"Uncle will die!" said George-the piteous Wife Exclaim'd," she saw no value in his life; "But, sick or well, to my commands attend, "And go no more to your complaining Friend.” The Boy was vex'd, he felt his heart reprove The stern decree.-What! punish'd for his love! No! he would go, but softly to the room, Stealing in silence-for he knew his doom.

Once in a week the Father came to say,
"George, are you ill?”—and hurried him away;
Yet to his Wife would on their duties dwell,
And often cry, "Do use my Brother well:"
And something kind, no question, Isaac meant,
Who took vast credit for the

vague

intent.

But truly kind, the gentle Boy essay'd To cheer his Uncle, firm, although afraid; But now the Father caught him at the door, And, swearing-yes, the Man in Office swore, And cried, "Away! How! Brother, I'm surprised, "That one so old can be so ill advised:

"Let him not dare to visit you again,

"Your cursed stories will disturb his brain;

"Is it not vile to court a foolish boy,

"Your own absurd narrations to enjoy?

"What! sullen!-ha! George Fletcher? you shall see, "Proud as you are, your bread depends on me!"

He spoke, and, frowning, to his dinner went, Then cool'd and felt some qualms of discontent; And thought on times when he compell'd his Son To hear these stories, nay, to beg for one: But the Wife's wrath o'ercame the Brother's pain, And shame was felt, and Conscience rose in vain.

George yet stole up, he saw his uncle lie Sick on the bed, and heard his heavy sigh: So he resolved, before he went to rest,

To comfort one so dear and so distress'd;

Then watch'd his time, but with a child-like art, Betray'd a something treasured at his heart: Th' observant Wife remark'd, "the Boy is grown "So like your Brother, that he seems his own; "So close and sullen! and I still suspect

They often meet-do watch them and detect."

George now remark'd that all was still as night, And hasten'd up with terror and delight; "Uncle!" he cried, and softly tapp'd the door; "Do let me in"-but he could add no more;

The careful Father caught him in the fact, And cried," You serpent! is it thus you act? "Back to your Mother !"—and, with hasty blow, He sent th' indignant Boy to grieve below; Then at the door an angry speech began"Is this your conduct?—is it thus you plan? "Seduce my child, and make my house a scene "Of vile dispute—What is it that you mean?— George, are you dumb? do learn to know your friends,

"And think awhile on whom your bread depends: "What! not a word? be thankful I am cool—

"But, Sir, beware, nor longer play the fool; "Come! Brother, come! what is it that

you seek "By this rebellion?-Speak, you villain, speak!— Weeping! I warrant-sorrow makes you dumb: "I'll ope your mouth, impostor! if I come :

"Let me approach-I'll shake you from the bed, "You stubborn dog-Oh God! my Brother's dead!"

Timid was Isaac, and in all the past He felt a purpose to be kind at last; Nor did he mean his Brother to depart,

Till he had shown this kindness of his heart:

But day by day he put the cause aside,
Induced by av'rice, peevishness, or pride.

But now awaken'd, from this fatal time
His conscience Isaac felt, and found his crime:
He raised to George a monumental stone,
And there retired to sigh and think alone;

An ague seized him, he grew pale, and shook—

So," said his Son, "would my poor Uncle look." "And so, my Child, shall I like him expire."

"No! you have physic and a cheerful fire."

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Unhappy sinner! yes, I'm well supplied "With every comfort my cold heart denied." He view'd his Brother now, but not as one Who vex'd his Wife by fondness for her Son; Not as with wooden limb, and seaman's tale, The odious pipe, vile grog, or humbler ale: He now the worth and grief alone can view Of one so mild, so generous, and so true; "The frank, kind Brother, with such open heart, "And I to break it- -'twas a Dæmon's part!"

So Isaac now, as led by conscience, feels, Nor his unkindness palliates or conceals; "This is your folly," said his heartless Wife: "Alas! my folly cost my Brother's life;

VOL. II.

"It suffer'd him to languish and decay,

"My gentle Brother, whom I could not pay,

"And therefore left to pine, and fret his life away.”

He takes his Son, and bids the boy unfold All the good Uncle of his feelings told,

All he lamented—and the ready tear

Falls as he listens, soothed, and grieved to hear.

"Did he not curse me, Child?”. "He never

cursed,

"But could not breathe, and said his heart would burst:"

"And so will mine:"-" Then, Father, you must

66

pray;

My Uncle said it took his pains away."

Repeating thus his sorrows, Isaac shows That he, repenting, feels the debt he owes, And from this source alone his every comfort flows. He takes no joy in office, honours, gain;

They make him humble, nay, they give him pain;

"These from my heart," he cries, "all feeling drove ;

They made me cold to nature, dead to love:"

He takes no joy in home, but sighing, sees

A Son in sorrow, and a Wife at ease;