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 THEODORE; 
 
 OR, THE 
 
 GAMESTER'S PROGRESS. 
 
 A POETIC TALE. 
 
 PRINiKI) ^wR :-KA . !S WESTLEY, 
 W, Utationcra' Couri, Ludyute Street. 
 
 1824. 
 
 iA
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 I
 
 " Whi-n she- turn'd her bi>ad. 
 A Mail, in hidroiis mask, and ju-nid ajipcard 
 To lirr afftij^-htcd vior."
 
 M'' 
 
 IHEODORE ; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE GAMESTER'S PROGRESS. 
 
 ^ poetic Zalt. 
 
 WITHOUT A UEDICATION :- 
 
 WITHOUT A PATRON S NAMR TO STAMP ITS WORTH. 
 
 Oft tho' Wisdom wake, Suspicion sleeps 
 
 At Wisdom's gate, and to Simplicity 
 
 Resigns her charge ; while Goodness thinks no ill 
 
 Where no ill seems. Milton. 
 
 They say best men are moulded out of faults. 
 
 And, for the most, become much more the better 
 
 For being a little bad. Shakspeare. 
 
 LONDON : 
 [PRINTED FOR FRANCIS WESTLEY, 
 
 STATIONEKS'-COt'RT, AND AVF.-MARIA-LANE. 
 
 1824.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 -llliCKl-LI. tVU ARBUVTSMITH, JUIIS'SOS'a COURT, FLK lil -tTRK KT.
 
 PR. 
 S 3^^ 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 The following poetic tale was published some 
 years ago, and obtained a very considerable de- 
 gree of popularity. The simplicity of its style 
 — the purity of its sentiments — ^but more espe- 
 cially the fidelity with which it depicts the 
 debasing and awful consequences of gaming, 
 are the principal reasons for its being published 
 in its present form ; in the hope that the young 
 and the thoughtless may be deterred from a 
 vice which has brought thousands to an igno- 
 minious end. 
 
 5712^
 
 PART I. 
 
 A 2
 
 Whoe'er amidst the sons 
 Of reason, valor, liherty, and virtoe, 
 UUplayB distinguish'd merit, is a noble 
 Of Nature's own creating. 
 
 Thornton. 
 
 Have I then no tears for thee, my father? 
 Can I forget thy cares ? from licl|il.-.-s years 
 Thy tenderness for me? an eye still beam'd 
 With love ? a brow that never new a frown ? 
 Nor a harsh word thy tongue ? Shall I for these 
 Repay thy stooping venerable age 
 With shame, disquiet, anguish and dishonor? 
 
 TUoTMon.
 
 THEODORE, &c. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 Reader, if ever from thy gentle breast 
 The sweetly mournful sigh of pity stole, 
 If ever mild compassion's tribute dim'd 
 The lustre of thine eye, O list awhile ! 
 And while I sing, be nature uncontroll'd. 
 Check not the soft emotion of the soul 
 At sorrow's tale, and at the tale of Love, 
 Rewarded by reciprocal esteem. 
 Make sympathy thy bosom's tender guest. 
 Should disobedience, (source of countless ills!j 
 Or discontent, or fury, claim the strain. 
 And thou with horror listen to the lay ; 
 Still be it so : soon shall the artless tale 
 (Repaying ev'ry pang thou hast sustain'd) 
 Change sorrow's bitter tears to tears of bliss. 
 Say, hast thou seen the elements at war ; 
 Arm'd with destructive force, and mighty rage. 
 Threat devastation to the mral scene 
 Sacred to irmocent festivity, 
 On May's approaching season ; every leaf. 
 Each blossom trembling on its tender stalk, 
 A 3
 
 6 TiiEODoKE ; on, 
 
 Ft'aring to be the victim of the storm' 
 
 lUit, all its fury past, did it not yield 
 
 To the mild sunlxam, that with my benign 
 
 Restor'd the fragrance of each drooping plant. 
 
 And render'd them a thousand times more sweet ? 
 
 So with destructive, unrelenting brow. 
 
 Revenge and anger, hatred and despair, 
 
 "With force united, terrors shall excite 
 
 But for a time ; and that but to increase 
 
 The glow of rapture to behold, at last. 
 
 Virtue triumphant o'er its wily foes. 
 
 Amid the splendid scenes where fashion reigns. 
 And all due homage pay to her decrees. 
 There never liv'd a lord of nobler worth 
 Than Mountague. My pen would fain essay 
 To tell his many virtues} but how vain 
 Would be th' attempt to give them all due praise! 
 Yet would 1 not pass o'er, nor wrong that worth 
 I cannot praise enough, still must revere : 
 Then let me sing the dictates of my heart; 
 And tho' the strain be humble, when you hear 
 All that my power (unskilld in flatt'ry's art) 
 Can boast, O think that half remains untold ! 
 The splendid train, and high concerns of state. 
 He long had quitted for retirement's joys; 
 And in the charming village where he dwelt. 
 His mansion claim'd that honourable name, 
 " The seat of English hospitality." 
 And ev'ery one dei)endent on his will.
 
 THE gamester's PROGRESS. 
 
 Would, as he pass'd, with voice that spoke the soiil. 
 
 Hail their dear worthy patron, as the source 
 
 From whence those comforts they experienc'd flow'd. 
 
 He never would refuse a list'ning ear 
 
 At pity's call ; and at the cry of want 
 
 His purse was ever open to relieve. 
 
 Religion was his boast. Oft would he say, 
 
 *' How much more blest than many, sure, am I! 
 
 " And shall not I then render up my thanks 
 
 " Proportion'd to the blessings I receive?" 
 
 Pride never knew his dwelling : kind to all, 
 
 All, whether rich or poor, rejoic'd to see 
 
 A person held throughout the place so dear. 
 
 Friend to his country, loyal to his king. 
 
 He liv'd ; and happily, if ever man 
 
 Could boast of bliss on earth. His character 
 
 In this short sentence might be well exprest ; 
 
 " Friend to the poor ; example to the rich." 
 
 Two sons and one fair daughter, (all his joy !) 
 The remneint of his blooming progeny. 
 Were all that unrelenting death had spar'd. 
 His wife had seen Maria's tender years 
 Advance to ten, and then paid nature's debt : 
 But early were the seeds of virtue sown 
 In this fair creature's breast : her mother's time 
 Was spent in the formation of her mind. 
 To teach her " what was good ;" and to secure 
 A good foundation 'gainst the hapless day 
 That death should snatch her from her daughter's arms.
 
 8 TirEODORK; OR, 
 
 His eldest son (whom, while in infant years. 
 He ever call'd his Httle favourite, 
 And, as he clung about his father's knees. 
 Would st-cin to ask one more parental kissj 
 So early did the seeds of fflial love 
 Appear deep-rooted in his little breast) 
 Had at that time obtain'd his eighteenth year. 
 And shew'd a form adom'd with every grace 
 That bounteous natijre could on man bestow : 
 His mind was fashiun'd from the pious mould 
 Of his beloved parents. To excel 
 In all those virtues which his sire possest. 
 Appeared in Theodore the only wish. 
 But, ah ! ambition, as the eldest son. 
 Made him forget experience could advise: 
 He oft would take amiss instruction giv'n. 
 If not coincident with his desire j 
 And by this fault, credulity became 
 An inmate in an inexperienc'd breast. 
 Fatal companion ! leading hapless youth 
 Through paths that reason would with care avoid. 
 
 Now, my Constantio, now of thee to speak : 
 Thy disposition and thy virtues both 
 Deserve a panegyric greater far 
 Than I dare hope my unskill'd pen can equal. 
 Constantio from his infancy imbib'd 
 A love of solitude : He oft would stray 
 To where the feathcr'd choristers unite 
 To swell the note of grateful melody.
 
 THE GAMESTER S PROGRESS. 
 
 There would reflection fill his mind ; and there 
 
 He'd meditate each swift revolving day, 
 
 On what had yesterday past o'er too quick 
 
 For contemplation. Thither would he lead 
 
 His lovely sister, and to her impart 
 
 The consolation he deriv'd at eve. 
 
 From the sweet thought, that the preceding day 
 
 Had not been spent (as many are) in vain. 
 
 There would he teach her how she might obtain 
 
 Content ; so oft pursu'd, so rarely gain'd ; 
 
 And thus would he enforce the pleasing task. 
 
 " Wovdd you possess tranquillity's delights, 
 
 " And those sweet feelings calm content bestows, 
 
 " Be it thy study ever to oblige ; 
 
 ♦* For, be assur'd, the blessing of content 
 
 *' Arises from beholding those around 
 
 " Possess the smile of mild serenity : 
 
 " Let kind benevolence thy bosom guide ; 
 
 " Seek ev'ry object worthy of thy care ; 
 
 " And in the wound that poverty inflicts, 
 
 " Pour from thy store that comfort thou can'st spare." 
 
 Thus would he teach contentment to obtain. 
 And with such winning language charm her ear ; 
 And yet he lov'd to join his cheerful friends ; 
 But seldom could they bring him to exceed 
 His one allotted glass ; for well he knew 
 How ev'ry one is prelude to the next. 
 When once the bounds of temperance are past. 
 The jovial song, too, would he gladly join,
 
 ^0 THRODORE ; OR, 
 
 When the blythe Ihcine accorded to the ear 
 
 Of harmless mirtli, and strictest decency. 
 
 Courteous (but never free) alike to all. 
 
 He first would strongly mark each little trait 
 
 Which grac'd or sullied any character 
 
 That courted reciprocal esteem ; 
 
 The proffer'd friendship he would nicely try j 
 
 He deem'd it worst of folly to engage 
 
 In bonds so sacred, and which ought to l)e 
 
 So firmly and inviolably kept. 
 
 Without full knowledge of the bosom's guest 
 
 Of him who dares aspire to gain the name, 
 
 *' A steadfast, true, and confidential friend." 
 
 And yet Constantio had a worthy friend ; 
 
 A friend indeed : such noble Seymour was. 
 
 Long had he known him : often had he tried 
 
 His firm fidelity, which yet remain'd 
 
 Unshaken thro' each frequent varied proof. 
 
 To Albert's care had Seymour been bequeathed. 
 
 Albert within an humble cottage liv'd 
 
 Hard by the spot where the sweet shady grove 
 
 Surrounded the superbly rural mansion, 
 
 Chosen by Mountague a fit retreat 
 
 When anxious cares the bosom overwhelm. 
 
 Here had he liv'd for many happy years, 
 
 Instmcting his lov'd pupil how to tread 
 
 The path which leads to honor and renown j 
 
 (He was not so in love with Honor's name, 
 
 Th' assassin's boast, the villain's subterfuge j) 
 
 The principles he studied to instil
 
 THE gamester's PROGRESS. II 
 
 Into his youthful pupil's tender mind, 
 Which might be look'd on as a faithful guide 
 Thro' life's first journey, when each varying scene 
 Makes deep impression on the pliant heart. 
 Albert was universally belov'd: 
 Patron of sorrow's numerous family, 
 He liv'd but to do good. His tale is sad ; 
 Yet must the muse perform the destin'd task. 
 To show how Seymour first became his care; 
 And if the theme of sorrow intervene 
 Too frequent, let compassion drop a tear. 
 Nor grudge the tribute which so grateful yields 
 Sensations sympathy delights to feel. 
 
 In former days, when life was in its spring. 
 He liv'd, like many weak unthinking youth. 
 To fashion and to pleasure; heeding not 
 The fond advice by doating parents given, 
 Which flow'd from bosoms where indulgent love. 
 And anxious wishes for a darling son, 
 Were constant guests. But, ah .' the sneering laugh. 
 The jeers of gay companions overcame. 
 He sacrific'd a father's peace of mind, 
 A mother's kind solicitude, to those 
 Who never knew what soft sensations were ; 
 But, charm'd with the loud rattling of the dice. 
 Devoted every night to play. Alas ! 
 'Twas not the play of mirthfi.il innocence, 
 That cheerfully beguiles a tedious hour ; 
 But, urg'd by an unlawful wish of gain.
 
 12 THEODORR; OR, 
 
 False dice, and other shameful practices 
 Were us'd, the heedless victim to ensnare. 
 They never quaJf 'd the cheerful healthy glass ; 
 But, by the frequent potent dmuj^ht misled. 
 Yielded the bark of reason to the care 
 Of that unsteady pilot Inclination, 
 Who cannot steer betwixt the fatal rocks 
 Of dissipation and extravagance. 
 Unless by prudence guided at the helm. 
 
 On a sad night, when all were loud with mirtli. 
 And wine had elevated ev'ry heart •, 
 When the rude song was chorus'd by them all ; 
 And, as they sat carousing, void of care, 
 The father of the v^retched boy appear'd : 
 He had been told his dear son's fav'rite haunt. 
 And kindly went, hoping he might reclaim 
 An only child, so tenderly belov'd. 
 Soon as he enter'd, ah ! how vast the shock ! 
 Albert arose, and in a furious rage. 
 Bad hira begone, and trouble him no more : 
 When thus the father spake : " My dearest boy, 
 " Chide not an anxious parent, who for you 
 " Has left the social converse of his friends, 
 " To seek thee, where, alas ! I little thought 
 " A son of mine I e'er should have to find : 
 *' Thy interest is next a father's heart ; 
 " It racks me to believe thy words arise 
 " From native feelings. — To the pow'r of wine 
 " I would impute this sad unnat'ral change.
 
 THE gamester's PROGRESS. 13 
 
 " Return with me, my son, while yet I can ; 
 " For sure thy form so alter'd, once so fair, 
 " Would strike that terror to my troubled breast 
 " If I should longer stay, I could no more 
 •' Sustain the wretched load my life would be. 
 " Once more return, my son, and in my arms, 
 " Forget thy gay, thy dissipated train 
 " Of vile associates ; and let them see 
 '* Thy good example, and like thee reform." 
 Then gently, with affectionate regard. 
 Taking his arm, he thought to lead him home : 
 But, oh ! the rebel son, with dreadful oaths. 
 Broke from his hold, and dealt a cruel blow 
 At him who gave him being. On his breast 
 The blow descended, and he left the room. 
 With scarce sufficient strength to crawl along : 
 Yet, as he shut the door, he faintly cry'd, 
 " Can wine thus null fair nature's dearest ties ? 
 " Can it create the son a parricide ? 
 " Ah ! pois'nous stream ! — A son ! — unnat'ral boy ! 
 " Boast not thy triumph, soon will it be o'er : — 
 " That blow has broke my heart : — O God forgive 
 thee!" 
 
 Albert, next morn, at the accustom'd hour, 
 Return'd, and found an unexpected scene ; 
 A scene of mourning, horror, grief unfeign'd. 
 His father lay extended on his couch, 
 With few apparent signs of life : he saw 
 The son to whom he ow'd his inward wound, 
 
 B
 
 14 THRODUIIF. ; OR, 
 
 (For outwartl wounds are as Uie slightest scratch, 
 
 Compar'd to those which rack the inward mind ;) 
 
 And cast an eye of pity, and of pardon 
 
 Where was expected anger and revenge: 
 
 For AllKTt now reraeraber'd well tlie scene 
 
 His dying father had been witness to ; 
 
 And now the tear of true repentance shone 
 
 Near bursting from his eye, where deepest grief 
 
 And sad despair were plainly visible. 
 
 A sigh he heav'd, and down his pallid cheek. 
 
 In quick succession, foUow'd tears of woe, 
 
 Or, let me say, of penitence : but, ah ! 
 
 They came (as penitence oft comes) too late — 
 
 When thus tlie dying man ; — 
 
 ** My son, draw near. 
 ** I tnist the tear which bursts from Alljert's eye 
 " Flows from uufeign'd contrition's purest spring : 
 " It does, my son, I will believe it does ; 
 *' And O ! how happy will thy father die, 
 " Confirm'd in the belief that by his death 
 " He saved a son from ruin ! I shall go 
 " To gain a place for thee in realms of bliss, 
 " Which heaven grant you justly may inherit. 
 " Therefore, my boy, think not on what has past ; 
 " Look to the way before you. Quick reform, 
 " Leave the detested crew of idle youths 
 " Who would engage you in their mad career ; 
 *' And let thy thoughts on heavenly mercy bend." 
 •' Mercy for me ! "' he cried .' " Mercy for me !
 
 THE gamester's PROGRESS. 15 
 
 " A murderer ! a vile unnat'ral parricide! 
 
 " O ! if there reign a just and mighty Power 
 
 " To punish evil, and reward the good, 
 
 " Quick let me meet the welcome hand of fate, 
 
 " And expiate (if possible) the sin 
 
 •' Of shedding an indulgent parent's blood. 
 
 " O wine ! O fatal liquor ! never more 
 
 " Thy soft persuasive poison shall approach 
 
 " These lips ; no more shall smiles adorn the cheek 
 
 " Of him who murders ; conscience must alone 
 
 " Be his sad guest ; and conscience then be mine. 
 
 " Yet, O, my father ! if my cursed arm 
 
 " Has been the fatal instrument of death, 
 
 " Albert shall follow to the welcome gra\'e." 
 
 " No more, my son ; such language ill becomes 
 
 " Poor helpless man, who lives not to himself. 
 
 " We are God's work ; let him who gave us breath, 
 
 " When it shall please him, call us from the world." 
 
 He fainted ; and all flew to his relief. 
 
 Albert, among the rest, in silent M'oe, 
 
 Attended on his parent ; but in vain. 
 
 He op'd his eyes, and call'd his still lov'd son. 
 
 Mildly forgave him, blest him, and expir'd. 
 
 Albert, in wild despair, now smote his breast, 
 
 Now kiss'd his father's lips, and frantic wept. 
 
 All utt'rance to his words his grief denied. 
 
 At last, in furious phrenzy, thus he rav'd : 
 
 " And can I bear to live ? a panicide ! 
 
 " A mui'd'rer of my dearest friend on eailh! 
 
 " Where is the haunt of villains ? There I'll lurk.
 
 16 THEODORK j OR 
 
 " And, as the cheerful traveller draws near, 
 
 " Wkistling and gay, unmindful of the snare, 
 
 " Seize him, and strip him of the honest spoils 
 
 •' Regained by indastry unceasing. — Ila! 
 
 ** Is this a crime for Albert's family } 
 
 " Honor and rectitude mark'd all the ways 
 
 " Each motion of my father ; and shall I 
 
 *• Thus stray from Virtue's path r Shall Albert's soa 
 
 " Thus live ? But, ah ! no longer Albert's son, 
 
 " No longer lov'd, no longer worthy love : 
 
 " A murd'rer ! a parricide! a villain !" 
 
 Thus did he rave ; but when the passion cool'd 
 
 That fiercely rent his agitated breast. 
 
 Despair and agonizing grief gave way 
 
 To melancholy inexpressible : 
 
 Words seem'd a task his lips with pain perform'd ; 
 
 And oft the day throughoiit alone he sat 
 
 In gloomy meditation, and refus'd 
 
 To join his mother at the general meal. 
 
 One mom his mother, soon as she arose. 
 
 Upon her toilet found, in hasty scrawl. 
 
 These lines : " The wretched Albert is no more : 
 
 " He hastes to pay th' inevitable debt 
 
 " A murder'd father's spirit loud demands." 
 
 The mother's grief the muse shall not essay 
 
 To paint ; imagination can conceive 
 
 Much easier by far than words express : 
 
 But let us follow Albert, and from him 
 
 Learn how to conquer passions beating high. 
 
 And how to curb the impulse of despair,
 
 THE gamester's PROGRESS. 17 
 
 Which bids us rush to meet the hand of fate. 
 And cancel crimes which nature starts to hear. 
 By mad rebellion 'gainst her dearest laws. 
 When unperceiv'd he had securely plac'd 
 The lines which told his fatal resolution. 
 To the sweet spot where he had ever liv'd. 
 And ever still found pleasure in the scene, 
 Tho' never varied, he a last adieu 
 With some reluctance gave. For nature still 
 ('Gainst every passion that pervades the heart) 
 With all a mother's fondness will prevail.
 
 PART II.
 
 Th' unbuaied s.'.ieplieid, strctch'd beneath the hawthorn, 
 His careless limbs thrown out in wanton ease, 
 Willi thouxbtless gaze perusing the arcli'd lieav'ni. 
 And idly whistling while his sheep feed round him, 
 Enjoys a sweeter shade than that of canopies 
 Ileiu'd in by cares, and shook by storms of treason. 
 
 Hill. 
 Then turn to night, and freely share 
 
 Whate'er my cell bestows ; 
 My rushy couch, and frugal fare, 
 My blessing and repose. 
 
 But nothing could a charm impart 
 
 To soothe the stranger's woe ; 
 For grief was heavy at his heart. 
 
 And tears began to llow. 
 
 GoUtmilh,
 
 PART II. 
 
 When once the village vanish'd from his sight. 
 As on he journey 'd, for he oft look'd back. 
 To aid imagination in the thought 
 Of pleasures past, his boyish years had known ; 
 With eager pace he hasted from the spot. 
 And stopt but seldom to recruit his strength, 
 Impair'd by constant walking ; even then 
 But for a time sufficient to partake 
 The poor repast his wallet did afibrd. 
 By perseverance in the toilsome task. 
 He at the wood, which, near the rural seat 
 Of Mountague, seems eager to invite 
 The friend to solitude, at last arriv'd. 
 His father's dying words ne'er left his ear. 
 His rash determination — suicide. 
 He chang'd to one as opposite, as good ; 
 And thus he spake in deep soliloquy. 
 " Shall I, who now have sinn'd, (alas! how great 
 " Does the enormous crime appear !) shall I 
 *' Increase that sin, by breaking the command 
 " Of him of whom I would implore forgiveness ? 
 " Vast is my crime ; but to repent sincere 
 *' Is all I now can do, and that may gain
 
 22 TUF.ODORK; on, 
 
 «♦ Pardon at last from him who sees my heart, 
 " And knows Uie poifpiant anguish I endure. 
 «• And shall I, by a doubly horrid act, 
 «« Forfeit all claim to mercy ? Stained with guilt, 
 " I feel guilt's just reward, and must submit. 
 " The Power that punishes can also pardon, 
 " When with contrition sinful mortals sue. 
 " The thought of suicide be banish'd hence 
 " For ever from my breast. Here in some cell, 
 " By nature hewn, I'll spend my latter days ; 
 " And in retirement find sufficient time 
 " To make a due repentaace all my care." 
 
 There stood for many years a cottage near, 
 The only one within the forest's bounds j 
 The humble, yet contented residence 
 Of one whose flock was all his earthly wealth. 
 He rose each morn with cheerful song, or blyUie 
 Would whistle as he drove his tender care 
 Forth to the verdant pasture; there, with eye 
 Uplifted to the heavens, would he bless 
 The Author of that happiness he knew. 
 ' His wife would often undertake the charge, 
 While he returned to cultivate the spot 
 
 Of field, or gaiden, he might call his own; 
 
 And thus they seem'd to live amidst delight ; 
 
 Uninterrupted, loving and bclov'd. 
 
 Albert in him soon found a social friend ; 
 
 And the good dame would love to hear hnn talk. 
 
 So did his pious conversation aid
 
 THE gamester's progress. 23 
 
 Their thoughts, which yet they knew not to express. 
 But thoughts are known to Him who dwells above, 
 And pious thoughts are not without reward. 
 Each day he visited his rural friends. 
 And as they cheerful drew the home brew'd ale. 
 Which temperance would circulate to each, 
 They begg'd him to accept a welcome bed 
 Beneath their humble roof; and to partake 
 With them the daily food their labour earn'd. 
 But, no ! he lov'd his mossy cave too well ; 
 And thought him bound by promises to heaven. 
 To taste no pleasure but what nature gave 
 
 For fourteen tedious years, 
 
 * # * # * 
 
 He now had past 
 Eleven in the friendship of the pair. 
 Which join'd to three of solitude and grief, 
 Declar'd the aera of repentance clos'd ; 
 When, as he sat in silent reverence. 
 Adoring nature's beauteous works display'd 
 Around his rough-hewn cell, with wringing h ands 
 Approach'd his friend, the worthy cottager. 
 " O haste, and comfort my beloved wife," 
 (In faint and broken accents he exclaim d,) 
 *• Who now upon the bed of sickness lies, 
 " Alas ! I fear to rise again no more. 
 " A sudden dullness seiz'd her, and she fears 
 " Death hovers o'er her chamber. Thanks to God, 
 " If now she dies, she dies not unprepar'd ; 
 " Thy kind and pious conversation taught.
 
 24 THEOnORB J OR, 
 
 " When conscience in an aged lx>»om sits, 
 " Pure and unshaken by the blast of guilt, 
 " If death approach, he comes a welcome guest." 
 
 Eager he rose, and to the hut apace 
 They ran, each kindly anxious to be first. 
 Albert drew near the bed. He took her hand. 
 And pray'd and comforted her oft by turns. 
 Exhausted nature would but just permit 
 Hor eyelids once to open. With a look 
 Of gratitude, which he with joy observ'd. 
 They clos'd again ; 'twas then they clos'd for ever. 
 Albert in vain endeavour'd to console 
 The cottager, whose wild distemper'd brain 
 Taught him to rave, and heed not consolation : 
 But when his grief abatcf], then he mark'd 
 The time to teach him, " Mortals must obey." 
 lie took his hand, and tenderly he spoke. 
 "My friend lament no more-, 'tis all in vain 
 " To rail at Providence when woe airives. 
 " Your wife and you together happy liv'd 
 " Almost twice fifteen years : you lov'd her much, 
 " And wish'd her ev'ry pleasure life could give. 
 " She now enjoys a more than mortal bliss, 
 " Amongst those realms where none but angels dwell, 
 ♦' And give the just reward for godly lives, 
 " Spent in this busy world below. 
 
 " My friend. 
 " Forbear to mourn j and resignation karn
 
 THE GAMESTER S PHOGRKSS. 
 
 " To heav'n's decree ; for O I we all must know, 
 •' What Providence ordains— ?»«« must obey." 
 With pious consolation, thus he sooth'd 
 The poor dejected man, who urg'd his stay 
 That night, that he next morning might renew 
 His salutary precepts. He agreed ; 
 But when the next night came, his honest host 
 Still pray'd him to continue, and supply 
 The place of his departed mate ; to live 
 In the same cottage, and partake with him 
 The daily scanty, yet contented, meal, 
 Bestow'd by the all-bounteous hand of heaven. 
 To recompense unwearied industry. 
 The time expir'd for his repentant life, 
 The offer he did not again refuse ; 
 But thank'd his host ; and on the table plac'd 
 A purse, which to his garment had been tied 
 E'er since he wander'd from his native home ; 
 From which he would relieve the needy poor, 
 If any past the unfrequented road. 
 " Take this," said he, " and be it still your care 
 " To purchase at the neighb'ring village, all 
 " That life requires, and which now we lack. 
 <* Let not a lux'ry deck our humble board, 
 " But live as usual ; for what pleases you 
 " Albert must love. I ask no greater joy 
 " Than to see you, my hospitable host, 
 " Happy and cheerful each succeeding day." 
 With gratitude half bursting from his eye. 
 The cottager then seiz'd his willing hand, 
 
 o 
 
 25
 
 2G THKononF. ; on. 
 
 And kiss'd it thrice:—" You arc, indeed, a friend f" ' 
 
 lie could no more, for tears had vanquish'd speech. 
 
 His tongue refus'd the dictates of his heart, 
 
 • ••••• 
 
 Ten years felicity these friends had seen, 
 Wlien as they sat one ni^lit in social chat, 
 A loud and frequent knocking shook the door. 
 Alarm'd they rose ; and one for pity cried 
 In plaintive tone, and shelter from the storm, 
 Which seem'd to threaten universal deluge. 
 " Enter," said Altert, as he op'd the door : 
 " Enter, whoe'er thou art, and here reside 
 «' Till morning's sun illume the dreary wood." 
 A woman, with a lovely infant boy. 
 Whose tender age four years could not exceed. 
 Stood the poor sufTring victim of the storm ; 
 And, as she enter'd at the friendly door, 
 She sunk exhausted into Albert's chair. 
 " Pardon this seeming rudeness. O, forgive! 
 " But when you hear my tale, ah ! sure I am, 
 " You'll pity me, and think not of offence." 
 Thus she began, but speech was soon denied ; 
 Her lips, for want of their accustom'd food, 
 Refus'd their wonted duty. Albert saw. 
 And brought refreshment, which tho' homely fare 
 Was thankfully receiv'd, and deem'd delicious ; 
 And now to tell her melancholy tale 
 They earnestly requested. With a sigh. 
 That plainly shew'd all was not calm within. 
 She thus began, as they attentive sat : 
 While tender sympathy, at sorrow's tale.
 
 THE gamester's progress. 27 
 
 Partook her woe, and gave her tear for tear. 
 
 *' My tale is tedious, were I to relate 
 
 " Each past occurrence, fresh to memory, 
 
 " From happy infancy to riper years ; 
 
 •• But as your goodness binds me to comply, 
 
 " In brief I will unfold the cruel cause 
 
 " Which now expos'd me, and my darling child, 
 
 *• To the wild fury of the raging storm. 
 
 " Left at sixteen to the indulgent care 
 
 " Of a dear father, who with fondest love 
 
 " Supply'd a tender mother's anxious place ; 
 
 " Seymour a youth too comely to withstand, 
 
 " And whose persuasive tongue had made my heart 
 
 " (My inexperienc'd heart) an easy conquest, 
 
 " Besought me of that father for his bride : 
 
 " But ah ! an enmity of long account 
 
 " Between our parents, was the wretched cause 
 
 " Of a refiisal, which in bitter terms 
 
 " My father gave, and swore I should not wed 
 
 " The only son of his detested foe. 
 
 " He strictly charg'd me never more to speak 
 
 " To one whom he refus'd : he charged in vain : 
 
 " For all alone, on one fine summer's eve, 
 
 " As thro' the wood behind the house I stray'd, 
 
 " I met my Seymour : there, respectful love 
 
 " Subdu'd obedience ; and the cruel charge 
 
 " My anger'd parent gave was cast aside. 
 
 " He made me promise (how I've mourn'd the day) 
 
 " To fly from a beloved father's arms, 
 
 " And shelter seek in his. 
 
 c 2
 
 28 TlliiODOKE; OH, 
 
 " Tliat very night 
 " (When sleep had clos'd a father's watchful eyes) 
 *' I crept along the garden, and escap'd 
 " To (hat lov'd youth ; and bade a last adieu 
 " To guardianship parental, and, alas! 
 " A last adieu to fond parental love. 
 " To Scotland's realm, where Seymour had a Iriend, 
 •' We bent our course with unremitting speed, 
 " Fearing the quick pursuit of him whose pow.'r 
 " I had but too much cause, alas ! to dread : 
 " We there were married, to our mutual joy. 
 " Four years, amidst uninterrupted bliss, 
 " (Save the reproach of conscience at an act 
 " I shudder'd to reflect on ; but how soon 
 *' Did Seymour's soothing smiles dispel remorse?) 
 " Soon past away, and with them two sweet babes, 
 " Leaving but one (my Reginald) behind : 
 " But ah! four years of bliss, how much 1 fear, 
 " Are to be follow'd by four years of woe ! 
 " 'Twas scarce two months ago, when, as we sat 
 " As usual by our happy cottage fire, 
 " My Seymour seiz'd my hand. ' My dearest love !' 
 " He frantic cried, 'My sweet Lousia! oh! 
 " How shall I shock thy fond, thy tender heart! 
 " And yet I must. God grant thee fortitude 
 " To bear the woes of which I've been the cause ! 
 " I have not one poor solitary piece: 
 " To-morrow's dawn will see mv stretch'd at length 
 " (Unless my heart-strings break to think of thee, 
 " And my dear boy, both left to poverty)
 
 THE gamester's PROGRESS. 29 
 
 " On the bare ground, in some damp loatlisome cell, 
 " Where debtors pine in wretched misery.' 
 " Too true he spake. Scarce had the early lark 
 " Proclaim'd the day, when, as he lonely walk'd, 
 " As was his custom, in the neighbouring field, 
 " I saw him from the casement forc'd away 
 " By two who seem'd like men, but that their hearts 
 " Were proof against the supplicating tear 
 " Shed for a wife and infant; for he told 
 " All his distress, and knelt, and sigh'd, and pray'd 
 " For pity of the monsters ; but in vain. 
 " He ne'er return'd ; I never saw him more. 
 ♦' My landlord sternly bade me quit the house, 
 ** And said a week was all he could allow. 
 " The seventh day arriv'd ; on that sad mora 
 " A letter from my Seymour I receiv'd. 
 " He said he felt he had not long to live: 
 " Grief for the many sorrows he had caus'd, 
 " Prey'd on his heart, which could no longer bear 
 '* The load of mis'ry under which he groan'd. 
 " He blest me thrice, and bad me quickly haste 
 " With the dear pledge of our united love 
 " To England, to our parents : for he said, 
 " The smile of innocence would conquer rage, 
 " And cause a softer passion in the breast. 
 " The prospect of forgiveness cheer'd my heart, 
 " And made me undertake the toilsome task ; 
 " But, no : my father saw me as he sat, 
 *' And sent a servant, who, with manners rude, 
 " Deny'd my entrance ; for my father swore 
 
 c 3
 
 80 theodork; or, 
 
 " He never more would own me for his child. 
 
 " My Seymour's father with compassion heard 
 
 " My tale ; hut said his son mu-it ne'er expect 
 
 " Assistance from that home from whence he fled. 
 
 " He gave me then his purse, and sighing, said, 
 
 " I cannot bring myself to see you more. 
 
 " 1 pity you ; my son I pity not. 
 
 " He lov'd not me with love like mine for him, 
 
 " Else had he never found this cruel way 
 
 •' T6 break a father's heart. 1 left him then, 
 
 " And knew not where to wander, faint and weak, 
 
 " Fatigu'd with constant walking : for on foot 
 
 ♦' 1 came most part the journey with my boy. 
 
 " An inn was nigh : but, ah ! I could not spare 
 
 " A shilling from the purse. I was resolv'd 
 
 '* To ope it not till Seymour could partake 
 
 " Its generous contents, as from the hands 
 
 " Of his and not viy father it was given, 
 
 "In pity to my woe. 1 had enough 
 
 •* To bear my small expences on the road, 
 
 " If weariness had left me. Slowly on 
 
 " I stray 'd, until this forest I drew near; 
 
 " And here 1 thought secure to jjass the night; 
 
 " But tliat tremeudouj storm arising, soon 
 
 " Forc'd me for shelter to "your friendly roof; 
 
 " That shelter you so gen'rously afford." 
 
 " And heav'n forbid that I should e'er refuse," 
 
 Said Albert, '* what the traveller implores. 
 
 " Here rest till morn, or longer, if it suit ; 
 
 " And let swtet sleep refresh you. Yonder room 
 
 " Shall sacred be till you depart our cot."
 
 THB GAMESTER S PROGRESS. 
 
 At dawn of day Lousia quick arose, 
 
 Aad Albert thus propos'd a welcome scheme. 
 
 " You see me here, fair lady, with my friend •, 
 
 " Here have we been for many happy years ; 
 
 " And here may heaven grant us still to live, 
 
 " Till your return from Scotland's coast again. 
 
 " For I would strongly urge yoiu' swiftest speed 
 
 " To purchase his release ; and when he hastes 
 
 ♦« To nish into a still lov'd parent's arms, 
 
 " And bathe his bosom with repentant tears, 
 
 " That parent sure will pardon. If this sum 
 
 " (A trifling sum to us, who need not here 
 
 " The lux'ries of the great) can be of use 
 
 " Towards obtaining freedom once again 
 
 " For one you love so dearly, let me hope 
 
 " That, though sequester'd from the busy world, 
 
 " I am not yet so miserably curs'd, 
 
 " To be denied the sweet felicity, 
 
 " To aid a fellow-creature in distress. 
 
 " Hear me yet more : your son shall stay with me ; 
 
 " He will amuse me with his playful-talk, 
 
 " When sorrow reigns with more than usual sway. 
 
 " I will instruct him with my ablest power, 
 
 " And love him as myself. I'll teach him all 
 
 " Experience taught me. He will but be 
 
 " A burthen in your journey, and impede 
 
 " Your speedy progress to your Seymour's arms. 
 
 " Go, and may heaven prosper yotir design ! 
 
 " And may I see you happily return, 
 
 " With smiles of ecstacy to sue ouce more 
 
 " The darling pledge of unabated luve.''^ 
 
 31
 
 32 TIIKODOHb; ; OR, TUB GAMKSTKR'si l'U'JC;RltS». 
 
 She coulil not si)i.'ak ; for U'ars of gratiluJe 
 
 Delay 'd the impulse of her sweliiuij heart : 
 
 She prcbt his hand ; and clasp'd her infant son : 
 
 She kiss'd him oft, but could not say adieu; 
 
 And seiz'd a moment, when he left the room. 
 
 To hurry from the hospitable cot. 
 
 Twelve years elaps'd ; they neither heard nor saw. 
 
 The youthful Seymour's mother : he poor boy, 
 
 Would oft lament she stay'd so long away : 
 
 And yet he lov'd old Albert and his friend. 
 
 And would delight in their instructive talk. 
 
 By which his mind was form'd of goodness pure. 
 
 Each day would Albert teach him sometliing new. 
 
 Some pious precept, or some moral duty, 
 
 4nd in such winning methods he'd attract 
 
 The youth's attention, reverence and love 
 
 Knew not precedence ; equal was the tie. 
 
 'Twas then the cottager obey'd the call 
 
 Of unrelenting death, but died with ease. 
 
 And yielded up with joy his parting breath 
 
 111 the lov'd bosom of his dearest friend. 
 
 His pupil now became his only care; 
 
 And, next to heav'n, on him were bent his thoughts : 
 
 He taught him virtue's sacred path to gain ; 
 
 He taught him all the snares of vice to shun. 
 
 'Twas at this period young Constantio saw, 
 
 And first conceiv'd a generous esteem 
 
 For one so wortliy of his fondest love! 
 
 Which glow'd reciprocally in each breast. 
 
 With ardour unabated from that day.
 
 PART III.
 
 FricndHhip I tliou soft propitious poirer. 
 Sweet retffiit of the social hour ! 
 Suljliriic tliy jdys, nor uiidrrBtood, 
 But hy the virtui.ii- antl the good ! 
 Cahal and riot take tliy name. 
 But 'tis a false affected claim : 
 In heav'n if love and friendship dwell. 
 Can they associate e'er willi hell ? 
 
 Cotton. 
 
 is words are bonds, his oaths arc oracles. 
 His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate ; 
 His teara, pure messengers, sent from his heart ; 
 Hig heart as far from fraud as heav'n from earth. 
 
 Hhakspeare.
 
 PART III. 
 
 CoNSTANTio lov'd young Seymour as himself, 
 
 And in his well-tried faithful bosom plac'd 
 
 Such ample confidence, as plainly shew'd 
 
 He thought him worthy of the sacred tmst. 
 
 Seymour as tenderly returned his love, 
 
 And likewise sought in IMountague to find 
 
 (And Theodore, the brother of his friend) 
 
 A heart as open, generous and kind. 
 
 For long had his admiring eye beheld 
 
 The beauteous tint of fair Maria's cheek ; 
 
 Long had he mark'd each virtue as it rose. 
 
 And wonder'd much to see in one combin'd 
 
 So many and such noble qualities. 
 
 Aflfection, filial duty led the way ; 
 
 Fraternal love the next in rank appear'd ; 
 
 A num'rous train were plainly seen behind. 
 
 Which could not 'scape his penetrating eye. 
 
 Respectful friendship to a beauteous maid 
 
 Soon changes to a softer name — to love. 
 
 But, ah ! a cruel cause delay'd his bliss. 
 
 And many doubts his anxious breast o'erwhelm'd. 
 
 E'er he attain'd the summit of his hopes.
 
 3G TIIEODOBF. ; OR, 
 
 Not far from iiolile Mountague's retreat 
 
 Dwelt Clarcson, Raymond, and their neighbour Moore; 
 
 Men of the ton, the sons of weaUhy squires, 
 
 Who, while their parents join'd the frequent chace. 
 
 Oft met to while away an hour at play. 
 
 For want of that best tutor of the mind, 
 
 A father's tender counsel, they became 
 
 So wrapt in their belovetl dangerous joy. 
 
 That now their parents found it vain to speak. 
 
 Or urge their inability to pay 
 
 The debts which Hotior frequently demands. 
 
 Pity a name so sacred should be us'd 
 
 A mask to fraud— nay oft to villainy! 
 
 When Theodore appear'd, the eldest son 
 
 Of one whose rank and title seem'd to boast 
 A spacious mine of inexhausting wealth, 
 AVhen once they heard that constantly to live 
 At this his seat was now his only wish, 
 (For publicly was his intention known,) 
 •Twas then, O then, they form'd the vilest plan 
 That e'er deluded youthful innocence ! 
 For well they knew 'twas easy to persuade 
 An inexperienced youth to Pleasure's path, 
 By whatsoever means the path is gain'd. 
 They thought his income must of course be great. 
 And straight resolv'd to tempt him to accept 
 A place in (what they call'd) their joint regard ; 
 That the unwary victim might be near, 
 And fall to their designs an easy prey. 
 To Mountague they soon got introduc'd^
 
 TttE gamester's progress. 37 
 
 Ai men most worthy of his son's esteem ; 
 
 (For each most strongly recommended each ;) 
 
 And Mountague was now rejoic'd to think 
 
 His son's connections were with worthy men. 
 
 So were they all by Theodore approv'd ; 
 
 And mutual good opinion seem'd to reign : 
 
 E'er they took leave, a friendly wish prevaiPd, 
 
 They all should meet on the succeeding day 
 
 At Clareson's villa, and cement the tie 
 
 Of that firm friendship promis'd by them all : 
 
 The good old Lord denied not the request ; 
 
 And at the hour they previously agreed. 
 
 Went Theodore to greet his new-made friends. 
 
 Unfeigned cordiality, and love, 
 
 Appear'd to him throughout the place to reign — 
 
 The joke and song succeeding, past the time 
 
 In innocent, tho' gay, hilarity : 
 
 When Clareson, as the ev'ning quick approach'd. 
 
 Arose, and call'd for cards. " Excuse me there," 
 
 Said Theodore : — " indeed I never play." 
 
 *' What, never !" said young Raymond with surprise. 
 
 «« Why, as for never," Theodore replied— 
 
 " At home, indeed, to take a hand at cards, 
 
 " To please my friends, or make a fourth at wliist ; 
 
 " I do not call that being fond of play." 
 
 " Pshaw! Pshaw!" said Moore, " if e'er you touch'd 
 
 a (fard, 
 " You must have felt the magic they impart ; 
 ** If e'er you play'd, you must adore the game — 
 *« Cards have a winning power one can't withstand." 
 
 D
 
 38 THKODonE : oR, 
 
 • ' Pardon me once again," said Theodore ; 
 •' Caids have a iosinsr power one can't withstand.'^ 
 •' Well said, my boy," said Clareson ; " your reply 
 " Displays a ready wit I lovu to hear. 
 " But come, we trifle time -, we've still an hour 
 " To pass away in innocent employ, 
 " And what so fit, so innocent as cards ?" 
 " Come, come, one rubber; shillings is the game; 
 -' We ne'er play higher," Raymond then rejoin'd, 
 " I care not," answer'd Theodore, " if so ; 
 " One rubber freely I'll consent to play, 
 " Provided, when 'tis finish'd, we depart" 
 Partners were drawn for, and the deal went round : 
 " And now the bets," said Moore, and laid a crown 
 Upon the table ; " who will take me this? 
 " Come Raymond : What the deuce, what, not a crowu ? 
 " Come Mountague : perhaps you never bet." 
 « Indeed," he answer'd, " you conjecture right •, 
 " I never do ; and more, I never will." 
 " Nay, nay," said Moore, " I would not give offence: 
 " Tho' early, yet I hope our friendship firm ; 
 " And heaven forbid that I should be the first 
 •• To mar the tie that gives us all such joy, 
 ♦• We hold your friendship, trust me, far too dear, 
 • To risk its loss on such a slight pretence." 
 Behold him now as eager as the rest. 
 Remark the game with scientific tongue; 
 For when he played, he kept one constant rule. 
 To play his best, whatever was the stake. 
 They wonder'd at his knowledge ; winks went rounds 
 .'\nd other silent marks of gamesters' joy.
 
 THE gamester's PROGRESS. 39 
 
 The game now over, ev'ry one arose, 
 Unwilling at the first that he should see 
 Their usual mode of life, as much they fear'd 
 The sudden prospect might create disgust ; 
 So thought it wiser by degrees to draw 
 Their victim to the overwhelming snare. 
 So have I seen the victim of the hook 
 Humor'd and tickled, tUl the treach'rous bait 
 Guides to the rosy gill ; and when too late. 
 It plies its silver oar, and dives beneath, 
 Dragg'd at the pleasure of the angling boy. 
 His friends with many a smile, and cordial shake. 
 With many oaths of strictest amity, 
 Regretted his departure. He retmu'd 
 As many protestations of regard ; 
 And left them (as they saw) reluctantly. 
 As passing near the grove he homeward went, 
 Albert observ'd him, and with hasten'd speed 
 Just overtook him e'er he reach'd the house. 
 And kindly ask'd his welcome at his friends. 
 •* O," exclaim'd Theodore, " I can't describe 
 *' The many and polite attentions paid. 
 '* When that the wine had thrice gone briskly round, 
 " That time might not hang heavy, cards were brought, 
 ♦' And cheerfully we play'd away an hour : 
 " Shillings the game ; and those who chose to bet, 
 " Were limited to risk a cro'WTi, no more." 
 " Did you say bet, my Theodore ?" exclaim'd 
 Th' astonish'd Albert. " Did my boy say bet 
 •"'Oji first acquaintance? 'tis, indeed, too bad! 
 d2
 
 40 THEODORE; OH, 
 
 " My clearest child, experience bids me speak : 
 '«»(1 hink that near eighty winters I have seen, 
 " And thou art yet within thy twentieth year:) 
 " High heaven can witness 'tis tliy infrest calls 
 " On my best power, to warn you and advise. 
 " Shun, I beseech you, these deceitful friends ; 
 " They spread a snare for thy unwary feet 
 " Which inexperience never can avoid, 
 " Unless by prudence guided in the path, 
 ♦' O never more approach them !" 
 
 " Hence* old man !" 
 Said Theodore, with anger much inflam'd : 
 " Keep thy suspicions till they're ask'd for, Sir; 
 " And "-ive advice to those who want a guide. 
 " If, as you say, experience bids you speak, 
 " Let duty bid you quicl<ly hold your tongue." 
 " Yet hear me," answer'd then the good old man : 
 " I would not give offence : the love, esteem, 
 " And reverence I bear thy father's name, 
 " Urge me to wish to save bis son from ruin." 
 " Poor foolish man ! waste not thy vacant words, 
 " Nor think to fright me with thy idle fear: 
 «' No, envious as thou art, all thou canst say 
 " Ne'er can reflect dishonour on my friends. 
 » Tell me of snares, and lures, by men like those ! 
 " By heaven ! I know no character so base 
 «« As the vile sland'rer of anotlier's fame !" 
 " Nor I," said Albert, " God forbid that I 
 " Be guilty of a crime I so detest ! 
 " But fond esteem for thee, and all thy house,
 
 THE Gamester's prooress. 41 
 
 " Bid me attempt (I thought) an easy task. 
 «• O, let reflection teach you to observe 
 "" How great, how vast, the impropriety. 
 »« Hear me with patience ; all that age can do 
 '« Is to advise ; 'tis youth's to take or spurn. 
 " When next you meet, for that I plainly see 
 " My caution will not (would it might) prevent, 
 " Observe each look, expression, every word ; 
 " Observe their eagerness ; each trifling nod, 
 " Or wink, has in it some unfair design. 
 " If you must go, if you will meet again, 
 " Forget not these my cautions." Here the tears 
 Trickled down the old man's furrow'd cheeks ! 
 Remembrance of a scene in early life 
 Had check'd his speech. He wip'd them to proceed. 
 *' Youth is too fond of Pleasure to observe 
 .«« The various masks she sports in to allure; 
 " They eagerly pursue her wanton steps, 
 *' Without a thought where she at last may lead ; 
 " Then cometh Prudence ; Icindly she intrudes, 
 " And offers her invaluable aid : 
 " She offers, but she cannot force advice ; 
 " And if the victim is too far advanc'd 
 « In Pleasure's toils to listen to her voice, 
 «« She drops a pitying tear, and leaves liim, prey 
 " To that fell enemy he so pursu'd ; 
 " Who still invites ; and when the eager youth 
 " (Still following the ever glittering bait) 
 " Has past the bounds of honor, then unmasks ; 
 ♦* Shews her true form ; throws oft' the treaeh'rous veil ; 
 d3
 
 42 THi;uUOKK , OK, 
 
 " And jiiikb her hapless victim into luin. 
 
 " \Vt'igh what I've said, cxaiuine wtU Uie cause, 
 
 " Aud judge il 1 have ought so ucar my hi-art, 
 
 " As thine or my dear Seymour's happiness." 
 
 He ceas'd, and with a gentle bow past on. 
 
 " And shall this man," said Theodore," presume, 
 
 " Because my father condescends to join 
 
 ** His dealing prattle, shall he dare defame 
 
 *' The characters of men of worth like these ? 
 
 " But, no ! — 1 see, I see his envious heart: 
 
 " This Seymour 'tis : this fond, this fav'rite boy, 
 
 *' Knvies my favor in the eye of men 
 
 " The wealthiest in the neighbourhood ; I see, 
 
 " But I despise their fruitless mean endeavours. 
 
 " Seymour, beware ; else thou wilt raise my hate : 
 
 " Keep th>i dull counsels to thyself, nor dare 
 
 *' Attempt with envy to disturb my joy." 
 
 He met Constantio at the mansion gate. 
 
 Who came to meet him with that honest smile. 
 
 For ever beaming on his manly cheek : 
 
 He first affectionately graspt his'hand. 
 
 And then in mildest accents he began : 
 
 " To you, dear Theodore, I now entrust 
 
 " A secret, known as yet to me alone. 
 
 " Our common friend, our Seymour, yesterday 
 
 " As walking arm in arm along the grove, 
 
 " We talked aluud in mutual conlidence) 
 
 " Coafe^t our deai Maria's artl&ss chaims 
 
 " Had gaind his honest, his untainted heart. 
 
 " He sigh'd deapau-, yet siril seem'd pleas'd to talk
 
 THE gamester's PROGRESS. 43 
 
 " On that soft theme his bosom only knew. 
 
 " He bade me guard the secret but from you. 
 
 " He knew the vast wide difference between 
 
 " His orphan state, and her exalted biilh ; 
 
 " But, still, said he, you know my only hope : 
 
 " A mother, still, perhaps, may seek her son : 
 
 " Tho' lonp; she's left me, she may yet return. 
 
 " But, O ! 1 rave : despair will turn my brain, — 
 
 " Lost, when 1 view thy sister's beauteous form, 
 
 " I proudly think to seize the destined prize ; 
 
 " Reflect, and mourn an humble orphan's lot." 
 
 " That savours of good sense,'' said Theodore ; 
 
 " Or trust me I should think the youth were craz'd, 
 
 " To dare aspire to gain our sister's hand." 
 
 " It is not surely Theodore that speaks," 
 
 Replied the good Constaatio: " surely he 
 
 " Cannot remember 'tis our worthy friend 
 
 ♦' At humble distance sues. O, had you heard 
 
 " His falt'ring tongue tell his respectful tale, 
 
 " You would have wish'd his rank had equalled oms, 
 
 " Or that our humble lot compar'd with his — " 
 
 " For shame! Constantio : pr'ythee urge no more : 
 
 " Sure 'tis unkind to rate our sister's worth 
 
 " So low, as e'en to think upon the name. 
 
 " Seymour I the very infants, as they pass, 
 
 " Know and accost (contempt in every word; 
 
 " The orphan Seymour. Does he dare pretend 
 
 " To enter Mountague's unblemish'd list ?" 
 
 *' Alas !" return'd Constantio, " I confess 
 
 *' His inability to rank with us
 
 ki TnEODonE ; on, 
 
 "In title or in fortune, yet I own 
 
 " I think in one great quality he comes 
 
 *' In equal brilliancy to her he wooes ; 
 
 " His heart, my Theodore, unsullied, pure 
 
 " As that which in Maria's bosom dwells, 
 
 " Deserves to meet its equal ; merits all 
 
 *' That sympathy, swtet soother ! can bestow." 
 
 '♦ And pray now," sneering, Theodore return'd, 
 
 " When first you heard his mulancholy tale, 
 
 " What gentle answer might your pitying heart 
 
 ^' Prompt you to make ? Methinks I long to hear.'' 
 
 " Most willingly you shall," Constantio said. 
 
 " I heard his tale with patience, as became 
 
 " A friend, whose friendship not alone consists 
 
 " In words and empty promises. I heard 
 
 " And markM the combat in his noble breast, 
 
 *' And when the pleasing secret he had told, 
 
 " Regretted much my inability 
 
 " At once to crown my Seymour's utmost hope," 
 
 " And could you so forget our sister's worth ?" 
 
 Replied his brother with contemptuous smile, 
 
 " To wish her wedded to so mean a mate ? 
 
 " Could partial favour for the orphan boy 
 
 " Thy sister's merits artfully obscure? 
 
 " How blind art thou Constantio, to permit 
 
 " Such subtle cunning to obtain belief? 
 
 " Self-interest sways his breast : 1 know him now : 
 
 " I once accounted him of noMe n^ind, 
 
 " Of gen'rous principl ', unsulli d truth;. 
 
 " But I have found, aid haply uot too late
 
 THE gamester's PROGRESS. 
 
 " The bosom that reviv'd the drooping snake 
 
 " Is destin'd (if a timely caution fail) 
 
 " To feel that sting which thence deriv'd its power." 
 
 Constantio trembled at th' unjust idea. 
 
 And answer'd thus with mildest energy. 
 
 " O, Theodore ! my brother ! tell me who 
 
 " Has slander'd thus my lov'd, my faithful friend ? 
 
 " He has been slander'd, for I know his heart 
 
 " Pure from the sullied current of deceit : 
 
 " Unblemish'd is his nobleness of soul, 
 
 « As drifted snow appears in spotless white. 
 
 " Hear him when he began his timid tale, 
 
 " His words I will endeavour to recite : 
 
 " His gentle manner I will not essay 
 
 " (For vain would be tli' attempt) to imitate ; 
 
 " His words and actions, governed by respect, 
 
 " In vain would oft endeavour to conceal 
 
 " Love's ardent fire, that glisten'd in his eye.''— 
 
 " ' From thee, my friend, whose confidential love 
 " Unlimited I have so long enjoyed, 
 " 'Twould be most base ingratitude to hide 
 " A secret that so near concerns thy peace ; 
 " A hopeless secret, yet it must be told ; 
 " For as the mariner delights to tell 
 " The perils he has shar'd, tho' ev'ry word 
 " Should bring past terrors back to memory, 
 " So is the bosom eas'd that vents its woe 
 " In presence of a sympathetic friend : 
 " So is the bosom eas'd where love resides,
 
 Ali TIIEODORR •, OR, 
 
 " When friendship heaves one sympathetic sigh. 
 *' I love iby beauteous sistw. 
 
 " Can I dare 
 " Proceed, unaoiNrerM by a killing frown ? 
 ■" Say, did you hear the orphan boldly owh 
 " He lov'd such bright exalted excellence, 
 " And does the smile still play around thy brow ? 
 " Constantio ! O, my friend ! I'm unprepar'd 
 " For generosity unparallel'd ! 
 " The soaring lark, tho' high advanc'd in air, 
 " Is still far distant from the azure sky ; 
 " Yet does not proud ambition prompt the lay, 
 " But warbling praises from her tuneful throat, 
 " Adores afar, and keeps within her sphere, 
 " So will I view thy sister ; so regard 
 " The fatal distance 'twixt my bliss and me, 
 " Yet, tho* I dare not hope felicity, 
 " Still must I gaze ; and gazing, still adore.' 
 " 'Twas here he stopt , How could I then reply, 
 (Constantio still continued,) " but to calm 
 " Contending powers that rack'd his feihng breast? 
 *' Alas ! could I forbid him to repeat 
 '' What in repeating only gave delight > 
 " Could I deny that pity to his grief 
 ■" His faithful bosom would have shed for me ? 
 ♦* No ! tho' I did not dare to bid him hope, 
 " (My father and yourself yet unadvis'd,) 
 " 1 did not, could not, tell him to despair." 
 " That task remains for me," said Theodore ; 
 ♦• A welcome task, and shall witli speed be done.
 
 47 
 
 " Hear me, and mark ; if Seymour dare presume 
 
 " To beg my favor to his lofty suit, 
 
 ** At once I drive away each friendly thought ; 
 
 " And hatred may — Enough — Proud youth ! beware." 
 
 He ceas'd, and with a swift unsteady pace 
 
 Hasten'd towards the door. Constantio sigh'd, 
 
 And following, entieated him to check 
 
 The settled frown that sorrow might create 
 
 In an indulgent father's anxious breast. 
 
 The plea prevail'd : he smooth'd his angry brow j 
 
 But soon retir'd (alas '. in vain) to sleep.
 
 PART. IV.
 
 MThat tlio' no (faudy titles grrace my birth ( 
 
 Titles, the servile courtier's lean reward '. 
 
 Sometimes the pay of virtue, but more oft 
 
 The hire which (greatness gives to slaves and sycophants ,"■ 
 
 Yet heaven, that made me honert, made me more 
 
 Than e'er a king did when he made a lord. 
 
 Roice. 
 
 He says, he loves my daughter ; 
 1 think so too ; for never gazM the moon 
 Upon the water, as he'll stand and read, 
 As 'twere, my daujfhter's eyes ; and, to be plain, 
 1 think, there is not half a kiss to choose 
 Who loves another most. 
 
 Ehakipearc,
 
 PART IV. 
 
 The night was tedious to the troubled mind 
 Of restless Theodore: he ne'er before 
 Had known the want of sleep's refreshing pow'r. 
 And had not known it now, if discontent 
 (Imagination-form'd) had ne'er combin'd 
 With anger to disturb that native glow 
 Of mild serenity he once possest. 
 Reflection could not aid him : still he saw. 
 Or thought he saw, in Albert's kind advice, 
 
 . A subtle mask o'er bold usurping pow'r; 
 And well he knew his father's firm regard, 
 Alike for him, and for the orphan youth. 
 Constantio, too, appear'd to cast aside 
 A brother's love, in pleading for his friend ; 
 (So soon suspicion magnifies our woes !) 
 " Tis well !" he cried, " I still have three friends left ; 
 *' With them I hope to spend far happier hours 
 " Than seem to wait me here : — they are true friends ; 
 " They wish but for occasion to oblige ; 
 " And in their smiles I view their noble hearts." 
 Thus meditating he began his walk. 
 When at the entrance of the hated grove, 
 
 e2
 
 02 THEODOUE ; OR, 
 
 He met the innocent morc-hated youth. 
 
 Seymour approach'd, as usual, witli respect; 
 
 But with a coufidence by friendship taught 
 
 He saw tlie frown quick gathering on his brow. 
 
 But little thought himself could be the cause. 
 
 He seiz'd his hand, and, smiling in his face, 
 
 Ask'd kindly of his generous friends at home : 
 
 His father and Constantio first he namM j 
 
 But ah ! Maria's name was not forgot ; 
 
 He seem'd to dwell with rapture on the sound, 
 
 And, as no answer he at first receiv'd. 
 
 Repeated his affectionate demand. 
 
 (Ungentle Theodore! ah ! cniel youth! 
 
 How could you spurn such kind solicitude > 
 
 How could you check the faintest ray of hope. 
 
 Beaming in modest and respectful smiles ? 
 
 How could you thus repay the fond demand. 
 
 And answer mild affection with a frown >) 
 
 *' Seymour, 'tis time to undeceive thy hopes, 
 
 " To check the impulse of aspiring pride ; 
 
 " Had not Constantio told me, trust me, now, 
 
 " I ne'er could have surmisM thy vanity 
 
 " Presum'd to seek my sister's bridal hand. 
 
 " Where were thy thoughts astray > where memory 
 
 " To tell you what, and where, and who you are i" 
 
 " Let me advise you, as the passion came, 
 
 " So let it vanish like those trivial things 
 
 " Which idly pass, remember'd while in sight, 
 
 " Known while enjoy'd, forgotten as they go." 
 
 " Like trivial things !" (with sigh of dtep despair,
 
 THE gamester's progress. 53 
 
 Trhat plainly shew'd the source from whence it sprun<r, 
 Was well nigh bursting with a poignant grief;) 
 *♦ Like trivial things!'' he answer'd. *• O, my friend! 
 ** (I once could safely urge the sacred tie, 
 *' But anger's frown has chas'd sweet friendship's smile,) 
 '* Were love a trivial thing, why should I own, 
 " Nay, wish not to decrease its potent sway ? 
 " Were love a trivial thing, why need I sigh, 
 ** And vainly mourn what now indeed appears 
 *' A harsh decree of fate ? (But that my guide, 
 " My kind protector, teaches me to know, 
 " And demonstration tells me to confess, 
 " What ever happens, happens for the best :) 
 " Is love a trivial thing, that when I tell 
 " Love's gentle message, friendship's brow shall change 
 " From mild and amiable serenit}', 
 '* To the sad emblems of ungovern'd wrath ? 
 " O, gentle Theodore, did you e'er love, 
 " You would confess it irresistible, 
 " And feel for those who now despairing sigh. 
 " Victim yourself of love's all-ruling power, 
 " Humanity would dictate what your tongue 
 " With willing pity gladly would obey. 
 ** O, do not thus in anger turn away ; 
 " I will endeavour (painful is the task .') 
 " To talk no more of that which angers thee : 
 " But why I should thus cause that settled frown, 
 *' I am not yet aware. Is love a crime ? 
 «* Must I because I love be guilty too ; 
 •' Of vices which my bosom never knew, 
 
 b3
 
 54 THEOUOFJKj OR. 
 
 " But with a shudder, marking my disgust ? 
 
 " Forbid it. Heaven ! No, Theodore ; 1 owa 
 
 *' Your lovely sister I indettl adore ; 
 
 " I see Maria moving in a spliere 
 
 " Above my humble reach : I will not dare, 
 
 " Low as I am, to court ambition's aid! 
 
 " But, till a mothers anxious footsteps reach 
 
 " A long-lost son, and wealthily return, 
 
 " (I never knew a wish for weahh till now,) 
 
 " I yet will tread the path mark'd out by fate» 
 
 " Tho' love still keep dominion in my bn?a»t.'* 
 
 " Then from this moment," Theodore replied, 
 
 " Come not within my sight, or dread my rage;. 
 
 '* For he who still aspires, in spite of all 
 
 " That Fate seems to decree, or Prudence warn, 
 
 " Should feel the punishment presumption rneriti." 
 
 Seymour essay 'd to speak, alas ! in vain : 
 
 He sunk, o erwhelm'd with grief, upon the turf; 
 
 And Theodore with hasty step had fled. 
 
 Chance at that time conducted to the spot 
 
 The fair Maria. She, kind, pitying maid ! 
 
 With all the strength tliat nature had bestow'd. 
 
 Tried to remove him to th' adjacent bank. 
 
 She saw Constantio : with melodious note 
 
 (What harmony more musically sweet. 
 
 Than notes inspir'd by benevolence !) 
 
 She made him hear. He flew to her relief, 
 
 And laid the gentle Seymour on a bench, 
 
 U hose head reclining still insensible. 
 
 Found bis Constautios breast sweet f.iendship's pillow.
 
 THE gamester's PROGRESS. 55 
 
 One hand he held ; the other yet remained 
 
 Locked in Maria's, where it still had been 
 
 Since first she view'd him helpless on the turf 5 
 
 And often would she anxiously essay 
 
 To bring the native colour to his cheek. 
 
 Fond, gen'rous maid ! thy care was not in vain j 
 
 He soon recover'd, and beheld his friend. 
 
 " Thee, my Constantio!" faintly he exclaim'd ; 
 
 (And finding still one arm remain'd confin'd. 
 
 He turn'd his eyes, and saw the lovely maid 5) 
 
 ■" Maria ? O too kind ! too gen'rous fair !" 
 
 He sunk again upon Constantio's breast. 
 
 Again reviv'd, they sought old Albert's cot. 
 
 He met them e'er they reach'd the arbor'd door. 
 
 -** Come, come, my son," (to Seymour,) "come," said he? 
 
 ^' You must fatigue the arm on which you lean. 
 
 ■" A lady's arm! ray Seymour — In my time 
 
 •*' The fashion was not thus — A youth rejoic'd 
 
 " On all occasions to support the fair, 
 
 " It is man's duty." 
 
 " Aye, and woman's 'tis," 
 (Replied Maria, with a chiding smile,) 
 ■*« To aid the weak : and, trust me, when we found 
 ^' A youth we all — " 
 
 " We all must hold so dear," 
 Constantio kindly added, (for he saw 
 The blush o'erspread Maria's conscious cheek,) 
 " Stretch'd at full length upon the dewy turf, 
 " We thought thy efforts haply might prevent 
 " The fatal tendency of morning damp.
 
 56 TnKODORF. ; OR, 
 
 " Wc both are ignorant wliat Icnpth of time 
 
 " Our Seymour there reraain'd, bereft of help.'' 
 
 •• ITien let me hear, my child," said Albert ; " speak, 
 
 " How was it? Were you stricken suddenly ? 
 
 «• Come, boy ; come In ; and you, his gen'rous friends, 
 
 " Will not refuse to grace my humble roof. 
 
 " There resting in my chair, shall you relate 
 
 " All you rememljcr of the sad mischance." 
 
 Seymour, the only time in all his life. 
 
 Replied not to kind Albert's friendly speech : 
 
 But 'twas not disobedience ; lost, he gaz'd ; 
 
 (His ev'ry sense, but that of gazing, lost.). 
 
 The lovely object was the heav'nly maid. 
 
 Albert perceiv'd, but pardonM the neglect: 
 
 The cause, indeed, was full authority. 
 
 " My Seymour hears me not. Al»! well," he said^ 
 
 ♦' 'Tis natural for youth, in lovely bloom, 
 
 " To prove attractive to youth's roving eye ; 
 
 ♦' And wrinkled age with pleasure can submit^ 
 
 " When mem'ry brings to mind what once has been.?*" 
 
 Seymour withdrew his eye ; Maria blush'd ; 
 
 But neither the discovery displeas'd. 
 
 Their fine eyes sparkled ; and a stubborn sigh 
 
 Would break its gentle prison, spite of all 
 
 Their efforts the sly tell-tale to detain, 
 
 The mutual sigh escap'd not unobserv'd : 
 
 Their eyes now met again, and now retir'd» 
 
 Fearing to look on that they wish'd to see ; 
 
 Like the young school-boy for his master's smile, 
 
 Who hopes a nod, the* fears the rigid fro'AU.
 
 THE gamester's PROGRESS. 57 
 
 The bloom that left his cheek once more retum'd, 
 Albert requested Seymour to begin. 
 
 " Excuse my silence," said the gentle youth ; 
 " Nor urge me to repeat what must afHict 
 " Such hearts as these my noble friends possess." 
 " What means my friend ?" Constantio quick exclaim'd j 
 " Tell me, was I unknowingly the cause ?" 
 " Or, I ?" rejoin'd Maria: " heav'n forbid !" 
 Continued she with eager energy. 
 " Neither," he answer'd : " neither you, my friend j 
 " Nor you, too kind Maria. Spare me then, 
 *' Nor let me dare with sorrow to repay 
 '* Such noble generosity and love." 
 All would not do : they begg'd again to hear ; 
 And thus he said, (oft sighing as he spoke :) 
 " A slight misunderstanding, I believe ; 
 " I scarce remember now the real cause ; 
 " Your brother Theodore mistook my words, 
 " And anger flash'd where friendship us'd to dwell. 
 " No wonder then if I, unus'd to see 
 " Aught but good nature smiling on his cheek, 
 « Was shock'd thus much at the uncommon change." 
 •' My brother angry !" said Maria : " sure 
 " You were deceiv'd; and fancy wrought the frown. 
 " He seldom is displeas'd -. but this I know, 
 « You are the last of all his intimates, 
 « I'm sure, on whom he could with anger look." 
 
 " O were it so, then I were blest indeed. 
 " I might, perhaps, have been in fault, 'tis true ;
 
 58 TVltoDOnK ; OB, 
 
 " But if I was, I know not now my crime — 
 
 " A crime that chas'd the sunshine from his brow, 
 
 " Which us'd to cheer me ever as 1 spoke." 
 
 Albert observing still his voice was faint, 
 Propos'd, nay urg'd him to lie down awhile. 
 And by refreshing slumbers to recruit 
 That strength he had so much enfeebled. He 
 Had kept in mind young Seymour's artless words; 
 And gxiess'd the cause of Theodore's revenge 
 Was in return for his well-meant advice. 
 He held his peace ; nor let a word escape 
 That might attract their curiosity. 
 And render both uneasy at the tale. 
 They rose when Seymour went, and, as they walk'd, 
 Constantio thus obtain 'd his only wish ; 
 To know the sigh that 'scap'd Maria's breast. 
 Was for his worthy, tho' despairing friend. 
 " I pity Seymour." — " So, indeed, do I," 
 She answer'd with emphatic tenderness. 
 " But what are we to think, Constantio ? 
 " Can we accuse a brother, till we know 
 " If he deserves even our gentlest chiding ? 
 •* And can we see a friend like Seymour mourn 
 " In modest terms, so mildly amiable ? 
 " I should be loth to have remain with me 
 " The power of decision, in the cause 
 " Of a dear brother, and a—" 
 
 " Dearer friend. 
 " Mean you not so ?'' rejoin'd he ; " say, my love :
 
 THE GAJIESTEB's FBOGBBSS. 60 
 
 " Ne'er hesitate to own thy bosom's thoughts. 
 
 *' Am I not right, Maria ? Tell me, now, 
 
 " Were Seymour rich, and of my brother's rank, 
 
 " Would you not from the gay unmeaning swarm, 
 
 " (Who buzz around the throne of loveliness, 
 
 " Unconscious, careless of its inward worth,) 
 
 " Single him out a worthy favourite ?" 
 
 " Constantio," she replied with firmest tone, 
 
 " Trust me, his opulence would sway me not j 
 
 " A mind like his is far beyond the worth 
 
 " Of all that wealth can purchase or possess. 
 
 *' Hear him converse ; what purity of mind, 
 
 " What moral virtue breaks upon the ear ! 
 
 " No useless word he speaks ; from all he saya 
 
 " We gain some new exalted sentiment, 
 
 " That shews him worthy of old Albert's care. 
 
 « We wonder at his knowledge ; soon we feel 
 
 " Amazement swell, and burst to admiration." 
 
 " I wish no more, my love," Constantio said j 
 
 " I see thy partiality, and feel 
 
 " More joy at this long-wish'd discovery, 
 
 " Than if a monarch sought Maria's love. 
 
 " He loves my sister, long have I perceiv'd : 
 
 " And yesterday his passion he declar'd, 
 
 *' In terms of such unparallel'd respect, 
 
 " Such ardent love, and yet such modest hope, 
 
 " I could not but relieve his anxious doubt. 
 
 " He mourn 'd his orphan state, his doubtful birth, 
 
 «' (Still ignorant of where he first drew breath.) 
 
 *• He sighs despair, and yet requests to hopej
 
 60 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 •• In which fond hope indulging since we met, 
 
 " He told his tale perhaps to Tlieodore ; 
 
 " (I cannot doubt but that must be the cause 
 
 " Of his displeasure, and of Seymour's grief;) 
 
 " Who yesternight was vex'd at the advice 
 
 •' Fraternal love impell'd me to attempt ; 
 
 " And Uireatened wratli on Albert, and my friend, 
 
 " As tlie dictators of my schooling words. 
 
 " I heard him swear his sister should not wed 
 
 " An outcast orphan, poverty's lean child, 
 
 •« Object of scorn, derision, and contempt." 
 
 " My dear, dear brother," she replied, " from you 
 
 •' Twould be ingratitude to hide a thought : 
 
 " My sighs are but for him; my heart now beats, 
 
 " Still sadly doubting his recovery. 
 
 ♦• Our friendly intimacy was approv'd 
 
 " By my dear father, who has often join'd 
 
 " Oui mirthful sports; all which assist to bind 
 
 «' The tie of social unanimity. 
 
 •' Oft lias he bade me mark his modest mien, 
 
 «« His mild respect, and yet his manly voice. 
 
 " His actions follow'd up his noble words : 
 
 '« My father, who first taught me to admire, 
 
 " Made admiration kindle into love. — 
 
 " But see, they beckon ; let us on with speed ; 
 
 •• We make them wait, unconscious of the hour." 
 
 She took Constantio's arm, they tript along ; 
 
 He, joyful at the long-wish'd happy news ; 
 
 She, that the sweet confession now was oer.
 
 THE gamester's PilOGRESS. 61 
 
 From that sad day, if e'er Constantio met 
 His angry brother, oft he would revive 
 His friend's still hopeless cause ; but still in vain. 
 At length, when Theodore no more could curb 
 That ruling pride that sway'd his youthful breast. 
 He sought his new made friends, and thought in them 
 He found full recompense for that contempt, 
 To which he ign'rantly interpreted 
 A loving brother's kind solicitude. 
 Three weeks had this short friendship been possest ; 
 But in that time, alas ! how oft the rule 
 He had so frequent vow'd to keep — was broken! 
 They met by turns, perhaps three times a week. 
 And each time was he urg'd to raise the stake. 
 At first he kept his firm unalter'd vow ; 
 But ere he thrice had touch'd the magic cards. 
 He stagger'd, and consented to the game, 
 Which was from shillings to half-crowns advanc'd. 
 They stopt not here : 'twas crowns they now propos'd ; 
 And as thro' dang'rous cunning policy. 
 He had of late been much allow'd to win, 
 From crowns to gold they found an easy task 
 To get him to accede to. Now behold 
 The party who, while shillings was the stake. 
 Could play with pleasme, cheerfully content ; 
 Behold those faces, where serenest joy 
 Seem'd ever to inhabit, sadly chang'd 
 To frowns of sullen anger, and despair. 
 For now the game ran high ; each youth seem'4 fix'd 
 
 r
 
 62 TllKODOKE ; OR, 
 
 On gain— that subtle ruin of content; 
 
 And Theodore, who once aljhorred an oath, 
 
 And shuddered at so impious a thought. 
 
 Would swear, and bet, as eager as the rest ; 
 
 A hapless proof liow soon vice gains her end, 
 
 If ever prudence quits the youthful breast. 
 
 And when once conscience yields to its attack. 
 
 In vain is resolution to avoid 
 
 Those sorrows which in consequence arise. 
 
 But, ah! one evil now had overta'en 
 
 Poor Theodore; who, drinking in his turn. 
 
 Had ne'er till now perceived how much the game 
 
 Kad lessen'd that which he before had gain'd. 
 
 His private purse he op'd ; he knew his loss ; 
 
 Driv'n to extremity, he rashly dar'd 
 
 To venture note by note, and so retrieve : 
 
 But no ; the tricks of sharpers will prevail 
 
 O'er inexperience : he, too, hud forgot 
 
 The kind advice of Albert ; and now, stript 
 
 Of ev'ry guinea that he once possest. 
 
 And every note he risk'd to call them back, 
 
 Arose, and left them his lost spoil to share. 
 
 Albert, who once again had giv'n advice. 
 And once again receiv'd a haughty check, 
 Prompted by duty, reverence, and esteem, 
 Had warn'd old Mountague to save his son. 
 From ruin quickly unavoidable. 
 By strictly charging him ne'er more to meet. 
 Or even speak to these his treach'rous friends :
 
 THE gamester's PROGRESS. 63 
 
 " For such," said Albert, " I am well convinc'd, 
 
 " Nay thoroughly inform'd, they all three are. 
 
 " Respect for you and pity for your son," 
 
 Continued he, " has caused me to procure 
 
 " The characters of these most dangerous men. 
 
 " Their characters I shudder to relate, 
 
 " And wish your son would never see them more." 
 
 As Theodore approach'd, his father saw 
 The change so visible in either eye. 
 No more he smiling grasp'd a parent's hand ; 
 No more he cheerfully would read aloud ; 
 No more relate the journal of the day. 
 Dwelling with pleasure on each mirthful tale ; 
 He gravely pass'd his father ; silent still ; 
 When thus the kind, indulgent parent spake, 
 Thinking by kindness to reclaim his boy. 
 
 " My son, of late I have been much concem'd, 
 " Observing in your face a dismal change 
 " From cheerful gaiety to joyless gloom. 
 " I would not ask the cause ; I thought, perhaps, 
 " It might distress you, and do me no good. 
 *' But still increasing, rather than dispell'd, 
 " I feel more anxious now to know and soothe 
 " The cause of that uneasiness, so plain 
 " Appearing deeply rooted on your brow. 
 " The worthy Albert now has prov'd himself 
 " The friend of both : he told me all he said 
 " When first he met you coming from your friends, 
 " And moum'd his caution inetfectual : 
 
 F 2
 
 64 THEODORB; OR, TUK OAMESTKH'S PROGRKSS. 
 
 " But generosity still sway'd his breast ; 
 " And when he found advice would not prevail, 
 " He came and warn'd me of the dreadful snare 
 * Laid for thee by insinuating youth, 
 *' Who, under friendship's mask, profane the name ; 
 *' And flatter, while they wish but for thy ruin. 
 " I see all is not right ; but should it be 
 " (I've more than once had reason to expect) 
 *' That you have need of money, having lost 
 " All that compos'd your temporary stock, 
 •• Or if your honour is in pawn for debt, 
 " Make me your friend, your only confident. 
 ** Accept these notes; in value fifty pounds. 
 " If they fall short of paying what you owe, 
 *' Tell me sincerely ; let me know the whole : 
 ** I will not chide you more ; experience 
 " We most of us must buy to know its worth. 
 •' One thing I must command; you, I am sure, 
 *' Will cheerfully with filial zeal obey : 
 *' Shun these deceitful friends ; dread their approach ; 
 " Resolve no more to join the treach'rous gang."
 
 PART V. 
 
 r3
 
 I see tlio circling liunt iif noisy men 
 Biirst law's inclosure, leap the innunrtj ofriglit, 
 PurMiing Hiiil pursued, earli other's prey, 
 As HolvcK for rapine, at tlie fox for wiles. 
 
 Young. 
 Few brinn back at eve 
 Immaculate the miinner^ of the iiioni. 
 Something wv thought is blotted ; we reioWed, 
 Is shaken ; we renounced, returns again. 
 
 Yoiinf^. 
 Let us 
 Act with cool prudence, and with maul) temper, 
 As well as manly firmness. 
 'Tis godlike magnanimity to keep, 
 When must provokd, our reason calm aud clear. 
 
 Thomion.
 
 \ 
 
 PART V. 
 
 " Does then my father," Theodore exclaimed. 
 Next morning, as he rose, " does he suspect 
 " The honour and fair dealing of ray friends ? 
 " Unjust suspicion cancels the kind deed 
 " Which else his love had wrought. Must I resolve 
 " No more to see these friends ? my last resoui'ce ! 
 " My brother tutors me ; old Albert chides j 
 " Maria seems to shun me ; Seymour too ; 
 " All join to make me wretched \ but those three, 
 " With whom I have enjoyed so many hours, 
 " And till last night I had my share of gain j 
 " How then can they deceive me ? 'Tis but fair 
 " To try with this some portion to retrieve, 
 " Perhaps the whole, I lost when last we met." 
 Indulging the idea, he sought the path 
 Which led from out the garden to the road : 
 There on a bench, o'ershadow'd by the arms 
 Wide-spreading from the elm trees' lofty top. 
 He op'd his book. Alas ! the blushing page 
 Taught not reveal'd Religion's sacred truth* ; 
 Moral or practical philosophy ;
 
 68 THEODORE; OH, 
 
 Dwelt not with wonder on Ciod'.s works above. 
 
 Nor pointed out each heavenly ornament: 
 
 Told not how Milton sang in strains sublime. 
 
 Nor how immortal Shakspeare's fancy wrote: 
 
 Shew'd not how Pope or Dryden's tuneful verse 
 
 Could waft imagination into bliss; 
 
 ShewM not the beauties of th' historic page. 
 
 Nor charm'd the wand'ring fancy with a tale. 
 
 The diction, ease; morality the theme ; 
 
 But taught the Gamester's art ; to rule the card ; 
 
 Or throw the dice at hazard's varying chance. 
 
 Here, while he read, he heard the well known voice 
 
 Of Seymour talking in fond strains of love; 
 
 Answer 'd by sweet Maria's frequent thanks. 
 
 He started up with anger in his looks. 
 
 And leapt the fence which hid them from his view. 
 
 The cause which authoris'd the fond discourse 
 
 Was of a nature fully powerful. 
 
 Maria oft, ere breakfast was prepar'd. 
 Would much delight to hear tlie morning song 
 Of the gay warbling tenants of the grove. 
 There on a bank alone she'd sit, and read, 
 "While fancy ranging ever undisturb'd, 
 Brought the sweet subject of the p;ige to view. 
 She ever us'd to love the tuneful place ; 
 But now, perhaps, her Seymour's residence 
 Appearing at small distance thro' the trees. 
 Might be still more attractive than the song 
 Of the sweet birds in mdlow harmony.
 
 THE gamester's PROGRKSS. 60' 
 
 Here had she rov'd, or near o'erstept the bound* 
 She usually had chosen for her seat; 
 And while intent on Gay's sweet Pastorals, 
 The spot seem'd apposite for rural sports. 
 And now a rustling in the hedge disturb'd 
 Her tranquil study : when she turn'd her head, 
 A man, in hideous mask, and arm'd, appeared 
 To her affrighted view. She scream'd aloud, 
 While he demanded money with an oath. 
 To force her to immediately comply. 
 Her purse she drew, which eagerly he snatch'd ; 
 But scarce a minute past, when from the hedge 
 Rush'd Seymour like a lion on his prey. 
 Two furious blows he struck at either arm : 
 His cudgel broke, exhausted with the force : 
 The robber fled, nor did the youth pursue ; 
 His thoughts were on Maria. She, sweet girl ! 
 Had fainted as he overleapt the hedge ; 
 Dreading to view a second wretch in him : 
 But when she op'd her still dejected eye, 
 As fearing to look up ; when Seymour spoke 
 In accents softly welcome ; words of thanks 
 Were wanting to express her gratitude. 
 She call'd him her preserver, said she ow'd 
 More than her life could ever recompense. 
 Twas then he dar'd (while kneeling at her feet) 
 Declare his high aspiring passion ; then 
 He own'd the conflict in his noble breast, 
 Between cold duty and all- conquering lore. 
 She could not answer j but in cue sweet look,
 
 70 THEODonn; or, 
 
 She said far more than volumes could explain. 
 
 'Twas bhss to him ; he knew what check'd her speech ; 
 
 He saw the barrier to happiness •, 
 
 And havinp thrice upon her lovely hand 
 
 Iniprust an ardent kiss, he swore no more 
 
 To start a subject which at such a time 
 
 Must cause a mutual uneasiness. 
 
 She took his arm ; and as they walk'd along. 
 
 She cheer'd him with her innocent discourse. 
 
 Till, coming to the spot where Theodore 
 
 Sat opposite, nor saw them till they spoke. 
 
 He bad adieu in terms that well became 
 
 His station, and his spotless sentiments; 
 
 Which she retum'd so kindly affable. 
 
 That rous'd her brother to behold the cause. 
 
 She scarce could check the impulse of his rage. 
 
 Seymour remaia'd, still fearing his revenge 
 
 Would light on the dear object of his heart : 
 
 But, no ; on him was all his anger shower'd. 
 
 He thus forbade him e'er to venture more 
 
 Within the bounds of Mountague's estate. 
 
 " Proud foolish youth ! thou heedest not, I see, 
 
 " The warning I have given thee before ; 
 
 " But hear me now : if e'er thou dar'st approach 
 
 " Even so near as to yon garden gate, 
 
 " To think to view that thou can'st never reach, 
 
 " To my revenge I will resign the ctirb, 
 
 " And punish sore the insults I've receiv'd." 
 
 " If I to day have merited your thanks," 
 
 (Said Seymour to Maria, as he went,)
 
 THE GAMESTER'3 PROGRESS. 71 
 
 «• Those thanks you have so plenteously bestow'd, 
 
 «* Blest in the thought, felicity's my lot ; 
 
 " But to thy brother let me thus reply : 
 
 •' 1 nevBr did, nor ever will ofFend, 
 
 " Intending an offence ; but since 'tis so, 
 
 " I trust around the cottage in the grove, 
 
 " Are pleasures to be found, to equal those 
 
 " Which play around thy mansion, saving this 
 
 " Thy lovely sister's presence. Fare ye well !" 
 
 They separated ; Seymour slowly back. 
 
 Where half-way stood an oak's remaining trunk, 
 
 Inviting weary travellers to rest. 
 
 'Twas here he sat in silent meditation ; 
 
 Twas here he heard what he alone should hear ; 
 
 For he ne'er practis d listening 5 and his care 
 
 Was to prevent, and not to cause distress. 
 
 Maria sought her room ; and Theodore 
 
 Renew'd his bopk awhile ; then slowly walk'd 
 
 Along the path divided from the road 
 
 But by a fence, which hid nought from his view; 
 
 He heard his name twice call'd ; and looking up. 
 
 Saw his friend Clareson hastily approach. 
 
 He once attempted to avoid his sight ; f 
 
 But fear of shame's degrading laughter, check'd 
 
 The motion of his imdetermin'd steps. 
 
 Clareson o'erleapt the fence, and on they walk'd. 
 
 Till chance directed them at once to stop 
 
 Right opposite to where young Seymour sat. 
 
 Hid by a clump of bushes from their view ; 
 
 And Clareson his proposal thus began.
 
 '3 TiiEouonn ; or, 
 
 He told him that he had intended long 
 Advising all tlieir future merriment 
 Should be at some bye unfrequented house 
 Held ; where their servants might not e'en suspect 
 Their mode of recreation. 'Twas, indeed. 
 No sin : but people would from each to each 
 So magnify proceedings of this kind. 
 That 'twas on all accounts advisable ♦ 
 
 To use precaution when they met again, 
 f Still silent Theodore! could' st thou not surmount 
 The baneful magic of a gamester's voice? 
 And could'st thou so forget thy father's gift. 
 And strict injunctions ne'er again to meet 
 Thy treacherous in vet' rate enemies >) 
 Silent he stood, and Clareson thus renew'd 
 His fatal arguments. He knew, he said, 
 A man who kept a room, ('twas some time since,) 
 And who dar'd never scruple to permit 
 Wen of their consequence to be his guests, 
 " But still," said Theodore, " he may allow 
 " All those who choose to join : and then, you know,. 
 " All yet may be discover'd," " Pooh !" replied 
 The subtle Clarttson ; " masks were always us'd 
 " Whene'er they met. 1 have been there myself, 
 " And hope, ere long, they'll see me there again. 
 " Suppose we say to-morrow ? Hey ! my friend? 
 " I'll tell both Moore and Raymond to be there, 
 " And get the masks : at one o'clock we meet : 
 " Tis my own thought, and suits as well as night 
 •* 'Sif, butfdr, as Susjiitiou tliea must sleep.
 
 THE GAMESTKR's PROGRESS. ?3 
 
 " And we shall taste the pleasure undisturb'i 
 
 " Then dear, dear hazard shall succeed dull whist, 
 
 " O, Theodore! the sound of rattling dice, 
 
 " The lucky nick that gains the destin'd stake, 
 
 " Produces joy which cards can never cause !" 
 
 The scheme so suited Theodore, (who wish'd 
 
 Unnotic'd to endeavour to retrieve 
 
 The sum he had so lately lost at play.) 
 
 He willingly consented to the plan ; 
 
 And, pleas'd with the idea, that unperceiv'd 
 
 He might indulge with his beloved friends. 
 
 Ne'er gave a thought to duty, or respect, 
 
 A parent's strict injunction should command ; 
 
 But left him, promising to meet in time. 
 
 How strange there should be harmony in words 
 Alluring giddy youth from virtue's path, 
 So far beyond parental admonition ! 
 But thus it is, or thus it seems to be. 
 Kind Providence makes innocence its care, 
 And leads its fav'rite into virtue's road. 
 Yet wisely leaves a path by which to stray. 
 If once it dare to listen to the voice. 
 Or view with wishful eye the tempting shape, 
 That Vice and Folly sport in to delude ; 
 Ambitious of still more felicity 
 Than in content already it possesses. 
 Conscience is plac'd the ruling governor 
 O'er all the passions : and when once expos d 
 To Vice aud Folly's treacherous persuasion,
 
 7-1 THtOUORK ; OK, 
 
 It it submit, (and '(gainst united arts 
 
 Of such preat pow'r 'tis difficult to stand. 
 
 If once the fatal parley is agreed,) 
 
 The whole main force must sufTcr by the loss; 
 
 As a whole host of men, their gen'ral slain, 
 
 And Prudence, Resolution, Fortitude, 
 
 Who once were valued equal to their worth. 
 
 All fail, depriv'd of conscience to command. 
 
 His father's kind advice was now forgot : 
 
 His gen'rous gift was thought on now no more. 
 
 But as the means of banishing the sound 
 
 Advice had left still tingling in his ear. 
 
 Seymour in haste retum'd to Albert's cot. 
 
 And duty bad him (word for word) relate 
 
 What he had just discover'd. 
 
 " Once again," 
 Said AH)ert, as he finish'd the account, 
 '* Will we endeavour to restore the youth 
 " To reason and morality. In vain 
 " 1 yet have tried ; but still 1 may succeed ; 
 " The plot I now have thought of seems to suit 
 •* So well with their intentions. Masks will aid 
 " Our excellent design : you shall know all 
 " As soon as I have seen Lord Mountague." 
 He left h.im and was walking frcm the cot. 
 When the good Mountague himself appear'd ; 
 Who sought his sou, and for a morning walk 
 Had kindly lengthen'd his intended search. 
 To pay the good old hermit of the grove 
 A friendly visit at his rural hut.
 
 THE gamester's PROGRESS. ''^ 
 
 They entei'd, and young Seymour quick with- 
 drew. 
 When Albert told him all he had just heard ; 
 And then confest his plan to bring him back 
 To apt reflection on the shameful life 
 To which he had by cunning been ensnar'd, 
 And which he led in company with thieves. 
 He said he thought the only way now left 
 Was to disguise, and join the gambling crew : 
 There to behold the manner of the game, 
 Strictly to watch the skilful trickery 
 Of nimble-finger'd sharpers, and the arts 
 They us'd to gain the vast enormous stake 
 Despair might make the victim rashly risk. 
 If such they prov'd, he had a last resourcf, 
 Which he would not explain, till they had seen 
 Whether 'twas so or not ; and as the room 
 Was easy of access in masquerade, 
 They might securely enter, and observe 
 The tricks of knaves the while suspicion slept. 
 The plan seem'd feasible ; 'twas soon agreed -, 
 And Albert promis'd to conduct him there 
 At the appointed hour ; and resolv'd 
 To let no action pass by unobserved : 
 For well he knew the various deceits 
 (By sad experience taught) that sharpers use 
 To gain the high depending stake : he knew 
 That inexperience must of course become 
 To artifice and fraud an easy prey ; 
 A nd therefore he resolved once again 
 
 G 2
 
 70 
 
 Tnr-iiDoKb; ; oh, 
 
 To call a wrettlied scene to memory, 
 \Vhich nought but the high reverence he bore 
 Tlie hapless parent ever rould have caus'd. 
 He was prepard to mingle in the game. 
 And try by sad conviction, to produce 
 In Theodore's contaminated breast, 
 A sense of his destnxilive course of life. 
 
 Now turn we to Maria ; who, before 
 Three hours had elaps'd since her alarm, 
 Receiv'd a parcel from her servant maid. 
 In at the gate mysteriously thrown. 
 She wonder'd while she broke the yielding seal. 
 And saw a picture that her purse contain'd 
 When that the villian snatch"d it in the grove; 
 (The dear resemblance of a mother's face ; 
 The partinc: pledge of a fond mother's love.) 
 'Twas wrapt in many papers, to extend 
 The packet to a reasonable size ; 
 And oft she look'd in vain ; for not a word 
 Appear'd informing her from whence it came. 
 At length on one, a scrap of rumpled «hite. 
 That seem'd a letter's counterpart, she read, 
 "Charles Raymond." — "O, tis he! tis he;" she 
 
 cried ; 
 '• I have seen the villain in my brother's friend!" 
 She had already told him of the theft, 
 (Who oft most solemnly had sworn revenge ;) 
 Yet fearing anger, doubtless, would impel 
 That fury oft »<i dreadful in effect.
 
 THE gamester's PROGRESS. 77 
 
 If he should know the author of the deed. 
 She kept it close, a sure, tho' dreadful proof 
 Of his associate's sullied principles. 
 Her father had lamented more than once, 
 In confidence to his beloved girl, 
 The change in Theodore ; and well she knew 
 Some plan was now aboui to be pursu'd, 
 T' endeavour to recall him e'er too late. 
 What then so strong an argument as this 
 Her pocket now contain'd ? She told not one ; 
 But sought her father's further confidence. 
 Which he with pleasure gave hsr to enjoy. 
 He told her of the plot they had in view. 
 And promised to relate the whole account 
 When he return'd from the heart-breaking trial. 
 The hour arriv'd, and Mountague was met 
 By Albert ; and in masks they sought the house ; 
 And as the man announc'd to those at play, 
 (Moore, Clareson, and their victim Theodore,) 
 Two gentlemen begg'd leave to join their set. 
 They saw the eyes of Clareson sparkling bright. 
 For joy to think what fresh supplies approached ; 
 And Theodore seem'd eager as the rest. 
 " But where can Raymond be ?'' amaz'd he cried j 
 " He us'd not to delay. My dearest friend 
 " Must be unwell, I fear : can any tell 
 " The cause of his neglect ?" '• Aye," Moore replied : 
 " He bruis'd his arm this morning by a fall, 
 " And keeps his bed : But, come, ne'er think of him. 
 " 'Tis not for us to think. — Come — Here's a main." 
 
 G 3
 
 7b TflEODOKli ; OK, THE C;A MESTKR's PROflHKS. 
 
 Now all was silent, save the sounding dice, 
 
 Till fortune frown'd on Theodore again. 
 
 And seem'd determin'd to reward deceit, 
 
 For Clareson gain'd what he and Albert lost. 
 
 Mountague likewise car'd not how he far'd, 
 
 For Albert had advis'd him at the first. 
 
 And promis'd him he had sufficient cause. 
 
 For what indeed was in appearance strange. 
 
 The game ran high, and Theodore once more 
 
 Was strip! of ev'ry shilling he possest. 
 
 But Albert more than once detected Moore 
 
 In an attempt to change a losing throw j 
 
 And tho' he made it not an open case, 
 
 Jogg'd Mountague, who plainly saw the act. 
 
 And now commenc'd the woe-fraught dialogue, 
 
 Which must be mentioned here as from the mouths 
 
 Of those from whom the different speeches fell. 
 
 As better calculated to express 
 
 The meaning in the clearest point of view. 
 
 Than in the way we have as yet pursued.
 
 PART VI.
 
 And thereforo wert tliou brod to virtuous Vnowledgi", 
 And wisdom early planted in tliy soul, 
 That thou iniglit'st know to rule tliy fiery pas->ion». 
 To bind their rage, and stay their headlong course. 
 
 liowe. 
 
 Tho' plung'd in ills, and exercis'd in care, 
 
 Yet never let the noble mind despair ; 
 
 When prest by dangers, and beset by foes, 
 
 The gods their timely giii-cour interpose ; 
 
 And when our virtue sinks, o'erwhelm'd with grief. 
 
 By unforeseen expedients bring relief. 
 
 Phillipt.
 
 PART VI. 
 
 MoUNTAGUE, Theodore, Albert, Clareson, and 
 Moore, (masked.) 
 
 Theodore. That throw decides my fate ; there rest my 
 
 hopes ; 
 My all is doubled, or my all is lost. {Throics.) 
 
 Moore. 'Tis lost, indeed ! 
 
 Theodore. Then I am lost indeed : 
 
 For never can I bear to see the face 
 Of him I have so vilely disobeyed: 
 No more can I approach, and see the smile 
 Bedeck his aged cheek ; or smile return. 
 While my base heart denies the cheerful brow, (Aside.) 
 
 Clareson. What, meditating, Theodore? Come 
 
 Theodore. Peace! 
 
 To you it is I owe the misery 
 That resignation scarce has power to bear : 
 In that last stake, O, what a mine of wealth 
 (Or what's more dear than wealth, by far) I've lost .' 
 A father's love, a father's happiness ; 
 My honour, which was pledg'd to play no more. 
 My last poor guinea gone! what now should follow.
 
 82 
 
 THKOnnHK ; nH, 
 
 To suit with lx)tli my feelings and deserts, ' 
 
 But that this arm, which ye have tauf^ht to sting, 
 Should end my inward torture with my Hfc > 
 
 Monnta<jue. This wounds me deep ! 
 
 {^Iside to Albert.) 
 
 {Albert to Mountague.) But yet you do not know 
 If 'tis the impulse of despair in grief. 
 Or penitence unfeigned for his guilt. 
 
 Moore. Pooh! pr'ythce talk not so despairingly : 
 Who knows how luck may turn > ( To Theodore.) 
 
 Theodore. Talk not of that ; 
 
 My purse is empty as myself of worth. 
 Empty as are my promises, or hopes. 
 When first we met, how cheerfully we play'd f 
 Like social friends in innocent employ. 
 But soon you vilely drew me into guilt ; 
 Awaking thoughts that else had ever slept. 
 To lead me to the fatal goal of ruin. 
 To you I owe my guilt ; to you my grief. 
 My loss of honor, truth, parental love. 
 My banishment from a fond parent's house; 
 For nevei- will I dare approach his gate. 
 To you I owe a ruin'd orphan's curse. 
 Take it between you. {Front ic/u.) 
 
 {To Mount, and Albert,) You seem strangers here. 
 O, if you still are strangers to the vice 
 Of these accomplish" d masters, still be so: 
 Let me perform some service e'er I sink 
 From noble Mountague's first son and heir. 
 To a mean wanderer, who lives by scraps.
 
 THE GAMESTEirS PHOGRESS. 8,3 
 
 Let this, my fate, deter you from the path 
 Which, when once enter'd, never can be left. 
 If you have not begun the vile career. 
 You know not how impossible it is 
 To quit th' attraction of such magic power. 
 Let my example save one youth from ruin, 
 'Twill throw a gleara of comfort on a soul 
 Sullied by sin, and darken'd by despair. 
 
 {Mountague aside to AlbeiH.) Mark his advice; 'tis 
 what myself would say : 
 Distress has brought him back to penitence, 
 
 {Albert aside to Mountague.) Do not yet show 
 yourself ; you cannot tell 
 Whether 'twill guard him 'gainst a future snare. 
 I see in Clareson's eye a subtle smile. 
 As if not yet content : he seems resolv'd 
 To speak ; yet seems to fear his words' eflect. 
 
 Theodore. Well may you whisper, well may you 
 deride 
 The victim driv'n to fate's extremest verge ; 
 But do not drive me farther than the brink ; 
 Indeed, it wants not much to plunge me in, 
 Where sweet oblivion finishes my woes. 
 
 Albert. Mistaken youth ! think'st thou it is decreed 
 For guilt to end the torture of remorse 
 By sinning more against the heav'nly will ? 
 Thinkest thoy sweet oblivion to gain ? 
 No ; if 'tis pain to bear the load of life. 
 Let resignation teach you to atone 
 For crimes which meet deserv'd chastisement.
 
 84 TiiEoDdnr; (in, 
 
 fThtudore amazed.) Is this the house, tlie witius* of 
 my crimes ? 
 Is it beneath this roof tliat I have lost 
 Such treasure irreclaimable > is this 
 A house expos'd to riot and misuse, 
 Or Albert's cot in yonder peaceful grove ? 
 For such sweet sentiments his wisdom brcutliei. 
 Such is the worthy Hermit's pious stniiii. 
 
 {Moore to Albert.) Hcrnut, indeed! What made you 
 join with us. 
 And with your canting tongue profane our rites > 
 We never trouble hermits. Corae, Sir, march . 
 Or play your turn, and talk no more such stuff'. 
 
 Ctaresou. He shall not play ; he will infect flit! dice. 
 I^t's leave him to his tiu)ut,'hts; while we in deeds 
 Endeavour to atone for losing time, 
 In idly listening to his sanctity. 
 
 Moore. Come, quit the room. — O, no •, he may look 
 on : 
 We'll let him stay for reformation's sake. 
 And you, Sir, you may join us, if you please. 
 
 {To Mountagur.j 
 As yet you have not troubled us with speech ; 
 I like you for it: throw and stand your chance. 
 But hang your curst long speeches — Sevan's the main ! 
 Come, Theodore,! long for your last ten. 
 
 Theodore. I have not sixpence left to gain the 
 world. 
 Ha ! Clareson, why that s nile at my distress? 
 Not yet content ? You wish to see me mad.
 
 THE gamester's progress. 85 
 
 Why, truly, little would produce your wish : 
 
 Increasing woes, like mine, require some skill 
 
 To combat with ; they wound almost too deep. 
 
 This morn I might have rose the child of bliss ; 
 
 A father's smiling love first met my view. 
 
 To say, my follies past were all forgot. 
 
 My honor pledg'd to merit his esteem, 
 
 Was as a bulwark 'gainst a future crime. 
 
 But, ah ! my honour's lost ; his love is gone ; 
 
 His name disgrac'd, his offspring proy'd a curse j 
 
 But still I know his mild, his gen'rous soul ; 
 
 He would not curse his boy, his Theodore : 
 
 Still would he press me to his bursting heart, 
 
 And while along his aged cheeks the tear 
 
 Would check th' intended smile, (as justice ought 
 
 To triumph over mercy, when inclin'd 
 
 To those unworthy of her clemency,) 
 
 The victory would still be unobtain'd ; 
 
 So tenderness would lighten the decree 
 
 An injur'd parent justly should pronounce. 
 
 But no : 1 now have wrong'd him ; now have lost 
 
 A most indulgent father's confidence. 
 
 And haste from his offended sight for ever. (Going.) 
 
 Clareson. And will you then reject a friendly chance? 
 Will you refuse, before you hear it made. 
 An offer that may set all right again ? 
 
 Theodore. Ha! set all right! 'tis far beyond the 
 pow'r 
 Of mortal possibility J
 
 ^^ THEODKRE; OH, 
 
 Clareson. Ar"t sure? 
 
 Twd huiulreti fxiunrls may yet perhaps jierfonii 
 Wliat teoble iiiorUils might attempt in vain. 
 
 Theodore. Two hundred ! thrice that sum beiong'd to 
 me. 
 E'er thou and thy curst gang of pilferers— 
 
 Moore. Nay, pr'ythee leave out titles, Theodore ; 
 Are we then curst, because we won your cash > 
 If so, you should rejoice: for, tho' you've lost 
 Your total stock, you've likewise lost a curse. 
 
 Theodore. Jesting but ill becomes you 
 
 Clareson. Heed him not; 
 
 But listen to thy true unalter'd friend ; 
 I have an offer worthy your regard. 
 
 ( Mountnyue aside to Alhrrf.) O heav'n ! if after tJii* 
 he turn again 
 What can I hope ? or what can I expect ? 
 Let him behold his still fond father's face. 
 And let me save him from th' impending snare. 
 For still methinks I see dissembling smiles 
 Accompany young Clareson 's wily tongue ; 
 As the fell snake, who, when intent to wound. 
 Comes bounding, clad in beauteous gaiety. 
 
 i Albert aside in answer.) Take my advice once more, 
 and try to curb 
 The fond emotion rising to impel 
 A quick discov'ry ; should thy turn advance, 
 Refuse not then thy throw : my careless zeal 
 Provok'd them to dismiss mc fiom the game. 
 
 Clareson. You have a sister, Theodore.
 
 THE gamester's PROGRES?!. 87 
 
 Theodore. What of her? {Stern.) 
 
 Clareson. Nay, do not stop me thus, before you 
 
 know 
 
 The purport of my speech. Think me your friend. 
 
 You have a sister beautiful and young ; 
 
 Of virtue and accomplishments far more 
 
 Than one like me can dare aspire to gain : 
 
 Should I attempt to ask her for my wife, 
 
 You would with indignation spurn me hence. 
 
 Unworthy of her hand ; with sharp reply, 
 
 " My principles and mode of life denied 
 
 " Love's purity to penetrate my heart." 
 
 But trust me, Theodore, I love the maid, 
 
 And would to-morrow marry her, if you 
 
 Would but o'erlook those follies you have seen, 
 
 And urge it as a common friend to both. 
 
 In recompense for which, if you consent. 
 
 Two hundred pounds shall instantly be your's. 
 
 Theodore. O, God! am I then fall'n so low as this? 
 
 What ! take a bribe to ruin spotless honor ! 
 
 For to a gambling libertine to wed 
 
 A maid of such unsullied name and worth. 
 
 Would be, in that unerring book, where all 
 
 Our sins are register'd, inscrib'd no less. 
 
 No, let me spurn the offer, as I would 
 
 The base insulting villainous proposer. 
 
 Clareson. Nay, at your choice ; it gives me no 
 
 concern : 
 
 I can find pleasure with two hundred pounds 
 
 Equal to what your sister's charms could give. 
 
 H 2
 
 88 THEOnOUK ; Olf, 
 
 Theodore. Two thousand pouiuls, or twice teu 
 times the sum. 
 Could ne'er procure you comparable bliss 
 With that a virtuous woman does bestow. 
 When ihe resigns her heart and hand for life. 
 
 Moore. He will not press you, Theodore. 
 
 Clare-son. Not I, 
 
 I thought my offnr liberal and fair ; 
 I offer'd it but as a friendly chance. 
 Two hundred pounds ! why you might gain the sum 
 Of all you've lobt in twenty minutes; aye, 
 Or half the time. 'Tis folly to refuse. 
 Is it not, old friend Graybeard ? All I ask {te Albert.) 
 Is liberty to woo and win the maid, 
 Without his interference, if I can. 
 
 Albert. It seems to me as liberal and fair 
 An offer as he could expect from yon. 
 'Tis of a piece with villainy unequall'd, {Aside.) 
 
 Clareson. Why that's well said, boy : what say you, 
 my friend ? 
 
 Munntayne. It is an offer so uncommon. Sir, 
 It struck me very forcibly, I own ; 
 He could expect no better ; and, indeed, 
 I wonder he withstands to treat with you ; 
 Or, rather, treat you as you justly merit. {Aside.) 
 
 How should I joy to see his nervous arm 
 Dash to the earth the author of his woe, 
 Urg'd by a sense of this fresh injury ! 
 But ah! he seems to smile : protect him heaven! 
 O, no : he has rejected heaven's care.
 
 THE gamester's PROGRESS. 89 
 
 And now must meet temptation as he can. 
 {Clareson and Moore not fi^idiiig Theodore answer, 
 look at him stedfastly, and are going.) 
 
 Theodore. Stay, Clareson, stay ; and shall 1 be this 
 wretch ? 
 And vilely barter spotless innocence ? 
 But, no : he says he means not that. What then 
 Does he imagine I can bear to see 
 My sister courted so unworthily ? 
 What if she be attracted by his words. 
 Caught by his wily snares, as I have been ; 
 How can I know myself the cruel cause. 
 And bear to see her in a gamester's arms ? 
 But ah! should fortune be propitious now. 
 And give me back, perhaps, tenfold my loss — 
 Why, what a fool am I to waste a thought ! 
 It must be so. To lose the ofFer'd chance 
 Were folly in the extreme. (Aside ) 
 
 (To Clareson.) I \vill consent. 
 
 Give me the money, and the chance is yours. 
 Win her, and wear her •, I'll not say you nay, 
 
 Clareson. 'Tis ready : fifty for the first essay. 
 
 Theodore. Content — (Throws)— Ti?. mine ! — A 
 hundred ! 
 
 Clareson. As you will. 
 
 ^Vith all my heart— 'Tis mine ! 
 
 Theodore. That cuts me deep. 
 
 Once more a hundred ! 
 
 Clareson. "What, so bold again ^ 
 
 Theodore. Pshaw! throw ! the devil ! 
 
 H 3
 
 90 THKouonK; on, 
 
 ClaresoJi. Nay, 'tis as you please, 
 
 I have it. 
 
 Theodore. How ! have I no more than this > 
 Clareson, some daemon favours every throw. 
 Come, .Sir, now you and I will try a cast. 
 
 (To Mount ague.) 
 Fifty on this — my last — 'tis make or mar. 
 This single throw once more decides my fate. 
 Fills me with hope, or sinks me in despair. 
 Never to hope again. 
 
 Mountague. O fatal throw ! 
 
 Does it depend on me to seal his fate ? 
 
 (Aside to Albert.) 
 Albert. Dispute it not, but quickly to the cast. 
 Theodore. Come, Sirj ne'er fear me: tho' I lose 
 myall, 
 'Twill matter nought to you. ^Vhy how you shake .' 
 Have you the palsy ? 
 
 (Mountague aside.) Must I too bear this ? 
 
 (They throw.) 
 Theodore. 'Tis thine ! — my last, last note — my only 
 chance. 
 Curst be^the[^throw, and doubly curst the dice f 
 
 Curst be those friends— 
 
 Moore. j'We'll tarry not your curse. 
 
 With you we meet again. (To Mountague and Albert.) 
 
 (Clareson to Thiodore.j Remember me. 
 
 ( They go out.) 
 
 Theodore. Curst be those friends who led to the snare. 
 And curst be the gainer of my last —
 
 THE gamester's PROGRESS. 9J 
 
 Albert. O, hold ! 
 
 Mad headstrong boy ! restrain thy roving tongue : 
 Curse not thy father ; he to whom you owe 
 Far more than all thy care can e'er repay. 
 
 (They unmask.) 
 Mountague. Yes, Theodore, thy father 'tis who. 
 
 speaks. 
 O, Theodore! my son ; that I should live 
 To see so sadly chang'd my sweetest hopes ! 
 Thou wert the comfort of my waning years ; 
 Thou wert thy sister's guardian ; brother's friend : 
 Thou wert my chiefest hope ; my dearest joy 
 Was but to trace in thee my youthfiil steps, 
 And in Maria view thy mother's form : 
 But O ! thy sister's guardian has betray'd.J 
 Has barter'd his invaluable trust ; 
 His brother's friendship has unjustly scorn'd ; 
 His father's love has injur'd and forgot. 
 Had'st thou been told these things, what would'st thou 
 
 say 
 The cruel guardian's treach'ry did deserve? 
 Thy tongue would want appropriate terms to shew 
 The punishment he amply merited. 
 O, Theodore ! 'tis thou — my son ! my son I 
 
 Theodore. O highly injur'd goodness ! do I hear 
 Those pardoning lips pronounce the name of son ? 
 I was thy son : unworthy of the name, 
 Let me then bear the punishment my due. 
 But if you knew my agonizing pangs, 
 You would not wish them heighten'd or prolong'd.
 
 92 THKOUOUK ; Olt, 
 
 Hast thou not heard me say a villain's words } 
 Hast thou not seen me play a villain's part ? 
 When thou remember'st that, remember too, 
 I feel a villain's torturing remorse, 
 "Without a hope for one poor ray of comfort. 
 Ha! one ray cheers my soul amid the gloom 
 Of melancholy heighten'd by despair : 
 I did not think I e'er should have renew'd 
 That old acquaintance once I held with bliss. 
 My sister is preserv'd ! my father heard 
 The shameful contract, and his tendtr love 
 Will warn her to defeat th' approaching snare. 
 Adieu ! ray kind, my pious real friend , 
 
 {To Albert.) 
 Thy counsels have been scorn'd ; thyself abus'd : 
 But you will pardon. — Ah ! not that alone ; 
 Man's pardon is not all : how can I dare. 
 For this accumulating load of sin, 
 To hope for pardon, where the word is bliss ? 
 Sweet everlasting canceller of guilt ! 
 No, no. — O, Sir, let my example prove 
 A warning to Constantio. — Ah I but why •> 
 He needs it not ; he never scorn'd advice. 
 But treads the path of virtuous honesty. 
 While I despairing hasten from the world. (Going.) 
 
 Mountayuc, Stay, Theodore ! the voice of penitence 
 (^When I perceive th' atoning sounds unfeigned) 
 Shall never plead in vain. O with what joy 
 Would I again embrace ray eldest son !
 
 THE gamester's progress. '^^ 
 
 Reclaim'd to Honor's path ! O, Theodore f 
 
 Had'st thou avail'd thyself of Albert's words, 
 
 Had'st thou but ta'en his counsel, and resolv'd, 
 
 (But that thy eyes were dim'd by outward shew. 
 
 And flatt'ry's mask conceal'd their villain's hearts,) 
 
 Hadst thou resolv'd to watch with earnest eye 
 
 Each subtle sign, thou could' st not but perceive 
 
 That unfair dealing govern'd every throw. 
 
 And fraud obtain'd your money, not the game. 
 
 Still I perceive a settled misbelief 
 
 Pervade your countenance : thus then I'll clear 
 
 Myself from foul, unjust suspicion's guilt. 
 
 And thee restore, to me, and to thyself. 
 
 Come, let me clasp thee once more to my heart. 
 
 All is forgiven ; all shall be forgot, 
 
 When you have seen, and own'd, the knavery. 
 
 That has undone you, in your faithless friends. 
 
 Albert and I will meet them here again. 
 
 And, as a proof that fraud obtain'd you gold. 
 
 The self-fame fraud in mine, and Albert's hands, 
 
 Shall then regain the plunder you have lost. 
 
 Albert. Come to my cot : the sorrows of my life,. 
 The incidents which made me what I am, 
 I will relate, while you with wonder hear. 
 Then will you know my power to restore 
 The suras you've lost ; and I for once will count 
 A crime an act of justice. What's obtain'd. 
 By industry and justice should be kept. 
 And long may all such riches be enjoy'd i
 
 94 THEOI»RK ; OR, 
 
 But fraud must pilfer fraud : and in tlie act 
 
 I go that day to do, may heav'n regard 
 
 My pure intentions; not the deed itself; 
 
 My wish to open thy deluded eyes. 
 
 And not a crime that strikes rae with abhorrence. 
 
 Theodore. O unexampled goodness ! have 1 then 
 Obtained unpleaded pardon ? am I still 
 The heir of noble Mountague, thy son > 
 O let me swear my future life shall shew 
 My best endeavour to deserve the name. 
 
 Mountague. My son, no more : but to old Albert's 
 cot 
 Let us withdraw, where he shall kindly tell 
 The memoirs of his youth : and you will see 
 (For I have heard him once his tale relate) 
 The triumphs he obtain'd o'er dark despair. 
 That dictated the crime of suicide ; 
 A silent remedy for tort'ring grief. 
 Experience taught him to admonish you ; 
 
 how rejoic'd I was to find it struck 
 So forcibly the feelings of your heart! 
 Tho' now unanimously we converse, 
 
 1 trust when next we meet at this curst house. 
 We shall depart unanimous in thought. 
 
 For 'tis the only wish of anxious age. 
 
 To teach gay youth to shun the snares of vice. 
 
 By strong conviction, that her specious art. 
 
 By flattery supported to delude. 
 
 Serves bu! to hide a dangerous enemy.
 
 1( 
 
 THE gamester's PROGRESS. 95 
 
 When the sweet cot they reach'd, attentive both 
 They heard the old man's tale, and oft remark'd 
 The sad similitude ; which ever caus'd 
 More fervent thanks from Theodore to those 
 Who had so timely snatch'd him from his ruin.
 
 PART VII.
 
 The best sometimes from rirtue's pM-i rarede , 
 But if til' intent be (rood, excuse the deed. 
 
 Theif's a divinity tliat shapes our ends, 
 Rough h«w Ihcin how wa will. 
 
 SUAKSrSAHK.
 
 PART VII. 
 
 And fair Maria claims attention now. 
 She watch'd till Mountague had sought the room 
 He made his frequent study : op'd the door ; 
 And vent'ring in was Avelcom'd by a smile. 
 She now display "d the picture, and the name 
 Which had accompanied it unobserv'd ; 
 A mark of heavenly justice, to betray 
 The perpetrator of the brutal theft. 
 He bade her keep them till a time arriv'd 
 That they might be of wonderful avail. 
 Which time he would prepare her to expect. 
 This charming mark of filial confidence 
 He now return'd, by warning of the snare 
 Her gambling lover slily might attempt. 
 He told her not her brother had agreed. 
 Nor of the poor consideration given ; 
 But said, he heard that Clareson had resolv'd 
 " To win the daughter of Lord Mountague." 
 It was enough to place her on her guard : 
 She vow'd obedience ever to his will. 
 And left him to reflect on what had past, 
 
 I 2
 
 100 TIIKOUORK; r>H, 
 
 And form some plan to frustrate the design 
 
 The gamester for his offspring had in view. 
 
 Albert was introduc'd, and thus began : 
 
 " My Lord, I long have balanc'd in my mind, 
 
 " Whether 'tis better to abide the loss, 
 
 " Or risk a crime to call it back again. 
 
 " But thus can conscience make the crime an act 
 
 " Of justice ; nay, of charity to both. 
 
 " We both are well convinc'd by unfair means 
 
 " They gain'd the kind supplies your bounty gave 
 
 " Your son from time to time. We likewise know 
 
 " 'Tis justice to defend the weak opprest ; 
 
 " And as we cannot right the injur'd youth, 
 
 " But by the act by which he has been wTong'd 
 
 " Employ'd against his plunderers, no crime 
 
 " Can that be call'd that justice so impels. 
 
 " Again, it will appear but charity 
 
 " Both to themselves and all unwary youth, 
 
 " On whom they might have fLx'd their fatal eye, 
 
 " Intending them for Theodore's successors. 
 
 " Now, if we gain the sums their fraud has won, 
 
 *' They may resolve to quit the dang'rous game, 
 
 " And with despair, repentance may unite, 
 
 " Preventing farther acts of sin in them, 
 
 '* And saving many victims from their snare." 
 
 Such reasoning to Mountague appeard 
 
 Extremely just, and suited to his wish; 
 
 And when the time appointed was arriv'd. 
 
 They went, accompanied by Theodore, 
 
 In a disguise that quite conceal'd his age,
 
 THE gamester's PHOGRESS. lOl 
 
 To meet the victims of their just deceit. 
 Raymond had joia'd his friends ; tho' still so weak 
 He scarce could sit upright : but hope of gain 
 From the rich stranger, (for 'twas by that name 
 They all distinguish'd noble Mountague) 
 ' "Had power to draw him from the sickly couch. 
 Albert assum'd a different disguise, 
 And play'd with spirit to keep up the scene. 
 And now the bets ran high, the stakes were great. 
 And Mountague began to feel the power 
 The magic dice possest by Albert given ; 
 For they had been so cunningly prepar'd. 
 The winning numbers had been twice engrav'd ; 
 And thus the chances doubly favour'd him. 
 This was the point which conscience could not smooth. 
 Till, by an apt reflection on the cause, 
 'Twas reconciVd to countenance the deed. 
 Sighs, winks, and exclamations were in vain, 
 Tho' oft repeated by the gambling crew, 
 Albert and Mountague gain'd every throw. 
 Except just here and there, to take away 
 Suspicion, which might else have been awakened ; 
 While Theodore in silent wonder stood, 
 Observing how they seldom mist the stake. 
 He now perceiv'd how he had been misled, 
 » Nay really plunder'd by the men he thought 
 Patterns of friendship, honesty and truth. 
 He saw them, spite of all their means to cheat. 
 To Albert yield, foil'd by superior skill. 
 Each way they tried produc'dlhe same effect ; 
 
 i3
 
 102 THEODORK ; on. 
 
 All prov'd unequal to the hi{;lier throw 
 
 Of Mountague and Albert, or appear'd 
 
 Deceit too open to escape their eye. 
 
 And then in shame they would excuse themselves. 
 
 As " not perceiving" they had dealt unfair. 
 
 Each tiad been home, or sent for an increase, 
 
 Whisn went the way the rest had gone before; 
 
 And tho' they knew some unfair means were tried, 
 
 (Tho' imperceptible) they dare nut speak, 
 
 Conscious of their attempts to do the same, 
 
 Tho' all unable to escape conviction. 
 
 Their stock exhausted, and the game broke up, 
 
 (For they had all agreed to play no more,) 
 
 They could not keep their tongues from violence. 
 
 And were proceeding to a loud abuse, 
 
 When Albert thus addrest them : " Yesterday 
 
 " I made my first appearance in your set ; 
 
 " I am the man at whom ye all so laugh'd, 
 
 " When I advis'd the youth ye basely wrong'd 
 
 " Against the dreadful crime of suicide: 
 
 " I could not but observe the unfair ways 
 
 " By which ye gain'd, or rather stole the stakes; 
 
 " And grew resolv'd to play that game on you, 
 
 " By which you vilely thus defrauded him. 
 
 " When I was young, I too was led away 
 
 *' By a detested crew of gambling youth, 
 
 " And deeds ensu'd would wound me to relate 
 
 " I iearn'd the ways of sharpers •, oft deceived 
 
 " Unwary youth, who scofTd at kind advice; 
 
 " And headlong plung'd, regardless of our snare.
 
 THE gamkstkr's progresp. 103 
 
 " Into the overwhelming dread abyss. 
 
 " But by this deed of punishing a vice 
 
 " I ever shall have fatal cause to curse, 
 
 *' I hope I merit pardon for the crime. 
 
 " You cannot claim your right to what I've won, 
 
 " Nor do I claim it as my own for use ; 
 
 " But, on the first occasion that may chance, 
 
 " Shall to the lawful owner all restore. 
 
 " Few words are best ; your characters' at stake- 
 
 " (I know ye, tho' ye little think I do ;) 
 
 " Bid ye be cautious how ye dare proceed : 
 
 •* The matter shall be secret from the world j 
 
 " But if ye offer to maintain your right 
 
 " To that ye so unlawfully purloin'd, 
 
 " Expect the public eye to view your crimes, 
 
 " Expect the public voice to mock your shame." 
 
 They went. The gamesters, in amazement wrapt. 
 
 At first perceiv'd not they had left the room. 
 
 Till some few minutes past : and Clareson then 
 
 At length broke silence. " There is one thing yet 
 
 " May set all right again ; 'tis my turn now 
 
 " To use the sentence ; once 'twas Theodore's 
 
 ♦' His sister may be won : her fortune then 
 
 " Will doubly recompence this evening's loss; 
 
 " And rest assur'd my fellow sufferers. 
 
 " Ye both shall share the treasure. 'Twere unfair 
 
 " To share the loss, and not partake the gain." 
 
 The next day came ; and as they had agreed^ 
 All met at an appointed rendezvous :
 
 104 THEODORE j OR, 
 
 From thence they slowly walk'd to meet tlie maid 
 
 Whom, with her father, and his Theodore, 
 
 They saw advancing for an ev'ning's walk. 
 
 They all were welcom'd ; and the lovely girl 
 
 Flew to the garden to prepare the tea, 
 
 In her dear father's favorite alcove. 
 
 She seem'd unconscious of each winning word 
 
 Or compliment that Clareson frequent gave : 
 
 And Mountague appear'd quite sociable. 
 
 And unsuspecting of tlie intended scheme. 
 
 Seymour, who had not yet Ijy them been seen, 
 
 Link'd arm iu arm with kind Constantio, 
 
 Now join'd the party, welcomed by them all ; 
 
 And cordially indeed by Theodore : 
 
 His grateful bosom felt the benefit 
 
 The faithful youth had wish'd him, and perform'd. 
 
 Maria smil'd on Seymour, sweetly gay ; 
 
 And for each word at random she bestow'd, 
 
 She seem'd resolv'd to give a score to him ; 
 
 Or, if the opportunity was lost, 
 
 A smile would ever make the full amends -, 
 
 A sweet excuse for inclination's will. 
 
 Denied the power of consoling speech. 
 
 *Twas late, and as the evening drew in, 
 
 It was propos'd by Mountague to rise. 
 
 They all agreed : but Clareson's offer'd hand 
 
 Was not accepted by the wary maid. 
 
 Who had secur'd on one >ide Theodore, 
 
 And made a sign for Seymour to secure 
 
 Th« other, fearing Clareson should request it.
 
 THE gamester's progress. 105 
 
 He was dejected at her seeming wish 
 
 To foil each opportunity that came. 
 
 And more than once broke silence as they went. 
 
 Complaining of neglect ; Iho' in a tone 
 
 That seem'd to wish it might appear in jest ; 
 
 But fully it appeared to Mountague, 
 
 He had suspicion of the whole affair ; 
 
 So thought it now the very point of time 
 
 To put the final stop he had prepar'd ; 
 
 And which Maria had before resign'd 
 
 (Unseen by any) for the same intent. 
 
 " Come, come," said he, " if you're so very fond 
 
 " Of walking with a lady arm-in-arm, 
 
 " Here's one whom you may carry in your hand : 
 
 " Here is her mother's portrait : 'tis profest 
 
 '* To be a good resemblance : "tis a chance 
 
 " She had not given it a parting look 
 
 *' But two days since: mdeed, so strange a thing 
 
 " Occurr'd that morning, that I must relate it. 
 
 '' She had (as usual) that fine summer's morn, 
 
 " On the green bank in yonder shady grove 
 
 " Sat down to read, when on a sudden leapt ; 
 
 " A man in horrid vizor o'er the hedge. 
 
 " Her gold he ask'd with many dreadful threats, 
 
 " And held a pistol to her trembling breast. 
 
 " Her purse he snatch'd — 
 
 " And at the instant, I," 
 Said Seymour, with an honest energy, 
 (Expressive of his rapture at the thought,) 
 " I came behind the villain, and my blow
 
 '*>t» TIIKODttHU ; (lit, 
 
 " Drove the base coward from his fancied prey, 
 " Pardon the intcrniption, deares? Sir ; 
 " But when I think 'twas I who chas'd the wretch, 
 " And rescu'd her from insult, O, I bless 
 " The happy chance which led me to the spot !" 
 *' My tlianks are far too poor a recompence," 
 Said noble Mountague with kindest smile: 
 ' But to proceed : That morning, gentlemen, 
 " Some two hours after, was the picture sent, 
 " Wrapt in a score of papers, as you see. 
 " This is the shape in which it came, and these 
 " The different papers which surrounded it, 
 " On which no word in writing can be found, 
 " By which means we might trace Uie guilty wretch. 
 " See me look over them, now, one by one: 
 " And look yourselves if any word appear, 
 " From which a faint idea we may draw 
 " To fix a justifiable suspicion." 
 He took them off, and having once more look'd 
 On each side carefully before them all, 
 He laid them (for as yet no word appear'd) 
 Far distant by themselves. And now behold 
 With staring eye, and accent menacing, 
 He reads aloud, and shews the guilty name, 
 " Charles Raymond." 
 
 Each articulates the words 
 In various tones, impell'd by various caujes. 
 In accent loud, amid surprise and shame, 
 Clareson and Moore re-echo to the sound. 
 The name brought back the deed to memon,-.
 
 THE Gamester's picogress. 1(^7 
 
 And sweet Maria fainted at the words. 
 
 Seymour repeats the name in rage, but sees 
 
 Maria faint, and catches in his arms 
 
 The lovely burthen. Albert in a look 
 
 Darted far more than words could have exprest. 
 
 Constantio stood astonish'd to observe 
 
 So just an act of Providence, and saw 
 
 Raymond in guilty terror stand aghast, 
 
 Amaz'd to think what carelessness had wrought ; 
 
 While Mountague with solemn wave forbad 
 
 Each of the three in future to appear 
 
 Within his dwelling. More he did not say, 
 
 As words could ne'er have given that reproach 
 
 Contempt so justly shew'd : for all he wish'd 
 
 Was to convince his son with what a crew 
 
 Of harden'd and unprincipled young men 
 
 He had, alas ! associated till now ; 
 
 And this with filial tenderness he own'd, 
 
 And thank 'd, and blest him for his generous care. 
 
 In silent shame the gamesters slowly mov'd. 
 
 And slunk away, confusion on their brows. 
 
 And now congratulations quick went round. 
 
 The cordial shake ; th' affectionate salute 
 
 Of love fraternal by Maria given, 
 
 He begg'd might pass throughout the company. 
 
 " Blessings upon thy head, my darling child !" 
 
 Said Albert, as he took the pious kiss ; 
 
 " May God reward thy sweet humility 
 
 " On earth, and then exalt you to himself!" 
 
 To Seymour'^ turn it cam 3 with modest step
 
 '^' TIIKOUOUE; OR, 
 
 He mtt the lovely maid, and took the kiss 
 That trembled on her lip. O, ye who seek 
 Amid the fancied joys of lawless love, 
 An airy phantom of deluded brain, 
 Thinking 'tis pleasure that ye so pursue, 
 'J'urn from the path, in virtue's sacred road 
 Pursue the bliss, and real bliss enjoy « 
 And now assembled sat the cheerful crew. 
 Commanding from the parlour window op'd 
 The sweet suirounding view, a charming seen 
 The moon in silver lustre, ev'ry star 
 In splendour shining, shew'd divinely grand : 
 And now the mirthful tale, the merry song. 
 In social unanimity went round. 
 And seem'd to banish ev'ry gloomy tliought 
 That mem'ry might retain : And now aloud 
 Resounds the mansion gate with weighty force • 
 Bright shone the silver harness on the steeds; 
 Four such as seldom may at once be view'd 
 Drawing a burthen of such real worth. 
 'Tis not the coach I mean, tho' that was lin'd 
 Witli silk ia highest elegance of taste. 
 With silver fringe, and lace extremely rich ; 
 hut from the carriage the gay owner walk'd ; 
 A woman not yet past tlie bloom of life. 
 Yet such a graceful majesty of gait 
 Accompanied each motion, every eye 
 Was lost in wonder at the female stranger. 
 Err she had gain'd the door, a gentleman 
 Sfepl linni the carriage, ofTcring his hand
 
 THE gamester's PROGRESS. ]09 
 
 To a young damsel splendidly attir'd. 
 
 And beautiful as Venus is pourtray'd. 
 
 They were announced as strangers, but receiv'd 
 
 With that kind hospitality that mark'd 
 
 The character of gen'rous Mountague. 
 
 Scarce had she yet observ'd each ditF'rent face 
 
 That sat around the room, when suddenly 
 
 She sprang from off her chair, and Alljert's hand 
 
 Affectionately grasp'd: " Tell me,"' said she, 
 
 " Thou venerable, good, belov'd old man, 
 
 " Tell me, does Seymour, does my son yet live ? 
 
 " Answer me, yes : O ! quickly make me blest 
 
 " With the dear sound ; or by a downcast look, 
 
 " Bid me expect what would renew that woe 
 
 " You once beheld while for a shelter pleading, 
 
 " To the wild fury of the storm expos'd." 
 
 She turned to Mountague, and thus she spoke : 
 
 " Pardon me, noble Sir; my history 
 
 " Will best excuse (if it should need excuse) 
 
 " This seeming strange behaviour: 'Tis my son, 
 
 " Who twenty years has been with Albert left, 
 
 " If fate has not cut off my dearest joy,) 
 
 " I come once more to seek. My Seymour lives ; 
 
 " O, say the word, and make a mother ble** "
 
 VAKV viir.
 
 Xarjiilr ' Iinvo arriv'rf at last 
 Unto thp wishfd haven of my Llitn. 
 
 Shakeipcare. 
 I mark'd his desultory pace, 
 His gestures strange, and vaning face, 
 
 Witli many a muttei'J sound : 
 And all! too lute aghast I view'd 
 The recking blade, the hand enilrii'd ; 
 He fell, and groaning' grasp'd io agony the ground. 
 
 T. /rarton. 
 Guilt is the source of sorrow ; ^tis the fiend. 
 Til' avenging lienJ, tliat fiillows us behind 
 With whips and stints. The blest know none of thi» ; 
 But rest in everlasting peace of mind. 
 And f r.d the height of oil tl.cir heaven is goodnesj. 
 
 Hinee.
 
 PART VIII. 
 
 " He lives!" in wildest ecstacy of joy, 
 Seyaiour exclaim'd: " Behold him at your feet," 
 '* Do I, indeed, a mother's blessing ask ? 
 " Am I again permitted to behold 
 " The author of my being ? to conceive 
 " The bliss that absence makes us to enjoy, 
 " When long-lost friends return ?" 
 
 '« My dearest son !" 
 Affectionately raising him, she cried. 
 The tears of transport starting from her eye ; 
 " A thousand, thousand blessings I implore 
 " Upon the heads of these thy genVous friends ; 
 " Particularly to my kind old host ; 
 " And on thy head may God his blessings shower I 
 " Making thee bear thy fortunes as becomes 
 " A man, a son, a brother, and a Christian. 
 " Thy father is impatient to embrace 
 " The eldest pledge of our unminish'd love. 
 " Thy sister, too, is anxious to behold 
 " A brother, who has been my constant theme 
 " Since riches chang'd the scene. I wish'd for thee; 
 " But ah ! some thousand miles were we apart. 
 K 3
 
 114 THEODORE; OH, 
 
 " To India's soil thy father owes his wealth ; 
 
 " His wealth, with industry and honest toil, 
 
 " Long sought for, and, a just reward, obtain'd. 
 
 " We came to England ; and the gaudy change 
 
 " Invited friends whose doors had all been shut 
 
 " When poverty accompanied my steps 
 
 " To seek a scanty aid to raise the debt 
 
 •' For which my husband in a prison lay; 
 
 " His father heard, and on the bed of death 
 
 " Implor'd forgiveness; soon was it obtain'd: 
 
 " And in his will he left my Seymour heir 
 
 " To all his vast possessions. Then we sought 
 
 *' The mansion of ;ny father. He had long 
 
 " Paid the great debt to nature. In his will 
 
 " A nephew, he intended for his heir, 
 
 " Having displeas'd him highly in his life, 
 
 " Was disinherited; his daughter's name 
 
 " Inserted in his stead. And now, my son, 
 
 " Ask me whatever thou wilt, that wealth can give, 
 
 " Or my poor pow'r in anv way l)eside, 
 
 " As some rtturn for all the kindness shewn thee, 
 
 " From tender infancy to rip'ning years; 
 
 •' And more true joy than can dcscri;;tion paint, 
 
 *' iVIy grateful bosom will enraptur'd ftel. 
 
 " But first let me thus publicly repay, 
 
 " In tenfold number, that most gen'rous loan 
 
 " That gainM my Seymour's liberty. Receive 
 
 " A portion of that recompense I wish ; 
 
 " My tears must pay the rest, my wealth can never."
 
 THE gamester's PROGRESS. 115 
 
 It nf)w was Albert's tuni to check the tear 
 Prepar'd for starting down his furrow' d cheek : 
 He dar'd resist; but, ah! the angry frown 
 Seem'd to prepare its all-subduing power ; 
 He took the pui-se ; she prest his aged hand. 
 And kist it thrice ; he turn'd aside to weep. 
 
 Seymour look'd round; he sometimes thought he 
 saw 
 Coustantio's eye in fondest rapture gaze 
 On his fair sister ; still "twas hard to tell 
 How far the youth was smitten ; yet he wish'd 
 The soft impression might have reach'd his heart, 
 And taught his eye to own the maiden's power. 
 And now (did fancy partially suggest, 
 Or was the mutual glance perceptible ?) 
 He thought he saw the maid with bashful smile. 
 Watch ev'ry motion of Constantio, 
 And oft return a look as fond, as kind. 
 As when their eyes had met, she gain'd from hnn. 
 " To name a wish," he tenderly replied, 
 " Were to be discontent with happiness, 
 " To be indeed dissatisfy'd with bliss. 
 " The orphan mourns no more a parent's loss : 
 " His only wish was once again to see 
 «♦ To whom he ow'd his duty, filial love, 
 '• And fond attention ; to repay the cares 
 " His infant years has cost them ; to requite 
 " Their kind anxiety, and make old age 
 " As truly happy as the prime of life ; 
 
 k4
 
 " A just return for tenJerness bestowM 
 
 " Wlien childhood needed all the parent's care. 
 
 *• The orphan's only wish is gratify 'd ; 
 
 *' He dare not wish again. The tinie may come 
 
 " (If his dear parents will permit him then) 
 
 " That he will claim the privilege with joy, 
 
 «' And ask a boon which they with joy will grant." 
 
 His eye now met Constantio's, now the maid's ; 
 
 And each display'd the ray of tranquil joy ; 
 
 Beneath which ray he thought he could discern 
 
 The faint, yet sparkling, fire of rising hope. 
 
 As the wet mariner, who, cast on shore. 
 
 Thinks afar oft' he sees the welcome shape 
 
 Of some assisting vessel, now his eye 
 Darts the bright beam of animated hope. 
 
 Which slowly faints dejected in despair. 
 
 When tJie consoling prospect is no more : 
 
 The subject dropt, and supper now was serv'd ; 
 
 Withdrawn from which, the company were shewn 
 
 Respective chambers ; for their noble host 
 
 Resolv'd they should not from his house depart, 
 
 'I'ill a design, he long had had in view, 
 
 Was by unanimous consent accomplislf d. 
 
 This he declar'd he would not then unfold. 
 
 Fearing to break their rest. The monow came. 
 
 He would before them all aloud propose 
 
 The project that would bless his future days. 
 
 Did'st thou, old man, forget thy days of love? 
 Thcught'st thuu to lull the bosom to repose,
 
 7HK gamester's PROGRESS. 1J7 
 
 Where tedious doubt, ungratify'd suspense. 
 
 Sat ever roving to the varied thought. 
 
 That fertile fancy, in succession quick, 
 
 Impatiently suggested to the mind ? 
 
 Did'st thou notmark bright beaming in the eye. 
 
 An eversparkling ray of hope, to hear 
 
 The resolution vhich concern'd them all > 
 
 The bounding haart, with expectation high. 
 
 Ne'er sinks to rest ■whi\e buoy'd by anxious doubt. 
 
 The morning davn'd ; and, e'er the tell-tale clock 
 
 Had sham'd the lazy youths with eight reproofs. 
 
 The damsels both arose, and, arm in arm, 
 
 Tap'd a good-mornw at the bolted door. 
 
 And hasten'd dowa the breakfast to prepare. 
 
 And now around tte table all were met. 
 
 All formal ceremony di?appear'd. 
 
 And social chat made sweet the frequent sip ; 
 
 When Mountague was beckon'd from the room 
 
 By one with terror pfctur'd in bis face. 
 
 Who seem'd possest of scarcely pow t to speak. 
 
 So much affected by the horrid scene 
 
 Ke had been witness to. He thus disclos'd 
 
 The cause of his unmannerly intrusion. 
 
 A youth, whom yesterday he had remarked 
 
 Among the company in friendly talk. 
 
 Had, in a seeming phrenzy of despair, 
 
 Fall'n victim to unmanly suicide. 
 
 " He lies," said he, " before the garden hedge. 
 
 " I heard him say these words ; but could not stay 
 
 " His well-directed hand. The deed was done; 
 
 KG
 
 lis 
 
 " But still the words re-echo'd to mine ear." 
 
 " Fond fool, who thojiglit in gaming to be blest f 
 
 " Once I was innocent ; now guilt so ttick 
 
 " Clogs my foul soul, the thought of wiat I've been 
 
 " Spurs me to finislj life and woe at once. 
 
 " Come, fatal tube, the gamester's last .•esource, 
 
 " And lull contending passions to repjse. 
 
 " What have I said r is there repose ii death > 
 
 '* Repose for villains, tranquil and seene' 
 
 " Ah ! no — remorse will sting, the ouicience wound, 
 
 " And suicide will still increase my trimes. 
 
 " But yet to live in endless infamy ! 
 
 " Can I support it ? never, I'm resoVed. 
 
 "This calmer, Theodore, was meart for thee: 
 
 *' But, foil'd in each attempt, I tale revenge, 
 
 *' And thus reward the careless negligence 
 
 " Which makes me what I am." " He op'd bis 
 
 " mouth, 
 " The trigger pull'd, and fell a lifeless corpse." 
 Albert and Theodore alone were call'd; 
 For it was Mountague's most strict command 
 No lady should accompany their ttep?. 
 *' This day,"" said ho, " shall not bo overcast 
 " By clouds which such a dreadful sight would 
 
 raise. 
 •' Duty bids «? acquaint the wretched Sire, 
 *' And send the corpse with decency to him : 
 ** But when I think the purport of his speech, 
 " E'iT he completed his design - 1 try 
 " ShuddVing to blot remembrance from my mind." 
 
 /
 
 THE gamester's PROCRSS. 119 
 
 They went ; and where the servant pointed out. 
 
 Beheld the mangled visage, scarce a trace 
 
 Of those strong features Raymond once possest ; 
 
 But by his dress they recogniz'd the youth. 
 
 Albert bless'd God for Theodore's escape ; 
 
 In which both he and his dear father join'd j 
 
 And while the servant bore the corpse away, 
 
 They sought once more the parlour; there they 
 
 found 
 Constantio and Matilda deep engag'd 
 In that most interesting tdte-a-f^te 
 That lovers know, who, fearing to explam 
 Each wish, or fond emotion of the heart. 
 Prolong that sad suspense they wish to cure. 
 Her kind indulgent mother had withdrawn 
 With fair Maria to assist the scheme 
 That, from the time she heard her Seymour own 
 Constantio's faithful friendship, had prevail'd 
 O'er ev'ry thought within her gen'rous breast. 
 The youth had hinted 'twas his only wish 
 To be his Seymour's brother ; and the maid. 
 While modest blushes spread her lovely cheek. 
 Had fram'd the kindest answer, which, alas ! 
 Was by their entrance now abruptly check'd. . 
 Both seemed displeas'd, although but slightly shown. 
 At interruption so unseasonable; 
 Yet wish'd to hide the gentle frown, unwilling 
 Their sweet confusion should be known to all : 
 But Mountague observ'd the timid glance 
 That, on their entrance, shot from either eye ;
 
 J20 THKODORF; OR, 
 
 And thought he now might ?ift the tL-uder cause, 
 And pubhsli his proposal. With a smile. 
 That everdeck'd his cheerful rev'rend brow. 
 He tum'd to Albert, Seymour, and his son : 
 " We should apologize, intruding thus ; 
 " We have disturb'd, I fear, continued he, 
 " The converse we can never benefit. 
 " Old men are sad intruders! 
 
 " Say not so, 
 " My father," said Constantio. " I am sure 
 " You never can appear but to increase 
 *• Whatever pleasure might before have reign'd." 
 " I know not that," replied the good old man : 
 *' Youth can find converse suited to itself, 
 " Far better than when age, with graver face, 
 " Obtrudes its serious voice. The tender smile 
 " The unrestrained, tho' innocent discourse ; 
 " The mutual glance f the seizure of the hand, 
 " Which gently, yet reluctantly, r&sists > 
 " Love's tender phrases, terrified by age, 
 " Are chang'd to studied and unnafral terms. 
 " The smiles are banish'd j and with downcast eye 
 " In monosyllables the converse ends. 
 " This is the picture : but high heav'n forbid 
 " I should o'ercloud that mild serenity 
 " Which mark'd the prospect e'er I op'd the door! 
 " I am no list'ner; yet have 1 obtxiv'd 
 " What fills niv brp5i5t with ijladn':?':; and 1 think
 
 THE,<JAMEiTEK's PROGRESS. 12l 
 
 " I come, my children, messenger of joy. 
 
 "• Transporting tidings from a father's mouth. 
 
 " Attentive hear; and when assembled all, 
 
 " If I offend, let the offended plead, 
 
 " Or sweetly blush assent." The door he op'd: 
 
 Matilda's mother gracefully advanc'd 
 
 Between Constantio and the lovely maid. 
 
 She gave Maria to her father's hand. 
 
 Who (unsuspected) plac'd her, unperceiv'd. 
 
 On his right-hand, and Seymour on his left 
 
 " Be this," he cried, " my only wish on earth ! 
 
 " To see my daughter wedded to the youth 
 
 " Unrival'd goodness tells me to revere. 
 
 " Unrival'd ! yes, belov'd Constantio ; 
 
 " Thy goodness equals his ; but friendship's ties 
 
 " Precludes the thought of envy. May I live 
 
 " To see this maid the partner of my son ; 
 
 " And by this double marriage bless the days 
 
 " Which yet remain for Mountague ! My son ! 
 
 " My Theodore, I still am blest in thee: 
 
 " Thou hast perceiv'd the perils of the path 
 
 " To which thou wert ensnar'd ; thou art restor'd 
 
 " Repenting to a doting father's arms, 
 
 " Who watch'd thy steps with deep anxiety. 
 
 " But, next to God, to this belov'd old man, 
 
 " To him, my son's deliv'rer, am I bound 
 
 " In obligation ne'er to be repaid.'' 
 
 " This scene repays me,"' chierfuUy replied 
 
 The pious Albert : '• more I cannot wish. 
 
 " I see my dear adopted Seymour blest;
 
 '*''^ lllKOUiinE; OR, 
 
 " I see his friend, my lov'd Constaiitio, too, 
 
 " Partake the heav'nly blessing. I behold 
 
 " 'i he once poor pleading,' wand'rer at my door, 
 
 " (Whose virtues fortifi'd her noble heart 
 
 " To bear the keen attack of p-jifrnant grief,) 
 
 " Rais'd to that rank her excellence deserv'd. 
 
 " I hnve beheld the punishment of vice, 
 
 " And seen the triumph native virtue won. 
 
 " The eye will stray, delusion's outward shew 
 
 "Attracts; and curiosity prev;iils; 
 
 " But if tlie heart remain ii:iblemish"d still, 
 
 •• One moment of reflection awes the soul, 
 
 " And makes it shrink from the approaching dangc 
 
 " O then how truly glorious the defeat, 
 
 "When reason and advice can overcome 
 
 " The artful and jiersuasive tongue of vice, 
 
 " And from hypocrisy pull off the mask ! 
 
 " Xow Albert gives the ivord for gen'ral joy, 
 
 " If the decree Lord Mount ague has made 
 
 " Meet gen'ral approbation." 
 
 From no totjguc 
 Fell a denial to the kind consent 
 That glow'd in modest blushes on the cheek; 
 Their hands the happy parents gladly join'd ; 
 Each ardent youlh now seized hisdestiu'd bride. 
 And seal'd the solemn contract with a kiss. 
 Tender embraces, tributes of esteem, 
 Thti »e-tr of joy, jiarcntal bliss bcstow'd.
 
 THE gamester's PROGRESS. 1"23 
 
 Heart felt delight at virtue's victory. 
 Old Albert's eyes bedew'd3 and all around 
 Own'd willingly the sympathetic power. 
 Seymour conl'est the boon he meant to ask 
 Was for Constantio fair Matilda's hand. 
 Constantio look'd a recompense. His smile 
 First on the charming maid, on Seymour then 
 Shone forth replete with grateful tenderness. 
 Time seem'd to creep till the blest day arriv'd. 
 Uniting to the loveliest of maids 
 The worthiest of youths. 
 
 Long may they live ! 
 Their parents chiefest blessings. May they feel 
 The rapture to behold their otfspriiig rise 
 To virtue's path ! and thus the blessing reap 
 Reserv'd the just reward of filial love. 
 May ev'ry youth allur'd (beneath the mask 
 Of tempting pleasure) by the snares of vice 
 Think on the vast escape of Theodore, 
 And at the impulse of repentance stop ; 
 Start back with horror at the dreadful view 
 Of the abyss of overwhelming guilt. 
 And kiss with transport the assisting hand 
 Stretch'd out to save him from impending ruin! 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 »HAtU«LL A.N1> ABR0W»M1TH, JOHXSOs's-tOl'RT, K1.F. li I-SI RKE I .
 
 dale stBmped b«low. 
 
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 ^A 000 
 
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 with ReBectioiis ou the Works of God. Price 2«. boards 
 with a beautifully eiij^ravetl Irontispie- e. ' 
 
 ELIZA DALVANLV ; or Rdi-io« the True Source of 
 
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 Second Edition. With a beautiful Steel Embellishment, 
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 From the Imperial M„. ,i„e, n.c. 1823.-- The design of this 
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 to coiup.'ain of Frederick," ' 
 
 AN ELEGV on ths late IlIINRV MARTVV; and 
 other Poems. By JoH.\ Lawso.n, M ssionarv wf Calcutta 
 Author of "Woman in India," " Orient HaipiuK,", 4c.' 
 &c. with a heaiiiiful Purtrai', engrav-d by Fry ;"ni'd aii 
 f' tjint Vignette, tVon; <. oi.uUi's d!-sij,ii. fp. 8vo. 'it. 
 
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 ajlowfd (Lat ih<?. should oe er, in- • tu the biow* of a Hyon or 
 a Mooie." — Cltritiu.ii /'nAel ,",(-<«. iwjir. 
 
 TH'i: HOPES OF MATKIMONV: a Poem. By 
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 finely exec ited F.ngraviii" Iroin Corbould's desiifu uricc 
 3s. (iff. boarJs, ^ ' ^ 
 
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