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so does he that lends to such people, when he such tyranny, when you run in debt for such goes to get it in again. Poor Dick further dress! Your creditor has authority, at his advises and says,

pleasure, to deprive you of your liberty, by "'Fond pride of dress is sure a very curso; confining you in jail till you shall be able to

Eru fancy you consult, consult your purse.' pay him. When you have got your bargain, And again, ‘Pride is as loud a beggar as Want, you may, perhaps, think little of payment; and a great deal more saucy.' When you have but, as poor Richard says, “Creditors have bought one fine thing, you must buy ten more, better memories than debtors; creditors are that your appearance may be all of a piece; a superstitious sect, great observers of set days but Poor Dick says, “It is easier to suppress and times.' The day comes round before you the first desire, than to satisfy all that follow are aware, and the demand is made before you it.' And it is as truly folly for the poor to ape are prepared to satisfy it; or, if you bear your the rich, as for the frog to swell in order to debt in mind, the term, which at first seemed equal the ox,

so long, will, as it lessens, appear extremely

short. Time will seem to have added wings to ""Vessels large may venture more, But little boats should keep near shore.'

his heels as well as his shoulders. Those

have a short Lent who owe money to be paid It is, however, a folly soon punished; for as at Easter.' At present, perhaps, you may Poor Richard says, “Pride that dines on vanity, think yourselves in thriving circumstances, sups on contempt. Pride breakfasted with and that you can bear a little extravagance Plenty, dined with Poverty, and supped with without injury; but Infamy.' And, after all, of what use is this

“For age and want save while you may; pride of appearance, for which so much is

No morning sun lasts a whole day.' risked, so much is suffered? It cannot promote health nor ease pain; it makes no in- Gain may be temporary and uncertain, but crease of merit in the person; it creates envy; ever while you live, expense is constant and it hastens misfortune.

certain; and “It is easier to build two chimneys " But what madness must it be to run in than to keep one in fuel,' as Poor Richard debt for these superfluities? We are offered, says; so, “Rather go to bed supperless, than by the terms of this sale, six months' credit; rise in debt.' and that, perhaps, has induced some of us to

“Get what you can, and what you get hold; attend it, because we cannot spare the ready

'Tis the stone that will turn all your lead into gold.' money, and hope now to be fine without it. But, ah! think what you do when you run in And, when you have got the Philosopher's debt; you give to another power over your Stone, sure you will no longer complain of liberty. If you cannot pay at the time, you bad times or the difficulty of paying taxes. will be ashamed to see your creditor; you will "IV. This doctrine, my friends, is reason be in fear when you speak to him; you will and wisdom; but, after all, do not depend too make poor, pitiful, sneaking excuses, and, by much upon your own industry, and frugality, degrees, come to lose your veracity, and sink and prudence, though excellent things; for into base, downright lying; for . The second they may all be blasted, without the blessing vice is lying, the first is running in debt,' as of Heaven; and, therefore, ask that blessing Poor Richard says; and again, to the same humbly, and be not uncharitable to those that purpose, Lying rides upon Debt's back ;' at present seem to want it, but comfort and whereas a free-born Englishman ought not to help them. Remember, Job suffered and was be ashamed nor afraid to see or speak to any afterwards prosperous. man living. But poverty often deprives a man “And now, to conclude, ' Experience keeps of all spirit and virtue. "It is hard for an a dear school, but fools will learn in no other,' empty bag to stand upright.'

as Poor Richard says, and scarce in that; for, “What would you think of that prince, or it is true, 'We may give advice, but we cannot of that government, who should issue an edict give conduct. However, remember this, “They forbidding you to dress like a gentleman or that will not be counselled, cannot be helped;' gentlewoman, on pain of imprisonment or and further, that, 'If you will not hear Reason, servitude? Would you not say that you were she will surely rap your knuckles,' as Poor free, have a right to dress as you please, and Richard says.' that such an edict would be a breach of your Thus the old gentleman ended his harangue. privileges, and such a government tyrannical? The people heard it and approved the doctrine; And yet you are about to put yourself under and immediately practised the contrary, just as if it had been a common sermon; for the

To other lands, leave azure chasms of calm auction opened and they began to buy extra

Over this isle, or weep themselves in dew,

From which its fields and woods ever renew vagantly. I found the good man had thoroughly studied my Almanacs, and digested all I had

Their green and golden immortality. dropped on these topics during the course of twenty-five years. The frequent mention he made of me must have tired any one else; but my vanity was wonderfully delighted with it,

THE NIGHTINGALE. though I was conscious that not a tenth part

BY S. T. COLERIDGE. of the wisdom was my own, which he had ascribed to me, but rather the gleanings that

No cloud, no relique of the sunken day I had made of the sense of all ages and nations.

Distinguishes the west, no long thin slip However, I resolved to be the better for the

Of sullen light, no obscure trembling hues.
echo of it; and, though I had at first deter- Come, we will rest on this old mosky bridge!
mined to buy stuff for a new coat, I went away You see the glimmer of the stream beneath,
resolved to wear my old one a little longer. But hear no murmuring: it flows silently
Reader, if thou wilt do the same, thy profit O'er its soft bed of verdure. All is still;
will be as great as mine. I am, as ever, thine A balmy night! and though the stars be dim,
to serve thee,- RICHARD SAUNDERS.

Yet let us think upon the vernal showers
That gladden the green earth, and we shall find
A pleasure in the dimness of the stars.
And hark! the Nightingale begins its song,
“Most musical, most melancholy" bird !

A melancholy bird? Oh! idle thought!
A GRECIAN EDEN.

In nature there is nothing melancholy.

But some night-wandering man, whose heart was pierced BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.

With the remembrance of a grievous wrong, It is an isle under Ionian skies,

Or slow distemper, or neglected love Beautiful as a wreck of paradise ;

(And so, poor wretch ! filled all things with himself And, for the harbours are not safe and good,

And made all gentle sounds tell back the tale This land would have remained a solitude,

Of his own sorrow)-he, and such as he, But for some pastoral people native there,

First named these notes a melancholy strain. Who from the elysian, clear, and golden air

And many a poet echoes the conceit; Draw the last spirit of the age of gold;

Poet who hath been building up the rhyme Simple and spirited, innocent and bold.

When he had better far have stretched his limbs The blue Ægean girds this chosen home,

Beside a brook in mossy forest-dell, With ever-changing sound, and light, and foam, By sun or moon-light, to the influxes Kissing the sisted sands and caverns hoar;

Of shapes and sounds and shifting elements And all the winds, wandering along the shore,

Surrendering his whole spirit, of his song Undulate with the undulating tide.

And of his fame forgetful! So his fame There are thick woods where sylvan forms abide; Shonld share in Nature's immortality, And many a fountain, rivulet, and pond,

A venerable thing! and so his song As clear as elemental diamond;

Should make all Nature lovelier, and itself And all the place is peopled with sweet airs.

Be loved like Nature! But 'twill not be so; The light clear element which the isle wears

And youths and maidens most poetical,
Is heavy with the scent of lemon-flowers,

Who lose the deepening twilights of the spring
Which floats like mist laden with unseen showers, In ball-rooms and hot theatres, they still,
And falls upon the eyelids like faint sleep;

Full of meek sympathy, must heave their sighs
And from the more violets and jonquils peep,

O'er Philomela's pity-pleading strains.
And dart their arrowy odour through the brain,
Till you might faint with that delicious pain.

My Friend, and thou, our Sister! we have learned And every motion, odour, beam, and tone,

A different lore: we may not thus profane With that deep music is in unison

Nature's sweet voices, always full of love Which is a soul within the soul :--they seem

And joyance! 'Tis the merry nightingale Like echoes of an antenatal dream.

That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates It is a favour'd place. Famine or blight,

With fast thick warble his delicious notes, Pestilence, war, and earthquake never light

As he were fearful that an April night Upon its mountain-peaks ; blind vultures, they Would be too short for him to utter forth Sail onward far upon their fatal way.

His love-chant, and disburden his full soul The winged storms, chanting their thunder-psalm Of all its music!

Should give me life, his childhood shall grow up
Familiar with these songs, that with the night
He may associate joy! Once more farewell,
Sweet Nightingale! Once more, my friends, farewell !

TO A SENSITIVE YOUNG LADY.

FROM AN OLD WOMAN.

And I know a grove Of large extent, hard by a castle huge, Which the great lord inhabits not; and so This grove is wild with tangling underwood, And the trim walks are broken up, and grass, Thin grass and king cups, grow within the paths; But never elsewhere in one place I knew So many nightingales; and far and near, In wood and thicket, over the wide grove, They answer and provoke each other's songs, With skirmish and capricious passagings, And murmurs musical, and swift jug jug, And one, low piping, sounds more sweet than all, Stirring the air with such an harmony, That should you close your eyes, you night almo t Forget it was not day! On moonlight bushes, Whose dewy leafits are but half-disclosed, You may perchance behold them on the twige, Their bright, bright eyes, their eyes both bright and full, Glistening, while many a glow-worm in the shade Lights up her love-torch.

(Justus Moser, born at Osnabrück, 1720; died 8th January, 1794. He studied law at Jena and Göttingen, and held various important appointments under gur. ernment. His short essays upon social subjects, and his zeal for the improvement of the condition of the poor, obtained for him the title of the Franklin of Ger. many )

A most gentle maid, Who dwelleth in her hospitable home Hard by the castle, and at latest eve (Even liko a lady vowed and dedicate To something more than Nature in the grovo) Glides through the pathways; she knows all their notes, That gentle maid! and oft a moment's space, What time the moon was lost behind a cloud, Hath heard a pause of silence; till the moon Emerging, hath awakened earth and sky With one sensation, and these wakeful birds Have all burst forth in choral minstrelsy, As if one quick and sudden gale had swept An hundred airy harps ! And she bath watched Many a nightingale perch giddily, On bloss'my tuig still swinging from the breeze, And to that motion tune his wanton song Like tipsy joy that rouls with tossing head.

You do your husband injustice, dear child, if you think he loves you less than formerly. He is a man of an ardent, active temper, who loves labour and exertion, and finds his pleasure in them; and as long as his love for you furnished him with labour and exertion he was completely absorbed in it. But this has, of course, ceased; your reciprocal position-but by no means his love, as you imagine-has changed.

A love which seeks to conquer, and a love which has conquered, are two totally different passions. The one puts on the stretch all the virtues of the hero; it excites in him fear, hope, desire; it leads him from triumph to triumph, and makes him think every foot of ground that he gains a kingdom. Hence it keeps alive and fosters all the active powers of the man who abandons himself to it. The happy husband cannot appear like the lover; he has not like him to fear, to hope, and to desire; he has no longer that charming toil, with all its triumphs, which he had before, nor can that which he has already won be a conquest.

You have only, my dear child, to attend to this most natural and inevitable difference, and you will see in the whole conduct of your husband, who now finds more pleasure in business than in your smiles, nothing to offend you. You wish—do you not?—that he would still sit with you alone on the mossy bank in front of the grotto, as he used to do, look in your blue eyes, and kneel to kiss your pretty hand. You wish that he would paint to you, in livelier colours than ever, those delights of love which lovers know how to describe with so much art and passion; that he would lead your imagination from one rapture to another. My wishes, at least for the first year after I married my husband, went to nothing short of this Bat it will not do; the best husband is also the

Farewell, O warbler! till to morrow eve, And you, my friends ! farewell, a short farewell! We have been loitering long and pleasantly, And now for onr dear homes.- That strain again? Full fain it would delay me! My dear babe, Who, capable of no articulate sound, Mars all things with his imitative lisp, How he would place his hand beside his enr, His little hand, the small forefinger up, And bid us liston! And I deem it wise To make him Nature's playmate. He knows well The evening-star; and once, when he awoke In most distressful mood (some inward pain Hlad made up that strange thing, an infant's dream), I hurried with him to our orchard plot, And he beheld the moon, and, hushed at once, Suspends his sobe, and laughs most silently, While his fair eyes, that swam with undropp'l tours, Did glitter in the yellow moonbeam! Well ! It is a father's tale: but if that Heaven

most useful and active member of society; and whether political or literary; I recommend when love no longer demands toil and trouble, books to him, and lay them before him; I carry when every triumph is a mere repetition of on the correspondence with our married chil. the last, when success has lost something of dren, and often delight him with good news of its value, along with its novelty, the taste for them and our little grandchildren. As to his activity no longer finds its appropriate food, accounts, I understand them as well as he, and and turns to fresh objects of pursuit. The make them easier to him by having mind of necessity for occupation and for progress is of all the yearly outlay which passes through my the very essence of our souls; and if our hus- hands, ready and in order; if necessary, I can bands are guided by reason in the choice of send in a statement to the treasury chamber, occupation, we ought not to pout because they and my hand makes as good a figure in our do not sit with us so often as formerly, by cash-book as his; we are accustomed to the the silver brook or under the beech-tree. At same order, we know the spirit of all our affairs first I too found it hard to endure the change. and duties, and we have one aim and one rule But my husband talked to me about it with in all our undertakings. perfect frankness and sincerity. “The joy This would never have been the case if we with which you receive me,” said he, “does had played the part of tender lovers after marnot conceal your vexation, and your saddened riage as well as before, and had exhausted our eye tries in vain to assume a cheerful look; I energies in asseverations of mutual love. We see what you want-that I would sit as I used should perhaps have regarded each other with to do on the mossy bank, hang on all your ennui, and have soon found the grotto too damp, steps, and live on your breath; but this is im- the evening air too cool, the noontide too hot, possible. I would bring you down from the the morning fatiguing. We should have longed top of the church-steeple on a rope-ladder, at for visitors, who when they came would not the peril of my life, if I could obtain you in have been amused, and would have impatiently no other way; but now, as I have you fast in awaited the hour of departure, or, if we went my arms, as all dangers are passed and all to them, would have wished us away. Spoiled obstacles overcome, my passion can no longer by effeminate trifling, we should have wanted find satisfaction in that way.

What has once to continue to trifle, and to share in pleasures been sacrificed to my self-love ceases to be a we could not enjoy; or have been compelled to sacrifice. The spirit of invention, discovery, find refuge at the card-table—the last place and conquest, inherent in man, demands a new at which the old can figure with the young.

Before I obtained you I used all the Do you wish not to fall into this state, my virtues I possessed as steps by which to reach dear child? Follow my example, and do not you; but now, as I have you, I place you at torment yourself and your excellent husband the top of them, and you are the highest step with unreasonable exactions. Don't think, from which I now hope to ascend higher." however, that I have entirely renounced the

Little as I relished the notion of the church- pleasure of seeing mine at my feet. Opportower, or the honour of serving as the highest tunities for this present themselves far more step under my husband's feet, time and reflec- frequently to those who do not seek, but seem tion on the course of human aftairs convinced to avoid them, than to those who allow themme that the thing could not be otherwise. Iselves to be found on the mossy bank at all therefore turned my active mind, which would times, and as often as it pleases their lord and perhaps in time have been tired of the mossy master. bank, to the domestic business which came I still sometimes sing to my little grandwithin my department; and when we bad both children, when they come to see me, a song been busy and bustling in our several ways, which, in the days when his love had still to and could tell each other in the evening what contend with all sorts of obstacles, used to we had been doing, he in the fields, and I in throw him into raptures; and when the little the house or the garden, we were often more ones cry, “ Ancora! ancora! grandmamma," his happy and contented than the most loving eyes fill with tears of joy. I asked him once couple in the world.

whether he would not now think it too dangerAnd, what is best of all, this pleasure has ous to bring me down a rope-ladder from the not left us after thirty years of marriage. We top of the church-steeple, upon which he called talk with as much animation as ever of our out as vehemently as the children, “0, ancora! domestic affairs; I have learned to know all my grandmamma, ancora!” husband's tastes, and I relate to him whatever P.S. --One thing, my dear child, I forgot. I think likely to please him out of journals, ' It seems to me that you trust too entirely to

career.

BY ROBERT BURNS.

BY ROBERT BURNS,

your good cause and your good heart (perhaps, too, a little to your blue eyes), and do not deign to try to attract your husband anew.

OH, OPEN THE DOOR. I fancy you are at home, just as you were a week ago, in society, at our excellent G-'s, where I found you as stiff and silent as if you Oh, open the door, some pity to show, had met only to tire each other to death. Did

Oh, open the door to me, Oh! you not observe how soon I set the whole com

Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true, pany in motion? This was merely by a few

Oh, open the door to me, Oh! words addressed to each on the subject I thought most agreeable or most flattering to him. After Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek, a time the others began to feel more happy

But caulder thy love for me, Oh! and at their ease, and we parted in high spirits The frost that freezes the life at my heart, and good humour.

Is nought to my pains frae thee, Oh! What I did there I do daily at home. I try The wan moon is setting behind the white wave, to make myself and all around me agreeable. It will not do to leave a man to himself till he False friends, false love, farewell! for mair

And time is setting with me, Oh! comes to you, to take no pains to attract him,

I'll ne'er trouble them, nor thee, Oh! or to appear before him with a long face. But it is not so difficult as you think, dear child, she has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide; to behave to a husband so that he shall remain

She sees his pale corse on the plain, Oh! for ever in some measure a lover. I am an

My true love! she cried, and sank down by his side, old woman, but you can still do what you like;

Never to rise again, Oh! a word from you at the right time will not fail of its effect. What need have you to play the suffering virtue? The tear of a loving girl, says an old book, is like a dew-drop on the rose;

LORD GREGORY. but that on the cheek of a wife is a drop of poison to her husband. Try to appear cheerful and contented, and your husband will be so; and when you have made him happy, you will

O mirk, mirk is the midnight hour, become so, not in appearance, but in reality.

And loud the tempest's roar; The skill required is not so great. Nothing

A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tow'ı, flatters a man so much as the happiness of his

Lord Gregory, ope thy door! wife; he is always proud of himself as the

An exile frae her father's ha', source of it. As soon as you are cheerful you

And a' for loving thee; will be lively and alert, and every moment will

At least some pity on me shaw, afford you an opportunity of letting fall an

If love it may not be. agreeable word. Your education, which gives you an immense advantage, will greatly assist

Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grore, you ; and your sensibility will become the

By bonnie Irwine side, noblest gift that nature has bestowed on you,

Where first I own'd that virgin-love when it shows itself in affectionate assiduity,

I lang, lang had denied? and stamps on every action a soft, kind, and tender character, instead of wasting itself in

How aften didst thou pledge and row secret repinings.

Thou wad for aye be mine;
And my fond heart, itsel' sue true,

It be'er mistrusted thine.
PLEASURE AND PAIN.
Venomous thorns that are so sharp and keen,

Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory,
Bear flowers we see, full fresh and fair of hue;

And flinty is thy breastPoison is also put in medicine,

Thou dart of heav'n that flashest by,
And unto man his health doth oft renew;

O wilt thou give me rest!
The fire that all things eke consumeth clean,
May burt and heal: then if that this be true,

Ye mustering thunders from above,
I trust sometime my harm may be my health,

Your willing victim see!
Since every woe is joined with some wealth.

But spare, and pardon my false love,
Sir Thomas Wyat (1503-1541).

His wrangs to Heaven and me!

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