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Ill were the tidings that arrived from sea,
The worthy George must now a cripple be;
His leg was lopp'd; and though his heart was sound,
Though his brave captain was with glory crown'd,
Yet much it vex'd him to repose on shore,
An idle log, and be of use no more:
True, he was sure that Isaac would receive
All of his brother that the foe might leave;
To whom the seaman his design had sent,
Ere from the port the wounded hero went:
His wealth and expectations told, he "knew
Wherein they fail'd, what Isaac's love would do;
That he the grog and cabin would supply,
Where George at anchor during life would lie."
The landsman read-and, reading, grew dis-
tress'd :-

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Could he resolve t' admit so poor a guest?
Better at Greenwich might the sailor stay,
Unless his purse could for his comforts pay ;"
So Isaac judged, and to his wife appeal'd,
But yet acknowledged it was best to yield:
Perhaps his pension, with what sums remain
Due or unsquander'd, may the man maintain;
Refuse we must not.”—With a heavy sigh
The lady heard, and made her kind reply:
"Nor would I wish it, Isaac, were we sure
How long his crazy building will endure;
Like an old house, that every day appears
About to fall-he may be propp'd for years;
For a few months, indeed, we might comply,
But these old batter'd fellows never die."

The hand of Isaac, George on entering took,
With love and resignation in his look;
Declared his comfort in the fortune past,
And joy to find his anchor safely cast;
"Call then my nephews, let the grog be brought,
And I will teli them how the ship was fought."
Alas! our simple seaman should have known,
That all the care, the kindness, he had shown,
Were from his brother's heart, if not his memory,
flown:

All swept away to be perceived no more,
Like idle structures on the sandy shore;
The chance amusement of the playful boy,
That the rude billows in their rage destroy.

That Isaac seem'd concern'd by his distress
Gave to his injured feelings some redress;
But none he found disposed to lend an ear
To stories, all were once intent to hear:
Except his nephew, seated on his knee,
He found no creature cared about the sea;
But George indeed-for George they call'd the
boy,

When his good uncle was their boast and joy-
Would listen long, and would contend with sleep,
To hear the woes and wonders of the deep;
Till the fond mother cried-"That man will
teach

The foolish boy his loud and boisterous speech."
So judged the father-and the boy was taught
To shun the uncle, whom his love had sought.

The mask of kindness now but seldom worn,
George felt each evil harder to be borne;
And cried, (vexation growing day by day,)
"Ah! brother Isaac !-What! I'm in the way!"
"No! on my credit, look ye, No! but I
Am fond of peace, and my repose would buy
On any terms-in short, we must comply:
My spouse had money-she must have her will-
Ah! brother-marriage is a bitter pill."

44

George tried the lady-" Sister, I offend." Me?" she replied-"O no!—you may depend On my regard-but watch your brother's way, Whom I, like you, must study and obey."

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Ah!" thought the seaman, what a head was
mine,

That easy birth at Greenwich to resign!
I'll to the parish"- --but a little pride,
And some affection, put the thought aside.
Now gross neglect and open scorn he bore
In silent sorrow-but he felt the more:
The odious pipe he to the kitchen took,
Or strove to profit by some pious book.

When the mind stoops to this degraded state,
New griefs will darken the dependant's fate;
"Brother!" said Isaac, "you will sure excuse
The little freedom I'm compell'd to use:
My wife's relations-(curse the haughty crew)-
Affect such niceness, and such dread of you:
You speak so loud-and they have natures soft-

Poor George confess'd, though loath the truth to Brother--I wish-do go upon the loft!"

find,

Slight was his knowledge of a brother's mind :
The vulgar pipe was to the wife offence,
The frequent grog to Isaac an expense;

Poor George obey'd, and to the garret fled,
Where not a being saw the tears he shed:
But more was yet required, for guests were come,
Who could not dine if he disgraced the room.

Would friends like hers, she question'd, "choose to It shock'd his spirit to be esteem'd unfit

come,

Where clouds of poison'd fume defiled a room?
This could their lady friend, and Burgess Steel,
(Teased with his worship's asthma,) bear to feel?
Could they associate or converse with him-
A loud rough sailor with a timber limb?"

Cold as he grew, still Isaac strove to show,
By well-feign'd care, that cold he could not grow;
And when he saw his brother look distress'd,
He strove some petty comforts to suggest;
On his wife solely their neglect to lay,
And then t' excuse it, is a woman's way;
He too was chidden when her rules he broke,
And then she sicken'd at the scent of smoke.
George, though in doubt, was still consoled to

find

His brother wishing to be reckon'd kind:

With an own brother and his wife to sit;
He grew rebellious-at the vestry spoke
For weekly aid--they heard it as a joke:

So kind a brother, and so wealthy--you
Apply to us?—No! this will never do :
Good neighbour Fletcher," said the overseer,
"We are engaged-you can have nothing here"

George mutter'd something in despairing tone
Then sought his loft, to think and grieve alone;
Neglected, slighted, restless on his bed,
With heart half broken, and with scraps ill fed;
Yet was he pleased, that hours for play design'd
Were given to ease his ever-troubled mind,
The child still listen'd with increasing joy.
And he was soothed by the attentive boy

At length he sicken'd, and this duteous child
Watch'd o'er his sickness, and his pains beguiled;

The mother bade him from the loft refrain,
But, though with caution, yet he went again:
And now his tales the sailor feebly told,
His heart was heavy, and his limbs were cold:
The tender boy came often to entreat

His good kind friend would of his presents eat ;
Purloin'd or purchased, for he saw, with shame,
The food untouch'd that to his uncle came;
Who, sick in body and in mind, received

The boy's indulgence, gratified and grieved.

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Uncle will die!" said George-the piteous wife

Exclaim'd," She saw no value in his life;

But sick or well, to my commands attend,
And

go no more to your complaining friend."
The boy was vex'd; he felt his heart reprove
The stern decree.-What! punish'd for his love!
No! he would go, but softly to the room,
Stealing in silence-for he knew his doom.

Once in a week the father came to say, "George, are you ill?"-and hurried him away; Yet to his wife would on their duties dwell, And often cry," Do use my brother well:" And something kind, no question, Isaac meant, Who took vast credit for the vague intent. But truly kind, the gentle boy essay'd To cheer his uncle, firm, although afraid; But now the father caught him at the door, And, swearing-yes, the man in office swore, And cried," Away! How! brother, I'm surprised, That one so old can be so ill advised: Let him not dare to visit you again, Your cursed stories will disturb his brain; Is it not vile to court a foolish boy, Your own absurd narrations to enjoy ? What! sullen!-ha! George Fletcher! you shall

see,

Proud as you are, your bread depends on me!"

He spoke, and, frowning, to his dinner went,
Then cool'd and felt some qualms of discontent;
And thought on times when he compell'd his son
To hear these stories, nay, to beg for one :
But the wife's wrath o'ercame the brother's pain,
And shame was felt, and conscience rose in vain.
George yet stole up, he saw his uncle lie
Sick on the bed, and heard his heavy sigh:
So he resolved, before he went to rest,
To comfort one so dear and so distress'd;

Then watch'd his time, but with a childlike art,
Betray'd a something treasured at his heart:
Th' observant wife remark'd, "The boy is
grown

So like

your brother, that he seems his own ; So close and sullen! and I still suspect They often meet-do watch them and detect." George now remark'd that all was night,

still

at

And hasten'd up with terror and delight;
"Uncle" he cried, and softly tapp'd the door;
Do let me in"--but he could add no more;
The careful father caught him in the fact,
And cried," You serpent! is it thus you act?
Back to your mother!"-and with hasty blow,
He sent th' indignant boy to grieve below;
Then at the door an angry speech began—
"Is this your conduct ?-is it thus you plan?
Seduce my child, and make my house a scene
Of vile dispute What is it that you mean ?—

George, are you dumb? do learn to know your

friends,

And think a while on whom your bread depends:
What! not a word? be thankful I am cool-
But, sir, beware, no longer play the fool;
Come! brother, come! what is that you seek
By this rebellion ?-Speak, you villain, speak!—
Weeping! I warrant-sorrow makes you dumb:
I'll ope your mouth, impostor! if I come :
Let me approach-I'll shake you from the bed,
You stubborn dog―O God! my brother's dead!"
Timid was Isaac, and in all the past

He felt a purpose to be kind at last ;
Nor did he mean his brother to depart,
Till he had shown this kindness of his heart:
But day by day he put the cause aside,
Induced by avarice, peevishness, or pride.
But now awaken'd, from this fatal time
His conscience Isaac felt, and found his crime :
He raised to George a monumental stone,
And there retired to sigh and think alone;
An ague seized him, he grew pale, and shook-
"So," said his son, "would my poor uncle look."--
And so, my child, shall I like him expire."-

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No! you have physic and a cheerful fire.”-
Unhappy sinner! yes, I'm well supplied
With every comfort my cold heart denied."
He view'd his brother now, but not as one
Who vex'd his wife by fondness for her son;
Not as with wooden limb, and seaman's tale,
The odious pipe, vile grog, or humbler ale:
He now the worth and grief alone can view
Of one so mild, so generous, and so true;
"The frank, kind brother, with such open heart,
And I to break it-'twas a demon's part

So Isaac now, as led by conscience, feels,
Nor his unkindness palliates or conceals.
"This is your folly," said his heartless wife.
Alas! my folly cost my brother's life;

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AN honest man was Farmer Jones, and true,
He did by all as all by him should do;
Grave, cautious, careful, fond of gain was he,
Yet famed for rustic hospitality:

Left with his children in a widow'd state,
The quiet man submitted to his fate;
Though prudent matrons waited for his call,
With cool forbearance he avoided all;
Though each profess'd a pure maternal joy,
By kind attention to his feeble boy:
And though a friendly widow knew no rest,
Whilst neighbour Jones was lonely and distress'd:
Nay, though the maidens spoke in tender tone
Their hearts' concern to see him left alone-
Jones still persisted in that cheerless life,
As if 'twere sin to take a second wife.

O! 'tis a precious thing, when wives are dead,
To find such numbers who will serve instead :
And in whatever state a man be thrown,
"Tis that precisely they would wish their own;
Left the departed infants-then their joy
Is to sustain each lovely girl and boy:
Whatever calling his, whatever trade,
To that their chief attention has been paid;
His happy taste in all things they approve,

His friends they honour, and his food they love;
His wish for order, prudence in affairs,

Thus, when a grea Upon a small one, in It vows in kindness t And be the fond ally It therefore wills tha Its hopes of safety in Then must that hum By kind rejection of Must dread such d

mence,

And stand collected
Our farmer thus the
And shunn'd the lov

The widow failing
To share the fate of
And each foresaw a
The man that fled fr
And pray'd, kind sou
The harden'd heart

But he still govern
And where he could
With steady view in
And his fair daugh
fear'd ;

Each had her school,
Each had in time a

The boy indeed w
Humour'd and train'

And equal temper, (thank their stars!) are theirs; Companions dear, w
In fact, it seem'd to be a thing decreed,

And fix'd as fate, that marriage must succeed;
Yet some like Jones, with stubborn hearts and hard,
Can hear such claims, and show them no regard.

The childish widow
This nature prompts
In such alliance eas
Push'd by the levity
The cares of man, h

Soon as our farmer, like a general, found By what strong foes he was encompass'd round-They feel, in their d Engage he dared not, and he could not fly, But saw his hope in gentle parley lie ;

The child is pleased

The old are pleased

With looks of kindness then, and trembling heart, And all their wisdor

He met the foe, and art opposed to art.

Now spoke that foe insidious-gentle tones, And gentle looks, assumed for Farmer Jones: “Three girls,” the widow cried, “a lively three

They love to pour in
By its own weaknes
And by fond age wi
The father, thank

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Lories she impress'd betimes,

s head with hymns and holy rhymes;
anseen, the good and ill, she dwelt,
or boy mysterious terrors felt;

ful dreams, he waking sobb'd in dread,
d lady came to guard his bed.
r wish'd such errors to correct,
a pass in duty and respect:
grieved his worthy mind to see
en never would a farmer be;
ried the shiftless lad to guide,

as time that something should be tried:
llage school perchance might gain
h mind could gather and retain ;
ddame affirm'd her favourite child
studious, though sedate and mild;
many a learned point could speak,
= body, not his mind, was weak.”
r doubted-but to school was sent
Stephen, weeping as he went :
ude lads compell'd the child to fight,
m bleeding to his home at night;
grandam more indulgent grew,
er darling "Shun the beastly crew;
n ruled, and who were sure to lie,
torments, when they came to die."
ach comfort, that in high disdain
ir fate, and felt their blows again :
boy had not a hero's heart,
school he play'd a better part;
clean, fine hand, and at his slate,
success than many a hero, sate;
not much indeed-but what depends
d care, was at his fingers' ends.
his father's praise, who now espied
merit, with a blaze of pride:
na farmer he would never make,
pen with some advantage take;
erk that instrument employ,
apted to a timid boy.

n cousin soon a place obtain'd,
umble-little could be gain'd:

rrived when youth and age must part,
ch eye, and sorrow in each heart;
l father bade his son attend

Huties, and obey his friend;

s church and there behave aright, sting in his Maker's sight,

habits led, and duty to delight: -, my boy, as quickly as you can, the looks and spirit of a man; onest, faithful, civil, true,

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sure as fate,
Here, take my purse, and make a worthy use
Thou art, my Stephen, too effeminate;
(Tis fairly stock'd) of what it will produce:
And now my blessing, not as any charm
Or conjuration, but 'twill do no harm."
Stephen, whose thoughts were wandering up
and down,

Now loath to leave his grandam-lost the force,
Now charm'd with promised sights in London town,
The drift, and tenor of this grave discourse;
But, in a general way, he understood

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"Twas good advice, and meant, "My son, be good;"
And Stephen knew that all such precepts mean,
That lads should read their Bible, and be clean.
The good old lady, though in some distress,
Begg'd her dear Stephen would his grief suppress;
Nay, dry those eyes, my child-and, first of all,
Hold fast thy faith, whatever may befall:
Hear the best preacher, and preserve the text
For meditation, till you hear the next;
There is your duty, read no other book;
Within your Bible night and morning look;
Be not in crowds, in broils, in riots seen,
And keep your conscience and your linen clean:
you a Joseph, and the time may be,

Be

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When kings and rulers will be ruled by thee.'
Nay," said the father-"Hush, my son," replied
The dame; "The Scriptures must not be denied."
The lad, still weeping, heard the wheels ap-
proach,

And took his place within the evening coach,
With heart quite rent asunder. On one side
Was love, and grief, and fear, for scenes untried;
Wild beasts and wax-work fill'd the happier part
Of Stephen's varying and divided heart:
This he betray'd by sighs and questions strange,
of famous shows, the Tower, and the Exchange.
Soon at his desk was placed the curious boy,
Demure and silent at his new employ :
Yet as he could, he much attention paid
To all around him, cautious and afraid;
On older clerks his eager eyes were fix'd,
But Stephen never in their council mix'd:
Much their contempt he fear'd, for if like them,
He felt assured he should himself contemn;
O! they were all so eloquent, so free,
No! he was nothing-nothing could he be :
They dress so smartly, and so boldly look.
And talk as if they read it from a book;

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But I," said Stephen, " will forbear to speak,
And they will think me prudent and not weak.
They talk, the instant they have dropp'd the pen,
Of singing women, and of acting men;

Of plays and places where at night they walk
Beneath the lamps, and with the ladies taik;
While other ladies for their pleasure sing.
O! 'tis a glorious and a happy thing:
They would despise me, did they understand
I dare not look upon a scene so grand;

Or see the plays when critics rise and roar,
And hiss and groan, and cry-Encore! encore '-
There's one among the

Talk'd of his coat, and had it modernized;
Or with the lad a Sunday walk would take,
And kindly strive his passions to awake;
Meanwhile explaining all they heard and saw,
Till Stephen stood in wonderment and awe :
To a neat garden near the town they stray'd,
Where the lad felt delighted and afraid;
There all he saw was smart, and fine, and fair,-
He could but marvel how he ventured there :
Soon he observed, with terror and alarm,
His friend enlock'd within a lady's arm,
And freely talking-" But it is," said he,
"A near relation, and that makes him free;"
And much amazed was Stephen, when he knew
This was the first and only interview:
Nay, had that lovely arm by him been seized,
The lovely owner had been highly pleased:
"Alas!" he sigh'd, "I never can contrive,
At such bold, blessed freedoms to arrive;
Never shall I such happy courage boast,
I dare as soon encounter with a ghost."

Now to a play the friendly couple went,
But the boy murmur'd at the money spent ;
"He loved," he said, "to buy, but not to spend-
They only talk a while, and there's an end."

"Come, you shall purchase books," the friend
replied;

"You are bewilder'd, and you want a guide; To me refer the choice, and you shall find The light break in upon your stagnant mind!"

The cooler clerks exclaim'd," In vain your art T'improve a cub without a head or heart; Rustics though coarse, and savages though wild, Our cares may render liberal and mild;

From reverend men, an
Shows a clear mind and
This love, but seldom i
And yet with this some
Ere I can fully to the f
Valour and study may
By order sovereigns ho
Through all the tribes
And rules around in sy
Still has the love of ord
With all that's low, de
With all that merits sco

grace:

In the cold miser, of all
In pompous men in pul
In humble placemen, h
Fanciers of flowers, an
Order to these is armo
And love of method se
For rustic youth cou
Of Stephen's books, ho
But evil fate was their
Some happy months, a
So will'd the fates-bu
Had vast effect on Ste

This soon appear'd-
He oped his lips, and
He fail'd indeed-but
The best have fail'd, a
The first of swimmers,
Has little use or freedo
Nay, when at length
The cramp may seize
Encouraged thus, our

But what, my friend, can flow from all these The daring act, though

pains!

There is no dealing with a lack of brains."

"True I am hopeless to behold him man, But let me make the booby what I can: Though the rude stone no polish will display, Yet you may strip the rugged coat away."

Stephen beheld his books—“ I love to know How money goes--now here is that to show: And now," he cried, "I shall be pleased to get Beyond the Bible-there I puzzle yet."

Succeeding now, thou
And pertness mark'd h
Yet such improvemen
That all discern'd it in
He ventured then on
And felt no feverish ti
His friend approving,
The clerks exclaim
strange!"
Two years had pass

He spoke replied, "You need not lay the good old book aside; Antique and curious, I myself indeed Read it at times, but as a man should read; A fine old work it is, and I protest

abash'd-" Nay, nay!" the friend (Though thus accompl

I hate to hear it treated as a jest ;
The book has wisdom in it, if you look
Wisely upon it, as another book:
For superstition (as our priests of sin

Are pleased to tell us) makes us blind within:
Of this hereafter-we will now select
Some works to please you, others to direct :
Tales and romances shall your fancy feed,
And reasoners form your morals and your creed."
The books were view'd, the price was fairly
paid,

And Stanhan soad undounted undiamond

He sat th' allotted ho
While timid prudence
By promise bound, the
To his good parent, at
At first he sent those
Of his own health, a
well;

He kept their virtuou
And needed nothing-
But now he wrote of
Of actors' names, choi

How coats were cut,
For fresh supply, whi
The father doubted, v
To what they tended,
Stephen was once m

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