That stamp which heav'n in bounty gave,
To mark the gen'rous, mild, and brave;
And meant as a peculiar grace

To dignify all human race;

Deny'd to brutes, by nature's plan,
And only to be seen in man;
To pride, an utter stranger grown,
To folly and her sons unknown,
Is, by the temper of the times,
Become the very worst of crimes;
Instead of serving to adorn,
Subjects but to contempt and scorn;
Esteem'd, at every hour and place,
A mark of folly, a disgrace

To manhood, and a fault, proceeding
Merely thro' want of sense and breeding.
Now trust me, 'tis absurd to dream

Of striving against fashion's stream;

The vilest puppy in the nation

Will thrust you back, and seize your station.

Be bold; blush not, but be advis'd,

Or tamely bear to be despised.

On barefac'd impudence depend,
And know her for your firmest friend :
Experience, ev'ry hour may teach,
That all things lie within her reach;
She gives, at once, both sense and spirit,
And bears down-modesty and merit,
To dinners fly for your defence,
Pay small regard to men of sense;
When men of sense to law proceed,
The case is pitiful indeed,

And you may swear, that nothing less
Than mere necessity must press.
If, then, you stand in need of tools,
By all means fasten upon fools;
For, while you live, you may depend,
A fool will prove your greatest friend.
Let all your cunning be applied
To pry into his weakest side;
Then soothe his darling passion still,
And you may mould him to your will.
A client comes to take advice,
By no means let him ask you twice;
No doubt or diffidence express,
But at all hazards, boldly guess;
Be quick, and solve the point at once,
Else he will take you for a dunce:
A clearer case you never knew,
He must his remedy pursue;
He cannot fail, in such an action,
To gain most ample satisfaction;
A verdict, and without dispute,
His damages, with costs of suit.

Thus lead him to your gulph profound,

(That gulph where thousands have been drown'd!)

His spirits fire, dispel his fears,

And souse him over head and ears:

Nor will it signify a groat,

Whether the carcase sink or float:

To you the consequence is small,

You need not be concern'd at all;
For should, by some unlucky flaws,

You (blundering) lose your client's cause;

And he, his expectations cross'd,
Be bound to answer to the cost,
Again to impudence resort,

Lay all the blame upon the court :
Rise up, and in a horrid fury,
Curse judge, and evidence, and jury!
You, if the point were fairly tried,
Had law and justice on your side;
"Twas very hard, but (fire your blood),
You did as much as mortals cou'd.
You thus all censure will confound,
Your credit shall be safe and sound;
You still shall be reputed clever,
And get as many fees as ever:
And, should that busy meddling guest,
That bugbear in the coward's breast,
That beggar, who sometimes (by stealth)
Will visit e'en the sons of wealth,
But wandering far above her sphere,
She seldom finds a refuge there,

Gall'd Conscience, dare (without your leave)
To come and pluck you by the sleeve;
With such a wretch disclaim alliance,
And boldly set her at defiance.

Shall Conscience at your elbow stand,
And from the fee withhold your hand?
When clients crowd, shall she, unseen,
Step in and thrust herself between?
Tell her, she much her man mistakes,
You credit not one word she speaks.
Contempt and poverty her lot,
Bid her begone—you know her not;
Bid her to women and to fools
Deal out her antiquated rules;
Or haunt the cottage of the poor;
Or knock at superstition's door:
These she may scare, but men of law,
Are much too wise to stand in awe,
Well knowing, he who wears her chains,
Must die a beggar for his pains:
Foe to your peace, and int'rest too,
She's no fit company for you;
For you, whose study, to a man,
Must be get money-how you can.
In company prate much, and loud,
Be stupid, positive, and proud;
Put on a most important face,
And swear with a becoming grace;
Tis a sure evidence of breeding,
This, ev'ry coxcomb has agreed in:
An oath, when sense is at a stand,
Will still be ready to your hand;
At every pause will help you out,
And fill up ev'ry blank of thought.
Your argument by no means quit,
T'will blast your credit to submit.
What tho' the foe should press too hard,
Take courage, stand upon your guard;
Call Froth and Fury to your aid,
And Impudence, all pow'rful maid!
You conq'ring Impudence will shield,
And bear with honor from the field;
Sense, Wit, and Truth before her fall;
In short, she tramples upon all.

EDGAR.

THE LOVES OF EDWARD BROWNE AND ELLEN, OF SCORESBY HALL.

AUTUMNAL delights, harvest pleasures, and rural festivities, had surrounded the “Hall of Scoresby," when one Edward Browne, habited in a shepherd's dress-a kind of pea-green jacket-his throat a-la Byron, and a “staff with an ivory crook," the very antipodes of poetry and romanceappeared at the door. His countenance had an expression completely at war with his appearance; it was really noble, and taken individually gave an idea of high birth, and superior station. His features were regular and manly, his brow lofty, and shaded by thick glossy curls: and the young ladies of the family were induced to imagine that he was some runaway youth, who had come to offer his services by way of a frolic. That he did offer his assistance that he entered the family of the Scoresby's-that he became a general favourite with every member, is "most clear." Dubious conjectures veiled, at this time, his proper character. Ellen, a lovely girl of seventeen, scrutinized every action, and really had many complaints to make against him; but yet it was rather singular, she always took his part when her father, or any of the family, found fault with him, and blushed most bewitchingly when they expressed their approbation at his conduct.

Edward was rather partial, at the close of the day, to saunter by an adjoining wood, and exercise his little pipe, on which he performed very creditably. On these occasions Ellen was very anxious, being uncommonly fond of music, to take a stroll with her sisters; and although they liked music very well, they never seemed so much disappointed as she did, when they missed hearing him, or the weather prevented him from following the bent of his inclination.-Ellen, independent of being a very smart housewife, had a relish for more elegant accomplishments; and, for an amateur, painted very pretty flowers and landscapes.

I must not forget to speak of the view behind her father's house, with the river meandering through his meadow; the village spire peeping above the rising corn-fields, and the whole bounded by the sombre wood. No wonder, then, that Ellen should have thought so charming a spot would make a pretty drawing; and accordingly she took it into her head to take a sketch from a little summer-house, in which she and her sisters were accustomed to spend part of their afternoons. The wood, and the meadow, and river, were already committed to the paper, when she remembered that the most delightful landscape was incomplete without a human figure. She first drew some cattle, then a dog; and at last appeared, by the side of the wood, a shepherd; and what was very singular, he seemed playing on a flageolet. She had proceeded so far when, being called away, she left the drawing on the table, where she had been sketching it. The next day, on returning to finish her performance, she was most agreeably surprised to find some one had saved her the trouble, the outlines were filled up, and all the colours looked more glowing; it was evidently finished by a masterly hand, particularly the figure of the shepherd, who strongly reminded her, as she told her sisters, of some one she had seen before, but could not tell whom. "Don't you think it is a little like Edward Browne?" asked Mary, with an arch look. Ellen did not dare to reply, or look up, but hid her face blushingly in her sister's bosom. Why, or wherefore, I cannot tell, but certainly it was a curious thing, as none of the family could

draw, how the piece should get finished. Mary herself marvelled, although a girl of much acuteness.

What communication afterwards passed between the sisters we were not fortunate enough to be made acquainted with. They seemed rather reserved towards each other, but still were as tender and affectionate as ever. Edward, in the meantime, got a prodigious favourite with all the family. Mr. Snowdon, at the solicitation of Jack, made him his game-keeper, as he was fond of piping in the woods, and using his fowling-piece. And Henry had him to read for the purpose of improving his Cacology, as Lord Daberley would say. Things went on in this manner for the space of two or three months, when one morning, breakfast having waited a considerable time, Charles noticed that Ellen had not come down; and her brothers and sisters having expressed their astonishment at her laziness, as she was always one of the first, one of them went and tapped at her door. To his surprise, no one answered; he then went into the room, but could see nothing of her; the bird had evidently flown: upon his mentioning it to the family, they thought she had gone to visit one of her pensioners in the neighbouring cottage, as she frequently did for a walk; but breakfast was concluded without her appearance:-another hour elapsed, and they were under some alarm. The brothers went to all the cottages, but she had not been seen: becoming rather fearful, they determined to get their horses, and scour the neighbourhood. However, they thought it was nothing more than a girlish trick of the lovely Ellen, and expected they should only get laughed at by her on her return. Edward, or Mr. Browne, as he was now called, whose advice was asked on all occasions, was now sent for: but, wonder upon wonder, he was no where to be found. This looked amazingly odd, but none suspected, or seemed to suspect; any thing, Ellen was such a good-hearted girl, whose very happiness consisted in obeying implicitly her father, and obliging her sisters. While Edward was so trust-worthy, and honest, and of so honourable a mind, and withal so grateful, and had the interest of the family so much at heart, that all the brothers would have knocked each other down, rather than suspect his integrity. In this doubting and anxiety, determining and undetermining, they remained for some time.

A letter, delivered by a labourer, soon after their disappearance, in some measure dispelled the mystery. The brothers of Ellen swore a number of most gentlemanly oaths, and bestowed a variety of friendly wishes, which had the party they were directed to heard, he would not have felt himself in the least obliged, and the sisters shed many tears. Mr. Snowdon said but little, it was evident he felt more. The fact was, Ellen's heart had long since told her, that although Edward was much beneath her in point of rank, yet he was so handsome, so enthusiastic, and played so charmingly, and drew so delightfully, it was a mistake of nature, or at least of fortune, in making him a ploughman, when she evidently intended him for an accomplished gentleman.

It was discovered, shortly after the note was delivered, that a ladder was found against Ellen's window, and that it was, moreover, open when her brother entered the room, which circumstance he had forgotten before to mention. This was indeed the mode of escape, that the young couple adopted. The time was the break of day, and as they had no conveyance whatever, they had to walk till they reached the high road, when they mounted a stage coach which was passing, Edward disguised in a soldier's

302 THE LOVES OF EDWARD BROWNE AND ELLEN, OF SCORESBY HALL.

jacket, and his bride in an old red cloak. They travelled upwards of fifty miles, by a very circuitous road, till they arrived at a small village. Edward seemed to be remarkably well acquainted with the old couple at whose cottage they stopped, and who received Ellen most kindly. The happy bridegroom, having already obtained a licence, the ceremony was fixed for the next day, the old cottager having most joyfully agreed to give the bride away. This event accordingly took place, Ellen having willingly cut off her long hair, although she kept a few ringlets uninjured, because Edward had always admired them so much; and was married in such a dress as became a labourer's wife.

We had the good fortune to be among the first who visited the new married pair, and although previously we had always held love in a cottage in supreme contempt, yet we saw so much of it here as excited our admiration we were near saying, envy.

Edward, from being a very industrious young man, got so partial to his wife's society, with playing and drawing, as to do little or no work, save keeping their garden in order, and occasionally selling roots and vegetables to the neighbouring gentleman; but this seemed more for the sake of keeping up some ostensible employment, than through necessity. Edward also became reserved and dejected, and although he treated his wife with as much tenderness as ever, she could not but be affected, and anxiously enquired the cause. He told her the state of his finances was low, and began upbraiding himself that he had been the means of taking her from the enjoyment of every luxury and comfort, to share in his wants and privations. His angel wife checked him, by throwing herself across his bosom and declaring, that with him a crust and a draught of water, with the roof of a hovel over her head, would be a heaven in his company; while without him, all the luxuries and comforts on earth could have no charms; as long as he was contented, she would share his difficulties and hardships.

Edward proposed to her that they should leave their present abode, and seek for employment, as the spring had far advanced, at a farmer's he knew something of, many miles distant. She joyfully assented, and they accordingly set forward; Edward had made a friend of a young man, who volunteered a cart to convey his wife, who could not in her then situation bear much fatigue. They were put down at the entrance of a large town, in going through which, Ellen remarked, for the first time, something odd in her husband's conduct, who pulled his hat before his eyes, and avoided all the public streets.

When they had got out of the town, they found themselves in the grounds of a noble mansion; and to which Edward fearlessly bent his steps, saying, he knew the servants, who would get them some refreshment." And now, my dearest Ellen," said he, in a tone betwixt gaiety and gravity, "I have a request to make, which is, that you do every thing that may be required of you." His wife cheerfully assented, as all good wives should, and they soon entered the mansion, which was the noblest Ellen had ever seen! Servants out of number were flitting about in rich liveries, some of whom seemed to recognize Edward as an old acquaintance.

They walked on through a variety of splendid rooms, till he desired his wife to sit down, and remember her promise, and he would return immediately. The poor girl, completely bewildered, acquiesced. had scarcely been left alone a minute, before a respectable aged female,

She