stain ;

The formal air, and something of the pride
That indicates the wealth it seems to hide ;
And looks that were not, she conceived, exempt
From a proud pity, or a sly contempt.

Josiah's eyes had their employment too,
Engaged and soften'd by so bright a view;
A fair and meaning face, an eye of fire,
That check'd the bold, and made the free retire:
But then with these he mark'd the studied dress
And lofty air, that scorn or pride express;
With that insidious look, that seem'd to hide
In an affected smile the scorn and pride;
And if his mind the virgin's meaning caught,
He saw a foe with treacherous purpose fraught-
Captive the heart to take, and to reject it caught.
Silent they sat:-thought Sybil, that he seeks
Something, no doubt; I wonder if he speaks :
Scarcely she wonder'd, when these accents fell
Slow in her ear-" Fair maiden, art thou well?"
"Art thou physician?" she replied; “my hand,
My pulse, at least, shall be at thy command."

She said and saw, surprised, Josiah kneel, And gave his lips the offer'd pulse to feel; The rosy colour rising in her cheek, Seem'd that surprise unmix'd with wrath to speak; Then sternness she assumed, and-" Doctor, tell, Thy words cannot alarm me-am I well ?" "Thou art," said he; " and yet thy dress so light, I do conceive, some danger must excite:" "In whom?" said Sybil, with a look demure: "In more," said he, "than I expect to cure. I, in thy light luxuriant robe, behold Want and excess, abounding and yet cold;

Here needed, there display'd, in many a wanton fold:

Both health and beauty, learned authors show,
From a just medium in our clothing flow."

"Proceed, good doctor; if so great my need,
What is thy fee? Good doctor! pray proceed."
"Large is my fee, fair lady, but I take
None till some progress in my cure I make :
Thou hast disease, fair maiden; thou art vain;
Within that face sit insult and disdain ;
Thou art enamour'd of thyself; my art
Can see the naughty malice of thy heart:
With a strong pleasure would thy bosom move,
Were I to own thy power, and ask thy love;
And such thy beauty, damsel, that I might,
But for thy pride, feel danger in thy sight,
And lose my present peace in dreams of vain de-
light."

"Speak'st thou at meeting?" said the nymph "thy speech

Is that of mortal very prone to teach;

But wouldst thou, doctor, from the patient learn Thine own disease?-The cure is thy concern." "Yea, with good will."-" Then know, 'tis thy

complaint,

That, for a sinner, thou'rt too much a saint;
Hast too much show of the sedate and pure,
And without cause art formal and demure :
This makes a man unsocial, unpolite;
Odious when wrong, and insolent if right.
Thou mayst be good, but why should goodness be
Wrapt in a garb of such formality?

Thy person well might please a damsel's eye,
In decent habit with a scarlet dye;
But, jest apart-what virtue canst thou trace
In that broad brim that hides thy sober face?
Does that long-skirted drab, that over-nice
And formal clothing, prove a scorn of vice?
Then for thine accent-what in sound can be
So void of grace as dull monotony ?
Love has a thousand varied notes to move
The human heart;-thou mayst not speak of love'
Till thou hast cast thy formal ways aside,
And those becoming youth and nature tried:
Not till exterior freedom, spirit, ease,
Prove it thy study and delight to please;
Not till these follies meet thy just disdain,
While yet thy virtues and thy worth remain."
"This is severe!-O! maiden, wilt not thou
Something for habits, manners, modes, allow ?"”—
"Yes! but allowing much, I much require,
In my behalf, for manners, modes, attire!"

"True, lovely Sybil; and, this point agreed, Let me to those of greater weight proceed: Thy father!"-"Nay," she quickly interposed, Good doctor, here our conference is closed!" Then left the youth, who, lost in his retreat, Pass'd the good matron on her garden-seat; His looks were troubled, and his air, once mild And calm, was hurried :-"My audacious child!" Exclaim'd the dame, "I read what she has done In thy displeasure-Ah! the thoughtless one! But yet, Josiah, to my stern good man Speak of the maid as mildly as you can: Can you not seem to woo a little while The daughter's will, the father to beguile! So that his wrath in time may wear away; Will you preserve our peace, Josiah? say." "Yes! my good neighbour," said the gentle youth,

She happier days has known, but seems at ease,
And you may call her lady, if you please:
But if you wish, good sister, to improve,
You shall see twenty better worth your love."
These Nancy met; but, spite of all they taught,
This useless widow was the one she sought:
The father growl'd; but said he knew no harm
In such connexion that could give alarm :
"And if we thwart the trifler in her course,
Tis odds against us she will take a worse."

And I confess, it shocks my pride to tell
The secrets of the prison where I dwell;
For that dear maiden would be shock'd to feel
The secrets I should shudder to reveal;
When told her friend was by a parent ask'd,
Fed you the swine? Good heaven! how I am task'd!
What! can you smile! Ah! smile not at the grief
That woos your pity and demands relief."

"Trifles, my love; you take a false alarm; Think, I beseech you, better of the farm:

Painting her wo as injured feeling paints.

44

"O, dearest friend! do think how one must feel,
Shock'd all day long, and sicken'd every meal!
Could you behold our kitchen, (and to you
A scene so shocking must indeed be new,)
A mind like yours, with true refinement graced,
Would let no vulgar scenes pollute your taste;
And yet, in truth, from such a polish'd mind
All base ideas must resistance find,
And sordid pictures from the fancy pass,
As the breath startles from the polish'd glass.
"Here you enjoy a sweet romantic scene,
Without so pleasant, and within so clean;
These twining jess'mines, what delicious gloom
And soothing fragrance yield they to the room!
What lovely garden! there you oft retire,
And tales of wo and tenderness admire:
In that neat case, your books, in order placed,
Soothe the full soul, and charm the cultured taste;
And thus, while all about you wears a charm,
How must you scorn the farmer and the farm!"
The widow smiled, and "Know you not," said she,
4 How much these farmers scorn or pity me;
Who see what you admire, and laugh at all they
see?

True, their opinion alters not my fate,
By falsely judging of an humble state :
This garden, you with such delight behold,
Tempts not a feeble dame who dreads the cold;
These plants, which please so well your livelier

And light are those that will require it there:
Fix on the youth a favouring eye, and these,
To him pertaining, or as his, will please."
"What words," the lass replied, "offend my ear!
Try you my patience? Can you be sincere ?
And am I told a willing hand to give
To a rude farmer, and with rustic live?
Far other fate was yours: some gentle youth
Admired your beauty, and avow'd his truth;
The power of love prevail'd, and freely both
Gave the fond heart, and pledged the binding oath;
And then the rival's plot, the parent's power,
And jealous fears, drew on the happy hour:
Ah! let not memory lose the blissful view,
But fairly show what love has done for you."

"Agreed, my daughter, what my heart has known Of love's strange power shall be with frankness shown:

But let me warn you, that experience finds
Few of the scenes that lively hope designs."

Mysterious all," said Nancy; "you, I know, Have suffer'd much; now deign the grief to show; I am your friend, and so prepare my heart In all your sorrows to receive a part."

The widow answer'd, "I had once, like you,
Such thoughts of love; no dream is more untrue:
You judge it fated and decreed to dwell
In youthful hearts, which nothing can expel,
A passion doom'd to reign, and irresistible.
The struggling mind, when once subdued, in vain
Rejects the fury or defies the pain;

The strongest reason fails the flame t' allay,
And resolution droops and faints away:
Hence, when the destined lovers meet, they prove
At once the force of this all-powerful love:
Each from that period feels the mutual smart,
Nor seeks to cure it: heart is changed for heart;
Nor is there peace till they delighted stand,
And, at the altar, hand is joined to hand.

"Alas! my child, there are who, dreaming so,
Waste their fresh youth, and waking feel the wo;
There is no spirit sent the heart to move
With such prevailing and alarming love;
Passion to reason will submit; or why
Should wealthy maids the poorest swains deny?
Or how could classes and degrees create
The slightest bar to such resistless fate?
Yet high and low, you see, forbear to mix;
No beggars' eyes the heart of kings transfix;
And who but amorous peers or nobles sigh
When titled beauties pass triumphant by ?
For reason wakes, proud wishes to reprove;
You cannot hope, and therefore dare not love:
All would be safe, did we at first inquire,
'Does reason sanction what our hearts desire?'
But quitting precept, let example show
What joys from love uncheck'd by prudence flow.

'Teach me,' he cried, that pensive mind to ease, For all my pleasure is the hope to please.'

Serene, though heavy, were the days we spent, Yet kind each word, and generous each intent; But his dejection lessen'd every day,

And to a placid kindness died away;

In tranquil ease we pass'd our latter years,
By griefs untroubled, unassail'd by fears.

"Let not romantic views your bosom sway,
Yield to your duties, and their call obey:
Fly not a youth, frank, honest, and sincere;
Observe his merits, and his passion hear!
"Tis true, no hero, but a farmer sues-
Slow in his speech, but worthy in his views;
With him you cannot that affliction prove
That rends the bosom of the poor in love:
Health, comfort, competence, and cheerful days,
Your friends' approval, and your father's praise,
Will crown the deed, and you escape their fate
Who plan so wildly, and are wise too late."
The damsel heard; at first th' advice was
strange,

Yet wrought a happy, nay, a speedy change: I have no care," she said, when next they met, "But one may wonder he is silent yet: He looks around him with his usual stare, And utters nothing—not that I shall care." This pettish humour pleased th' experienced friend

None need despair whose silence can offend ; "Should I," resumed the thoughtful lass, "consent To hear the man, the man may now repent: Think you my sighs shall call him from the plough, Or give one hint, that You may woo me now?" " "Persist, my love," replied the friend, "and gain

A parent's praise, that cannot be in vain."

The father saw the change, but not the cause, And gave the alter'd maid his fond applause : The coarser manners she in part removed, In part endured, improving and improved ; She spoke of household works, she rose betimes, And said neglect and indolence were crimes; The various duties of their life she weigh'd, And strict attention to her dairy paid; The names of servants now familiar grew And fair Lucindas from her mind withdrew: As prudent travellers for their ease assume Their modes and language to whose lands they

come:

So to the farmer this fair lass inclined,
Gave to the business of the farm her mind;
To useful arts she turn'd her hand and eye;
And by her manners told him-" You may try."
Th' observing lover more attention paid,
With growing pleasure, to the alter'd maid;
He fear'd to lose her, and began to see
That a slim beauty might a helpmate be:
"Twixt hope and fear he now the lass address'd,
And in his Sunday robe his love express'd:
She felt no chilling dread, no thrilling joy,
Nor was too quickly kind, too slowly coy;
But still she lent an unreluctant ear
To all the rural business of the year;
Till love's strong hopes endured no more delay,
And Harry ask'd, and Nancy named the day.

"A happy change! my boy," the father cried : "How lost your sister all her school-day pride?”

The youth replied, "It is the widow's deed:
The cure is perfect, and was wrought with

46

speed."―

And comes there, boy, this benefit of books, Of that smart dress, and of those dainty looks? We must be kind; some offerings from the farm To the white cot will speak our feelings warm; Will show that people, when they know the fact, Where they have judged severely, can retract. Oft have I smiled, when I beheld her pass With cautious step, as if she hurt the grass; Where if a snail's retreat she chanced to storm, She look'd as begging pardon of the worm; And what, said I, still laughing at the view, Have these weak creatures in the world to do? But some are made for action, some to speak; And, while she looks so pitiful and meek, Her words are weighty, though her nerves are weak."

Soon told the village bells the rite was done, That join'd the school-bred miss and farmer's son ; Her former habits some slight scandal raised, But real worth was soon perceived and praised; She, her neat taste imparted to the farm, And he, th' improving skill and vigorous arm.

THERE was a worthy, but a simple pair,
Who nursed a daughter fairest of the fair:
Sons they had lost, and she alone remain'd,
Heir to the kindness they had all obtain'd;
Heir to the fortune they design'd for all,
Nor had th' allotted portion then been small;
But now, by fate enrich'd with beauty rare,
They watch'd their treasure with peculiar care :
The fairest features they could early trace,
And, blind with love, saw merit in her face-
Saw virtue, wisdom, dignity, and grace:
And Dorothea, from her infant years,
Gain'd all her wishes from their pride or fears:
She wrote a billet, and a novel read,
And with her fame her vanity was fed;
Each word, each look, each action was a cause
For flattering wonder, and for fond applause;
She rode or danced, and ever glanced around,
Seeking for praise, and smiling when she found.