“Heirs! said the idiots ?"—and again that clause
In the strange Will corrected their applause,

Prophetic fears! for now reports arose
That spoil'd "his Honour's" comforts and repose.
A stout young Sailor, though in battle maim'd,
Arrived in port, and his possessions claim'd.
The Will he read: he stated his demand,
And his attorney grasp'd at house and land.
The Will provided-"If my son survive,
He shall inherit!" and lo! Jack's alive!
Yes! he was that lost lad, preserved by fate,
And now was bent on finding his estate.
But claim like this the angry James denied,
And to the law the sturdy heir applied.

James did what men when placed like him would
do-

Avow'd his right, and fee'd his lawyer too:
The Will, indeed, provided for a son;

But was this Sailor youth the very one?

Ere Jack's strong proofs in all their strength
were shown,

To gain a part James used a milder tone;
But the instructed tar would reign alone.

At last he reign'd: to James a large bequest
Was frankly dealt; the Seaman had the rest-
Save a like portion to the gentle Niece,

Who lived in comfort, and regain'd her peace.
In her neat room her talent she employ'd,
With more true peace than ever James enjoy'd.
The young, the aged, in her praise agreed-
Meek in her manner, bounteous in her deed;
The very children their respect avow'd:
""T was the good lady," they were told and bow'd.

The merry Seaman much the maid approved,—
Nor that alone-he like a seaman loved;
Loved as a man who did not much complain,
Loved like a sailor, not a sighing swain;
Had heard of wooing maids, but knew not how-
"Lass, if you love me, prithee tell me now,"
Was his address-but this was nothing cold-
“Tell if you love me;" and she smiled and told.

He brought her presents, such as sailors buy,
Glittering like gold, to please a maiden's eye,
All silk, and silver, fringe and finery;
These she accepted in respect to him,
And, thought but little of the missing limb.
Of this he told her, for he loved to tell
A warlike tale, and judged he told it well:-
“You mark me, love! the French were two to one,
And so, you see, they were asham'd to run; '
We fought an hour; and then there came the shot
That struck me here-a man must take his lot;-
A minute after, and the Frenchman struck:
One minute sooner had been better luck;
But if you can a crippled cousin like,
You ne'er shall see him for a trifle strike."

Patty, whose gentle heart was not so nice
As to reject the thought of loving twice,
Judged her new Cousin was by nature kind,
With no suspicions in his honest mind,
Such as our virtuous ladies now and then
Find strongly floating in the minds of men.

|So they were married, and the lasses vow'd
That Patty's luck would make an angel proud:
"Not but that time would come when she must
prove

|

That men are men, no matter how they love :"-
"And she has proved it; for she finds her man
As kind and true as when their loves began.

James is unhappy; not that he is poor,
But, having much, because he has no more;
Because a rival's pleasure gives him pain;
Because his vices work'd their way in vain ;
And more than these, because he sees the smile
Of a wrong'd woman pitying man so vile.

He sought an office, serves in the excise,
And every wish, but that for wealth, denies;
Wealth is the world to him, and he is worldly wise.
But disappointment in his face appears;

Care and vexation, sad regret and fears

Have fix'd on him their fangs, and done the work
of years.

Yet grows he wealthy in a strange degree,
And neighbours wonder how the fact can be:
He lives alone, contracts a sordid air,
And sees with sullen grief the cheerful pair;
Feels a keen pang, as he beholds the door
Where peace abides, and mutters,—“ I am poor !"

TALE XXII.

PREACHING AND PRACTICE.

[Farewell and Return.]

I.

P. WHAT I have ask'd are questions that relate
To those once known, that I might learn their fate.
But there was ONE, whom though I scarcely knew,
Much do I wish to learn his fortunes too.
Yet what expect?—He was a rich man's Heir,
His conduct doubtful, but his prospects fair;
Thoughtless and brave, extravagant and gay,
Wild as the wind, and open as the day;
His freaks and follies were a thousand times
|Brought full in view: I heard not of his crimes.
Like our Prince Hal, his company he chose
Among the lawless, of restraint the foes;
He was not, rumour said, their victim-dupe.
But though to their poor pleasures he could stoop,

His mother's Sister was a maiden prim,
Pious and poor, and much in debt to him.
This she repaid with volumes of reproof,
And sage advice, till he would cry "Enough!"

His father's Brother no such hints allow'd,-
Peevish and rich, and insolent and proud,
Of stern, strong spirit: Him the youth withstood
At length, "Presume not (said he) on our blood;
Treat with politeness him whom you advise,
Nor think I fear your doting prophecies ;"

1

66

Nay, for I hold thee stranger to my blood.”-
"Then must I treat thee as a stranger would:
For if you throw the tie of blood aside,
You must the roughness of your speech abide."

"What! to your father's Brother do you give A challenge?-Mercy! in what times we live!"

Now, I confess, the youth who could supply
Thus that poor Spinster, and could thus defy
This wealthy Uncle :—who could mix with them
Whom his strong sense and feeling must condemn,
And in their follies his amusement find,
Yet never lose the vigour of his mind-
A youth like this, with much we must reprove,
Had something still to win esteem and love.
Perhaps he lives not; but he seem'd not made
To pass through life entirely in the shade.

F-Suppose you saw him,-does your mind re-
tain

So much, that you would know the man again?
Yet hold in mind, he may have felt the press
Of grief or guilt, the withering of distress;
He now may show the stamp of wo and pain,
And nothing of his lively cast remain.

Survey these features-see if nothing there
May old impressions on your mind repair!
Is there not something in this shatter'd frame
Like to that-

P.-No! not like it, but the same; That eye so brilliant, and that smile so gay, Are lighted up, and sparkle through decay.

But may I question? Will you that allow? There was a difference, and there must be now; And yet, permitted, I would gladly hear

The rest was flown, I speak it with remorse,
And now a pistol seem'd a thing in course.

But though its precepts I had not obey'd,
Thoughts of my Bible made me much afraid
Of such rebellion, and though not content,
I must live on when life's supports were spent;
Nay, I must eat, and of my frugal Aunt
Must grateful take what gracious she would grant;
And true, she granted, but with much discourse;
Oh! with what words did she her sense enforce!
Great was her wonder, in my need that I
Should on the prop myself had raised rely—
I, who provided for her in my care,

"Must be assured how little she could spare!"

I stood confounded, and with angry tone,
With rage and grief, that blended oath and groan,
I fled her presence-yet I saw her air
Of resignation, and I heard her prayer;

'Now Heaven," she utter'd, "make his burden light!"

And I, in parting, cried, "Thou Hypocrite!"

But I was wrong-she might have meant to pray;

Though not to give her soul-her cash-away.

Of course, my Uncle would the spendthrift shun,
So friends on earth I now could reckon none.

One morn I rambled, thinking of the past,
Far in the country-Did you ever fast
Through a long summer's day? or, sturdy, go
To pluck the crab, the bramble, and the sloe,
The hyp, the cornel, and the beech, the food
And the wild solace of the gypsy brood?
To pick the cress embrown'd by summer sun,
From the dry bed where streams no longer run?
Have you, like school-boy, mingling play and toil,
Dug for the ground-nut, and enjoy'd the spoil?
Or chafed with feverish hand the ripening wheat,
Resolved to fast, and yet compell'd to eat?

Say, did you this, and drink the crystal spring,
And think yourself an abdicated king,
Driven from your state by a rebellious race?
And in your pride contending with disgrace,

What must have pass'd in many a troubled year. Could you your hunger in your anger lose,

FThen hear my tale; but I the price demand;
That understood, I too must understand
Thy wanderings through, or sufferings in the land;
And, if our virtues cannot much produce,
Perhaps our errors may be found of use.

To all the wealth my father's care laid by,
I added wings, and taught it how to fly.
To him that act had been of grievous sight,
But he survived not to behold the flight.
Strange doth it seem to grave and sober minds,
How the dear vice the simple votary blinds,
So that he goes to ruin smoothly on,
And scarcely feels he's going, till he's gone.

I had made over, in a lucky hour,

And call the ills you bear the ways you choose?

Thus on myself depending, I began
To feel the pride of a neglected man ;
Not yet correct, but still I could command
Unshaken nerves, and a determined hand.

"Lo! men at work!" I said, "and I a man
Can work! I feel it is my pride, I can."
This said, I wander'd on, and join'd the poor,
Assumed a labourer's dress and was no more
Than labour made-Upon the road I broke
Stones for my bread, and startled at the stroke;
But every day the labour seem'd more light,
And sounder, sweeter still the sleep of every night.

"Thus will I live," I cried, "nor more return To herd with men, whose love and hate I spurn. All creatures toil; the beast, if tamed or free,

Funds for my Aunt, and placed beyond my power: Must toil for daily sustenance like me;

The feather'd people hunt as well as sing,
And catch their flying food upon the wing.
The fish, the insect, all who live, employ
Their powers to keep on life, or to enjoy,
Their life th' enjoyment; thus will I proceed,
A man from man's detested favours freed."

Another came! "I come," he said, “to show
Your unknown Friend-have you a wish to know?"
Much I desired, and forth we rode, and found
My Uncle dying, but his judgment sound.
The good old man, whom I abused, had been
The guardian power, directing but unseen;
And thus the wild but grateful boy he led

Thus was I reasoning, when at length there To take new motives at his dying bed.

came

A gift, a present, but without a name.

"That Spinster-witch, has she then found a way
To cure her conscience, and her Nephew pay,
And sends her pittance? Well, and let it buy
What sweetens labour; need I this deny?
I thank her not; it is as if I found
The fairy-gift upon this stony ground."

Still I wrought on; again occurred the day,
And then the same addition to my pay.

The rest you judge-I now have all I needAnd now the tale you promised!-Come, proceed.

P.-T is due, I own, but yet in mercy spare:
Alas! no Uncle was my guide-my care
Was all my own; no guardian took a share.
I, like Columbus, for a world unknown-
'T was no great effort-sacrificed my own-
My own sad world, where I had never seen
The earth productive, or the sky serene.

But this is past-and I at length am come

Then, lo! another Friend, if not the same, For that I knew not, with a message came"Canst keep accounts ?" the man was pleased to To see what changes have been wrought at home;

ask

"I could not cash!-but that the harder task."
"Yet try," he said; and I was quickly brought,
To Lawyer Snell, and in his office taught.
Not much my pay, but my desires were less,
And I for evil days reserved th' excess.

Such day occurr'd not; quickly came there one,
When I was told my present work was done :
My Friend then brought me to a building large,
And gave far weightier business to my charge.
'There I was told I had accounts to keep,

Of those vast Works, where wonders never sleep,
Where spindles, bobbins, rovings, threads, and pins,
Made up the complex mass that ever spins.

There at my desk, in my six feet of room,

I noted every power of every loom;

Happy in this, that I can set me down
At worst a stranger in my native town.

F-Then be it so! but mean you not to show
How time has pass'd? for we expect to know;
And if you tell not, know you we shall trace
Your movements for ourselves from place to place,
Shall be the food for our remark and spleen.
Your wants, your wishes, all you've sought or seen,

So, warn'd in time, the real page unfold,
And let the Truth, before the Lie, be told.

P.-This might be done; but wonders I have

none;

All my adventures are of Self alone.

F. What then? I grant you, if your way was clear,

All smooth and right-We've no desire to hear;

Sounds of all kinds I heard from mortal lungs-But if you 've lewd and wicked things to tell,
Eternal battle of unwearied tongues,
The jar of men and women, girls and boys,
And the huge Babel's own dull whirring grinding

Low passions, cruel deeds, nay crimes-'t is well:
Who would not listen ?-

noise.

My care was mark'd, and I had soon in charge
Important matters, and my pay was large.
I at my fortune marvell'd; it was strange,
And so the outward and the inward change,
Till to the power who "gives and takes away"
I turn'd in praise, and taught my soul to pray.

P.-Hark! I hear the bell.
It calls to dinner with inviting sound,
And can behold and share the glad repast,
For now we know where dinners may be found,

Without a dread that we behold our last.

F-Come then, shy friend, let doleful subjects

cease,

And thank our God that we can dine in peace.

THE END OF CRABBE'S POEMS.

THE

POETICAL WORKS

OF

REGINALD HEBER, D. D.

LORD BISHOP OF CALCUTTA.