That, if they improve not, still enlarge the mind;
And found himself, with such advisers, free
From a fix'd creed, as mind enlarged could be.
His humble wife at these opinions sigh'd,
But her he never heeded till she died:
He then assented to a last request,
And by the meeting-window let her rest;
And on her stone the sacred text was seen.
Which had her comfort in departing been.
Dighton with joy beheld his trade advance,
Yet seldom publish'd, loth to trust to chance:
Then wed a doctor's sister-poor indeed,
But skill'd in works her husband could not read;
Who, if he wish'd new ways of wealth to seek,
Could make her half-crown pamphlet in a week:
This he rejected, though without disdain,
And chose the old and certain way to gain.
Thus he proceeded: trade increased the while,
And fortune woo'd him with perpetual smile:
On early scenes he sometimes cast a thought,
When on his heart the mighty change was wrought;
And all the ease and comfort Converts find
Was magnified in his reflecting mind:
Then on the teacher's priestly pride he dwelt,
That caused his freedom, but with this he felt
The danger of the free-for since that day
No guide had shown, no brethren join'd his way;
Forsaking one, he found no second creed,
But reading doubted, doubting what to read.
Still, though reproof had brought some present pain,
The gain he made was fair and honest gain;
He laid his wares indeed in public view,
But that all traders claim a right to do:
By means like these, he saw his wealth increase,
And felt his consequence, and dwelt in peace.
Our Hero's age was threescore years and five,
When he exclaim'd, " Why longer should I strive?
Why more amass, who never must behold
A young John Dighton to make glad the old ?"
(The sons he had to early graves were gone,
And girls were burdens to the mind of John.)
"Had I a boy, he would our name sustain,
That now to nothing must return again;
But what are all my profits, credit, trade,
And parish honours ?-folly and parade.'
Thus Dighton thought, and in his looks appear'd
Sadness, increased by much he saw and heard?
The Brethren often at the shop would stay,
And make their comments ere they walk'd away;
They mark'd the window, fill'd in every pane
With lawless prints of reputations slain;
Distorted forms of men with honours graced,
And our chief rulers in dirision placed:
Amazed they stood, remembering well the days
When to be humble was their brother's praise;
When at the dwelling of their friend they stopp'd;
To drop a word, or to receive it dropp'd;
Where they beheld the prints of men renown'd
And far-famed preachers pasted all around
(Such mouths! eyes! hair! so prim! so fierce! so sleek!
They look'd as speaking what is woe to speak):
On these the passing brethren loved to dwell-
How long they spake! how strongly! warmly! well!
What power had each to dive in mysteries deep,
To warm the cold, to make the harden'd weep;
To lure, to fright, to soothe, to awe the soul,
And list'ning flocks to lead and to control!
But now discoursing, as they linger'd near,
They tempted John (whom they accused) to hear
Their weighty charge-" And can the lost one feel,
As in the time of duty, love, and zeal;
When all were summon'd at the rising sun,
And he was ready with his friends to run;
When he, partaking with a chosen few,
Felt the great change, sensation rich and new?
No! all is lost; her favours Fortune shower'd
Upon the man, and he is overpower'd ;
The world has won him with its tempting store
Of needless wealth, and that has made him poor:
Success undoes him; he has risen to fall,
Has gain'd a fortune, and has lost his all;
Gone back from Sion, he will find his age
Loth to commence a second pilgrimage;
He has retreated from the chosen track,
And now must ever bear the burden on his back."
Hurt by such censure, John began to find
Fresh revolutions working in his mind;
He sought for comfort in his books, but read
Without a plan or method in his head;
What once amused, now rather made him sad;
What should inform, increased the doubts he had;
Shame would not let him seek at Church a guide,
And from his Meeting he was held by pride;
His wife derided fears she never felt,
And passing brethren daily censures dealt;
Hope for a son was now for ever past,
He was the first John Dighton and the last;
His stomach fail'd, his case the doctor knew,
But said," he still might hold a year or two."
"No more!" he said; " but why should I complain,
A life of doubt must be a life of pain:
Could I be sure-but why should I despair?
I'm sure my conduct has been just and fair
In youth, indeed, I had a wicked will,
But I repented, and have sorrow still:
I had my comforts, and a growing trade
Gave greater pleasure than a fortune made,
And as I more possess 'd, and reason'd more.
I lost those comforts I enjoy'd before,
When reverend guides I saw my table round,
And in my guardian guest my safety found:
Now sick and sad, no appetite, no ease,
Nor pleasures have I, nor a wish to please;
Nor views, nor hopes, nor plans, nor taste have I;
Yet, sick of life, have no desire to die."
He said, and died: his trade, his name is gone,
And all that once gave consequence to John.
Unhappy Dighton! had he found a friend When conscience told him it was time to mendA friend descreet, considerate, kind, sincere, Who would have shown the grounds of hope and foar, And proved that spirits, whether high or low, No certain tokens of man's safety showHad Reason ruled him in her proper place, And Virtue led him while he lean'd on graceHad he while zealous been discreet and pure, His knowledge humble, and his hope secure ;These guides had placed him on the solid rock, Where Faith had rested, nor received a shock; But his, alas! was placed upon the sand,
Where long it stood not, and where none can stand.
Whose nature is so far from doing harms,
That he suspects none; on whose foolish honesty
My practice may ride easy.
He lets me feed with hinds,
Bars me the place of brother.
'Twas I, but 'tis not I: I do not shame
To tell you what I was, being what I am.-As You Like It.
THAN old George Fletcher, on the British coast
Dwelt not a seaman who had more to boast:
Kind. simple, and sincere-he seldom spoke,
But sometimes sang and chorus'd-" Hearts of oak!
In dangers steady, with his lot content,
His days in labour and in love were spent.
He left a Son so like him, that the old
With joy exclaim'd, ""Tis Fletcher we behold;"
But to his Brother, when the kinsmen came
And view'd his form, they grudged the father's namo.
George was a bold, intrepid, careless lad,
With just the failings that his father had;
Isaac was weak, attentive, slow, exact,
With just the virtues that his father lack'd.
George lived at sea: upon the land a guest-
He sought for recreation, not for rest;
While, far unlike, his brother's feebler form
Shrank from the cold, and shudder'd at the storm;
Still with the Seaman's to connect his trade,
The boy was bound where blocks and ropes were made.
George, strong and sturdy, had a tender mind,
And was to Isaac pitiful and kind;
A very father, till his art was gain'd,
And then a friend unwearied he remain'd;
He saw his brother was of spirit low,
His temper peevish, and his motions slow;
Not fit to bustle in a world, or make
Friends to his fortune for his merit's sake;
But the kind sailor could not boast the art
Of looking deeply in the human heart;
Else had he seen that this weak brother knew
What men to court-what objects to pursue;
That he to distant gain the way discern'd,
And none so crooked but his genius learn'd
Isaac was poor, and this the brother felt;
He hired a house, and there the Landman dwelt,
Wrought at his trade, and had an easy home,
For there would George with cash and comforts come
And when they parted, Isaac look'd around
Where other friends and helpers might be found.
He wish'd for some port-place, and one might fall,
He wisely thought, if he should try for all;
He had a vote-and were it well applied,
Might have its worth-and he had views beside;
Old Burgess Steel was able to promote
An humble man who served him with a vote;
For Isaac felt not what some tempers feel,
But bow'd and bent the neck to Burgess Steel;
And great attention to a lady gave,
His ancient friend, a maiden spare and grave;
One whom the visage long and look demure
Of Isaac pleased-he seem'd sedate and pure;
And his soft heart conceived a gentle flame
For her who waited on this virtuous dame.
Not an outrageous love, a scorching fire,
But friendly liking and chastised desire;
And thus he waited, patient in delay,
In present favour and in fortune's way.
George then was coasting-war was yet delay'd,
And what he gain'd was to his brother paid;
Nor ask'd the Seaman what he saved or spent,
But took his grog, wrought hard, and was content;
Till war awaked the land, and George began
To think what part became a useful man:
"Press'd, I must go: why, then, 'tis better far
At once to enter like a British tar,
Than a brave captain and the foe to shun,
As if I fear'd the music of a gun."
"Go not!" said Isaae-" you shall wear disguise."
"What!" said the Seaman, " clothe myself with lies!"
"Oh! but there's danger." -"Danger in the fleet?
You cannot mean, good brother, of defeat;
And other dangers I at land must share-
So now adieu! and trust a brother's care."
Isaac awhile demurr'd-but, in his heart,
So might he share, he was disposed to part:
The better mind will sometimes feel the pain
Of benefactions-favour is a chain;
But they the feeling scorn, and what they wish, disdain,
While beings form'd in coarser mould will hate
The helping hand they ought to venerate:
No wonder George should in this cause prevail,
With one contending who was glad to fail:
"Isaac, farewell! do wipe that doleful eye;
Crying we came, and groaning we may die;
Let us do something 'twixt the groan and cry:
And hear me, brother, whether pay or prize,
One half to thee I give and I devise ;
For thou hast oft occasion for the aid
Of learn'd physicians, and they will be paid;
Their wives and children men support at sea,
And thou, my lad, art wife and child to me:
Farewell! I go where hope and honour call,
Nor does it follow that who fights must fall"
Isaac here made a poor attempt to speak,
And a huge tear moved slowly down his cheek ;
Like Pluto's iron drop, hard sign of grace,
It slowly roll'd upon the rueful face,
Forced by the striving will alone its way to trace.
Years fled-war lasted-George at sea remain'd,
While the slow Landman still his profits gain'd:
An humble place was vacant-he besought
His patron's interest, and the office caught;
For still the Virgin was his faithful friend,
And one so sober could with truth commend,
Who of his own defects most humbly thought,
And their advice with zeal and reverence sought:
Whom thus the Mistress praised, the Maid approved,
And her he wedded whom he wisely loved.
No more he needs assistance-but, alas!
He fears the money will for liquor pass;
Or that the Seaman might to flatterers lend,
Or give support to some pretended friend:
Still he must write-he wrote, and he confess'd
That, till absolved, he should be sore distress'd;
But one so friendly would, he thought, forgive
The hasty deed-Heav'n knew how he should live;
"But you," he added, "as a man of sense,
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