind us, I will quickly show
Some favourites near us, you'll be bless'd to know
My aunt forbids it, but can she expect,
To soothe her spleen, we shall ourselves neglect
Jane and the widow were to watch and stay
My free-born feet; I watch'd as well as they;
Lo! what is this? this simple key explores
The dark recess that holds the spinster's stores;
And, led by her ill star, I chanced to see
Where Issop keeps her stock of ratafie;
Used in the hours of anger and alarm,
It makes her civil, and it keeps her warm;
Thus bless'd with secrets both would choose to

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· Strange creatures these," thought Jessy, half
inclined

To smile at one malicious and yet kind;
Frank and yet cunning, with a heart to love
And malice prompt-the serpent and the dove.
Here could she dwell? or could she yet depart!
Could she be artful? could she bear with art?
This splendid mansion gave the cottage grace,
She thought a dungeon was a happier place;
And Colin pleading, when he pleaded best,
Wrought not such sudden change in Jessy's breast.

The wondering maiden, who had only read
Of such vile beings, saw them now with dread;
Safe in themselves, for nature has design'd
The creature's poison harmless to the kind;
But all beside who in the haunts are found
Must dread the poison, and must feel the wound.
Days full of care, slow weary weeks pass'd on,
Eager to go, still Jessy was not gone;
Her time in trifling or in tears she spent,
She never gave, she never felt content:
The lady wonder'd that her humble guest
Strove not to please, would neither lie nor jest ;
She sought no news, no scandal would convey,
But walk'd for health, and was at church to pray;
All this displeased, and soon the widow cried,
Let me be frank; I am not satisfied;
You know my wishes, I your judgment trust;
You can be useful, Jessy, and you must.
Let me be plainer, child; I want an ear
When I am deaf, instead of mine to hear,
When mine is sleeping, let your eye awake;
When I observe not, observation take;
Alas! I rest not on my pillow laid,
Then threatening whispers make my soul afraid;
The tread of strangers to my ear ascends,
Fed at my cost, the minions of my friends;
While you, without a care, a wish to please,
Eat the vile bread of idleness and ease."

Th' indignant girl, astonish'd, answer'd, "Nay! This instant, madam, let me haste away; Thus speaks my father's, thus an orphan's friend This instant, lady, iet your bounty end."

The lady frown'd indignant: "What!" she cried, "A vicar's daughter with a princess' pride!

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me colour for these lofty airs.

s, my love! O, then, my soften'd

ist; we never more will part;
r friendship, I will be your friend,
letermined, to my will attend."
ent forth, but with determined soul
love, to break from such control;
ough," the trembling damsel cried;
my care, and Providence my guide:
prisoner, I escape will make;
display'd, th' insidious arts forsake,
he rattle sounds, will fly the fatal
se"

r thanks upon the morrow paid,
o go, determined, though afraid.
teful creature," said the lady," this
agine-are you frantic, miss?

ave your friend, your prospects-is it
e?"

answer'd by a mild “Adieu!”

"A vile, detested wretch!" the lady cried,
Yet shall she be, by many an effort, tried,
And, clogg'd with debt and fear, against her will
abide;

And, once secured, she never shall depart
Till I have proved the firmness of her heart;
Then when she dares not, would not, cannot go,
I'll make her feel what 'tis to use me so."

The pensive Colin in his garden stray'd,
But felt not then the beauties it display'd;
There many a pleasant object met his view,
A rising wood of oaks behind it grew ;
A stream ran by it, and the village green
And public road were from the gardens seen;
Save where the pine and larch the boundary
made,

And on the rose-beds threw a softening shade.
The mother sat beside the garden door,
Dress'd as in times ere she and hers were poor;
The broad-laced cap was known in ancient
days,

When madam's dress compell'd the village

praise;

And still she look'd as in the times of old,
Ere his last farm the erring husband sold;
While yet the mansion stood in decent state,
And paupers waited at the well-known gate

Alas! my son!" the mother cried," and why
That silent grief and oft-repeated sigh?
True, we are poor, but thou hast never felt
Pangs to thy father for his error dealt ;
Pangs from strong hopes of visionary gain,
For ever raised, and ever found in vain.
He rose unhappy! from his fruitless schemes,
As guilty wretches from their blissful dreams;
But thou wert then, my son, a playful child,
Wondering at grief, gay, innocent, and wild,
Listening at times to thy poor mother's sighs,
With curious looks and innocent surprise;
Thy father dying, thou, my virtuous boy,
My comfort always, waked my soul to joy;
With the poor remnant of our fortune left,
Thou hast our station of its gloom bereft :
Thy lively temper, and thy cheerful air,

me replied, "Then houseless may you Have cast a smile on sadness and despair:

2,

ing victim to a guilty love;

ith shame, in sickness doom'd to nurse
n'd cub, your scandal and your curse;
its scoundrel father, and ill fed
ustics with the parish bread —

u not?-speak-yet I can forgive;
with me.". "With you," said Jessy,
ve?

ld first endure what you describe,
an breathe with your detested tribe,
g have feign'd, till now their very

rts

fix'd in their accursed parts; profess esteem, and feel disdain, with iustice. of deceit complain;

Thy active hand has dealt to this poor space
The bliss of plenty and the charm of grace;
And all around us wonder when they find
Such taste and strength, such skill and powe
combined;

There is no mother, Colin, no, not one
But envies me so kind, so good a son:
By thee supported on this failing side,
Weakness itself awakes a parent's pride:
I bless the stroke that was my grief before,
And feel such joy that 'tis disease no more ;
Shielded by thee, my want becomes my wealth,
And soothed by Colin, sickness smiles at health;
The old men love thee, they repeat thy praise,
And say, like thee were youth in earlier days;
While every village maiden cries, ' How gay,

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Yet art thou sad; alas! my son, I know Thy heart is wounded, and the cure is slow; Fain would I think that Jessy still may come To share the comforts of our rustic home: She surely loved thee; I have seen the maid, When thou hast kindly brought the vicar aid— When thou hast eased his bosom of its pain, O! I have seen her-she will come again.'

The matron ceased; and Colin stood the while Silent, but striving for a grateful smile; He then replied, "Ah! sure, had Jessy stay'd, And shared the comforts of our sylvan shade, The tenderest duty and the fondest love Would not have fail'd that generous heart to

move;

A grateful pity would have ruled her breast,
And my distresses would have made me blest.
"But she is gone, and ever has in view
Grandeur and taste; and what will then ensue?
Surprise, and then delight, in scenes so fair and

new:

TALE XIV.

THE STRUGGLES OF CONSCIENCE.

I am a villain; yet I lie, I am not;

Fool! of thyself speak well:-Fool! do not flatter. My Conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale.

Richard III. act v. sc. 3.

My Conscience is but a kind of hard Conscience.... The fiend gives the more friendly counsel.

Merchant of Venice, act ii. sc. 2.

Thou hast it now-and I fear Thou play'dst most foully for it.

Macbeth, act iii. sc. 1. Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, Rase out the written troubles of the brain, And with some sweet oblivious antidote Cleanse the foul bosom of that perilous stuff Which weighs upon the heart?

Soft! I did but dream

16. act v. sc. 3.

O! coward Conscience, how dost thou afflict me! Richard III. act v. sc. 3.

For many a day, perhaps for many a week,
Home will have charms, and to her bosom speak;
But thoughtless ease, and affluence, and pride,
Seen day by day, will draw the heart aside :
And she at length, though gentle and sincere,
Will think no more of our enjoyment here."
Sighing he spake-but hark! he hears the ap- And various questions could with skill maintain;

proach

Of rattling wheels! and lo! the evening coach;
Once more the movement of the horses' feet
Makes the fond heart with strong emotion beat;
Faint were his hopes, but ever had the sight
Drawn him to gaze beside his gate at night;
And when with rapid wheels it hurried by,
He grieved his parent with a hopeless sigh;
And could the blessing have been bought, what

sum

Had he not offer'd, to have Jessy come!

She came he saw her bending from the door,
Her face, her smile, and he beheld no more;
Lost in his joy-the mother lent her aid
T'assist and to detain the willing maid;
Who thought her late, her present home to make,
Sure of a welcome for the vicar's sake:
But the good parent was so pleased, so kind,
So pressing Colin, she so much inclined,
That night advanced; and then so long detain'd,
No wishes to depart she felt, or feign'd;

Yet long in doubt she stood, and then perforce remain'd.

Here was a lover fond, a friend sincere ; Here was content and joy, for she was here: In the mild evening, in the scene around, The maid, now free, peculiar beauties found; Blended with village tones, the evening gale Gave the sweet night-bird's warblings to the vale; The youth imbolden'd, yet abash'd, now told His fondest wish, nor found the maiden cold; The mother smiling whisper'd-" Let him go And seek the license!" Jessy answer'd, "No:" But Colin went. I know not if they live With all the comforts wealth and plenty give: But with pure joy to envious souls denied, To suppliant meanness and suspicious pride; And village maids of happy couples say, "They live like Jessy Bourn and Colin Grey."

A SERIOUS toyman in the city dwelt,
Who much concern for his religion felt;
Reading, he changed his tenets, read again,

Papist and quaker if we set aside,

He had the road of every traveller tried;
There walk'd a while, and on a sudden turn'd
Into some by-way he had just discern'd:
He had a nephew, Fulham-Fulham went
His uncle's way, with every turn content;
He saw his pious kinsman's watchful care,
And thought such anxious pains his own might

spare,

And he, the truth obtain'd, without the toil, might share.

In fact, young Fulham, though he little read,
Perceived his uncle was by fancy led;
And smiled to see the constant care he took,
Collating creed with creed, and book with book.
At length the senior fix'd; I pass the sect
He call'd a church, 'twas precious and elect;
Yet the seed fell not in the richest soil,
For few disciples paid the preacher's toil;
All in an attic room were wont to meet,
These few disciples at their pastor's feet;
With these went Fulham, who, discreet and grave,
Follow'd the light his worthy uncle gave;
Till a warm preacher found a way 'impart
Awakening feelings to his torpid heart:
Some weighty truths, and of unpleasant kind,
Sank, though resisted, in his struggling mind;
He wish'd to fly them, but compell'd to stay,
Truth to the waking Conscience found her way;
For though the youth was call'd a prudent lad,
And prudent was, yet serious faults he had;
Who now reflected-" Much am I surprised,
I find these notions cannot be despised;
No! there is something I perceive at last,
Although my uncle cannot hold it fast;
Though I the strictness of these men reject,
Yet I determine to be circumspect;
This man alarms me, and I must begin
To look more closely to the things within;

These sons of zeal have I derided long,
But now begin to think the laughers wrong;
Nay, my good uncle, by all teachers moved,
Will be preferr'd to him who none approved ;
Better to love amiss than nothing to have loved."
Such were his thoughts, when Conscience first
began

To hold close converse with th' awaken'd man:
He from that time reserved and cautious grew,
And for his duties felt obedience due;
Pious he was not, but he fear'd the pain
Of sins committed, nor would sin again.
Whene'er he stray'd, he found his Conscience

rose,

Like one determined what was ill t' oppose,
What wrong t' accuse, what secret to disclose :
To drag forth every latent act to light,
And fix them fully in the actor's sight:
This gave him trouble, but he still confess'd
The labour useful, for it brought him rest.

The uncle died, and when the nephew read
The will, and saw the substance of the dead-
Five hundred guineas, with a stock in trade-
He much rejoiced, and thought his fortune made;
Yet felt aspiring pleasure at the sight,
And for increase, increasing appetite :
Desire of profit, idle habits check'd,

(For Fulham's virtue was to be correct ;)

He and his Conscience had their compact made-
"Urge me with truth, and you will soon persuade;
But not," he cried, "for mere ideal things
Give me to feel those terror-breeding stings."

"Let not such thoughts," she said, "your mind confound;

Trifles may wake me, but they never wound;
In them indeed there is a wrong and right,
But you will find me pliant and polite;
Not like a Conscience of the dotard kind,
Awake to dreams, to dire offences blind :
Let all within be pure, in all beside
Be your own master, governor, and guide;
Alive to danger, in temptation strong,
And I shall sleep our whole existence long."
"Sweet be thy sleep," said Fulham; "strong
must be

The tempting ill that gains access to me :
Never will I to evil deed consent,
Or, if surprised, O! how will I repent!
Should gain be doubtful, soon would I restore
The dangerous good, or give it to the poor,
Repose for them my growing wealth shall buy-
Or build-who knows?-an hospital like Guy?—
Yet why such means to soothe the smart within,
While firmly purposed to renounce the sin?"
Thus our young Trader and his Conscience dwelt
In mutual love, and great the joy they felt;
But yet in small concerns, in trivial things,
"She was," he said, "too ready with the stings;"
And he too apt, in search of growing gains,
To lose the fear of penalties and pains:
Yet these were trifling bickerings, petty jars,
Domestic strifes, preliminary wars;
He ventured little, little she express'd
Of indignation, and they both had rest.

Thus was he fix'd to walk the worthy way,
When profit urged him to a bold essay :-
A time was that when all at pleasure gamed
In lottery chances, yet of law unblamed;

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This Fulham tried: who would to him advance
A pound or crown, he gave in turn a chance
For weighty prize; and should they nothing share,
They had their crown or pound in Fulham's ware;
Thus the old stores within the shop were sold
For that which none refuses, new or old.
Was this unjust? yet Conscience could not rest,
But made a mighty struggle in the breast.
And gave th' aspiring man an early proof,
That should they war he would have work enough
Suppose," said she, " your vended numbers rise
The same with those which gain each real prize,
(Such your proposal,) can you ruin shun ?"--
"A hundred thousand," he replied, “to one.”—
Still it may happen."-" I the sum must pay."-
You know you cannot.”—“ I can run away."
That is dishonest."-" Nay, but you must wink
At a chance hit; it cannot be, I think.
Upon my conduct as a whole decide,
Such trifling errors let my virtues hide;
Fail I at meeting? am I sleepy there?
My purse refuse I with the priest to share?
Do I deny the poor a helping hand?
Or stop the wicked women in the Strand?
Or drink at club beyond a certain pitch?
Which are your charges? Conscience, tell me
which ?"

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"Might" said our hero, who is so exact
As to inquire what might have been a fact?"
Now Fulham's shop contain'd a curious view
Of costly trifles elegant and new:

The papers told where kind mammas might buy
The gayest toys to charm an infant's eye;
Where generous beaux might gentle damsels please
And travellers call who cross the land or seas,
And find the curious art, the neat device
Of precious value and of trifling price.
Here Conscience rested, she was find pleased to find,
No less an active than an honest mind;
But when he named his price, and when he swore,
His conscience check'd him, that he ask'd no more
When half he sought had been a large increase
On fair demand, she could not rest in peace:
(Beside th' affront to call th' adviser in,
Who would prevent, to justify the sin ?)
She therefore told him, that "he vainly tried
To soothe her anger, conscious that he lied;
If thus he grasp'd at such usurious gains,
He must deserve, and should expect her pains."
The charge was strong; he would in part con
fess

Offence there was: but who offended less?
"What! is a mere assertion call'd a lie?
And if it be, are men compell'd to buy?
'Twas strange that Conscience on such points
should dwell,

While he was acting (he would call it) well:
He bought as others buy, he sold as others sell

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