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 UNITED STATES OF AMEBIC A. 
 
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xlIISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS 
 
 OF THE LATE 
 
 SAMUEL J. SMITH, 
 
 OF BURLINGTON, N. J. 
 
 Collccteti unt} Sti-vanattj l)i) ©n'cof tfje j^amili). 
 
 WITH A NOTICE ILLUSTRATIVE OF HIS LIFE AND CHARACTEn. 
 
 ' Not a beauty blows, 
 
 And not an op'ning blossom breatl^es, in vain." 
 
 rillLADELPHIA : 
 
 HENRY PERKINS, 134 CHESTNUT STREET. 
 
 BOSTON : 
 I'ERKINS & MARVIN, 114 WASHINGTON STREET. 
 
 1836. 
 
T^ 
 
 
 Entered, according to the act of congress, in the year 1836, by Henky 
 Perkins, in the clerk's office of the district court for the eastern district 
 of Pennsylvania. 
 
 A. WALDIE, PR. 
 
 J^fJ^t 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Biographical Sketch, 
 
 An Indian Eclogue, . 
 
 The Bachelor, .... 
 
 Stanzas, • . . . 
 
 Hymn, • . . . . 
 
 On Dress— To the Ladies, 
 
 A Love Letter, .... 
 
 To the Memory ofVl^m. Livingston, LL. D., 
 
 On seeing a Wren in the midst of Winter, 
 
 The Case of Amanda, 
 
 The Twenty-Fifih Psalm, 
 
 The Genius of * * * « To 
 
 To , . 
 
 To the Wife of , 
 
 An Elegy, 
 
 Eulogium on Rum, 
 
 The Bee, 
 
 Margery Gray, 
 
 Courtship, 
 
 A Morning Hymn, . 
 
 Some Account of My Neighbour Ephraim, 
 
 For an Album, 
 
 Peter's Ride to the Wedding, 
 
 Reflections, ..... 
 
 Stanzas, ...... 
 
 To A, B, C, & CO. . . . ' 
 
 To a Toad in a Strawberry Bed, 
 
 To my Trees, • . . . 
 
 Scraps from my Port Folio, 
 
 Lines, written in the Album of a Young Friend, 
 
 On a Picture of a Child falling from a Boat into the Water, 
 
 Another Illustration of the same Subject, 
 
 For a Winter Scene on a Farm, .... 
 
 29 
 
 5L 53, 54. 56, 
 
 Page 
 9 
 31 
 33 
 35 
 36 
 38 
 43 
 46 
 50 
 57.59 
 63 
 66 
 69 
 73 
 76 
 80 
 84 
 86 
 91 
 93 
 94 
 146 
 147 
 149 
 153 
 155 
 159 
 160 
 162 
 173 
 J 74 
 175 
 176 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 For an Autumnal Scene, 
 
 For a Ship under full sail, 
 
 On reading Wordsworth's " Excursion," 
 
 Scraps ; or, a Page from my Port Folio, 
 
 For an Album, 
 
 Woman, . 
 
 Lines, written extempore, for a 
 
 her Squirrel," 
 Stanzas, 
 For an Album, 
 My Spectacles, 
 Written in an Album, 
 Paraphrase of Luke x. 42, 
 To J. and H. C. B , 
 
 Child who asked for an " Epitaph on 
 
 Paraphrase of Psalm xxxi. 2, 3 — Is 
 
 Flowers, . 
 
 Locomotives, 
 
 Scraps from my Port Folio, 
 
 Fragment, ...... 
 
 Lines, suggested by a recent visit to " Hickory Grove," 
 
 saiah xxxii. 2 — Rev. xviii. 10, 
 
 Page 
 177 
 178 
 180 
 187 
 190 
 191 
 
 192 
 193 
 195 
 197 
 203 
 205 
 206 
 208 
 210 
 213 
 216 
 219 
 221 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 When those who have been distinguished for their in- 
 tegrity, and whom Providence has blessed with superior 
 talents, are removed to another state of existence, the fruits 
 of those talents, and the example of that integrity, in some 
 cases, become properly the portion of their fellow beings ; 
 and in the hope that an humble sketch of the character 
 of one who did " good by stealth," and sought not the 
 voice of fame, may not be unacceptable, the following 
 brief memoir is, with diffidence, presented to the public. 
 
 The late Samuel J, Smith was descended from a family 
 living in Yorkshire, England, in 1593, some of whom 
 emigrated to this country, and were among the early 
 settlers in New Jersey. For several generations they were 
 employed in civil offices during the colonial government, 
 though, as members of the religious society of Friends, 
 their principles forbade their taking an active part in the 
 conffict which severed these States from their parent stem. 
 His grandfather, Samuel Smith, the author of the '• History 
 of New Jersey, written in 1765, (the only standard history 
 of that state,) tilled the office of treasurer while it was a 
 2 
 
10 
 
 province, under George III. ; and subsequently, he and his 
 two sons were usefully engaged as able members in the 
 legislative councils of the state. Joseph, the elder, was 
 early married to a daughter of Samuel Burling, an amiable 
 woman, of acute understanding and pleasing manners ; and 
 settling on a farm about nine miles from the city of Burling- 
 ton in New Jersey, their son Samuel, the subject of the 
 present memoir, was there born, in the autumn of the year 
 1771. His mother was taken from him by death when he 
 was scarcely two years old, and leaving no other child to 
 share with him the affection of his father, he became the 
 absorbing object of his doting fondness. Although a man 
 of strong and cultivated mind, and so distinguished for the 
 soundness of his judgment as to be frequently resorted to 
 by strangers for counsel and direction, yet he suffered pater- 
 nal affection so far to predoininate, as almost to unnerve 
 his hand and disqualify him for the exercise of wholesome 
 discipline in early childhood, even when a looker-on might 
 perhaps have deemed the occasion an imperative call for it. 
 The darling, almost the idol, of the family, not only from 
 his father but from every individual of it he found unbound- 
 ed indulgence in his childish whims. From his earliest 
 years he loved retirement ; and, resisting every effort to 
 bring him into company, this love acquired strength and 
 grew with his growth, till habit had confirmed a predilec- 
 tion which, perhaps, a different education might have 
 overcome. Even at this early period he gave evidence of 
 more than common quickness of perception, firmness of 
 purpose, and promptitude of action ; together with a 
 strong will, which, as might be supposed, was under 
 
11 
 
 but little restraint. While thus, in the morning of life, 
 wearing the reins almost upon his own neck, the preserv- 
 ing hand of Providence conducted him through its perils 
 in safety. When it wa& judged proper to send him to 
 school, and he had been brought by arguments, persuasions 
 and bribes, to the point of passive submission ; his grand- 
 father at length, as he flattered himself, deposited him 
 safely there, and, well pleased with the achievement, had 
 hardly returned, when he found the young pupil had 
 escaped; and as he has himself said in his "Address to 
 A, B, C &. Co." he was indeed — " at home as soon as he 
 was !" Nor were their subsequent endeavours to give him 
 the rudiments of education, by the common course of pub- 
 lic or private instruction, attended with much better success. 
 As well might they have attempted to lure the young 
 partridge from his fields, and teach him the sober habits of 
 domestic fowls, as to confine this untamed spirit within the 
 walls of a school-room, to initiate him in the dull routine 
 of commonplace study there. With a natural difiidence, 
 approaching to shyness and reserve, the company of boys 
 of his own age offered no attraction ; and, accustomed 
 to depend upon himself for amusement, while rambhng 
 at large on his father's farm, the vast field of nature 
 was his school, and the God of nature became his effec- 
 tual teacher, in shedding the rich dew of his grace on 
 his young heart, and directing its early aspirations to 
 Himself 
 
 Though he was regularly entered, the whole time passed 
 at public school, at intervals, amounted but to a few 
 
12 
 
 months. Yet, while his father yielded to this aversion, 
 rather than compel his attendance, the principles of mo- 
 rality and reli^^ion were implanted in his mind with assi- 
 duous care, which taking deep root, with the Divine bless- 
 ing produced an abundant harvest. 
 
 His father had formed a second connexion in marriage, 
 with a sensible and amiable woman, (a sister of the late 
 well-known and respected Dr. Thomas C. James, of Phila- 
 delphia.) But this produced no change in the family 
 management with respect to the young poet. The gentle, 
 yielding temper of his stepmother required of him no 
 sacrifice of his inclination, and they had no other child to 
 divide with him their tenderness. Though living thus in 
 the retirement of the country, without any companion of his 
 own age, yet a consciousness of deficiency soon awakened 
 a spirit of emulation, which acted as a sufficient stimulus ; 
 and, with a determined will to instruct himself, and little 
 aid from any teacher, he acquired, at a much earher age 
 than usual, the elementary parts of a good education; and 
 by application soon surmounted every difficulty in the first 
 steps to the fair fields of intellectual cultivation. A taste for 
 literature once acquired, it was pursued with eager delight ; 
 his powerful mind took in, almost at a glance, the subject 
 presented to it, and soon penetrated through all its intricacies. 
 With the advantage also of a strong memory, he retained 
 so perfect a knowledge of what he had once read, as rarely 
 to give it a second perusal. Possessing a good library, and 
 seizing with avidity on every book within his reach, the 
 flowers that grew in the regions of imagination and poetry 
 
13 
 
 were congenial to his taste, in his juvenile years. In later 
 life he used to remark, that the works of fiction which at 
 the former period passed current were, with few exceptions, 
 trash beneath contempt. His mind a luxuriant soil, in which 
 sprang up spontaneously the richest flowers of fancy and of 
 feeling, he loved to "converse with his own thoughts." Ac- 
 customed to think for himself, when he believed it right to 
 pursue any object, prompt and energetic exertion was the 
 immediate result of such conviction. He had believed that 
 a child, by being conversant with the best authors, might 
 attain a sufficient knowledge of grammar to speak and 
 write correctly without submitting to the drudgery of a 
 regular study of its rules ; and, however erroneous this 
 conclusion might be in general practice, he verified its 
 truth in his own example, for his writing and conversation 
 combined accuracy, strength, and gracefulness. 
 
 The following passages from some of his early letters to 
 the late Thomas C. James, M. D., of Philadelphia, (which 
 were kindly furnished by the family of the latter,) may 
 serve as a specimen of his style at that time. Similarity of 
 taste, as well as family connexion, had united them in 
 close bonds of friendship; and he afterwards expressed a 
 grateful sense of the kindness of the doctor, who was by 
 several years his senior, in bestowing so much time and 
 pains in cultivating a correspondence with him in his early 
 youth. 
 
14 
 
 « Burlington, Nov. 28th, 1784. 
 
 " My Dear Friend, 
 
 " I congratulate thee on thy new profession, * * 
 
 * * * * ; but perhaps I, immured 
 
 in the regions of solitude, cannot discern those graces in 
 physic, which to the more refined eye of a polished citizen 
 are perfectly visible. I must beg a moment which is not 
 employed at Doctor's Hall, for the perusal of the following 
 
 journal of a day. 
 
 ******* 
 
 " If thou hast any entertaining book at hand, by sending 
 it thou wilt very much oblige thine affectionately, 
 
 "Sam'l J. Smith. 
 " P.S. — Pray send me a Latin grammar." 
 
 1785. 
 
 -"I hope to find a good deal of amusement in the 
 
 perusal of the pamphlet, as I have plenty of leisure minutes, 
 but they are by no means dull, for I am of a cast of those 
 who can relish an entertaining book as much in private, as 
 others do the noise and bustle of city life. 
 
 ' Of ancient writ, unlock the learned store, 
 Consult the dead, and live past ages o'er.' 
 
 " Thou need not be so very cautious, for I turned 
 
 critic merely for want of something better to write upon, 
 and I hope thou wilt not apply to me — 
 
15 
 
 ' Some have at first for wits, then poets pass'd, 
 Turned critics next, and proved plain fools at last.' " 
 
 " Hickory Grove, Sept. 5th, 1785. 
 
 " These groves first saw me try my tender wing. 
 They saw me, trembling, strike the tuneful string ; 
 Plain artless nature taught my lines to flow, 
 Unknown to beauty, as devoid of show ; 
 Be not surprised, then, at this want of art. 
 The genuine dictates of the simplest heart. 
 
 " These shades could ever yield some joy to me, 
 But doubly pleasing, since approved by thee ; 
 For now new music sounds in all our groves, 
 New charms disclosing, for my friend approves. 
 Oft have I sat beneath the cooling shade, 
 And fondly waited inspiration's aid ; 
 Or racked my hard-bound, dull, and barren brains, 
 With imitating thy melodious strains, 
 In vain : alas ! I find no muses there, 
 And emulation 's darkened by despair. 
 Perhaps e'en now thy vigorous fancy roves 
 Through the bright mazes of Parnassian groves ; 
 While I, dark groping o'er a humbler hill, 
 Admire the murmurs of yon winding rill ; 
 Or sauntering idly up the shady road, 
 (The path my friend so oft with pleasure trod, 
 While Phoebus setting glanced along the green,) 
 Enjoy the beauties of the evening scene, 
 
16 
 
 And as the landscape charms, my artless tongue 
 Breaks out in ends of verse and scraps of song. 
 
 " O sacred Nature ! undefiled by art, 
 What heavenly feelings can thy charms impart : 
 Let new-spun coxcombs daily come from France, 
 Let grey-haired matrons learn to play and dance — 
 Here let me live, till Death's stern sovereign call. 
 Alike unenvied, and unenvying all ; 
 And as my pleasures, passions, all give way. 
 Sink to the grave by unperceived decay : 
 There unregretted, undistinguished, rot, 
 ' The world forgetting, by the world forgot.' " 
 
 " Hickory Grove, '86. 
 
 " I think it is not unamusing to peruse the diiferent 
 
 apologies of authors upon appearing in print. Shenstone, 
 if I remember right, ridicules every mode, and still leaves 
 the matter in the dark — Johnson says a friendly letter is a 
 cool and deliberate performance, composed in the stillness 
 of solitude and retirement. But the truth (in my humble 
 opinion at least) is, that those in retirement are apt to 
 resign themselves up to a habit of indolence, especially 
 with regard to writing. The speaking of retirement recalls 
 to my remembrance a curious story recorded in Bacon's 
 collection of Apophthegms : — An old rat, being dissatisfied 
 with the world, retired into his hole, and forbade, upon the 
 severest penalties, any one to approach him ; at length 
 one, more bold than the rest, ventured down, and found 
 the old gentleman sitting very contentedly in the midst of 
 a rich Parmesan cheese." 
 
17 
 
 " ' The brittle forest clad in silver frost, 
 Its beauty withered and its verdure lost,' 
 Can preach more strongly to the pensive eye, 
 Than long dull volumes on morality." 
 
 " A rival's fame to those who write, 
 Ne'er fails to bring a hippish sprite. 
 Whether they waste their precious time 
 In scribbling sleepy prose or rhyme. 
 For sooner shall a lawyer shun sense. 
 And lose a fee, for sake of conscience ; 
 Sooner the healing tribe regret 
 A sickly season damp and wet. 
 Than he who toils for crown of bays 
 With pleasure hear another's praise." 
 
 "As to poor Pegasus, I had almost forgot that there 
 was such a horse ; however I am much obliged to thee for 
 mentioning him, and thereby putting me in mind of a 
 request I formerly made that thou would take the trouble 
 to burn every scrawl of poetry bearing my name, in thy 
 possession ; by doing which thou wilt greatly and truly 
 oblige me. For I am determined that before Pegasus gets 
 a new coat, his old one shall be destroyed, at least to the 
 utmost of my power. * « * * 
 
 " All the common topics proper for an epistle have been 
 
 so often discussed, that they are as difficult to manage as 
 
 Robinson Crusoe's long boat. This scrawl was not produced 
 
 (believe me) without labour both of mind and body. Now 
 
 3 
 
18 
 
 confess I am honest, I might as easily have said 'I 
 snatched a leisure moment, (fcc. &c. &c.' and as an excuse 
 for so doing, plead the example of divers eminent persons ; 
 yea, even the makers of verses in this our day endeavour 
 and labour exceedingly to convince the reader that they 
 write for their amusement, alias satisfaction, only." 
 
 " I cannot believe that the tinder placed by nature in a 
 poet's mind is wholly erased from that of my friend. But 
 why put off writing till nature puts on her smiling robe ? 
 I cannot conceive that one is more able to write at one 
 time than at another. Inclination may certainly be greater 
 at some times than at others, and I should imagine it to be 
 greater in the winter than at other seasons. In the winter 
 there are few outward objects pleasing enough to attract 
 attention ; the mind retires inward, and is pleased with 
 recollections, reflection, and description. 
 
 " I am entirely of thy opinion with respect to the pur- 
 poses to which poetry should properly be applied. It may 
 promote the interest of morality and virtue, and be made 
 subservient to religion and the happiness of mankind ; and 
 we have only to regret that it has not oftener been directed 
 to such noble purposes. Young and Watts have indeed 
 succeeded in sacred poetry, but their example will not 
 warrant or excuse the attempts of others. Truths so 
 sublime are rather degraded than exalted by the poetical 
 garb." 
 
 " Prose composition is certainly more useful than 
 poetry, but poetry is not only more pleasing to the reader 
 
19 
 
 (if it is good) but more easy to the writer, at least I think 
 so. As to Dr. Frankhn's opinion of poetry, not all the 
 Frankhns 'twixt this and Lilliput can make me alter my 
 opinion. The doctor may be a great philosopher and 
 politician, but (with submission) I conceive he is not a 
 judge of poetry. 
 
 "My mother has written to-day, and I suppose told 
 
 you the old story, that we are all well, the cow excepted 
 
 formerly mentioned, who seems to be, I don't know how ; 
 
 but it is pretty plain she wants the doctor here, and so do I. 
 
 " Thine sincerely, S. J. S." 
 
 " Hickory Grove, '87. 
 " My Dear Friend, 
 »«•••♦* 
 
 " This letter is hke a rag carpet, made up one scarcely 
 
 knows of what — there is a simile ! which if I had time and 
 
 genius, and a good pen and darker ink, I could enlarge 
 
 upon, and by much handling, and traveling about it and 
 
 about it, would make it as smooth and shining as that 
 
 dog's black ear, that's sleeping on the floor : 
 
 ' In works of wit, the critics all agree 
 That nothing tickles like a simile.' " 
 
 '87. 
 ''It is my solid opinion that J. T. &c. would recruit 
 much sooner if they were here, where they might smell 
 the wounded bosom of mother earth, commonly called 
 ploughed ground ; at least they would do better any where 
 than in that dismal hive of doleful beings, yclept a city. 
 " Thine sincerely, Samuel J. Smith." 
 
20 
 
 His father had removed to reside upon his patrimonial 
 estate, Hickory Grove, a mile from the city of Burlington, 
 in New Jersey, when his son was not more than four years 
 of age. He had grown up in its shades, and had ample 
 scope for the pursuit of his favourite employments. He 
 was not only an excellent theoretic, but a good practical 
 farmer : cultivating his ground with judicious care, and 
 watching over his horses, his cattle, his flocks of poultry, 
 and every living animal within his jurisdiction, with a 
 humane and tender attention to their accommodation and 
 pleasure, which often led him to sacrifice his own ; with, 
 perhaps, an over solicitude that they should not be sub- 
 jected to hard usage, and that nothing might be omitted 
 which could promote their comfort. Delighting in his agri- 
 cultural avocations, as affording the best field for tracing 
 the hand of a beneficent Creator in his vegetable and ani- 
 mal kingdoms ; and possessing a fortune sufficient to enable 
 him to furnish employment, and the means of living, to 
 many of the poor in his neighbourhood, he dispensed the 
 blessing with a liberality equalled only by the delicacy 
 with which he bestowed his bounty. For this noble kind 
 of generosity, which retires from observation, he was 
 remarkable. His munificent acts were of so frequent recur- 
 rence, that on the writer asking his housekeeper to relate 
 some instances of them, she answered, " they could not 
 be mentioned — they were continual." 
 
 In tracing the history of an individual whose writings 
 have interested us, we naturally wish to know something 
 of the form in which this mind was clothed. 
 
21 
 
 In person he was of the common size ; with a pecuHar 
 expression of sweetness and benevolence, his whole coun- 
 tenance was enlightened by a look of animated intelligence, 
 which varied with every changing emotion, and could 
 scarcely fail to attract the attention of a stranger, as 
 belonging to no common character. While dwelling in 
 the seclusion of his beloved Hickory Grove, his mind, 
 with a rapidity which always marked its movements, 
 embraced every subject of general interest, whether literary, 
 moral, civil or political. His vicinity to Burlington, and 
 easy communication with Philadelphia, furnished him 
 with the opportunity of readily obtaining supplies of books, 
 and receiving nearly all the best periodical publications; 
 the din of men was thus heard in his retreat, and he 
 possessed a general knowledge of what was passing in 
 the world around him — a world which he had shut out, 
 though with a heart glowing with the warmest feelings of 
 genuine philanthropy towards the whole human family, and 
 desirous of contributing to their comfort in any way. ex- 
 cept by giving them his society. And yet those who would 
 dispense with the ceremony of a formal or particular in- 
 vitation, and the return which custom requires, and would 
 take the trouble to make him a voluntary visit, ever found 
 a kind reception, were hospitably entertained, and were 
 well repaid by the rich variety of his conversation ; occa- 
 sionally sparkling with wit, and full of playful humour, 
 peculiarly his own ; or sanctified by pious feeling, and 
 meditation on sacred things. His well stored memory 
 abounded in anecdotes, with which he frequently illus- 
 trated his subjects, and which lost nothing of their point 
 
22 
 
 and spirit by his manner of relating them. A few times 
 in early life, he broke through his habits of retirement to 
 go on short excursions from home. Once with two friends, 
 the journey even extended into a few neighbouring states ; 
 and in that one visit he observed and learned more than 
 many travellers, who have wandered over a much greater 
 extent of country, with their eyes not so widely open to 
 profit by every object they encounter. Returning his 
 father's love with the warmest affection and duty of a son, 
 his attachments centred in his own family ; and though 
 his " Elegy written in a Burial Ground," might lead to the 
 belief that some one had awakened a more tender regard, 
 yet he never married ; and it is probable that no stronger 
 sentiment than a high estimation and respect for female 
 worth, ever found an entrance to his heart. While thus 
 pursuing the strong bent of his taste, and contemplating 
 the hand of Providence in his works, few have ever listen- 
 ed to the " tongues in trees," or studied the " books in the 
 running brooks" with more heart-felt attention and profit. 
 In addition to agricultural knowledge, he possessed no 
 small degree of mechanical genius, which was often in re- 
 quisition for the supply and repair of machinery on the 
 farm. Although in this he was self-taught, yet he could, it 
 was thought, had necessity demanded it, have earned a 
 subsistence, as an artisan, by several distinct mechanical 
 employments. Some of his cabinet work, for his young 
 relatives, for ingenuity and finished neatness, could hardly 
 have been excelled by those regularly trained to the art. 
 An amiable trait of character was manifested, not only in 
 taking this pains for the gratification of children, but when 
 
23 
 
 in the company of young persons, he encouraged them to 
 exert their talents, repeating the recommendation to " aim 
 always at the eagle, if they only brought down a sparrow ;" 
 and by kind notice and respectful attention to their opinions, 
 he called their intellectual powers into exercise, and it 
 usually had the effect of increasing the confidence of the 
 timid, and adding to the good humour and spirit of con- 
 versation. 
 
 "With an utter abhorrence of idleness, few have led a 
 more uniformly active and industrious life, or have been 
 more constantly engaged in useful employment, when not 
 for himself, for the benefit of others. It was his invariable 
 custom to rise at four o'clock, or not later in summer, and 
 at five in winter, and begin the day in religious retirement 
 and meditation, and reading a portion of the sacred vo- 
 lume ; for which he entertained a high value, earnestly 
 endeavouring to form his life by its divine precepts. His 
 mind thus imbued with religious feeling, cheerful, and 
 attuned to harmony with the objects in creation, he liked 
 not to hear in a tone of complaint the world called a " de- 
 sert" — " dreary"—" comfortless" — " a vale of tears," think- 
 ing such terms savoured of ingratitude ; a world which is 
 in truth, as he sometimes said, " bright and beautiful, too 
 good for man, whose follies and vices alone make it other- 
 wise." His love for the Creator extended to his humblest 
 creatures. The birds around the house were carefully 
 protected ; little comfortable dwellings for them, the work 
 of his hands, placed in the corners of the piazza and on 
 the trees, were regularly tenanted, while the squirrels, 
 
24 
 
 almost tame, leaped fearlessly among the branches ; and 
 few persons have taken more pains to " step aside and let 
 the reptile live," than he to avoid destroying the insects 
 in his path. Even the very rose bugs that were re- 
 galing upon the grape vines which he had carefully 
 reared, he would brush off, rather than destroy, merely 
 answering, once when this was remarked, " it would 
 take many of us to make a rose bug !" and not until the 
 tribe became too numerous to be longer tolerated, did 
 they receive at his hand the common doom. The so- 
 ciety of his beloved and honoured father was continued 
 to him for many years. The fondest wish of a parent's 
 heart had been gratified in the character of his son, who 
 watched his declining health with the most tender and 
 unremitting attention, until deprived by death of this 
 intelligent friend and counsellor. Although his loss 
 was keenly felt, comparable, as he once expressed it, to 
 " losing a right arm," his step-mother was preserved to 
 him some years longer ; and he lived in the enjoyment 
 of affectionate family intercourse with a few near re- 
 latives, who resided at a short distance. Yet, notwith- 
 standing this, many hours in his own habitation were 
 passed alone, and persons in general would have deemed 
 the latter part of his life solitary. But, in answer to remarks 
 upon the loneliness of his situation, he has more than once 
 said " he knew not what the feeling of solitude was ! — 
 that he had never known a lonely half hour !" wondering 
 how others could feel it, there was such a " world within," 
 it left no room for solitude. Two enormous Newfoundland 
 dogs formed no unimportant link in his domestic establish- 
 
25 
 
 ment ; fond of dogs in general, for their fidelity, these 
 two were his playthings and favourites. When he was 
 seated with his books, one of these huge animals was 
 usually found at his feet, waiting for the kind notice he 
 was always sure to receive. 
 
 The amor patrice was with him a strong sentiment. He 
 loved to observe the rising greatness of our country, her 
 progress in the arts and sciences, and was a lenient judge, 
 and patron of her literature. It was under a sense of the 
 many advantages and blessings which we enjoy as a nation, 
 that he says, in one of his youthful essays — 
 
 " Reflect, Columbians, to your God 
 
 What thanks, what heartfelt thanks are due ; 
 
 While others feel his chastening rod, 
 His choicest gifts are showered on you." 
 
 In thirty years he had not even visited Philadelphia, nor 
 in that space of time had he been perhaps more than fifteen 
 miles beyond his own domain, and then only when busi- 
 ness, sometimes of a public nature, called him ; for he not 
 only contributed to the public benefit from his purse, but 
 often gave his personal attention, on different services, for 
 the city and county in which he resided. A strict regard 
 for truth, in the minutest particular, was a striking trait in 
 his character. In his view, no embellishments of fancy, 
 nor the wit or humour of any jest in conversation, furnished 
 the least apology for its slightest violation. With habitual 
 care on this point, he was scrupulously exact in the 
 4 
 
26 
 
 performance of every promise, whether expressed or only 
 imphed. This practice embraced small things as well as 
 great ; acting upon the principle of "putting not off till to- 
 morrow, that which should be done to-day," his nice sense 
 of rectitude prompted him punctually to discharge every 
 kind of debt, whether small or great, as early as practicable 
 after it was due, to those who were constantly in his 
 employ as well as to others. Of care in this respect, he 
 was remarked as a singular example. He had beautified 
 his grounds with shrubbery and flowers, in which he took 
 much pleasure, contemplating them with the eye, and the 
 mind, of a poet and a christian. Gardening, he thought, 
 might not inaptly be termed the " poetry of farming." 
 His large flock of poultry of various kinds, ■\vith the gay 
 plumage of the peacock interspersed, contributed to cheer 
 the winter scene. These, knowing the hand that fed them, 
 assembled round him morning and evening for their boun- 
 tiful supply of grain. And he has even been accused of 
 feeding the poor famished crows, in the severity of winter, 
 forgiving their summer depredations on his corn fields. 
 His poultry, so cared for in life, he humanely endeavoured 
 to save from unnecessary pain in death ; and in order to 
 effect this as speedily as possible, he always caused their 
 heads to be taken off, rather than incur the risk of pro- 
 tracted suffering for them, by taking their lives according 
 to the usual method. 
 
 His constitution continued firm, and his activity unim- 
 paired, till within a year or two of his decease, when his 
 health began visibly to decline ; and when the undeniable 
 
27 
 
 messenger arrived, in a deeply humblin^^ sense of his own 
 nothingness he expressed his only hope and trust in the 
 mercy of God, through his Lord and Saviour Jesus 
 Christ, whose supporting arm was evidently underneath, 
 and sustained him in quietness of soul during the conflict of 
 expiring nature. Although, with characteristic diffidence, 
 he spoke little of himself, his business in this world was 
 finished ; and so entirely resigned was his will to that 
 of his Heavenly Father, that, as he expressed to his sor- 
 rowing attendants, " he dared not pray for life or death ;" 
 and with a mind clear and unclouded he breathed his 
 last, in sweet calmness and peace, on the fourteenth of 
 the eleventh month, 1835, in the 64th year of his age, 
 leaving many to mourn the loss of a generous friend and 
 benefactor. 
 
 The miscellaneous essays which form the present col- 
 lection, were written at the solicitation of friends, or for 
 the amusement of a leisure hour. Some of them were 
 never before published — some, not intended for publication, 
 found their way to the press without his knowledge. And 
 those which were written for that purpose, were scattered, 
 by their author, without a name, in the periodical papers 
 of the day. 
 
 He wrote with ease and rapidity, but, with true modesty, 
 he was a severe critic on the productions of his own pen, 
 and consigned them to the flames with little mercy ; never 
 preserving the manuscripts, even of those which were 
 given to the world. They were written, neither for profit 
 
28 
 
 nor for fame, but in the humble hope that the lessons of 
 morality and religion, which are inculcated in most of 
 them, might awaken in the reader some serious thought. 
 His character is indeed so truly delineated in his writings, 
 as to render any other description of him almost super- 
 fluous. 
 
POEMS AND ESSAYS. 
 
 AN INDIAN ECLOGUE. 
 
 Scene — The Banks of the Ohio. Time — Morning. 
 
 Scarce had the morn her orient course begun. 
 Or early breezes fanned the rising sun, 
 When Mingo on Ohio's margin stood, 
 And told his sorrows to the gliding flood : — 
 
 "^With love of glory would the chiefs inflame 
 My breast, and lead me to the field of fame : 
 In vain, with glee, they show their scalps and scars, 
 The glorious trophies of their former wars ; 
 On me their praises and reproofs are lost. 
 No flame but love, but scorching love, I boast : 
 The nimble Laura does my breast inspire. 
 Wakes every sense, and sets me all on fire : 
 Enraptured while I^view her yellow neck. 
 As soft as bear-grease, and as beaver sleek, 
 From her gray eyes the living lightnings rush, 
 Like the fresh dcAv-drops glittering through a bush. 
 
30 
 
 But vain my songs re echo through the shade, 
 Nor vows nor tears can move the haughty maid. 
 E'en late I met her fainting in the track, 
 Her child and blanket dangling at her back ; 
 Scarce moved her feet beneath the heavy load, 
 And di'ops of sweat bedewed the groaning road. 
 
 " Yet other nymphs with fruitless ardour burn, 
 And feel a passion I can ne'er return. 
 In vain, with gifts of fish, Agolla strove 
 To shake my constancy and win my love ; 
 Her rough advances like a skunk I shun, 
 And from her face with eager footsteps run. 
 But vain my songs re-echo through the grove, 
 Nor vows nor tears the haughty maid can move ; 
 Then cease these fruitless plaints — I '11 take my spear, 
 And through the forest chase the shaggy bear ; 
 The bounding buck shall own my oft-tried ait, 
 And feel this arrow ranklins: in his heart." 
 
31 
 
 AN INDIAN ECLOGUE.* 
 
 " Not with more haste the panting doe removes 
 To closer coverts, and more distant groves, 
 When on her haunts the prowUng wolves encroach, 
 And tainted breezes tell the foe's approach. 
 Than Tuxa flies his Agathol to meet, 
 And lay his sylvan trophies at her feet." 
 
 Thus sang Gatuxa, 'mid the echoing grove, 
 Wliile bending poplars learned the tale of love. 
 Oh ! happy morn, supremely blest, he cries, 
 When Agathol first met my ravished eyes : 
 'Twas on the day that joy unrivalled reigns, 
 And all the fair were gathered on the plains, 
 When valiant Mingo led his bride away, 
 And laughing pleasure ruled the festive day. 
 
 " But see ! she comes ! my Agathola comes ! 
 How shines her forehead, and how slim her thumbs ! 
 What heavenly charms her tawny breasts unfold ! 
 And neck more yellow than Peruvian gold ! 
 High through her nose a painted feather hung ; 
 Words, smooth as acorns, dropping from her tongue ; 
 
 * This, and the preceding, were written at fifteen years of age. 
 
32 
 
 O'er her sleek form with decent care was spread 
 A splendid blanket, striped with blue and red, 
 While bits of tin and brass upon her toes, 
 With melting clatter, tinkle as she goes. 
 But ah ! how fruitless are the attempts to draw 
 A perfect 'semblance of my peerless squaw ! 
 Full long the nymph, by noblest motives swayed, 
 Withstood my suit, while lingering in the shade ; 
 But when bright glory raised the tribe to arms. 
 And all the forest rung with loud alarms, 
 She willing followed all the sultry day, 
 Nor wept, nor grumbled, at the tedious way ; 
 And urged by her, I drew the twanging bow 
 With tenfold ardour on the flying foe." 
 
33 
 
 THE BACHELOR. 
 
 While some in lively strains relate 
 The pleasures of the married state, 
 Shall bachelors unsung remain, 
 A ridiculed, though harmless train ? 
 A scribbler's name I covet not, 
 This hour admired, the next forgot. 
 And useless, thrown neglected by, 
 In dusty heaps his labours lie ; 
 I only wish, devoid of pride, 
 
 Whatever fate 
 
 My songs await, 
 To sing my happy fire-side. 
 
 No helpless infant's hated squalls 
 Are ever heard within my walls ; 
 Nor does a scolding headstrong wife 
 Disturb the quiet of my life ; 
 Lord of my house, I sit at ease, 
 And smoke my pipe whene'er I please ; 
 Whilst thou, dear John, to woman tied. 
 
 By cradle's toys. 
 
 And restless boys, 
 See'st occupied thy fire-side. 
 
 What though 1 every day may see 
 Numbers wealthier far than me, 
 
 5 
 
34 
 
 In glittering equipages go, 
 While I must foot it, rain or snow : 
 Though at my table nought be seen. 
 But wholesome viands, plain and clean, 
 Yet still I am with gold supplied, 
 
 " Enough to give 
 
 The means to live," 
 To some who have no fire-side. 
 
 There are, who obstinate and vain, 
 Exult in bonds, and hug the chain ; 
 Let these the sweets of wedlock boast, 
 And toil to " gild a rotten post." 
 See Crito, needy and forlorn, 
 In sackcloth curse his bridal morn ; 
 Blest with a fashionable bride. 
 
 He's forced to roam, 
 
 Or teased at home. 
 And ne'er enjoys his fire-side. 
 
 Let others tell the joys of love- 
 But keep me from them, powers above ! 
 Preserve me from that plague of life, 
 A froward and expensive wife. 
 But lest my choice should wrongly fall, 
 E'en let me have no wife at all ; 
 But still to gentle peace allied, 
 
 With smiles survey 
 
 Each new-born day, 
 And still enjoy my fire-side. 
 
♦ 
 
 35 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Sweet is friendship's sacred flame, 
 
 Sweet is fancy's magic power, 
 Sweet the breath of well-earned fame, 
 
 Sweet each self-approving hour : 
 
 Sweet the peace their bosoms know. 
 
 Who bid the sorrowing cease to sigh ; 
 And sweet the steahng tears that flow 
 From dove-like Pity's pensive eye : 
 
 But sweeter far the joy, when Hymen binds 
 In his soft fetters two congenial minds ; 
 His torch, unlike the meteor's transient blaze, 
 Will gild their prospects with unvarying rays ; 
 The darkest hours of changing life illume. 
 And spread a radiance round the peaceful tomb 
 
36 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 Almighty Father ! deign to hear 
 
 A grovehng mortal's feeble lays, 
 Who, filled with wonder, love and fear. 
 
 Attempts the rapturous work of praise. 
 
 Around the sweetly smiling land, 
 Where'er I turn my raptured eyes, 
 
 T see with joy the powerful hand 
 
 That stretched immense yon radiant skies. 
 
 When spring returns to glad our land. 
 
 Thy bounty robes the laughing vale. 
 Dead matter wakes at thy command ! 
 
 And insect millions load the gale. 
 
 The glittering dew proclaims thy power, 
 The springing grass, the waving corn. 
 
 And every herb, and every flower, 
 
 That scents the roseate breath of morn. 
 
 Not less thy hand. All-moving Soul ! 
 
 In the least, humblest worm, I trace. 
 Than in yon glorious worlds that roll 
 
 Throughout the unmeasured fields of space. 
 
37 
 
 The ploughman pHes his annual toil. 
 
 For wasting nature to provide ; 
 With jocund heart he turns the soil, 
 
 And throws the future harvest wide. 
 
 But vain his hopes, his labours vain, 
 If thou forbid the germ to grow ; 
 
 'Tis thou must send the genial rain, 
 And bid the fostering breezes blow. 
 
 From thee, exhaustless source of good ! 
 
 Poor man his little all receives ; 
 Thy bounty flows a boundless flood, 
 
 And feeds and blesses all that lives. 
 
 O may the portion. Power Divine ! 
 
 Of thy blest works which here I see, 
 My groveling thoughts exalt, refine, 
 
 And lead my wandering soul to thee. 
 
 And while on this dark world I stray. 
 Do thou o'er all my steps preside, 
 
 And bear me o'er each slippery way, 
 My God, my Father, Friend, and Guide. 
 
38 
 
 ON DRESS.— TO THE LADIES. 
 
 WRITTEN IN 1791. 
 
 Madam, lay down that novel, if you please, 
 
 And try a slice of more salubrious food, 
 No soup of frogs, — no red-hot fricassees, 
 
 To crack the cranium and inflame the blood. 
 I bring but a small piece of wholesome meat, 
 Which, when you taste, you'll find both short and sweet. 
 
 Oft have I mourned, when I've beheld a troop 
 Of damsels, bearing on their lovely backs, 
 
 A load enough to make Alcides stoop, 
 Of transatlantic frippery, and nick-nacks : 
 
 Then have I thought, at some convenient time 
 
 I'd give these girls some good advice in rhyme. 
 
 Advice is a mere drug, (you'll say, no doubt,) 
 And fools, in general, are the first to give it ; 
 
 In prose and verse 'tis freely dealt about ; 
 But very few think proper to receive it — 
 
 Ladies, all this is very true, I grant. 
 
 But still 'tis plain, some good advice you zoanl : 
 
39 
 
 And I'm inclined to think that mine will please ye, 
 For various beauties sparkle in my rhyme ; 
 
 Though strong and nervous, yet how smooth and easy, 
 And lo ! what touches of the true sublime ! 
 
 So sweet my numbers, you will almost think 
 
 I've swilled a hogshead of the Muses' drink. 
 
 From small beginnings what great things may rise ! 
 
 When Mrs. Eve, good mother of ye all, 
 First thought of dress, one fig-leaf could suffice 
 
 For coat and linen, apron, gown, and shawl. 
 No wish for far-fetched finery filled her breast ; 
 She thought, no doubt, the broadest leaf the best. 
 
 For sundry moons, through all her happy race, 
 This simple, neat, and frugal fashion ran ; 
 
 'Till some misshapen beau, to shun disgrace, 
 Or tender belle, improved upon the plan, 
 
 And stitched, good souls ! a dozen leaves together, 
 
 To hide defects, and keep off stormy weather. 
 
 Each following age to some new whim gave birth ; 
 
 But to the present sapient race 'twas given 
 To ransack all the copious stores of earth. 
 
 By Fashion, child of Pride and Folly, driven ; 
 And in the covering of their skins so white, 
 The different regions of tlie world unite. 
 
 Oh ! couldst thou, Eve, from thy long slumber rise, 
 And view thy daughters, all so fine and fair, 
 
40 
 
 How would amazement open wide thine eyes ! 
 
 How, lost in silent wonder, wouldst thou stare 
 At all the various works of cork and gauze, 
 The rumps enormous, and terrific craws ! 
 
 Of all thy children, who so great as we ! 
 
 Lo ! haughty Europe makes our shirts and cloth ; 
 The West sends sweetening, and the East, d'ye see, 
 
 Dried leaves to make, and cups to hold, our broth : 
 The world's three quarters, maugre all their fuss. 
 Are labouring, like so many mules, for us. 
 
 (Our rising empire is a babe new-born, 
 All fat and lovely, smiling in his cradle ; 
 
 The nations, nurses kind, who serve in turn — 
 One holds the clout, another the pap ladle : 
 
 Of sugar drams, this gives him many a sup, 
 
 And this in flannel wraps the urchin up.) 
 
 There was a time — Columbia's gothic days. 
 
 When maidens spun their wedding-gowns and linen ; 
 
 But now, so tasty, so refined our ways, 
 
 A homespun gown no wench will stick a pin in ; 
 
 The veriest dowdy now is too genteel 
 
 To waste a moment at the whirlinof wheel. 
 
 Observe yon belles ! behold the waspish waist ! 
 
 See the broad bishop spreading far behind ; 
 The shawl immense, with uncouth figures graced. 
 
 And veil loose waving in the playful wind ; 
 
41 
 
 Mark the huge bonnets, stuck on hills of hair, 
 Like meteors streaming through the turbid air. 
 
 But hold — I've wandered from the end in view, 
 A mile or more ; I only meant, d'ye see, 
 
 To give a mouthful of advice or two, 
 Ladies, and make you patriots, to a she ! 
 
 Not to arraign your manners — not to hint 
 
 A word about your dress, or fashions, in't. 
 
 Build on your heads till they o'ertop the trees, 
 But let the fabric be our country work ; 
 
 Wear bishops still, as monstrous as you please. 
 But make, oh ! make 'em of Columbian cork. 
 
 'Tis time to show the proud European elves 
 
 That we can dress, as well as feed, ourselves. 
 
 Begin, ye fair ! adopt the glorious plan ; 
 
 Reform and shine, in this reforming day ! 
 (And not a soul that bears the name of man. 
 
 But, pleased, will follow where you lead the way.) 
 Equip yourselves, your spouses, and your rooms. 
 With lasting fabrics from Columbian looms. 
 
 No more, when wintry winds inclement rise. 
 And chilling damps prevail — invite disease ; 
 
 No more, in garments formed for milder skies. 
 Start at a cloud, and shudder at a breeze ; 
 
 But, wrapped in homespun woollen, snug and warm. 
 
 Smile at the tempest, and enjoy the storm. 
 6 
 
42 
 
 With your own hands, the snowy wool prepare : 
 
 Bid your sweet prattlers sit assisting by ; 
 Health, Peace, and Pleasure shall repay your care. 
 
 And pale Disease the happy mansion fly ; . 
 No painful thoughts your midnight hours molest, 
 But heaven-sent visions lull your souls to rest. 
 
 Charissa ! were each blooming maid like thee, 
 
 The world would ne'er have seen this well-meant song ; 
 
 And our loved country would, indeed, be free 
 From those vile shackles she has worn too long. 
 
 But ah ! how few have sense, like thee, to prize 
 
 True home-bred peace, and empty show despise. 
 
 'Twas not thy pouting lip, of rosy dye, 
 
 Nor breast, where all the loves delighted rove, 
 
 Nor the blue languish of thy speaking eye, 
 That in my bosom roused the flame of love ; 
 
 (Yet thou art fair as Cynthia's softest ray — 
 
 More sweet, more lovely, than the new-born day.) 
 
 No, no, my fjiir one ! 'twas substantial merit — 
 Thy mind, by foolish pride ne'er led astray ; 
 
 Thy economic, thy industrious spirit — 
 
 Thy love of homespun — bore my heart away. 
 
 (Let not this well-earned praise oflend thy ear. 
 
 By truth dictated, and esteem sincere.) 
 
43 
 
 A LOVE LETTER. 
 
 Oh ! Molly, Molly, what a tiling is love ! 
 It makes the eagle gentle as the dove, 
 The griping miser cash and hoyids despise, 
 The wise man foolish, and the foolish wise. 
 
 Till this strange passion seized my throbbing breast. 
 Disturbed my days, and broke my nightly rest. 
 Serene, unruffled, flowed my tranquil hours, 
 My mind unconscious of its tuneful powers. 
 Nay, oft when leisure led me to peruse 
 The pleasing records of diurnal nezos, 
 I've shunned the corner where the printers place 
 The labours of the thriftless rhyming race ; 
 But now I feel the scribbling mania strong, 
 And not unfrequent ease my brain in song ; 
 And should this letter, which I now indite, 
 Be found (when finished) pleasing in thy sight, 
 I'll make our clerk engross it fair and clean. 
 And have it entered in the Magazine. 
 
 O ! never, never, be forgot the night 
 When first thy beauties met my ravished sight ; 
 Though brilliant fair ones in the circles shone, 
 My eyes incessant dwelt on thee alone ; 
 
44 
 
 How did I joy thy snowy hand to see 
 Arrange the china, and pour out the tea ! 
 By sudden love o'erwhehned, O dire mishap ! 
 I poured the scalding liquid in my lap. 
 
 Can I forget the morn I chanced to meet 
 My heart's enslaver in the slippery street ; 
 How did my nerves with fear and horror shrink 
 To see thee tottering on the gutter's brink I 
 Impelled by love, I left the sheltering wall, 
 And spoilt my stockings to prevent thy fall. 
 Have I not strove to improve thee, and delight, 
 Thy steps attending to each novel sight? 
 The lion, circus, theatre, and pig, 
 The man so small, and elephant so big ! 
 And left the counter on a busy day, 
 To take thee gadding in the gliding sleigh ? 
 'Tis true, although we had not far to go, 
 I overturned thee in the fleecy snow, 
 (Not knowing well the nature of a horse, 
 This discomfiture was a thing of course.) 
 O may the villain feel the blush of shame. 
 Who twice assured me that the beast was tame. 
 But when in future on the sabbath days 
 We take an airing in the one-horse chaise, 
 Our negro boy shall sit before and guide. 
 So shall my dear and self securely ride. 
 
 A rustic genius, if perchance his heart 
 Is pierced by Cupid's all pervading dart, 
 
45 
 
 Makes flowery meadows his perpetual theme, 
 A bahny zephyr, or a purhng stream ; 
 Informs his fair one of his grass and clover, 
 And counts in song his pigs and poultry over ; 
 On scenes far different does my fancy rove, 
 Far other objects win my Molly's love. 
 I joy to wander through my crowded store, 
 See bales and boxes load the bending floor ; 
 There, Europe's produce fills the wond'ring eye, 
 And yonder, India's splendid treasures lie ! 
 Nynsooks, Mamoodies, PuUicats, Bandannas, 
 Johanabad, and Chittabully 'Sannas ; 
 Humhums and Mulmuls, Gurrahs and Salgatches, 
 Cossedas, Allabullys, Nymposatches ; 
 Of Tanda cossas, Terrindams a store. 
 And Baftas Alliahbad and Luckipore. 
 
 O didst thou, Molly, know what pains I take 
 To make my person pleasing, for thy sake ! 
 My dress adjusting with unwearied toil, 
 My features moulding to the happiest smile. 
 Sure Pity would thy gentle bosom move, 
 (Pity, the meek-eyed harbinger of Love :) 
 And lo ! what scenes enlivening Hope displays ! 
 What suns of joy to gild my future days ! 
 It tells me Molly will incline her ear. 
 And crown my wishes in— perhaps a year. 
 
 Reuben. 
 
 Philadelphia. 
 
46 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF WM. LIVINGSTON, LL. D. 
 
 LATE GOVEKNOR OF THE STATE OF NEW JERSEY. 
 Written in 1791. 
 
 When vulgar souls, ^vhen men of common mould, 
 Slide off the stage, and turn to native dust, 
 Whether they meet the awful king of death 
 In the thatch'd cottage or the aspiring dome, 
 E'en let them lie. 
 
 But shall the immortal bard — the patriot sage — 
 The man to virtue and to science dear — 
 Whose bosom glowed with Freedom's sacred flame. 
 And warmest wishes for his country's weal- 
 Sleep with his fathers in the oblivious grave, 
 And not a sigh proclaim the public loss 1 
 
 Shall not the muse attend the mournful bier, 
 To deck with fragrant wreaths her votary's urn, 
 And pour her sorrows o'er the illustrious dead ? — 
 Yes, Livingston ! and since no abler hand — 
 No Barlow, Humphreys, Dwight — attunes the lyre, 
 To pay the tribute to thy memory due, 
 Even I, the meanest of the muse's train. 
 
47 
 
 Timid, attempt the sadly pleasing task. 
 
 Look down, then, from that bright, that bless'd abode, 
 
 Where, joining with the radiant sons of light 
 
 In hymns divine, of gratitude and praise, 
 
 In bliss ineifable ! thou sit'st — look down, 
 
 And warm my breast with that ethereal flame 
 
 Which erst, delightful bard ! illumined thine. 
 
 Then might I sing, in numbers worthy thee, 
 
 The virtues that adorned thy liberal mind ; 
 
 Thy piety unfeigned — thy judgment sound— 
 
 Thy firm integrity — thy honest scorn 
 
 Of knaves, wherever found, or great or small — 
 
 Thy charity, and warm benevolence, 
 
 Which flowed unbounded as the light of heaven, 
 
 To no peculiar sect of men confined — 
 
 Thy various labours for the public good — 
 
 Thy just discernment, and thy taste refined : 
 
 And teach, in lays immortal as thy own, 
 
 Columbia's sons to emulate thy worth. 
 
 Let others trace thee through the splendid scenes 
 Of public life, amidst thy sage compeers 
 For legislation met ; and tell how oft 
 Thy worth-discerning country called thee forth, 
 To guard her interests and defend her cause. 
 Let these portray thee in that glorious hour, 
 When, with Columbia's sapient sons convened* — 
 August assemblage ! your united toils. 
 
 * The grand convention in 1787. 
 
48 
 
 By patriot zeal and wisdom guided, formed 
 A work, the envy of the admiring world. 
 
 I joy to view thee in an humble sphere, 
 In the calm, noiseless walks of private life ; 
 And hei'e, O Livingston ! thy genius shone 
 With not less pleasing, though less dazzling rays. 
 
 Who shall describe thee in those gentler scenes, 
 Convivial, when, encircled with thy friends. 
 Thou pass'dst in social chat the hours away ? 
 Who shall describe thy manners, easy, mild, — 
 Thy fund of anecdote — thy sprightly wit — 
 Which, by good nature and by prudence reined, 
 Ne'er failed to set the table in a roar ? 
 
 Methinks I see thee in thy rural shade, 
 
 Where modest art and simple nature reign, 
 
 Turning, with curious hand, the historic page, 
 
 Or philosophic ; or deceiving time 
 
 In gentle dalliance with th' Aonian maids. 
 
 Enjoying that delightful solitude — 
 
 That learned ease — thou knew'st so well to draw !' 
 
 But what avails the elegiac song. 
 
 What all the honours that the muse can pay / 
 
 Lamented shade ! the few, the happy few, 
 
 Blest with tliy friendship, need no plaintive verse, 
 
 * See a poem called " Philosophic Sohtude," by Governor Liviugslon. 
 
49 
 
 To wake remembrance of thy many virtues, 
 And prompt afresh, the fond, the fruitless tear. 
 
 And thy illustrious name, O Livingston ! 
 Shall live and " triumph o'er the lapse of time," 
 Wlien this well-meant, this tributary lay, 
 And he who wrote it, sleep in endless night. 
 
50 
 
 ON SEEING A WREN IN THE MIDST OF WINTER. 
 
 Poor little trembler ! why hast thou alone 
 The winter's rigour thus presumed to try? — 
 
 To other lands thy russet friends have flown, 
 To groves that wave beneath a kinder sky. 
 
 Through the long gloomy night and joyless day, 
 Destruction near thee rears its horrid form ; 
 
 The louring tempest marks thee for its prey, 
 And cats, unpitying as the driving storm. 
 
 But know, this deluge of o'erwhelming woes, 
 This scene terrific, will not long prevail ; 
 
 Again shall beauty's hand unfold the rose. 
 Again shall sweetness float on every gale. 
 
 And when thy kindred, in that happier hour, 
 Return to visit each remembered tree, 
 
 In some sequestered, blossom-covered bower, 
 This hand shall fix a peaceful home for thee. 
 
51 
 
 THE LOVE-DOCTOR. 
 
 The following correspondence arose from a conversation, in 
 which the author professed the knowledge of a cure for love. To be 
 understood, it will be necessary to give the epistles on both sides. 
 
 THE CASE OF AMANDA. 
 
 Good doctor, with a piteous face 
 
 I come to tell my hopeless case ; 
 
 You boast such most amazing skill, 
 
 That you can cure me, if you will. 
 
 I love — alas ! too well I know 
 
 I love a most enchanting beau ! 
 
 The sad disorder grows apace 
 
 And clouds wifh care my every grace, 
 
 I'll state my feelings first of all, 
 
 To know if those you symptoms call ; 
 
 Know then, a most tormenting pain 
 
 Shoots frequent through my heart and brain ; 
 
 My memory 's short, my pulse is low ; 
 
 I dream of Cupid and his bow ; 
 
52 
 
 For several hours I sit and sigh, 
 
 And the tear trembles in my eye ; 
 
 And when I pass a shady grove, 
 
 I think upon the swain I love. 
 
 A seat beneath a willow tree 
 
 Is a mere paradise to me ; 
 
 A love song, or romantic tale 
 
 Of Ralph and Nancy of the vale, 
 
 Wakes the soft impulse in my breast, 
 
 And robs the sickened soul of rest. 
 
 And when 1 seize the trembling quill, 
 
 To write of fountain, or of rill, 
 
 Or dedicate a tuneful Ime 
 
 To any female friend of mine, 
 
 The treacherous plume at random strays. 
 
 And launches forth in Damon's praise. 
 
 These are my maladies I own. 
 Discovered to yourself alone ; 
 And now, good doctor, pray prescribe, 
 And 1 '11 prepare the golden bribe. 
 
 Amanda. 
 
 Burlirijg^ton, Wednesday morning, 7 o'clock. 
 
5.3 
 
 TO AMANDA. 
 
 Amanda ! with pity I Ve read 
 
 The tale of the woes you endure. 
 
 And have more than once puzzled my head 
 In attempting to find out a cure. 
 
 But alas ! if my patients complain, 
 And tell of their pains with such art, 
 
 I must ne'er boast of healing again, 
 But endeavour to shield my own heart. 
 
 Wliat nostrums, ye gods ! can remove. 
 What pill or what potion allay, 
 
 The heart-rending sorrows of love, 
 Or drive the remembrance away? 
 
 Thus, vexed and dejected, I cried 
 
 As idly I sauntered along. 
 When, encircled with glory, I spied 
 
 The Genius of physic and song. 
 
 On the breeze of the morning he sailed, 
 
 The Muses encircled his car, 
 While odours celestial prevailed, 
 
 Throughout the bright regions of air. 
 
54 
 
 " Fond mortal, thy labour is vain," 
 With ineifable sweetness, he said, 
 
 " No relief can Amanda obtain 
 From all the receipts in thy head. 
 
 " But far in the East,* where I rise, 
 A skilful physician she '11 find, 
 
 To whom if Amanda applies, 
 
 She '11 recover her calmness of mind." 
 
 ESCULAPIUS. 
 
 TO ESCULAPIUS. 
 
 Can I journey afar in the East, 
 
 This medical genius to find, 
 Who 's to act as physician and priest, 
 
 And prescribe for both body and mind ? 
 
 'Twas a cruel invention of yours. 
 
 To evade what you once undertook, 
 Since you cannot perform any cures. 
 
 But what are put down in your book. 
 
 • The gentleman to whom Amanda was afterwards united was then in India. 
 
55 
 
 Physicians — an envious band, 
 
 Shall snatch the young bays from your head, 
 And wide o'er Cokimbia's land 
 
 The report of your shame shall be spread. 
 
 I '11 tell the fair victims of love. 
 
 Who complain of the pangs they endure, 
 
 That the doctor of Hickory Grove 
 May wound, but he never can cure. 
 
 There is only one mean in your power, 
 
 To prevent this assemblage of ill, 
 Which is, that in this very hour 
 
 You engage to comply with my will. 
 
 Bid the son of Latona prepare 
 
 A robe of cerulean dye. 
 Or a still brighter vestment of air, 
 
 And convey the young sage through the sky. 
 
 Then should he a recipe show 
 
 That will yield me contentment of mind. 
 On him the reward I '11 bestow. 
 
 And I hope you won't take it unkind. 
 
 But alas ! I have nothing to give 
 
 But my hand, and an innocent heart, 
 
 Which he never would deign to receive 
 Had I offered another a part. 
 
 Amanda. 
 
56 
 
 TO AMANDA. 
 
 Amanda, I cannot conceal 
 
 How much I respect and approve, 
 
 The frankness, with which you reveal 
 
 (Since you find you can't conquer) your love. 
 
 How many a fair one has pined, 
 Yet travelled through life all alone, 
 
 Before she 'd unburthen her mind, 
 Or make her uneasiness known ! 
 
 But no longer shall custom prevail 
 
 In defiance of reason and sense : 
 Amanda has dared to assail 
 
 The monster, and banished him hence. 
 
 Disdaining the hypocrite's art, 
 
 She offers, explicit and clear. 
 To give up her hand and her heart, 
 
 The moment her swain shall appear. 
 
 Then Damon, ah ! shorten thy stay, 
 
 Leave the East and its treasures behind ; 
 
 This instant thy canvass display, 
 And fly on the wings of the wind. 
 
57 
 
 What pleasure has man here below, 
 
 So ecstatic, so nearly divine 7 
 As stemming the torrent of woe, 
 
 And that pleasure, blest youth ! may be thine. 
 
 To the cell of the mourner repair, 
 
 The demon of anguish control, 
 Dispel the dark clouds of her care, 
 
 And whisper sweet peace to her soul. 
 
 ESCULAPIUS. 
 
 TO ESCULAPIUS. 
 
 Why so sanguine, good doctor, I pray 7 
 Why flatter yourself and your friend, 
 
 That should he his canvass display. 
 Success would his voyage attend 7 
 
 'T is a difficult science, ho HI find. 
 To engage in affairs of the heart ; 
 
 And to yield me conteiitmeut of mind 
 Consists not in medical art, 
 
 8 
 
5S 
 
 That ease which I so much desire 
 
 No med'cine can ever bestow, 
 But the recipe I shall require 
 
 I will briefly endeavour to show : 
 
 Not a diet of gruel and salt, 
 To impoverish body and mind, 
 
 But treatment that 's kind, to a fault, 
 With respect and timidity joined. 
 
 A character, guileless and bright. 
 By weakness or folly unstained. 
 
 Generosity's heaven-taught flight. 
 By economy's caution restrained. 
 
 The softness, the spirit of youth. 
 
 The cool recollection of age, 
 An adherence to virtue and truth. 
 
 And the sacred historical page. 
 
 Strong sense, and a justness of thought. 
 That will all my wild fancies improve, 
 
 Ambition, with fortitude fraught. 
 And dignity softened by love. 
 
 A spirit no menace can bend, 
 
 Though mildness the point may secure, 
 A tear for the woes of a friend. 
 
 And a purse for the wants of the poor. 
 
59 
 
 That physician, whoever he be, 
 
 Who will mix these ingredients with art, 
 And present the blest compound to me, 
 
 Is worthy my hand and my heart. 
 
 But pray what assurance have I 
 
 That your friend in the East can do this ? 
 Yet you take it for granted, and cry 
 
 Come Damon, inherit the bliss ! 
 
 It is but conjecture, at best, 
 
 That he is not an ignorant elf, 
 Who may prove, if he 's brought to the test, 
 
 As arrant a quack as yourself 
 
 Amanda. 
 
 TO AMANDA. 
 
 Amanda, I beg you '11 forgive my delay. 
 For believe me, the fault was not mine, 
 
 I would sooner have answered your beautiful lay, 
 But I wanted the help of the nine. 
 
60 
 
 And you know that the poet may labour in vain, 
 
 Unless the kind muse will inspire ; 
 And that he 's a blockhead, who troubles his brain 
 
 Till his bosom is fairly on fire : 
 
 Some ages ago, when her votaries were few, 
 The muse was a complaisant dame, 
 
 The bard who was puzzled, had nothing to do 
 But to halloo, and straightway she came ; 
 
 But now with her endless, vexatious delays, 
 The patience of Job would be tired ; 
 
 I have called her, and waited a score of long days, 
 But have not, as yet, been inspired. 
 
 Then let her go whistle, I '11 trust to my head, 
 
 And be witty in spite of the trull ; 
 Or if my productions are tinctured with lead. 
 
 It is surely no crime to be dull. 
 
 So much for the preface, and now if you choose, 
 
 Amanda, I '11 tell you a dream, 
 (And sure 't is sufficient, the bard to excuse, 
 
 Who is drowsy, that you are his theme.) 
 
 In relating a vision , a poet professed 
 
 Would certainly pester the skies. 
 Or tell you at least, that the genius of rest 
 
 Tiircw a poppy or two in his eyes : 
 
61 
 
 But such heathenish fables I mortally hate — 
 Then know, when I opened your last, 
 
 And was weighing profoundly your case in my pate, 
 Sleep's cobweb entangled me fast. 
 
 But fancy, unfettered, still busily wrought. 
 
 And faithfully stuck to the theme, 
 Till with scraps of ideas, and fragments of thought, 
 
 She patched up the following dream. 
 
 So immense that I sought for the boundaries in vain, 
 
 A beautiful region I found, 
 A strange, motley multitude covered the plain, 
 
 And darkness encompassed it round. 
 
 As, full of surprise, I observed the mad throng. 
 
 One, led by the muses, drew nigh, 
 And I thought as all sadly she journeyed along, 
 
 I discovered a tear in her eye. 
 
 She was not a goddess, (I will not deceive,) 
 With sunbeams and clouds at her call. 
 
 Nor flaring in fig-leaves, like good mother Eve, 
 But clad in gown, bonnet, and shawl. 
 
 She eyed the poor short-sighted 'crowd she forsook. 
 
 With a mixture of pity and scorn. 
 But often she cast a long, languishing look 
 
 Toward the first blushes of morn : 
 
62 
 
 When approaching more nigh, I perceiv'd she was crazed, 
 
 For, frequently making a stand. 
 Like the king at the diimpUng, intensely she gazed 
 
 On a picture* she held in her hand. 
 
 'T was the portrait, I found, of a youth far away, 
 
 Who had cruelly set her on flame. 
 Then hid himself under the chamber of day ; 
 
 And Damon, she said, was his name. 
 
 But whether 't was sketched by the pencil of truth. 
 
 Or by fond partiality drawn, 
 I know not ; for ere I could find the loved youth, 
 
 I waked, and my vision was gone. 
 
 ESCULAPIUS. 
 
 The character drawn in your last. 
 
63 
 
 AN ATTEMPT TO PARAPHRASE SOME PARTS OF 
 
 THE TWENTY-FIFTH PSALM. 
 
 To Thee, O God ! my secret prayers arise, 
 On Thee with confidence my soul rehes ; 
 Fountain of light and life ! illume my mind, 
 To error subject, as by nature blind : 
 Teach me thy will, and lead me in thy ways. 
 And teach my tongue to lisp the notes of praise ! 
 In times like these, when headstrong passions rage, 
 When vice and folly rule a faithless age ; 
 When erring man, his boasted reason's slave. 
 Vain of the gift, forgets the hand that gave. 
 Shall those that love Thee be withheld by shame. 
 Their trust from owning in the Eternal name? 
 Ah no ! far rather let the sons of pride 
 Return, repentant, to the unerring guide ; 
 From sin and death, from doubt and darkness flee. 
 To light, to life, to happiness, and Thee. 
 The meek and lowly who upon Thee wait, 
 Know that thy goodness, as thy power, is great ; 
 They know thou wilt, in boundless mercy, roll 
 A tide of rapture o'er the hunil led souL 
 
64 
 
 Which, filled with grief, with conscious guilt opprest, 
 
 To Thee, the rock of ages, flies for rest. 
 
 Before thy throne with trembling hope I bend ! 
 
 Thy wonted mercy to my soul extend ; 
 
 That tender mercy, which of old displayed. 
 
 Has ceaseless cherished all thy hand has made. 
 
 Great are my sins, to thy all-searching eye, 
 
 Exposed in order, my transgressions lie : 
 
 Thou knowest each guilty thought, each secret stain 
 
 That wrings my bosom with remorse and pain. 
 
 Great are my sins, but be those sins forgot ; 
 
 My countless failings from thy memory blot : 
 
 Behold my grief, and give my heart to prove, 
 
 The joys, the riches of thy pardoning love. 
 
 And oh ! while wandering in this mortal state. 
 
 Where round my path unnumbered dangers wait ; 
 
 Where strong temptation oft incites to sin. 
 
 And restless passions raise a storm within ; 
 
 Do Thou be near me ! let thy arm of power 
 
 From evil shield me, in each trying hour ; 
 
 To Thee for aid, I turn the imploring eye. 
 
 To Thee for pardon and for safety fly. 
 
 Supremely blestj the man who feels Thee near, 
 
 Whose life is governed by thy saving fear : 
 
 Thy love will lead him in the paths of peace. 
 
 Thy life-fraught presence all his joys increase : 
 
 Informed by Thee, he only rightly knows. 
 
 To enjoy the blessings which thy hand bestows ; 
 
 To him more gay the bloom of spring appears, 
 
 A lovelier garb luxuriant summer wears ; 
 
65 
 
 More brilliant scenes autumnal fields display. 
 
 And more sublime the winter's stormy sway. 
 
 From all thy works his mind instruction draws, 
 
 In all, with rapture, sees the Great First Cause ; 
 
 And when descending to the oblivious tomb, 
 
 When Hfe's frail taper yields to deepening gloom, 
 
 By no vain terror is his mind distressed 
 
 This scene at changing for eternal rest. 
 
 O'er death's dark gulf he casts serene his eye 
 
 To happier worlds, where joys immortal lie ; 
 
 Where doubt and fear no more the soul appal. 
 
 Where peace for ever reigns, where Thou art all in all. 
 
 Source of all good ! continue still to pour 
 Thy countless blessings on Columbia's shore ; 
 Still keep, in mercy, from her fields afar 
 The woes, the horrors, of wide-wasting war. 
 Alike remote, preserve her favoured race 
 From proud aggression and submission base : 
 Teach them that shame and ruin vice await. 
 That virtue only makes a nation great ; 
 That strength and peace will but from union flow : 
 But, above all things, teach them Thee to know. 
 
66 
 
 THE GENIUS OF ****** TO 
 
 At length, to grace the sylvan scene, 
 Miranda from the town removes — 
 
 Display, ye fields ! a lovelier green. 
 Your gayest livery wear, ye groves ! 
 
 When wandering from thy native shore. 
 To sea-girt Britain's rocky coast, 
 
 I saw thee, 'mid th' Atlantic roar, 
 I saw thee on the wild wave tossed. 
 
 O'er Albion's plains I turned my eye. 
 And saw thee rove on Thames's side, 
 
 Where London rears her turrets high, 
 Great seat of Misery, Wealth and Pride ! 
 
 And soon I saw thy swelling sails 
 Hang cloud-like on the billowy main^ 
 
 I saw them filled with eastern gales ; 
 Columbia hailed thee home again. 
 
67 
 
 I kept the wanderer still in view, 
 
 O'er sea and land, where'er she passed, 
 
 For ****** 's shades, full well I knew, 
 Would rest her weary feet at last 
 
 And lo ! I see the mansion rise ! 
 
 Young Beauty soon shall deck the vale. 
 The flowers unfold their varied dyes. 
 
 And fragrance float on every gale ! 
 
 Here shalt thou oft, with ardent eye. 
 Observe the ascending orb of day. 
 
 And when he gilds yon western sky, 
 Enraptured catch the parting ray. 
 
 Here taste the pleasures, pure, serene. 
 That Nature to her votary yields. 
 
 The rural bench — the woodland scene — 
 Gay meads, and harvest-waving fields. 
 
 When wintry winds the groves deform. 
 And clouds obscure the cheerless sky. 
 
 For shelter from the driving storm. 
 To thee, the houseless bird shall fly. 
 
 The partridge shall thy bounty share. 
 From anxious doubt and terror free ; 
 
 The redbreast to thy feet repair, 
 And ask his daily crumbs of thee. 
 
68 
 
 For this, when Sol's enUvening power 
 Again shall deck the blooming May, 
 
 At evening's niild and tranquil hour, 
 He '11 treat thee with his sweetest lay. 
 
 But short thy stay — (we spirits know 
 As well the future as the past) — 
 
 To Penn's famed town thou soon shalt go. 
 In Hymen's silken fetters fast. 
 
69 
 
 TO 
 
 ABOUT TO REMOVE FROM THE CITY TO RESIDE ON A 
 FARM IN NEW JERSEY. 
 
 The rural mansion 's reared at last, 
 The toil of building almost past ; 
 And now, while winter's stormy gale 
 Around you scatters snow and hail, 
 Some evening hours are spent, I guess. 
 In planning future happiness — 
 Deciding where these shrubs shall grow. 
 Those fruits expand, or flow'rets blow ; 
 Where waving pines shall throw their shade, 
 And where the verdant lawn be made ; 
 Which fields for grain, and which for clover. 
 And conning great and small things over. 
 I love these plans — they keep the mind, 
 
 And body too, alert and gay. 
 For every hour employment find. 
 
 And banish hyp and gloom away. 
 
 Thou 'rt travelling now, my friend, the road 
 Which leads, I think, to joy's abode : 
 But though not wond'rous wild and rough, 
 'T is strewed with trivial jolts enough. 
 
70 
 
 Though ills of various kinds compose 
 The farmer's long, long list of woes, 
 Thou soon wilt find the labouring race, 
 Should occupy no second place : 
 Their time and toil though dearly bought, 
 One half at least are good for nought. 
 (In this, our land of milk and honey. 
 Where earth is plentier far than money, 
 The careful and industrious poor 
 An independence soon secure.) 
 Item — 't is spring — the orchards bloom, 
 And every zephyr breathes perfume ; 
 'T is time the Indian corn was planted, 
 For this, some extra help is wanted ; 
 Away to this, and t' other neighbour, 
 To find a man, to do this labour : 
 And when the work of hiring 's done. 
 He '11 play three hours, and labour one. 
 Once, on a time, a farming brother, 
 Returning from some jaunt or other. 
 His train domestic thus addressed, 
 To know how business had progressed : 
 " Well Richard — I 've been some time out, 
 What work have you, pray, been about ?" 
 
 " Helping Tom, sir." 
 " 'T is well, Dick, thou hast acted right, 
 United hands make labour light. 
 Thomas, I see the corn wants hoeing, 
 Pray what have Dick and you been doing ?" 
 
 " Nothing, sir." 
 
71 
 
 The grass is cut — is turned — is dry — 
 Dark clouds proclaim that rain is nigh ; 
 But lo ! the wheel has lost a spoke, 
 The gears are rotten, shelvings broke ; 
 Ere all these things can be amended. 
 The time is past, the shower 's descended. 
 
 Thy neighbour's herd of hungry swine — 
 As lean as Pharaoh's famished kine — 
 Assail thy fence, let down a bar, 
 And with thy wheat wage cruel war ; 
 With snout insatiate tear the ground. 
 And spread wide devastation round l 
 
 When the first sprouting grass is seen 
 
 To tiuge the riv'let's side with green, 
 
 Thy men permit the cows to wander 
 
 From mead to mead, up here, down yonder ;. 
 
 Ruin the lots through which they stray, 
 
 And lose their appetite for hay. 
 
 Till each dry bone-betraying hide 
 
 Seems Poverty personified ; 
 
 Their legs refuse to bear their weight, 
 
 And crows receive them, soon or late. 
 
 Through some unlucky youngster's fault. 
 The pigs have broth too hot. and salt ; 
 Hence measled shoulders, scalded throats^ 
 And varied ills that pester shoats ; 
 
72 
 
 Dogs find thy sheep delicious picking, 
 
 A mink each night purloins a chicken, 
 Rats share the corn, and mice devour the bacon, 
 The turkeys, geese, and ducks, by two legg'd rogues are taken. 
 
 And will thy stomach, friend, be quiet 
 On farmer's plain substantial diet ; 
 Thy appetite look pleased and clever 
 At salt and dried, recurring ever ? 
 (For ah ! expect not here to meet 
 The varied fare of Market street.) 
 And canst thou, too, thy hunger stay 
 With broken meat on washing-day ? 
 If not — tell John to kill the calf, 
 And send some brother-farmer half: 
 And when he slaughters veal or sheep. 
 In turn take what he cannot keep : 
 Get, for thy well-fed, famished veal, 
 On which a hawk might make a meal ; 
 And for thy tender, juicy mutton, 
 Such as is fit no dish to put on. 
 
 Thus, anxious friend, for thy repose, 
 I 've warned thee of some coming woes, 
 That during winter's blustering weather, 
 
 While fenced from tempest — calm — secure — 
 Thou might'st a stock of patience gather 
 
 For the next year's expenditure. 
 
?;} 
 
 TO THE WIFE OF 
 
 ON THE SAME OCCASIOIV. 
 
 As some pert scribbler, doubtless vain of knowing 
 
 Somewhat of digging, ploughing, harrowing, hoeing, 
 
 Has deemed it proper in this way t' impart 
 
 His wond'rous Imowledge in the farming art ; 
 
 I, too, would humbly offer to tky view 
 
 Of good advice a homely scrap or two ; 
 
 Let then the following precepts, short and plain, 
 
 Though clad in rustic garb, attention gain. 
 
 No useful plant admires encroaching weeds. 
 No healthy chick from egg unsound proceeds ; 
 From milk or cream, with garlic tinctured strong, 
 Sweet butter comes not, without churning long ; 
 If meddhng witches should thy churn infest, 
 To drive them from it, what device is best. 
 Fain would I tell, but fear to tell amiss, 
 For e'en the knowing disagree in this — 
 To luckier hours the business some adjourn. 
 And some put— sly— a dollar in the churn. 
 When night extends her sable curtains round. 
 Constructing cheeses be thy maidens found, 
 10 
 
74 
 
 At morn's first blushes let the work be stayed, 
 For cheese should always in the dark be made ; 
 So flies no knowledge of th' affair will gain, 
 But the fair fabric firm for years remain. 
 On no pretence permit or corn or hay 
 To take the gardener from his charge away — 
 Foul weeds will mark his absence with delight. 
 Spread their long columns with resistless might, 
 In countless throngs obnoxious fill the place, 
 And crush the eatable and floral race. 
 
 By long experience, rotten eggs are found 
 Near twice as lono^ in hatchina: as the sound ; 
 Hence those to whom the worth of time is known, 
 Let their hens hover o'er the good alone : 
 To know their state, the wise have various ways — 
 Some, patient, hold them to the solar blaze ; 
 Some, east and west attentive list'ning shake 'em, 
 And some, more cautious, think it best to break 'em. 
 
 When infant ducklings first delighted stray 
 To the loved stream, and cleave the liquid way, 
 Observe their wanderings with a watchful eye, 
 For varied dangers there in ambush he ; 
 The tortoise finds them most delicious food, 
 And pikes, voracious, soon will thin the brood ; 
 And oft, when homeward bends the waddling train, 
 To spread their plumage to the sun again, 
 Prone on their backs they fall, and there must lie, 
 To sleep for ever, if no help is nigh. 
 
75 
 
 But oh ! permit no cruel hand to lave 
 
 The new-born turkey in the chilling wave, 
 
 Nor, heedless of his pity-pleading note, 
 
 Thrust nauseous pepper down his burning throat ; 
 
 Forbear to tempt him corn or cheese to eat, 
 
 Let eggs and onions form his savoury treat : 
 
 When winged with wind, impetuous showers descend. 
 
 The shivering urchin from the storm defend ; 
 
 So shall he soon rove distant meadows over, 
 
 And guard from hostile insect tribes the clover. 
 
 When louring clouds obscure the solar ray, 
 And eastern breezes chill the drizzling day. 
 For washing house bid every hand prepare — 
 And let them not the wholesome deluge spare : 
 Of chairs and tables clear the wondering rooms, 
 And call the tribes of buckets and of brooms ; 
 To some far corner, undisturbed and dry, 
 From mops and water bid thy husband fly : 
 Then o'er the floors let rushing waves extend, 
 Roll through the entry, and the stairs ascend. 
 So will in time the air within, no doubt. 
 Almost as pleasant prove, as that without. 
 
 But my best maxims trivial must appear 
 
 To one who has such able counsel near ; 
 
 Th' accomplished housewife's various arts, full well 
 
 The much loved mistress of ****** can tell. 
 
76 
 
 AN ELEGY 
 
 WRITTEN IN THE BURIAL GROUND AT 
 
 Earth's highest station ends in " here he lies," 
 And " dust to dust" concludes her noblest song. 
 
 Young. 
 
 In this neglected spot, where grazing kine 
 
 O'er many a mouldering grave unconscious tread, 
 
 And withering weeds and creeping brambles twine 
 Their gloomy foliage o'er promiscuous dead ; 
 
 Well pleased I rove, when Evening, pensive power ! 
 
 O'er the dim landscape spreads her curtain wide. 
 When Contemplation rules the silent hour. 
 
 And bids each rude, tumultuous thought subside : 
 
 To pore on half-seen graves, and sauntering muse 
 On those who here enjoy eternal rest — 
 
 While scenes, recalled to Memory's eye, diffuse 
 A pleasing sadness o'er my softened breast. 
 
77 
 
 Beneath this sod, with fragrant herbs o'ergrown, 
 Sleeps what erewhile was fair Charissa's clay, 
 
 Without or swelling turf, or humblest stone, 
 To tell the mourner where her relics lay. 
 
 Cold lies that bosom in this dreary bed, 
 To all the virtues, all the muses, dear ; 
 
 Closed are those eyes, for ever prompt to shed. 
 At misery's tale, the sympathetic tear. 
 
 Here let me stand, while darkness, hovering round, 
 Obscures creation, from intrusion free. 
 
 Indulge my woes ; and, wrapt in thought profound, 
 Converse, Charissa, with the grave and thee : 
 
 While fond remembrance wanders, unconfined. 
 O'er former scenes, and opens all her store. 
 
 Recalls each charm of person and of mind. 
 And every grace (angelic maid !) runs o'er. 
 
 What though th' unthinking, and the mirthful throng, 
 All joyous down the stream of folly borne, 
 
 With vacant stare, unfeeling pass along, 
 
 While the loud laugh betrays the latent scorn ; 
 
 They never knew Charissa : bounteous heaven 
 Ne'er favoured these to taste of bliss like mine ! 
 
 To them the envied joy was never given 
 To gaze in transport on her form divine. 
 
78 
 
 Hers was each soft attraction, hers the power, 
 Each finer feehng of the soul to move — 
 
 Her mind a garden, stored with every flower, 
 Her smile was beauty, and her eye was love. 
 
 No thirsty Arab with more joy could fly 
 
 To the green vale where crystal fountains flow, 
 
 Than thou to wipe the tear from sorrow's eye. 
 And soothe the lone, dejected child of woe. 
 
 But soon, alas ! each tender scene was o'er — 
 To distant worlds thy parted spirit flew ; 
 
 Methinks I see thee sleep to wake no more, 
 And sweetly look a long — a last adieu. 
 
 Thy various worth, sweet maid ! could nought avail 
 Disease and wo the vernal skies o'ercast. 
 
 Death rode triumphant on th' empoisoned gale. 
 And the fair flow'ret bowed beneath the blast. 
 
 So Sol, emerging from the shades of night. 
 
 Through brightening ether pours the genial ray. 
 
 But soon dark clouds o'erwhelm the sinking light, 
 And louring tempests close the mournful day. 
 
 Ah what is man ? Proud monarch of a day. 
 An insect fluttering on the breeze of morn, 
 
 That waves its pinions in the solar ray, 
 
 A few short hours ; then sinks in wo forlorn. 
 
79 
 
 Around his baric lell disappointment storms, 
 As dark he sails down hfe's deceitful tide : 
 
 Before him death frowns in a thousand forms, 
 And grief and care assail on every side. 
 
 With thee, loved maid ! I fondly hoped to share 
 Whatever blessings gracious Heaven might send, 
 
 With thee to wander through this world of care, 
 And in thy fostering arms my being end : 
 
 But fate forbade — and lo ! I kiss the rod, 
 And humbly join the general song of praise. 
 
 To Him who bows creation at his nod ; 
 
 " Wise are his judgments, just are all his ways." 
 
80 
 
 EULOGIUM ON RUM. 
 
 Arise, ye pimpled, tippling race, arise ! 
 
 From every town and village tavern come, 
 Show your red noses and o'erflowing eyes, 
 
 And help your poet chant the praise of Rum : 
 The cordial drop, the morning dram I sing, 
 The mid-day toddy, and the evening sling. 
 
 Hail, mighty Rum ! and by this general name 
 I call each species, whiskey, gin, or brandy : 
 
 (The kinds are various, but the eftect the same, 
 And so I choose a name that 's short and handy 
 
 For, reader, know it takes a deal of time 
 
 To make a crooked word lie smooth in rhyme.) 
 
 Hail, mighty Rum ! thy song-inspiring merit 
 Is known to many a bard in these our days ; 
 
 Apollo's drink they find is void of spirit. 
 Mere chicken-broth, insipid as their lays ; 
 
 And pleased they 'd give a riv'let — aye a sea — 
 
 Of tuneful water, for one quart of thee ! 
 
81 
 
 Hail, mighty Rum ! how wondrous is thy power ! 
 
 Unwarmed by thee how would our spirits fail, 
 When dark December comes, with aspect sour, 
 
 And sharp as razor blows the northern gale ; 
 And yet thou 'rt grateful in that sultry day. 
 When raging Sirius darts his fervid ray. 
 
 Hail, mighty Rum ! to thee the wretched fly. 
 And find a sweet oblivion of their woes ; 
 
 Locked in thy arms, as in the grave they lie. 
 Forget their kindred, and forgive their foes : 
 
 And Lethe's stream, so much extolled by some 
 
 In ancient times, I shrewdly guess, was rum. 
 
 Hail, mighty Rum ! what can thy power withstand ? 
 
 E'en lordly reason flies thy dreadful face. 
 And health and joy, and all the lovely band 
 
 Of social virtues, shun thy dwelling place ; 
 For in whatever breast it rears its throne. 
 Like Turkish monarchs, rum must rule alone. 
 
 When our bold fathers crossed the Atlantic wave. 
 And here arrived a weak, defenceless band, 
 
 Pray what became of all the tribes so brave. 
 The savage owners of this happy land ? 
 
 Were they sent headlong to the realms below 
 
 By doom of battle ?— Friend, I answer, no. 
 
 11 
 
82 
 
 Our fathers were too wise to think of war, 
 
 They knew the woodlands were not quickly passed, 
 
 They mig-ht have met with many an u^^ly scar, 
 Lost many a foretop, and been beat at last ; 
 
 But Rum, assisted by his son, Disease, 
 
 Performed the business with surprising ease. 
 
 And would our western breth'ren be less proud, or 
 In other words, throw by the gun and drum — 
 
 For ducks and squirrels save their lead and powder. 
 And send the tawny rogues some pipes of rum, 
 
 I dare predict they all would gladly suck it. 
 
 And every mother's son soon kick the bucket. 
 
 But lo ! th' ingratitude of Adam's race ! 
 
 Though all these clever things to rum we owe, 
 Gallons of ink are squirted in his face, 
 
 And his bruised back is banged with many a blow ; 
 Some hounds of note have rung his funeral knell, 
 And every puppy joins the general yelL 
 
 So have I seen (the simile is fine. 
 
 And wonderfully pat, though rather old,) 
 
 When rising Phcebus shot his rays benign, 
 A flock of sheep come skipping from the fold ; 
 
 Some restless sheep cries baa, and all the throng, 
 
 Ewes, rams, lambs, wethers, bellowing pour along. 
 
 But fear not, Rum : though fiercely they assail. 
 And none but I, thy bard, thy cause defend, 
 
83 
 
 Think not thy foes, though numerous, shall prevail, 
 
 Thy power diminish, or thy being end ; 
 Though spurned from table, and the public eye, 
 In the snug closet safely shalt thou lie. 
 
 And oft when Sol's proud chariot quits the sky, 
 And humbler Cynthia mounts her one-horse chair, 
 
 To that snug closet shall thy votary fly. 
 And, wrapt in darkness, keep his orgies there ; 
 
 Lift the full bottle joyous to his head. 
 
 Then, great as Cassar, reel subhme to bed. 
 
84 
 
 THE BEE. 
 
 Ah! see where, robb'd and murder'd in that pit, 
 Lies the still heaving hive ! — Thomson. 
 
 As late I walked to enjoy that grateful hour 
 When early breezes greet the rising day, 
 
 A bee before me roved from flower to flower, 
 And thus she sadly said, or seemed to say : 
 
 Ah ! what will all this toil and care avail — 
 Why do I thus o'er hill and valley roam? 
 
 And wearied bear, through many an adverse gale. 
 The spoil nectareous to my distant home? 
 
 When the tall maple blossom'd — pride of trees — 
 My toil began with the first smiles of spring ; 
 
 And when the buckwheat scented every breeze, 
 Departing summer heard my restless wing. 
 
 In vain, alas ! for when our work is o'er. 
 And cells o'erflowing, all our cares repay. 
 
 Sulphureous flames, snatched from th' infernal shore, 
 To one lone grave shall sweep our tribe away. 
 
85 
 
 And must we toil through summer's sultry hours, 
 And death, a cruel death, be our reward ? 
 
 Tell, if thou canst, what crime, what fault of ours, 
 Tyrannic man, deserves a fate so hard. 
 
 For us no creatures are condemned to bleed, 
 And lift in vain the pity-asking eye ; 
 
 The flow'rets scattered o'er the verdant mead, 
 And dews of heaven, our guiltless feast supply. 
 
 'Tis true, protection thy warm hives afford. 
 For which a portion of our wealth be thine ; 
 
 With liberal hand take of our luscious hoard — 
 Spare, spare our lives ! our treasures we resign. 
 
 Oh ! may the man who, deaf to pity's call, 
 Condemns us, helpless, to devouring flame, 
 
 Find all his honey turned to bitterest gall, 
 While wax impure provokes his frugal dame. 
 
 If e'er soft slumber seal his weary eyes. 
 
 When night and silence hold their gloomy sway. 
 
 May glaring ghosts of murdered bees arise, 
 Buzz round his bed, and frighten sleep away. 
 
 But thou who dost our humble race befriend, 
 May smiling peace for ever glad thy breast — 
 
 May balmy sleep, unsought, thy couch attend, 
 And grateful visions lull thy soul to rest. 
 
86 
 
 MARGERY GRAY; 
 
 OR, THE WITCH UNMASKED. 
 
 Why stands that old cottage, so lonely and drear 
 That it fills the beholder with gloom and affright ? 
 
 And what is the reason that none can go near 
 
 The door of that hut, without shivering, at night ? 
 
 To see the old woman who lives there alone, 
 One would think she could hardly do any great harm 
 
 Why, her body is shriveled to mere skin and bone, 
 And scarcely more thick than a broomstick her arm ! 
 
 The cottage is small, but sufficient to hold 
 A fire-place, table, and dresser, and bed ; 
 
 The cracks, filled with mud, admit scarce any cold, 
 And a few cedar slabs stop the leaks over head : 
 
 And it 's well 't is so tight — for now not a tool 
 Would be handled by any to mend her abode : 
 
 And though by the door is the best way to school. 
 The master and children all go the high road. 
 
87 
 
 Yet once they delighted to travel that way, 
 
 And would beg for permission, whene'er they went by, 
 
 To take something good to old Margery Gray — 
 A few links of sausage, or piece of mince-pie. 
 
 She gathers old stumps in the summer for fuel, 
 
 And no one has stopped her, as yet, that I 've heard j 
 
 Indeed, to prevent her were foolishly cruel, 
 For every one wishes his fields to be cleared. 
 
 Time was she had pine-knots to last her all winter — 
 They served her to spin and to knit by at night ; 
 
 But now, not a creature would bring her a splinter, 
 If they knew she was dying for want of a light. 
 
 There 's not the least shelter, as any can tell. 
 
 To keep from her window the snow and the hail i 
 
 And even the peach tree, that grew by the well, 
 Is dead, and its withered limbs sigh in the gale. 
 
 It is true, that, to fence her poor cow from the weather,^ 
 She took out her hatchet one bitter cold day. 
 
 And cut some pine bushes, and piled them together 
 By the side of her little coarse bundle of hay ; 
 
 Her fence, by the wind and by time, is o'erthrown — 
 Indeed, there is hardly a rail on the place ; 
 
 And the garden, with nettles and mullens o'ergrown, 
 Looks as dull and as cheerless as Margery's face- 
 
88 
 
 But it did not look thus in the days of her prime— 
 The fence was in order, the ^^arden was neat ; 
 
 She had chamomile, lavender, hyssop, and thyme, 
 And more sage than she wanted to season her meat : 
 
 And she dried a good deal, and the neighbours all round 
 Would send to her cottage, if any were ill ; 
 
 She was skilled in the nature of herbs, and they found 
 That she gave her assistance with hearty good Avill. 
 
 It was owned, by the people that happened to pass. 
 That her room was as cleanly as cleanly could be — 
 
 You might put on your cap by her pewter and brass. 
 And her bed was as decent as most that you '11 see ; 
 
 But their present condition no mortal can tell, 
 For none are so simple to darken her door ; 
 
 No, no ! — all the neighbours remember too well 
 The horrible tale of the blood on the floor. 
 
 It was midnight, and cold did the bitter wind blow. 
 And drove in fierce eddies the snow and the hail, 
 
 When a stranger to Margery's cottage came slow — 
 Like a ghost he seemed troubled, was silent and pale. 
 
 Long beat by the tempest, so chilled and so tired, 
 That his feet and his fingers he hardly could use ; 
 
 To warm them a little was all he desired — 
 So trifling a favour co;.ild any refuse? 
 
89 
 
 The air was so piercing, that people that night, 
 
 In the tightest of houses could scarcely keep warm ; 
 
 And the neighbours came over, as soon as 't was light, 
 To enquire how old Margery fared in the storm. 
 
 But how did astonishment bristle their hair, 
 
 When blood they saw sprinkled profusely around ; 
 
 The legs of the stranger, all mangled, were there, 
 But the rest of his body was not to be found. 
 
 The blood of the traveller was every where thrown — 
 On the hearth, on the floor, on the table it lay ; 
 
 And to every one there it was very well known 
 Not a creature was with him but Margery Gray. 
 
 And none could imagine the man would admire 
 (If left to pursue what appeared to him right) 
 
 The notion of leaving his legs by the fire. 
 
 And traveling on stumps such a terrible night. 
 
 Till that night of horror old Margery never 
 
 Was known to discover a relish for sin ; 
 But now she is hatching some mischief for ever — 
 
 'T is hard to give over when once we begin. 
 
 She meazles the swine, and she pesters the cattle. 
 She fly-blows the meat, and the harvest she blights ; 
 
 In the midst of a tempest, at windows she '11 rattle. 
 And keeps her sick neighbours from sleeping at nights. 
 12 
 
90 
 
 Thus from gossip to gossip, the story goes round, 
 And the Hst of her crimes is enlarged every day — 
 
 But the best of the bunch may be glad if they 're found 
 As clear of all evil as Margery Gray. 
 
 The stranger who strayed to her humble abode 
 
 Had a friend who came with him a part of the way, 
 
 But the cold was so piercing, he froze on the road, 
 His bones by the side of the laurel-bush lay. 
 
 Now the boots he had on were too good to be lost, 
 But to get them was far from a matter of ease. 
 
 For the leather was stiffened to horn by the frost, 
 So he took off the legs of his friend by the knees. 
 
 In Margery's cottage the business of thawing 
 The leather and legs did the stranger begin. 
 
 While Margery slumbered — and, after much drawing, 
 Succeeded in ^ettinof the leffs from within. 
 
 This object attained, he would carry no further 
 A useless incumbrance, but left them to raise 
 
 Doubt, fear and suspicion of witchcraft and murther. 
 And embitter the remnant of Margery's days. 
 
 Ye travellers all ! when about to do aught 
 
 That may multiply wo where you happen to stay. 
 
 Make a pause, and bestow, I beseech you, a thought 
 On the legs that were left with old Margery Gray. 
 
91 
 
 COURTSHIP. 
 
 ADDRESSED TO A FEMALE FRIEND. 
 
 I 've had a thought or two of late, 
 
 Respecting courtship, and I seem inclined 
 To let thee know a little of my mind 
 
 About that awkward, purgatorial state. 
 
 If, haply anxious to obtain a wife. 
 
 Some seeking youth should try thy hand to gain, 
 I know thou wouldst not trifle with his pain, 
 
 Nor waste in courtship half the morn of life. 
 
 How blest mankind if all the race were so, 
 But ah ! a different spirit rules the sex : 
 By nature pitiless, and prone to vex 
 
 Their hapless captives with a world of wo. 
 
 What numerous years of toil, fatigue and wo. 
 
 What doubt and fear — what risk of limbs and life, 
 By land and water, to obtain a wife, 
 
 Some poor afflicted creatures undergo. 
 
92 
 
 An aching heart, with brazen front to hide, 
 With outward sniiles to veil internal wo, 
 With stammering tongue propound the yes or no ! 
 
 To do all this and more — and be denied ! 
 
 And lo ! if once denied, though ne'er so clever, 
 Wide spreads the rumour of the foul defeat, 
 In council dire the female despots meet, 
 
 And doom the wretch to singleness for ever. 
 
 In amorous ditty if he mourn his doom. 
 The luckless scrawl produced in evil hour. 
 Proof of his folly and the fair one's power, 
 
 Is borne in triumph round the tittering room. 
 
 I would not wish my notions to be known. 
 But truly I have thought, the ills that wait 
 On courtship, are so numerous and so great, 
 
 'T is better far to let the thing alone. 
 
93 
 
 A MORNING HYMN. 
 
 Arise, my soul ! with rapture rise, 
 And filled with love and fear, adore 
 
 The awful sov'reign of the skies, 
 
 Whose mercy lends me one day more. 
 
 And may this day, indulgent Power ! 
 
 Not idly pass, nor fruitless be ; 
 But, may each swiftly-flying hour 
 
 Advance my soul more nigh to thee. 
 
 But can it be that Power divine, 
 
 Whose throne is light's unbounded blaze, 
 While countless worlds, and angels join 
 
 To swell the glorious song of praise. 
 
 Will deign to lend a favouring ear, 
 When I, poor abject mortal, pray ? 
 
 Yes, boundless Goodness, he will hear, 
 Nor cast the meanest wretch away. 
 
 Then let me serve thee, all my days, 
 And may my zeal with years increase ; 
 
 For, pleasant. Lord, are all thy ways, 
 And all thy paths are paths of peace. 
 
94 
 
 SOME ACCOUNT OF MY NEIGHBOUR EPHRAIM.* 
 No. I. 
 
 I have thought sometimes, that the world would be none 
 the worse, if it knew a little of my old neighbour Ephraim 
 Heartfree, his notions of farming, and his notions about 
 some other matters ; and I may possibly, if nothing more 
 important engages my attention, endeavour to make the 
 public somewhat acquainted with him and his family. 
 But let no one be startled at this intimation ; my tediousness 
 shall be bestowed in no overwhelming portions ; I am not 
 disposed to fatigue myself and annoy my readers with a 
 tiresome tissue of long-winded essays ; my communications 
 shall be short, and 
 
 " Like angels' visits, few, and far between." 
 
 I have myself, too often, shrunk from the appalhng 
 countenance of a dissertation of three or four columns, to 
 offend in the same sort ; and in thus attempting to retail 
 some scraps of the practices and opinions of my old friend, 
 I have no apprehension of offending him ; he will not 
 
 * These essays were written for the " Rural Visiter," a small Uterary paper 
 then published weekly in Burlington. 
 
95 
 
 mistake my motive, though very probably, as he lights his 
 evening pipe with my lucubrations, he may wish with a 
 benevolent smile that I had better business. 
 
 To begin then in due biographical order, be it known 
 that Ephraim Heartfree was born, when and where, is of 
 no importance to this history : of his education I shall say 
 little ; it is not improbable that, according to a laudable 
 custom, still prevalent in some parts of our country, he 
 was taught the rudiments of the English language by some 
 itinerant pedagogue, who would work for little, and being 
 rendered by idleness and intemperance unfit for any thing 
 else, is wisely intrusted with the business of forming the 
 morals and the manners of the rising generation. Be this 
 as it may, certain it is that he learned to read, and this 
 foundation being laid, the superstructure was his own 
 work. 
 
 " For know, young Ephraim was no vulgar boy — 
 Deep thought oft seemed to fix his infant eye." 
 
 Happily he had early acquired a fondness for reading, 
 which the kindness of a few friends enabled him to gratify 
 to some extent ; and this taste, while it made him familiar 
 with the illustrious dead, preserved him in great measure 
 from tlie contamination of the worthless living : holding in 
 supreme contempt the character of that important animal 
 an idle gentleman, he had a notion that his usefulness and 
 respectability would be in no degree diminished by a 
 knowledge of several mechanical operations ; he became 
 
96 
 
 therefore a tolerable worker in metals : was by no means a 
 contemptible harness-maker, and has often been heard to 
 say that he considered himself a carpenter of no small 
 promise. Although destined to a country life, he could 
 perceive no necessary connection between rural employ- 
 ment and rusticity of manners ; nor because it became 
 him sometimes to speak of oxen, could he see the propriety 
 of being able to speak of nothing else ; but his notions on 
 these, and various other matters, will more fully appear in 
 the course of our narrative. 
 
 On the death of his father, he became possessed of a 
 farm of moderate extent, which, notwithstanding it had 
 produced only Indian corn, rye and mullens, in regular 
 succession time out of mind, agreeably to a commendable 
 practice still sutRciently followed, had somehow become 
 the poorest of the poor ; his out-buildings seemed ready to 
 take their departure on the wings of the wind, and the 
 broken windows of his almost roofless mansion exhibited a 
 delectable assemblage of weather-beaten hats and worn-out 
 indispensables. A few evenings after he was settled in 
 his new abode, he took a solitary walk around his little 
 territory: poverty reigned throughout in all its dreariness ; 
 his fences had tumbled to ruin in every direction, no living 
 thing disturbed the profound solitude of his naked fields, 
 save a half-starved horse, which the mercy of his owner 
 had turned out to die, in requital of a life of labour ; while 
 a group of famished vultures, on a blasted oak, eyed his 
 feeble attempts to prolong existence with manifest symp- 
 toms of impatience. The winds of December swept' 
 
97 
 
 fearfully over the hill, and famine and desolation howling in 
 the blast, seemed to claim the region for their own — Well : 
 did he not turn in utter dismay from the rueful prospect? 
 did lie not hasten to barter his hopeful birthright for a 
 mess of pottage, and saddle his ass and move off in search 
 of a fool's paradise in the west, 
 
 Where trees move off, without the pains of hauJing, 
 And crops of wheat come, ready thresh'd, for calling? 
 
 No. II. 
 
 No, he did not, as some knowing ones have done before 
 and since, lose himself in a wilderness ; he had a notion 
 that it would require less labour to resuscitate his worn-out 
 farm than to clear a new one in the forest, and that a 
 moderate crop, with a good market at his door, was pre- 
 ferable to an abundant one with no market at all. He 
 thought, moreover, that the comforts of a tolerably good 
 neighbourhood, of friendly intercourse, of social worship, 
 of convenient schools, of medical assistance in case of any 
 of the numberless casualties which "flesh is heir to," 
 were not to be lightly relinquished. T shall not attempt a 
 minute detail of his mode of farming — of that judicious, 
 quiet, and persevering management, which, in the course 
 13 
 
98 
 
 of a few days, made his little territory, compared with the 
 surrounding scenery, appear like 
 
 " A spot of azure in a gloomy sky, 
 Or sunny island in a stormy sea." 
 
 Such a detail would be altoorether useless to the generality 
 of readers, who are abundantly too well informed to need 
 it; and the very few to whom it might be useful, are not 
 in the habit of perusing works of this kind, or indeed any 
 thing else. One of his first employments, of course, was 
 to put his buildings in a tolerable state of repair; not merely 
 a dwelling for himself, but his stables, his cattle, sheep, pig, 
 and poultry houses ; he had no notion of enjoying the 
 comforts of a warm room, while the animals that looked 
 up to him for protection were exposed to the "peltings of 
 the pitiless storm ;" but when the winds of winter whistled 
 around his dwelling, and the rain descended in torrents on 
 his roof, he felt no small pleasure in reflecting that every 
 living thing dependant upon him was comfortably shel- 
 tered; he could then, seated with his happy family around 
 a cheerful fire, 
 
 " Smile at the tempest and enjoy the storm." 
 
 And this humanity and kind attention to the brute creation 
 was no transient or momentary impulse, but has remained 
 with him to the present day : his teams are never over- 
 worked, and every creature invariably has its food in proper 
 season, and in sufficient quantity ; his horses, after labour- 
 
99 
 
 ing through the day, are never galloped by a graceless 
 son, or worthless domestic, to cough half the night at the 
 door of some detestable whiskey-shop, and his cattle never 
 go supperless to bed, because their owner, after wasting 
 the day at some insignificant vendue or beggarly horse-race, 
 comes home too much of a beast himself to feed them ; — 
 too much of a beast, did I say ? I retract the expression ; 
 I would not insult a sober beast by a comparison with 
 many of the tippling tvv^o-legged animals scattered up and 
 down, a disgrace to the country, and a loathsome burden 
 to all who are so unhappy as to be connected with them. 
 His boys do their duty — because, in the first place, he 
 made it a rale to see them do it; and after a time they 
 might be trusted alone, for good habits may be acquired as 
 well as evil ones. 
 
 The transformation of a gloomy desert into a fruitful 
 field is not the work of a day ; but the progress of my friend 
 in this pleasing task has been uncommonly rapid ; deter- 
 mined never to plough more land than he could thoroughly 
 manure, the increase of this all important article was a 
 primary object, and every thing suitable for the purpose 
 was carefully conveyed to the barn -yard ; no weeds were 
 suffered to run to seed and wither away in his fields, thus 
 exhausting the soil and perpetuating a nuisance; his grain 
 was uniformly cut with the cradle, instead of the sickle, 
 thus gathering double the quantity of straw; and his corn- 
 stalks, instead of remaining abroad throughout the winter, 
 a dreary and disgusting prospect, added largely to the fer- 
 tilising mixture ; grass was sedulously cultivated, which 
 
100 
 
 enabled him gradually to enlarge his stock; and from these 
 various sources, with the addition, occasionally, of the 
 scourings of ditches and the parings of old headlands, his 
 heaps of compost annually increased in magnitude ; and 
 though, in retrospection, he is not dissatisfied with the 
 course he has pursued, yet so willing is he to receive 
 instruction, and so open to conviction, that he thinks his 
 wealth would have been nearly doubled, had he known at 
 the commencement of his agricultural career the value of 
 the ruta baga, and that the country is under no small 
 obhgation to W. Cobbett, for his endeavours to turn the 
 attention of American farmers to this usefiil root. In 
 consequence of avoiding to harass himself and his teams, 
 by cultivating unproductive soil, he has had leisure to 
 attend to various improvements, among which the most 
 important, perhaps, was planting a worn out tract of eighty 
 or an hundred acres on the most bleak and exposed part of 
 his estate with chesnuts, which, having been carefully 
 protected while young from the depredations of cattle, 
 have grown with uncommon luxuriance and beauty, and 
 now form a magnificent forest, amidst whose lofty tops and 
 intermingling arms the solemn murmur of the evening 
 breeze seems to the wanderer beneath, like 
 
 " The dash of ocean, on his winding shore." 
 
 From a rustic seat, placed in a sequestered corner of this 
 wilderness of shade, but which nevertheless commands a 
 view of the whole farm, I have frequently admired the 
 beauty of the prospect, the delightful intermixture of shade 
 
101 
 
 and sunshine, the vivid verdure of the watered meadow, 
 and the golden tints of the ripening harvest; the refreshing 
 covering of green — 
 
 " Green, smiling nature's universal robe," 
 
 is no where broken, except unavoidably by the plough ; no 
 herds of hungry unrung swine are suffered to deform the 
 surface, and destroy more grass in an hour than would 
 have served to pasture them half a summer ; and the 
 pleasing appearance of the landscape has been not a little 
 heightened by the neatness every where conspicuous ; for 
 although my friend, had he been silly enongh to wish it, 
 could not afford to waste his time and money in frivolously 
 ornamenting his grounds, yet he had a notion that every 
 thing offensive might as well be kept in the back ground, 
 and that his fences and his out-buildings would be none 
 the worse for being arranged as tastefully as convenience 
 would permit ; his orchard is placed in such a situation as 
 to form a most agreeable object, whether clothed in vernal 
 beauty, or bending beneath its autumnal burthen, while 
 an almost impervious hedge of thriving cedars, on the 
 northern frontier, seems to bid defiance to the assailing 
 tempest. About the middle of his little domain, and near 
 a lively, never-failing stream of water, which his ingenuity 
 has converted into various purposes of utility and beauty, 
 stands the modest mansion ; and here, if honest Ephraim 
 has made a few humble attempts at embellishment, it has 
 been done full as much, as Columella recommends, " to 
 allure the wife to take delight therein," as to gratify any 
 inclination of his own. 
 
102 
 
 No. III. 
 
 Ezekiel, the second son of my worthy friend Ephraim, 
 is a great favourite of mine ; whether the mildness and 
 diffidence with which he advances his opinions of men 
 and things, or the commendable deference and respectful 
 attention with which he listens to my own weighty and 
 matured observations, has had more effect in producing 
 this favourable sentiment, I shall not determine ; but 
 certain it is that he is a docile, pleasant youth, and we 
 have together much agreeable, and to him, doubtless, 
 profitable discourse ; because, when we happen to differ in 
 sentiment, which however is not often the case, I com- 
 monly take the trouble to bestow more or less labour upon 
 him in order to set him right ; though it must be confessed 
 that on some of these occasions, when I have dilated a 
 little more than usual, and taking silence for the acqui- 
 escence of conviction, have brought my argument triumph- 
 antly to a close, and have turned to my companion to 
 observe more narrowly the effect of my eloquence, I have 
 found him asleep ; but in general, he is an excellent hearer, 
 of most convenient taciturnity, and invincible patience — 
 qualifications these, the value of which those can only 
 appreciate who, like myself, are sometimes given to talk, 
 perhaps, a little more than their share. Entertaining no 
 desire to accumulate unnecessary wealth, and panting for 
 no distinction, he early determined never to exchange the 
 healthy breezes of his native hills and valleys for the 
 
103 
 
 pestilential breath-polluted atmosphere of the city ; and 
 the character of a plain, honest, iindesigning cultivator of 
 the earth, for that of a smart, shifty, smirking haberdasher 
 of small wares ; and he contemplates with mingled sensa- 
 tions of pity and wonder, the deplorable delusion which 
 leads so many thousands from the salutary labours and 
 tranquil enjoyments of the country, to the harassing bustle 
 of the crowded mart, 
 
 " Where with like haste through various ways they run, 
 Some to undo, and some to be undone." 
 
 From occasional visits to the scenes of commercial activity, 
 and fashionable frivolity, from the confused, distracting 
 hum of an infatuated multitude of immortal beings, scram- 
 bling with feverish anxiety for the momentary possession of 
 a needless portion of evanescent dust, he returns with ever 
 new delight to his rural employments, to the serene repose 
 of his quiet home, and to all 
 
 " The charms which nature to her votary yields." 
 
 In spring, the delightful season of light, and life, and joy, 
 how does his bosom glow with rapturous adoration of that 
 beneficent Power, which, while silently preparing for the 
 nourishment of all that live, spreads abroad, with inex- 
 haustible profusion, the treasures of sweetness, and the 
 splendour of beauty. With what pensive pleasure does he 
 gaze upon the autumnal colouring of the variegated forest ! 
 with what sublime emotion listen to the storms of winter 1 
 
104 
 
 how often, when contemplating the harmonious march of 
 the seasons, has he exclaimed, in the language of their 
 immortal poet, 
 
 " These, as they change, Ahnighty Father, these 
 Are but the varied God. The rolling year 
 Is full of thee !" 
 
 In early youth he was rather a keen sportsman, but soon 
 
 " Consideration, like an angel came," 
 
 and convinced him that the pleasure of beholding the 
 playful security and happiness of God's creatures, infinitely 
 overbalanced any enjoyed in their murderous pursuit ; and 
 he has long looked upon the wanton destruction of harm- 
 less life, as nearly allied to crime of no light complexion ; 
 although he makes no pretension to extraordinary huma- 
 nity or delicacy of feeling, yet he would not knowingly 
 crush the humblest insect that crawls across his path, 
 much less would he endeavour to obtain the reputation of a 
 paltry dabbler in natural science, by impaling, with savage 
 industry, scores of wretched bugs and butterflies. In 
 consequence of a rather delicate state of health, he has not 
 been so constantly and exclusively employed in agricul- 
 tural pursuits as his father and elder brother, and has 
 therefore had more time to cultivate, in some measure, a 
 literary turn ; and although his opportunities and acquire- 
 ments have been very circumscribed, yet his hours of 
 leisure have not been altogether unimproved: being sup- 
 posed the best qualified for the office, it generally falls to 
 
105 
 
 his lot to read alond some iustnictive author, or the 
 magazines and papers of the day, during the winter 
 evenings, while the family are quietly employed in the 
 various occupations incident to the season, around a 
 comfortable fire : on these occasions I frequently make one 
 of the company, an arm-chair being always placed in the 
 chimney-corner, for my accommodation ; and am often 
 very well satisfied with my entertainment, more especially 
 whenever any of my own little pieces happen to be recited. 
 Although on the most intimate footing in the family, it 
 was some time before I discovered that he occasionally 
 amused himself by committing to paper his thoughts on 
 various subjects : these effusions, crude and disjointed, 
 were generally committed to the flames as soon as read. 
 His sister, however, with a very pardonable partiality, has 
 preserved copies of a few pieces, both in prose and verse, 
 some of which I may, perhaps, present to my readers. The 
 following lines from amongst them, I select for the conclu- 
 sion of the present number, not because there is any thing 
 new in the thought, or neat in the expression, but as they 
 show, a little, the general temper of his mind. 
 
 RELIGION. 
 
 Oh ! wide they wander from the path of truth, 
 Who paint Religion with a brow pf gloom ; 
 
 Her step is buoyant with unfading youth, 
 Her features radiant with immortal bloom. 
 
 14 
 
106 
 
 In life's gay morning, when the crimson tide 
 Of pleasure dances through each burning vein. 
 
 She leads, with guardian care, her charge aside, 
 From the broad passage to undying pain. 
 
 And when the fleeting joys of time are past. 
 And dark despondence on the spirit preys ; 
 
 She bids, with holy hope, the sufferer cast. 
 To brighter regions, his confiding gaze. 
 
 From slavish fears — from low debasing cares, 
 'T is hers alone the sinking soul to save ; 
 
 For her its sweetest smile creation wears, 
 For her no terror has the frowning grave. 
 
 No ; should this scene in headlong ruin close, 
 Each shattered planet from its orbit move. 
 
 She would not tremble, for full well she knows 
 The arm is near her of unbounded Love. 
 
107 
 
 No. IV. 
 
 Eminently fortunate in the matrimonial lottery, Ephraim 
 can testify, from his own happy experience, that " whoso 
 findeth a wife, findeth a good thing :" sufficiently occupied 
 with his agricultural pursuits, his books, and occasional 
 public and private business, he has neither leisure nor 
 inclination to interfere in the administration of the home 
 department, the art and mystery of housekeeping ; this is 
 exclusively Winifred's dominion, and here she shines with 
 no small lustre. 
 
 "Bless'd with a temper, whose unclouded ray 
 Can make to-morrow cheerful as to-day." 
 
 She has the art, although no necessary business is ne- 
 glected, of making every body comfortable about her ; and 
 is a living and most pleasing proof of the fallacy of the 
 opinion, that the spirit of neatness, and the spirit of good 
 humour, refuse to inhabit the same bosom. Governing 
 her household with a liberal economy, equally remote from 
 careless prodigality and parsimonious meanness, exacting- 
 no unreasonable service, yet suffering no neglect of duty ; 
 kind, mild, and patient to well-meaning ignorance, but 
 firm and resolute in reproving and controlling mischief 
 and folly, her domestics regard her with almost filial love 
 and reverence. Although of a lively, cheerful disposition, 
 her steps are quite as frequently directed to the house of 
 
108 
 
 mourning-, as to tliat of feastino^ ; and when sickness and 
 sorrow sadden the abode of virtuous poverty, her sym- 
 pathy, and comfort more substantial than sympathy, as far 
 as her means extend, is never withheld ; and many a 
 grateful heart might address her in the words of the poet, 
 
 " When grief and anguish wring the hrovv, 
 A ministering angel thou !" 
 
 But she has little compassion for the poverty and wretch- 
 edness arising from intemperance : and to this prolific 
 fountain, perhaps three fourths of the misery in our 
 country may be traced. She is willing that the drunkard 
 should eat of the fruit of his doings, in the hope that 
 affliction may bear a blessing on its wings, may arouse 
 him from his horrible bondage, and rend asunder the 
 shackles of an execrable habit which drags down, with 
 remorseless perseverance, body and soul to temporal and 
 eternal perdition. Fond of a country life, and fond of her 
 home, that little paradise, of which she is the informing 
 and enlivening spirit, and which she so well knows how 
 to render the delightful habitation of peace and joy, she 
 occasionally assists, as well as directs, in the various 
 occupations of the day ; but no silly cupidity ever induces 
 her to convert healthful industry into burthensome fatigue, 
 and no ridiculous affectation of gentility ever made her 
 ashamed of her business. When her neighbours call upon 
 her, if she happens to be employed in her clean, airy, and 
 commodious kitchen, she receives them there without 
 hesitation or apology: but if her presence is not required 
 
109 
 
 in this department, she meets her company of course in 
 the most pleasant room her house affords, which is always 
 ready and always comfortable ; her visiters are never 
 choked with dust, smothered with smoke, and starved 
 with cold for half an afternoon, while abortive attempts 
 are making to nourish into life a sullen, or a sickly fire ; 
 she keeps no best room to be scoured once a week, and 
 then left in cold and gloomy sechision ; and when the 
 important beverage, tea, is prepared, no strapping two- 
 handed lassie is summoned from the milk-pail, to blunder 
 round the room with the equipage, scalding herself and 
 every body about her, and tantalising the hungry with a 
 mouthful of cake once in half an hour ; but her guests are 
 invited to seat themselves around a table sufficiently capa- 
 cious for every one to partake with facility of the good 
 cheer with which it is plentifully covered. Although 
 always neat, and even somewhat elegant in her appear- 
 ance, she carefully avoids all extravagance, and would 
 feel far from comfortable if she carried half Ephraim's 
 crop of pork about her, although converted into the shape 
 of a tawdry shawl, and a frightfully enormous Leghorn 
 hat ; and entertains too little respect for the trappings of 
 vanity, to be either mortified or delighted when her 
 humble abode is favoured with the presence of the frivo- 
 lously fashionable, as is sometimes the case. I remember 
 being pleased with her behaviour one day, when I 
 happened to be with them. The family had just sat down 
 to a plentiful, as usual, but plain washing-day dinner, 
 when a dashing equipage stopped at the door, and out 
 came Mrs. Snipperkins, and all the Misses Snipperkins, 
 
no 
 
 and their cousins, the two Misses Spingiggles, to pay a 
 morning visit, although they knew perfectly well that the 
 hour must be inconvenient to a farmer's family ; but this, 
 by the way, is a trick your half price gentry are very fond 
 of indulging in, in the benevolent hope of deriving some 
 amusement from the consternation of the natives. However 
 here was no confusion, no huddling away the viands, and 
 smuggling the apparatus into a closet ; the children did 
 not take to their heels, screaming with a mouthful of red 
 hot pudding in their throats, nor the elder members of the 
 family sorrowfully adjourn their appetites to a more 
 convenient season. Her guests were invited, with cheerful 
 hospitality, to partake of what her table afforded : and on 
 their declining so to do, she proceeded to help her family 
 and herself, and do the honours of the sitting, with as 
 contented and good humoured an air as if all the Snip- 
 perkins and Spingiggles were in the Red Sea ; and these 
 agreeable visitants, finding they excited neither astonish- 
 ment nor alarm, after having nine times viewed the 
 garden, took their departure to try their luck elsewhere. 
 
 Her lovely daughter, inheriting all the good qualities, 
 and emulating every thing excellent in the example of her 
 worthy mother, delightfully blending 
 
 " The softness — the spirit of youth, 
 With the cool recollection of age," 
 
 is a prize well worth a servitude like that of Jacob of old. 
 I shall not, at this time, attempt her portrait ; but so 
 
Ill 
 
 friendly am I to matrimony, that if I ever meet with a 
 young man deserving such a treasure, which, by the way, 
 is very improbable, 1 may perhaps endeavour to point her 
 out to his notice. To tell the truth, 1 have thought of her 
 sometimes for myself; but although the difference between 
 sixty-five and nineteen appears to me altogether insigni- 
 ficant, yet 1 am not without apprehension she may regard 
 it a liltle more seriously; and a refusal, although it might 
 not, to use the language of the sage of Monticello on 
 another occasion, either pick my pocket or break my leg, 
 yet is it a consummation by no means devoutly to be 
 wished. 1 shall therefore, I believe, consider the matter a 
 year or two longer before I venture a proposal. 
 
 No. V. 
 
 In a former number I mentioned that I might perhaps 
 offer to the reader a scrap or two of my friend Ezekiel's, 
 but I confess that it is not without some hesitation that 1 
 present the following lines. iSome may be of opinion that 
 matters of awful reality, of supreme importance, are more 
 likely to suffer than gain from treatment of this kind ; and, 
 indeed, we are so accustomed to see poetry prostituted to 
 the most trivial, worthless, and worse than worthless pur- 
 poses, that it seems little short of profanation to touch a 
 
112 
 
 sacred subject witli so unhallowed an instrument; never-t 
 theless, it is possible that a hint or an exhortation, conveyed 
 in this way, may be useful ; the eye of the trifler, who 
 would carelessly turn away from a sermon, may be 
 arrested by something in the shape of verse, however 
 humble or contemptible ; and even the harmless desire to 
 criticise — a kind of business for which every one thinks 
 himself competent — may induce a perusal, which can 
 certainly harm no one. 
 
 LINES, 
 
 OCCASIONED BY READING MATT. CHAP. VIU., VS. 24, 25, 26. 
 
 " And behold, there arose a great tempest in the sea, insomuch that the 
 ship was covered with the waves, but he was asleep. And his disciples 
 came to him and awoke him, saying, Lord, save us, we perish ! And he 
 saith unto them. Why are ye fearful, ye of little faith 1 Then he arose 
 and rebuked the winds and the sea, and there was a great calm." 
 
 When on His mission from his home in heaven, 
 In the frail bark, the Saviour deigned to sleep ; 
 
 The tempest rose — with headlong fury driven, 
 The wave-tossed vessel whirled along the deep : 
 
 Wild shrieked the storm amid the parting shrouds. 
 
 And the vex'd billows dashed the darkening clouds. 
 
 Ah ! then, how futile human skill and power, — 
 Save us ! we perish in the o'erwhelming wave. 
 
113 
 
 They cried, and found in that tremendous hour 
 
 " An eye to pity, and an arm to save." 
 He spoke, and lo ! obedient to His will, 
 The raofino- waters and the winds were still. 
 
 And thou, poor trembler on life's stormy sea ! 
 
 Where dark the waves of sin and sorrow roll, 
 To Him for refuge from the tempest flee — 
 
 To Him, confiding-, trust the sinking soul : 
 For, oh ! He came to calm the tempest-toss'd, 
 To seek the wandering, and to save the lost. 
 
 For thee, and such as thee, impelled by love, 
 He left the mansions of the bless'd on high ; 
 
 'Mid sin, and pain, and grief, and fear, to move — 
 With lingering anguish, and with shame, to die. 
 
 The debt to Justice boundless Mercy paid, 
 
 For hopeless guilt complete atonement made. 
 
 Oh ! in return for such surpassing grace, 
 
 Poor, blind, and naked, what canst thou impart? 
 
 Canst thou no offering on His altar place ? 
 Yes, lowly mourner ! give him all thy heart : 
 
 That simple offering he will not disown — 
 
 That living incense may approach his throne. 
 
 He asks not herds, and flocks, and seas of oil — 
 No vain oblations please th' all-knowing mind ; 
 
 But the poor, weary, sin-sick, spent with toil, 
 Who humbly seek it, shall deliverance find. 
 15 
 
114 
 
 Like her, the sufferer, who in secret stole 
 
 To touch His garment, and at once was whole. 
 
 Oh, for a voice of thunder ! which might wake 
 The slumbering sinner, ere he sink in death ; 
 
 Oh, for a tempest, into dust to shake 
 
 His sand-built dwelling, while he yet has breath ! 
 
 A viewless hand, to picture on the wall 
 
 His fearful sentence, ere the curtain fall. 
 
 Child of the dust ! from torpid ruin rise — 
 Be earth's delusions from thy bosom hurled ; 
 
 And strive to measure, with enlightened eyes, 
 The dread importance of the eternal world. 
 
 The shades of night are gathering round thee fast^ — • 
 
 Arise to labour, ere thy day be past. 
 
 In darkness, tottering on the slippery verge 
 Of frail existence, soon to be no more ; 
 
 Death's rude, tempestuous, ever-nearing surge, 
 Shall quickly dash thee from the sinking shore. 
 
 But ah ! the secrets of the following day. 
 
 What tongue may utter, or what eve survey ! 
 
 Oh ! think in time, then, what the meek inherit — 
 What the peace-maker's, what the mourner's part ; 
 
 The allotted portion of the poor in spirit — 
 The promised vision of the pure in heart. 
 
 For yet in Gilead there is balm to spare. 
 
 And, prompt to succour, a Physician there. 
 
115 
 
 For me, I ask no mansion of tlie just, 
 No bright possession in yon dazzling sky- 
 
 For me, 't were joy sufficient, low in dust, 
 Like weeping Mary, at His feet to lie 
 
 In deep abhorrence of myself, and hear 
 
 Sucli words as gladdened her delighted ear. 
 
 No. VI. 
 
 " Hard times, hard times, neighbour Ephraim — abomi- 
 nable hard times !" said Habakkuk Grogit, as he entered 
 the room where my old friend and I were sitting together; 
 " can't borrow a dollar — been all round the country — no 
 money to be had — wonder where it 's all gone — suppose 
 to the East Indies, or locked up in the banks ; can't you 
 let a body have a few hundreds? — give good security." 
 " Take a seat, Habakkuk," said Ephraim, " if thou art not 
 in a hurry, and let us have a little conversation. I do not 
 think the money has all gone to the East Indies, neither 
 do I believe that the banks are troubled with much besides 
 what they manufacture themselves : I have none to lend, 
 and, (excuse my plainness, Habakkuk, the probe is some- 
 times as useful as the plaster,) if I had I would not, just 
 now, lend it to thee ; thou ofFerest what thou callest good 
 security— meaning, I presume, a mortgage of thy paternal 
 
J 16 
 
 acres; but is it probable, with thy present habits — for thou 
 art not remarkable for industry and attention to business, 
 and art seen at the tavern quite as often as is necessary — 
 is it probable that thou wouldst ever pay the interest, much 
 less the principal ? and thinkest thou not that it would be 
 as painful to me to take thy little patrimony, as to thee to 
 lose it? No, what I call good security is founded, not on 
 the property only, but on the virtues, the industry, and 
 sobriety, and honesty, and punctuality of the debtor. But 
 why dost thou wish to borrow ? peradventure to purchase 
 more land ; take my advice and let it alone, unless what 
 thou hast already is brought to the highest state of im- 
 provement, which I fancy is not the case ; this hankering 
 after unnecessary acres, this desire to add field to field, has 
 been the ruin of thousands ; unable to cultivate them to 
 advantage, and of course unable to pay for them, they 
 become embarrassed and disheartened, fly for consolation to 
 the grog-shop, and vainly endeavour to drown anxiety and 
 perplexity in the bottle ; but perhaps thou hast contracted 
 debts already? v/ell, thou must endure the consequences 
 of thy own folly, but give not way to despair, reform thy 
 habits, amend thy life, do thy best, pray for a blessing on 
 thy labours, and it may reasonably be hoped that thy 
 creditors, observing thy altered conduct, will allow thee 
 time to extricate thyself from thy difficulties." "Yes," 
 continued Ephraim, as Habakkuk took his departure, 
 apparently little pleased with either the preacher or the 
 sermon, "yes, the times are hard, but what makes them 
 so but our vices, and our folhes ? the labourer finds them 
 hard when he spends half his earnings in poisoning him- 
 
117 
 
 self with whiskey; the farmer linds them hard, because 
 he has abandoned the frugal industrious habits of his 
 ancestors, and lives abundantly, too 7vcll, as it is miscalled, 
 for his means ; the merchant finds them so, because, 
 although he made a princely fortune while we had half 
 the conmierce of the world in our hands, he spent it with 
 the silly extravagance of a madman, at once impoverishing 
 himself, and injuring his neighbours by his ruinous exam- 
 ple ; he must have his magnificent mansion, his splendid 
 furniture, his briUiant equipage, his costly wines, his tribe 
 of wasteful, worthless domestics ; yes, we shall find the 
 times hard till we mend our manners." Ephraim had 
 got upon his hobby, and how long he might have conti- 
 nued to harangue, I know not, but as I had heard him 
 often on the same subject before, and wished to talk a 
 httle myself, I took the liberty to interrupt him by reading 
 the following dream of Ezekiel's : 
 
 In the visions of the night, when deep sleep falleth on 
 men, Omar dreamed a dream, and behold, it seemed that 
 the rising sun shone with mild radiance, on herb, tree, 
 fruit, and flower, and the verdant earth smiled with dewy 
 freshness in his beams, when Industry, strong and active, 
 exulting in existence, with erect deportment, and elastic 
 step, commenced his journey. The rose of health glowed 
 on his manly cheek, and the smile of cheerfulness sat 
 delighted on his open brow ; his course was directed 
 towards that upland region, where, amidst groves of 
 unfading verdure, diffusing fragrance over romantic val- 
 leys, blooming in perennial beauty, Peace and Competence 
 
118 
 
 repose together, and reward " a youth of labour with an 
 age of ease." 
 
 "Stern Winter smiles in that auspicious clime, 
 The fields are florid with unfading prime, 
 And from the breezy deep the blest inhale 
 The fragrant murmurs of the western gale." 
 
 Though powerful to labour, and unremitting in exertion, 
 his progress was continually impeded, and his efforts 
 baffled by a succession of disheartening difficulties, and 
 clouds and darkness frequently impaired his prospect of 
 the wished-for land. " These obstacles, my son, that ob- 
 struct thy path, these gloomy shadows that obscure thy 
 vision," said Wisdom, "are owing to the machinations of 
 a frightful monster called Poverty, who inhabits the 
 neighbouring caverns and infests the country; and, alone, 
 thou wilt never be able to evade his snares, and escape 
 from his dominion; but take to thy bosom Credit, the 
 blooming daughter of Integrity and Punctuality, and 
 happiness shall smile on your espousals ; but beware of 
 the arts of thy enemy, he has numerous indefatigable 
 emissaries abroad, to lure the careless to his bleak and 
 comfortless abode ; amongst these, few are more to be 
 dreaded than Idleness and Intemperance ; insidious in 
 their approaches, they frequently assume the garb of 
 innocent recreation, and insensibly beguile the unthinking 
 to the gulf of ruin : shun them, my son, as thou wouldst 
 the breath of pestilence ; their touch is pollution, and their 
 embrace is death." " Never fear," said Industry, " I have 
 
119 
 
 seen the miscreants, and shall assuredly avoid their dis- 
 gusting- society: I shall know Idleness by his ragged 
 elbows, his beard of an inch long, his hair, which looks as 
 if it had not felt a comb for a twelvemonth, and his jaws 
 stretched from ear to ear in an everlasting yawn ; and as 
 to Intemperance, his feeble, tottering gait, his bloated face, 
 and carcass, and his leaden eyes, staring at nothing, like 
 an owl in sunshine, will sufficiently indicate him, therefore 
 fear nothing." 
 
 His Mentor's voice the aspiring youth obeyed. 
 He sought, he Avoo'd, he won the blooming maid ; 
 
 and prosperity blessed their union. The discouraging impe- 
 diments, the mountains of opposition, which had appeared 
 so formidable to Industry alone, vanished into thin air at 
 their united approach. Cheerfulness strewed their path 
 with roses. Labour and Innocence lulled them to their 
 evening slumber, and Enterprise and Hope awoke them to 
 their morning task. Their advance, though slow, was sure : 
 already they caught, at times, some enchanting glimpses 
 of their future happy abode ; already some erratic breezes 
 from its flowery borders wafted to their ravished senses 
 a delightftil foretaste of the sweets to come, when two 
 travellers joined their company ; the one called himself 
 Relaxation, and the name of the other was Refreshment. 
 Their appearance was prepossessing, and their visit short, 
 but so entertaining to Industry, that he was exceedingly 
 well pleased to meet them again on the morrow ; and 
 from this time, hardly a day elapsed without their spending 
 
120 
 
 more or less time together. Credit saw this growing 
 intimacy with no small uneasiness ; there was something 
 in the appearance of the strangers that excited her alarm 
 and aversion. Notwithstanding their apparently undesign- 
 ing deportment, and harmless appellations, a chilling, with- 
 ering atmosphere appeared to surround them; at the touch 
 of Relaxation all her exertions seemed paralysed, and the 
 pestiferous breath of Refreshment made her sick at heart; 
 and when Industry declared his determination to adopt 
 them into his family as his constant companions, she gave 
 him one last lingering glance of pity, and slept to wake no 
 more. Then it was that the wily intruders, winding around 
 him the shackles of detestable Habit, and throwing off 
 their convenient disguise, stood before him in all the 
 deformity of Idleness and Intemperance ; they laughed 
 with scorn at his futile attempts to escape from their 
 fetters, they married him without his consent to a dirty, 
 blear-eyed horrible hag, by men called Infamy, and with a 
 grin of demoniac malice, and a yell of savage triumph, 
 dragged him down to the den of their master, Poverty; 
 who, " grinning horribly a ghastly smile," while his lantern 
 jaws and iron teeth chattered with frightful joy, seized his 
 victim, and dashed him a thousand fathoms deep into the 
 dungeon of Despair, when the loathsome reptile with a 
 hundred heads, called Disease, fixing his envenomed 
 fangs in his vitals, and winding around him his slimy 
 folds, he was heard of no more. 
 
121 
 
 No. VII. 
 
 I have thought sometimes that there was not, perhaps, 
 an individual in the world, in health and above absolute 
 want, who would willingly exchange situations in every 
 respect, with any other individual ; but this respectful 
 opinion which we so happily entertain of ourselves, 
 although doubtless very comfortable and pleasant to us, 
 might possibly become a little annoying and somewhat 
 insufferable to others, were it not counteracted, and in 
 some measure neutralised, by the friendly attentions of 
 our neighbours, who kindly endeavour, as far as in them 
 lies, to rouse us from time to time to a proper understand- 
 ing of our insignificance : so that while we keep one eye 
 fixed as it were in complacent contemplation of our own 
 desert, and with the other, diligently scrutinise the failings 
 of our neighbour, we get along very well together. I was 
 led to make this reflection, which, though undoubtedly 
 very sagacious, and indicating such consummate know- 
 ledge of human nature as might be looked for in a person of 
 my antiquity, has perhaps not much novelty to recommend 
 it, by a perusal of the following letter which has just come 
 to hand. Here was I, the nameless biographer of my 
 neighbour Ephraim, jogging along with much gravity and 
 self-respect, and holding forth occasionally, for the edifica- 
 tion of the world, nothing doubting that the said world 
 was full as willing to listen as t was to talk ; but this 
 friendly shake of Anna Maria has roused me from my idle 
 16 
 
122 
 
 dream, and dissipated, for a while, at least, the illusions of 
 vanity ; and I may comfort her with the information, that 
 she will not probably be much longer afflicted with my 
 lucubrations. 
 
 To the anonymous writer of the Account of My Neighbour 
 Ephraim. 
 
 February 28th, 1820. 
 Sir, 
 
 I have wish'd some time to tell you a piece of my mind. 
 But somehow, since my marriage, I hardly ever can find 
 Half an hour of leisure, to write a line or two. 
 The mistress of a family has such a world of things to do ; 
 You will observe I write in verse; I always had a powerful 
 Propensity to poetry, though my uncle used to look as 
 
 sour full 
 As verjuice, when I sacrific'd to the muse, and had the 
 
 conscience 
 To call it, sacrificing to a fiddlestick, and miserable 
 
 nonsense ! 
 But my aunt said, she was sure in reason I had a genus, 
 For I could n't knit a stocking fit to throw at a dog, and 
 
 between us, 
 I never was particularly fond of work, though not averse 
 
 to wear 
 Domestic manufacture, but that 's neither here nor there. 
 My husband is a worthy, respectable man, of course. 
 But he has very little more taste for poetry than a horse. 
 
123 
 
 And is quite as willing, like many well-meaning men, 
 To see his wife's fingers busy with the needle as the pen ; 
 So, not wishing to displease him, and hating dismal faces, 
 I seldom write unless he is out, which seldom enough the 
 
 case is ; 
 But the day before yesterday, I thought would nicely do 
 To write a letter for the "Visiter," and a friendly hint to you ; 
 For my husband, after breakfast, sat off for a vendue. 
 Which was like to detain him chief part of the day. 
 So I got my pen and paper out, and put my work away, 
 And told Sally to put a couple of potatoes in the skillet to 
 
 smother. 
 Set the cold bit of pie to warm, and go and see her mother. 
 For you know, it would be nonsense to cook a load of 
 
 meat. 
 When there was only me at home, and I did n't want to 
 
 eat ; 
 But I had hardly written a line or two, when open bounc'd 
 
 the door, 
 And in came my husband, followed by two or three more : 
 "My dear," says he, "we found the vendue had been 
 
 adjourn'd. 
 So I got these friends to stop and take dinner as they 
 
 return'd." 
 " Indeed my dear," says I, " I 'm afraid there 's none to take. 
 For I was writing a little poetry, and Sally" — but I stopp'd, 
 
 for I saw him make 
 A very disagreeable face, " I wish your abominable poetry 
 
 — but however," 
 Says he, "do stir now at least, and get us something clever." 
 
124 
 
 Only think ! well I borrowed Mrs. Fidget's lame boy Dick, 
 To clean knives, and wait at table, for Solomon has a trick 
 Of being always away when he 's wanted ; my husband 
 
 was in a fret. 
 Which did n't make things better : but he is very apt to get 
 A little out of humour, when he 's like to lose his dinner. 
 What cannibals the men are ! I often tell them that a 
 
 thinner 
 White of an egg sort of diet, would have an excellent effect 
 On both body and mind, but they treat it with neglect. 
 Well, Sally you may be sure was sent for in a flurry, 
 And we killed the blind old cock, and setting hen, for in a 
 
 hurry 
 Nothing else could be got, and things went off better 
 Than might have been expected : but I could n't write my 
 
 letter ; 
 And yesterday I was interrupted again, and almost begin 
 
 to fear. 
 Such repeated trials may injure my temper ; but you shall 
 
 hear — 
 My husband was out, so I told Sally just to rub 
 The furniture in the parlour, shake the carpet, and scrub 
 The floor, and the walls, and the windows, and looking 
 
 glasses, 
 And whitewash the hearth, and give a polish to the brasses ; 
 And havino- g-iven her directions what to do next, I tried 
 To have things a little quiet and comfortable, so I tied 
 The oldest child to the bed post, and to keep 
 The yoimgest brat from squalling, made him sleep, 
 
125 
 
 With a little paregoric, for I keep a chest abounding 
 With valuable medicines, some of my own compounding, 
 Which nobody but the children will take, though excellent 
 
 I know, 
 For if they do not find you sick, they are sure to make 
 
 you so : 
 I think it prudent, when one 's well, to be pretty free with 
 
 physic, 
 To get well used to nauseous doses against one really is 
 
 sick ; 
 But my husband won't, says he, " its best to be cautious, 
 Besides my dear, I find your poetry a dose sufficiently 
 
 nauseous." 
 Well, as I was saying, I gave the paregoric, and then 
 
 strove to rally 
 My scatter'd thoughts a little, but in vain, for in came Sally, 
 With Mrs. and the Misses Waddle's compliments, who 
 
 would come to tea, 
 " Oh ! I wish they were — somewhere else — well, tell her I 
 
 shall be happy to see 
 Her and her agreeable daughters," — a set of tiresome 
 
 creatures, 
 How wretchedly they torment one, but I tried to twist my 
 
 features 
 Into something like a smile, and of course we had to get 
 The parlour to rights immediately, but the floor was so wet 
 It would have taken half a day to have thoroughly dried it, 
 So we clapp'd the carpet on as quick as possible to hide it : 
 I was quite in a quandary where to begin. 
 There was every thing to do, and no time to do it in : 
 
126 
 
 " O," says I, " Sally, never mind the windows, they '11 be 
 
 here in a minute, 
 Just dust the parlour out, and put the chairs and tables 
 
 in it. 
 And the silver wants cleaning, and the tea things are 
 
 dusty. 
 And the sugar 's full of ants, and the tea a little musty." 
 We fixed Solomon on the gate post, to keep a look out 
 For the Waddles, and to let us know, but not to make 
 
 a rout. 
 But the goose never saw 'em 'till they were close to the 
 
 place. 
 And then screamed, " the Waddles ! the Waddles !" till he 
 
 was black in the face ; 
 I was in a violent perspiration, and quite sick and lame, 
 And had barely time to change my cap, before the Waddles 
 
 came ; 
 In the kitchen, things were crooked too, and Sally in a 
 
 flutter, 
 For there was n't in the whole house a thimble full of butter, 
 Except the old garlicky lump, and the cat, a purblind beast. 
 Had tumbled into the cream pot, and overset the yeast ; 
 The cream had got so full of hair, 't was vain to think of 
 
 freeing it. 
 But Sally thought, if the room was dark, they'd swallow 
 
 without seeing it ; 
 But the butter really was so strong, it would not do to 
 
 risk it, 
 So Solomon went, on the old lame colt, full speed, for cake 
 
 and biscuit : 
 
127 
 
 And things went off extremely clever, the Waddles did 
 
 not seem 
 To perceive the extraneous substances established in the 
 
 cream, 
 Though Mrs. Waddle 's fond of it, and took a monstrous 
 
 quantity. 
 For " my love," says she, " I always found you never have 
 
 it scant at tea ;" 
 But when she drank her portion off, and a frightful cough 
 
 succeeded, 
 I must confess, I did not feel as much surprise as she did ; 
 When all was clear'd away, my husband came, and found 
 
 the child 
 Screaming in the dark at the bed post, like wild. 
 For I had been so worried with the tea, and the Waddles, 
 
 I forgot to untie him. 
 And he was so scar'd and famish'd 't was hard to pacify him. 
 My husband said little, but I saw by his look. 
 That he suppos'd I had a novel, or some other instructive 
 
 book. 
 Or had been writing a little poetry, for he is n't such a 
 
 noddle, 
 As to think I 'd tie the child up, on account of Mrs. Waddle ; 
 And now I shall be interrupted again, immediately, no 
 
 doubt, 
 So that to write a letter of any reasonable length, is totally 
 
 out 
 Of the question, I shall therefore proceed with all brevity, 
 
 to say. 
 In a gentle, kind, and conciliating way, 
 
128 
 
 That we have been annoy'd with abundance more than 
 
 enough 
 Of your tiresome old Ephraim : such wretched stupid stuiF 
 Would wear out the patience of an ass, and I earnestly 
 
 desire, 
 If you have more of it on hand, you will put it in the fire : 
 I 'd have you know we take the paper, sir, and pay our cash 
 For something worth perusing, not for trash 
 So wholly worthless, and in short, I think 
 
 Your wisest course is, to give scribbling o'er, 
 Sell all your paper — throw away your ink. 
 
 And tire your neighbours, and yourself, no more. 
 
 Anna Maria Couplet. 
 
 No. VIII. 
 
 Having been absent from home for about a week or ten 
 days on a little journey, on my return, as I passed through 
 the village, in the neighbourhood of my friend's residence, 
 exchanging as is usual on such occasions, friendly greetings 
 with every one I met, I was asked whether I had heard of 
 the unhappy accident which had happened to my neigh- 
 bour Ephraim ? On my replying in the negative, I was 
 informed that he had been considerably bruised by an 
 unlucky heifer, which had attacked him in the field; about 
 
129 
 
 half a mile further on my way, I was told he had been 
 severely wounded by a vicious cow, and was thonglit to 
 be in some danger ; and when I arrived at the turn of the 
 road, I learned that he had been frightfully mangled by 
 a couple of mad bulls, was carried home senseless, and 
 soon expired — that his wife was confined to her bed with 
 illness, and both his sons from home. On hearing this 
 dreadful confirmation of my worst fears, and reflecting on 
 the distressed situation of the daughter, I thought it best 
 to render immediately all the little services in my power ; 
 accordingly, I turned back to the post oflice, and sent off 
 intelligence of the melancholy event to some distant 
 relations and friends, and then called at the nearest store, 
 and purchased a winding-sheet, which I put in my pocket ; 
 I afterwards bespoke a plain strong cofiin, and directed a 
 grave to be prepared, and then pursued my way to the 
 habitation of my departed friend. The evening closed in 
 before I had travelled half the distance ; the air was raw 
 and chilly, and the sky looked lowering and tempestuous ; 
 the wind, in frightful gusts, swept across my path, and 
 amidst the leafless branches seemed to 
 
 " Sigh the sad spirit of the coming storm." 
 
 Every thing wore a dreary and comfortless aspect, and 
 appeared to partake of the sadness and desolation of my 
 own feelings. On approaching the dwelling, my old 
 acquaintance Watch, the house dog, met me as usual, 
 with his kind, but rough caresses. Putting him gently 
 aside, I rebuked him in a whisper, and quietly lifting the 
 17 
 
130 
 
 latch, proceeded on tip-toe through the entry, with that 
 solemn and mysterious silence so generally observed in 
 the house of death, as if the survivors were fearful of 
 awakening and calling back the departed ; and opening the 
 well-known parlour door, found Ephraim in the act of 
 swallowing a hearty draught of excellent rye coffee, while 
 a respectable dish of buckwheat cakes smoked most in- 
 vitingly on the table, around which his smiling family 
 were comfortably seated. As soon as I had somewhat 
 recovered from my astonishment, I enquired (although 
 certainly the enquiry was apparently needless) whether 
 they were all well? and if any thing unpleasant had 
 happened ? and was told, that Ephraim had stumbled in 
 the dark over a blind calf, that was asleep in the path, 
 and sprained his thumb, and that his wife had been a 
 little troubled with tooth-ache. I then related my story, 
 which gave rise to a number of observations on tattling, 
 and the talent for amplification, which is so generally 
 possessed, and some pleasant remarks were made on the 
 kindness with which people endeavour to make the most 
 of their neighbour's ailments and calamities, and the old 
 story of the man and the three crows was not forgotten 
 on the occasion. " Well, my friend," said Ephraim, as we 
 finished our meal, and drew our chairs round the fire, " it 
 seems that the love of the marvellous, the desire to add a 
 dash of the wonderful to the most common occurrence, 
 which is so prevalent in the world, has put thee to some 
 trouble and expense ; however, the sheet I suppose may be 
 converted to some useful purpose, the narrow house will 
 keep till it is wanted, and the hole we must fill up again^ 
 
131 
 
 lest some one should happen to occupy it before his time ; 
 and if this restless, gossiping spirit, never did any thing 
 more injurious, we might endure him with tolerable pa- 
 tience, but he is too often as malicious as active, scattering, 
 with mischievous industry, uneasiness in families, and 
 dissention in neighbourhoods : lynx-eyed to discern the 
 most trivial frailty or infirmity, and trumpet-ton gued to 
 proclaim it to the world, while on other occasions, so 
 purblind is he, that he cannot perceive an amiable quality, 
 or a commendable action, although close to his nose : truly 
 indeed saith the poet, 
 
 " On eagles' wings immortal scandals fly, 
 While virtuous actions are but born to die." 
 
 "I know not how true it may be, but it is said, that this 
 busy, meddling, tattling, wonder-hunting, pestilent, scan- 
 dalous spirit, is particularly apt to infest small towns and 
 villages ; with obstinate perversity and virulent pertinacity 
 magnifying all the evil he meets with, and belittleing all 
 the good ; misrepresenting and distorting indifferent actions, 
 murdering reputations, and destroying confidence, setting 
 the worthy inhabitants by the ears, they hardly know 
 why or wherefore, and raising a wonderful dust about 
 nothing. If this is the case, it must certainly be desirable 
 to get rid of so disagreeable and troublesome an inmate, 
 with all expedition, and I know of no method more likely 
 to banish him, than for each one to resolve to mind his 
 own business, and let that of others alone : follow the 
 example of the farmer, who confines himself to the culti- 
 
132 
 
 vation of his own enclosures, and finds work enough 
 in eradicating the weeds from his own fields, without 
 intermeddling with those of his neighbours ; let each one 
 mend one ; let him go thoroughly and effectually into the 
 business of self-examination ; let him look with a resolute 
 and unshrinking eye into the unexplored intricacies and 
 dark recesses of his own heart, and if he find it ' deceitful 
 above all things, and desperately wicked,' if instead of 
 being 'rich and increased with goods, and having need of 
 nothing,' he finds that he is ' wretched, and miserable, and 
 poor, and blind, and naked,' if he trembles with alarm at 
 the humiliating discovery of his own depravity, his utter 
 worthlessness and inability of himself to think a good 
 thought, or do a good deed, he will feel little disposition to 
 pry with idle curiosity into the actions of his neighbours, 
 or to scrutinise with acrimonious severity, the frailties of 
 an offending brother, but in somewhat of the spirit of that 
 charity which ' suffereth long, and is kind, which is not 
 easily provoked and thinketh no evil,' his petition may 
 possibly be, 
 
 ' Teach me to feel another's wo, 
 
 To hide the fault I see ; 
 The mercy I to others show. 
 
 That mercy show to me.' " 
 
133 
 
 No. IX. 
 
 Although it seems probable that the following little 
 piece of Ezekiel's was written some time since, at a period 
 when the goodly work of extermination was going on in 
 the wilderness, yet I venture to insert it in order to comply 
 with some sort of an engagement, but chiefly because it 
 affords me an occasion to introduce a notion of Ephraim's 
 on the same subject ; we had been conversing on the rapid 
 extension of the white settlements, and the probable total 
 extinction ere long of the Indian race, when I handed him 
 these lines. " Aye," said he, as he gave a glance at the 
 conclusion, "we may call upon the good and wise to bestir 
 themselves ; but if I may venture to judge from my own 
 impressions, it will be some time, in our country at least, 
 before they will feel much of the spirit of exertion, however 
 desirous they may be to benefit every branch of the human 
 family; the recent decision in congress, of what has been, 
 not unaptly, called the misery question, has operated on 
 the hopes and prospects of the philanthropist like a blasting 
 mildew on the blossoms of the spring. When I reflect on 
 the wretched infatuation, the deplorable imbecility which 
 consented to diffuse the fretting leprosy, the horrible 
 opprobrium of slavery, over regions of almost indefinite 
 extent, and this too, not only in opposition to the dictates 
 of humanity and of sound policy, but in the case of several 
 of the public servants, in defiance and contempt of the 
 repeatedly declared will of their constituents ; I find it no 
 
134 
 
 easy matter to restrain my indignation within the bounds 
 of decorous langfuage. If those who have thus contributed 
 to spread this portentous evil over an immense expanse of 
 territory, and throw away at a cast, and for ever, the 
 redeeming influence of the free states, were really doubtful 
 of the power of congress to impose the restriction, or if 
 they were affi'ighted at the ghost of civil war and separa- 
 tion, the raw-head and bloody-bones which cunning or 
 arrogance conjured up for their contemplation, they should 
 have resigned their seats to men of more correct opinions, 
 and of firmer nerves. I have no desire to enlarge on this 
 hateful subject, it has been sufiiciently discussed ; but as it 
 incidentally occurred, I could do no less than express my 
 mortification and regret, and a hope and trust, that at the 
 next election, the freemen of New Jersey will not fail to 
 bear in mind the merits of those who have mis-represented 
 them on this occasion. We may not it is true, recall the 
 evil, or undo the mischief, but we may in some measure, 
 remove the degrading stigma from ourselves. With respect 
 to the civilisation and conversion of the Indians, I am not 
 one of those who believe the thing to be altogether impos- 
 sible ; let those who doubt its practicability, read LoskiePs 
 history of the missions of the United Brethren, and contrast 
 the mild, lamb-like deportment of the Indian converts with 
 the brutal ferocity of the white and red savages around 
 them, and they may perhaps change their opinion ; but I 
 have no expectation that the remnant of the Indian race 
 will be civilised, or usefully enlightened, by distributing 
 among them ten thousand dollars a year, which, I believe, 
 is the sum appropriated for the purpose, or by the efforts 
 
135 
 
 of a few individuals scattered here and there. No ; if they 
 are ever converted to Christianity, it must probably be in 
 consequence of our setting them the example ; were we to 
 become a nation of Christians, the benevolent endeavours 
 of the virtuous few would not be counteracted and 
 rendered nugatory by the labours of the worthless many ; 
 we should provoke no hostilities to afford us a pretext to 
 grasp needless territory, that cupidity might carve out 
 new states for slaves to cultivate ; but independent of any 
 advantages likely to result to the Indians, I think it would 
 be well to try the experimemt for our own sakes — we 
 should, I take it, be quite as happy here, and none the 
 worse, hereafter. Our newspapers, it is true, might perhaps 
 be less amusing than they are at present; we might have 
 fewer privateers or pirates on the ocean, and mail robbers 
 and murderers on the land ; the trade of the kidnapper 
 and slave dealer might languish, and incendiaries become 
 rare in our cities ; our honourable men, instead of blowing 
 each other's brains out, if they have any, for a word, or a 
 gesture, might be more afraid of everlasting damnation 
 than of the momentary laugh of fools ; but upon the whole, 
 I think our respectability would be no wise diminished." 
 
 From the blood-stained track of ruthless war. 
 
 An Indian boy had fled — 
 Remote from his home, in the wild woods far, 
 
 A moss bank pillowed his head. 
 
136 
 
 His glossy hair was damp with dew, 
 
 His air was mild and meek — 
 And it seemed that a straggling tear or two, 
 
 Had wandered down his cheek ; 
 
 For he saw, in his dream, the bayonets gleam. 
 
 He saw his kindred fall ; 
 And he heard his mother's dying scream, 
 
 And the crackling flames take all. 
 
 In his feverish sleep he tm*ned and rolled 
 'Mid the fern and the wild flowers gay ; 
 
 And his little hand fell on a rattlesnake's fold, 
 As coiled in the herbage it lay. 
 
 His head the stately reptile raised, 
 
 Unclosed his fiery eye ; 
 On the sleeping boy for a moment gazed, 
 
 Then passed him harmless by. 
 
 'Twas well, young savage, well for thee 
 
 It was only the serpent's lair. 
 Thy fate perchance would different be, 
 
 Had the white man slumbered there. 
 
 His short nap o'er, uprose the child. 
 
 His lonely way to tread ; 
 Through the deepest gloom of the forest wild. 
 
 His pathless journey led. 
 
137 
 
 Where hi^h in air the cypress shakes 
 
 His mossy tresses wide ; 
 O'er the beaver's stream, and the dark blue lakes, 
 
 Where the wild duck squadrons ride. 
 
 At the close of the day in a wildering glen, 
 
 A covert met his view ; 
 And he crept well pleased in the sheltering den, 
 
 For chilly the night wind blew. 
 
 And soon his weary eyelids close, 
 Though something touched his ear, 
 
 'Twas only the famished she-wolf's nose, 
 As she smelt for her young ones near : 
 
 And forth she hied at the noon of night. 
 
 To seek her 'customed prey — 
 And the Indian boy, at the peep of light^ 
 
 He too pursued his way. 
 
 'Twas well, young savage, well for thee, 
 
 It was only the wild beast's lair. 
 Thy fate perchance would different be 
 
 Had the white man slumbered there. 
 
 But where, alas ! poor wanderer, canst thou stray, 
 Where white intruders shall molest no more ? 
 
 Like ocean's billows, their resistless way 
 
 A whelming deluge spreads from shore to shore. 
 
 18 
 
138 
 
 Their onward march, insatiate as the grave, 
 Still shall they hold, to province province join ; 
 
 Till bounded by the broad Pacific's wave, 
 Their giant empire seas alone confine. 
 
 And lo ! their missions distant climes explore, 
 To spread the joyful gospel tidings far — 
 
 While wrapt in tenfold darlmess, at their door, 
 The forest's children find no guiding star. 
 
 But oh ! my country ! though neglect alone 
 Were crime sufficient — deeper guilt is thine ; 
 
 Thy sins of crimson, added to his own, 
 
 Have crushed the savage with a weight malign. 
 
 We seize the comforts bounteous Heaven has given, 
 With strange diseases vex him from his birth ; 
 
 We soothe his sorrows with no hopes of neaven. 
 Yet drive him headlong from his home on earth. 
 
 As shrinks the stubble from the rushing blaze, 
 Or feathery snow from summer's tepid air ; 
 
 So at our withering touch his race decays. 
 By whiskey poisoned, all that war may spare. 
 
 But can the Power, whose awful mandate rolled 
 This globe abroad, and gave all nations birth ; 
 
 Can He, the source of being, pleased behold 
 A people perish from the uncumbered earth ? 
 
139 
 
 No — from their slumber let the good and wise 
 At Jength awaken, and their task begin ; 
 
 Reform — enlighten — soften — christianise 
 The border savage, with the paler skin. 
 
 Then lead the wild man of the forest forth, 
 With kindness lure him ; to his eye disclose 
 
 A new creation — make him' feel the worth 
 Of all industry on a land bestows. 
 
 The page of knowledge to his view unroll, 
 The charms of virtue to his mind display ; 
 
 And open wide on his benighted soul 
 The full effulgence of the Gospel Day. 
 
 No. X. 
 
 I went this afternoon to pay a visit to my neighbour 
 Ephraim ; indeed I find his cheerful fire-side so much 
 more pleasant than my own little solitary dwelling, that I 
 am afraid I go there rather too often : however, as yet, I 
 have not remarked any coldness or distance in their 
 reception of me. Ephraim had been a little indisposed, 
 and T found him reclining on the sofa ; his wife was 
 preparing something comfortable for him by the fire, and 
 
140 
 
 his daughter, having arranged his pillow to his mind, sat 
 with her work at his feet, while Ezekiel read to him — his 
 other son was engaged in superintending the business of 
 the farm ; but when the hoar of tea approached, he joined 
 the circle in the parlour with a smiling countenance, 
 cheeks glowing with health and an appetite in no wise 
 diminished by the exercise of the day. When I returned 
 to my own lonely habitation, I could not avoid contrasting 
 a little my situation with that of my old friend. Happy 
 Ephraim ! said I, thou hast an excellent wife, and dutiful 
 daughter, to smooth the pillow for thy aching head, to 
 hover with feathery footsteps around thy peaceful couch, 
 and watch over thy slumbers with the assiduity of anxious 
 love — thou hast two manly intelligent sons to attend to 
 thy business, to protect thy interests, and support thy 
 tottering steps ; whose only strife is that of kindness, 
 whose only rivalship, which shall be most attentive to thee ; 
 each of whom would gladly say with the poet, 
 
 "Me may the gentle office long engage, 
 To rock the cradle of reposing age." 
 
 And when at last in a good old age thou shalt- be 
 gathered to thy fathers, a train of mourning relatives shall 
 deposit with decent care thy cherished remains in the 
 narrow house appointed for all living ; while I stand alone 
 in the world, an insulated, insignificant being, for whom no 
 one feels an interest, and whose pains and pleasures are of 
 consequence to no one ; whose approach is greeted with no 
 smile, and whose departure excites no regret ; and when 
 
141 
 
 the closing scene approaches, no kindred hand shall support 
 my throbbing temples, or prepare the potion for my feverish 
 lips, but mercenary eyes, alone, mark, with ill-disguised 
 impatience, the uncertain flutter of the lingering pulse ; 
 mercenary attendants, only, receive with frigid indifierence 
 the last farewell of the departing spirit — 
 
 "By strangers' hands, my dying eyes be closed, 
 By strangers' hands, my lifeless limbs composed." 
 
 Lost in a train of such like melancholy musings, and 
 pondering on the past, the present, and the future, I had 
 suflfered my fire to become nearly extinguished, and the 
 feeble glimmer of my untrimmed taper faintly illuminated 
 my little study, when I was roused from my reverie by the 
 entrance of Ezekiel and his sister. The good girl said 
 she had remarked that 1 was more silent than usual, and 
 as the evening was fine, they had come over to see if I 
 was unwell. This little act of kindness, though in itself no 
 way remarkable, yet coming at such a moment affected me 
 not a little. But I must shake off" this gloom and depression 
 of spirits. I am not now to learn that the world had much 
 rather laugh with or at a man, than mourn with him; I 
 did not sit down to lament the desolation of my own 
 situation which cannot now be remedied, but to exhort the 
 young to get married, to encourage them by the example 
 of Ephraim, and to warn them from my own. " Do 
 nothing in a hurry," is an excellent maxim in the main ; 
 but in some cases it is possible to use too much deliberation. 
 In the important business of taking a wife, many a man has 
 
142 
 
 debated, and deliberated, until the season for acting has 
 passed away. An old fellow like myself has little to do 
 in the world but to talk for the benefit of his neighbours ; 
 and I would willingly devote my experience to the service 
 of the rising generation. I should feel no objection to 
 narrate the disastrous consequences of my own superabun- 
 dant caution in the affair of matrimony, and to enumerate 
 the many eligible matches which have slipped through my 
 fingers; the opportunities to form advantageous connections 
 which have been unimproved, in consequence of my 
 hesitation and indecision ; for I have now no plans to be 
 defeated, or prospects blasted, by a knowledge of my 
 failings, and no vanity to be mortified by the exposure of 
 my disappointments ; but I am apprehensive the detail 
 might prove rather tedious and uninteresting. I may 
 however mention a few circumstances attending my last 
 attempt to obtain an helpmate, if attempt it may be called. 
 I had become acquainted in the family of a respectable 
 farmer who had a daughter of a suitable age ; and though 
 I cannot say that 
 
 " Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye, 
 In every gesture dignity and love," 
 
 yet her correct and orderly deportment seemed to promise 
 that she would make an excellent wife : I was therefore 
 pretty frequent in my visits, and though on these occasions 
 my discourse was principally if not entirely addressed to 
 the parents, yet I kept a sharp eye upon the daughter, in 
 order to endeavour to form a tolerable estimate of her 
 
143 
 
 disposition and character ; and as I had in those days a 
 handsome httle estate at my own disposal, and was upon 
 the whole considered rather a promising young man, my 
 company seemed always very acceptable, to the father and 
 mother at least. In this manner eight or ten months, 
 perhaps, passed pleasantly away, and I was beginning to 
 think that I might before long venture to address her with 
 a little freedom and familiarity, preparatory to a serious 
 negotiation, when all my plans were defeated, and my 
 visionary castle crumbled into dust, by the precipitation of 
 others. One evening I was sitting with them as usual, 
 when after a little time, the father and mother, on some 
 occasion, absented themselves from the room, and left the 
 daughter and myself together; as I had not the most 
 distant suspicion that there was any design in their 
 movements, and expected their return every moment, I 
 took up the almanac (being fond of reading), and had just 
 got cleverly through it when they returned : I thought I 
 remarked something particularly scrutinising in the looks 
 of the mother, but I believe she soon discovered that I had 
 done nothing but read the almanac. On my next visit I 
 felt no small trepidation, having a strong suspicion of what 
 might occur ; and, in fact, we were again soon left alone 
 together — and now the consciousness of what was expected, 
 kept me as silent as ignorance had done before ; in my 
 distress I looked about for the almanac, but they had taken 
 it away ; in vain I endeavoured to find something to say ; 
 my faculties seemed spell-bound, and I sat, I know not 
 how long, in a pitiable state of confusion and embarrassment, 
 until my companion made some remark respecting the 
 
144 
 
 weather ; this was a great relief — I immediately proceeded 
 to treat of the weather in all its bearings, past, present, and 
 to come, and strove to prolong the discussion until some 
 one might come in, but in vain. The subject at length 
 became exhausted, and silence again took place, which 
 lasted so long, and became so glaringly ridiculous, that in 
 utter despair, I was upon the point of having recourse to 
 the weather again, when we were relieved by the entrance 
 of company. Determined never again to cut so silly a 
 figure, I resolved to provide against my next visit a fund 
 of agreeable conversation. I accordingly brushed up my 
 acquaintance with the philosophy of Aristotle, and of the 
 peripatetics generally; collected some anecdotes of the wise 
 men of Greece, and not to lack matters of more recent date, 
 stored my memory with a few amusing particulars respect- 
 ing Mary, dueen of Scots, and of the court of Elizabeth. 
 Thus prepared, I ventured once more to make my appear- 
 ance, but I had no opportunity to say a word about 
 Aristotle or the Q,ueen of Scots ; it was rather late when I 
 entered the room, and I found my intended in earnest 
 conversation with a young man, who had drawn his chair 
 very near to her: their discourse seemed to be of an 
 interesting nature, but they spoke in so low a tone that I 
 was unable to profit by their remarks. I observed, at last, 
 that they frequently smiled when looking towards me, and 
 as I love a cheerful countenance, and smiling is certainly 
 contagious, I smiled a good deal too ; this seemed wonder- 
 fully to promote their risibility, and my laughter increasing 
 in the same proportion, we had a deal of merriment, 
 although little or nothing was said. How long this might 
 
145 
 
 have continued, I know not, had not my intended father- 
 in-law called me aside, and hinted that as the nio-ht was 
 dark, and there was some appearance of rain, 1 had perhaps 
 better return. I thanked him for his truly paternal care, 
 and accordingly took my departure in high good humour, 
 and the next week was informed that the young people 
 were married. 
 
 19 
 
146 
 
 FOR AN ALBUM. 
 
 To scenes sequestered from the world's applause, 
 
 In vain the Lily of the Vale withdraws, 
 
 In vain to veil, with graceful bend, she tries, 
 
 Her snowy bosom from th' enraptured gaze, 
 In vain she bids protecting foliage rise — 
 
 Surrounding sweetness her retreat betrays. 
 
 iSo, though o'ershadowed by misfortune's gloom. 
 Through time, obscurely may the good, man move- 
 
 His blameless life ascends a sweet perfume. 
 And angels view him with the smiles of love. 
 
147 
 
 PETER'S RIDE TO THE WEDDING. 
 
 WRITTEN FOR THE AMUSEMENT OF A CHILD. 
 
 Peter would go to the wedding, he would, 
 
 So he saddled his ass — and his wife ; 
 She was to ride behind, if she could, 
 For says Peter, says he, " the woman she should 
 
 Follow, not lead, through life. 
 
 " He 's mighty convenient, the ass, my dear, 
 
 And gentle and safe, and now 
 You stick by the tail, while I stick by the ear, 
 And we '11 get to the wedding in time, never fear. 
 
 If the wind and the weather allow." 
 
 The wind and the weather were not to be blamed. 
 
 But the ass, he had let in a whim, 
 That two at a time was a load never framed 
 For the back of one ass, and he seemed quite ashamed 
 
 That two should be stuck upon him. 
 
 " Come, Dobbin," says Peter, " I 'm thinking we '11 trot :" 
 
 " I 'm thinking we wont," says the ass, 
 (In the language of conduct,) and stuck to the spot. 
 As though he had said he had sooner be shot. 
 
 Than lift up a toe from the grass. 
 
148 
 
 Says Peter, says he, " I '11 whip him a little ;" 
 
 " Try it, my dear," says she : 
 But he might just as well have whipped a brass kettle, 
 The ass he was made of such obstinate mettle 
 
 That never a step moved he. 
 
 " I '11 prick him, my dear, with a needle — the steel 
 
 May possibly alter his mind;" 
 The ass felt the needle, and up went his heel, 
 " I 'm thinking," says Peter, " he 's seeming to feel 
 
 Some notion of moving behind." 
 
 " Now give me the needle, I '11 tickle his ear, 
 
 And set t'other end, too, a going;" 
 The ass felt the needle, and upwards he reared. 
 But kicking and rearing were all, it appeared, 
 
 He had any intention of doing. 
 
 Says Peter, says he, " We are getting on slow, 
 
 While one end is up, t'other sticks to the ground. 
 But I 'm thinking a method to match him I know. 
 We '11 let, for an instant, both tail and ear go, 
 And spur him at once all around." 
 
 So said so done — all hands were a spurring, 
 
 And the ass he did alter his mind — 
 For off went he, like a partridge whirring, 
 And got to the wedding while all were a stirring, 
 
 But — left his load behind. 
 
149 
 
 REFLECTIONS. 
 
 Awake, thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give 
 thee light." 
 
 To those who are awake — for there are those 
 Who sleep — and whose repose is so profound 
 The vapours of this world have so obscured 
 Their vision of futurity, and thrown 
 Such midnight darkness o'er the realm of thought, 
 They scarce will waken, till the thrilling peal 
 Of the last trumpet, tells that time 's no more. 
 
 To those who are awake, and who have weighed 
 
 The worth of temporal, and eternal things, 
 
 Who view this present transient mode of being 
 
 As but the infancy of life eternal. 
 
 The morning of a never-ending day ; 
 
 And this fair world, with all its checkered scenes 
 
 Of sunshine and of shade — of joy and sorrow — 
 
 As but a school of discipline, to train 
 
 The immortal spirit for its final home : 
 
 To these, how frivolous and futile seem 
 
 The fleeting joys, the transitory cares, 
 
 The fears and wishes terminating here. 
 
 The idols of the sleepers — wealth, fame, power, 
 
150 
 
 In senseless worship at whose crimsoned shrine, 
 Thousands have offered, and are hourly offering 
 All that can make existence worth possessing, 
 Peace here, and future everlasting bliss, 
 They rate at their true value — worthless toys — 
 Baubles of full-grown children — shadowy dreams. 
 Luring the soul from its high destination 
 And whelming all its noblest hopes in dust. 
 
 Yes, there are those who sleep — as though secure 
 Their dream would last for ever — beings destined 
 For an eternity of bliss or wo, — 
 Are slumbering through the hour of their probation. 
 As though it were indeed an endless sleep — 
 Wrapping themselves in darkness, they have built 
 A wall of brass between their souls and heaven. 
 And lo ! Time passes with impetuous pinion. 
 Wide yawns the grave, and Death is on his way, 
 And the last trump may rouse them but to hear 
 The righteous Judge of quick and dead, pronounce 
 The eternal doom — " Depart, I know ye not !" 
 
 O that these slumberers in Egyptian darkness 
 Might yet behold the star of Bethlehem rise ! 
 And turn and listen to the still small voice 
 That whispers to the soul — "wake, thou that sleepest. 
 Rise from the dead, and Christ shall sfive thee ligfht." 
 
 '&' 
 
 To him who is awake — who bears in mind 
 His origin, and nature, and the purpose 
 
151 
 
 For which Almighty Goodness placed him here, 
 
 Who feels his own unworthiness, and mourns 
 
 O'er the sad record of departed years, 
 
 The appaling catalogue of sins committed, 
 
 Duties neglected — talents misapplied. 
 
 Of slighted mercies, and of wasted time ; 
 
 How infinitely awful is the prospect 
 
 Of that eventful, fast-approaching hour. 
 
 When all things here must vanish from his view— 
 
 What fearful scenes of everlasting moment 
 
 Crowd on his vision, and distract his soul ! 
 
 A fading world — a disembodied spirit ! 
 
 A final judgment — an eternal doom ! 
 
 And scarcely hoping that the faltering prayer 
 
 May yet be noticed, all that he can utter 
 
 Is, God be merciful to me a sinner ! 
 
 For well he knows that He, the eternal One, 
 
 Hath other attributes than that of mercy. 
 
 And that howe'er unwelcome the reflection, 
 
 " A God all mercy were a God unjust J^ 
 
 To him how precious the consoling tidings 
 That help is laid on One who died to save ! 
 In whom the fulness of the Godhead dwells ; 
 Who, led by Love, to appease offended Justice, 
 Became himself the sacrifice for sin. 
 Nailing offences to his cross, and giving 
 Eternal life to all who come to him ; 
 O ! well may those who take his yoke upon them, 
 Whose yoke is easy, and his burden light, 
 
162 
 
 Exclaim, in tones of grateful exultation, 
 " O Grave ! where is thy victory ? O Death ! where is thy 
 sting ?" 
 
 O Holy One ! thy ransomed and redeemed 
 May well regard thee with adoring love, 
 For pardon purchased with thy precious blood, 
 And mansions promised in the realms of bliss : 
 And oh ! discarded every selfish thought. 
 Well may they love thee for thyself alone ; 
 Desiring to be any thing, or nothing. 
 As most accordant to thy holy will ; 
 Lost, like the rain-drop in the unfathomed ocean. 
 Their souls may long to be absorbed in thee ! 
 Loving, because they are constrained to love thee. 
 Drawn to thy feet by motives such as lead 
 The tottering infant to its father's arms ; 
 Loving, because it is delight to love thee ; 
 Believing, though not seeing, and rejoicing 
 With joy unspeakable, and full of glory. 
 
163 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 When I look round, and see the love, the care. 
 Of boundless goodness fill the smiling land, 
 
 Existence spread through ocean, earth, and air. 
 And heauly lavished with exhaustless hand. 
 
 Can I pass on "with brute unconscious gaze," 
 
 Nor with one faltering accent whisper praise? 
 
 From those bright orbs, which, through the realm of space. 
 
 Pursue, majestic, their unvarying way. 
 Down through creation, far as man may trace 
 
 Of power almighty the sublime display : 
 All that I see and feel, combine to prove, 
 That power is governed by unbounded love. 
 
 What vivid hues the floral tribes adorn ! 
 
 What fragrance floats upon the gales of even ! 
 What floods of radiance gild the unfolding morn ! 
 
 And dazzling splendour gems the midnight heaven ! 
 What glorious scenes on every hand impart 
 A glow of transport to the untainted heart ! 
 
 How sweet, though transient, man ! thy tarriance here, 
 If peace around thee spread her cheering rays, 
 
 If conscience whispers in thy trembling ear 
 No tale unpleasing of departed days, 
 20 
 
154 
 
 Then smile exulting at tlie lapse ol time 
 Which wafts thee gently to a happier clime. 
 
 Saw'st thou the worm his humble path pursue, 
 To varied dangers, doubts, and fears, a prey ? 
 
 Joy in his cup some sweet ingredients threw. 
 But dai'kness snatched him from the treat away ; 
 
 The poor chrysalis, in his lonely grave, 
 
 Seemed sinking hopeless in oblivion's wave. 
 
 But lo ! what magic bursts the dreary tomb ! 
 
 What voice angelic bids the sleeper rise f 
 He wakes, arrayed in beauty's living bloom, 
 
 His new-born plumage tinged with rainbow dyes ;; 
 In air gay floating, while the sunbeam flings 
 A blaze of splendour o'er his glossy wings. 
 
 Thy emblem this ! for death must quickly hide 
 
 This fair creation from thy raptured eye ; 
 Thy fragile form, to the poor worm allied, 
 
 Cold and unconscious in the grave must lie ;, 
 But can the shackles of the tomb control 
 This active spirit, this aspiring soul ? 
 
 No ! there are worlds, in bloom immortal drest^ 
 Where love divine in full effulgence glows, 
 
 Where, safely centered in eternal rest. 
 Departed spirits of the good repose ; 
 
 With powers enlarged their Maker's works explore. 
 
 And find, thro' endless years, new cause to wonder and adore. 
 
155 
 
 TO A, B, C, <fe CO. 
 
 Ye wee bit, crooked things ! I mind 
 The time when first I spied your faces, 
 
 And found — no trifling job to find — 
 
 That I must learn your names and places. 
 
 My grandsire, with well-meaning care, 
 Bore me to where the mistress she was 
 
 Hard at ye — but naught fancying there, 
 I was at home as soon as he was. 
 
 't was a most unsavoury measure, 
 To take a weentie, small as me, 
 
 From all his young heart knew of pleasure. 
 And bind him down to A, B, C. 
 
 1 liked ye not — I '11 ne'er deny it — 
 
 And did my best the dose to shun. 
 
 But scolded, flattered, shamed, to try it, 
 
 Ye all were swallowed, one by one. 
 
156 
 
 For ye are pills that every wee thing, 
 Is, will he, nill he, doomed to take, 
 
 Like measles, itch, small-pox, or teething, 
 Whate'er wry faces he may make. 
 
 And now I love ye well, I'm thinking. 
 Acquaintance wears disgust away ; 
 
 Even smoking, hanging, snuffing, drinking, 
 But few admire at first, they say. 
 
 Aye ! and at times my bosom feels 
 Some pity for the life ye 're leading, 
 
 By blockheads gripit, neck and heels, 
 And twisted into wretched reading. 
 
 In dead born volumes— never read — 
 From age to age ye lumbering lie. 
 
 Where old housekeeping spiders spread 
 Their bits of weaving out to dry. 
 
 And oft in flimsy novels worn. 
 
 Till folk may see ye through and through, 
 And oft by reckless urchins torn, 
 
 For they must have their novels too. 
 
 O books ! books ! books ! — it makes me sick 
 To think me how ye 're multiplied ; 
 
 Like Egypt's frogs, ye poke up thick 
 Your ugly heads on every side. 
 
157 
 
 If a youn^ thought but shake its ear, 
 Or wag its tail, though starved it look, 
 
 The world the precious news must hear, 
 The presses groan, and lo ! a Book. 
 
 Some busy trifler travels — dies — 
 Commits a murder, plays or sings — 
 
 Makes silly speeches, gathers flies, 
 
 Or rhymes — and forth a volume springs ! 
 
 A host of worthies, stimulated 
 
 By hope of pudding or of praise. 
 Serve up, for stomachs sick and sated, 
 
 Their vapid flummery fifty ways. 
 
 O, if one half — and may be t' other. 
 
 Were fairly in the Red Sea tost, 
 And left with Pharaoh's host to smother. 
 
 Little worth keeping would be lost. 
 
 However we may find, no doubt. 
 
 Some crumbs of comfort — and we need 'em : 
 Knowing, we are, though books come out, 
 
 Not absolutely forced to read 'em. 
 
 Aweel, poor things ! ye mind me, too. 
 
 Of blessed hours for ever past, 
 When o'er life's morning fresh and new, 
 
 The star of joy its radiance cast. 
 
168 
 
 When dear delusive hope exposed 
 Her rainbow-tinted scenes before me, 
 
 And those loved eyes that death has closed, 
 Watched with parental fondness o'er me. 
 
 But hold ; we 've doubtless shown a sample, 
 
 Sufficient, of our tediousness, 
 And now must set a good example, 
 
 By thinking more, and scribbling less. 
 
159 
 
 TO A TOAD IN A STRAWBERRY BED. 
 
 IN THE MANNER OF SOME MODERN SONNETS. 
 
 What varied charms adorn thy dwelling, toad ! 
 
 The breath of fragrance all around thee spread — 
 Luxuriant foHage veils thy cool abode, 
 
 And crimson clusters shade thy auburn head. 
 
 Encircling sweets invite thy dubious lip, 
 Soft breezes lull thee to serene repose, 
 
 And liquid crystal tempts thy tongue to sip 
 The dew-drop falling from the unfolding rose. 
 
 Child of the dust, then ! while thou may'st partake, 
 Enjoy thy blessings, while the power is thine, 
 
 For ere an hour rolls by, some hungry snake. 
 For aught I know, shall on thy carcass dine. 
 
160 
 TO MY TREES, 
 
 ON WALKING IN MY WOODLANDS. 
 
 Ye laugh, ye rogues ! to see me walkin' 
 Among ye now, an' wag your heads ; 
 
 You've heard, nae doubt, there's so much talkin', 
 I've got me coal from Lehigh beds. 
 
 Aye, ye may see me saunterin' under 
 Your branches now without a fear ; 
 
 I come not now your ranks to plunder — 
 Ye may laugh on another year. 
 
 I like, right weel, to see ye growin' 
 
 Like brethren, pleasantly together 
 All, sheltering each when winds are blowin', 
 
 Or drouth prevails in swelter in' weather, 
 
 r like, right weel, to see ye shakin' 
 
 Your glossy foliage high in air. 
 And hear the breeze and birdies makin' 
 
 A joyous din of music there. 
 
 I hke, right weel, to wander near ye, 
 
 When the storm grappleth with your boughs ; 
 
 And yet not over nigh, for fear ye 
 
 Might let some cracked one crack my brows. 
 
161 
 
 Yes, lads ! I'm thinkin' not to burn ye — 
 The inky chunks Mauch Chunk produces 
 
 Will, may be, warm — and let me turn ye, 
 When ripe in age, to other uses. 
 
 I '11 not just say for what I '11 take ye — 
 My wife will hang her claes to dry,- 
 
 An' want twa posts — an^ 1 may make me 
 A pen to hold the pig an' kye ; 
 
 An' should the public take a whim 
 To hang a banking rogue or twa,* 
 
 Ye '11 no object to lend a limb 
 For sic a purpose, any day. 
 
 Ye need na all be hangin' trees— 
 
 An' yet the observer might not wrang us,- 
 
 Who should suppose, from what he sees, 
 Such wood is wanted much amang us. 
 
 Well, fare ye weel ; but this I' 11 tell ye--^ 
 If these coal-heavers hold so high 
 
 Their stuff, I may be fain to sell ye. 
 To get wherewith that stuif to buy. 
 
 * Several banks had stopped payment about thai time. 
 
 21 
 
162 
 
 SCRAPS FROM MY PORT FOLIO. 
 
 "Now, Timothy, don't be always poring over them 
 wearisome papers and accounts," said Experience, " there 's 
 never no use in such an everlasting worrying about what 
 can't be helped ; but if you must be writing, do write 
 something to the purpose — write to the steamboat folks 
 about another season ticket ; time's going on." " Why my 
 dear," says I, " there is perhaps, as thou say'st, no great 
 use in worrying about what cannot be remedied, but these 
 same papers afford me some little amusement, rather a 
 scarce article with me now-a-days ; they are mementos of 
 many mistakes and mishaps, it is true, but they remind 
 me also of by-gone hours of quietness and comfort ; and 
 when the reality is gone, the recollection is better than 
 nothing ; however, possibly, I may write somewhat about 
 the steamboat." " Oh, well then," says she, " I '11 just tell 
 Biddy to let Seraphina know that we shall be in town as 
 soon as possible. I am extremely anxious to see her and 
 the cliildren, and I'm afraid if she don't get word immedi- 
 ately, they'll be all here first." "Well then. Experience, 
 as thou art only anxious to see them, omit sending word, 
 and peradventure it may come to pass without thy being 
 obliged to leave home." "It may peradventure come to 
 
163 
 
 pass," said she ; " yes, I suppose it may come to pass, but I 
 don't want it to come to pass, and it sha'nt come to pass — 
 why it will be warm weather directly, and then they must 
 all come into the country after the air, you know ; and 
 then what chance, I wonder, will Biddy and I have of 
 getting to town before every thing is frozen up, and the 
 steamboat done again." Seeing she seemed to be getting 
 a little warm, and knowing her to be somewhat tonguey 
 at times, I thought it best to drojD the subject, and quietly 
 turn to my writing. This Seraphina, that Experience 
 was so anxious to see, was Seraphina Adelina Snipitoff, 
 wife of our cousin Moses Snipitoff, pretty largely in the 
 man-milliner and variety line : they were originally merely 
 Snipits, but some years back Seraphina, being a great 
 admirer of the emperor Alexander, insisted that Moses 
 should put what she called a " Russian extermination" to 
 his name, and accordingly they became Snipitoffs. Our 
 family name is Goadenough, and its origin, like most 
 others of much antiquity, is involved in some obscurity ; 
 but it was probably given to my ancestor, as being some- 
 what descriptive of his activity in business, and the 
 liberality with which he applied the stimulus of the goad 
 to his cattle, allowing little grass to grow under them when 
 at labour. Be this as it may, my immediate predecessors 
 were certainly industrious, pains-taking, prudent people, 
 carefully looking both before and after, and consequently 
 became well to live in the world ; so I am one of those 
 whose father, as the saying is, was born before him; not 
 that I inherited sufficient to enable me to live in idleness, 
 had I been silly enough to wish it, but I had a handsome 
 
164 
 
 beginning, and with the aid of my wife was getting along 
 tolerably well ; I say with the aid of my wife, for I find that 
 without that aid, little can be done to purpose. Some time 
 after Experience became intimate with Seraphina, she 
 discovered that our name had a vulgar, disagreeable, 
 uncouth sort of a sound, and endeavoured to soften and 
 civilise it, as she said, into Goodenough. " No, no, said 
 I, it is ill tampering with a creditable name, and unhappily 
 we are far enough from good enough ; but if there must 
 be an alteration, I'm thinking that Gadenough might not 
 be amiss, considering thy present habits." 
 
 Since then we have had, occasionally, squabbles on this 
 point, but the matter has never been definitively settled. 
 For many years we led a peaceful and contented, if not a 
 happy, life. Experience, though perhaps her price was not 
 above rubies, was certainly an active, bustling woman j 
 our daughter Biddy was cheerful at her sewing, or her 
 wheel ; and my son Marmaduke and I, after moderate 
 labour, enjoyed with genuine relish our frugal meal and 
 untroubled slumber, and we might possibly have passed 
 thus pleasantly on to the termination of our pilgrimage, 
 but for a summer visitation, which our cousins, the aforesaid 
 SnipitofFs, inflicted upon us in pursuit of air. By the way, 
 I may observe, that one might be led to suppose there was 
 in summer, little or no air to be found in the city, and no 
 sun nor dust in the country. Formerly, some over-fed 
 nabob, perhaps, laden with more wealth and pomposity 
 than was convenient in the dog-days, might disencumber 
 himself a little at a watering place ; and now and then a 
 
165 
 
 rickety infant, hardly worth raising, but which did not 
 choose to die, and which the town doctors were tired of 
 seeing, would be sent off to the country ; otherwise, little 
 was done in this way, except indeed the praiseworthy 
 sabbath-day "incursions," as Seraphina says, of a numerous 
 class, to the habitations of such of their acquaintance as 
 were, unluckily, near enough, and vain enough, and good- 
 humoured enough, to be eaten up, and laughed at. 
 But now, thanks to the all-accommodating steamboat, no 
 sooner can the weather with any decency be called warm, 
 than away they scour — not only the female appendages of 
 the important man of law, or physic, or merchandise, but 
 those also of the eleventh deputy of his fifteenth clerk, are 
 all ofi' in quest of air. But to return : Seraphina Adelina 
 SnipitofF and her daughters were dashing, showy person- 
 ages, and this important visitation made no small stir 
 amongst us ; it is true, the hours they kept grievously 
 interrupted our business, and deranged the regularity of 
 the family. The morning was commonly half gone, and 
 my appetite with it, before they were ready for breakfast; 
 this, of course, caused a like postponement of dinner, and 
 so on to the end of the chapter. However, we put a good 
 face upon the matter ; Experience was determined to do 
 every thing genteelly, and, upon the whole, succeeded 
 wonderfully. I remember one morning, among the other 
 arrangements equally judicious, she ordered Sip to tidy 
 himself and wait upon table ; accordingly, after some time 
 he made his appearance, his black face glistening with 
 soap-suds, and a bit of white garter round his hat ; and 
 taking a chair, sat kicking his heels for a while tolerably 
 
166 
 
 patient, but finding no immediate call for his services, " I 
 'most think, aunt," said he, "if I ben't wanted partiklar, 
 I 'd as good turn out the cows — 'um seems mortal imeasy, 
 somehow." " Turn out the cows," said I, '-'at this time of 
 day ! why have they been left starving so long?" " Why 
 'cause I had to go down to the squire's to see if Madam 
 Coramnoby couldn't no how lend some silver notions to 
 put on the table while the quality staid, 'cause you see our 
 few dabs be as old as the hills, and battered out of all rea- 
 son, in a manner ; and then Molly sent me over to old 
 Marcy Scrubwell's for a taste of butter, 'cause our'n was 
 over garlicky and saft-like for the quality." "Well," said 
 I, "could not somebody else turn them out?" "Why 
 Molly said how she would do it, but she got in such a 
 fumigation washin' Biddy's t'other white frock and aunt's 
 cap, as 'em might dry agin a'ternoon, she clean forgot, 
 seemingly." 
 
 I had sown a field of grain, and it was important to 
 harrow it in immediately, more especially as the weather 
 looked threatening ; but in the afternoon the white frock 
 and the cap were exhibited, sure enough, and the Snipitoffs 
 must take a ride, exercise being in demand as well as air ; 
 accordingly the horses were taken from the harrow, a floo^ 
 of rain came, and it was impracticable to finish the job till 
 too late — so the crop was lost. These rides were sadly in 
 the way of our farming operations, but they were at length 
 luckily put an end to. Experience, it seems, had heard 
 from our visiters some hints about the roughness and vul- 
 garity of our family wagon ; she therefore made Sip get 
 
167 
 
 the ancient, rickety, brick-dust coach from the out-house, 
 where it had stood ever since lawyer Spinitout's vendue, 
 when it was bought for the sake of the old iron, and they 
 sallied forth accordingly in this " more genteeler ekipage," 
 as Seraphina said ; but they had not journeyed many 
 miles, broiled with heat and half choked with dust, look- 
 ing after "romantical sitivations suitable for potery and 
 skitching," as the young ladies said, when a sudden jolt 
 broke down the hind seat, and let Experience and Sera- 
 phina into the box, where two old hens and a Muscovy 
 duck were quietly sitting on their eggs, and which Sip, in 
 his hurry to throw on the lid, had overlooked. The 
 screams of the women, and the cackling and fluttering of 
 the fowls, alarmed the horses, and away they went — and 
 the old coach, and Sip, and the Snipitotfs, and the poultry, 
 and Experience, came flying home, after a fashion seldom 
 witnessed in our neighbourhood. 
 
 Seraphina was a voluble, conversable woman, having a 
 notable gift of the gab, as the saying is, and she made free 
 use of her gift. She did not speak three thousand pro- 
 verbs, nor treat of creeping things and fishes, but she held 
 forth abundantly on visitings, and fashionable parties, and 
 fashionable dresses, and Broadway, and "promenation on 
 the battery," and "incursions on the water," and "genteel 
 sesiety," and " pittyresk sinery," and I know not what ; to 
 hear all which. Experience 
 
 "Did most seriously incline j" 
 
168 
 
 and the effect of these precious communications was such 
 as might be expected from the wisdom of the recipient. 
 The commendable qualities of my wife were rather acci- 
 dental than otherwise, and her domestic habits being 
 infixed little more than skin deep, were of course quickly 
 eradicated ; gentility and discontent crept into my house- 
 hold, and quietness and comfort crept out ; and visitations 
 to the city, and visitations from the city, fully occupied 
 the time of Experience and Biddy; and even honest 
 Marmaduke became infected with the prevailing mania. 
 When they were engaged in preparations to return the 
 aforementioned visitation of our cousins, the wearisome 
 turnings, and cuttings, and bleachings, and starchings, and 
 clappings, put the whole family in commotion. In all this 
 I took little interest; but happening one day to pass through 
 a room unexpectedly, I found Biddy standing with a strap 
 passed around her waist, and Sip at one end, and Molly at 
 the other, pulling in opposite directions, till Sip grinned 
 from ear to ear, and Molly seemed in no small perspiration ; 
 and at every pull Experience secured what they had 
 gained, by passing large pins through a canvass wrapper. 
 Now Experience and I are pretty portly people, rather 
 bulky than otherwise, and Biddy, having enjoyed good 
 health and a good appetite, naturally took after us in 
 this particular. " Abomination," said I, for 1 was surprised 
 OLit of my usual moderation, " what are ye about with the 
 girl ?" " Oh nothing, father," panted out Biddy, for she 
 could hardly speak, "I'm only getting ready for my corsets." 
 " Getting ready for thy coffin, poor simpleton, I fancy," said 
 1. " Nonsense," said Experience ; " now don't discourage 
 
169 
 
 the child, Timothy ; she bears taking up very well so far, 
 considering, and there 's no use talking about it ; how 
 would she look, I wonder, among the genteel people in 
 the steamboat, with half an acre of waist? she must be 
 tight ; every body 's tight ; I shall take up myself a little, 
 though may be not lessen my capacity so soon after 
 dinner." "Instead of taking up thy tabernacle, Expe- 
 rience," said I, " it might be well if thou would take up 
 more commendable resolutions ; and as to thy capacity, I 
 believe few think it needs lessening ; however, if Biddy is 
 to be squeezed to death, better do it at once, than mangle 
 her after this sort ; let Marmaduke put her under one of 
 the screws of the cider press, and take a turn or two with 
 the old mare, and she'll soon be genteel enough !" But 
 my opposition availed little ; the preparations went on — 
 the visit was paid ; and, when they returned, I was not a 
 little shocked with the appearance of the group. Biddy, 
 by perseverance in starvation and lacing, had succeeded 
 in screwing her waist into a nothingness truly wonderful ; 
 it fairly gave me the stomach-ache to look at her ; and she 
 carried on her head a frightful affair, as much like our big 
 pewter dish upside down as any thing I can just now 
 think of. She was, in short, so thoroughly transmogritied, 
 that even the old cow, that she had milked hundreds of 
 times, stared at her with amazement, and seemed to be 
 altogether in a quandary as to what she might be ; and poor 
 httle Experience Seraphina Adehna Snipitoif Goadenough, 
 our youngest daughter, appeared to be nearly frozen : it 
 was a raw, piercing day, and she had nothing on her 
 arms but a strip of rag over each shoulder. " Why, my 
 22 
 
170 
 
 lamb," said I, " art thou not almost perished ?" " O yes, 
 pa," said she, " I'm^all goose flesh." " Ah, my dear," said 
 I, " I wish there was not a greater goose in the house; thou 
 art only a goose outwardly, whereas" — but happening to 
 look round I espied Experience, and did not think it 
 needful to pursue the discourse any further. I have 
 already remarked that Marmaduke had also become 
 infected with the prevailing disease, the mania of gentility. 
 I had suspected this for some time before he ventured 
 to ask me, after some coughing and stammering, whether 
 I did not think he might as well try to get into business. 
 " Get into business, my son," said I, "why art thou not in 
 business already? — a cultivator of the earth — the busi- 
 ness of the first man in paradise, and out of it ; a business 
 advocated by the good and wise of all ages ; a business by 
 which Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, became rich and 
 great?" I had got upon a favourite subject, and might 
 probably have continued the discourse for some time, but 
 was stopped by Experience, who had overheard us. " As 
 to what Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, did," said she, " it 
 is neither here nor there ; if they made money by farming, 
 pork and flour must have fetched a better price then than 
 now : 'tis like there might have been a French war, or a 
 hurricane in the West Indies, or a scarcity in Ireland, or 
 something else uncommon, to raise the price ; but for a 
 young man like our Marmaduke to go for to slave his life 
 out in raising things that won't sell for nothing, 'tis a 
 shame. Look at the gentlemen that go up and down in the 
 steanjboat ; they don't look as if they had been creeping 
 twelve hours a day after a plough. No ; they follow 
 
171 
 
 something more genteeler, and more profitabler too, I guess, 
 or they could n't afford to be always coasting about so." 
 " Yes," said I, " I have looked at these same gentlemen tra- 
 vellers, and a wearisome sight it is to behold the crowds of 
 idlers continually passing to and fro; and in such extreme 
 haste, too, that boilers must be heated to the verge of explo- 
 sion, and horses lashed with savage severity, when in all 
 likelihood the sole business of one half of them, on arriving 
 at the place of destination, is to return again ; but as to 
 Marmaduke's business, if it must be so, the first thing 
 needful is a small capital. I should not mind selling the 
 field over the road — it is rather unhandy, and might be 
 spared." " Selling the old worn-out field !" said Expe- 
 rience; "and who, I wonder, would buy it? No — borrow 
 at once a handsome sum, and mortgage the farm ; Marma- 
 duke's profits will soon enable us to repay it, and we shall 
 keep the property unbroken." This advice seemed to be 
 palatable ; however, the truth is, that, whether palatable 
 and reasonable or not, the advice of Experience is com- 
 monly sure to prevail. The money was borrowed, and my 
 son established in business, in connection with Marcus 
 Junius Snipitoff, the son of our cousin Moses. Experience 
 was now in her element; what with visitations to Sera- 
 phina, and the superintendence of Marmaduke's establish- 
 ment, she was ever on the go, and her time too fully 
 occupied to attend to her own domestic affairs, which 
 prospered accordingly. However, as to poor Marmaduke, 
 his establishment, as indeed might have been foreseen, soon 
 came to an " extermination," as Seraphina says. Whether 
 young Snipitoff snipped off more of the common stock 
 
172 
 
 than was commendable, I know not; certain it is that the 
 whole soon vanished Uke the " base fable of a vision," as 
 Seraphina says, and I was glad to escape from the wreck 
 with the loss of half my estate. Having been benefited 
 so little in my own case, by the facility of intercourse and 
 the multiplication of the means of indulging a gadding 
 disposition, it may be supposed that I regard with no par- 
 ticular complacency the efforts that are malting to scatter 
 these conveniences over our country in every direction, 
 insomuch that in a short time an honest man may hardly 
 be able to stir about his lawful business, without danger of 
 tumbling into a canal or breaking his shins over a railway. 
 However, I oppose them not ; these excavations and con- 
 structions will doubtless fill for a time "the mouth of 
 labour," let the pockets of the projector and stockholder 
 fare as they may ; and my learned old friend Alexander 
 Scraggletop Barelikit, the schoolmaster — formerly of Muc- 
 klestonechoakthrapple, in Aberdeenshire, says, that " anent 
 thae v/arks, he has nae doot in his ain privat mind but 
 that, by farcelitatin' intercoorse, they may ten' to devilloup 
 our resoorces, an' gie muckle exheeliration to the march of 
 ceevelisation in the oot-lyin' wildernesses." 
 
 DeSUNT C^TE^lA. 
 
 1828. 
 
173 
 
 WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM OF A YOUNG FRIEND. 
 
 Mind thy own business, — this perhaps may seem 
 Language unmeet for such a page as this- — 
 
 But 'tis no trifling business, and I deem 
 Advice to mind it at no time amiss. 
 
 Mind thy own business — thou hast time assigned thee, 
 
 And all-important labour to be done ; 
 Let not the shadows of the evening find thee, 
 
 And this great work perhaps not yet begun. 
 
 Mind thy own business — then, as it flies o'er thee, 
 Shall every moment smiles approving wear ; 
 
 Eternity's vast ocean roll before thee 
 
 Serene — and peace attend thy progress there. 
 
174 
 
 [A number of small engravings for one of his young relatives were 
 sent to the author, with a request that he would write something appropriate 
 to each. He returned them with the following pieces, but without any 
 view to publication,] 
 
 ON A PICTURE OF A CHILD FALLING FROM A BOAT 
 INTO THE WATER. 
 
 Along old Ocean's shelving side 
 
 With eager step the plovers roam, 
 And with parental care provide 
 
 For their loved nestlinofs safe at home. 
 
 O'er the blue waters, high in air, 
 
 The wild duck squadrons ride the gale. 
 
 While others, tired of sporting there. 
 On dancing billows, joyous, sail. 
 
 But who is he — yon wretched child ? 
 
 Down headlong, from his tottering boat, 
 To death descending, dark and wild 
 
 The waters soon shall o'er him float. 
 
 Perhaps, but late, a mother's arm 
 
 Was flung in doating fondness round him. 
 
 Perhaps her love, foreseeing harm, 
 
 Warned him to shim the fate that found him. 
 
175 
 
 O ! had that warning voice prevailed, 
 Then might he, in maturer years. 
 
 O'er many a distant sea have sailed. 
 
 Nor " steeped a parent's couch in tears." 
 
 ANOTHER ILLUSTRATION OF THE SAME SUBJECT. 
 
 On the shore killdeers were trying 
 
 To surprise a worm or two — 
 Over head the crows were flying, 
 
 A dingy and discordant crew. 
 
 Peter sauntered by the river — 
 Geese were swimming on the tide, 
 
 " Ho !" said Peter, " that's a clever, 
 Cool, and easy way to ride." 
 
 In the boat he got, to paddle. 
 
 Leaning careless o'er the prow — 
 " Now," said Peter, " neighbour Waddle, 
 
 I'm as great a goose as thou." 
 
 The geese would often dip for sweeter 
 
 Grass, that on the bottom grew — 
 " I can dip, I guess," said Peter, 
 
 " Head and ears, as well as you." 
 
176 
 
 Down he dipped, but in the endeavour, 
 
 Gave the boat a luckless turn. 
 And (what he contemplated never,) 
 
 Over went his whole concern. 
 
 Ah ! thought a goose who watched the motion, 
 (Perhaps) with no unwilling eyes — 
 
 " Thou art over, Peter, I 've a notion, 
 But doubt thy being over wise." 
 
 FOR A WINTER SCENE ON A FARM. 
 
 Winter rules, in turn, the year, 
 White with snow the fields appear. 
 In his barn, the farmer now 
 Views, well pleased, his loaded mow, 
 And, sheltered from the stormy gale. 
 Plies the far resounding flail ; 
 While beside the door the kine 
 On the fragrant clover dine. 
 Or on beds of straw recline. 
 
 Farther ofl" the feathered race, 
 Seek their 'customed feeding place, 
 And await their dole of grain, — 
 Do not let them wait in vain. 
 
177 
 
 Thou 'rt a favoured child of Heaven, 
 
 But not exclusively its care ; 
 Let the bounty God has given 
 
 His inferior creatures share. 
 
 But yonder idlers, in the sleigh, 
 Had better fall to honest labour, 
 
 Than tire their horses, waste a day, 
 
 And hinder some industrious neighbour. 
 
 FOR AN AUTUMNAL SCENE. 
 
 Where cultured ridges wide extend, 
 The careful farmer strews the grain. 
 
 In humble hope that Heaven may send 
 The early and the latter rain. 
 
 That, favoured thus, another year 
 May many a ripened ear supply 
 For those dear young ones, sporting near 
 With buoyant kite ascending high. 
 And to those dear ones, be it known, 
 Though kites, at seasons, may be flown, 
 Yet work must take its turn — the day 
 Must not be wasted all in play. 
 23 
 
 -^ 
 
 
178 
 
 And let the farmer, too, reflect 
 
 That there are other seeds to scatter 
 
 In these young minds — and not neglect. 
 For transient things, this weightier matter. 
 
 The seeds of knowledge — love of truth, 
 And virtuous fame, implanted there, 
 
 And nurtured in the spring of youth. 
 May haply fruit immortal bear. 
 
 FOR A SHIP UNDER FULL SAIL. 
 
 From the rude plank, on which adventurous man 
 First dared the waters, in pursuit of food. 
 Or haply to approach some neighbouring isle, 
 Whose spicy groves, and sweet retiring vales, 
 Lay, flower-enameled, on the smiling sea — 
 From that rude plank to this majestic ship. 
 How great the change ! how wond'rous an effect, 
 Produced by human industry and skill ! 
 A tie connecting the remotest shores 
 Of the green earth — a bridge around the world ! 
 Behold ! how gracefully she sits — expanding 
 Her canvass pinions to the swelling breeze ! 
 But should the storm awake, and the vexed waters. 
 
179 
 
 Roused into rage, in fearful mountains rise, 
 Onward she dashes through the wild commotion ; 
 Yet, mid this elemental war, obeys 
 The slightest intimation of her helm, — 
 An object scarcely noticed, yet controlling 
 The varied movements of the vast machine. 
 
 So let " a word* behind thee" govern thine, 
 Through all the countless incidents of life. 
 Whenever conscience whispers in thy ear 
 " This is the way" — although a world should rise 
 In opposition — let that way be thine. 
 
 * And thine ears shall hear a word behind thee, saying, " this is the way, 
 walk ye in it," when ye turn to the right hand, and when ye turn to the left. 
 
 Isaiah, ch. xxx, v. 21. 
 
180 
 
 ON READING WORDSWORTH'S "EXCURSION," 
 
 London large quarto edition. 
 
 "WRITTEN AFTER TUE MANNER OF THAT AUTHOR. 
 
 Specimen of an Unpxihlished Work, without a Name, written 
 on a Nameless Occasion. 
 
 BOOK FIRST. 
 
 The book's half ended, and I'm well pleased, 
 Not with the book exclusively — but that 
 It is half ended — an unwieldy volume, 
 Like other ponderous thing, is wearisome. 
 And this seems heavy in more ways than one ; 
 Now I do mightily affect a book 
 Of such convenient and minute dimension 
 As may be held between the thumb and finger. 
 And read reclining in an elbowchair. 
 
 A great book, some one said, is a great evil ; 
 But when the book is half made up of margin, 
 The evil is in that proportion lessened ; 
 Thanks to the London printers, who provide 
 A comfortable breadth of vacant paper, 
 On which the mind may rest itself, fatigued 
 With the bewildering simpleiiess that creepeth, 
 Turbid and deep sometimes, and sometimes shallow, 
 
181 
 
 With even pace through the capacious page, 
 Like a dark gutter through a field of snow. 
 
 And who knows, said I to myself, but I 
 
 Might also make a book? — a goodly quarto; 
 
 The world is full of readers, patient souls, 
 
 Who may endure my tediousness, perhaps. 
 
 As well as that of others : I'll afflict 'em 
 
 With a few lines, by way of specimen. 
 
 And thus they may begin :— I gat me up 
 
 And washed my hands and face, and ate my breakfast, 
 
 And combed my head, — I use the common parlance 
 
 Because 'tis common, though it is improper— 
 
 For I did comb my hair, and not my head ; 
 
 And this I did before I ate my breakfast, 
 
 And should have so recorded it, for events 
 
 Of any moment should be chronicled 
 
 Precisely in the order of their occurrence ; — 
 
 But let that pass. Well, I did eat my breakfast, 
 
 And then I sate me in my elbowchair. 
 
 And gazed most intently at the window ; 
 
 But, though my eyes were on the window fixed, 
 
 I noted not the outward forms of things. 
 
 Or aught enacting in the external world ; — 
 
 No — in profound abstraction I did gaze 
 
 Into the " dun obscure" of my own mind, 
 
 If haply I might spy and seize for use 
 
 Some tiny straggler of the ideal world : 
 
 But gazed on vacancy — for nought was there. 
 
 Even so abideth in a barn an owl, 
 
182 
 
 The bird of wisdom, and with look sedate 
 Watcheth — and he, too, watcheth oft in vain 
 For the small cattle that inhabit there. 
 Faring thus meagerly, I walked me forth 
 To inhale the freshness of the morning air. 
 And read the features of surrounding things : 
 So, other wise men, when their homes are rendered 
 By whatsoever cause uncomfortable, 
 Direct their meditative steps abroad. 
 
 I love not early morning walks — I love not 
 To get my feet wet ; and the bard who wrote 
 The silly trash of brushing dew away 
 To see the sun rise, hardly knew, I fancy. 
 What dew was made of, or the vile effect 
 That frequent soaking hath upon shoe leather ; 
 And yet he was a man who might have known. 
 Once in his life, perhaps, unlike the run 
 Of bards, the comfort of a pair of shoes. 
 Well, I did walk me down a quiet lane, 
 In which was little to distract the thoughts 
 Of the wayfaring man, or lead him forth 
 From deep and dark communion with himself: 
 It was not a green lane — a grassy lane — 
 And I have noted that at certain seasons, 
 Particularly in the dead of winter. 
 But little green is met with any where; 
 Except, indeed, upon Venetian blinds, 
 And the dried skins of murdered katy-dids. 
 On either side, and in the midst, appeared, 
 
183 
 
 In proud defiance of marauding swine, 
 A goodly growth of Jemson weed and Poke : 
 Now, one who had picked up a farthing's worth 
 Of learned jargon, would embrace the occasion 
 To show his knowledge of outlandish terms 
 For common things, and say, that in this lane 
 The Phytolacca and stramonium grew ; 
 But I, who write for dwellers in the fields, 
 Write in the language of the land they live in, 
 And therefore write I Jemson weed and Poke. 
 
 O ! it hath smiled me — that is, made me smile, 
 When I have seen an honest man endeavour 
 To pass himself for more than he was worth 
 Of mental treasure — in and out of season 
 Larding his flavourless and lean discourse 
 With certain words of uncouth, learned length, 
 Which, like the parrot, he had got by rote. 
 
 As I did journey in this lane, beneath 
 A withered Poke bush I beheld a beast — 
 A little beast he was, and had no tail — 
 A toad they called him, and he seemed in years — 
 An ancient toad, who had seen better days. 
 I leaned my back against the fence, and stood 
 Under the shade of an old apple tree 
 That had been dead for years ; my hose, ungartered, 
 Hung ruefully in wrinkles at my ankles ; 
 And my slouched hat, my forehead's old companion^ 
 Would have flapped mournfully about my ears, 
 
184 
 
 If there had been a breath of air to fi^p it ; — 
 With both hands in my pockets, thus I stood, 
 Resembhng much a statue, (not of Greece,) 
 And mused upon the toad — and he too seemed 
 As he were musing, and that recollections 
 Of by-gone ups and downs had moved him ; 
 For ever and anon he raised his foot 
 And wiped his eye withal. 'Tis Avonderful, 
 What curious thoughts, unlooked for, will arise 
 Oft in the minds of contemplative men, — 
 Men who associate with the sticks, and stones, 
 And living tenants of the fields and woods. 
 Now, thought I, if this toad would get him up 
 And stand erect upon his feet, as I do. 
 And, if it liked him, lean against the fence. 
 This simple exercise of mere volition, 
 To action moving his sonmolent powers. 
 Might in the reptile work a glorious change. 
 But how, by what intricate combination, 
 Obscure or obvious, of involved modes, 
 Reader, I leave for thy own cogitation ; 
 I do but start a slumbering thought or two, 
 And they who like may hunt 'em down for me. 
 
 By this the sun rode high — it might be noon, 
 But I did not consult my watch ; my watch 
 Is not wound up so often as it might be. 
 And might indeed as well remain unwound, 
 For it keeps time about as carefully 
 As doth a sieve keep water — but no matter j 
 
185 
 
 The man who stirreth him upon the mountains. 
 
 Or in the valleys, under open sky. 
 
 Needs not the aid of curious instrument 
 
 To warn him how time passes ; no, he beareth 
 
 In his own breast a faithful monitor, 
 
 Which duly indicates the hour of noon : 
 
 Yea, more especially if he should labour. 
 
 And labour by the. day, he is most certain 
 
 To hit the hour of noon before the time ; 
 
 For the delightful intertwined ideas 
 
 Of noon and dinner, in the labourer's mind. 
 
 Like man and wife, are never to be parted. 
 
 And why is this? To say the man is hungry 
 
 Is to say nothing, or at best, no more 
 
 Than that he longs for something unpossessed — 
 
 A common case ; and wherefore lonofeth he ? 
 
 A question this, important and abstruse ; 
 
 But, perad venture, it may be resolved 
 
 In some such way as this : we may behold 
 
 In the outward world no vacuum — all is full 
 
 Of life and matter, multiform and mixed, 
 
 Sentient and senseless — and may hence conclude 
 
 That, in the little world of man, the region 
 
 Called in the pugilists' vocabulary 
 
 Bread basket, (term significant and neat,) 
 
 Escheweth mightily all emptiness. 
 
 And further, v/e may readily perceive, 
 Within us and without us, all is motion : 
 One spirit of activity pervades 
 24 
 
186 
 
 With pauseless energy all forms of being, 
 
 And analogically may infer 
 
 That the prime agent in the aforesaid basket, 
 
 The gastric fluid, hateth idleness ; 
 
 And finding nothing wherewithal to work, 
 
 Like famished tiger, falls upon its keeper, 
 
 And suffereth not the honest man to rest 
 
 'Till he hath got his dinner ; — I'll get mine. 
 
 Exit. 
 
187 
 
 SCRAPS; 
 
 OR, A PAGE FROM MY PORT FOLIO. 
 
 Doubtless, we are a great and glorious people, 
 Free, moral, wise, religious, and what not ; 
 Enjoying heartily, with other comforts. 
 Opinions most respectful of ourselves. 
 
 Yes, doubtless, we are great, and every hour 
 Becoming greater, like a vast mushroom. 
 Towns rise, as if by magic, in the forest. 
 And where, of late, a troop of tuneful wolves 
 Howled their wild wood-notes to the midnight moon, 
 Caper the hopeful youth, and fiddles squeak. 
 
 Our virtuous and enlightened population 
 Rolls onward like a deluge, scattering wide, 
 With much commendable, unsparing zeal, 
 The tawny, two legg'd, and inferior vermin, 
 To dens obscure, and deserts far remote. 
 To trapper and to squatter yet unknown. 
 
 Yes, doubtless, we're a wise, a moral people. 
 Ask ye for proof? and can ye not perceive 
 The scent of whiskey float on every gale ? 
 
188 
 
 Others may boast their floods of milk and honey, 
 Ours may be called a whiskey-streaming land. 
 As flows life's current through the human frame 
 In countless rills meandering, so does whiskey 
 Flow through our country; but a copious tide, 
 Resembling more a torrent than a rill — 
 Marking its troubled and tumultuous course. 
 By poverty and crime, disease and death. 
 We kill the nations ofi" to get the soil. 
 The soil produces grain, the grain the whiskey, 
 The whiskey ruin, both to soul and body ; 
 And thus we travel the delightful round : 
 And modern Solomons, who rule the nation, 
 Wisely decline to tax the precious fluid, 
 Lest haply they might check the growth of grain, 
 And raise a frown upon a voter's brow. 
 
 Yes, doubtless, we're a free, a Christian people, 
 Holding this truth to be self-evident. 
 That all men are by Heaven created equal, 
 Endowed alike with right to liberty. 
 Doubt ye the fact ? and have ye ne'er beheld 
 Upon our public ways, a group of beings. 
 Aye, human beings, with immortal souls, 
 Driven to the market, like a flock to slaughter. 
 Chained, sold, lashed, mangled, at the sound discretion 
 Of worthies, doubtless, of superior nature. 
 Because enveloped in a paler skin ; 
 The dearest ties the heart can know dissevered, — 
 The parent parted from her infant treasure. 
 
189 
 
 The fainting maiden from her lover torn, 
 And doomed to toil and slavery for ever. 
 
 Yes, doubtless, we're a moral, Christian people. 
 God hath commanded, thou shalt do no murder ; 
 He, at whose bidding all things rose from nothing, 
 And, at Avhose frown, would sink again to nought. 
 And lo ! forth crawls the important duellist. 
 An evanescent worm, a thing of dust, 
 And dares his wrath, and tramples on his law. 
 The curse of Cain is on him — his right hand, 
 His soul, encrimsoned with a brother's blood, 
 A friend — a boon companion — one with whom, 
 A few short hours before, he had united, 
 Perhaps in scenes of folly and of crime : 
 What then ? he mingles with congenial Christians, 
 Calls himself one, no doubt, and stands prepared 
 To enact the self-same Christian part again. 
 Will human laws deter him ? Human laws 
 Were surely not designed for men of honour : 
 A starving wretch, in the pursuit of plunder, 
 Commits a murder, and he shall be hanged ; 
 Not so your man of honour — he may kill, 
 Arrange deliberately his mode of murder, . 
 Become an adept by industrious practice, 
 And boast of his expertness at the trade ; 
 He shall go free — ^he is a man of honour — 
 And laws, and those who ought to guard them, sleep. 
 O yes, no doubt — we are a Christian people. 
 
190 
 
 FOR AN ALBUM. 
 
 The industrious bee, from many a varied blossom, 
 
 Amasses treasure of unmingled sweetness ; 
 
 Alike subservient to her chemic power 
 
 The cherished flowret and the slighted weed. 
 
 And, reader, thou, though haply not possessing 
 
 Her quick perception of incipient good, 
 
 Or magic process of amalgamation, 
 
 Mayst gather from this miscellaneous volume 
 
 Some harmless pleasure, — may 6e, something more ; 
 
 For, doubtless, here reposeth many a flower 
 
 Of purest fragrance and unfading bloom. 
 
 But if, unluckily, thou shouldst discover 
 
 Some little inoffensive weed like this, 
 
 Let it not kindle thy severe displeasure ; — 
 
 Remember, rather, what experience teaches — 
 
 That he who cultivates on all occasions 
 
 A disposition to he pleased and please, 
 
 Is much the happiest and the wisest man. 
 
191 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 Our ancestor Adam, in Eden's fair bowers, 
 With apathy gazed, at the fruits and the flowers ; 
 Surrounded with blessings, no pleasure was there — 
 He sighed for a bosom those blessings to share ; 
 And the charms of creation were deemed little worth, 
 'Till woman was sent to imparadise earth. 
 
 She came, in the splendour of grace and of beauty, 
 His breast to illume with the radiance of love ; 
 
 She came, in the meekness of kindness and duty, 
 His joys to redouble — his pains to remove : 
 And he felt, what her presence alone can impart — 
 The sunshine of happiness warm at his heart. 
 
 CONTRA. 
 
 Our grandfather Adam, in Eden's fair bowers, 
 Beheld with such pleasure the fruits and the flowers, 
 'Twas seen he would soon be too fond of his berth — 
 So a partner was sent him to wean him from earth. 
 
192 
 
 LINES, 
 
 Written, extempore, for a child who asked for an " Epitaph on her 
 Squirrel." 
 
 Forced early from his native shade. 
 
 And doomed a slave to be, 
 Here Bun reposes I — death has made 
 
 The little prisoner free. 
 
 Subjected, from his earliest date. 
 
 To every varying whim — 
 And far from parents, friends, and mate — 
 
 Few charms had life for him. 
 
 Ye youthful readers, treat not with neglect 
 This slight memorial — but sometimes reflect. 
 Ere from its home a nestling you remove. 
 What you would suffer, torn from all you love. 
 
193 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Go; take the morning's wings, and rpeed thy flight 
 Bevond the reach of thouarht — lo ! He is there : 
 
 Go, wrap thyself in darkness — tenfold night 
 Will prove no covering — He is every where : 
 
 In everlasting- blessedness remainins", 
 
 Diffused through all things, and all things sustaining. 
 
 He who, in yonder azure deep of air. 
 
 Bade worlds on worlds in dazzling splendour roll ; 
 The abode of myriads, questionless, who share 
 
 The love unbounded of the All-moving Soul, 
 Whose bounty stills the infant raven's calls — 
 By whom unheeded not a sparrow falls. 
 
 His eye is on thee ! His, by whom was given 
 The glorious mission of redeeming love, 
 
 By Jordan's waters, when, from opening heaven, 
 On glowing pinion, came the mystic dove. 
 
 His eye is on thee ! which alike pervades 
 
 Virtue's pure path, and guilt's polluted shades. 
 
 And ihey — the dwellers in those blessed places, 
 The heavenly mansions — whether near or far 
 
 From us their station in the expanse of space is — 
 With cloudless vision view us as we are : 
 25 
 
194 
 
 Man's darkest deed and thouglit, illumined, lies 
 In broad exposure to angelic eyes. 
 
 And had not power divine for ever barred, 
 To sorrow's entrance, their abode sublime, 
 
 How oft must earth celestial peace have marred, 
 And angel bosoms ached for human crime ; 
 
 How often groveling man's insane career, 
 
 From eyes seraphic drawn the burning tear. 
 
 But though divinely shielded from the intrusion 
 Of sin's unfailing fruit and follower, wo — 
 
 When the transgressor wakes from guilt's delusion. 
 Augmented bliss superior spirits know: 
 
 By Trutft's own lips has been the assurance given, 
 
 O'er such repentant there is joy in heaven. 
 
 Then raise thy head in hope, thou broken-hearted — 
 Tossed with tempests, and dismayed with fears ; 
 
 Angels, and spirits of the just departed. 
 With love and pity witness all thy tears. 
 
 Thy sighs ascend before the eternal throne, 
 
 And all the conflicts of thy soul are known. 
 
195 
 
 FOR AN ALBUM. 
 
 Yes, I will try to write — though not aspire 
 
 To hold high converse with th' harmonious Nine ; 
 
 All may not haply from the glowing lyre, 
 
 With heaven-taught fingers, call forth strains divine; 
 
 But all. good-naturedly, in lines like these, 
 
 May show the will, if not the power, to please. 
 
 All hail, good nature ! — more delightful far , 
 Thy joys, than all repelHng genius knows ; 
 
 The soft, mild radiance of thy gentle star 
 
 Its happiest colouring o'er hfe's landscape throws : 
 
 Filled with thy spirit each innocuous page 
 
 In youth may charm us, nor offend in age. 
 
 How kindly, in this world of ours, 
 
 Do folk each other scrutinise ! 
 Lament their neighbours' lack of powers. 
 
 And view their own with thankful eyes. 
 
 Methinks I see some gracious elf, 
 
 In want of work, or will to do it, 
 Take down this volume from the shelf, 
 
 And thus approvingly run through it : 
 
196 
 
 " This book is not unlike a purse, 
 A casket rich with rare contents ; 
 
 Bank notes, than nothin^j Httle "■•, orse, 
 Small silver, and a world of cents. 
 
 u ?rp|g very like a pie — a dish 
 
 Composed of fowls of every feather ; 
 
 Red herrings too, and flesh and fish. 
 All huddled, heads and points together. 
 
 " For vegetables would you seek ? 
 
 There are a few perhaps worth knowing- 
 Some tender mushrooms, young and weak, 
 
 That hardly took a month in growing. 
 
 " And here and there, as a Ye-hicle 
 
 To help along a lagging treat, 
 Is seen an inoffensive pickle, 
 
 Lukewarmish — neither sour nor sweet. 
 
 " I would not hastily find fault. 
 
 But truth, the cooks are sorry daubers. 
 
 Their wretched thimbleful of salt. 
 Resembles Attic less than Glauber's. 
 
 " Besides, a secret let me tell — 
 
 A truth found out some lucky minute — 
 The pie will never relish well, 
 
 That has too many fingers in it." 
 
197 
 
 MY SPECTACLES. 
 
 WRITTEN IN 1824. 
 
 To a friend who requested a few lines on my getting the said. 
 
 True, I have got me spectacles, and find them 
 
 A prize indeed — they have unfolded to me 
 
 Much that was hidden and involved in gloom, 
 
 Of the fair face of nature, and my views 
 
 Of men and things enlightened and enlarged. 
 
 Perhaps M'Allister hath rarely vended 
 
 Engines more friendly to the eyes and noses 
 
 Of their proprietors, than these to mine. 
 
 But though where'er I turn my glassy eyes, 
 
 " A wide unbounded prospect hes before me," 
 
 In all the beauty of distinctness drest ; 
 
 And though I have discovered that the shadows 
 
 And clouds, that heretofore appeared to veil 
 
 The lovely features of the world around me, 
 
 Existed in my visual orbs alone. 
 
 Yet see I not (just now) that hence it follows. 
 
 That I should shout, into the unwilling ears 
 
 Of every honest man 1 meet, the notions 
 
 Which these same spectacles have brought to light : 
 
 No — at some future, more convenient season. 
 
198 
 
 I may set forth these matters ; but at present 
 
 It would be carrying (an unthrifty business) 
 
 My hen to market, on a rainy day. 
 
 The obstreperous clamour of industrious people, 
 
 Who manufacture presidents and cotton, 
 
 Hath filled the public ear to overflowing — 
 
 The wild Ephesian uproar of the weavers 
 
 Would drown the tone of sweeter harp than mine ; 
 
 The gentle lisping of my timid muse 
 
 Would scarce be heard amid the deafening roar 
 
 More than the whisper of a sucking dove. 
 
 They say I am short sighted — and perhaps 
 
 I may not see so far into the moon 
 
 As some whose eyes are better, yet methinks 
 
 These weaving brethren are as blind as I am, 
 
 Else would they long ere this have seen and studied 
 
 The ancient history of the dog and shadow. 
 
 Yet I may crack a wee bit of some things, 
 
 And though the worthy items that compose 
 
 That mass of varied excellence, the public, 
 
 Are all, with serious singleness of heart 
 
 And fervency of purpose, following after 
 
 Some cherished idol of their own creation. 
 
 Some fancied present or eventual good — 
 
 Or, to discourse in less inflated language. 
 
 Are minding their own business, and may listen 
 
 To my observes with just as deep attention 
 
 As the deaf adder to the syren's strain. 
 
 It mattereth not — if they refuse to listen, 
 
 The loss is theirs — and there are sundry reasons. 
 
199 
 
 Why I should talk — attended to, or not — 
 
 As first, tlie importunity of friends ; 
 
 But this is somewhat stale, and on the whole 
 
 Had best be lightly touched on ; and the comfort 
 
 That overspreads the overcharged mind, 
 
 When it hath been disburthened, is no trifle. 
 
 Man hath in general — say minute observers — 
 
 Two eyes, two ears, and but a single tongue ; 
 
 And they infer from this apportionment 
 
 Of their conveniences, that he should utter 
 
 Not more than half of what he sees or hears ; 
 
 A lame and impotent conclusion, this — 
 
 And far less satisfactory than the following : 
 
 That every man may utter, if it likes him, 
 
 As much as both his neighbour's ears can swallow. 
 
 Else should we witness, profitless exposure. 
 
 An empty, idle superflux of ears ; 
 
 And this is, questionless, the sound conclusion 
 
 Adopted in our legislative halls, 
 
 Where, whatsoever the supply of wisdom, 
 
 We rarely find a paucity of words, 
 
 And this is all exactly as it should be. 
 
 Go, take thine ass, and hie thee on from Maine, 
 And tack and zigzag well through every corner, 
 And hill and dale of this far spreading land, 
 To that young Babylon they call Orleans, 
 An' speer at ilka mon ye meet withal. 
 And doubt not every man will chuckling own 
 That there are some few simple folk around him. 
 
200 
 
 Well, be it so — these simple folk have rights, 
 
 And should be represented — and they are so — 
 
 So that whene'er we find a conscript father, 
 
 Smothering beneath an awful cloud of words, 
 
 A little luckless thimbleful of meaning. 
 
 We may conclude he is a simple member — 
 
 That is, he's one who represents the simple. 
 
 I say that we are wordy, not that I am ; 
 
 We as a people, certainly are tongue^, 
 
 (I like this word,) and how became we so ? 
 
 Because we have been blessed with tonguey mothers. 
 
 " 'Tis education forms the common mind," 
 
 Saith Pope — and early education does so ; 
 
 Much of whatever makes the future man, 
 
 The good or evil that attends his course, 
 
 Is early gathered in maternal arms. 
 
 There, with the love of freedom and of country. 
 
 By precept and example both incited, 
 
 The infant statesman learns the love of — noise ; 
 
 Doomed, from his earliest moment, to the infliction 
 
 Of ceaseless dandling and eternal song. 
 
 And when tormented with incessant din 
 
 He shakes his lacerated ears, and screams. 
 
 To a still bolder and a louder key 
 
 Is swelled the nurse's overwhelming: note. 
 
 Oh ! 'tis delightful, this domestic music ! 
 
 This mingled sweetness breathed from kindred lips ! 
 
 The wailing urchin's pertinacious roar. 
 
 And Job-like mother's everlasting song. 
 
 Who hath not listened to the enlivening sound. 
 
201 
 
 In the thronged city, or sechided dell ? 
 "Just as the twia: is bent, the tree 's inclined." 
 ('Tis hard to part a couplet long united. 
 So having used the first, I quote this line, 
 Resolved that, whatsoe'er may chance to follow, 
 The ancient pair shall rest upon one sheet.) 
 " Just as the twig is bent the tree 's inclined," 
 Saith Pope — who treateth here of English twigs. 
 Twigs of John Bull, or more correctly, calves. 
 Now if this holdeth good of English timber. 
 From the cracked, crooked, and valueless condition 
 Of various samples cast upon our shores. 
 Blocks that lie every way, we may conclude. 
 The art and mystery of judicious twigging 
 Is little understood, or practised, there. 
 Yes, these same straggling bulls, and caltish cattle, 
 Incontinently dropping marvellous matter. 
 Which tickleth mightily the lengthy ears 
 Of many a well-grown kindred calf at home. 
 Yahooish, scattering, with abortive malice. 
 Dust at a people far beyond their reach ; 
 A people marching with a giant's stride, 
 To giant empire — in a region, born 
 Of grandeur worthy of the free and brave, 
 Whose lowliest peasant holds in equal scorn 
 The throned despot, and the groveling slave. 
 Yet notwithstanding the laborious efforts 
 Of many a vile, and would-be poisonous insect 
 With noisome buzz, and pointless sting, to keep 
 The expiring flame of enmity alive ; 
 26 
 
202 
 
 And maugre all his multifarious failings, 
 
 Deficient wisdom, and abounding pride ; 
 
 I would be neighbourly with ancient John — 
 
 He hath some points about him that I like : 
 
 Yes, thou. Old England ! art a glorious land — 
 
 Nurse of a noble race ! who have upheld 
 
 The torch of Freedom in a darkened world. 
 
 Nurse of a host of worthies, now no more, 
 
 But whose immortal labours shall enlighten 
 
 And charm the minds of millions yet unborn ! 
 
 'Twas from thy verdant fields, o'er trackless seas, 
 
 That gallant band, our virtuous fathers, came. 
 
 Yes, we are kindred, and a kindred faith, 
 
 And kindred laws and language, should induce us 
 
 To form a league, that might indeed be Holy^ 
 
 And have a holy influence on the world. 
 
 But there's a time for all things, Solomon said, 
 
 And Solomon was no fool ; although, perhaps. 
 
 Like some few preachers since his day, his practice 
 
 Did not keep pace precisely with his precept : 
 
 For Solomon found, if chronicles say true. 
 
 Time to do much which might have been omitted. 
 
 There is a time for all things, and, of course, 
 
 A time for dalliance with the Aonian maids. 
 
 And a time, too, to let the maids alone. 
 
 And he who findeth perched upon his shoulders 
 
 A wrinkled forehead, clad in silver hair, 
 
 May well bethink him that the hour hath come 
 
 When he should muse on more important matter 
 
 Than the construction of a lay like this. 
 
203 
 
 WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. 
 
 Reader, go home ! — this may seem homely language, 
 
 But if the advice is good, reject it not. 
 
 Because it comes not in more courtly guise. 
 
 We often find the most salubrious draughts 
 
 Are not the most delightful to the palate ; 
 
 And my advice shall have at least one merit, 
 
 Not over common — that of brevity. 
 
 Go home ! — if idly thou hast wandered thence, 
 
 Consider well what motive drew thee forth ; 
 
 And whether, if with due attention followed. 
 
 The path of duty would not lead thee back : 
 
 And doubt not thou may meet with business there, 
 
 Remembering, what will scarce be controverted, 
 
 If every home were every thing it should be, 
 
 There would be little to be done abroad. 
 
 Reader, go home ! — go home to thy own bosom ! 
 
 Commune with thy own heart ! perhaps a stranger. 
 
 Whose nature it imports thee much to know, 
 
 Where haply thou may'st more or less discover 
 
 To do — undo — to learn — and to forget ! 
 
 And in that all important field of labour, 
 
 None ever yet employed himself too soon. 
 
204 
 
 But if that home, is every thing it should be, — 
 If purity and peace inhabit there, 
 
 Then hope to feel, when on thy dying bed, 
 A pitying father's soul-supporting love, — 
 Then hope to find, by boundless mercy led, 
 A home eternal, in the realms above. 
 
205 
 
 " But one thing is needful, and Mary hath chosen that good part, which 
 shall not be taken away from her." — Luke x. 42. 
 
 One thing is needful — man can never hear 
 This truth too often — while afforded breath, 
 
 And life, and being — may the heaviest ear 
 Of deafness hear it till destroyed in death. 
 
 One thing is needful — was the assurance given 
 By Him who came in mercy from on high. 
 
 And shall man slight intelligence from Heaven — 
 A being, sure of nothing, but to die. 
 
 One thing is needful — how will those appear, 
 When all earth's baubles are in ruin tost, 
 
 Who know the hour of final judgment near. 
 This prize unsought for, or for ever lost. 
 
 One thing is needful — and, compared with this. 
 All earth can offer, — all that man may scheme, — 
 
 All human fabrics of sublunar bliss, — 
 Are vain, and worthless as an idiot's dream. 
 
 One thing is needful — all that's comprehended 
 In these few words — eternal weal or wo, 
 
 Soon, when some short, fast fleeting years are ended, 
 In joy or anguish, every soul shall know. 
 
206 
 
 TO J. AND H. C. B., 
 
 ABOUT TO EMBARK FOR ENGLAND, AFTER A RELIGIOUS 
 VISIT TO THIS COUNTRY. 
 
 Ye are traveling homeward, — home imparts 
 Joy in itself; but to your hearts 
 
 A purer Miss is doubtless known : 
 The peace by full obedience won — 
 That peace which flows from duty done, 
 
 And from that source alone. 
 
 Remote from your green island home, 
 Your lot has led yiu far to roam 
 
 In regions rude, and wild, and vast. 
 Where many a fruitless fig tree grows ; 
 
 Yet here, perhaps, may bloom at last. 
 In living beauty, Sharon's rose. 
 
 But ye 're bound homeward — and possess. 
 No doubt, the blessed consciousness 
 
 Of having done what in you lay 
 To work His will who sent you here — 
 And therefore need nought else to cheer 
 
 Your progress on your homeward way. 
 
207 
 
 Then, fare ye well ! — may He, who guides 
 The petrel o'er the heaving tides, 
 
 Your bark securely keep 
 Safe in his favour — though the storm 
 May rage around, and winds deform 
 
 Your pathway on the deep. 
 
208 
 
 " Be thou my strong rock for an house of defence to save me ; for thou 
 art my rock and my fortress," — Psalm xxxi. 2, 3. 
 
 "A man shall be as an hiding place from the winds, and a covert from 
 the tempest — as rivers of waters in a dry place — as the shadow of a great 
 rock in a weary land." — Isaiau xxxii. 2. 
 
 " The name of the Lord is a strong tower ; the righteous runneth into 
 it, and is safe." — Rev. xviii. 10. 
 
 To living waters in a thirsty sand — 
 
 A tower of strength to which the righteous flee- 
 A rock's vast shadow in a weary land, — 
 
 To these fond man hath loved to liken Thee, 
 Fountain of light and life ! — but, oh ! how weak, 
 How feeble language, when of Thee we speak. 
 
 Yet Thou, whom highest heaven cannot contain — 
 Who fillest all things, (oh, consoling trust !) 
 
 Though throned in blessedness, wilt not disdain 
 The simple oiFering of a child of dust — 
 
 The broken accents of adoring love — 
 
 When the full heart impels the tongue to move. 
 
 A strong tower, Thou ! to which the righteous flee. 
 And find that safety Thou alone canst give ; 
 
 But, Heavenly Father ! to that tower, to Thee, 
 The sorrowing sinner, too, may fly and live — 
 
209 
 
 The bruised reed that heaUng shadow share, 
 And living water ever flowing there. 
 
 When the transgressor, who had wandered far 
 O'er the wild waste, the land of sin and shame, 
 
 Rejjentant turned— did aught his progress bar 
 To that dear, holy home from whence he came ? 
 
 Did frowns repelling bid the wretch depart I — 
 
 Did cold endurance chill his breaking heart ? 
 
 Ah ! no —while yet far ofl' he feebly strove, 
 
 With tottering steps, to take his homeward way, 
 
 The observant glances of paternal love, 
 
 With smiles of welcome, hailed the weak essay— 
 
 With mercy met him, and his soul's alarms 
 
 Were all forgotten in a father's arms. 
 
 O ! happy he, who, in that awful hour 
 
 When earth must vanish from his closing eye, 
 
 Feels full assurance of that IdVe whose power 
 For the freed soul can happier worlds supply! 
 
 To him, resigned to all thou mayst ordain. 
 
 To live is pleasure, and to die is gain. 
 
 And without this, can aught terrestrial merit 
 The name of solace for the immortal mind? 
 
 That emanation of the eternal spirit. 
 
 From heaven descended, and for heaven designed. 
 
 What 's man's experience but corroding care? — 
 
 In life delusiojj, and in death despau? 
 27 
 
210 
 
 FLOWERS. 
 
 " Consider the lilies of the field." — Mat. vj. 28. 
 
 Ye beauteous things, I love to stray 
 Among ye in your verdant beds, 
 
 And see ye shake the dews away. 
 As joyous wave your briUiant heads. 
 
 I call ye joyous — for I hold 
 
 That ye are joyous, — that ye feel 
 
 Delight in living — that the mould 
 Affords ye many a savoury meal. 
 
 The voice of music birds employ 
 To speak the full heart's happiness. 
 
 But, in your case, exuberant joy 
 
 Bursts forth perhaps in pomp of dress. 
 
 Yes — clad in beauty's hveliest robe, 
 To every eye enjoyment giving, 
 
 And scattering fragrance round the globe. 
 Ye doubtless feel delight in living. 
 
211 
 
 'Twas said by one* that ye have wasted, 
 Unseen, your sweets on desert air, 
 
 Because, alas ! by man un tasted — 
 
 Though bird, beast, insect, might be there. 
 
 O, modest and profound decision ! 
 
 That man alone your worth observes; 
 As thouofh nouo-ht else was blest with vision, 
 
 Or system of olfactory nerves. 
 
 Pray, how knew he that all man misses 
 
 Is wasted on the desert air? — 
 Or, that the bee-like bird, that kisses 
 
 The blossom, sees no beauty there? 
 
 But there 's no desert — air and earth 
 With hum of sentient being rings ; 
 
 The spot that gives a flowret birth 
 Is quickly fanned by insect wings. 
 
 Yes, beauteous things, I love to stray 
 Among ye in your verdant bed — 
 
 To mark your Heaven-ordained array, 
 And breathe the sweetness round ye spread; 
 
 Gray's Elegy : — 
 
 " Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
 And waste its sweetness on the desert air." 
 
212 
 
 And olt, among ye when I wander, 
 
 Will serious thought expand her wings, 
 
 And, taught by you, my spirit ponder 
 On higher and on holier things. 
 
 Proofs of our Heavenly Father's love. 
 Who clad ye in a garb so fair ; 
 
 Ye bid me hope I too may prove 
 An object of his guardian care — 
 
 Ye bid me hope that He who wrought 
 Such glorious robes for fading grass, 
 
 Will not cast off, if humbly sought, 
 His creature of a nobler class. 
 
 And as at spring's awakening breath 
 Ye glow in new-born radiant dyes, 
 
 So from the wintry sleep of death 
 Ye bid me hope that I may rise. 
 
213 
 
 LOCOMOTIVES. 
 
 Hurrah! hurrah! away we go 
 
 Without a spur or goad — 
 Our iron coursers snort and blow 
 
 Along an iron road. 
 
 Your noblest steeds of flesh and blood 
 Are soon with toil o'erdone, 
 
 But wheels impelled by fire and flood 
 For ever may roll on. 
 
 No load, nor length of way, fatigues 
 Our wild, unshimbering team ; 
 
 A jaunt of a hundred thousand leagues 
 Ts baby play for steam. 
 
 The hills may lift their foreheads high, 
 The rivers oppose in vain — 
 
 Our smoky motives soon shall fly 
 From Mexico to Maine. 
 
 Then farewell to domestic jars. 
 All nullying nonsense done — 
 
 An endless chain of railroad cars 
 Will bind us all in one. 
 
214 
 
 The goodly dames of former days 
 Were doomed at home to stay, 
 
 Or jog o'er dislocating ways 
 A dozen miles a day. 
 
 Affairs of moment only led 
 Their steps of course to roam, 
 
 And comfort too, was born and bred, 
 They might suppose, at home. 
 
 But now a feather has force enough 
 
 To send our damsels forth, 
 For a yard of bobbin, or thimble of snuff. 
 
 To the east, west, south or north. 
 
 We all are hurrying to and fro, 
 
 Aye worrying here and there. 
 But where we go, or why we go, 
 
 We hardly know or care. 
 
 The western ploughboy hastes to hear 
 
 Atlantic billows roar — 
 And yankee sailors try to steer 
 
 The Pawnee prairies o'er. 
 
 The southron sweep comes in from work, 
 " Where 's Mrs. Soot?" says he— 
 
 " She 's gone for a moment to New York, 
 But will be home to tea." 
 
215 
 
 " O well," says Darky. " then I'll go, 
 As the cars are whirling by — 
 
 For a mouthful of Boston air or so. 
 And a bite of pumpkin pie." 
 
 Could our forefathers quit their shrouds, 
 How would the good folks stare, 
 
 To see their sons, in countless crowds. 
 Driven on by heated air. 
 
 To see the stately steamboat glide, 
 
 Encumbered by no sail ; 
 Regardless of the opposing tide, 
 
 The fair or adverse gale. 
 
 Yet boast we not — the power of mind. 
 
 Must onward, onward, go. 
 Our sons will stare in turn to find 
 
 How little is all we know. 
 
 But off! — hurrah ! away we rattle, 
 On the wings of the red-hot wind. 
 
 And scare the fish, and kill the cattle, 
 And leave all care behind. 
 
216 
 
 SCRAPS FROM MY PORT FOLIO. 
 
 Thomson's Hymn, at the conclusion of his poem of the 
 Seasons, is a popular production, much read by the young, 
 and famiUar to most readers. It was formerly a favourite 
 with me, but of late, has not pleased me so well ; much of 
 it I think might have been advantageously omitted, and 
 for aught that appears, it might have been written before 
 the Christian dispensation had been heard of; and although 
 this is a subject of too sacred and awful a nature, perhaps, 
 to be much dwelt upon in a poetical way, yet in a work 
 professing to celebrate the goodness of the Divine Being, 
 to omit all allusion to the most signal instance thereof 
 seems rather amiss. The following lines were occasioned 
 by a late perusal of it. 
 
 But can I muse in silence ? Can a being 
 Though fallen, and unworthy, and encompassed 
 With evil, self-induced, but yet the object, 
 Almighty Father ! of thy care and love, 
 Endowed by thee with a retiecting mind, 
 And power to utter what that mind conceives — 
 Can he muse on thy goodness, and be mute ? 
 
 Though glorious thy creation — this fair world, 
 And countless worlds aroiujd, arrayed in beauty, 
 
217 
 
 Harmoniously their several tracks pursuing 
 
 Through regions of unmeasured space, evincing 
 
 Infinite wisdom and Almighty power ; 
 
 So great and glorious all ! that well might David, 
 
 When pondering their immensity, and feeling 
 
 The utter nothingness of man, exclaim. 
 
 Lord ! what is he, that thou art mindful of him ; 
 
 The son of man, that thou shouldst visit him ? 
 
 And though thy throne, high o'er the heaven of heavens, 
 
 In glory inconceivable, be placed. 
 
 Yet art thou mindful of the poor in spirit — 
 
 The contrite one that trembleth at thy word. 
 
 And these stupendous monuments of power. 
 Walking in brightness, shall decay and vanish ; 
 For matter, howsoe'er sublime in form. 
 Must yield obedience to the laws of nature. 
 By thee ordained, and be dissolved and perish. 
 
 Not so the spirit thou hast breathed in man ! 
 The undying principle of life — the power 
 Through endless ages to enjoy or suffer 
 The immortality which thou hast given — 
 Is of more value than a thousand worlds ; 
 Yea, infinitely precious in thy sight ! 
 So infinitely precious as to lead thee, 
 Even Thoe, the Eternal One ! from realms of light, 
 To assume the nature of thy poor, lost creature ; 
 Descend to walk on earth — a man of sorrows — 
 28 
 
218 
 
 And die, to rescue from eternal ruin 
 
 The guilty hopeless being thou hadst made. 
 
 Yes, I must muse in silence ;— vain are words 
 There is no power in language to express 
 The deep emotion of the adoring spirit, 
 When contemplating such unbounded love ! 
 
219 
 
 [The following fragment — apparently the commencement of a subject to 
 be filled up — was found in the pocket-book of the author after his decease, 
 and is believed to be the last he ever wrote.] 
 
 A friendless stranger on the bleak world thrown, 
 Has stern misfortune marked thee for her own, 
 Has falsehood fixed dishonour on thy name, 
 Does hopeless anguish rack thy wasted frame, 
 Has Death's dark angel his sad visit paid, 
 Has thy heart's treasure low in earth been laid ; 
 Ah! then how drear the cheerless world appears — 
 A desert shrouded in a mist of tears ; — 
 Then, hapless mourner, will thy soul incline 
 To wish the pinions of the dove were thine, 
 To wing thy way to some far distant shore, 
 Where sin and sorrow shall disturb no more. 
 
221 
 
 LINES 
 
 SUGGESTED BY A RECENT VISIT TO "HICKORY GROVE." 
 
 Fair home of my fathers ! — in seasons long past, 
 
 Generations successive have tilled ; 
 Their honoured remembrance a halo has cast 
 
 Round the garden, the grove, and the field. 
 
 Yet fond recollection retraces the hours 
 
 When the swing and the ride could delight — 
 
 When the delicate cream, and the fruits, and the flowers, 
 And the arbours, and walks, could invite. 
 
 Here opened the record on history's page, 
 
 Which the annals of Jersey supplied ; 
 Here the patriot enlightened, the statesman, and sage, 
 
 And the muses, have loved to reside. 
 
 Majestic the hickories yet may remain. 
 To mark the long years they have stood, 
 
 The loveliest verdure embellish the plain. 
 And autumn's bright colours the wood; 
 
222 
 
 The maple may blossom, the willow wave still. 
 And the locust breathe out its perfume — 
 
 The robin the grove may with melody fill, 
 And the garden in beauty may bloom ; 
 
 But never again shall the rill or the lawn 
 
 Its charm to the landscape restore — 
 O'er the loved and lamented Earth's mantle is drawn, 
 
 And their places shall know them no more. 
 
 Fair home of my fathers ! for ever adieu. 
 
 The scenes, as in youth, that I love ; 
 Inscribed on my heart be the changes I view 
 
 In the history of Hickory Grove. 
 
 THE END.