As thus he lives, if living be to sigh,
And from all comforts of the world to fly,
Without a hope in life-without a wish to die.

TALE XXI.

THE LEARNED BOY.

Like one well studied in a sad ostent, To please his grandam.

Merchant of Venice, act ii. sc. 2.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail,
Unwillingly to school.

As You Like It, act ii. sc. 7.
He is a better scholar than I thought he was-
He has a good sprag memory.

Yes," he replied, "it calls for pains and care;
But I must bear it."-" Sir, you cannot bear ;
Your son is weak, and asks a mother's eye."—
That, my kind friend, a father's may supply."—
"Such growing griefs your very soul will tease."
To grieve another would not give me ease-
I have a mother"-" She, poor ancient soul!
Can she the spirits of the young control?
Can she thy peace promote, partake thy care,
Procure thy comforts, and thy sorrows share?
Age is itself impatient, uncontroll'd.”—
"But wives like mothers must at length be old."-
Thou hast shrewd servants-they are evils
sore."-

Yet a shrewd mistress might afflict me more.""Wilt thou not be a weary wailing man ?”— "Alas! and I must bear it as I can."

Resisted thus, the widow soon withdrew,

Merry Wives of Windsor, act iv. sc. 1. That in his pride the hero might pursue;

One that feeds

On objects, arts, and imitations,
Which out of use, and staled by other men,
Begin his fashion.

And off his wonted guard, in some retreat,
Find from a foe prepared entire defeat:
But he was prudent, for he knew in flight

Julius Cæsar, act iv. sc. 1. These Parthian warriors turn again and fight:
He but at freedom, not at glory aim'd,

O! torture me no more-I will confess.

Henry VI. Part 2. act ii. sc. 3. And only safety by his caution claim'd.

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 great and powerful state decrees,
Upon a small one, in its love, to seize-

It vows in kindness to protect, defend,
And be the fond ally, the faithful friend ;

It therefore wills that humbler state to place
Its hopes of safety in a fond embrace;
Then must that humbler state its wisdom prove,
By kind rejection of such pressing love;
Must dread such dangerous friendship to com-

mence,

And stand collected in its own defence :-
Our farmer thus the proffer'd kindness fled,
And shunn'd the love that into bondage led.

The widow failing, fresh besiegers came,
To share the fate of this retiring dame :
And each foresaw a thousand ills attend
The man that fled from so discreet a friend;
And pray'd, kind soul! that no event might make
The harden'd heart of Farmer Jones to ache.

But he still govern'd with resistless hand,
And where he could not guide, he would command:
With steady view in course direct he steer'd,
And his fair daughters loved him, though they
fear'd;

Each had her school, and, as his wealth was known,
Each had in time a household of her own.

The boy indeed was, at the grandam's side,
Humour'd and train'd, her trouble and her pride:

And equal temper, (thank their stars!) are theirs; Companions dear, with speech and spirits mild,
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.
Soon as our farmer, like a general, found
By what strong foes he was encompass'd round-
Engage he dared not, and he could not fly,
But saw his hope in gentle parley lie;

The childish widow and the vapourish child;
This nature prompts; minds uninform'd and weak,
In such alliance ease and comfort seek;
Push'd by the levity of youth aside,
The cares of man, his humour, or his pride,
They feel, in their defenceless state, allied:
The child is pleased to meet regard from age,
The old are pleased e'en children to engage;

With looks of kindness then, and trembling heart, And all their wisdom, scorn'd by proud mankind,

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
To govern well-indeed it cannot be."-

They love to pour into the ductile mind;
By its own weakness into error led,
And by fond age with prejudices fed.

The father, thankful for the good he had,
Yet saw with pain a whining, timid lad;

Virtue, perhaps, had conquer'd, or his shame
At least preserved him simple as he came.
A year elapsed before this clerk began
To treat the rustic something like a man ;
He then in trifling points the youth advised,
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;

But not till first he paper'd all the row,
And placed in order, to enjoy the show;
Next letter'd all the backs with care and speed,
Set them in ranks, and then began to read.

The love of order,—I the thing receive
From reverend men, and I in part believe,-
Shows a clear mind and clean, and whoso needs
This love, but seldom in the world succeeds;
And yet with this some other love must be,
Ere I can fully to the fact agree:
Valour and study may by order gain,
By order sovereigns hold more steady reign:
Through all the tribes of nature order runs,
And rules around in systems and in suns :
Still has the love of order found a place,
With all that's low, degrading, mean, and base,
With all that merits scorn, and all that meets dis-

grace:

In the cold miser, of all change afraid,

In pompous men in public seats obey'd;

In humble placemen, heralds, solemn drones,
Fanciers of flowers, and lads like Stephen Jones;
Order to these is armour and defence,

And love of method serves in lack of sense.
For rustic youth could I a list produce
Of Stephen's books, how great might be the use;
But evil fate was theirs-survey'd, enjoy'd
Some happy months, and then by force destroy'd:
So will'd the fates-but these, with patience read,
Had vast effect on Stephen's heart and head.

This soon appear'd-within a single week
He oped his lips, and made attempt to speak;
He fail'd indeed-but still his friend confess'd
The best have fail'd, and he had done his best:
The first of swimmers, when at first he swims,
Has little use or freedom in his limbs ;

Nay, when at length he strikes with manly force,
The cramp may seize him, and impede his course.
Encouraged thus, our clerk again essay'd

But what, my friend, can flow from all these The daring act, though daunted and afraid;

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, though partial his success,
And pertness mark'd his manner and address,
Yet such improvement issued from his books,
That all discern'd it in his speech and looks;
He ventured then on every theme to speak,
And felt no feverish tingling in his cheek;
His friend approving, hail'd the happy change,
The clerks exclaim'd-" "Tis famous, and 'tis
strange!"

Two years had pass'd; the youth attended still

He spoke abash'd-"Nay, nay!" the friend (Though thus accomplish'd) with a ready quill;

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
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 Stephen read undaunted, undismay'd:

He sat th' allotted hours, though hard the case,
While timid prudence ruled in virtue's place:
By promise bound, the son his letters penn'd
To his good parent, at the quarter's end.
At first he sent those lines, the state to tell
Of his own health, and hoped his friends were
well;

He kept their virtuous precepts in his mind,
And needed nothing-then his name was sign'd:
But now he wrote of Sunday walks and views,
Of actors' names, choice novels, and strange news:
How coats were cut, and of his urgent need
For fresh supply, which he desired with speed.
The father doubted, when these letters came,
To what they tended, yet was loath to blame:
"Stephen was once my duteous son, and now
My most obedient-this can I allow?

Can I with pleasure or with patience see
A boy at once so heartless, and so free?"

But soon the kinsman heavy tidings told,
That love and prudence could no more withhold:
'Stephen, though steady at his desk, was grown
A rake and coxcomb-this he grieved to own;
His cousin left his church, and spent the day
Lounging about in quite a heathen way;
Sometimes he swore, but had indeed the grace
To show the shame imprinted on his face :
I search'd his room, and in his absence read
Books that I knew would turn a stronger head;
The works of atheists half the number made,
The rest were lives of harlots leaving trade;
Which neither man or boy would deign to read,
If from the scandal and pollution freed:
I sometimes threaten'd, and would fairly state
My sense of things so vile and profligate;
But I'm a cit, such works are lost on me—
They're knowledge, and (good Lord!) philosophy."
"O, send him down," the father soon replied;
"Let me behold him, and my skill be tried:
If care and kindness lose their wonted use,
Some rougher medicine will the end produce."

There soon a trial for his patience came;
Beneath were placed the youth and ancient dame,
Each on a purpose fix'd-but neither thought
How near a foe, with power and vengeance fraught.
And now the matron told, as tidings sad,
What she had heard of her beloved lad;
How he to graceless, wicked men gave heed,
And wicked books would night and morning read;
Some former lectures she again began,
And begg'd attention of her little man;

She brought, with many a pious boast, in view
His former studies, and condemn'd the new:
Once he the names of saints and patriarchs old,
Judges and kings, and chiefs and prophets, told;
Then he in winter nights the Bible took,
To count how often in the sacred book
The sacred Name appear'd; and could rehearse
Which were the middle chapter, word and verse,
The very letter in the middle placed,

And so employ'd the hours that others waste.
"Such wert thou once; and now, my child,

they say

Thy faith like water runneth fast away;
The prince of devils hath, I fear, beguiled

Stephen with grief and anger heard his doom-The ready wit of my backsliding child." "Go to the farmer? to the rustic's home?

On this, with lofty looks, our clerk began

Curse the base threat'ning-""Nay, child, never His grave rebuke, as he assumed the man

curse;

Corrupted long, your case is growing worse.'
"I!" quoth the youth, "I challenge all mankind
To find a fault; what fault have you to find?
mprove I not in manner, speech, and grace?
Inquire my friends will tell it to your face;
Have I been taught to guard his kine and sheep?
A man like me has other things to keep;
This let him know.”—“It would his wrath excite
But come, prepare, you must away to-night."-
What! leave my studies, my improvements leave,
My faithful friends and intimates to grieve!"—
Go to your father, Stephen, let him see

64

:

All these improvements: they are lost on me."
The youth, though loath, obey'd, and soon he saw
The farmer father, with some signs of awe;
Who kind, yet silent, waited to behold

How one would act, so daring yet so cold:
And soon he found, between the friendly pair
That secrets pass'd which he was not to share ;
But he resolved those secrets to obtain,
And quash rebellion in his lawful reign.

They came to frighten and afflict mankind,
Prone (so I read) to let a priest invade
Their souls with awe, and by his craft be made
Slave to his will, and profit to his trade:
So say my books, and how the rogues agreed
To blind the victims, to defraud and lead ;
When joys above to ready dupes were sold,
And hell was threaten'd to the shy and cold.
"Why so amazed, and so prepared to pray?
As if a Being heard a word we say:
This may surprise you; I myself began

Stephen, though vain, was with his father To feel disturb'd, and to my Bible ran;

mute;

He fear'd a crisis, and he shunn'd dispute:

And yet he long'd with youthful pride to show
He knew such things as farmers could not know:
These to the grandam he with freedom spoke,
Saw her amazement, and enjoy'd the joke:
But on the father when he cast his eye,
Something he found that made his valour shy;
And thus there seem'd to be a hollow truce,
Still threatening something dismal to produce.
Ere this the father at his leisure read
The son's choice volumes, and his wonder fled;
He saw how wrought the works of either kind
On so presuming, yet so weak a mind;
These in a chosen hour he made his prey,
Condemn'd, and bore with vengeful thoughts away;
Then in a close recess, the couple near,
He sat unseen to see, unheard to hear.