mi 
 
 #^^
 
 
 »';«^ 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 FREDERIC THOMAS BLANCHARD 
 ENDOWMENT FUND
 
 v:-;
 
 1:}C,
 
 THE 
 
 BATH FABLES: 
 
 ON 
 
 MORALS, MANNERS, AND FAITH. 
 
 FROM 3IANY WRITEKS OF CELEBRITY. 
 
 BY 
 
 SHERIDAN WII/SON, F.S.A., 
 
 VTCE-PUESIDENT OF THE ATllTCAIf INSTITUTE, AUTHOK OF "SIXTEEN YEARS 
 IN MALTA AND GREECE," AND OF " AGNES JIOEEVILLE." 
 
 Srcona lEBttion. 
 
 ' Fable, a fiction imaging truth."— Suidas. 
 
 ' Of mystic trutli in Fable first conveyed."— DnypRX. 
 
 LONDON : 
 LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMANS. 
 
 BATH : BINNS AND GOODWIN. 
 1850.
 
 I.ONDO.N : 
 
 EEKD ANT PAHDON, PBINTERS, 
 
 I'ATliRNOSTER EOW.
 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 " Nunc it i)er iter t^nebricosum." 
 
 CATULLUS. 
 
 In the maturity of literature, long introductions 
 become irksome ; and yet I feel a wish to be as 
 garrulous as authors in its infancy : but should the 
 reader think this introduction too prolix, it is in 
 his power to make it as short as he likes. Still, 
 Barclay is not far wrong — " A preface is a 
 discourse." 
 
 Once upon a time, a certain avithor wrote a pre- 
 face of ten pages and a half, to prove that his book 
 required no preface at all, because it was a good 
 one. The force of my Emerald brothers reasoning 
 I cannot precisely see ; yet one may be pardoned 
 the fancy that it is often wise to give none, — on 
 the merits of a work, at least. 
 
 For if, in the excess of modesty, I should con- 
 cede that this volume of Fables has but slender 
 claims to pubhc notice, folks may, as Goldsmith 
 feared for himself, too readily take me at my 
 
 765v'27
 
 IV PREFACE. 
 
 word, — a result I should not exactly relish. If, 
 on the other hand, a huit should appear about a 
 slender wreath of bays, or even a stray leaf or two, 
 I might then be told, under this Eeview Dispens- 
 ation, to lay down the trumpet, and to let others 
 judge ; for that, as Dryden says, " readers are the 
 
 In such a dilemma, it might be prudent to waive 
 both questions, lest, like Thamyras, the oldest of 
 Homer's bards, one should suffer for self-conceit, 
 — a xev}' ancient poetic infirmity : nor shall I say 
 much about the matter, but limit myself chiefly to 
 a few brief remarks on topics of more practical 
 importance. 
 
 "NVliat little I mean to say, on the merits of this 
 production, has reference chiefly to style ; and it 
 may be as well to dismiss it at once. 
 
 According to some people's notions, — notions 
 that I can well respect, — a spice of Dryden asperity 
 in poetic diction is as telling as Johnsonian rotun- 
 dity or Alfierian polish ; so striking, they opine, is 
 the nerve, the force, the shaggy, bear-like gripe of 
 the first rude idea, as free of pruning as Carlyle's 
 Saxonisms, or Shakspere's less musical heroics. 
 
 Now, all this may be very fine, perhaps very 
 true ; but one may be bonie with if he doubt it ; 
 and happy should I have been to polish as much
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 as Pope himself, whose lyrics flow along " as 
 musical as is Apollo's lute." I cannot, moreover, 
 discern the wisdom of relinquishing all that our 
 best poets have achieved, who, like Owen Glen- 
 dower, and sundiy among the fitful galaxy of the 
 Troubadours, sang 
 
 " Many an English ditty lovely well, 
 And gave the tongue an helpful ornament." 
 
 ^Vliy retuiTi to the unmeiodious rhj^nes of Gower 
 or of Chaucer? The human soul is tuned to 
 harmony, which ranks high among the elements 
 of poetical excitement ; nor can the most elegant 
 thought atone for its absence ; far less is rusticity 
 tin element of perfection. 
 
 Since the tide of refinement should not return 
 to its source, I cannot but fancy this to be the 
 great fault of that excellent school of poets, — the 
 Lakers ; and that Coleridge, Wilson, Wordsworth, 
 all sinned in often relinquishing melody and dig- 
 nity for rusticity and babyism, and in Vandalizing 
 our verse by harshness, tinsel and prose. They ob- 
 scured the poetic iris with dashes of juvenile daub; 
 and if they even were " Hannibals among the 
 Alps," they used more vinegar than he of Carthage ; 
 for in them poetry too often forgets its noble otlice, 
 and sings smartly of trifles. Nor can I see why the
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 dulcet chirp of the grassho2)per, or the sweet 
 warblhigs of Philomel, slioulJ be cast aside for 
 the hoarse croak of a A\'indermere frog. The 
 media?val ballads may be venerated, rude and 
 quaint though they are ; but no one should sigh 
 to imitate them now ; for in any rational court of 
 criticism, so rude a style would justly meet cas- 
 tigation. 
 
 In short, it is clearly as unwise to unharmonise 
 our verse, as to abolish trains for diligences, to 
 abandon the Arabic cypher for the abacus and tal- 
 lies, to give up the printing-press for monastic 
 caligraphy, or to abolish the saw and plane for the 
 axe and knife. To say all this in the Preface to a 
 few unpretending Fables may, I fear, invite some 
 criticism ; but I trust my object is simply to per- 
 form \\hat I feel to be an act of patriotic dvity to 
 the republic of letters, — so far as my feeble voice 
 may get a hearing. 
 
 Though to every Eoman Catholic in the uni- 
 verse, I cherish tlio most kindly sentiments, — for, 
 as Voltaire justly I'emarks, — 
 
 " Ce mortel qui s'egare est iiii homme, et ton frere;"* 
 
 yet I ever feel it, on just occasions, a sacred duty 
 to defend our British Zion, by e.xposing some of 
 
 • " This mortnl who cits is a man, mid thy brother."
 
 PKEFACE. Yll 
 
 the awful aberrations of the Papal Church. " From 
 her, therefore," to use the language of Lord 
 Brougham, " I expect no favour, beyond what every 
 one has a right to claim, — a fair hearing." 
 
 Be it remembered, too, that I only assail such 
 bold, blushless fictions as a Boman bishop's pre- 
 tended suzerainty over all Christian princes, his 
 ideal supremacy over all Christian bishops and 
 people, the palpably absurd figment of transub- 
 stantiation, the still unx-ecanted intolerance and 
 profligacy of priestly usurpation, and those many 
 " lying wonders," or false miracles, by aid of which 
 the Papacy has, for ages, propped up its tottei'ing 
 edifice of gross and fatal delusion. 
 
 I have, it is true, used ridicule, but if this 
 weapon strike at patent and ludicrous absurdities, 
 it is allowed to be fair argument, and a sound test 
 of truth : and where shall we find such a tissi;e of 
 finesse and fraud, fanaticism and avarice, arro- 
 gance and imbecility, honey-dew and cruelty, bold 
 assumption and pitiable weakness, as in the Papal 
 Church ? 
 
 Nor let me omit to add, that to all I have said 
 in this volume, I felt pressed in spirit by an anxious 
 concern for God's honour and man's endless weal ; 
 for, as Lord Brougham says, " How many unbe- 
 lievers have been made by the errors of Rome, the
 
 VIU PREFACE. 
 
 exorbitant usurpation of her bishops, and the pre- 
 posterous ckxims of her cler<^' ! " Indeed, as I 
 think of all this, I laugh in horror, I blush for 
 Kome, but Avrite, Heaven loiows, with prayer for 
 her conversion. 
 
 Most heartily do I wish that all could live in 
 peace, and mutually cherish sweet Christian 
 charity ; but, since there is this dire necessity of 
 self-defence, — since, while one pale attacks, another 
 must defend — let all be done in kindness of heart, 
 with prayer for each other's weal, and always from 
 pure love to God's truth, so far as we each know 
 it ; nor let any sword be drawn, save that of the 
 Muses' — the pen or the tpngue. In fine, whoever 
 presumes to hurl anathemas, to proscribe, or to 
 persecute in any form, has yet to study the abece- 
 dairc of Christian polemics ; for " we have not so 
 learned Christ." 
 
 The success I had in the publication of " Agnes 
 Moreville" has encovuaged me to put out these 
 " Bath Fables," in which I have tried to " body 
 forth" some of my humble sentiments on sundry 
 great practical questions. 
 
 In dressing those sentiments in the garniture of 
 fable, I have but followed in the luminous wake 
 of many eminent men, from Bilpai and Lockman 
 of the East, to Fontaine, Bodmer and Burkhardt
 
 PKEFACE. IX 
 
 of the West ; and though I may not have fallen 
 on a vastly poetic age, but one in which first-rate 
 talent alone may hope to pass muster ; yet, since 
 fable trenches only on the cotifines of poetry, the 
 modesty of a mere fabulist will, it is hoped, soften 
 the austerity of the critic. " Virginibus jmerisque 
 canto." Nor is it futile or irrational to draw ti'uth 
 and moral from ''aXoyos ^vo-ts," or speechless 
 nature ; indeed, a time is yet to arrive when, as 
 Emerson says, "all that is yet inanimate will speak 
 and reason." 
 
 We have, it may be said, fables enough already. 
 I only reply, with Goldsmith, — " Those of the 
 moderns acquire a real value by being marked with 
 the impression of the times : antiquity has been in 
 the possession of others ; the present is our own." 
 A poet, as Emei'son says, " is a heart in unison 
 with his time and country." The fact is simply 
 this, — Foibles, vices and domestic manners are 
 ever changinrj, and the anodyne, or antidote, must 
 change with the times. Gay is obsolescent; even 
 the "Spectator" smacks of the past; and if afabulist 
 or moralist be but sound in his principles, let the 
 public give him a corner in that heart, which may 
 owe to him not a little of its humanity and comfort. 
 
 A Avord as to the title of this volume. " The 
 Bath Fables" are so named, partly as composed in 
 the vicinity of that city, as first printed phono-
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 typically in the city itself, and because previously 
 inserted — most of them, at least — in the Bttth 
 Journal. 
 
 I am not aware that the plan of adding Illustra- 
 tive Prose to fables has ever been adopted before. 
 The novelty of the thing, however, is not very 
 material ; but it is hoped that the prose selections 
 here rechfuijf'cijed will greatly enhance the charms, 
 or atone for the defects, of this little production. 
 
 A book is, as the rule, a portrait of its author's 
 mind ; and possibly an early page of this may 
 evince, that I am not unemulous of fame. Sen- 
 sitive, moreover, is an author's soul ; and if this 
 volume be doomed to a rapid oblivion, I am frank 
 to own that I, like the far abler author of the 
 "Biographia Britannica," may bitterly resent its 
 fate. 
 
 Yet ambition is sometimes self-delusive, and I 
 hope, as did David Hiune, that though the passing 
 age may disallow its claims, yet — " postcris cane," — 
 I may still sing to a candid posterity, if I only " sing 
 for the gods." But if I feared that the notes of 
 my slender reed gave one discordant sound, — that 
 I had peinied a line or icord of evil tendency, I 
 would mvself be the foremost in the chantrv that 
 sang peace to its ashes. 
 
 If, in the composition of the Fables, I have jiro-
 
 PREFACE. XI 
 
 l)osed to myself any model, it is Gay for the verse, 
 and Cowper for the moral. I do not — be it frankly 
 owned — see any valid reason for hlinkmg the fact, 
 that the present Fables aim at a standard of 
 morality immeasurably higher than is proposed 
 by the great mass of kindred compositions 
 selected from heathen fabulists ; for it really 
 seems time to inquire. How far the morals of a 
 Pagan school befit the holier atmosphere of a 
 Christian people? 
 
 Having resolved to be of no party, — having 
 freely spoken out on such matters as, in my 
 inmost heart, seem to require the gentle rebuke 
 of a moralist and a patriot ; I do hope the candid 
 public, rather than resent my honest expostula- 
 tions, will meet them with as kindly and brotherly 
 a feeling as they bring along with them. 
 
 In fine : Let it be clearly luiderstood, that the 
 irhnle of this volume will please and instruct youth 
 as much as age ; so that parents and guardians 
 will find it a very welcome present to even the 
 youngest of their families and friends. 
 
 It now only remains that I subjoin my hopes 
 and prayers, that these fruits of leisure hours may 
 benefit the British Zion, may contribute to the 
 recreation and piety of the domestic circle, whether 
 in the vernal retreat, or at the winter fireside. 
 
 THE AUTHOR.
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 FABLE PAGE 
 
 I. The Gazelles and the Giraffe. For our Beloved 
 
 Queen. Prose from Goldsmith and Dryden. 1 
 
 II. The Maid and the Eggs. For Castle Builders. 12 
 
 Addison and Steele. 
 
 III. The Eagle and the Bat. For Artists 22 
 
 Eustace ; Lady Morgan ; etc, 
 
 IV. The Jackdaw and the Rook. For Lovers. . . 37 
 
 Addison. 
 
 V. Time and his Clients. For Triflers 44 
 
 Ackermann and Dr. Young. 
 
 VI. Punch and Judy. For Husbands 55 
 
 Budgell ; Steele ; etc. 
 
 VII. Jonathan and Sambo. For Slaveholders. . . 69 
 
 Legh Richmond. 
 
 VIII. The Robin and the Trout. For Protectionists. 78 
 
 Disraeli. 
 
 IX. The Oak and the Holly. For Sufferers. . . 89 
 
 Ackermann. 
 
 X. Judy and Punch. For Wives 98 
 
 Steele. 
 
 XI. The Lark and the Rook. For Zealots. . . . 108 
 Ackermann and New Monthly.
 
 XIV CONTENTS. 
 
 FAUI.K PAGE 
 
 XII. The Cypress and the Rose. For Churches. . 119 
 
 Ji'ustace. 
 
 XIII. The Knights and the Shield. For the Quiirrel- 
 
 sonie Ackerviunn. 125 
 
 XI\'. ruiicli and the Ilanpnan. For Jurists. . .. 134 
 
 Keene; Dickons; etc. 
 
 XV. The Forge and the Bellows. For Youngsters. 143 
 
 Authtntic Narrative. 
 
 XVI. The Sheep and the Baboons. For Parents. .. 152 
 
 "Agnes Mareville." 
 
 XVII. The Chaffinch and the Cow. For the Stingy. 162 
 
 A cktiinunn. 
 
 XVIII. The Tourist and the Cicerone. For Senators. 171 
 
 New Monthly. 
 
 XIX. The Monkey and the Bear. For Fops and 
 
 Flirts Addison. 180 
 
 XX. The Rector and the Quaker. For all Good 
 
 People Dr. Watts. 189 
 
 XXI. The Crab and the Crablins. For Parents. .. 198 
 
 Steele. 
 
 XXII. Jaques and Beppo. For Duellists 207 
 
 Ntw Monthly. 
 
 XXIII. The Jackal and the Ass. For Place-hunters. 217 
 
 Steele. 
 
 XXIV. The Maid and the Mop. For the Proud. . . 224 
 
 Ackermann. 
 
 XXV. The Pheasant and the Hare. P'or Landlords. 231 
 Grapheus; Blackstone; Gibbon.
 
 CONTENTS. XV 
 
 FABLE PAGE 
 
 XXVI. The Butterfly and tlie Bee. For Sneerers. . . 237 
 
 Addison; etc. 
 
 XXVII. The Poppy and the Wheat. For Preachers.. 247 
 
 Goldsmith; etc. 
 
 XXVIII. The Newlight and the Quaker. For Sceptics. 25G 
 
 Christian Times. 
 
 XXIX. The Nuts and the Fh-bobs. For Braggarts. . 263 
 
 Goldsmith. 
 
 XXX. The Tigress and her Keeper. For Liberals.. 270 
 
 W.; etc. 
 
 XXXI. The Port and the Ship. For Vestries 279 
 
 Addison; Queen Caroline. 
 
 XXXII. The Palmers and the Mountains. For Pilgrims. 287 
 
 Hervey. 
 
 XXXIII, The Poet and the Monk. For Impostors. . . 294 
 
 Gibbon; W.; Ev-stace. 
 
 XXXIV. Murphy and Mustapha. For Tipplers. .. 301 
 
 Rowland Hill; Lord Bacon. 
 
 XXXV. The Dragoon and the Gipsy. For Belligerents. 309 
 
 Christian Times; " Nautical Essays ;" etc. 
 
 XXXVI. The Spider and the Fly. For Maidens. . . 320 
 
 Steele. 
 
 XXXVII. The Castle and the Convent. For 1849. .. 327 
 
 W.; Addison; etc. 
 
 XXXVIII. Csesar and Quacko. For the Pope 335 
 
 "Agnes Moreville." 
 
 XXXIX. Adonis and Marygold. For Wives 347 
 
 Dr. Brome.
 
 Xvi CONTENTS. 
 
 FABLE TAGE 
 
 XL. The Butterfly and the Ant. For Impro-\-iclcnts. 355 
 
 Ackermann. 
 
 XI A. The Juggler and the Priest. For Impostors. . 3C5 
 
 W.; UAuhigne. 
 
 XLII. The Rat and the Gipsy. For Egotists. . .. 375 
 
 " Spectator." 
 
 XLIII. The Rabbits and the Conies. For Universities. 385 
 
 W,; Rev. J. Rending. 
 
 XLIV. The Heart and the Dervish. For Sentiment- 
 alists Parnell; etc, 391 
 
 XLV. The Mandarin and the Blood-Orange. For 
 
 Sectarians Legh Richmond. 400 
 
 XLVI. The Toads and the Tadpoles. For His Grace 
 
 of Exeter W. 411 
 
 XLVn. The Ivy and the Myrtle. For Cardinals. .. 419 
 
 Mosheim. 
 
 XLVHI. The Linnet and her Brood. For Sluggards. . 427 
 
 Sprague ; Tillotson. 
 
 XLIX. The Friar and the Devotees. For Thinkers. . 433 
 
 Lh'. Johnson. 
 
 L. The Ass and the Monk. For Rulers 442 
 
 Grajiheus, 
 
 LI. The Bachelor and the Maids. For Husband- 
 hunters New Monthly. 451 
 
 LII. The Mopj)et and the Sllo^vman. For Sceptics. 402 
 W.; Aclerma7in ; Kustace JJudgell ; etc. 
 
 Lin. The Parrot and the Nabob. For Flats. . .. 471 
 
 Dr. Franldin.
 
 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 FABLE I. 
 THE GAZELLES AND THE GIRAEFE. 
 
 rOR OUR BELOVED QUEEN. 
 
 WHEN Gay in fables 'gan to sing, 
 The venturous bard addressed his king ; 
 Though not so bold or bright as he, 
 VICTORIA ! I would sing to thee. 
 
 Queen of Britannia's bright-blue wave! 
 Queen of the good, the wise, and brave ! 
 Queen of the isles in many a sea ! 
 Fair LADY ! list awhile to me. 
 No poet's gifted name I own, 
 Yet fain would venture near the throne : 
 Perchance, the feeblest minstrel strain 
 May aid Victoria's welcome reign ; 
 And oh ! might these Bathonian lays 
 Survive but half the age of Gay's ! 
 
 Down in a vernal, sunlit vale. 
 
 Fanned by Arabia's spicy gale, 
 
 Where lofty palms unceasing blow. 
 
 And golden sands profusely flow, 
 
 A million race of fleet gazelles 
 
 Erst browsed, and (juafled the cooling wells.
 
 In scenes so flowery, green, and gay. 
 Oh! what gazelles so blithe as they! 
 For all was bland and calm around. 
 Where'er those soft-eyed roes might boimd. 
 
 Yet, one thing lacked, they all confessed, 
 One only thing to make them blessed, — 
 A monarch virtuous and humane. 
 The social order to maintain. 
 For two gazelles would claim one rill. 
 And two gazelles the same green hiU ; 
 And two would own, nay, often three, 
 One leaf, one mate, one track, one tree : 
 Nor would those weighty contests close. 
 Without hard words and harder blows. 
 So all avowed, to end the strife. 
 They'd have a king or queen for life : 
 A king or queen, I marked the strain, — 
 " No Salic law ! — the fair may reign !" 
 
 And now was heard a grand debate, 
 Wliat prince should rule that mighty state : 
 Such fuss, such din, such boisterous sounds. 
 The very thought my brain confounds. 
 " I'm for the Zebra ! " these would cry ; 
 " I'm for the Panther!" those reply ; 
 " I vote the Lion ! "— " I the Bear ! " 
 Lau! what a scene of strife was there ! 
 Some nominate from every class — 
 The tiger, leopard, ape, and ass. 
 The wolf, the jackal, and the rest — 
 While each avowed his choice the best. 
 Hapi)y the land, and greatly wise. 
 Whose prince, in Icr/e, never dies !
 
 THE GAZELLES AND THE GIRAFFE. 
 
 At length athwart that vale so green, 
 A charming young Gh-affe was seen, 
 Browsing amid the stately trees, 
 That waved to every halmy breeze. 
 How soft and black ])er silken eye ! 
 Her swan-like neck, how sleek and high ! 
 How sylph-like rose her fairy feet ! 
 Those light gazelles' not half so fleet ; 
 And then that face —how kind, how meek ! 
 'Twould preach on mercy, could it speak. 
 Such innocence each foe disarms, 
 While youth but added to her charms; 
 And scarce she reached that sylvan scene, 
 When all exclaimed — " God save the Queen ! " 
 
 Now shifts the view : a sage Gazelle, 
 On great occasions famed to excel. 
 Gravely arose and gravely bowed, 
 First to the Queen, and next the crowd ; 
 And while the excited throng attend, 
 He thus harangues their royal friend : — 
 
 " Madame ! " — he bows — " for state aiTairs, 
 
 We've chosen you and all your heirs: 
 
 Full many " — bowing — " may they throng, 
 
 And thus your dynasty prolong ! 
 
 Great Queen," he adds, " great Queen of grace 
 
 Accept the allegiance of our race : 
 
 Rule the Gazelles with equal law ; 
 
 Let legislation know no flaw. 
 
 Yes ! rule for great and rule for small. 
 
 For noble, peasant, thane, and thrall ; 
 
 And let your justice, like your eyes. 
 
 Be even, pitiful and wise.
 
 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 If e'er for stream or shrub we figlit, 
 Your royal word shall set us right ; 
 And though your judgment should entail 
 E'en exile from this flowery vale, — 
 Yet, if you seek the public weal. 
 And all alike your sceptre feel. 
 Believe me, Queen, we'll ne'er rebel. 
 As I'm a true and staunch Gazelle ! " 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 LADY! that Power whom Britons own, 
 Hath called you to a splendid throne : 
 In all her pageants, all her prime, 
 Rome's empire never equalled thine. 
 In all their pomp and all their sheen, 
 What monarch vies with England's Queen? 
 Deign to accept this gi-atulation. 
 And live, long live, to bless the nation ! 
 
 For others, too, my muse would soar, 
 And sing a Christian Druid's lore. 
 Should your and Albert's youthful heir 
 The rightful crown of England wear: 
 Yet distant — distant dawn the day. 
 When thou shalt rest and others sway ! 
 Yet, Lady, reigns there One on high. 
 Greater than princes who shall die — 
 The Lord of lords, the King of kings. 
 Whom every flaming seraph sings ; 
 Bow to His reign, and rule in love, 
 So shall you please that King above. 
 
 Be great Elizabeth in power ; 
 Be Mary in deep sorrow's hour ,
 
 THE GAZELLES AND THE GIRAFFE. 
 
 Be Anne in union's sacred cause ; 
 Be each and all in righteous laws. 
 And should you doom — alas ! you may — 
 Some death-cast felon's life away, 
 Like youthful Edward, weep his fate, 
 And move stern Justice to abate : 
 For surely life too dearly pays, 
 And pity pleads for milder ways. 
 
 Queen of the wise ! the age is gone, 
 When kings were gods, and men undone. 
 Queen of the free ! the day is fled, 
 When kings but frowned, and vassals bled. 
 No Edward now can Clarence drown ; 
 No prelate quakes at Betsy's frown ; 
 No Dunstan rude, no Becket vain, 
 Shakes Edwy's bride, or Henry's reign : 
 For thrones are firm, and senates sage. 
 And nations smile when pontiffs rage. 
 
 Queen of the Isles ! we greet- you well ; 
 Peace in your realm and palace dwell ! 
 Our hearts of oak are all your own. 
 And Britons rally round your throne. 
 Should war's alarms around you spread, 
 We'll shield your realm and royal head: 
 Yet love not war — that ruthless pest ; 
 The arts of peace make nations blest. 
 
 Beloved and honoured Queen I would you 
 Be blest, and bless your subjects too ? 
 Oh ! cleave unto your father's God — 
 The Word, the faith, the way he trod. 
 In every fane, and every place, 
 Protect the ministers of grace ;
 
 THE BATH rAIll.ES. 
 
 And let the laws, with equal aim, 
 Throiifjh all the empire soiiiul your fame. 
 Hard is the wisest prince's fate, 
 In piloting the har(2ue of state. 
 Thy placid brow, so smooth and fair, 
 Will know what n)ortals mean by care. 
 Oh! I could weep to think how soon 
 Some grief may cloud thy joyous noon ; 
 Though royal Albert's bosom share, 
 As prompt it will, thy every care. 
 Yet grace sliall ease Victoria's crown, 
 If prayer and faith invite her down : 
 And may that grace — that grace so free — 
 In life and death your shelter be ! 
 God's love and favour crown your days, 
 And heaven be yours ! — so Britain prays. 
 
 ILLTJSTEATIVE PROSE. 
 
 To all Her Majesty's loyal subjects, it must be most 
 cheering to reflect on the stability of the British throne 
 On the other hand, the instructive pages of our history 
 inform us from what appalling misrule, from what 
 priestly assumptions, from what pontifical usurpations, 
 God, in his gracious, over-ruling providence, has eman- 
 cipated both the British nation and the British Zion. 
 
 " Edwy was a jirince of great personal accomplish- 
 ments, and of a martial disposition. But he was now 
 come to the government of a kingdom, in which he had 
 an enemy to contend with, against whom all military
 
 virtues could be of little service. Dunstan, the monk 
 who had governed during the former reign, was re- 
 solved to remit nothing of his authority in this ; and 
 Edwy, immediately iipon his accession, found himself 
 involved in a quarrel with the monks, whose rage 
 neither his accomj^lishments nor his virtues could 
 mitigate. 
 
 " Among other instances of their cruelty, the follow- 
 ing is recorded : — There was a lady of the royal blood, 
 named Elgiva, whose beauty had made a strong im- 
 pression upon the young monarch's heart. He had 
 even ventured to marry her, contrary to the advice of 
 his counsellors, as she was vdthin the degrees of affinity 
 prohibited by the canon law. On the day of corona- 
 tion, while his nobility were giving a loose to the more 
 noisy pleasures of wine and festivity in the great hall, 
 Edwy retired to his wife's apartments, where, in com- 
 pany with her mother, he enjoyed the more pleasing 
 satisfaction of her conversation. Dunstan no sooner 
 perceived his absence, than, conjecturing the reason, he 
 rushed furiously into the apartment, and, upbraiding 
 him with all the bitterness of ecclesiastical rancour, 
 dragged him forth in the most outrageous manner." 
 
 " Among the other cruelties of Edward TV., that to 
 his brother, the Duke of Clarence, is the most remark- 
 able. The king, hunting one day in the park of 
 Thomas Burdet, a creature of the duke's, killed a white 
 buck, which was a great favourite of the owner. 
 Burdet, vexed at the loss, broke into a passion, and 
 wished the horns of the deer in the belly of the person 
 who had advised the king to that insult. For this 
 trifling exclamation, Burdet was tried for his life, and 
 publicly executed at Tyburn. The Duke of Clarence,
 
 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 upon the death of his friend, vented his gi-ief in re- 
 newed reproaches against his brother, and exclaimed 
 against the iniquity of the sentence. The king, highly 
 oiiended with this liberty, or using that as a pretext 
 against him, had him arraigned before the House of 
 Peers, and appeared in person as his accuser. In those 
 times of confusion, every crime alleged by the pre- 
 vailing i)arty was fatal : the duke was found guilty ; 
 and, being granted a choice of the manner in which he 
 would die, was privately drowned in a butt of malmsey 
 in the Tower." 
 
 "John was ratlicr hateful to his subjects than con- 
 temptible; they rather dreaded than despised him. 
 But he soon showed that he might be oftended, if not 
 without resentment, at least with impunity. It was 
 the fate of this vicious prince, to make those the enemies 
 of himself whom he wanted abilities to make the enemies 
 of each other. The clergy had for some time acted as a 
 community independent of the crown, and had their 
 elections of each other generally conlirmed by the i:»ope, 
 to whom alone they owed subjection. However, the 
 election of archbishops had for some time been a con- 
 tinual subject of dispute between the suffragan bishops 
 and the Augustine monks, and both had precedents to 
 confinn their pretensions. John sided with the bishops, 
 and sent two knights of his train, who were fit instru- 
 ments for such a prince, to expel the monks from their 
 convent, and to take possession of tlieir revenues. The 
 pope was not displeased with these divisions, and in- 
 stead of electing eitlier of the persons appointed by the 
 contending parties, he nominated Stephen Langton as 
 Archbishop of Canterbury. John, however, refusing to 
 admit the man of the pope's choosing, the kingdom was
 
 THE GAZELLES AND THE GIRAFFE. 
 
 put imdei' an interdict. This instrument of terror in 
 the hands of the see of Kome, was calculated to strike the 
 senses in the highest degree, and to operate upon the 
 superstitious minds of the people. By it, a stop was 
 immediately put to divine service, and to the administra- 
 tion of all the sacraments but baptism. The church 
 doors were shut ; the statues of the saints were laid on 
 the ground ; the dead were refused Christian burial, 
 and were thrown into ditches on the highways, without 
 the usual rites, or any funeral solemnity. 
 
 " No situation could be more deplorable than that of 
 John upon this occasion. Furious at his indignities, 
 jealous of his subjects, and ajjprehending an enemy in 
 every face, it is said that, fearing a conspiracy against 
 his life, he shut himself up a whole night in the castle 
 of Nottingham, and suflfered none to approach his 
 person. But what was his consternation, when he found 
 that the pope had actually given away his kingdom to 
 the monarch of France, and that the prince of that 
 country was actually preparing an army to take pos- 
 session of his crown ! " 
 
 " The pope intimated to John, therefore, by his 
 legate, that there was but one way to secure himself 
 from impending danger. The artful Italian so well 
 managed the barons, and so effectually intimidated the 
 king, that he j)ersuaded him to take the most extra- 
 ordinai-y oath in all the records of history, before all 
 the people, upon his knees, and with his hands held up 
 between those of the legate : — 
 
 ' I, John, by the grace of God, King of England, and 
 Lord of Ireland, in order to expiate my sins, from my 
 own free wUl, and the advice of my barons, give to the 
 Church of Home, to Pope Innocent and his successors.
 
 l^ THK BATH lAlU.KS. 
 
 the kingdom of England, and all other prerogatives of 
 my crown. I will hereafter hold them as the Pope's 
 vassal. I will be faithful to God, to the Church of 
 Rome, to the I'ope my master, and his successors 
 legitimately elected. I promise to pay him a tribute of 
 a thousand marks annually ; to wit, seven hundred for 
 the kingdom of England, and three hundred for the 
 kingdom of Ireland.' 
 
 " Having thus done homage to the legate, and agreed 
 to reinstate Langton in the primacy, he received the 
 crown, which he was supposed to have forfeited, while 
 the legate trampled under his feet the tribute which 
 John had consented to pay. By this most scandalous 
 concession, John averted the threatened blow." 
 
 QokUmith. 
 
 At ghostly arrogance such as this, thanks to " the 
 Father of liglits," Englishmen can now afford to smile. 
 Yet, with quixotical innovation at our door, and these 
 absurd poutiiical jiretensions luirepented and unre- 
 canted, let not the friends of Scriptural Christianity 
 presume to sleep on their arms. The Clievalier de St. 
 George, the last of the Stuarts, is indeed gone ; but 
 there wants not, even now, a sleepless Pretender to the 
 time-hallowed throne of Victoria. 
 
 " As for the religion of our poet [Chaucer], he seems 
 to have some little bias towards the opinions of Wicklifl", 
 after John of Gaunt, his patron; somewhat of whicli 
 api)ears in the tale of Piers Plowman. Yet I cannot 
 blame him for inveighing so sharply against the vices of 
 the clergy in his age : their pride, their ambition, their 
 pomp, their avarice, their worldly interest, deserved the 
 lashes which he gave tliem, both in lliat, and in most of
 
 THE GAZELLES AND THE GIRAFFE. 11 
 
 his ' Canterbuiy Tales.' Neither has his contemporary, 
 Boccace, spared them. Yet both those poets lived in 
 much esteem with good and holy men in orders; for 
 the scandal which is given by particular priests reflects 
 not on the sacred function. Chaucer's ' Monk,' his 
 ' Chanou,' and his ' Fryar,' took not from the character 
 of his ' Good Parson.' A satirical poet is the check of the 
 laymen on bad priests. We are only to take care that 
 we involve not the innocent with the guilty in the 
 same condemnation. The good cannot be too much 
 honoured, nor the bad too coarsely used ; for the cor- 
 ruption of the best becomes the worst. When a cler- 
 gyman is whipped, his gown is first taken oft', by which 
 the dignity of his order is secured. If he be wrongfully 
 accused, he has his action of slander, and it is at the 
 poet's peril, if he transgress the law." 
 
 " But they will tell us, that all kind of satire, though 
 never so well deserved by particular priests, yet brings 
 the whole order into contempt. Is, then, the peerage of 
 England anything dishonoured when a peer suffers for his 
 treason ? If he be libelled, or any way defamed, he has his 
 scandalum magnatum to punish the ofiender. They who 
 use this kind of argument seem to be conscious to them- 
 selves of somewhat which has deserved the poet's lash, 
 and are less concerned for their public capacity than for 
 their private ; at least there is pride at the bottom of 
 their reasoning. If the faults of men in orders are only to 
 be judged among themselves, they are all in some sort 
 parties ; for since they say the honour of their order is 
 concerned in every member of it, how can we be sure 
 that they will be impartial judges? How far I may be 
 allowed to speak my opinion in this case, I know not ; 
 but I am sure a dispute of this nature caused mischief
 
 12 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 in abundance betwixt a King of England and an Arcb 
 
 bishoji of Canterbury — one standing up for the laws 
 
 of his land, and the other for the honour (as he called 
 
 it) of God's church ; which ended in the murder of the 
 
 l)relate, and in the whipjung of His Majesty from post 
 
 to pillar for his penance." 
 
 Dry den. 
 
 The just rights of God's ministers and people, in all 
 communions, kind and considerate legislatures should 
 ever hold sacred; but must equally curb the unjust 
 pretensions of each, the immodest assumjitions of the 
 Papacy especially. Nor can one fail to admire the 
 candour of Dryden, himself a member of that com- 
 munion. " si sic omnes .'" 
 
 FABLE II. 
 THE MAID AND THE EGGS. 
 
 FOR CASTLE BUILDERS, 
 
 WHILE man is man, and geese are geese, 
 Alnascharism will never cease ; 
 And should men make, as may be soon, 
 A journey to yon distant moon, 
 They sure must meet a traveller's fare, 
 So many castles crowd the air. 
 But if you fear, as well you may, 
 To meet no castle on the way, 
 The " Maid and Eggs," perused ai-ight, 
 May guard you from so high a flight.
 
 THE MAID AND THE EGGS. 1 .$ 
 
 A pretty maid, one sunny day, 
 
 With dancing heart and rilibons gay — • 
 
 A lively, hoyden, rustic belle, 
 
 To market tiipped, some eggs to sell. 
 
 " Here, Sally, child," her master said, 
 " This basket place upon thy head; 
 Speed thee to town, e'er sun rise high — 
 The day will roast us by-and-bye. 
 These eggs, so fresh, so white and fine, 
 Will fetch — let's see — -just shillings nine ; 
 And mind, my girl, what I'm to say, — 
 If all the eggs go off to-day, 
 As sure as I'm an honest clown, 
 I'll dowry thee with half-a-erown." 
 
 The maid set out ; the sun shone bright ; 
 The road was long, her spirits light : 
 She bared her bosom to the breeze. 
 That gently sighed among the trees, 
 And nobly bore upon her head 
 The skij) of eggs, as hath been said. 
 
 Two tedious miles the weight she bore. 
 But felt at length so galled and sore, 
 Poor Sally was compelled to stay. 
 And rest — so sultry was the day : 
 So on a flat-cropped hawthorn hedge, 
 She plumped her basket for a ledge. 
 
 Vagaries strange, we often find, 
 Disport within a maiden's mind ; 
 And so it was with Sally now — 
 Who reads the rest, shall soon see bow. 
 This rustic damsel, as she stood 
 Hard by her wares, in pensive mood.
 
 14 THE BATH I'ABLKS. 
 
 Stumbled upon a thousand dreams — 
 Foud lovers' vows, and kindi-ed themes. 
 
 " Oh ! happy day for me ! " she sighed, 
 " When I shall be dear Lumpkin's bride ! 
 And sure, that day is getting nigh, 
 For we'll have money by-and-bye : 
 To-day I gain a bright half-crown — 
 'Twill help to buy the wedding-gown. 
 Yet, stay — a different plan I'll choose ; 
 No gown I'll buy, nor wedding shoes : 
 But when I've sold my eggs in town, 
 And master tips me half-a-crown, 
 I'll buy a bee-hive with the money, 
 And soon shall have ajar of honey. 
 
 " This honey, if I manage well, 
 For thirty shillings I can sell. 
 With this immense, this frightful sum, 
 I'll buy a calf as home I come ; 
 A bonny calf I'U get for that. 
 As big as Hector, and as fat. 
 Well, let me see — my calf ere long 
 Becomes a cow, and has her young ; 
 I'll sell them both for twenty j'ound. 
 And get a little plot of ground. 
 There every sort of herbs I'll grow. 
 And every week to market go. 
 Selling the produce of my land — 
 The best the market can- command. 
 
 " Oh ! then I'll buy a horse and cart, 
 And trot to market neat and smart; 
 For, having now increased my wealth, 
 'Twould neither suit my rank nor health,
 
 THE MAID AND THE EGGS. 15 
 
 To trounce a slattern into town, — 
 And so I'll buy a nice chintz gown : 
 Advancing at this splendid rate, 
 Soon shaU I be both rich and great. 
 A sweet, neat cottage next I'll buy. 
 Just like the Squire's, and just as high : 
 Then all the world will wondering stand, 
 To see poor Sally grown so grand ! 
 
 " Well ! now I'll step to Lumpkin's cot — 
 Poor lad ! he'll think he's quite forgot ; 
 But no ! he loved me poor as j^ride. 
 And I'll love him, and none beside. 
 Yes, dearest Lumpkin ! though I'm great, 
 We'll wed, and you shall live in state. 
 But mind, my lad ! should you become 
 Unworthy of a lady's home ; 
 Should you behave as many do, 
 I'll make you smart, and rue it too ; 
 For as I stand upon these legs, 
 And strike this basket full of eggs, 
 So will I drub thy faithless back. 
 Till every bone about thee crack ! " 
 
 She said : she struck : the basket fell : 
 
 The eggs all smashed, and burst the spell ! 
 
 So false Cape Fly-away eludes 
 
 The storm-tossed barque on ocean floods. 
 
 Poor Sally eyed her eggs in pain ; 
 
 She sighed, and blushed, and sighed again. 
 
 In dreamy bliss she ceased to roam ; 
 
 With tearful eyes she sought her home ; 
 
 And, quashed in these hymeneal plans. 
 
 Spent all her life in scouring pans.
 
 16 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Alnaschar lives in every age, 
 And for his good I pen this page. 
 O duped by each fantastic scheme, 
 By every Eldorado dream — 
 From rouge et noir to glittering mines, 
 Where golden profit fitful shines !— 
 Would you escape this fair one's fate, 
 Quit idle dreams of rank and state ! 
 Ye lovers, wlio, in wedded life. 
 Dream but of bliss as man and wife ! — 
 Would ye avoid poor Sally's match, 
 Count not your pheasants ere they hatch 
 
 'Tis right, 'tis wise, to ]ilan in time ; — 
 Who lives at random lives in crime ; 
 And if with clouds your sky be cast, 
 Hope brighter suns may shine at last. 
 We ne'er entail Jehovah's frown. 
 By laying plans of conduct down ; 
 Yet, let each scheme of future life. 
 For business, friendship, husband, wife. 
 Be laid in faith, to Heaven resigned, — 
 " Thy will, not mine," upon the mind. 
 
 And since all sublunary things 
 Prove evanescent, spread your wings. 
 E'en faith and hope, to bliss above — 
 To boundless wealth and endless love. 
 For what is earth but transient mould, — 
 Its pomp, its splendour, or its gold ? 
 Ambitious Charles found grandeur vain. 
 And spurned the throne of Charlemagne.
 
 THE MAID AND THE EGGS. 17 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE PROSE. 
 
 I KNOW not that anything can better illustrate and 
 apply the moral of this fable than 
 
 THE STORY OF ALNASCHAB. 
 
 Alnaschar was a very idle fellow, that never would 
 set his hand to any business during his father's life. 
 When that worthy parent died, he left his son to the 
 value of one hundred drachmas in the coinage of Persia. 
 Alnaschar, to make the best of it, laid out this sum 
 in bottles, glass, and earthenware of a very fine quality. 
 These wares he piled up in a large open basket, and, 
 having made choice of a very small shop or store, 
 placed the basket at his feet, and leaning his back 
 against the wall, waited in hope of customers, for he 
 was too idle to stir in search of them. As Alnaschar 
 sat in this posture, with his eyes upon the basket, he 
 fell into a most amusing train of thought, and was 
 overheard by a neighbouring storekeeper as he talked 
 to himself in the following manner : — 
 
 " This basket of ware," said he, " cost me at the 
 wholesale merchant's 100 drachmas, all I have in the 
 world. But by selling it in retail, I shall soon make 
 200. These 200 drachmas will, in a short time, rise 
 to 400, which of course will amount in time to 4000. 
 Well, 4000 drachmas cannot fail soon to make 8000 ; 
 and as soon as I am master of 10,000, I shall lay aside 
 the glass trade, and turn jeweller at once. I shall 
 then deal in diamonds, pearls, and all sorts of precious 
 stones, and soon become rich.
 
 18 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 " No sooner shall I have amassed as much wealth as 
 I cau well desire, thau I will purchase the finest house 
 to he found in the East, with lauds, slaves, eunuchs, 
 and horses. I shall tlien begin to enjoy myself, and 
 make a noise in the world. Tliere, however, I shall 
 not stoj), hut still continue my traffic, till I liave scraped 
 together a hundred thousand drachmas. Having now 
 such a mass of gold, I shall of course set myself on 
 the footing of a prince, and will demand in marriage 
 the daughter of our grand vizier, after stating to that 
 prime minister all I have heard of the beauty, wit, 
 discretion, and other eminent qualities of the young 
 lady, by which I have been induced to choose her 
 instead of so many other high-born dames of the court. 
 I shall also let the vizier know of my design to present 
 him, on our marriage night, with one thousand pieces 
 of silver, wliich must vastly astonish and please liim. 
 
 " As soon as I have married the grand vizier's 
 daugliter, I will buy her ten black eunuchs, tlie young- 
 est and best to be got for gold. After that I must 
 make a visit to my honourable father-in-law, followed 
 by a great train, and in a s[)lendid equipage. When 
 1 am placed at his right iiand, which I shall be of 
 course, if it be only to honour his daughter, I will give 
 him the thousand pieces I had pi'omised him; and 
 then, to his great surprise, shall iiresent him with a 
 second purse of the same value, with some short speech 
 such as this : — ' Sir Vizier, you see me a mau of my 
 word ; 1 always give more than I promise.' 
 
 " After bringing the princess to my splendid house, 
 I shall take s})ecial care to breed in her a due rcsjiect 
 for me, before 1 give the reins to love and dalliance. 
 To this end I shall confine her to her own apartment,
 
 THE MAID AND THE EGGS. 10 
 
 make her a short visit, and talk but very little to her. 
 Her women will then represent to me that she is in- 
 consolable by reason of her seclusion and my unkiud- 
 uess, and will beg me, with many womanish tears, to 
 caress her, and let her sit with me; but still shall I 
 remain deaf to all intreaty, and will turn my back 
 upon her all the first twenty-four hours after our 
 marriage. Her mother will then come, bringing her 
 daughter to me as I am seated in great dignity on 
 my sofa. The daughter, that is, my wife, with tears 
 in her eyes, will fling herself at my feet, and beg me 
 to receive her to my favour. Then will I, to imprint 
 in her a thorough veneration for my person, draw up 
 my legs thus, and spurn her away with my feet, in 
 such a manner as to hurl her several paces from my 
 sofa!" 
 
 In this chimerical vision, poor Aluaschar was so 
 completely puffed up with the idea of reality, that he 
 could not forbear acting with his feet what he had in 
 his thoughts; so that, unluckily striking his basket 
 of brittle ware, the foundation of all his grandeur, as 
 Sally's eggs were of hers, he kicked his glasses out into 
 the street, and smashed them into a thousand pieces ! 
 
 In No. 53.5 of the " Spectator," Addison prefaces this 
 very amusing story with some pertinent reflections, 
 from which the following is a selection: — 
 
 " It is a precept inculcated by Horace, that we should 
 not entertain a hope of anything in life that lies at a great 
 distance from us. The grave lies unseen between us 
 and the oliject we reach after. Where one man lives 
 to enjoy the good he has in view, ten thousand are cut 
 off in the pursuit. If we hope for what we are not
 
 20 THE BATH lABLES. 
 
 likely to possess, we act and think in vain, and make 
 life a greater dream and shadow than it really is. 
 
 "These are rocks on which the sanguine tribes of 
 lovers split, and on which tlie bankrupt, the politician, 
 the alchymist, and projector are east away in every age. 
 Men of warm imagination and towering thoughts are 
 apt to overlook the goods of fortune which are near 
 them, for something that glitters in the sight at a 
 distance; to neglect solid and substantial happiness 
 for what is showy and superficial; and to contemn 
 that good which lies within their reach, for that which 
 they are not capable of attaining. Hope calculates its 
 schemes for a long and durable life, presses forward 
 to imaginary points of bliss, grasps at impossibilities, 
 and consequently very often ensnares men into beggary, 
 ruin, and dishonour." 
 
 Addison. 
 
 " T am a fellow of a very odd frame of mind, as you 
 will find by the sequel, and think myself fool enough 
 to deserve a )>lace in your paper. I am unhapi)ily far 
 gone in building, and am one of that species of men 
 who are properly denominated castle-builders, who 
 scorn to be beholden to the earth for a foundation, or 
 dig in the bowels of it for materials, but erect their 
 structures in the most unstable of elements, the air ; 
 fancy alone laying the line, marking the extent, and 
 shapin^f the model. It would be dinPicult to enumerate 
 wbat august palaces and stately porticos have grown 
 under my forming imagination, or what verdant mea- 
 dows and shady groves have started into being by the 
 l)owerful feat of a warm i'ancy. A castle builder is 
 even just what hu pleases, and as such 1 have grasped
 
 THE MAID AND THK EGGS. 21 
 
 imaginary sceptres, and delivered uncontrollable edicts, 
 from a throne to which conquered nations yielded 
 obeisance. I have made I know not how many in- 
 roads into France, and ravaged the very heart of 
 that kingdom ; I have dined in the Louvre, and drank 
 champagne at Versailles ; and I would have you take 
 notice, I am not only able to vanquish a people already 
 ' cowed' and accustomed to flight, but I could, Alman- 
 zor-like,* drive the British general from the field, were 
 I less a Protestant, or had ever been affronted by the 
 confederates. There is no art or profession whose 
 most celebrated masters I have not eclipsed. Where- 
 ever T have afforded my salutary presence, fevers have 
 ceased to burn and agues to shake the human fabric. 
 
 " When an eloquent fit has been upon me, an apt 
 gesture and proper cadence have animated each sentence, 
 and gazing crowds have found their passions worked up 
 into rage, or soothed into a calm. I am short, and not 
 very well made; yet upon sight of a fine woman, I 
 have stretched into proper stature, and killed with a 
 good air and mien. These are the gay phantoms that 
 dance before my waking eyes, and compose my day- 
 dreams. I should be the most contented, happy man 
 alive, were the chimerical happiness which springs 
 from the paintings of fancy less fleeting and transitory. 
 But alas ! it is with grief of mind I tell you, the least 
 breath of wind has often demolished my magnificent 
 edifices, swept away my groves, and left no more trace 
 of them than if they had never been. My exchequer 
 has often vanished by a rap on my door; the salutation 
 of a friend has cost me a whole continent ; and in the 
 
 * Alluding to a furious character in Dryden's "Conquest of 
 Granada."
 
 2i THK IJATH FABLES. 
 
 same moment I have been pulled by the sleeve, my 
 crown has fallen from my head. The ill consequence 
 of these reveries is inconceivably great, seeing the loss 
 of imaginary j)ossessions makes impressions of real woe. 
 Besides, bad economy is visible and apparent in build- 
 ers of invisible mansions. My tenants' advertisements 
 of ruins and dilapidations often cast a damp on my 
 spirits, even in the instant when the sun, in all his 
 splendour, gilds my eastern palaces. Add to this, the 
 pensive drudgery in building, and constant grasping 
 aerial trowels, distracts and shatters tlie mind, and the 
 fond builder of Babels is often cursed with an inco- 
 herent diversity and confusion of thoughts." 
 
 Steele. 
 
 I'ABLE III. 
 THE EAGLE AND THE BAT. 
 
 FOR ARTISTS, 
 
 LONG have I deemed it passing strange. 
 That artists with so vast a range. 
 In science, history, and view. 
 Should circumscribe it as they do. 
 Pope worshipped the Augustan age, 
 And buskincd morals tread the stage; 
 While paynim dreams and Baphian Syrens 
 Must cramp our bards to Moores and Byrons. 
 Kniglits of the easel rarely choose 
 Our country's scenes, our country's muse,
 
 THE EAGLE AND THE BAT. 23 
 
 Our country's arts, our country's story — 
 The most befitting field of glory; 
 But ever and anon they fry 
 St. Laurence on his grid, or fly 
 To stale Madonnas, monkish drones, 
 Th' eternal head and marrow-bones. 
 Pshaw ! the heart sickens at such dreams ; 
 'Tis time to end those worn-out themes. 
 Why cripple genius in his wings ? 
 Why keep the god in leading-strings ? 
 Or why indulge in any taste 
 That lays our British Zion waste ? 
 
 High in an attic, dai'k and small, 
 
 The wing of a baronial hall. 
 
 With banner, battlement, and crest, 
 
 A British eagle built her nest. 
 
 This pile had weathered many a squall ; 
 
 Spears, spurs, and helmets crowned each wall; 
 
 Paintings, an immemorial line, 
 
 Showed o±i' the human face divine 
 
 Of many a knight and lady fair. 
 
 Who erst had dwelt in honour there. 
 
 All gay, in huge and massive frames. 
 
 Once smiled those barons and their dames; 
 
 Now gay no more, for time will tarnish 
 
 The brightest gold and pm-est varnish ; 
 
 Whilst monster spiders, many a pound. 
 
 Were stuck like barnacles all round. 
 
 No harm in these, but by their side 
 Some motley groups might be descried. 
 Here, purgatory in a rout, 
 There, Veronica with the clout ;
 
 24 THE BATH FABLKS, 
 
 Then beads descending from the skies, 
 From Mary's hand, to teach the wise ! 
 Loretto's wondrous house was there, 
 By angels convoyed through the air ; 
 Proud Dunstan next, the monkish elf. 
 Defies his king and crowns himself. 
 An army then of headless trunks 
 Showed Ursol and her martyred monks ; 
 And last of all, to end such dishes, 
 St. Andrew preaching to the fishes. 
 
 Among these heirlooms lived a bat, 
 Huge as a vampire, and as fat. 
 Hogsheads of flies the blade had swallowed. 
 Since first his murderous trade he followed : 
 By night his thousands he would slay, 
 And doze on paintings all the day. 
 This venerable bird, or beast, 
 Could boast two luxuries at least, — 
 To clutch the poor defenceless fly. 
 And then in dozy dreams to lie. 
 The eternal rotten frames among ; 
 And thus we finish half the song. 
 The bird of Jove would oft remark, 
 Mus crossed her eyry after dark. 
 And wondered that in daylight's space 
 Her neighbour never showed his face. 
 Yet once they met for friendly chat. 
 When thus the eagle spoke the bat. 
 
 *' A neighbour who might nap at noon, 
 I'm not the fellow to lami)Oon ; 
 Nor so officious as to wish. 
 That quadrupeds should swill like fish.
 
 THE EAGLE AND THE BAT. 
 
 And yet, dear sir, it does appear, 
 To all oiu' neighbours, vastly queer, 
 That such a gentleman as you 
 Should waste your talents as you do ; 
 Moping and prosing, day by day, 
 'Mong sooty paintings in decay. 
 I own that in a lady's face. 
 In blazonry and Flemish lace, 
 In morion, gauntlet, spur, and hat, 
 There's much to amuse a learned bat. 
 But why, pray why, my worthy friend. 
 Why all your precious daylight spend, 
 On hermits' cells and vestal's dreams. 
 Nor show a taste for nobler themes ? 
 
 " Forget such bagatelles ; arise ! 
 
 And soar like me to yon blue skies. 
 
 Up the aerial vault I climb. 
 
 And gaze upon the true sublime : 
 
 O'er Saddleback I wing my flight. 
 
 Whence loftier mountains charm my sight ; 
 
 The Northern Lakes, the southern rills, 
 
 Wide Lincoln's drains, and Mendip Hills. 
 
 And, as I cleave the ambient air, 
 
 Lo ! Snowdon here, and Cheviot there. 
 
 In loveliest panorama lie. 
 
 And gay exuberance, 'neath my eye. 
 
 Such are the splendid scenes I view, 
 
 But where, my friend, meantime, are you ? " 
 
 " Cousin," replied the hoodwinked bat, 
 " Your notions prove you half a flat. 
 Eound the wide welkin you may fly, 
 And gaze on boundless sea or sky ;
 
 26 THE HATH FA ISLES. 
 
 But all the while, these old tableaux, 
 Where I so oft and snugly doze, 
 Chefs-(Ia:uvres all, and all vertil, 
 Possess no charm at all for you. 
 Were I as vulgarly inclined, 
 Your landscapes one might daily find ; 
 But virtuosi look with scorn 
 On all that's new or native bom ; 
 For vales, or Alps, or vernal bloom, 
 Are nothing to a martyr's tomb. 
 I'll tell you what, my honest clown. 
 The bump of dulness swells your crown ; 
 Or you would pace the world to view 
 Antiques that show so much vertu." 
 
 Thus said, the moping connoisseur, 
 Huffy and flijipant, dull and sore. 
 Essayed a eulogy to spout 
 On foreign masters — great, no doubt, — 
 Poussin, De Vos, and Raphael, 
 Tibaldi, llubens, and Perelle; 
 But scarce the prosing amateur 
 Had got one sentence fairly o'er, 
 When lo ! he fell into a doze, 
 And sank among his old tableaux. 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Ye artistes of my natal isle, 
 
 And ye who on those artistes smUe ; 
 
 Ye who to life the canvas start. 
 
 And ye who jmtronise the art ! — 
 
 To you my fable would convey 
 
 A moral needed in our day. 
 
 No Goth am I, but love your fire, 
 
 And fai- have sailed your works to admire.
 
 THE EAGLK AND THE BAT. 27 
 
 Warm glows my heart as time recalls, 
 Etruria ! thy princely halls. 
 Let Vandals chide your art divine, 
 'Tis at its errors I repine. 
 
 Say, is it wise, or great, or right. 
 While British themes your muse invite, 
 To close your canvas and your eyes 
 'Gainst all the lore our laud supplies ? 
 To ban, as many a youth who paints. 
 Your country's heroes, sages, saints; 
 And barter all those noble themes. 
 For legends and monastic dreams ? 
 
 I hate the eternal garb ruicouth. 
 And livid face, of monkish youth ; 
 Susannas plump as old Moll Flagon, 
 Toby and Liver, Bel and Dragon ; 
 Autos-da-fe, and cloistered gloom. 
 Confessing nuns, and Godfrey's tomb ; 
 While Britain's scenes, and Britain's glory, 
 So rarely form the artiste's story. 
 
 Nor this alone : a taste so quaint. 
 For monk, and nun, and i^seudo saint, 
 For mawkish legends and Madonnas, 
 Entails some serious ills upon us. 
 'Tis wise, my friends, to kiss the rod, 
 When taste beguiles the heart from God; 
 When e'en the muse forgets our isle. 
 And gives to Rome her favouring smile. 
 Can modesty, untainted, face 
 Vile prints, that pander for the base ? 
 Can man take fire within his breast. 
 Nor feel it glow through all his vest?
 
 28 TIIK BATH FABLES. 
 
 And shall not masterpieces, made 
 To jiander to tlio monkish trade, 
 Familiarize the holiest mind 
 To rites fit only for the blind? 
 
 Go, artiste, to thy country's page ; 
 
 Portray her science and her sage — 
 
 Her Newton, Arkwright, Johnson, West, 
 
 Who live in every patriot breast. 
 
 Bid thy obedient easel glow, 
 
 With conquering brave and humbled foe : 
 
 Bid the proud navy of our land 
 
 Float gallantly around her strand ; 
 
 While the armada, spent and riven, 
 
 Hated by earth and scathed by Heaven, 
 
 Proclaims to astounded France and Spain, 
 
 That Britain rules the billowy main. 
 
 Spread out fair Cumbria's silvery lakes. 
 
 With Westmoreland's bluff fells and brakes; 
 
 Paint thy own Richmond, thy own Thames, 
 
 And garnish oft with India's gems. 
 
 Let Pitt and Fox make senates ring ; 
 
 Let Bedford sit with patriot king ; 
 
 Let Stanley melt the bondsman's chain ; 
 
 Let Wellington give peace again ; 
 
 Let martyred Russell jilead aloud ; 
 
 Let Charles and James instruct the proud. 
 
 Paint Zion's triumphs o'er the wave ; 
 
 Let Manga weep o'er Williams' grave. 
 
 Paint Britain thus, in all her sheen, 
 
 With chainless Commerce near her queen ; 
 
 So no false legend, vile and hoary, 
 
 Shall cheat us of our real glory. 
 
 Enough ! T only give the clue : 
 
 Your country is the field for you!
 
 THE EAGLE AND THE BAT. 29 
 
 ILLUSTKATIVE PROSE. 
 
 " Many a conspicuous niche," in St. Peter's at Eome, 
 " is occupied by a saint of dubious origin or obscure 
 name, whose existence may be questioned by many, 
 and is unknown to most, and whose virtues at the 
 best had but a local and temi^orary, that is, a very 
 confined and transient, infiuence. Thus of the four 
 most remarkable niches in the whole church, of those 
 which are formed in tlie piles that sujiport the dome, 
 and which of course face the altar, two are filled by 
 saints whose very names exist only in a legendary tale. 
 I mean St. Veronica and St. Longinus. 
 
 " The jnctures may be objected to on the same 
 ground as the statues, as many of them represent per- 
 sons and events totally unconnected with the sacred 
 records, and sometimes not to be met with even in the 
 
 annals of authentic history." 
 
 Eustace. 
 
 As Eustace was a priest of the Romish church, the 
 above admissions are stamped with the greater value. 
 He admits with equal candour that the disgraceful 
 farce at Naples — I mean the annual liquefaction of the 
 pretended blood of St. Januarius — is a priestly fraud , 
 and, in the eyes of the God of truth, how enormously 
 wicked that fraud must appear ! 
 
 THE PAPAL HOLY WEEK AT ROME. 
 
 " In the midst of this imposing display of chiu'ch 
 magnificence, sauntered, or reposed, a population which 
 displayed the most squalid misery. The haggard na- 
 tives of the mountains, the labourers who had that
 
 30 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 night deserted their cabins of straw and furze on the 
 Campagna, to avail themselves of the saturnalia, and 
 slumber upon precious marbles, were mixed with the 
 whole mendicity of Rome. The wearied and exhausted 
 spectators issued fortli just as the dome of St. Peter's 
 caught the first liglit of the morning ; and the cupola 
 and spires whicli crown the seven bills rose on the eye 
 above the dim mists of night, in which the city and its 
 ruins were still involved. I thought I never saw the 
 morning break so welcome, nor the air breathe so fresh, 
 as on leaving the stench, din, glare, and heat, which 
 accompanied this vaunted ceremony. This was the 
 moment for that religion of the heart, — 
 
 'Whose incense swells to heaven.' " 
 
 Lady Morgan. 
 
 Speaking of another part of these holy pantomimes, 
 our traveller remarks : — " English gentlemen and ladies 
 mob, and scramble, and crowd, and bribe, and fight 
 their way to the best place they can obtain." It is, 
 to be sure, a silly sort of amusement, fit more for 
 monks tlian for men; yet is it got up cliicHy for 
 foreigners ; and minds rather sensual than sjiiritual 
 are so taken witli these sacred gewgaws, that now and 
 then our English tourists leave behind them a silly 
 daughter, or an ignorant son, ensnared and cajitivated 
 to Romanism by all this childish trumpery. 
 
 " ' St Anthony preaching to the Fishes ' is a subject 
 handled by several. There is a fine picture of this 
 miracle in tlie Palazzo Borghese, where the salmon 
 Fbok at the jn-eacher with an edified face, and a cod, 
 with his uptiu'ued eyes, seems anxiously seeking for
 
 THE EAGLE AND THE BAT. 31 
 
 the new light ! This memorahle sermon is to be had 
 in many of the shops at Rome. The legend adds, that 
 at the conclusion of the discoui'se, the fish bowed to 
 him with profound humility, and with a grave, re- 
 ligious countenance ! The fish paid a similar com- 
 pliment to St. Francis, when he was rehearsing a 
 sermon on the shores of Gaeta." 
 
 Lady Morgan. 
 
 THE ABUSES OF PAINTING. 
 
 " I HAVE ever learned," began the young Marchese, 
 " that the painters of Italy are the masters of the 
 world ; — that in delineation, in grouping, in colouring, 
 in throwing their figures rather before the canvas than 
 upon it; — in short, that in making the praying saint 
 breathe on the very spectator's face, and in causing the 
 very scream of the tortured martyr to sound in the ear 
 of every gazer ; — ^I say I have ever learned that in this 
 noble art, my country's capi d'opera give laws to man- 
 kind" 
 
 " That your painters. Signer Rubino, are among 
 the most eminent, is improblematical," remarked Miss 
 Moreville, who felt for the tendencies of this nascent 
 discussion; "but that, my dear Marchesino, is not 
 the question mooted in the theme. Were you to allege 
 that Guido's paintings are too warm in the colouring, 
 it would be no reply to say that his faces and forms 
 are angelic incarnations." 
 
 " The allegation is, that the artistes of Italy are made 
 to become the promoters of idolatry and of the monastic 
 system," observed the Abate Colelli; "and if we can 
 disprove that grave and most serious accusation, it 
 ought to be done meekly, firmly, and satisfactorily."
 
 32 THE RATII FABLES. 
 
 "But on what is this charge grounded?" enquired 
 Rubino, in a tone of studied ease that ill concealed 
 "the muttering thunder in his breast;" — "How, in 
 the first place, are our celebrated artistes the fautors of 
 idolatry ? 
 
 " Idolatry," replied Lord Moreville, in a gentle, dis- 
 passionate tone — " idolatry is the religious veneration 
 of insentient, of brute, or of human beings, whether 
 relics, heroes, saints, or martyrs. It is making to these 
 undivine objects a transfer of that love and fear, con- 
 fidence and i)rayer, which belong exclusively to God, 
 who hath said, ' I am the Lord thy God : me only shalt 
 thou serve.' It is ' bowing down and worshipping 
 things in heaven, and things on earth' — an act which 
 God solemnly prohibits ; for when John would have 
 bowed down to even an angel, this holy being, jealous 
 of the honour of Jehovah, said: ' See thou do it not — 
 worship Ood.'" 
 
 " Signor Milordo," replied Rubino, " that may or 
 may not be true ; but in either event, how does it in- 
 culpate oiur celebrated ai'tistes?" 
 
 " Pardon me, my dear Marcliesino," replied Lord M. ; 
 " 1 was about to show this. If your artistes ])aint to 
 foster this very sin ; if the ecclesiastics of this beautiful 
 land liberally pay those artistes for this very jiurpose ; 
 and if your artistes emjjloy their easels almost ex- 
 clusively in painting legends, saints to be prayed to, 
 and martyrs to be adored ; does it seem illiberal to 
 suspect, as is, it appears, suspected by the author of 
 the theme, that art, as actually employed and patronised 
 in Italy, may unhappily foster and perpetuate that
 
 THE EAGLE AND THE BAT. 33 
 
 religions veneration of the creattire, which God so 
 solemnly forbids ? " 
 
 " For many centuries," remarked the Abate Colelli, 
 " it must be confessed that our painters have very 
 generally employed their noble i^owers either on genuine 
 saints, or on what even we of Italy, our very ecclesi- 
 astics too, regard only in the dubious light of debatable 
 existences. And as to the monastic system, can we 
 for a moment question, that art in Italy is the very 
 slave of the monks ? who, having jolenty of wealth, 
 most Liberally patronise an art that j^erpetuates their 
 own existence, by placing in every convent and monas- 
 teiy, in every church and oratory, in every school and 
 gallery, some painted monk of celebiity, the prestige of 
 whose name and alleged miracles draws the devotion 
 and alms of the crowd. Nor " 
 
 " Signor Abate," interrupted Eubino, forcing a smile, 
 " I have often warned you to beware of Boscovich and 
 Voltaire, of Shaftesbury and Botta; I really fear you 
 are already half an Englishman. Don't you think so, 
 Signorina Agnes di MoreviUe?" 
 
 " Oh, excuse me," rejilied Agnes ; " these are ques- 
 tions beyond my — that is, I — I think you are right." 
 
 "Brava!" exclaimed di Valmonti; "I rejoice to 
 bring a stray lamb to the fold." 
 
 " Not so fast, dear Signor," replied Lord M., in a 
 kind tone, yet with an air of concern ; " the ' veni, vidi, 
 vici,' requires a resurrection of Caesar : early tuition 
 and holy example are not so easily erased." So saying. 
 Lord M. smiled in good nature, and quietly placed 
 himself beside Agnes.
 
 34 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 " Pray, milordo," said Bindocci, " would you place 
 the fine arts under the bau of a Vandal iconoclast, lest 
 the study and admiration of the most splendid creations 
 of human genius sliovdd betray man to a harmless 
 veneration, and when the object, too, is the interest 
 of religion ? " 
 
 "Not for the world," replied Lord M.; " tliey who 
 assume a position of hostility to the religious abuse of 
 painting and of sculpture, are not by consequence, so 
 many mindless Goths. It is not your divine art they 
 oppugn, but that deUitcrious abuse of it, which in- 
 sensibly leads to an idolatrous usage forbidden by the 
 Christian Scriptures. Does not the significant fact, 
 tliat an Italian painter never presents us with an 
 Apostle, or a holy man of any rank, without wrapping 
 his head in the cowl of a monk, induce in the mass the 
 false impression, that sanctity and monachism ai-e the 
 same thing? and therefore that monachism is a most 
 holy and most useful institution ? Nay, arc not the 
 bulk of Italians insensibly deluded thus into the notion, 
 that the Apostles themselves were mere monks?" 
 
 " And I should think," added Mr. Standish, " that 
 the splendid genius of Italy might find more fitting 
 topics. Have not artistes field enough, without the 
 eternal head and marrow-bones of a martyr's grave? 
 without the livid, sickening features of monastics? 
 without the idle legends of the dark ages? Does not 
 the constant delineation of such preposterous figments, 
 too, cripple the soaring wings of genius, and seduce the 
 noble artiste from a thousand fitter and sublimer topics 
 — his country's sages, heroes, philanthropists, her scenic 
 beauties and her real saints ? that is, not useless drones 
 in a convent, but men and women of eminent practical
 
 THE EAGLE AND THE BAT. 35 
 
 godliness and active benevolence. Surely, my friends, 
 such themes are far more worthy to glow upon the 
 easel than a bevy of monastics." 
 
 " On the subject of monachism," remarked the Abate 
 Colelli, " we may indulge in some freedom of obser- 
 vation, inasmuch as its utility is queried even among 
 ourselves ; indeed, by the secular clergy the monastic 
 orders are by no means beloved, and the rancorous 
 jealousies and heart-burnings so often existing between 
 the working priests and the monastics, originating in 
 the aggressive inroads of the latter upon the peojjle 
 and finances of the former, might justly induce a wish 
 for the entire suppression of all the monastic institu- 
 tions. At all events, I fear there is too much truth 
 in milordo's allegation." 
 
 "Pardon my freedom," said Lord Moreville; "let 
 not my noble hosts, or their intelligent guests, take 
 ofience at the sincerity of my expressions, if I frankly 
 own, that though in earlier life I was a zealous amateur, 
 and spent thousands in collecting the chefs-d'ceuvres of 
 your sunny land, yet long ere I left England, I fairly 
 sickened of the pursuit, for the reason already assigned; 
 and since I came to Italy, so many of these deleterious 
 creations of art, the eternal monk and legend, have 
 fallen in my way, I am now more than ever confirmed 
 in my opinion. Yet, let me not be mistaken, noble 
 Marchese. Of the numerous and valuable collection 
 adorning these saloons, I can admire — ardently admire 
 —what merits admiration. Yes, I can admire that 
 masterpiece by Mola, near the Marchesa — Naaman 
 Healed ; that noble picture of the Lord of the Vineyard 
 by Rembrandt ; that touching piece by Rubens — The
 
 3G THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 Tribute Money, to the left of la Siguora Clemeutiua. 
 And who but must admire this of Guercino — The Wise 
 and Foolish Vii-gins — so true to nature, so cleverly 
 grouiied, so silently instructive? or that Last Judg- 
 ment, by Michael Angelo? Here again," added his 
 Lordship, stepping a few paces up the saloon, " here 
 is a superb Caraccio — Christ Curing the Blind ; and 
 here hangs Marotti's Christ among the Doctors, a 
 splendid effort of genius ; and here — see here, Mar- 
 chesa! Guide's Baptist, a feast for the very prince of 
 amateurs. Now, all these, my dear friends, are veri- 
 table facts ; and for such creations of art, as for many 
 others of equal celebrity, I have an ardent sentiment 
 of admiration. But when I am expected to be lost 
 in ecstacies before a Tobit, a Veronica, a Confessional, 
 a Monk, or a Madonna trampling the serpent, which 
 places the mere creature on the Mediatorial throne of 
 her Lord, I turn away in pain, and sigh that art should 
 thus be prostituted to unholy purposes — purposes so 
 antagonist to that holy Book, which commands us ' to 
 keep ourselves from idols, nor to make' — not even to 
 make, for purposes of religion — ' any likeness whatever.' 
 In short, God alone is to be worshipped, and to a 
 spiritual Being we arc enjoined to render a purely 
 
 spiritual adoration." 
 
 " Agnes Moreville." 
 
 " Thou shalt not make to thyself any graven image, 
 
 or any likeness of any thing that is in heaven above, or 
 
 in the earth beneath, or in the waters under the eatrh ;" 
 
 — as an object of devotion. 
 
 Moses.
 
 THE JACKDAW AND THE BOOK. 37 
 
 FABLE IV. 
 THE JACKDAW AND THE ROOK. 
 
 FOR LOVERS. 
 
 TO weigh the heart against the piu'se, 
 Is venal, if not something worse ; 
 Since love for love alone should look 
 With somewhat to employ the cook ; 
 But when the bride is all for pins, 
 I pity who the false one wins. 
 
 A roguish Jackdaw, says rei^ort, 
 To Jenny Rook once paid his court ; 
 Intent on marriage, if the dame 
 Should smile uj^on his honest flame. 
 
 The gossip crows conned o'er th' affair, 
 With busy tongue and gravest air, 
 And vowed the match seemed not amiss. 
 Though some said no, and some said yes ; 
 For Jack was only grub at Squire's, 
 While Jenny soared among the spires : 
 Yet cloistered rooks, those Gothic drolls, 
 May rank with daws, as bats with moles. 
 
 Well ; many a lover's quarrel o'er, 
 Poor Jack dubbed courtship quite a bore. 
 So jjopped the question with a caw. 
 And Jenny, blushing, gave her claw. 
 Yet must ye know, this blushing fair 
 Looked after number one with care, 
 And vowed it was her fixed intent, 
 To have a bouncing settlement.
 
 38 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 " Believe me, dearest Jack," said Jenny, 
 "I never will be such a ninny, 
 To wed at all, much less with you. 
 Without my pins, and jointure too. 
 Who knows but we may quarrel soon. 
 And part ere ends the honeymoon ? 
 Or you may change, or budge, or die, 
 To scare the crows or make a pie : 
 And what becomes of Jenny then ? 
 I know, for I have studied men : 
 See how those knaves will drink and sin, 
 Nor leave their wives a single pin ! 
 
 " Now look ye. Jack — I know your ways, 
 You've lived a thief, sir, all your days ; 
 You've wealth enough for me in store. 
 In scissors, tapes, and other lore ; 
 In buttons, bobbins, beads, and rings ; 
 In thimbles and a thousand tilings. 
 You've pillaged all the household train — 
 I saw you filch the last gold chain: 
 You've cribbed, since first you got in place, 
 Enough a peacock's bride to grace; 
 And if I'm not your gains to share, 
 You'll not wed Jenny, I declare. 
 No promise, sir ! as I'm a rook, 
 I'll have it in the lawyer's book ! " 
 
 " Oh, Jenny," cried the love-sick daw, 
 " Oil, Jenny, how you make me caw ! 
 I thought you fair, yet find you black; 
 But hope not, ma'am, to bilk poor Jack ! 
 Since you distrust an honest thing, 
 As ever cribbed a chain or ring,
 
 THE JACKDAW AND THE ROOK. 39 
 
 And must have all in black and white, 
 We never wed — so take your flight. 
 I don't decry the law itself, 
 But, jade ! you only love the pelf. 
 For me you never cared a straw, 
 A thought that costs me many a caw ; 
 And since you'd marry gold, not Jack, 
 I vow you never looked so black ! " 
 Thus spake the daw, when off he flew. 
 Resolved some chaster bride to woo. 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Te British fair ! my tale attend, 
 
 And read its moral to the end. 
 
 Wed but for love. Who weds for gold, 
 
 With shambling rake or miser old. 
 
 May sport her gems, may scour the Ring, 
 
 But wedlock is a holier thing. 
 
 Victoria, queen of Albion's wave. 
 Loved Albert, not a gilded grave ; 
 And Jacob served seven years twice told, 
 For Rachel's hand, not Rachel's gold. 
 
 Ye veteran rich ! buy not the young — 
 In reason's eyes enormous wrong ; 
 Nor let the trull too fondly dream ; 
 Her life is but a fitful gleam. 
 When Boleyn bled at Henry's frown, 
 She wept the charms that won a crown. 
 
 'Tis wise to wed the man ye love, 
 Though poor as Job, all men above. 
 If but like Job devoutly wise. 
 And love for love his heart supplies.
 
 •iO THE EATH FABLES. 
 
 I frown not wealth ; I only teach 
 A hliss that gold can never reach ; 
 A bliss, if love your homestead fly, 
 The wealth of Croesus cannot buy. 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE PROSE; 
 
 FROM THE " SPECTATOR.' 
 
 " Abotjt a dozen years ago I was married, for my 
 sins, to a young woman of good family, and of a high 
 spirit; but could not bring her to close with me, before I 
 had entered into a treaty with her, longer than that of 
 the grand alliance. Among other articles, it was therein 
 stipulated, that she should have ^400 a year for pin- 
 money, which I obliged myself to pay quarterly into the 
 hands of one, who acted as her plenipotentiary in that 
 affair. I have ever since religiously observed my part 
 in this solemn agreement. Now, sir, so it is, that the 
 lady lias had several children since I married her ; to 
 which, if T should credit our malicious neighbours, her 
 pin-money has not a little contributed. Tlie education 
 of these my children, who, contrary to my expectation, 
 are born to me every year, straitens me so much, that 
 I have begged their mother to free me from the obliga- 
 tion of the above-mentioned pin-money, that it may go 
 towards making a provision for her family. This pro- 
 posal makes her noble blood swell in her veins ; inso- 
 much that, finding me a little tardy in my last quarter's 
 payment, she threatens every day to arrest me ; and 
 proceeds so far as to tell me that, if I do not do her 
 justice, I shall die in a gaol. To this she adds, when 
 her passion will let her argue calmly, that she has
 
 THE JACKDAW AND THE EOOK. 41 
 
 several play-debts on her hands, which must be dis- 
 charged very suddenly, and that she cannot lose her 
 money as becomes a woman of fashion, if she makes 
 me any abatement in this article. I hope, sir, you 
 will take an occasion from hence to give your opinion 
 upon a subject which you have not yet touched, and 
 inform us if there are any precedents for this usage 
 among our ancestors ; or whether you find any mention 
 of pin-money in Grotius, PufFendorf, or any other of 
 
 the civilians. 
 
 " JosiAH Fribblk, Esq." 
 
 " As there is no man living who is a more professed 
 advocate for the fair sex than myself, so there is none 
 that would be more unwilling to invade any of their 
 ancient rights and privileges ; but as the doctrine of 
 j)in-money is of a late date, unknown to our great- 
 grandmothers, and not yet received by many of our 
 modern ladies, I think it is for the interest of both 
 sexes to keep it fi-om spreading. 
 
 "Where the age and circumstances of both parties 
 are pretty much upon a level, I cannot but think the 
 insisting upon pin-money is very extraordinary ; and 
 yet we find several matches broken off on this very 
 head. What would a foreigner, or one who is a stranger 
 to this practice, think of a lover that forsakes his 
 mistress, because he is not willing to keep her in pins ? 
 But what would he think of the mistress, should lie 
 be informed that she asks five or six hundred pounds 
 a year for this use ? Should a man unacquainted with 
 our customs be told the sums, that are allowed in Great 
 Britain, under the title of pin-money, what a prodigious 
 consumption of pins would he think there was in this
 
 42 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 island ! 'A pin a day,' says our frugal proverb, ' is a 
 groat a year;' so that, accordiug to this calculation, 
 ray friend I'ribble's wife, with £-100 a year pin-money, 
 must every year make use of 8,760,000 new pins. 
 
 " I am not ignorant that our British ladies allege 
 they comprehend under this general term several other 
 conveniences of life. T could therefore wish, for the 
 honour of ray countrywomen, that they had rather 
 called it needle-money, which raight have iraplied some- 
 thing of good housewifery, and not have given the 
 malicious world occasion to think, tlint dress and trifles 
 have almost the uppermost place in a woman's thoughts. 
 
 " I know several of my fair readers urge in defence 
 of this practice, that it is but a necessary provision 
 they make for themselves, in case their husband prove 
 a churl or miser; so that they consider this allowance 
 as a kind of alimony, which they may lay their claim 
 to, without actually separating from their husbands. 
 But, with submission, I think a woman who will give 
 up herself to a man in marriage, where there is the 
 least room for such an ajipreliension, and trust her 
 person to one, whom slie will not rely on for the com- 
 mon necessaries of life, may very properly be accused, 
 in the phrase of a homely proverb, of being ' penny 
 wise and pound foolish.' 
 
 " It is observed of over-cautious generals, that they 
 never engage in battle without securing a retreat, in 
 case the event should not answer their expectations : 
 on the other hand, the greatest conquerors have burnt 
 their ships, or broke down the bridges behind them, 
 as being determined either to succeed or die in the 
 engagement. In the same manner I should very much
 
 THE JACKDAW AND THE ROOK. 43 
 
 suspect a woman, who takes such precautions for her 
 retreat, and contrives methods how she may live hap- 
 pily, without the affection of one to whom she joins 
 herself for life. Separate purses between man and 
 wife are, in my opinion, as unnatural as separate beds. 
 xl marriage cannot be happy, where the pleasures, 
 inclinations, and interests of both parties are not the 
 same. There is no gi-eater incitement to love in the 
 mind of man, than the sense of a person's depending 
 upon him for her ease and happiness ; as a woman 
 uses all her endeavours to please the person whom 
 she looks upon as her honour, her comfort, and her 
 suppoi't. 
 
 "For this reason, I am not very much surprised at 
 the behaviour- of a rough country squii-e, who, being 
 not a little shocked at the proceeding of a young widow 
 that would not recede from her demands of pin-money, 
 told her in great wi-ath, — ' As much as she thought 
 him her slave, he would show all the world he did 
 not cai-e a pin for her.' Upon which he flew out of 
 the room, and she never saw him more. 
 
 " Socrates, in Plato's Alcibiades, says he was in- 
 formed by one who had travelled through Persia, that 
 as he passed over a great tract of land, and inquired 
 what the name of the place was, they told him it was 
 the Queen's Girdle : to which he adds, that another 
 wide field which lay by it, was called the Queen's Veil; 
 and that in the same manner there was a large portion 
 of ground set aside for every portion of her Majesty's 
 di-ess. These lands might not be improperly called 
 the Queen of Persia's pin-money. 
 
 " I remember my friend Sir Pioger, who, I dare 
 say, never read this passage fi-om Plato, told me some
 
 44 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 time since, that upon his courting the perverse widow, 
 of whom I have given an account in former papers, 
 he had disposed of a hundred acres in a diamond ring, 
 which he would have presented her with, liad slie 
 thought fit to accept it ; and that upon her wcddiiig- 
 day, she would have carried on her head fifty of the 
 tallest oaks upon his estate. He further informed me, 
 that he would have given her a coal-pit to keep her 
 in clean linen, that he would have allowed her the 
 profits of a windmill for her fans, and have presented 
 her once in three years with the shearing of his sheep 
 for her under petticoats. To which the knight always 
 adds, that thougli he did not care for fine clothes 
 himself, there should not have heen a woman in the 
 country hetter dressed than my Lady Coverley. Sir 
 Roger, perhajis, may in this, as well as in many other 
 of liis devices, appear somewhat odd and singular; 
 but if the humour of pin-money prevails, I think it 
 would be very proper for every gentleman of an estate, 
 to mark out so many acres of it under the title of ' The 
 
 Pins.' " 
 
 Addison. 
 
 FABLE V. 
 
 TIME AND HIS CLIENTS. 
 
 FOR TRIFLERS. 
 
 TON sun, yon moon, yon stars decay ; 
 So hoary, reverend sages say: 
 Yea, Time, e'en now so old and frail, 
 Shall be a long-forgotten tale ;
 
 TIME AND HIS CLIENTS. 45 
 
 Bat while he lives, say, mortals, say, 
 Who call his swift-winged chariot stay ? 
 
 High o'er a narrow neck of land. 
 Flew Time, an hour-glass in his hand ; 
 A keen-edged scythe the other showed. 
 And scanty locks his forehead snowed. 
 Around him rode, upon a car, 
 Plague, Famine, Pestilence, and War; 
 Yet Time saw not that hideous baud. 
 But clutched his glass and watched the sand. 
 How stern and rigid was his face ! 
 How fleet, though silent, was his pace ! 
 Yet many a morient wretch essayed. 
 To stay his flight and crave his aid. 
 
 A dying monarch saw him pass. 
 
 Whose sands had all but left the glass; 
 
 And yet that prince, misled by state, 
 
 Had rarely thought of coming fate. 
 
 " Stay, Time ! Oh stay ! " he feebly cried ; 
 
 " I die too soon ! " — He choked and died ! 
 
 For Time deigns not for kings to stay — 
 
 As polar ice, cold, hard and grey; 
 
 Since power and pomp, the rich and fair, 
 
 To him are bubbles light as air. 
 
 He waved liis scythe, and turned his glass — 
 
 The suppliant fades like autumn gi-ass ! 
 
 Time now swept on upon a gale. 
 
 And passed a vessel under sail : 
 
 A rich young man, in life's full prime, 
 
 Would land in just one hour of time, 
 
 A loving virgin heart to meet. 
 
 And many a well-known face to greet.
 
 46 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 A storm arose : the night was dark ; 
 The Goodwin Sands engulfed the barque. 
 " Oh Time ! " the lover cried, " Oh stay ! 
 Give me of life but one brief day, 
 To sigh adieu — then let me die ! " 
 " No ; not an hour ! " was Time's rei)ly ; 
 Then waved his scythe, and turned his glass — 
 The suppliant fades like autumn grass ! 
 
 Time next glid o'er a gallows-tree, 
 
 Nor winced his flinty face to see, 
 
 Upon the scaffold, drowned in tears, 
 
 A felon old, though young in years. 
 
 The rope was fixed, tlie moment nigh, 
 
 While upward gazed full many an eye ; 
 
 But he, alas ! still dreamed of life. 
 
 The prince might listen to his wife ! 
 
 The cap still up, he gazed around ; 
 
 " Reprieve ! reprieve ! " appeared to sound : 
 
 Yet no ; 'twas but a 'lusive dream, 
 
 And Killcraft tied him to the beam. 
 
 " Oh 'i'lmc ! a moment ! " cried the man ; 
 
 But grimfaced Time still onward ran : 
 
 He waved his scythe, and turned liis glass — 
 
 The suppliant fades like autumn grass ! 
 
 Time hied him now o'er blood-stained levels. 
 Where Mars had held his fiendish revels : 
 A tliousand wounded wretches lay. 
 Whose life was welling fast away. 
 " Oh Time ! " the soldiers faintly cry, 
 " You flee too fast : we dread to die ; 
 For who yon God of love can face. 
 Emerging from this loveless place ?"
 
 TIME AND HIS CLIENTS. 47 
 
 Ah ! vain the plea ! Time heard it not, 
 
 But onward rushed o'er fane and cot. 
 
 His flinty visage showed no care ; 
 
 High rose his white locks in the air : 
 
 He waved his scythe, and turned his glass — 
 
 The supi)liants fade like autumn grass ! 
 
 Time next passed o'er a festive manse. 
 Where youthful Phillis led the dance. 
 Delight and love flashed in her eye ; 
 That flash was felt both far and nigh; 
 Before her bent that flattering crowd, 
 And paid her homage deep and loud. 
 But lo I her cheek grows pale as ash ! 
 Her dull eye mocks her brilliants' flash ; 
 Her fair limbs fail, her senses reel ; 
 She's struck by Death, and none can heal. 
 " Oh Time !" she shrieks, " one moment stay, 
 Till grace shall wash my guilt away ! " 
 But Time heeds not, though myriads sigh ; 
 Like mountain streams he rushes by: 
 He waved his scythe, and turned his glass — 
 And Phillis fades like autumn grass ! 
 
 Thus Time flew on, from place to pl-ace, 
 
 And all implored a moment's space ; — 
 
 Yet no, not all ; some smiled aghast, 
 
 To hear his taj-dy wing at last. 
 
 But who ? Some poor monastic elf ? 
 
 Some priest who loved the church for pelf? 
 
 Some hermit in his moss-grown cell? 
 
 Some pilgrim at yon holy well ? 
 
 Some recusant not over good ? 
 
 Some pontiff stained with martyr's blood ?
 
 48 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 No ! 'twas the saints of every pale, 
 Who sang, as heart and flesh 'gan fail, — 
 " In Him I trust, who bore the tree. 
 And lives to mediate for me : 
 Eansomed am I from Eden's fall, 
 And crown Messiah Lord of all ! " 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Oh, trifler ! mark the flight of Time, 
 For life grows short with every chime : 
 If heard aright, it sounds thy knell, 
 Its click — thy daily ])assing bell ! 
 
 Were we great lords of yonder Rhine, 
 Or California's gold-fraught mine ; 
 And madly squandered all away. 
 Ere we attained to manhood's day ; 
 Still were we misers, tliose conned o'er. 
 Who squander Time's more precious lore : 
 For oh ! what duties fall to man ! 
 And yet how brief life's longest span ! 
 
 Time icas, no mortal may recall ; 
 Time is — oh ! prize that atom small ! 
 Time coming, granted, soon must end ; 
 Time present is thy only friend : 
 Improvo it well, than light more fleet. 
 And thus prepare thy God to meet. 
 
 Had Altaniont thus sought the skies. 
 
 Had Eoohester been earlier wise. 
 
 Their mortal couch would ne'er have known, 
 
 The trifler's dread, the dalliant's groan : 
 
 But few, O Ashley ! play the man. 
 
 By virtuous use of life's short span.
 
 TIME AND HIS CLIENTS. 49 
 
 rLLUSTRATIVE PKOSE. 
 
 SINGULAR CRIMINAL CASE. 
 
 " At the commencement of the eighteenth century, 
 when the torture was still in vogue in the North 
 of Germany, the arm of justice reached a robber, 
 who had long been committing depredations in the 
 vicinity of a provincial town. Sentence of death was 
 pronounced upon him, and on the 15 th of August, 
 1704, he was conducted to the place of execution, where 
 the gibbet awaited him. The procession moved from 
 the prison through the streets, which, as well as the 
 doors and windows of the houses, were filled with 
 spectators. The culprit, nothing daunted, made his 
 salutations on all sides ; and in passing through a 
 narrow street, he perceived a journeyman locksmith, 
 whom he had formerly known by name and reputation, 
 looking out of a lower window. Moved by the sight, 
 this man had drawn his attention by ejaculating, 'I 
 should like to know how such a hardened sinner must 
 feel under the gallows ! ' No sooner had the criminal 
 heard these words, than, absorbed in thought, he seemed 
 to take no farther notice of the crowd which accompanied 
 him, and with downcast looks pursued his way out of the 
 town gate. The clergyman who attended, and against 
 whose exhortations he had hitherto obstinately closed his 
 heart, conceived that a better spirit had at length awoke 
 in him, that he repented his misdeeds, and that it was 
 now time to prepare him for eternity. The worthy 
 divine, however, perceived but too soon that not another 
 word was to be gained from him. All the pains he took 
 proved in vain ; so that, on his arrival at the gallows.
 
 50 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 he was compelled to deliver him up to the executioner 
 with these words : — ' I have done my duty ; forgive 
 him, O my Saviour, and be merciful to him ! Amen ! ' 
 
 " The executioner was about to put the fatal cord 
 round his neck, when he suddenly roused himself, and 
 cried, ' Stop ! What I have hitherto thought myself bound 
 to conceal respecting my accomplices, I will now disclose 
 to the judges, since I clearly see that there is no hope 
 of pardon for me. Death dissolves all ties in this 
 world, and before I leave it for ever, I will rid it of one 
 dangerous wretch.' The judge, who was present, and 
 to whom this circumstance was immediately reported, 
 approached the scaffold ; and after he had heard the 
 denunciation from the lips of the delinquent, the exe- 
 cution of the sentence was deferred, and the criminal 
 conducted back to prison. Here he was anew examined 
 
 the same day, and declared that R , the locksmith 
 
 before mentioned, had been one of his most trusty ac- 
 complices, and been concerned with him in the perpe- 
 tration of many robberies and murders. 
 
 " The man was forthwith apprehended, and as he 
 persisted in the jn-otestation of his innocence, he was 
 confronted with the culprit. The precision with which 
 the latter stated to the accused, times, places, and many 
 other particulars, and the firmness witli which he looked 
 him in the face, completely disconcerted the poor fellow, 
 and excited more and more the suspicion of the judges, 
 which was farther strengthened by the consideration, 
 that there was no imaginable motive which could have 
 induced tlie criminal to prefer a false charge. The 
 extreme dismay of the accused was probably a prin- 
 cipal circumstance in confirming the judges in the
 
 TIME AND HIS CLIENTS. 51 
 
 belief, that the locksmith was really an accomplice of 
 the convict. The judges, who were almost morally- 
 certain of the guilt of the accused, had the less hesita- 
 tion to recur to the torture, for the purpose of wringing 
 from him a confession. He was delivered over the 
 same night to the executioner; but, unable to endure 
 the torments of the infernal contrivances, he declared, 
 before the expiration of the first quarter of an hour, 
 that he was guilty. After this confession, his judges 
 lost no time in pronouncing sentence, wliich purported, 
 that he should suffer the same fate as his accomplice; 
 but that, as he had performed only a subordinate part 
 in the crimes which they had committed together, he 
 should be executed first. 
 
 "Amid the tolling of the bells and crowds of spec- 
 tators, the train once more proceeded to the place of 
 execution ; and having reached it, the executioner's 
 assistants were about to throw the cord over the head 
 of the supposed accomplice, when his accuser, who 
 stood by, again cried, as ou the former occasion, ' Stop ! ' 
 adding; 'I wish to speak once more to the judge; let 
 me be conducted to him.' Tlie members of the tribunal 
 being this time again assembled at the foot of the 
 scafibld, the presiding judge ascended to hear what 
 the delinquent had to say. In a loud voice, that 
 could be heard by the whole throng, he thus ad- 
 dressed him:— 'This locksmith, sir, whom I accused, 
 is perfectly innocent, and my charge against him was 
 a false and malicious invention. You will, no doubt, 
 be surprised, and at a loss to conceive what could have 
 induced me, in the last moments of my life, to play 
 such a trick. Learn, then, that several of my accom- 
 plices promised to rescue me from prison. As no
 
 52 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 atteraiit had been made, when I stood here the first 
 time, I could not help thinking that some unforeseen 
 obstacle must have prevented them from keeping their 
 promise, and that if I could but gain time, they might 
 still carry it into effect ; for we keep our word to each 
 other, even though the way to its fulfilment led through 
 hell itself. In this conviction, I bethought me, on the 
 morning that I was brought hither, of means to defer 
 my execution. Among the crowd drawn together on 
 the occasion, I espied this man at a window. In 
 passing, I heard him say; " I should like to know how 
 such a man must feel under the gallows ! " The idea 
 darted like lightning through my brain, to accuse him 
 of being my accomplice, in order in this manner to 
 delay my execution, and to prolong my life a little. 
 
 " ' Now, however, I see that T must not reckon any 
 longer on my associates, being firmly convinced that 
 they must already liavc suffered somewhere or other 
 the fate which here awaits me. I have therefore re- 
 solved to follow them, after doing this inquisitive fellow 
 (pointing to the smith) the favour to gratify his wish 
 before my end : for now he knows from experience hotv 
 a man feds uhen he stands beneath the (/aUoiis.' He 
 then mounted tlic ladder, and submitted quietly to 
 lifs fate. The innocent locksmith paid dearly for the 
 too loud utterance of his harmless wish. Fright and 
 agony of mind put an end to his life on the fourtli day 
 after his liberation." 
 
 " AcJcermann's Repository." 
 
 THE DEATH OF ALTAMONT. 
 
 " I AM about to represent to you," says Dr. Young, 
 " tlie last hours of a person of high birth, and high
 
 TIME AND HIS CLIENTS. 53 
 
 sjiirits ; of great parts, and strong passions ; every way 
 accomplished, nor least, in iniquity. The death-bed 
 of a profligate is next in horror to that abyss to which 
 it leads, it has the most of hell that is visible on 
 earth. 
 
 " The sad evening before the death of that noble 
 youth, I was with him. No one was there but his 
 physician, and an intimate whom he loved, and whom 
 he had ruined. At my coming in, he said, ' You and 
 the physician are come too late. I have neither life 
 nor hope. You both aim at miracles. You would raise 
 the dead.' ' Heaven,' I said, ' was merciful.' ' Or I 
 could not have been thus guilty. What has it not done 
 to bless and to save me ? I have been too strong for 
 Omnipotence ! I have plucked down ruin ! ' I said, 
 
 ' The blessed Redeemer ' ' Hold ! hold ! you wound 
 
 me! That is the rock on which I split. I denied his 
 name.' Refusing to hear anything from me, or take 
 anything from his physician, he lay silent, so far as 
 sudden darts of pain would permit, till the clock struck. 
 Then with vehemence, ' Oh, Time ! Time ! It is fit 
 thou shouldst thus strike thy murderer to the heart! 
 How art thou fled for ever — A month ! Oh for a single 
 week ! I ask not for years, though an age were too 
 little for the work I have to do.' On my saying, ' We 
 cannot do too much ; heaven is a blessed place.' * So 
 much the worse. It is lost ! it is lost ! Heaven is 
 to me the severest part of hell ! ' Soon after, I pro- 
 posed prayer. ' Pray, you that can ; I never prayed. 
 I cannot pray — nor need I. Is not heaven on my side 
 already? It closes with my conscience. Its severest 
 strokes but second my own.' His friend, being much 
 touched, even to tears, at this (who could forbear? I
 
 54 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 could uot), with a most affectionate look, he said, '"Keep 
 those tears for thyself. I have undone thee. Dost 
 thou weep for me ? That's cruel. What can pain me 
 more?' Here his friend, too much affected, would 
 have left him. ' No, stay ; thou mayst still hope. 
 Therefore, hear me. How madly have I talked ! how 
 madly hast thou listened and believed ! But look on 
 my present state as a full answer to thee and to myself. 
 'J'his body is all weakness and pain; but my soul, as 
 if stung up by torment to greater strength and spirit, 
 is full powerful to reason, full mighty to suffer; and 
 that which thus triumphs within the jaws of mortality 
 is doubtless immortal. And as for a Deitij, nothing 
 less than an Almighty could inflict what I feel.' 
 
 "I was about to congratulate this passive, involuntary 
 confessor on his asserting the two prime articles of 
 his creed, extorted by the rack of nature, when he 
 bitterly exclaimed, ' No ! no ! let me speak on. I have 
 not long to speak. My much injured friend ! my soul, 
 as my body, lies in ruins, in scattered I'ragments of 
 broken thought. Eemorse for the past throws my 
 thoughts on the future, while dread of the future strikes 
 them back on the past. 1 turn and turn, and find no 
 ray. Didst thou feel half the mountain that is on me, 
 thou wouldst struggle with the martyr for his stake, 
 and bless heaven for the flames. That is not an ever- 
 lasting flame ; that is not an unquenchable lire ! ' How 
 were we struck ! Yet soon after, still more. With 
 what an eye of distraction, what a face of despair, he 
 cried out, ' My principles have poisoned my friend ; my 
 extravagance has beggared my boy; my unkindness 
 has murdered my wife ! And is there another hell ?
 
 PUNCH AND JDDY. 55 
 
 Oh! thou blasphemed, yet most indulgent Lord God! 
 hell itself is a refuge, if it hide me from thy frown.' 
 
 " Soon after, his understanding failed. His terrified 
 imagination uttered horrors not to be repeated, or ever 
 to be forgot; and ere the sun arose, the gay, young, 
 noble, ingenuous, accomplished, and most wretched 
 Altamont expiied ! " 
 
 Author of " The Night Thoughts." 
 
 FABLE VI. 
 PUNCH AND JUDY. 
 
 FOR HUSBANDS. 
 
 I'VE often seen a blooming flower, 
 Rudely dissevered in an hour ; 
 And yet that flower, if gently used. 
 Had long the balmiest sweets diffused. 
 " Ah ! such," I've sighed, " the ruthless part 
 Of husbands of a churlish heart ; 
 Who, dead to honour, shame or sense, 
 Without excuse, without pretence. 
 Can wring a woman's heart for life, 
 By faithless loves and surly strife. 
 That might her tyrant's home have blessed, 
 Had he a manlier soul possessed ! 
 
 Idling at Naples, one fine day, 
 I sauntered to the sunlit bay ; 
 When, on the road, a puppet-show — 
 In France and Naples all the go —
 
 56 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 My Step arrests ; for who can fly, 
 When Punch and Judy fight and cry ? 
 Up flew the curtain, down the organ ; 
 I post myself by Lady Morgan. 
 Her Ladyship was charmed with Punch — 
 His comic phiz, and brawny hunch; 
 And, if from home, you'd but to go, 
 And find her at the puppet-show. 
 
 Soon Punch bounced up, and squeaked, and 
 
 skipped ; 
 You'd think the fellow had been whipped ; 
 But soon we found that, in a strife. 
 The rogue had just then whipped his wife, — 
 And all his noise and capering meant. 
 That Judy's woes were his content ; 
 For now popped up poor Judy's pate. 
 Who thus harangued her ill-bred mate : — 
 
 " Oh, husband dear ! how could you chide. 
 In terms so harsh, your loving bride ? 
 
 What have I done? Was ever wife 
 
 But thus you've used me all my life. 
 Though English Judys fight and strive, 
 I'm the most patient soul alive: 
 How can you treat poor women so. 
 And make their homes a scene of woe ? 
 I always cook your meals as well 
 As any prince's — all can tell. 
 If frill, cravat, or shirt be rent, 
 I stitch it to your heart's content. 
 What wife is cleanlier than I ? 
 Who makes such macaroni pie ? 
 What bride in Naples, or at liome. 
 So neatly dresses — e'en at home ?
 
 PUNCH AND JUOY. 57 
 
 And don't I strive, whene'er you frown, 
 By softest words to calm you down? 
 What wife so faithful ? Would that you, 
 Sir Punch, were only half so true ! 
 
 " 'Twas but last week you seemed stark mad. 
 
 And spent the last carlin we had ; 
 
 And though our poor dear little Punches, 
 
 By starving, lost their pretty hunches. 
 
 Did I, like other wives, revile ? 
 
 You know I even tried to smile : 
 
 And yet, just like some surly clown. 
 
 You rose, and knocked poor Judy down. 
 
 Was ever wife so used before ? 
 
 I vow I'll bear your wrath no more ! 
 
 Sad was the day I married you ; 
 
 Did ever Oh ! what shall I do ?" 
 
 Thus Judy wept. What said the churl ? 
 
 Why, Punch's lip began to curl ; 
 
 And though, in men of honest thought, 
 
 Her speech and tears had wonders wrought, 
 
 Yet, lo ! the furious, ill-bred scrub, 
 
 Struck Judy, with his ponderous club, 
 
 So loud a thwack upon her crown, 
 
 As might have brought a bullock down ; 
 
 And while poor Judy lay entranced. 
 
 The heartless ruffian sung and danced ! 
 
 " I'm master here," replied the brute, 
 " And will be master, coute qui coute. 
 Don't think," said he, " to wear the brogues. 
 Like weedling wives of some poor rogues. 
 I won't be ruled and hen-pecked — blow me ! 
 The butt of all the bloods that know me.
 
 Look at my pretty switch, you jade ! 
 You're but a woman — know your grade. 
 What! if I'm fond of drink and chibs, 
 Am I to rank with wife-rid scrubs ? 
 And if I game, what's that to you ? 
 Are wives to blame what husbands do ? 
 While Punch is Punch, and you his wife, 
 I'll rule the roast, and end the strife ! " 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Connubial tyrants ! lend an ear, 
 If man you love, or God you fear. 
 Not the eighth Harry, on whose head, 
 Two murdered wives for vengeance plead, 
 Was more a ruffian, churl, or brute, 
 Thau you, with all your false repute: 
 By torture slow, you nundcr on, 
 And slay a hundred wives in one. 
 
 Was it for this th' affianced bride 
 Could in your treacherous tongue confide? 
 W'as it for this she gave her love. 
 And hoped for bliss she ne'er must prove? 
 How cruel thus to wring and smart 
 That sentient thing — a woman's heart! 
 Oh! if you're man, as man behave, 
 Nor make your home her living grave. 
 
 I would not call that churl my friend, 
 Or at his festive board attend, 
 Who, late at clubs, spends wealth and life, 
 Nor cares for children, home, or wife. 
 Would you be blest? Make others so; 
 Partake their bliss ; divide their woe ;
 
 PUNCH AND JDDT. 59 
 
 Study to please ; lay fury down ; 
 Check each harsh phrase, each sullen frown; 
 Quit miduiglit orgies; call up smiles, 
 With chaste aflection's harmless wiles ; 
 Like generous Pliny, prize your bride, — 
 Like Pliny, dream of none beside ; 
 And, treading paths by patriarch's trod, 
 In every home acknowledge Goct 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE PROSE. 
 
 ON MARRIAGE. 
 
 " L^TiTiA is pretty, modest, tender, and has sense 
 enough. She married Erastus, who is in a post of some 
 business, and has a general taste in most parts of polite 
 learning. Lsetitia, wherever she visits, has the plea- 
 sure to hear of something which was handsomely said 
 or done by Erastus. Erastus, since his marriage, is 
 more gay in his dress than ever, and in all companies 
 is as complaisant to Laetitia as to any other lady. I 
 have seen him give her her fan, when it has dropped, 
 with all the gallantry of a lover. When they take the 
 air together, Erastus is continually improving her 
 thoughts, and, with a turn of wit and spirit which is 
 peculiar to him, giving her an insight into things she 
 had no notion of before. Laetitia is transported at 
 having a new world thus opened to her, and hangs 
 upon the man that gives her such agreeable informa- 
 tions. Erastus has carried this point still further, as 
 he makes her daily not only more fond of him, but
 
 60 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 infinitely more satisfied with herself. Erastus finds 
 a justness or beauty in whatever she says or observes, 
 that La3titia herself was not aware of; and by his 
 assistance she has discovered a hundred good qualities 
 and accomplishments in herself, which she never before 
 once dreamed of. Erastus, with the most artful com- 
 plaisance in the world, by several remote hints, finds 
 the means to make her say or propose almost what- 
 ever he has a mind to, which he always receives as 
 her own discovery, and gives her all the reputation 
 of it. 
 
 " Erastus has a perfect taste in painting, and carried 
 Lsetitia with liim the other day to see a collection of 
 pictures. I sometimes visit this hap])y couple. As 
 we were last week walking in the long gallery before 
 dinner, ' I have lately laid out some money in paint- 
 ings,' says Erastus ; ' I bouglit that Venus and Adonis 
 jTtu'ely upon Lffititia's judgment; it cost me three-score 
 guineas, and I was this morning ofi'ered a hundred 
 for it.' I turned towards Eaetitia, and saw her cheeks 
 glow with pleasure, while at the same time she cast 
 a look upon I'jrastus, the most tender and affectionate 
 I ever beheld. 
 
 " Favilla married 'J'om Tawdry ; she was taken with 
 his laced coat and rich sword-knot. She has the morti- 
 fication to see Tom despised by all the worthy part of 
 his own sex. Tom has notliing to do after dinner, 
 but to determine whether he will pare his nails at St. 
 James's, White's, or his own house. He has said 
 nothing to Favilla since they were married, which she 
 might not have heard as well from her own woman. 
 He, however, takes great care to keep u]) the saucy, 
 ill-natured authority of a husband. Whatever Favilla
 
 PUNCH AND JUDY. 61 
 
 happens to assert, Tom immediately contradicts with 
 an oath, by way of preface, and — ' My dear, I must 
 tell you you talk most confoundedly silly.' Favilla 
 had a heart naturally as well disposed for all the ten- 
 derness of love as that of Lsetitia; but as love seldom 
 continues long after esteem, it is difficult to determine, 
 at present, whether the unhappy Favilla hates or de- 
 spises the person most, whom she is obliged to lead her 
 whole life with." 
 
 " It is not sufficient, to make a marriage happy, that 
 the humours of two people should be alike. J could 
 instance a hundred pairs, who have not the least senti- 
 ment of love remaining for one another, yet are so alike 
 in their humours, that if they were not already married, 
 the whole world would design them for man and wife. 
 
 " The spirit of love has something so extremely fine 
 in it, that it is very often disturbed and lost by some 
 little accidents, which the careless and unpohte never 
 attend to, until it is gone past recovery. 
 
 " Nothing has more contributed to banish it from 
 the married state, than too great a familiarity, and 
 laying aside the common rules of decency. Though 
 I could give instances of this in several particulars, 
 I shall only mention that of dress. The beaux and 
 belles about town, who dress purely to catch one 
 another, think there is no further occasion for the bait, 
 when their first design has succeeded. 
 
 " There is so much nicety and discretion required 
 to keep alive after marriage, and make conversation 
 still new and agreeable after twenty or thirty years, 
 that I know nothing which seems readily to promise
 
 62 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 it, but an earnest endeavour to please on both sides, 
 and superior good sense on the part of the man. 
 
 "A woman very much settles her esteem for a man, 
 according to the figure he makes in the world, aud the 
 character he bears among his own sex. As learning is 
 the chief advantage we have over them, it is, methiuks, 
 as scandalous and inexcusable for a man of fortune to 
 be illiterate, as for a woman not to know how to behave 
 herself on the most ordinary occasions. It is this 
 which sets the two sexes at the greatest distance : a 
 woman is vexed and surprised to find nothing more 
 in the conversation of a man, than in the common tattle 
 of her own sex." 
 
 Eustace Budgell. 
 
 ON CHURLISH HUSBANDS. 
 
 "Particular circumstances, and cast of temper, must 
 teach a man the probability of mighty uneasiness in 
 that state; (for unquestionably some there are whose 
 very dispositions are strangely averse to conjugal friend- 
 ship) but no one, I believe, is by his own natural 
 complexion prompted to tease and torment another 
 for no reason but being nearly allied to him. And can 
 there be anything more base, or serve to sink a man 
 so much below his own distinguishing characteristic 
 (I mean reason), than returning evil for good in so 
 open a manner, as that of treating a helpless creature 
 with unkindness, who has had so good an opinion of 
 him as to believe what he said relating to one of the 
 greatest concerns of life, by delivering her happiness 
 in this world to his care and i)rotection? Must not 
 that man be abandoned even to all manner of hu-
 
 PUNCH AND JUDY. 63 
 
 manity, who can deceive a woman with appearances 
 of affection and kindness, for no other end but to 
 torment her with more ease and authority? Is any- 
 thing more unlike a gentleman, than when his honour 
 is engaged for the performing his promises, because 
 nothing but that can oblige him to it, to become after- 
 ward false to his word, and be alone the occasion of 
 misery to one, whose happiness he but lately pretended 
 was dearer to him than his own ? Ought such a one 
 to be trusted in his common affairs ? or treated but as 
 one whose honesty consisted only in his capacity of 
 being otherwise ? 
 
 "There is one cause of this usage no less absurd 
 than common, which takes place among the more un- 
 thinking men ; and that is, the desire to appear to their 
 friends free and at liberty, and without those trammels 
 they have so much ridiculed. To avoid this they fly 
 into the other extreme, and grow tyrants that they 
 may seem masters. Because an uncontrollable com- 
 mand of their own actions is a certain sign of entire 
 dominion, they won't so much as recede from the 
 government even in one muscle of their faces. A kind 
 look they believe would be fawning, and a civil answer 
 yielding the superiority. To this we must attribute 
 an austerity they betray in every action. What but 
 this can put a man out of humour in his wife's com- 
 pany, though he is so distinguishingly pleasant every- 
 where else ? The bitterness of his replies, and the 
 severity of his frowns, to the tenderest of wives, clearly 
 demonstrate, that an ill-grounded fear of being thought 
 too submissive, is at the bottom of this, as I am willing 
 to call it, affected moroseness; but if it be such, only 
 put on to convince his acquaintance of his entire
 
 64 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 doiiiinion, let liim take care of the consequence, which 
 will be certain, and worse than the present evil; his 
 seeming indiflerence will by degrees grow into real 
 contempt, and if it doth not wholly alienate the affec- 
 tions of his wife for ever from him, make both him and 
 her more miserable than if it really did so. 
 
 " However inconsistent it may appear, to be thought 
 a well-bred person has no small share in this clownish 
 behaviour. A discourse, therefore, relating to good 
 breeding towards a loving and tender wife, would be 
 of gi-eat use to this sort of gentlemen. Could you but 
 once convince them, that to be civil at least is not 
 beneath the character of a gentleman, that even tender 
 affection towards one who would make it reciprocal, 
 betrays no softness or effeminacy that the most mas- 
 culine disposition need be ashamed of; could you 
 satisfy them of the generosity of voluntary civility, 
 and the greatness of soul that is conspicuous in bene- 
 volence witliout immediate obligations ; could you 
 recommend to people's practice the saying of the gentle- 
 man quoted in one of your speculations, ' That he 
 thought it incumbent upon him to make the inclina- 
 tions of a woman of merit go along with her duty;' 
 could you, I say, ])ersuade these men of the beauty 
 and reasonableness of this sort of behaviour, I have 
 so much charity, for some of them at least, to believe 
 you would convince them of a thing they are only 
 ashamed to allow. Besides, you would recommend 
 that state in its truest, and, consequently, its most 
 agreeable colours; and the gentlemen, who have for 
 any time been such professed enemies to it, when 
 occasion should serve, would return you their thanks 
 for assisting their interest in prevailing over their
 
 PUNCH AND JUDY. 65 
 
 livejudices. Marriage, in general, would by this means 
 be a more easy and comfortable condition ; the husband 
 would be nowhere so well satisfied as in his own 
 parlour, nor the wife so pleasant as in the company 
 of her husband. A desire of being agreeable in the 
 lover would be increased in the husband, and the 
 mistress be more amiable by becoming the wife. Be- 
 sides all which, I am apt to believe we should find 
 the race of men grow wiser as their progenitors grew 
 kinder, and the affection of their parents would be 
 conspicuous in the wisdom of their children. In short, 
 men would in general be much better humoured than 
 they are, did they not so frequently exercise the worst 
 of their temper where they ought to exert the best." 
 
 Steele. 
 
 " I AM a woman who left the admiration of this 
 
 whole town, to throw myself (for love of wealth) into 
 
 the arms of a fool. When I married him, I could have 
 
 had any one of several men of sense, who languished 
 
 for me; but my case is just. I believed my superior 
 
 understanding would form him into a tractable creature. 
 
 But, alas ! my spouse has cunning and suspicion, the 
 
 inseparable companions of little minds ; and every 
 
 attempt I make to divert, by putting on an agreeable 
 
 air, a sudden cheerfulness, or kind behaviour, he looks 
 
 upon as the first act towards an insurrection against 
 
 his undeserved dominion over me. Let every one 
 
 who is still to choose, and hopes to govern a fool, 
 
 remember 
 
 Tristissa." 
 
 " Henry V. passed in the circle of bis acquaintance 
 as one who was governed by his wife. The men called
 
 <J6 THE BATH I'ABLES. 
 
 him hen-pecked, and the women quoted his lady as 
 an examjile of a clever person, who knew how to 
 manage lier husband. It is thus that people often 
 judge : the married individual, who has the misfortune 
 to have an incorrigible partner, is called weak, because 
 he submits to what cannot be remedied, though his 
 submission evinces his superior strength of mind ; 
 while the incorrigible wife, who is endured as an 
 incurable evil, is called clever, because she destroys 
 her own happiness, and interrupts that of all around 
 her, by the indulgence of a bad temper, and false view 
 of subjects, incompatible with cleverness, in the proper 
 acceptation of the word. If we reflect on all the ex- 
 amples of husbands or wives that have been most 
 governed, we shall find that tlie submitting party was 
 the most clever, and the governing one the most weak ; 
 unless, where the latter was so gentle that the sway 
 was not apparent, the person following the poet's beau 
 ideal of the wife — 
 
 " ' Who never answers till her huslmnil cools, 
 
 And though she rules him, never shows she rules.' 
 
 " A jealousy of being governed, and a desire of 
 governing, are in general most frequently to be found 
 in weak minds of both sexes ; and this love of rule, 
 joined to obstinacy — another characteristic of feeble 
 intellect — renders such persons so incorrigible, that 
 passive forbearance is all that remains to a husband 
 or wife, so unhappily ' paired, but not matched.' Let 
 not, however, persons so borne with rejoice in the 
 belief that they are clever, but be thankful to the 
 strengtli that yields to their weakness." 
 
 Anon.
 
 PUNCH AND JUDY. 
 
 ANN BOLEYN'S LAST LETTER TO HENRY. 
 
 " Your Grace's displeasure and my imprisonment, 
 are things so strange unto me, as what to write, or 
 what to excuse, I am altogether ignorant. Whereas 
 you send unto me (willing me to confess a truth, and 
 so obtain your favour), by such a one, whom you know 
 to be mine ancient professed enemy, I no sooner re- 
 ceived this message by him, than I rightly conceived 
 your meaning; and if, as you say, confessing a truth 
 indeed may procure my safety, I shall with all willing- 
 ness and duty perform your command. 
 
 " But let not your Grace ever imagine, that your poor 
 wife will ever be brought to acknowledge a fault, where 
 not so much as a thought thereof preceded. And, to 
 speak a truth, never prince had wife more loyal in all 
 duty, and in all true affection, than you have ever found 
 in Ann Boleyn : with which name and place I could 
 willingly have contented myself, if God and your Grace's 
 ])leasm-e had been so pleased. Neither did I at any 
 time so far forget myself in my exaltation or received 
 queenship, but that I always looked for such an alter- 
 ation as now I find ; for the ground of my preferment 
 being on no surer foundation than your Grace's fancy, 
 the least alteration I knew was fit and sufficient to 
 draw that fancy to some other subject. Y'ou have 
 chosen me from a low estate to be your queen and 
 companion, far beyond my desert or desire. If, then, 
 you found me worthy of such honour, good your Grace, 
 let not any light fancy, or bad counsel of mine enemies, 
 withdraw your princely favour from me; neither let 
 that stain, that unworthy stain, of a disloyal heart
 
 08 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 towards your good Grace, ever cast so foul a blot on 
 your most dutiful wife, and the infant princess your 
 daughter. Try me, good king, but let me have a lawful 
 trial, and let not my sworn enemies sit as my accusers 
 and judges ; yea, let me receive an open trial, for my 
 truth shall fear no open shame : then shall you see 
 either mine innocency cleared, your suspicion and 
 conscience satisfied, the ignominy and slander of the 
 world stopped, or my guilt openly declared. So that, 
 whatsoever God or you may determine of me, your 
 Grace may be freed from an open censure; and mine 
 offence being so lawfully proved, your Grace is at liberty 
 both before God and man, not only to execute worthy 
 punishment on me, as an unlawful wife, but to follow 
 your affection already settled on that party, for whose 
 sake I am now as I am, whose name I could some 
 good while since have pointed unto, your Grace being 
 not ignorant of my suspicion therein. 
 
 " But if you have already determined of me, and 
 that not only my death, but an infamous slander, must 
 bring you the enjoying of your desired happiness ; 
 tlien I desire of God, that he will pardon your great 
 sin therein, and likewise mine enemies, the instru- 
 ments thereof; and that he will not call you to a strict 
 account for your unprincely and cruel usage of me, 
 at his general judgment-seat, where both you and my- 
 self must shortly appear, and in whose judgment, I 
 doubt not (whatsoever the world may think of me), 
 mine innocence shall be ojaenly known, and sufficiently 
 cleared. 
 
 " My last and only request shall be, that myself 
 may only bear the burden of your Grace's displeasure.
 
 JONATHAN AND SAMBO. fi-) 
 
 and that it may not touch the innocent souls of those 
 poor gentlemen, who, as I understand, are likewise in 
 strait imprisonment for my sake. If ever I ha^'e 
 found favour in your sight, if ever the name of Ann 
 , Boleyn hath been pleasing in your ears, then let me 
 obtain this request, and I will so leave to trouble your 
 Grace any further, with mine earnest prayers to the 
 Trinity, to have your Grace in his good keeping, and 
 to direct you in all youi- actions. From my doleful 
 prison in the Tower, this sixth of May : 
 
 "Your most loyal, and ever faithful wife, 
 
 "Ann Boleyn." 
 
 • FABLE YII. 
 JONATHAN AND SAMBO. 
 
 FOR SLAVEHOLDERS. 
 
 TOO oft will selfish passions blind 
 The noblest part of human kind : 
 So Sparta scorned to cringe a slave. 
 Yet dug full many a helot's grave. 
 Oh, read, Columbia ! read my rhyme, — 
 From tyrants free, but not fi-om crime. 
 
 On Pennsylvania's sunny strand, 
 A swarthy planter tilled his land. 
 Beneath a sky of changeless blue, 
 'Midst vales of every vernal hue.
 
 7H THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 In soft cyraars of linen dressed, 
 With straw cliapeau and open vest. 
 As liere his broad estate he eyed, 
 Poor servile Sambo at his side, 
 And gazed o'er all the waving canes, 
 The cotton whit'ning all the plains, 
 The weed narcotic, mango green. 
 And orange grove that decked the scene, 
 That fail- savanna swelled his breast. 
 As he his sable slave addressed : — 
 
 " Thrice happy, Sambo ! is his lot, 
 
 Who in Columbia holds a cot ! 
 
 No king liave we; no pami)ered -peer 
 
 Can park our glades to glut his deer. 
 
 No Norman fierce, or baron bold. 
 
 May tax our glebe or tithe our fold. 
 
 I hate a tyrant ! Mind is fiee ! 
 
 And so should man for ever be. 
 
 I was not born a slave : this skin 
 
 Avers my soul is free within. 
 
 Let boastful Britain hug her chain — 
 
 Columbia, Freedom's only fane ! 
 
 Of liberty I well may boast — 
 
 A slave's but half a man at most : 
 
 So Homer sang, and so sing I, 
 
 And so I shall sing, till 1 die." 
 
 Thus said, he quaffed the glowing weed, 
 
 And Jonathan felt blest indeed. 
 
 " Ah ! buccra massa ! " Sambo cries. 
 The big tears trembling in his eyes, 
 " l)e free is good — I lub de free, 
 And wonder when it come to me !
 
 JONATHAN AND SAMBO. 71 
 
 Oh ! many a tear hab Sambo shed, 
 And many a drop hab Sambo bled, 
 When de big whip, or nigger's grabe, 
 Hab told me — ' Sambo, you a slabe ! ' 
 Oft de long chain, and wasting toil, 
 Hab make me sigh for Afric's soil. 
 No moder, fader, wife, or child, 
 Dese ten long year on me hab smiled ; 
 For white man stole me from my bed, 
 But two year after I was wed. 
 I cried, I screamed, I asked for free, 
 And tried to plunge deep in de sea ; 
 For I lub Nima, young and true — - 
 Poor nigger lub as well as you. 
 
 " Oh, little Sambo ! nebber I 
 See dee and Nima till I die ; 
 No, not till den, for white man's pride 
 Make free himself, but none beside. 
 God make us all, both black and white. 
 And time will gib us each de right; 
 Yet, massa! you so good to we, 
 I serbe you when I get de free." 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Ye pilgi'im sires ! the earliest band 
 Of free-born souls from Albion's strand, 
 Who nobly vowed far off to roam, 
 To 'scape a tyrant's rod at home. 
 And spanned the rude Atlantic main — 
 Oh ! burst your tombs, and bi'eathe again ! 
 For sure your coiBued bones must shake, 
 And every unscathed fibre quake,
 
 THE HATH FABLES. 
 
 To learn that on the very stran(J, 
 
 Wliere you a home for freedom jilanncd, 
 
 And breathed to Heaven your first warm prayer, 
 
 That tyrants miglit not liaunt you there — 
 
 Poor sable millions gnaw their chain, 
 
 And prove your pious wishes vain ! 
 
 Who learning hail, or science love, 
 
 Or wear their days in studious grove ; 
 
 Who plead at bar, or senates rule, 
 
 Or argue in the muse-struck school ; 
 
 Or those whose pliant souls expand, 
 
 At Pity's call, tlie liberal hand — 
 
 I love : let plaudits sound their fame, 
 
 And endless marble tell their name. 
 
 Green waves the bay, though Greece be fled. 
 
 And laurels bloom around her dead. 
 
 But they who burst the bondsman's chain, 
 By gold, or senatorial strain. 
 Who light the Negro's vernal isles. 
 And clothe his swartliy brow in smiles. 
 Shall shine a more illustrious throng, 
 For ever famed in roll and song. 
 
 Hail, Stanley, liail ! thy fame runs high ; 
 " On, Stanley, on ! " till slavery die : 
 So shall the bays, o'er Greece that bloom, 
 Bedeck tliinc own time-honoured tomb ; 
 And story's page shall long entwine. 
 The name of Wilberforce with thine. 
 Nor, Clarkson ! fear oblivious dust, 
 For near thine amarHiitliiue bust, 
 Each Christian Druid drops a tear, 
 And cries, " The Negro's friend lies here ! "
 
 JONATHAN AND SAMBO. 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE PROSE. 
 
 NARRATIVE OF A NEGRO SERVANT. 
 
 "During a residence of some years' continuance in 
 the neighbourhood of the sea, an officer in the navy 
 called upon me, and stated that he had just taken a 
 lodging in the parish, for his wife and children; and 
 that he had a Negro, whom he had kept three years 
 in his service. 'The lad is a handy fellow,' said the 
 officer, 'and he has a great desire to he baptized; I 
 have promised him to ask you to do it for him, if you 
 have not any objections.' 
 
 " ' Does he know anything,' I replied, ' of the prin- 
 ciples of the Christian religion ? ' 
 
 " ' yes, I am sure he does,' answered the captain ; 
 ' for he talks a deal about it in the kitchen, and often 
 gets laughed at for his pains; but he takes it all very 
 patiently.' 
 
 " ' Does he behave well as your servant ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes, that he does ; he is as honest and civil a 
 fellow as ever came aboard a ship, or lived in a house.' 
 
 " ' Was he always so well behaved ? ' 
 
 " ' No,' said the officer ; ' when I first had him, he 
 was often very unruly and deceitful ; but for the last 
 two years, he has been quite like another creature.' 
 
 " ' Well, sir, I shall be very glad to see him, and 
 think it probable I shall wish to go through a course 
 of instruction and examination ; during which, I shall 
 be able to form a judgment how far it will be right to 
 admit him to the sacrament of baptism. Can he read ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes," replied his master ; ' he has been taking 
 great pains to learn to read for some time past, and
 
 74 THE HATH F.4ELES. 
 
 can make out a chapter in the Bible pretty well, as 
 my maidservant intbrms inc. He speaks English 
 better than many of his countrynicn, but yon will 
 find it a little broken. When will it be convenient 
 that I should send him over to you ?' 
 
 " ' To-morrow afternoon, sir, if you please.' 
 
 " ' He shall come to you about four o'clock, and 
 you shall see what you can make of liim.' 
 
 " With this jiromise, he took his leave. I felt glad 
 of an opportiinity of instructing a native of that land, 
 whose wrongs and injuries had often caused me to 
 sigh and mourn : the more so, when I reflected tvho 
 had been the aggressors. 
 
 " At the appointed hour, my Negro disciple ai'rived. 
 He was a very young-looking man, witli a sensible, 
 lively, and pleasing turn of countenance. 
 
 " I desired him to sit down, and said, ' Your master 
 informs me that you wisli to have some conversation 
 with me respecting Christian baptism?' 
 
 " ' Yes, sir ; me very much wish to be a Cliristian,' 
 said he. 
 
 " ' Why do you wish so ? ' 
 
 " ' Because me know that Christian go to heaven 
 when he die.' 
 
 " ' How long have you had that wish ?' I said. 
 
 "'Ever since me hoar one goot minister preach in 
 America, two years ago.' 
 
 " ' Where were you born ?' 
 
 "'In Africa. Me was very little boy when me was 
 made slave by the white men.' 
 
 " ' How was that ? '
 
 JONATHAN AND SAMBO. 75 
 
 " ' Me left father and mother one day at home to 
 go get shells by the sea-shore, and as I was stooping 
 down to gather them up, some white sailors came out 
 of a boat and took me away. Me never see father 
 nor mother again.' 
 
 " ' And what became of you then ? ' 
 
 " ' Me was put into ship, and brought to Jamaica, 
 and sold to a master, who kept me in his house, to 
 serve him, some years ; when, about three years ago, 
 
 Captain W , my master that spoke to you, bought 
 
 me to be his servant on board his ship. And he be 
 goot master; he gave me my liberty, and made me 
 free, and me live with him ever since.' " 
 
 ^ ^ SjC ^ 
 
 " As I looked upon the numerous ships, moving 
 before me, I remembered the words of the Psalmist : 
 ' They that go down to the sea in ships, that do busi- 
 ness in great waters ; these see the works of the Lord, 
 and his wonders in the deep. For he commandeth, 
 and raiseth the stormy wind, which lifteth up the 
 waves thereof. They mount up to the heaven, they 
 go down again to the depths : their soul is melted 
 because of trouble. They reel to and fro, and stagger 
 like a drunken man, and are at their wit's end. Then 
 they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and he bringeth 
 them out of their distresses. He maketh the storm a 
 calm, so that the waves thereof are still. Then are 
 they glad because they be quiet ; so he bringeth them 
 unto their desired haven. Oh that men would praise 
 the Lord for his goodness, and for his wonderful works 
 to the children of men ! ' (Psa. cvii.) 
 
 " The Negro servant then occurred to my mind. 
 Perhaps, thought I, some of these ships are bound
 
 76 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 to Africa, in quest of that most infamous object of 
 merchandise, a cargo of black slaves. Inhuman trafBc 
 for a nation that hears the name of Christian! Perhaps 
 these very waves vrhich are now dashing on the rocks at 
 the foot of this hill, have, on the shores of Africa, borne 
 witness to the horrors of forced separation between 
 wives and husbands, jiarents and children, torn asunder 
 by merciless men, whose hearts have been hardened 
 against the common feeling of luinianity, by long custom 
 in this cruel trade. ' Blessed are the merciful, for they 
 shall obtain mercy.' When shall the endeavours of 
 that truly Christian friend of the oppressed Negi'o be 
 crowned with success, in the abolition of this wicked 
 and disgraceful traffic ? "* 
 
 * * * * 
 
 " I cast my eye downwards, a little to the left, towards 
 a small cove, the shore of which consists of fine hard 
 sand. It is surrounded by fragments of rock, chalk- 
 clitfs, and steep banks of broken earth. Shut out from 
 human intercourse and dwellings, it seems formed for 
 retirement and contemplation. On one of these rocks I 
 unexpectedly observed a man sitting with a book, which 
 he was reading. The place was near two hundred yards 
 perpendicularly below me; but I soon discovered, by his 
 dress, and by the black colour of his features, contrasted 
 with the white rocks beside him, that it was no other 
 than my Negro disciple, with, as I doubted not, a Bible 
 in his hand. I rejoiced at this unlooked-for opj^or- 
 
 • The day lias since anived, when the persevering efforts 
 of Wilberforee, and his benevolent coadjutors, to accomplish 
 this happy purpose, have been fully answered. The Slave-track is 
 abolished. The Church of God rejoices at this triumph of Christ 
 over Belial ; — except in freedom-loving America ! !
 
 JONATHAN AND SAMBO. 77 
 
 tunity of meeting him in so solitary and interesting a 
 situation. I descended a steep bank, winding by a 
 kind of rude staircase, formed by fishermen and shep- 
 herds' boys, in the side of the cliff down to the shore." 
 
 " I was much pleased with the affectionate manner 
 in which he spoke of his parents, from whom he had 
 been stolen in his childhood ; and his wishes that God 
 might direct them by some means to the knowledge 
 of a Saviour. 
 
 " ' Who knows,' I said, ' hut some of these ships 
 may be carrying a missionary to the country where 
 they live, to declare the good news of salvation to your 
 countrymen, and to your own dear parents in par- 
 ticular, if they are yet alive ?' 
 
 " ' Oh, my dear father and mother ! My dear, 
 gracious Saviour ! ' exclaimed he, leaping from the 
 ground as he spoke; ' if thou wilt but save their souls, 
 and tell them what thou hast done for sinners — but ' 
 
 " He stopped, and seemed much affected. 
 
 " ' My friend,' said I, ' I will now pray with you for 
 your own soul, and for those of your parents also.' 
 
 " ' Do, massa ; dat is very goot and kind— do pray 
 for poor Negro souls here and everywhere ' 
 
 "This was a new and solemn 'house of prayer.' 
 The sea-sand was our floor ; the heavens were our 
 roof; the cliffs, the rocks, the hills, and the waves, 
 formed the walls of our chamber. It was not, indeed, 
 a ' place where prayer was wont to be made,' but for 
 this once it became a hallowed spot: it will, by me, 
 ever be remembered as such. The presence of God
 
 78 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 was there. I prayed — the Negro wept — his heart was 
 full. I felt with him, and wept likewise. 
 
 " The last day will show whether oiir tears were not 
 the tears of sincerity and Christian love. 
 
 " It was time for my return ; I leaned upon his arm, 
 as we ascended the steep cliff, in my way back to my 
 horse, which T had left at the top of the hill. HumiUty 
 and thankfulness were marked in his countenance. I 
 leaned upon Ids arm with the feelings of a brother. It 
 was a relationship I was happy to own. I took him by 
 the hand at parting, appointed one more interview 
 previous to the day of baptizing him, and bid hun 
 farewell for the present. 
 
 " ' God bless you, my dear massa ! ' 
 
 " ' And you, my feUow-Christian, for ever and ever. 
 
 Amen.' " 
 
 Leijh Richmond. 
 
 FABLE VIII. 
 
 THE ROBIN AND THE THOUT. 
 
 FOR PROTECTIONISTS. 
 
 WHEN storms assail the poor man's cot, 
 Whose vii-tues claim a fairer lot ; 
 When powers oppressive darkly frown, 
 And anguish bows the spirit down ; 
 How sweet to own a feisling heart, 
 Which in that anguish shares a part !
 
 THE ROBIN AND THE TROUT. 
 
 For tbeD, at Pity's plaintive call, 
 Our gifts like beaveuly manna fall. 
 
 One charming clay in early June, 
 Two robins in their honeymoon, 
 With moss and feathers, leaves and hair, 
 BuUt a new nest, compact and fair. 
 Beneath a bushy shrub it lay, 
 Concealed e'en from the eye of day : 
 On many a bank such bushes grow. 
 While babbling streamlets roU below. 
 
 The hen had just begun to lay, ^ 
 
 But while tlie birds were out one day, 
 
 An idle cuckoo found the nest. 
 
 And left her egg among the rest ; 
 
 For cuckoo is a lazy drone, 
 
 That never cares to hatch her own. 
 
 Well : soon the robins felt quite blest, 
 For six young birdies fiUed the nest ; 
 And as their feathers had not grown. 
 The robins thought them all their own 
 Just as a hen young ducks will hatch. 
 And guard and feed the waddling batch — 
 Nay, stick to all the little quacks. 
 As any cobbler to his wax. 
 
 Scarce were the younglings three days old, 
 When Master Cuckoo, strong and bold, 
 Got each in turn upon his back, 
 And hurled them, with a frightful thwack, 
 Forth from the nest, and down they fell, 
 Head over heels — 'tis sad to tell ! 
 And left the cuckoo — forced to yield — 
 Triumphant master of the field.
 
 80 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 The redbreasts scarcely missed their young, 
 Nor dreamt of suffering such a wrong ; 
 For birdies cannot count, you see, 
 Not owning brains like you or me. 
 So, having ousted all their brood, 
 The cuckoo gobbled all the food, 
 And feasting thus, he quickly grew, 
 Kose from the nest, and off he tlew. 
 
 The nest, I've said, stood o'er a stream, 
 
 Well stocked with minnow, trout, and bream. 
 
 And when the selfish cuckoo hurled 
 
 The rohins from their little world, 
 
 Four sank beneath the limpid wave, 
 
 And quickly found a living grave ; 
 
 Since four fat gudgeons guljied them down. 
 
 And scarce allowed them time to drown. 
 
 But one, the only one beside. 
 Fell near the margin of the tide. 
 Where swam a little grassy clump ; 
 But as poor Bobby could not juinp, 
 He clambered on its utmost verge. 
 And mourned a little funeral dirge : 
 For, as he'd lost his poor dear brothers. 
 And fish were on the watch for others, 
 He fancied he was soon to die, 
 Which made the hapless youngling cry. 
 
 Here, as he wept and gazed about, 
 
 He spied a sjilendid, star-gilt trout, 
 
 Just near the clurai), whose beauteous eye, 
 
 Appeared to weep at llobin's cry ; 
 
 For limpid water sparkled there, — 
 
 Weeping Zenobia not so lair ;
 
 THE BOBIN AND THE TRODT. 81 
 
 And yet, to say the very sooth— 
 For why not own the real truth ? — 
 Sir Trout thought Bob some monster fly, 
 And longed to clutch, but feared to try. 
 
 When little Bob beheld the fish. 
 
 He thus made known his ardent wish : — 
 
 " If ever pity touched your breast, 
 
 If e'er you sighed for poor oppressed, — 
 
 Pray, don't devour me, noble Trout ! 
 
 You'll find some other meal, no doubt. 
 
 Those glittering stars, your bust, that grace. 
 
 Show you of no ignoble race ; 
 
 Show you have ample means ; and so. 
 
 You'll aid a stranger steeped in woe. 
 
 " In yon warm nest above your head. 
 Was I, with five fine brothers, bred ; 
 But one, much bigger than the rest, 
 Unkindly hurled us from our nest : 
 And, ah ! most fearful was the fall. 
 While I alone survive of all ! 
 Since on this floating isle I lay, 
 I've seen my mother on that spray, 
 In great anxiety, no doubt, 
 And gladly would she get me out ; 
 But e'en the noble race of Bobs 
 Can't manage such gigantic jobs! 
 
 " Y'^et you. Sir Trout ! can do the thing, 
 Though unsupplied with hand or wing ; 
 For if you drag me to the side 
 Of this immense, this boundless tide. 
 O'er which e'en man could scarcely skip, 
 I'll climb from off my grassy ship ;
 
 82 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 And, once ashore, I'll try to creep — 
 Find some warm uook to lodge and sleep ; 
 And then my mother, and my sire, 
 Will bring me ibod, uor ever tire, 
 Till I gi-ow strong enough to gain 
 Our suug and beauteous nest again." 
 
 When little Bob had closed his tale, 
 'Tween hope to win and fear to fail, 
 The generous trout at once complied, 
 And towed poor Robin to the side ; 
 Then sank below, with anxious heed, 
 And launched him on the vernal mead. 
 And when he'd done that friendly act, 
 1 dare aver it as a fact. 
 Sir Trout had never felt so happy, 
 As after landing little Flappy ! 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Alas ! too many in our days, 
 Oppress the poor in numerous ways; 
 Grinding tlicir heart and famished face, 
 To serve a selfish cuckoo race. 
 
 Some drive the peasant from his home, 
 On other glebes or realms to roam. 
 For higher rents; or, loatli to stay, 
 Till brighter times the rental pay; 
 And robins, driven from the nest. 
 Were never, never so oppressed ! 
 
 But what must Heaven ordain for those, 
 Who know the toiling million's woes, 
 And yet, to shirk the bankrupt's fate, 
 To scour the Iling in pomp and state,
 
 THE ROBIN AND THE TROUT. 83 
 
 To spare their stud, their hounds, their land, 
 
 To dowry daughters a la grande, 
 
 To school cadets, or serve an heir. 
 
 Send to the throne this heartless prayer? — 
 
 " Our rent-rolls at each audit fail ; 
 'Tis death our pleasure to cm-tail ; 
 For we, alas ! have lived too high, 
 And all our acres mortgaged lie. 
 Ah ! let the poor, though scantly fed, 
 Pay double for their daily bread; 
 Thus will our yeomen hand us more. 
 And magnates pamper as of yore ! " 
 
 Brave millions ! never shall it be, 
 While Britain's sons command the sea ! 
 For you, Patricians ! wait awhile. 
 And where ye weep, ye soon shall smile ; 
 For many a heart begins t' expand. 
 Among the highborn of the land. 
 Lo ! rentals faU, or glebes improve ; 
 Lo ! yeomen smile at every move : 
 So be it, thanes ! since that's the way,' 
 To hail for all a happier day ! 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE PEOSE. 
 
 STORY OF JOHN CONYERS. 
 
 " As Vivian was returning home, he intended to look 
 in at a pretty cottage .near the park, where lived one 
 John Couyers, an honest liu.^baudman, and a great
 
 frieud of Vivian's. This man had, about a fortnight 
 ago, been of essential service to our hero ; when a 
 vicious horse, which he was endeavouring to cure of 
 some ugly tricks, had nearly terminated his mortal 
 career. 
 
 "'Why are you crying so, my boy?' asked Vivian 
 of a little Conyers, who was sobbing bitterly at the 
 cottage door. He was answered only with desperate 
 sobs. ' Is your father at home ? ' 
 
 " ' Oh, 'tis your honour,' said a decent-looking woman, 
 
 who came out of tlie cottage ; ' I thought they had 
 
 come back again.' 
 
 " ' Come back again ! why, what's the matter, dame?' 
 " ' Oh, your honour, we're in sad distress; there's been 
 
 a seizure this morning, and I'm mortal feared the good 
 
 man's beside himself! ' 
 
 " ' Good heavens ! why didn't you come to the castle ? 
 The Marquis surely never gave orders for the infliction 
 of this misery ! ' 
 
 " ' Oh, your honour, we an't his Lordship's tenants no 
 longer ; there's been a change for Purley Meads, and 
 now we're Lord Mounteney's people. John Conyers 
 has been behindliand ever sin' he had the fever, but 
 Mr. Sedgwick always gave time; but Lord Mounteney's 
 gemman says the system's bad, and so he'll put an end 
 to it. And so all's gone, your honour — all's gone, and 
 I'm mortal feai-ed the good man's beside himself ! ' 
 
 " 'And who's Lord Mounteney's man of business?' 
 
 " ' ]Mr. Stapylton Toad,' sobbed the good dame. 
 
 " ' Here, boy ! leave off crying, and hold my horse ; 
 keep your hold tight, but give him rein ; he'll be quiet 
 enough then, ill see holiest John, dame Couycrt;.'
 
 THE ROBIN AND THE TROUT. 85 
 
 " ' I'm sure your honour's very kind ; but I'm mortal 
 feared the good man's beside himself! and he's apt to 
 do very violent things when the fit's on him. He 
 hasn't been so bad since young Barton behaved so 
 wickedly to his sister.' 
 
 " ' Never mind ! I'll see him ; there's nothing like a 
 friend's face in the hour of sorrow.' 
 
 " ' I wouldn't advise your honour,' said the gocd 
 dame, with a fearful expression of countenance ; it's an 
 awful hour when the fit's on him. He knows not friend 
 or foe, and scarcely seems to know me, your honour.' 
 
 " ' Never mind, never mind ! I'll see him.' 
 
 "Vivian entered the cottage; but oh! the scene of 
 desolation, who shall describe ? The room was entirely 
 stripped, literally of everything ; there was nothing 
 left, save the bare whitewashed walls, and, the red-tiled 
 flooring. The room was darkened ; and, seated on an 
 old block of wood, which had been pulled out of the 
 orchard since the bailift' had left, was John Conyers. 
 The fire was out, but his feet were still among the 
 ashes. His head was buried in his liands, and bowed 
 down nearly to his knees. The eldest girl, a fine, sen- 
 sible child of about thirteen, was sitting with two 
 brothers on the floor, in a corner of the room, motion- 
 less, their faces grave and still as death, but tearless. 
 The young children, of an age too tender to know gi'ief, 
 wei'e acting unmeaning gambols near the door. 
 
 "'Oh, pray beware, your honour!' earnestly whis- 
 pered the poor dame, as she entered the cottage with 
 the visitor. 
 
 "Vivian walked up with a silent step to the end of 
 the room where John Conyers was sitting. He re- 
 membered this little room, when he thorght it the
 
 80 THK BATH FABLES. 
 
 very model of the abode of an English husbandman. 
 The neat row of plates, and the well-scoured utensils, 
 and the fine old Dutch clock, and the ancient and 
 amusing ballad, purchased at some neighbouring fair, 
 or of some itinerant bibliopole, and pinned against the 
 wall — all, all were gone ! 
 
 " ' John Conyers ! ' exclaimed Vivian. 
 
 " There was no answer, nor did the miserable man 
 appear in the slightest degree to be sensible of Vivian's 
 presence. 
 
 " ' My good John Conyers ! ' 
 
 " The man raised his head from his resting-place, 
 and turned to the spot whence the voice proceeded. 
 There was such an unnatural fire in his eyes, that 
 Vivian's spirit almost quailed. Any one but Vivian 
 Grey would have fled the house. His alarm was not 
 decreased when lie perceived that the master of the 
 cottage did not recognise him. The fearful stare was, 
 however, short ; and again the sufTerer's face was hid. 
 The wife was advancing, but Vivian waved his hand 
 to her to withdraw, and she accordingly fell into the 
 background ; but her fixed eye did not leave her 
 husband for a second. 
 
 " 'John Conyers, it is your friend, ^Ir. Vivian Grey, 
 who is here,' said Vivian. 
 
 "'Grey!' moaned the husbandman; 'Grey! Who 
 is he ? ' 
 
 " ' Your friend, John Conyers. Do you quite forget 
 me?' said Vivian, advancing, and with a tone which 
 Vivian Grey could alone assume. 
 
 " ' I think I have seen you, and you were kind.' And 
 the face was again hid.
 
 THE ROBIN AND THE TROOT. 87 
 
 "'And always will be kind, John Conyers. I have 
 come to comfort you. I thought that a friend's voice 
 would do you good in this hour of your affliction. Come, 
 come, my good Conyers, cheer up, ray man ! ' And 
 Vivian ventured to touch him. His hand was not 
 repulsed. 
 
 " ' Do you remember what good service you did me, 
 when I rode white-footed Moll? Oh! John Conyers, 
 when the mare was plunging on the hill-top, I was 
 much worse off than you are now ; and yet, you see, 
 a friend came and saved me. You must not give way 
 so, my good fellow. After all, a little management 
 will set everything right.' And he took the husband- 
 man's sturdy hand. 
 
 " John Conyers looked wildly round, but the un- 
 natural fire that had glistened in his eyes was ex- 
 tinguished. 
 
 "'I do remember you,' he faintly cried. 'I do 
 remember you. You were always very kind.' 
 
 " ' And always will be, I repeat, John Conyers ; at 
 least to friends like you. Come, come, thei'e's a man ; 
 cheer up, and look about you, and let the sunbeam 
 enter your cottage.' And Vivian beckoned to the wife 
 to open the closed shutter. Conyers stared around 
 him, but his eye rested only on bare walls, and the 
 big tear coursed down his hardy cheek. 
 
 " ' Nay, never mind, man,' said Vivian ; ' we'll soon 
 have chairs and tables again; and as for the rent — 
 think no more about that, at present.' 
 
 " The husbandman looked up to heaven, and then 
 burst into the most violent paroxysm. Vivian could 
 scarcely hold down the powerful and convulsed frame
 
 88 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 of Conyers on his rugged seat; but the wife advanced 
 from the back of the room, and her Inisband's head 
 rested against her bosom. Vivian held his honest 
 hand, and the eldest girl rose unbidden from her silent 
 sorrow, and clung to her father's knee. 
 
 " ' The fit is over,' whispered the wife. 
 " ' There, there's a man ; all is now well.' And 
 Vivian left him resting on his wife's bosom. 
 
 " ' Here, you curly-headed rascal ! scamper down to 
 the village immediately, and bring up a basket of some- 
 thing to eat; and tell Morgan Price that Mr. Grey 
 says he's to send up a couple of beds and some chairs 
 here immediately, and some plates and dislics, and 
 everything else ; and don't forget a bottle of wine.' So 
 saying, Vivian flung the urchin a sovereign. 'And 
 now, dame Conyers, for Heaven's sake, liglit the lire. 
 As for the rent, John Conyers, do not waste this trifle 
 on that,' whispered Vivian, slipping his purse into his 
 hand; ' for T'U see Stapylton Toad, and get time. Why, 
 woman, you'll never strike a light if your tears drop so 
 fast into the tinder-box. Here, give it me ; you're not 
 fit for work today. And how's the trout in Eavely 
 Mead, John, this hot weather? You know you never 
 kept promise with me. Oh ! you're a sad fellow ! 
 There ! there's a spark ! I wonder why old Toad 
 didn't take the tinder-box ? it's a very valuable piece 
 of i)ropcrty — at least to us. Run and get me some 
 wood, that's a good boy. And so white-footed Moil's 
 past all recovery ? Well, she was a pretty creature ! 
 There, that will do famously!' said Vivian, fanning 
 the flame with his hat. ' See, it mounts well ! And 
 now, God bless you all ! for I'm an hour too late, and 
 must scamper for my very life.' " — Disraeli.
 
 FABLE IX. 
 THE OAK AND THE HOLLY. 
 
 FOR SUFFERERS. 
 
 AS lofty trees and beauteous flowers, 
 Have various tints, and forms, and powers, 
 Yet each alike to Heaven is dear, 
 And each is fitted for its sphere ; 
 So, trembling mortals ! 'tis with man. 
 And has been since the world began : 
 Some may be greater than the rest, 
 More rich, more wise, but not more blest. 
 A simple story, simply told. 
 This simple maxim shall unfold. 
 
 As pensive once I paced my grounds, 
 
 The woodlands rang with plaintive sounds. 
 
 Response, rejoinder, teted-tete. 
 
 Like fairy elfs in high debate. 
 
 Alarmed, alert, I gazed around, 
 
 JSut saw no mortal on the ground ; 
 
 Still, voices floated on the breeze, 
 
 And agitation shook the trees. 
 
 wonderful ! I quickly saw. 
 
 Litigious trees had gone to law : 
 
 An owl presided at the court ; 
 
 A chattering swallow made report ; 
 
 A glum old raven served as marshal, 
 
 And all made oath to be impartial. 
 
 " yes ! O yes ! " the raven spoke ; 
 " An oak, my Lord, the royal oak ! "
 
 All eyes were fixed, all tongues were tied ; 
 The oak approached, and bowed, and sighed, 
 Spread out his notes on many a leaf, 
 And thus dejiosed to prove his grief: — 
 
 " Your worship ! I appeal to you, 
 My tale, though tristful, yet is true: 
 Most grievously am I oppressed, 
 And come to have my griefs redressed. 
 My neighbour is a holly tree ; 
 A selfish villain, as you'll see. 
 Five months, my Lord ! in every year, 
 I'm left without a rag to wear — 
 Chilled, as yourself may well suppose. 
 By wintry blasts, and frosts, and snows. 
 My lot, you'll own, is melancholy; 
 But all the while, this dainty holly, 
 Like many a worthless blade beside, 
 Is warmly clad, and choked with pride. 
 I vow, my Lord, it's vastly wrong, 
 To leave me shivering there so long ; 
 And such a learned owl as you. 
 Must hold the same opinion too." 
 
 The learned owl awaits the close, 
 Then, mounting glasses on his nose. 
 Replies : " I'm hurt to see your folly ; 
 This suit is Oaky versus Holly. 
 Plaintiff! I find your cause is bad. 
 For though your neighbour's better clad. 
 No larceny is proved, and so. 
 Defendant may at freedom go. 
 Nay, wherefore at your neighbour scoff? 
 As I'm a judge, your better off!
 
 THE OAK AND THE HOILY. 91 
 
 Did ever Holly help to raise 
 Proud navies on the ocean ways? 
 Did ever Holly, sir, like you. 
 Enjoy the honour, known to few. 
 Of sheltering in its warm embrace, 
 A helpless monarch in disgrace ? 
 And why, with such unlovely spleen, 
 Compare with this said evergi-een ? 
 Look at the cactus ! I declare, 
 That orient plant is almost bare. 
 Look at the lofty Alj^ine trees. 
 Where whistles many a wintry breeze ; 
 You know the firs that tremble there. 
 Frigid as is their mountain air. 
 Boast no such downy drape as thine, 
 Not half so warm, or half so fine. 
 
 " Five months you're naked, you complain, 
 
 But do you truly suffer pain ? 
 
 And when sweet spring returns at last, 
 
 You're better for the storms you've passed. 
 
 As to the winds that chill you so. 
 
 Would you in part escape the blow ? 
 
 A secret learn — when temjjests fly, 
 
 Mind you don't hold your head so high; 
 
 Bend to the blast, as hollies do, 
 
 And, trust me, you'll get better through. 
 
 At all events, you've lost the cause. 
 
 Judging by most impartial laws. 
 
 Marshal ! show Oaky to the door, 
 
 I'll hear this croaking blade no more ! "
 
 92 
 
 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 O suffering pilgrim ! why repiue. 
 Til at some have fairer days thaa thine ? 
 Or fairer forms, or fairer face, 
 Or faii'er drape those forms to grace ? 
 If worldlings prosper, can their share 
 Of happiness with thine compare ? 
 And if some pilgrims scape thy woe; 
 Is there no other grief to know ? 
 Be calm, ye widows ! calm, ye poor ! 
 Heaven will be sweet if ye endure. 
 Be calm, ye orphans and distressed ! 
 Heaven will be sweet when there ye rest ! 
 
 Oh ! there's a joy they only know, 
 Who've quaffed a previous cup of woe : 
 Above mere ease whoe'er would rise, 
 Must suffer first, or vain he tries. 
 When Alfred found his long-lost throne. 
 He felt a bliss to George unknown ; 
 And saints in heaven the more are blest, 
 As earth supplied but partial rest. 
 
 Let wintry blasts around me howl ; 
 Let storms of sorrow hoarsely scowl ; 
 Let food be scant, let raiment fail ; 
 Let friends desert, and nature quail ; 
 Ye palaces ! I envy not ; 
 Ye godless I harder is your lot! 
 Patient I'll quaff each cup of gall, 
 Since Heaven indemnifies for all.
 
 THE OAK AND THE HOLLY. 93 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE PKOSE. 
 STORY OF OSMAR. 
 
 AN EASTERN TALE. 
 
 " The morning dawned which was to render Osmar, 
 a favourite of the Caliph of Egypt, the happiest of 
 mankind. He had long loved and been beloved by the 
 beauteous Zemira ; but a war, in which the caliph 
 was engaged, prevented their espousals. Peace again 
 smiled upon Egypt, and Osmar hastened from the 
 conquest of his country's foes, to claim the reward 
 dearest to his heart — the long-promised hand of 
 Zemira. 
 
 " It was readily granted by the parents of the 
 maiden, who herself yielded to their wishes with a 
 delight which she sought not to conceal. Tlie day was 
 fixed for the celebration of the nuptials, which the 
 caliph had consented to honour with his presence ; but 
 the very morning that was to have crowned the bliss of 
 Osmar, he saw himself bereft of his beloved ! The 
 angel of Death summoned Zemira, who expired at the 
 moment that her maidens were arraying her for her 
 nuptials 
 
 " The heart of Osmar was rent with anguish. He 
 shut himself up in his chamber, and refused all con- 
 solation. In vain did the parents of Zemira seek to 
 alleviate his despair by mingling their tears with his ; 
 in vain did the caliph send to summon him to his 
 presence. Deaf alike to the voice of affection and of 
 duty, he secretly quitted his dwelling, and wandered
 
 !)4: THE BATH FABLKS. 
 
 far away from the city into a desert solitude, that he 
 might indul'^e without interruption the despair which 
 preyed upon his soul. Maddened by its violence, he 
 dared even to arraign the justice of the Most High. 
 
 " ' How have I deserved,' said he, as he cast his 
 upbraiding looks to Heaven, ' that the bolt of thy wrath 
 shoidd fall upon and crush me, even in the very 
 moment when the felicity for which I had so long 
 sighed appeared within my grasp ? Have I not re- 
 garded thy laws from my youth upwards ? In the fury 
 of the battle, was not my arm extended to protect the 
 prostrate foe ? And did J not rescue from violation, 
 even at the peril of life, their virgins and their ma- 
 trons? No! it is not injustice, but in wrath, that 
 Thou hast laid thy hand \xpon me, and filled my cu]) 
 with bitterness. But at least I possess the power to 
 drink of it no longer ! ' 
 
 " As he thus spoke, he drew a dagger from his 
 bosom ; but the moment that he turned its point 
 against his heart, his arm was suddenly arrested by a 
 youth of moie than mortal beauty. The robe of light 
 that enveloped his form, and the celestial fragi'ance 
 that breathed around him, proclaimed him a messenger 
 from Heaven. The awe-struck Osmai- listened in 
 trembling silence, while in a tone of calm severity the 
 Genius tluis addressed him : — 
 
 *"ls it for tlice, O short-sighted mortal! to scan the 
 ways of Providence, and imjiiously to return thy being, 
 uncalled-for, to Him who gave it ? Thou hast attached 
 thy haiipiness to the j^ossessiou of Zemira ; but she 
 would have been for thee the most fatal gift that Heaven 
 could bestow. Yet thou hast dared to arraign as an
 
 THE OAK AND THE HOLLY. 95 
 
 injustice that mercy which, iu removing lier to the 
 abode of the blest, has spared thee the commission of 
 the most dreadful crimes.' 
 
 " Osmar presumed not to reply, but the workings of 
 his heart wei'e known to the messenger of the Most 
 High. 
 
 " ' Zemira,' said he, ' may yet be thine, if, in spite 
 of the warning which Heaven has given thee, thou 
 continuest to wish it. But once more I warn thee to 
 beware, for thou must buy her at a dreadful price.' 
 
 " ' Be the price what it may,' exclaimed Osmar, ' I 
 will not shrink from paying it. Give me Zemira, or 
 give me death ! ' 
 
 " ' Enough, rash, presumptuous mortal ! thou hast 
 thy wish,' replied the Genius, breathing upon Osmar, 
 who instantly found himself in the apartments of his 
 beloved. Dressed in her bridal robes, and glowing with 
 health and beauty, she advanced to meet him ; and 
 at the same moment, the officers of state entered to 
 conduct them to the hall of the palace, where the 
 caliph had deigned to order the nuptials to be cele- 
 brated. 
 
 " Led by Osmar, Zemira approached the foot of the 
 throne, and throwing back her veil, bent before her 
 sovereign, who gazed upon her with astonishment and 
 admiration. Warm in youth, and unused to curb his 
 passions, the beauty of Zemira inflamed him with 
 desire ; and, forgetful alike of justice, and of his friend- 
 ship for Osmar, he declared that she alone, of all the 
 virgins in his kingdom, was worthy to share his throne. 
 In vain did the distracted Osmar plead his rights; the
 
 96 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 calii)h addressed liimself to the ambition of the maiden, 
 and slie, dazzled by the lustre of a throne, yielded to 
 his wishes. 
 
 " 'l"hc calipli sought to reward Osmar for her loss 
 by tlie gift of the richest province of his empire ; but 
 the outraged lover turned with scorn from the glittering 
 bribe, and cursing i)i his sovd the perfidy of the prince 
 whom lie had so truly served, he hastened to the army, 
 with which he knew his influence to be boundless. He 
 harangued the soldiers, and soon prevailed upon them 
 to espouse his cause. The cry of rebellion resounded 
 from rank to rank, and Osmar led them on to storm 
 the palace. The guards of the caliph, still faithful to 
 their master, resolutely defended the gates ; but they 
 were soon cut to pieces. Osmar was hastening to the 
 women's apartments, when tlie voice of Zemira drew 
 him towards the garden, where he found the caliph 
 placing her on horseback. Osmar sprang forward, 
 and seizing Zemira, plunged at the same time his 
 dagger in the bosom of his sovereign. 
 
 " The soldiers, prostrating themselves before him, 
 made the air resound with shouts of ' Hail, Osmar, 
 Caliph of Egypt ! ' The sound smote as the knell of 
 death upon his ear. He stood fixed and motionless ; 
 his master and benefactor, him to whom he owed 
 allegiance as a subject, and gratitude for boundless 
 benefits conferred, lay prostrate, robbed by him of that 
 life he had so solemnly sworn to defend. Horror 
 extinguished desire, and Zemira api)eared in his eyes 
 as a fiend, who had stained his soul with the deepest, 
 deadliest crime. In the anguish of his heart he ex- 
 claimed :—
 
 THE OAK AND THE HOLLY. 97 
 
 " ' Accursed be the moment in which I consented 
 to buy thee at this dreadful price ! ' 
 
 " As he spoke, the scene vanished from before him, 
 and he found himself standing on the spot where the 
 celestial messenger a^jpeared unto him, with the Genius 
 still at his side. 
 
 "'Dost thou now, child of mortality!' said he, 
 ' acknowledge the mercy, which, by removing to a 
 happier world the choice of thy heart, has saved thee 
 from the murder of thy sovereign, and thy country 
 from the scourge of civil war ? All that thou hast seen, 
 and even greater horrors, would have awaited thee, 
 had Zemira lived. Bless, then, in lowliness of spirit, 
 that Power who has saved thee from the commission 
 of crimes so dreadful ; and remember, that the union 
 which death has now interrupted, may be eternally 
 cemented, if, by a strict observance of the laws of 
 the Most High, thou render thyself worthy to rejoin 
 Zemira in the everlasting abodes of innocence and 
 peace.' 
 
 " The Genius disappeared, and Osmar, humbling 
 himself in the dust, besought the pardon of Heaven 
 for his presumption. His tears still flowed; yet they 
 fell no more as drops of fire, withering his heart, but 
 rather as a kindly shower, that refreshed it. No longer 
 presuming to murmur at the decrees of Providence, 
 he bowed in humble submission to the will of Him, 
 who knoweth the weakness of His creatures, and j)ro- 
 portioneth tlieir trials to their strength." 
 
 Ackermann's Repository.
 
 98 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 P 
 
 FABLE X. 
 
 JUDY AND PUNCH. 
 
 FOR WIVES. 
 
 UNCH, managed by a City clique, 
 
 Stands Biitain's censor week by week ; 
 As at San Carlo 'tis his forte, 
 To broach the secrets of the court : 
 For oft it is the wiser way, 
 To teach the useful through the gay. 
 To teach in sables oft repels, — 
 Punch scowls in medley, cajj and bells; 
 Nor deals he here in civic life. 
 But aims to quell domestic strife. 
 
 I took a fancy, t'other night. 
 
 To visit Punch's mimic light. 
 
 Few lious in Parisian rues. 
 
 Our Gallic gossips so amuse. 
 
 As Punch and Judy when they babble. 
 
 And crack hard skulls to please the rabble ! 
 
 Now, though I knew, as all confessed, 
 Sir Punch is but a churl at best ; 
 Yet this time 'twas as clear as light. 
 That Judy's iblly caused the fight. 
 For, had she met him calm and mild, 
 "Wlien Punch was g(3tting rather wild. 
 And held her tongue, — I dare opine, 
 Her skull had been as safe as mine : 
 But some wives cannot bold tlicir clack, 
 Till every bone about 'cm crack !
 
 JUDY AND PUNCH. 99 
 
 "Judy ! " 'gan Punch, " I'm frank to say, 
 That since our happy nuptial day, 
 I've had my faults — I've had a few — 
 And no pair fight like me and you!" 
 But what I'm now about to say, 
 Should you be calm, as sure you may, 
 Will cause no turmoil in our shed. 
 Nor you, my love ! a broken head." 
 
 " A broken head. Sir Punch ! " said Jude ; 
 " You're always bearish, harsh, and rude. 
 D'ye think sound logic only flows 
 From bludgeons or a broken nose? 
 Or fancy I've no brains, ye lout ! 
 Unless your cudgel show them out?" 
 
 " I do ! " cried Punch ; and that was wrong, 
 Yet scarcely more than Judy's tongue : 
 Better hear all he had to say, 
 Or answer in a milder way. 
 
 " But I'll be calm ! " 'gan Punch, once more. 
 " That's what you never were before," 
 Said Judy ; " yet it's sweet to hear. 
 You'll cease to rave for once, my dear ! 
 But what were you about to say? 
 Out with it, man ! I hate delay." 
 
 " And so do I !" bawled Punch ; " So hear! 
 And calm I'll be, you'll see, my dear; 
 Yet, blow me ! if I don't speak out, 
 Though every word should cost a clout ! " 
 So Judy bridles up in state, 
 And thus proceeds her chiding mate : — 
 
 " Pray, when do I come home at night, 
 But first you scold, and then we fight?
 
 100 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 When do you sew my buttons on ? 
 Yet all my shirts have scarcely one ! 
 When is my dinner not half cold? 
 And yet you're furious if I scold. 
 Wlien do you wash our little Punches? — 
 As fine a race as e'er had hunches ! 
 And yet you leave those pretty heirs, 
 As black as crows, as rude as bears ! 
 You hussy ! — yet I wont give way ! 
 I'm calm, you'll own ; but this I'll say " — 
 
 " Say ! " Judy bawls ; " why, man, you've said 
 Enough to craze a woman's head! " 
 
 ■D' 
 
 She then oli-deared and dear-a-me'd, 
 And well-I-nevered, more than need ; 
 Declared she rued the hapless hour, 
 Wlien marriage placed her in his power; 
 Wondered the brute should dure to croak, — 
 She did as well as other folk ; 
 Wished herself gone, and tried hysterics, 
 But iailed, and took to hot celeries ; 
 Raved like a bedlamite, and swore 
 She'd bear his brutal tongue no more, 
 But leave him to the wide world's scoff, 
 And take her little Punches ofl"! 
 
 " You won't ! " shouts Punch, " as I'm a man ! 
 
 Yet I'll be calm — you see I can ! 
 
 'Twas you began this feud at first!" 
 
 " 'Twas you," cried Judy, " may I burst ! 
 
 You always do ! " — " No, jade, you lie ! 
 
 You like a tilt as much as I."
 
 JUDY AND PUNCH. 101 
 
 " I don't ! "— " Ybu do ! "— " I don't ! "— " You 
 
 do!" 
 '"Tis false !"—" 'Tis true ! "— " 'Tis false!" 
 
 " 'Tis true ! " 
 " I tell ye, Judj, you're deceived ! " 
 " I tell ye, Punch, you're not believed ! " 
 Lau ! what a Babel ! Wrath was stii'red, 
 And hotter grew at every word ; 
 Yet words alone the feud had past. 
 But as the wife would have the last, 
 Punch raised his bludgeon like a clown, 
 And felled her with a broken crown ! 
 
 MOEAL. 
 
 God's oracles, — a Christian's school, 
 Give man prerogative of rule ; 
 And mse is she who meekly bows, 
 As at the altar woman vows. 
 Yet, fair ones ! would ye win the field ? 
 Ye rule the most when most ye yield ! 
 For if, in each disputed case. 
 The wife submit, as is her place. 
 He's but a despot who could say, — 
 " A man should always have his way." 
 
 Some wives allege, yet clearly wi-ong, — 
 
 " Our only armour is the tongue !" 
 
 And men we've known, who proudly boast, — 
 
 " I'm lord at home, and rule the roast ! " 
 
 Wisdom to both ! 'tis just the way 
 
 Of Punches since creation's day. 
 
 A woman's tongue her sole defence ! 
 
 The notion shows more tongue than sense ;
 
 102 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 While base poltroons alone will say, — 
 " Man, only man, must have his way ! " 
 
 " What, then, is law ? " 'Tis clear as May-day ,- 
 
 If Adam's lord, yet Eve's a lady. 
 
 She was not taken from his head, 
 
 To rule the man she was to wed ; 
 
 Nor from \\\?,feet, to be his slave — 
 
 Far happier 't were to find a grave; 
 
 But Eve came forth from Adam's side. 
 
 To show how man must treat his bride, — 
 
 Must love in rule, must rule in love. 
 
 And imitate the peaceful dove ! 
 
 ILLXrSTRATIVE PROSE. 
 
 HOW TO BE A GOOD WIFE. 
 
 " Mt brother Tranquillus, who is a man of business, 
 came to me this morning, to my study, and after very 
 many civil expressions, in return for what good offices 
 I had done him, told me, ' he desired to carry his wife 
 (my sister) that very morning to his own house.' I 
 readily told him, ' I would wait upon him,' without 
 asking why ho was so impatient to rob us of his good 
 company. He went out of my chamber, and I thought 
 seemed to have a little heaviness upon him, which 
 gave me some dis(j[uiet. Soon after, my sister came 
 to me, with a very matron-like air, and most sedate 
 satisfaction in her looks, which spoke her very much 
 at ease; but the traces of her countenance seemed to
 
 JDDY AND PDNCH. 103 
 
 discover that she had been lately in a passion, and 
 that air of content to flow from a certain triumph upon 
 some advantage obtained. Slie no sooner sat down 
 by me, than I perceived she was one of those ladies 
 who begin to be managers within the time of their 
 being brides. Without letting her speak, which I saw 
 she had a mighty inclination to do, I said — 
 
 "'Here has been your husband, who tells me he 
 has a mind to go home this very morning, and I have 
 consented to it.' 
 
 " ' It is well,' said she ; ' for you must know ' 
 
 " ' Nay, Jenny,' said I, ' I beg your pardon ; for it 
 is you must know — you are to understand, that now 
 is the time to fix or alienate your husband's heart 
 for ever; and I fear you have been a little indiscreet 
 in your expressions or behaviour towards him, even 
 here in my own house.' 
 
 " ' There have,' says she, ' been some words ; but I 
 will be judged by you if he was not in the wrong ; 
 nay, I need not be judged by anybody, for he gave it 
 Tip himself, and said not a word, when he saw me gi'ow 
 passionate, but, " Madam, you are perfectly in the right 
 of it;" — as you shall judge ' 
 
 "'Nay, madam,' said I, 'I am judge already, and 
 tell you, that you are perfectly in the wi-ong of it; 
 for, if it was a matter of importance, I know he has 
 better sense than you ; if a trifle — you know what I 
 told you on your wedding-day — tliat you were to be 
 above little provocations.' 
 
 " She knows very well I can be sour upon occasion, 
 therefore gave me leave to go on.
 
 104 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 " ' Sister,' said I, ' I will not enter into the dispute 
 between you, which I find his prudence put an end 
 to, before it came to extremity ; but charge you to 
 have a care of the first quarrel, as you tender your 
 happiness; for then it is that the mind will reflect 
 liarshly upon every circumstance that has ever passed 
 between you. If such an accident is ever to happen, 
 which I hope never will, be sure to keep tc* the circum- 
 stance before you ; make no allusions to what is passed, 
 or conclusions referring to what is to come ; do not 
 show a hoard of matter for dissension in your breast ; 
 but, if it be necessary, lay before him the thing as you 
 understand it, candidly, without being ashamed of 
 acknowledging an error, or proud of being in the right. 
 If a young couple be not careful in this point, they 
 will get into a habit of wrangling; and when to dis- 
 please is thought of no consequence, to ^ilease is always 
 of as little moment. There is a sport, Jenny, I have 
 formerly been at when I was a student : we got into 
 a dark corner, with a porringer of brandy, and threw 
 raisins into it— then set it on fire. My chamber-fellow 
 and I diverted ourselves with the sport of venturing 
 our fingers for the raisins; and the wantonness of 
 the thing was, to see each other look like a demon, 
 as we burnt ourselves, and snatched out the fruit. 
 This fantastical mirth was called snapdragon. You 
 may go into many a family, where you see the man 
 and wife at this sport. Every word at their table 
 alludes to some passage between themselves ; and you 
 see, by the paleness and emotion in their countenances, 
 that it is for your sake, and not their own, that they 
 forbear playing out the whole game in burning each 
 other's fingers. In this case, the whole purpose of life
 
 JUDY AND PUNCH. 105 
 
 is inverted, and the ambition turns upon a certain 
 contention, who shall ooutiadict best, and not upon 
 an inclination to excel in kindness and good offices. 
 Therefore, dear Jenny, remember me, and avoid snap- 
 dragon.' 
 
 " ' I thank you, brother,' said she ; ' but you do not 
 know how he loves me ; I find I can do anything with 
 him.' 
 
 " * If you can say so, why should you desire to do 
 anything but please him? But I have a word or two 
 more before you go out of the room, for I see you do 
 not like the subject I am upon. Let nothing provoke 
 you to fall upon an imperfection he cannot help; for, 
 if he has a resenting spirit, he will think your aversion 
 as immoveable as the imperfection with which you 
 upbraid him. But, above all, dear Jenny, be careful 
 of one thing, and you will be something more than 
 woman ; that is, a levity you are almost all guilty of, 
 which is, to take a pleasure in your power to give pain. 
 It is, even in a mistress, an argument of meanness of 
 spirit, but in a wife it is injustice and ingratitude. 
 When a sensible man once observes this in a woman, 
 he must have a very great, or very little spirit, to 
 overlook it. A woman ought, therefore, to consider 
 very often, how few men there are who will regard a 
 meditated ofience as a weakness of temper.' " 
 
 " My brother Tranquillus being gone out of town 
 for some days, my sister Jenny sent me word she would 
 come and dine with me, and therefore desired me to 
 have no other company. I took care accordingly, and 
 was not a little pleased to see her enter the room with
 
 106 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 a decent and matron-like bcliavioin, which I thought 
 very much became her. I saw she had a great deal 
 to say to me, and easily discovered in her eyes, and 
 the air of her countenance, that she had abundance 
 of satisfaction in her heart, which she longed to com- 
 municate. However, I was resolved to let her break 
 into her discourse her own way, and reduced her to 
 a thousand little devices and intimations to bring me 
 to the mention of her husband. But, finding I was 
 resolved not to name him, she began of her own accord. 
 
 "' My husband,' said she, 'gives bis humble service 
 to you.' 
 
 " To this I only answered, ' I hope he is well;' and, 
 without waiting for a reply, fell into otlier subjects. 
 She at last was out of all patience, and said, with a 
 smile and manner that I thought had more beauty 
 and spirit than I had ever observed before in her — 
 
 '"I did not think, brother, you had been so ill- 
 natured. You have seen, ever since I came in, that 
 I had a mind to talk of my husband, and you will 
 not be so kind as to give me an occasion.' 
 
 "*I did not know,' said I, 'but it might be a dis- 
 agreeable subject to you. You do not take me for so 
 old fashioned a fellow, as to think of entertaining a 
 young lady with the discourse of her husband. I know 
 nothing is more accejitable than to speak of one who 
 is to be so ; but to speak of one who is so !^indeed, 
 Jenny, I am a better bred man than you think me.' 
 
 " She showed a little dislike at my raillery ; and, by 
 her bridling up, I perceived she expected to be treated 
 hereafter not as Jenny Distaff, but Mrs. Tranquillus.
 
 JUDY AND PUNCH. 107 
 
 I was very well pleased with this change in her humour; 
 and, upon talking with her on several suhjects, I could 
 not but fancy that I saw a great deal of her husband's 
 way and manner in her remarks, her phrases, the tone 
 of her voice, and the very air of her countenance. 
 This gave me an unspeakable satisfaction, not only 
 because I had found her a husband, from whom she 
 could learn many things that were laudable, but also 
 because I looked upon her imitation of him as an in- 
 fallible sign that she entirely loved him. This is an 
 observation that I never knew fail, though i do not 
 remember that any other has made it. Tlie natural 
 shyness of her sex hindered her from telling me the 
 greatness of her own passion ; but I easily collected it 
 from the representation she gave me of his. 
 
 " ' I have everything,' said she, ' in Tranquillus, that 
 I can wish for; and enjoy in him, what indeed you 
 have told me were to be met with in a good husband, — - 
 the fondness of a lover, the tenderness of a parent, and 
 the intimacy of a friend.' 
 
 " It transported me to see her eyes swimming in 
 tears of affection when she spoke. 
 
 " 'And is there not, dear sister,' said I, 'more pleasure 
 in the possession of such a man, than in all the little 
 impertinences of balls, assemblies, and equipage, which 
 it cost me so much pains to make you contemn?' 
 
 " She answered, smiling, — 
 
 "'Tranquillus has made me a sincere convert in a 
 few weeks, though I am afraid you could not have done 
 it in your whole life. To tell you truly, I have only 
 one fear hanging upon me, which is apt to give me
 
 108 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 trouble iu the midst of all my satisfactions; I am afraid, 
 you must know, that I shall not always make the same 
 amiable appearance in his eye that I do at present. 
 You know, brother Bickerstaff', that you have the repu- 
 tation of a conjurer; and, if you have any one secret 
 iu your art to make your sister always beautiful, I 
 should be happier than if I were mistress of all the 
 worlds you have shown me in a starry night.' 
 
 " ' Jenny,' said I, ' without having recourse to magic, 
 I shall give you one plain rule, tliat will not fail of 
 making you always amiable to a man wlio has so great 
 a passion for you, and is of so equal and reasonable 
 tt temper as Tranquillus. Endeavour to please, and 
 j'^ou must please; be always in the same disposition 
 as you are while you ask for this secret, and you may 
 take ray word, you will never want it. An inviolable 
 fidelity, good humour, and complacency of temper, 
 outlive all the charms of a fine face, and make the 
 decays of it invisible.' " 
 
 Steele. 
 
 FABLE XL 
 THE LARK AND THE ROOK. 
 
 FOR ZEALOTS. 
 
 WHEN seraphs sang Messiah's birth, 
 Those seraphs sang of ])eace on earth ; 
 And peace, when Jesus left again, 
 Was his last legacy to men.
 
 THE LARK AND THE ROOK. 109 
 
 Who but miist joy at what was said ? 
 Who but must weep, should peace be fled ? 
 
 T' inhale the breath of new-born spring, 
 And list while feathered warblers sing, 
 I left my couch one beauteous dawn, 
 And chose an arbour in my lawn. 
 As round the welkin soared my eye, 
 A lark awoke, and sought the sky. 
 Joining bis matin lay with mine, 
 To Nature's God, at Nature's shrine. 
 Gently he soars on trembling wings. 
 Plight merrily his light heart sings ; 
 And while the ambient air he cleft, 
 As though of grosser parts bereft, 
 More loud, more mellow, rang his notes, 
 Till mid the azure vault he floats. 
 
 Methought he rose and carolled so, 
 To serenade his mate below : 
 Yet his melodious woodland lay. 
 In reason's ear, as poets say. 
 His praise re-echoed round the sky. 
 Who feeds young ravens when they cry, 
 And pilots, with an unseen hand. 
 The warbling throng by sea and laud. 
 
 Perched on an elm branch at my side, 
 A chattering rook our songster eyed : 
 He, too, could carol in his way, 
 Though less melodious, all will say ; 
 And, like the lark, unconscious praised 
 That God who Nature's temple raised. 
 What pity this ofiicious bird. 
 Should feel his choler vastly stirred,
 
 110 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 As tVoiii his perch he heard the lay, 
 His fellow-warbler sang that day ! 
 
 " Lau ! Mr. Tearthroat ! " bawled the rook, 
 
 " You seem as merry as a cook ; 
 
 But reiiliy your screechy lyrics 
 
 Unstring my nerves, and cause hysterics. 
 
 I liate your trebly cliee-chawchee ! 
 
 Why don't you perch and croak like me? 
 
 With rocket's pace through air you sail, 
 
 As tliough the very heavens you'd scale ! 
 
 I think a Inimbler flight might do; 
 
 It pleases me, and why not you? 
 
 Such liberties arc (piite absurd ! 
 
 In fact, I'm sick that any bird, 
 
 In field or forest, cot or hall. 
 
 Should dilfer from us rooks at all! 
 
 As many birds, so many notes ! 
 
 I wish some day you'd crack your throats ! 
 
 Why screani so loud ? why all this fuss ? 
 
 Let every bird be just like us ! " 
 
 " Pardon me, sir ! " the lark replies, 
 
 "You dogmatists are rarely wise. 
 
 To judge you by your dress and wrath, 
 
 You seem a geniman of the cloth. 
 
 I did not wish t'offend your car, 
 
 And even thought my notes might cheer; 
 
 At all events, I iinmbly claim — 
 
 And yield to every bird the same — 
 
 A right to sing, and soar, and rest. 
 
 As suits my taste and habits best. 
 
 Pray tell me, sir, what harm I do, 
 
 In differing somewhat, sir, from you?
 
 THE LARK AND THE EOOK. Ill 
 
 I own that He who formed us all, 
 
 Songsters and soiigless, great and small, 
 
 Could, had He willed, have maile us one, 
 
 In hahit, movement, hue and tone. 
 
 But since He has not, why complain ? — 
 
 Leave every bird to choose his strain. 
 
 Yet, if you still insist, my friend, 
 
 That all diversities shall end, — 
 
 I crave tlie freedom to suggest. 
 
 That larks, not rooks, should teach the rest." 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 The Lord descended from above, 
 To bind his saints in holy love : 
 He has a realm, a liouse, a school ; 
 Love is its law, its badge, its rule. 
 What pity, tlien, that pious fools, 
 Officious councils, synods, schools, 
 Should snap the bond the Saviour wove, 
 And preach up creeds instead of love! 
 
 All unity, of papal date. 
 Is schism masked, and visored hate ! 
 Let hearts be holy, lives be good- 
 Sin pardoned through a Saviour's blood ; 
 I love the brethren thus agreed, 
 Whate'er their name, whate'er their creed ; 
 Intreat me not such men to shy, 
 Or state some valid reason why. 
 Then- God is mine, our people one; 
 We hold the Father and the Son : 
 Where'er they dwell, where'er they die, 
 And rest in Jesus, so would I.
 
 113 THE BATH I'ABLES. 
 
 In vain we search the Church, to find 
 A perfect unity of mind : 
 There never has been, never can, 
 Till Zion's Monarch change His plan ! 
 I hate this Juggernaut of Rome, 
 At once her idol and her tomb ! 
 
 Are there whom party names affright ? 
 I see no harm if love unite. 
 Are there who wish, in very sooth. 
 That all the messengers of truth 
 In one great corporation blend? 
 Consider how the thing might end ! — 
 When proud Ilich'lieu, when Mazarine, 
 Headed in Gaul a like machine, 
 Or Wolsey, on our natal strand, 
 Where was the freedom of the land ? 
 
 All ye who love the Saviour, hail ! 
 Welcome, his saints of every pale ! 
 Teach such as err, with suasion mild, 
 But never persecute a child ! 
 Learn, all below ! — 'tis known above — 
 The bond of unity is Love ! 
 
 ulusteative peose. 
 
 DEATHBED OF CHARLES IX. 
 
 " Thk accession of Charles X. to the throne of 
 France recals the mind, by a numerical association, 
 to the character of Charles ,IX., though no act of the
 
 THE LARK AND THE ROOK. 113 
 
 new sovereign bears any similarity to tlie atrocious 
 horrors of St. Bartholomew. The death of that royal 
 bigot offers an awful lesson to all who are guilty of 
 the tyrannical abuse of power. From the high justiciary 
 to the prison-keeper; from the naval and military com- 
 mander, ambitious to be distinguished as a rigid dis- 
 ciplinarian, to the pedagogue, armed with an instru- 
 ment of torture, to avenge the trouble occasioned by 
 puerile ineptitude, giddiness, or indolence, the dying 
 agonies of Charles IX. ought to incidcate the import- 
 ant truth, that, in the hour of death, the recollection of 
 severities inflicted upon our fellow-beings will dreadfully 
 aggravate the sufferings of nature. The description 
 given by Dr. Cayet of the bodily and mental anguish 
 endured by the sanguinary monster, who had been the 
 means of spilling the blood of seventy thousand of 
 his subjects, might deter all mankind fi'om giving 
 needless pain to the meanest of sentient creatures. 
 
 " By a remarkable effect of retributive Providence, 
 Charles IX. found the blood oozing from all parts of 
 his body, and two days before his decease, he sent for 
 Mazille, his chief physician, to whom, in helpless im- 
 patience, he exj)ressed his surprise, that neither the 
 principal nor any of the numerous physicians in his 
 dominions could alleviate his torments. Mazille re- 
 plied, that every resource of their skill was now ex- 
 hausted, and that in such a disease God alone could be 
 the physician. 
 
 " ' I believe you,' answered the King ; ' so draw from 
 me my large cap, that I may try to rest.' 
 
 " Mazille obeyed the order, and withdrew, enjoining 
 all to leave the room excepting the nurse and two
 
 114 IHE BATH FABLES. 
 
 inferior attendants. The nurse, fatigued with watching, 
 endeavoured to sleep ; but the sighs and groans of the 
 royal patient would not allow her to compose herself; 
 and going to his bedside, she endeavoured to soothe 
 his distress. In broken sentences, interrupted by the 
 violence of his feelings, the King exclaimed, — 
 
 " ' Oh, my deal" nurse ! beloved woman ! what blood ! 
 what murders ! Oh I I have followed wicked counsels ! 
 I know not where I am — they so perplex and agitate 
 me ! How will all this end ? I am lost ! — lost for 
 ever ! ' 
 
 " The nurse, with sympathizing tears, replied, — 
 
 " ' Sire, be the miu'ders on those who induced you 
 to order them ! and since you never willingly consented 
 to, and now repent them, believe that the Almighty 
 will not imjiute them to you. Oh! for God's sake, 
 cease weeping ! ' 
 
 " What a striking admonition to human j)ride and 
 cruelty ! When merciless to others, could we for one 
 moment look forward to deathbed sufferings, fellow- 
 feeling must lead us to spare inflictions, which, in some 
 form or other, inevitably recoil ujion oui'selves." 
 
 AcJcermann's Repository. 
 
 ON ENTHUSIASM. 
 
 " It is not wonderful that men should be enthusi- 
 astic ; for who can propose to himself an object worthy 
 of his eager pursuit, without ambition to attain it? 
 The matter of surprise is, when a man of sound in- 
 tellect and good principle can move through life without 
 the apjiarent predominance of any one interest. There
 
 THE LARK AND THE ROOK. 115 
 
 is such a wearisome dulness about ourselves, when we 
 cannot find any iiarticular object upon which to exercise 
 our various faculties ; there is such a revolting from 
 the idea of being nothing in the world ; the burthen 
 of thought on our minds, unrelieved by the active 
 exertions of our bodies, does so heavily press upon the 
 animal S23irits, — that we had a thousand times rather 
 see our fellow-creatures transformed into good-humoured 
 pedants, each supremely intent upon one thing, how- 
 ever insignificant, than be surrounded by a crowd of 
 beings who have not the fewer cares, because tbey are 
 almost without pleasures. The bustling housewife, her 
 heart and soul intent upon pickles and preserves — Mrs. 
 Battle, devoted to her rubber at whist — grammarians, 
 intent upon the formation of past participles — anti- 
 quarians, looking with ineffable disdain on the living, 
 and for ever communing with the dead — entomologists, 
 specidating on the wings of a fly, — we like them all — 
 they are all happy beings. Each loves at least one 
 thing. There may be a vast difference in the com- 
 parative value of their several undertakings. The 
 benevolent ardour of a Howard, the Christian fervour 
 of a missionary, may wonderfully overshadow the value 
 of such pursuits as we have mentioned ; but still, the 
 principle of exertion, to whatever object directed, is 
 to be hailed as an omen of good — good to the individual 
 himself, and, in general, eventually so to the com- 
 munity. Good-humour, that sweetener of our real 
 cares, that best preventative against imaginary ones, 
 is at least fostered by this active turn of mind; and 
 that is but a short-sighted officiousness, which would 
 rob the bustler of his joys, in order to show him their 
 unreasonableness. Anything — we repeat it — anything
 
 116 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 is better thau the dull, melancholy, morose apathy of 
 human creatures, who are born and educated, and live 
 and die, without desiring or shunning one thing more 
 than another, — without love or hatred, — without fear 
 or hojie. 
 
 " For this reason chiefly, when we review the cha- 
 racter of the present age, we take heart, and are com- 
 forted, amid the consciousness of finding much folly, 
 in the belief that a great deal of powerful feeling is 
 abroad — that sluggishness is not the reigning evU of 
 our time, but that we are, on tlie whole, an active, 
 stirring, busy nation. Our ladies, too, have caught 
 the spirit of the age. We meet them, not merely at 
 balls, prettily equipped for the sprightly dance ; nor 
 in a morning, weaving with indefatigable fingers their 
 evening robe ; but at oiu- public meetings, at our com- 
 mittees, in our schools, and in our prisons, we find 
 them occupying no subordinate station in the ranks 
 of the busy labourers in the cause of humanity. It 
 has been whispered, that on such occasions, they have 
 of late years been, indeed, rather too active; and this 
 is likely enough. But yet we cannot help believing, 
 on our own principles, that the good-humour of their 
 domestic circles is, on the whole, increased by the life 
 and spirits which these exertions produce and promote. 
 
 " It is true, that the same period which produces a 
 nation of gi'eat doers, will almost unavoidably bring forth 
 a people of talkers. Energy of one sort calls out energy 
 of another. High-sounding expressions, violent ad- 
 miration and abuse of people and things, is inseparable 
 from a state of strong mental and bodily excitement. 
 Hence the sharpness of our controversies, — the un- 
 reasonable warmth of our language on subjects purely
 
 THE LARK AND THE EOOK. 117 
 
 literary, — the vehemence of our passionate poetry. We 
 have carried all these things a great deal too far ; and 
 people of the good old school look upon us sometimes 
 with wonder and contempt. We appear, in their eyes, 
 to he fighting with prodigious vehemence about straws. 
 Looking forward, however, some twenty or thirty years, 
 we see great reason to hope that we shall be much the 
 better, by-and-bye, in spite of our present excesses. 
 Things will be called by their right names, one time or 
 other; and the sober severity of truth will adorn our 
 characters, when some of the glow of enthusiasm in 
 her cause has passed away. Even now, few of the 
 members of contending literary parties dislike each 
 other half so much as their words, literally taken, 
 would imply ; and few of the busy actors in political 
 or religious matters appear, in their own private circles, 
 such zealots as we are apt to fancy. When a man has 
 gained reputation by ardour in one particular cause, 
 we cannot give him credit for being ardent in anything 
 else ; though, in many cases, mere accident has coupled 
 his name with one pursuit, and he may have been all 
 the while to the full as eager in quest of some other. 
 At any rate, there is no stagnation in a mind like this. 
 It is carried away, indeed, rather too rapidly ; but time, 
 experience, and the inflexible application of its powers 
 in that direction to which man's better wisdom points, 
 will finally preserve it from destruction. 
 
 " Even decidedly light, irreligious, volatile spirits are 
 more hopeful subjects of speculation, than the apathetic 
 beings from whom no power can extract a tear of 
 sympathy, or a burst of generous feeling. Quiet dulness 
 often calls itself religious; but oi conscience it has none. 
 It keeps under regulation tbe already sober passions ;
 
 118 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 but as to rousing the active princiiile within us — 
 towards this it does nothing. 
 
 " Religious principle is of little value, indeed, if it 
 merely keep us in the slavish fear of going notoriously 
 wrong, without spurring us on to right action. It was 
 not for an end so poor and circumscribed, that the 
 Divine Being created us, and stamped upon our minds 
 His own image. It was not for this that he has called 
 us to the hope of a better inheritance. It was to rouse 
 us to act with him and for him ; to translate us from 
 the dominion of fear to the empire of hope ; from 
 passive submission to active service ; from awe to love, 
 and from death to life : up to this beautiful idea should 
 we endeavour always to lift our minds. We may faint 
 and fall short, but our motives and principles arc 
 stronger than ourselves. 
 
 " We are getting out of om- depth ; and, having 
 begun in a light mood, are in danger of ending in too 
 serious a one. Examples, bright examples, of tem- 
 pered and well-directed enthusiasm, crowd upon our 
 minds as we write ; and, if we dared, we could mention 
 some which woidd illustrate and confirm the bright 
 view we are disposed to take of this error of noble 
 minds. Here and there an individual may put our 
 cheerful faith to the test; for what can be more 
 annoying than to meet with the follies of youth in an 
 aged breast, which possesses not one merit, but that 
 of having retained its childishness through a long life ! 
 In general, however, we are satisfied that enthusiasm 
 is a blessing to individuals, and a blessing to society ; 
 and from the bottom of our hearts we say, Long may 
 
 it dwell amongst us ! " 
 
 Neiv Monthly Magazine.
 
 THE CYPRESS AND THE ROSE, 119 
 
 FABLE in. 
 
 THE CYPRESS AND THE EOSE. 
 
 FOR CHURCHES. 
 
 UNGUILTY of a flower or tree, 
 To mark the mound so dear to me, 
 The graveyards of my natal isle, 
 Ne'er printed on my lips a smile. 
 Of form gi-otesque, and murky hue, 
 No taste relieves the dusky view ; 
 No larch, no rose, no evergreens, — 
 Our cimetieres are cheerless scenes. 
 
 For Pisa's to^er I crossed the wave, 
 And pensive sighed at Smollett's grave, 
 When a tall cjpress, at my side. 
 Tossed his disaainful head in pride. 
 And thus harangued, with scornful eye, 
 A lovely rose that hloomed hard hy : — • 
 
 " I say, my prett7, smii-king jade ! 
 How dare you this dread mound invade ? 
 How dare you languish, blush, and smile. 
 And practise each coquettish wile. 
 Within the precincts of the dead, 
 Where I alone have right to tread ? 
 In every clime and every age, 
 The bard, the propjet, and the sage, 
 To me the realms of death assign. 
 As guardian of the Disian shrine. 
 There are, indeed, vho chide e'en me, 
 And leave the dead without a tree :
 
 120 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 Were such good folks to meet with you, 
 Downright hysterics might ensue. 
 Go, gawdy trifler ! jnile and sigh. 
 Where love-sick maids despair and die ! 
 It ill befits such flirts as you, 
 T' obtrude your presence as you do." 
 
 In accents soft as zephyr's sighs, 
 
 " Be calm, good sir ! " the rose replies : 
 
 " You say I blush ; indeed I do ! 
 
 Forgive me, sir, I blush for you ; 
 
 I blush to learn on what pretence. 
 
 You could with our fair race dispense. 
 
 Within this mound, for all your pride. 
 
 Full many a rose has bloomed and sighed ; 
 
 And bloom and sigh shall roses still, 
 
 Let Paynim bards sing what they will. 
 
 I see no reason why tlie rose 
 
 Sliould shun the mound where cypress grows ; 
 
 I see no reason why the flowers 
 
 At all profane these liallowed bowers; 
 
 I see no reason, sii', in fine. 
 
 Why tombs are your forte more than mine." 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Paris ! thy Perc-la-Chaise, <oo gay, 
 May check a humble poet's lay ; 
 But Pisa's tombs, so simjjjy chaste, 
 By cedar, rose, and willow graced. 
 Make e'en the lips of sorrow smile. 
 And well might teach the British isle. 
 
 Oh ! let the bed where I impose. 
 Be decked with eglantine md rose !
 
 THE CYPRESS AND THE ROSE. 121 
 
 Willow shall sigh above my head, 
 And weej) its tear-drops o'er the dead. 
 Let all my country's ciinetieres, 
 Thus smile in green and tlowery wares, 
 And form a silent promenade, 
 r instruct the gay of every grade. 
 
 O'er the dear ashes of my friend, 
 Let weejiing willows softly bend; 
 Let blooming roses smile around, 
 And mom-nful cedars shade the ground. 
 They ease my heart, they soothe my eye, 
 And whisper to each rising sigh, — 
 " Weeper ! be calm ; as we now bloom, 
 So shall the dead from every tomb." 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE PROSE. 
 
 ON ITALIAN CEMETERIES. 
 
 "A RURAL retreat ought to belong to every gi-eat 
 hospital established in large cities, where half the 
 distempers to which the i)oorer classes are liable, arise 
 from constant confinement, and the want of pure 
 air. The cemetery is, in a different way, of at least 
 equal advantage to public health. It was apprehended, 
 and not without reason, that so many bodies as must 
 be carried out from a hospital, especially in unhealthy 
 seasons, might, if deposited in any church or church- 
 yard within the city, infect the air, and jiroduce or 
 propagate contagious diseases. To prevent such evils,
 
 122 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 the Slim of 48,500 ducats, raised by voluntary contri- 
 bution, was laid out in purchasing and fitting up for 
 the jjurpose a field about half a mile from the walls 
 of the city, on a rising ground. A little neat church 
 is annexed to it, witli apartments for the officiating 
 clergy, and the persons attached to the service of the 
 cemetery, and tbe road that winds up the hill to it 
 is lined with cypresses. The burial ground is divided 
 into 306 lai'ge and deep vaults, one of which is opened 
 every day in the year, and the bodies to be interred 
 deposited in order. These vaults are covered with 
 flags of lava, that fit exactly, and completely close 
 every aperture. The bodies are carried out at night 
 time, by persons appointed for the purpose, and every 
 precaution taken to prevent even the slightest chance 
 of infection. All is done gratis, and the expenses 
 requisite supplied by public charity. 
 
 " It is to be regretted that tliis method of burying 
 the dead lias not been adopted in every hospital and 
 parish in Naples, and, indeed, in every town and city — 
 not in Italy only — but all over Europe. It is really 
 lamentable, tliat a practice so disgusting, not to say 
 jiernicious, as that of heaping up putrid carcasses in 
 churches, where the air is necessarily confined, and 
 in churchyards in cities, where it cannot have a very 
 ft-ee circulation, should be so long and so obstinately 
 retained. It would be difiicult to discover one single 
 arginnent, drawn either from the principles of religion, 
 or from the dictates of reason, in its favour ; while 
 its inconveniences and mischiefs are visible and almost 
 tangible. 
 
 " In the early ages of Christianity, the honour of 
 being deposited in the church was reserved to martyrs ;
 
 THE CYPRESS AND THE ROSE. 123 
 
 and the Emperor Constantine only requested to be 
 allowed to lie in the j)orch of the Basilica of the 
 apostles, which he himself had erected in Constanti- 
 nople. Hence, the eloquent Chiysostom, when speak- 
 ing of the triumph of Christianity, exultingly observes, 
 that the Ctesars, subdued by the humble fishermen 
 whom they had persecuted, now appeai-ed as suppliants 
 before them, and gloried in occupying the place of 
 porters at the doors of their sepulchres. Bishops and 
 priests, distinguished by their learning, zeal and sanc- 
 tity, were gradually permitted to share the honour of 
 martyrs, and to repose with them in the sanctuary 
 itself. A pious wish in some to be deposited in the 
 neighbourhood of such holy persons, and to rest under 
 the shadow of the altars; and in others, an absurd 
 love of distinction even beyond the grave; to which 
 may be added, I fear, the avarice of the clergy, who, 
 by making such a distinction expensive, rendered it 
 enviable, — by degrees broke through all the wholesome 
 restrictions of antiquity, and at length converted the 
 noblest of pubHc edifices, the Basilicse, the temples 
 of the Eternal, the seats of holiness and purity, into 
 so many dormitories of the dead, receptacles of pu- 
 tridity, and vast infected charnel-houses. 
 
 " Notwithstanding the decrees of synods, and the 
 representations of the faculty; notwithstanding the 
 dictates of reason, and the interests of health, — this 
 abuse went on increasing, and continued for ages in 
 force and fashion. The first attempt, I believe, to 
 check, or rather to remove it entirely, was made by 
 the Emperor Joseph, who prohibited by edict the 
 interment of bodies, not in churches only, but even 
 in towns and theii- suburbs. This edict still prevails
 
 124 THE HATH FABLES. 
 
 in the Low Countries, and, if I mistake not, in the 
 Austrian territories in general, thougli certain clauses 
 gave considerahle offence, and susjiended for some time 
 its full effect. The Emperor, who, in his zeal for 
 reformation, often forgot that opinion will not always 
 bend even to power, conceived, it seems, that the sooner 
 the carcass is reduced to dust, the better; he therefore 
 proscribed the use of coffins, as calculated to prolong 
 the state of putrefaction, and ordered lime to be strewed 
 over the corps, to accelerate its dissolution. This 
 regulation excited universal disgust, not only because 
 xinusual and contrary to the natural feelings, or, which 
 is nearly the same thing, to the universal practice of 
 mankind; but because very opposite to that tenderness, 
 and respect even, for the ruins of the human form, 
 which, if not enforced by the precepts, has at all times 
 been inspired by the genius, of Christianity: — not, 
 perhaps, without reason. That Divine religion is ever 
 intent on the grand object of raising, aggrandising 
 and perfecting our nature; and, while it teaches us to 
 consider ourselves as destined to act in a much higher 
 and more glorious sphere than our present state, 
 it naturally prompts us to look with some degi'ee 
 of veneration even on our bodies,* which, though 
 doomed to death and putrefaction, shall yet, one day, 
 shake ofi'the dust of the tomb, and though 'coiTuptible, 
 put on incorruption; and though mortal, put on immor- 
 tality.' The offensive clause was therefore suppressed, 
 and the useful and laudable provisions of the decree 
 carried very generally into execution. * * 
 
 » " Honoro in cineribus semina leternitatis," says St. Ambrose. 
 I honoiu- iu our ashes the seeds of eternity.
 
 THE KNIGHTS AND THE SHIELD. 125 
 
 " It cannot but appear strange, that a people so dull 
 and unenlightened as the Turks, should in this respect 
 show more sense, and even more taste, than nations 
 in every other respect their superiors. Their ceme- 
 teries are, in general, out of the precincts of their 
 cities, most commonly on a rising ground, and always 
 planted with cedars, cypresses, and odoriferous shrubs, 
 whose deep verdure and graceful forms, bending to 
 every breeze, give a melancholy beauty to the place, 
 and inspii-e sentiments very congenial to its destina- 
 tion. I have seen some Christian cemeteries — as at 
 Brussels, for instance — situate and laid out in the same 
 advantageous and picturesque manner, with some ad- 
 ditional precautions in the division, so as to preclude 
 the possibility of heaping bodies on each other, or of 
 crowding them indecently together. But even this 
 arrangement is open to improvements; and it is to be 
 hoped that such improvements will ere long be made 
 by the wisdom of a British Legislatiu'e." 
 
 Eustaces Classical Tour in Italy. 
 
 FABLE IIII. 
 
 THE KNIGHTS AND THE SHIELD. 
 
 FOR THE QUARRELSOME. 
 
 IN days of chivalrous romance, 
 Two valiant, moonstruck knights of France, 
 Both sallied out one sultry May, 
 To seek adventures on the way.
 
 126 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 To different points their steps they bent, 
 Sighing to meet some dread event — 
 Some fiery dragon on the plain, 
 Some captive maid in golden chain, 
 Some wizard, giant, or corsair — 
 No matter which, or how, or where ; 
 Anxious, as valourous knights became. 
 To fill all Europe with their fame ; 
 To fight — no matter whom or where — 
 The brave alone could win the fair. 
 
 At length our knights, in pensive mood, 
 Chanced on a dark and dreary wood. 
 Athwart, they saw a path extend. 
 And pierced the forest at each end. 
 Just midway in this solitude, 
 A black and lofty column stood. 
 High mounted with a noble shield, 
 To note that spot a battle-field. 
 'Twas flaming brass on that facade. 
 On this, with blue-bright steel inlaid ; 
 And mere one-sided views would feel, 
 The whole were brass, or all were steel. 
 
 Now Fortune, as the sceptics say, 
 A frolic sought that fatal day ; 
 At all events, our templars met, 
 Just where this wondrous shield was set. 
 There stood th' astonished chevaliers. 
 Bowing witli num'rous knightly airs : 
 Gaily their nodding plumes did wave — 
 Each seemed the bravest of the brave ; 
 And there they talk, as knights were wont, 
 Of Troubadour and Romaont ;
 
 THE KNIGHTS AND THE SHIELD. 127 
 
 Recount aclveutui'es, perils, pain, 
 How this foe fled, how that was slain ; 
 Ask whither bound, and whence they came, 
 What brother-knights were known to fame ; 
 Then talk of spurs, of fair-one's gloves. 
 Of gauntlets and of lady-loves ; 
 Till, last, the column fixed their eyes, 
 And straight to that the converse flies. 
 
 " A brave escutcheon, this," cries one, 
 " As knightly eyes e'er gazed upon ! 
 The blazoning bespeaks, I see. 
 Some knight of splendid pedigree : 
 'Tis marshalled in the gentlest hues, — 
 Ogresses, argents, and tenues ; 
 And rare, Sir Colin, does one pass 
 So fair a field of polished brass." 
 
 " Brass ! " bawled the other, with surprise ; 
 
 " 'Tis steel, Sir Frank, if I've my eyes ! " 
 
 " 'Tis brass, as sure as I'm a knight ! " 
 
 " 'Tis steel, Sir Frank, in honour bright ! " 
 
 " My dear Sir Colin, it is brass. 
 
 And who belies me is an ass ! " 
 
 " An ass ! an ass ! Sir Frank — to me ! 
 
 I'm absolutely mad, d'ye see ? 
 
 'Pon honour, this is most provoking ; 
 
 I'm thunderstruck — I'm almost choking ! " 
 
 " Choke, then, Sir Colin ! What care I ? 
 
 Who cannot see, as well may die ! " 
 
 " Then die I will. Sir Frank — or you ! 
 
 For, since I fail to change your view, 
 
 I see, base recreant ! we must fight ; 
 
 So draw, and Heaven defend the right ! "
 
 128 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 And now tli' appalling battle burns, — 
 
 They parry, thrust, and gasp by turns ; 
 
 And vow, and vow, and thrice they vow, 
 
 On neither side the fault t' allow ; 
 
 And swear, and swear, and thrice they swear. 
 
 High feiilty to ladies fair; 
 
 And cry, and cry, and thrice they cry, 
 
 For truth to conquer, or to die ; 
 
 And oh ! how hot their fury burned ! 
 
 And oh ! how oft the victory turned ! 
 
 Till, gashed and pierced in many a round, 
 
 They both expired upon the ground ! 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 The folly of an errant knight. 
 
 May set some other champions right. 
 
 When such as live in wedded life, 
 Forget to yield to all but strife ; 
 When senators in high debate. 
 Dissent on great affiiirs of state ; 
 When Zion's friends in Payuim lands, 
 O'erlook their peaceful Lord's commands ; 
 And when the Church bemoans, in fine, 
 A wrangling schoolman or divine — 
 Let each examine well the shield, 
 Nor covet e'en a bloodless field. 
 
 Examine well, I say. Sir Knight ! 
 'Tis ten to one but both are right : 
 Either your enemy and you. 
 Are taking a one-sided view ; 
 Or truth resides, as oft is seen. 
 On neither side, but just between.
 
 THE KNIGHTS AND THE SHIELD. 129 
 
 ultjsteative prose. 
 
 EXTRAORDINARY CRIMINAL CASE. 
 
 " In a small town in Saxony, there lived, about the 
 middle of last century, three young men — we will call 
 them George, Ernest, and Lewis — who were intimate 
 friends from childhood. George and Ernest were 
 engaged in trade ; and Lewis, having devoted himself 
 to the law, practised in liis native place, where liis 
 friends also resided. 
 
 " One summer's day, the two former set out together 
 on horseback, for a town about thirty miles distant, 
 where they had business to transact. Ernest was fond 
 of drawing his friend into conversation on religious 
 topics, on which, however, they differed widely, and 
 frequently quarrelled; because, on this point, George 
 was extremely irritable, while Ernest was not less 
 obstinate in upholding his notions. During the journey 
 in question, the latter introduced the old theme, on 
 which they fell out as usual. They soon reached the 
 inn at which they had agreed to breakfast; here, over 
 a glass of wine, the dispute was continued, but with 
 moderation on both sides. When, however, the tra- 
 vellers again pursued their way, and Ernest reverted 
 to the subject, both grew warm, owing to the wine 
 wliich they had taken, and the quarrel by degrees 
 became louder and more vehement. By the time they 
 ha^ reached a wood, they were so inflamed with passion 
 as to assail each other in language of the grossest abuse 
 and insidt. George, losing all command of himself.
 
 130 THE 15ATH FABLES. 
 
 ill bis vage, drew ibrth a pistol, and fired it at his 
 companion. Ernest sank, wounded in the breast, from 
 his horse, and weltered on the ground in his blood ; 
 while the animal, freed from his burden, and frightened 
 by the report, ran off into the wood. 
 
 "George, pale as death, leaped from his horse, to 
 assist his bleeding friend. The paroxysm of passion 
 was over, and gave place to the keenest remorse. He 
 bent tremblingly over Ernest, who was just breathing 
 his last. He tore his hair in his despair, and hurried 
 back to the village, to deliver himself up to justice as 
 the nnu'dcrer of his friend, that he might soon be rid 
 of a life which was now to him a most oppressive bur- 
 den. The officer to whom he surrendered himself sent 
 him, at his desire, to the prison, till he could be re- 
 moved to the town to whicli he and his friend belonged. 
 Ernest's corpse, which was found jilundored, was con- 
 veyed thither at the same time, and interred. 
 
 " Proceedings were instituted against George ; he 
 repeated his confession before the judges, and solicited 
 a speedy death. He was allowed to choose an advocate 
 to defend liim, as the law prescribed ; lie refused, and 
 with tears entreated the judges to accelerate his execu- 
 tion. Tiiey were deeply moved, but still urged him 
 to appoint a defender, on wliich he named his friend 
 Lewis. ' To be sure,' said he, at the same time, ' I 
 need no defence ; I wish only for death, but I am 
 willing to comply with the forms of law. My friend 
 may take upon himself the useless trouble, and prove 
 
 for the last time his kindness for me.' 
 
 * 
 
 " Lewis entered, with profound agitation, on the 
 most melancholy duty of his whole professional career —
 
 THE KNIGHTS AND THE SHIELD. 131 
 
 that of being the advocate of his unfortunate friend. 
 He despaii-ed of being able to save him, but he, of 
 course, resolved to leave no stone unturned to accom- 
 plish his end. With this view, he objected that, con- 
 trary to the usual forms, Ernest's body had been 
 iuterred without previous judicial examination, and 
 without being opened, and required that this should 
 still be done. The judges replied, that this ceremony 
 seemed to them to be superfluous and unnecessary, 
 since the murderer had voluntarily confessed the fact ; 
 but if the advocate of the offender insisted on an in- 
 spection of the body, it must be taken up for that 
 purpose. This was accordingly done, at the repeated 
 requisition of Lewis. The town-sm-geon performed 
 the operation, and declared that, as the ball passed 
 through the heart, death must of necessity follow. 
 Lewis wished to know whether the ball was still in 
 the body; the surgeon sought and found it. The 
 lawyer then caused the pistol with which the murder 
 had been committed to be brought, and tried if the 
 ball would fit the barrel. It seemed, however, to be 
 too large; he tried it in every possible way, but stiU 
 it was decidedly too large. It was impossible that tlie 
 ball could have been discharged from that barrel ; this 
 was evident to every eye-witness. The judges shook 
 theii- heads. There was not one but had already, in 
 his own mind, pronounced the prisoner guilty; but 
 this circumstance confounded them all. The confession 
 of the criminal, made quite spontaneously, and the 
 whole chain of evidence, seemed to prove the deed; 
 but the ball offered an incontrovertible attestation of 
 innocence. 
 
 " Lewis, overjoyed at this discovery, began to con-
 
 132 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 ceive strong hopes. He proposed that a report of the 
 proceedings, together with the pistol and the ball, 
 should be ti'ansmitted to the supreme court, that it 
 might decide in this extraordinary case. This proposal 
 was the more readily complied with, as the local 
 authorities were completely puzzled how to act. 
 
 " While the papers were before the supreme court 
 in the capital, a robber was apprehended, and brought 
 to the native town of the friends, on a charge of having 
 shot and afterwards plundered a traveller on the high- 
 road, not i'ar from that place. Being convicted by 
 witnesses, he acknowledged his crime. But this was 
 not all ; he confessed, also, on his further examination, 
 that he had murdered a man on the same road about 
 two months before. The attention of the judges being 
 excited, he gave, in answer to their inquiries, the 
 following account : — 
 
 " ' About that time, I was in a village public-house. 
 Two men on horseback arrived soon after me ; I re- 
 marked that one of them wore under his waistcoat a 
 belt filled with money. Attracted by this money, I 
 began to consider whether it would not be possible to 
 dispatch tliis wealthy man ; but his companion was in 
 the way. It occurred to me, on the other hand, that I 
 was provided with a brace of good pistols. If I shoot 
 one of them, said I to myself, the other will probably 
 run away in ati'right ; and before he can give informa- 
 tion of the murder, and summon witnesses, my horse, 
 which is a match for most in swiftness, will have carried 
 me far enough. But if, contrary to expectation, he stay 
 by his companion, why, he shall have the second ball 
 through his body — that's all ! No sooner had I come to
 
 THE KNIGHTS AND THE SHIELD. 133 
 
 this determination, than I set about carrying it into effect. 
 I knew, from what I had overheard, which way they 
 were going. I rode oflf before, tied my horse to a tree, 
 and concealed myself in a thicket near the road. 
 Scarcely had I reached the spot, when the travellers 
 approached. I made ready to fire. The two men were 
 quarrelling : I had already taken aim at the man with 
 the belt, when his coraj^auion drew forth a pistol and 
 fired. I discharged mine at the same instant : my man 
 fell just as the ball of the other whizzed past my ear. 
 He alighted from his horse, and endeavoured to assist 
 the dying person ; but at the very moment I was going 
 to fire at him, he re-mounted and galloped off. I had 
 now time to rifle the pockets and the belt of my victim ; 
 and this done, I jirecipitately retired.' 
 
 " He specified the time and the place in the wood, 
 and described the two travellers so minutely, that there 
 could not be the slightest doubt of his having com- 
 mitted the murder of which George accused himself. 
 It was evident that the latter, trembling with rage, 
 had fired with unsteady hand, and missed his com- 
 panion. 
 
 " The local tribunal reported the affair to the supreme 
 court; the documents were returned, and it was as- 
 certained that the ball exactly fitted the pistols found 
 on the murderer, at the time of his apprehension. 
 
 " The reader may conceive the trans])ort of Lewis, 
 on finding his efforts for saving his friend crowned 
 with success ; and the joy of George, when the over- 
 whelming consciousness of having incurred the guilt 
 of murder was removed from his breast. He was 
 unanimously acquitted of the crime, and liberated ;
 
 1-34 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 but long and bitterly did he deplore the loss of his 
 friend." 
 
 A chermann's Repository. 
 
 How cautiously, then, should rival parties form their 
 judgment ! Indeed, a wisely disciplined mind is ever 
 modest, and calmly examines both sides of the shield. 
 Ignorance only is oracular. 
 
 FABLE XIY. 
 PUNCH AND THE HANGMAN. 
 
 FOR JURISTS. 
 
 " /^UK laws," the Medes and Persians said, 
 \J " Change not till rolling time be fled : " 
 The laws of Albion, Europe knows, 
 Improve as Albion's wisdom grows. 
 
 As up the Strand I took my way, 
 
 One evening of a smiling May, 
 
 A crowd of loungers, — sharps and flats. 
 
 Dandies and porters, trulls and brats. 
 
 With squalling urchins, simpering maids, 
 
 Cads, cadgers, clerks and bullying blades, — 
 
 Stood grinning round the booth of Punch, 
 
 And gaping at his phiz and hunch ; 
 
 For when did Puncli and Judy fail, 
 
 To find such idlers at their tail ? 
 
 I saw, 'tis true, on drawing near. 
 
 No cause for all their boisterous cheer ;
 
 PUNCH AND THE HANGMAN. 135 
 
 For, 'midst some sad hymeneal strife, 
 ranch, like a knave, had killed his wife ; 
 And lo ! the hangman ready stood, — 
 Stern law demanding hlood for blood. 
 
 The gallows gi-inned, and so did all, 
 
 And when the drop was near to fall. 
 
 They shout and laugh, they skip and run, — 
 
 Yet Punchy thought it no such fun ; 
 
 But kicked and squeaked, and sobbed aloud, 
 
 Indignant at the heartless crowd. 
 
 " Cease, milksop knave ! " the hangman cries. 
 With wi-ath and brandy in his eyes ; 
 " No more ye'll squabble, dance or sing. 
 For now ye're nabbed, sir, and must swing. 
 Yet, small's the gain from you I hope ; 
 Sdeath ! why, you're scarcely worth the rope ! 
 You've not a stiver in your purse ! 
 Your traps, Sir Punch, are even worse ! 
 They buy no rags at Portman Square ; 
 Tussaud will doom them to Rag Fair. 
 I'd fifty pounds at Rush's drop, 
 At yours, not e'en a button top. 
 But come. Sir Punch ! prepare for death, 
 And soon I'll stop a villain's breath." 
 
 Thus said the ropester. What said he ? 
 Why, Punch was game, as soon you'll see : — 
 " So you're old Killcraft, are ye, blade ? 
 And hanging is your honest trade. 
 You'd best keep oflp, though, or, by Joe ! 
 This switch shall deal ye such a blow, ' 
 That if you've brains at all, my sot, 
 You'll show what no one dreams you've got !
 
 136 THE BATH lABLES. 
 
 Zouuds ! do ye fancy I'm to swing ? — 
 Hands off ! — no, not to please a king ! 
 What! take a fellow's very life, 
 And kill me as I killed my wife ! 
 Poor Judy's gone, that's very true ; 
 But what's the good of killing two ? 
 My crime I own : 'tis clear as day ; 
 And for that crime I ought to pay; 
 Yet do, Sir Hangman ! if ye're wise, 
 Some milder penalty devise." 
 
 " No, no ! " hawls Killcraft; " bare your head ! 
 You die because your wife is dead : 
 So says the law, and law is right, 
 Since hanging is the mob's delight ! " 
 
 " Well ; let me see," said Punch once more ; 
 " Perhaps I'd better get it o'er : 
 . But, brother ! you'll be pleased to show, 
 Both where and how this rope must go. 
 I've ne'er been hanged, I think, before, 
 And don't quite comprehend such lore. 
 Am I to strangle, when I jump ? 
 Or slip your cable round my hump ? " 
 
 " Ye niriny ! " cries the ropester ; " no ! 
 Look here ; you'll thrust your head in so." 
 
 To suit his action to the word. 
 The silly hangman slips the cord 
 Bound his own neck, and shows the rogue, 
 The mode of hanging now in vogue. 
 
 " Bravo ! " shouts Punch ; " I've nabbed you, 
 
 friend ! " 
 And hauled the rope at t'other end.
 
 PUNCH AND THE HANGMAN. 137 
 
 Up flew the hangman, while the crowd 
 Were split with laughing long and loud ; 
 For if some dangling wight they see, 
 The mob is pleased, whoe'er it be ; 
 But as they saw the biter bit, 
 They laughed still more at Punch's wit. 
 Ah ! what a world, this world of ours ! 
 And what a hint to earthly powers ! 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Who justly bears the name of sage, 
 
 Will scan the customs of his age; 
 
 Yet, jealous of his wit or fame. 
 
 Will pause before he praise or blame. 
 
 If, then, the fabulist would frown 
 
 You ugly Gothic gibbet down, 
 
 'Tis after much and patient thought. 
 
 On things that are, and things that ought. 
 
 When Cain, the first foul fratricide, 
 Raised his red hand, aud Abel died. 
 Did God the murderer's blood demand? — 
 He only signed him with a brand ; 
 Aud though he exiled him for good. 
 He menaced who might shed his blood ! 
 
 " But Moses hanged by Heaven's decree ! " 
 Yes, Jew hanged Jew ; but what are we ? 
 ■J'o cite the Turk were just as grave. 
 Who drowns his felons in the wave ! 
 The Jewish code, since Shiloh's reign, 
 Hath ceased for ever, like their fane ! 
 Still, if ye will th' abolished cite. 
 To pick and choose is not your right :
 
 138 THE HATH FABLES. 
 
 That code a felon's death expressed, 
 
 For all wiio broke the day of rest ! 
 
 For all who sire or mother cursed ! 
 
 Or wlio a projihet's fame aspersed ! 
 
 Why, of those laws, some stand, some fall ? 
 
 If Jews in one, be Jews in all! 
 
 " But grave example asks for blood : 
 The guilty die for others' good." 
 Example ! why, the gallows-ti-ee 
 Is just the mob's best jubilee ! 
 Dickens! you saw the Mannings die; 
 Bear witness, if these stanzas lie ! 
 If Punch's freaks, or Punch's gibbet, 
 Did e'er so merry a scene exhibit ! 
 Or if there's such a gallant show. 
 As when true Killcrafts deal the blow ! 
 
 Example ! why, it's all a jest! 
 
 Sir Meredith shall sing the rest :— 
 
 " A list of felons I have seen. 
 
 Just eight score felons and sixteen. 
 
 Who all saw victims on the tree. 
 
 Yet all were hangod, save only three ! ! "* 
 
 Haul down your gibbets, then, and train. 
 
 Your men of blood as God did Cain ! 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE PEOSE. 
 
 ON CAPITAL PUNISHMENTS. 
 
 " If we could be convinced that Scripture ordained 
 such a punishment, the question would at once, to our 
 
 * Sir William Meredith states this fact.
 
 PUNCH AND THE HANGMAN. 
 
 139 
 
 minds, be settled ; but if it can be shown that a 
 gibbet advocate fails to establish this, the question re- 
 mains open, and we still hoi^e for further amendment 
 of our sanguinary laws. The words, ' worthy of death,' 
 do not, in our opinion, at all lead to the inference that 
 human laws ought to take the life of a murderer. We 
 can correctly say, while such laws exist, the murderer 
 has done that which was worthy of death, according 
 to them, and this, we apprehend, is the sense of Scrip- 
 ture. When Pilate said, of the things of which our. 
 Saviour was charged, that there was nothing worthy 
 of death, he spoke according to the authority of Herod 
 and the law. We can say, then, that, according to our 
 present law, the woman, Charlotte Harris, has done 
 that which is worthy of death; but if the laws were 
 altered, and another penalty substituted, we should 
 say, for the same reason, worthy of such a penalty. 
 The Jewish law of death cannot be our justification 
 for its continuance. We may as rationally continue to 
 hang for sheep-stealing, because that offence was worthy 
 of death under the laws of England, as they were. The 
 laws of the Jews were entirely retaliatory, and our 
 Saviour annulled them most clearly and decidedly in 
 
 his Sermon on the Mount." 
 
 Keene. 
 
 RUSSIAN EXECUTIONS. 
 
 "Behind the chapel was a rack, and on both sides 
 of the rack were several rows of gallows, some miles 
 in length, and instruments of torture ready for the 
 unfortunate victims. The punishments were in ac- 
 cordance with the degree of culpability and station in 
 society of the rebels. In the first row of gallows the
 
 1^^ THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 most guilty were executed: after being subjected to 
 the rack, they were quartered alive. The leaders had 
 their right hand and left leg cut off, and were after- 
 wards impaled on long spikes, and left to their horrible 
 fate. Their shrieks were heard for miles, and their 
 bodies feasted the eyes of the panic-stricken popula- 
 tion. In tlie second i-ow of gallows they were only 
 quartered, and their sufferings were at least shorter. 
 In the third row, the parties were simply beheaded, 
 in the fourth row they were merely hanged. In the 
 fifth, they ran the gauntlet and the knout. All the 
 ecclesiastics were burned. There were separate gallows 
 for women, married and maiden. Even children, from 
 thirteen years, were subjected to gi-eat cruelty. Married 
 couples were occasionally hanged on the same gallows, 
 as well as whole families. During the space of three 
 months, 13,000 human beings were executed in the 
 presence of Dolgorouki. Stenko Eazin's nephew, and 
 his particular friend, were quartn-ed. Among the 
 female prisoners, there was a handsome nun, who, 
 over her female garments, had a male attire. She 
 commanded a corps of 7000 men, gave more than once 
 proofs of extraordinary courage and great ability in the 
 field, and inflicted terrible losses on the Russians. When 
 summoned before Dolgorouki, she displayed a presence 
 of mind and a firmness difficult to describe, and said, if 
 every one under her command had done his duty in 
 such a manner as she had done, Dolgorouki, instead of 
 erecting the gallows, would have taken to his heels. 
 As for a nun in Russia to run away from a monastery 
 is a capital offence, she lay down quietly on a funeral 
 ])ile, and was burned to ashes. The dangling dead 
 bodies of so many thousand veterans brought many
 
 crows and ravens, which devoured the corpses. From 
 that time, that suburb is called the Suburb of Hell." 
 
 The Cossacks of the Ukraine. 
 EXECUTION OF THE MANNINGS. 
 
 dickens' letter to the " TIMES." 
 
 " I WAS a witness of the execution at Horsemonger- 
 lane this morning. I went there with the intention 
 of observing the crowd gathered to behold it, and I 
 had excellent opjiortunities of doing so, at intervals 
 all through the night, and coatinuously from daybreak 
 until after the spectacle was over. 
 
 " I do not address you on the subject with any 
 intention of discussing the abstract question of capital 
 punishment, or any of the arguments of its opjjonents 
 or advocates. I simply wish to turn this dreadful 
 experience to some account for the general good, by 
 taking the readiest and most public means of adverting 
 to an intimation given by Sir- G. Grey, in the last 
 session of Parliament, that the Government might be 
 induced to give its support to a measure making the 
 infliction of capital punishment a private solemnity, 
 within the prison walls (with such guarantees for the 
 last sentence of the law being inexorably and surely 
 administered, as should be satisfactory to the public 
 at large), and of most earnestly beseeching Sir G. Grey, 
 as a solemn duty which he owes to society, and a re- 
 sponsibility which he cannot for ever put away, to 
 originate such a legislative change himself. 
 
 " I believe that a sight so inconceivably awful, as 
 the wickedness and levity of the immense crowd collect- 
 ed at that execution this morning, could be imagined
 
 142 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 by no man, and could be presented in no heathen land 
 under the sun. The horrors of the gibbet, and of the 
 crime which brought the wretched murderers to it, 
 faded in my mind before the atrocious bearing, looks 
 and language of the assembled spectatore. When I 
 came upon tlie scene at midnight, the shrillness of the 
 cries and howls that were raised from time to time, 
 denoting that they came from a concourse of boys and 
 girls already assembled in the best places, made my 
 blood run cold. As the night went on, screeching, and 
 laughing, and yelling in strong chorus of parodies on 
 Negro melodies, with substitutions of ' Mrs. Manning ' 
 for ' Susannah,' and the like, were added to these. 
 
 " When the day dawned, thieves, low prostitutes, 
 ruffians and vagabonds of every kind, flocked on to the 
 ground, with every variety of olTensive and foul be- 
 haviour. Fightings, faiutings, whistlings, imitations of 
 Punch, brutal jokes, tumultuous demonstrations of in- 
 decent delight when swooning women were dragged out 
 of the crowd by the police, with their dresses disordered, 
 gave a new zest to tlie general entertainment. When 
 the sun rose brightly — as it did — it gilded thousands 
 upon thousands of uptin-ncd faces, so inexpressibly 
 odious in their brutal mirth or callousness, that a man 
 had cause to feel ashamed of the shape he wore, and 
 to shrink from himself, as fashioned in the image of 
 the Devil. When the two miserable creatures who 
 attracted all tliis ghastly sight about them were turned 
 quivering into the air, there was no more emotion, no 
 more pity, no more thought that two immortal souls 
 had gone to judgment, no more restraint in any of 
 the previous obscenities, than if the name of Christ 
 had never been heard in this world, and there were
 
 THE FORGE AND THE BELLOWS. 143 
 
 no belief among men but that they jjerished like the 
 beasts. 
 
 " I have seen, habitually, some of the worst sources 
 of general contamination and corruption in this country, 
 and I think there are not many phases of London life 
 that could surprise me. I am solemnly convinced, that 
 nothing that ingenuity could devise to be done in this 
 city, in the same compass of time, could work such 
 ruin as one public execution, and I stand astounded 
 and appalled by the wickedness it exhibits. I do not 
 believe that any community can prosper, where such 
 a scene of horror and demoralization as was enacted 
 this morning outside Horsemongei"-lane Gaol, is j)re- 
 sented at the very doors of good citizens, and is passed 
 by, unknown or forgotten. And when, in our prayers 
 and thanksgivings for the season, we are humbly ex- 
 pressing before God our desii'e to remove the moi'al 
 evils of the land, I would ask your readers to consider 
 whether it is not a time to think of this one, and to 
 
 root it out ? " 
 
 Charles Dickens. 
 
 FABLE XV. 
 THE FOKGE AND THE BELLOWS. 
 
 FOR YOUNGSTERS. 
 
 A PROUD and self-suflBcient heait 
 Will cost its owner many a smart. 
 When Alps can stand without their base, 
 Or stars without ethereal space,
 
 144 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 Then may the young, nncounseled, guide 
 Their hark athwart life's hillowy tide. 
 Read, wayward youtli ! this simple tale, 
 Nor scorn a pilot in the gale. 
 
 A burly smith, whose sooty phiz, 
 E'en swarthy Moors might justly quiz, 
 Was toiling hard one winter's night, 
 Amidst a copp'ry blaze of light. 
 His bellows roared, his furnace blazed, 
 And what a dust the fellow raised ! 
 For sparks flew thick as Lapland hail, 
 And metal clanked like Newgate gaol. 
 Had you our brawny Cyclop seen. 
 Thumping away 'midst soot and sheen, 
 You'd think yourself in Vulcan's cot, 
 'Neath Etna's furnace — piping hot! 
 
 Loud and more loud the bellows blew, 
 Hot and more hot the furnace grew. 
 Until the glowing forge, at last, 
 Conceited thing ! disdained the blast ; 
 So bade the bellows hold their tongue, 
 And cease to do a neighbour wrong. 
 
 " You puffing grampus ! " bawled the fire, 
 " Avast! and cease my nerves to lire ; 
 Bless me ! d'ye think I cannot blaze, 
 Without your noise and vulgar ways? 
 You're always at it, — blow, blow, blow, 
 As black and noisy as Jim Crow ! 
 I wish you'd blow your brains out too, 
 Tf brains you have, — I really do : 
 It galls me so t' observe you think, 
 Without your puffing I must sink.
 
 I'm not an author broken down, 
 
 And want no puffing through the town. 
 
 To meet such overweening folk — 
 
 To bear your supercilious yoke — 
 
 Would vex a parson, I declare, 
 
 And galls me till 1 cannot bear. 
 
 Shall I be graveled longer ? Zounds ! 
 
 Your insolence my head confounds ! 
 
 D'ye think I've any need of you, 
 
 Or any of your vulgar crew ? 
 
 I'm in a feverish heat, d'ye know ? — 
 
 A genuine scarlatina glow. 
 
 Affected fellow ! fires got red, 
 
 Full long ere you were born or bred ; 
 
 And Vulcan's forge will nobly blaze, 
 
 Should all your bellows end then- days. 
 
 Then cease ! and as alone I flame. 
 
 Pray own that Coxcomb is your name ! " 
 
 Obedient to this sage request. 
 Our bellows left the forge at rest. 
 The fire, delighted to be free. 
 Vowed what exploits that night should see, 
 " What clever blades, what noble fellows, 
 Forges become, when free from bellows I " 
 Awhile it glowed with flickering flame. 
 And tossed out sparks to show some game ; 
 Shot, like a pop-gun, once or twice, 
 Scarce loud enough to scare the mice ; 
 Then crackled like a spider's rib, 
 And ended like a dying squib. 
 
 Lau ! what a change ! for want of aii-, 
 The forge was soon as cold as care.
 
 140 THK BATH FABLES. 
 
 The bellows smiled, with victory flushed; 
 The humbled embers deeply blushed — 
 Yet not with red, as others do — 
 But blushed till fairly black and blue ! 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Ye young folks ! listen to a friend : 
 
 Be humble, and to age attend ; 
 
 Be not impatient of conti'oul, — 
 
 'Tis good for body, good for soul. 
 
 Delight your parents to obey, 
 
 Nor ever spurn their rightful sway ; 
 
 Ween not the young can go alone, — 
 
 That creed might cost you many a gi'OUJi : 
 
 You want experience, wisdom, light, 
 
 And years alone can set you right. 
 
 Full many a youth, of early hope, 
 Has dangled on the gibbet rope. 
 Who, liad he listened to a friend. 
 Had never wept so sad an end. 
 Thus Barnwell, Turpin, Sheppard, Hall, 
 Abandoned God, and met their fall. 
 
 As soon a barque her course might steer, 
 
 Without a helm or timoneer, 
 
 Across yon ocean's boundless tide. 
 
 As thoughtless youth himself might guide. 
 
 Be docile, then, and age revere. 
 
 So age and youth shall hold you dear. 
 
 But, if you would still safer glide, 
 O'er life's rude sea to Canaan's side, 
 Eevere and read that hallowed page. 
 Which warns the young and cheers the sage.
 
 THE FORGE AND THE BELLOWS. ]47 
 
 Be this your convoy as ye float, 
 O'er Time's rough wave, your fragile boat; 
 'Twill pilot you to yon blest shore, 
 Where storm and peril rage no more. 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE PROSE. 
 
 CONFESSIONS OF AN INFIDEL. 
 
 " I WAS born in the neighbourhood of Birmingham, 
 and was put to the button trade. During my appren- 
 ticeship, I was very steady and sober, and gave gi-eat 
 satisfaction to my master, who often told me he meant 
 to assist me in setting out in life, as a reward for my 
 good conduct. These good beginnings were very pleas- 
 ing to my parents, who always gave me good advice, 
 and were very desirous to promote my welfare. After 
 the expiration of my apprenticeship, I wrought for 
 some time as a journeyman ; when, having more 
 money at my disposal, I began to frequent a public- 
 house, where it was customary for a considerable num- 
 ber of mechanics to meet every night, to read the 
 newspapers, ' Paine's Rights of Man,' and other pub- 
 lications of a similar nature. 
 
 " I soon imbibed a love for politics ; and, having 
 naturally a ready utterance, could speak with a con- 
 siderable degree of fluency on any political question 
 that was agitated. In process of time, those who were 
 first converted to Paine's political opinions, introduced
 
 148 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 his 'Age of Reason.' At first, I had some objections 
 to hear it read ; but they were soon overruled, and, 
 I am sorry to say, I became as great an admirer of his 
 religious as of his political scheme. * * 
 
 " It is true, indeed, I was sometimes afraid lest 
 Christianity should be true ; especially in a fit of sick- 
 ness which I once had, when I thought there was but 
 a step between me and death. I then began to ask 
 myself, 'What if the Bible should be true?' I in- 
 variably answered, ' J shall be miserable to all eternity.' 
 But my deistical brethren, coming to see me, soon 
 laughed me out of my superstitious whims, as they 
 called them. 
 
 " On my recovery, I was more profligate than before, 
 and as I worked but little, found myself very much 
 embarrassed. On mentioning my situation to one of 
 my comj>anions, he persuaded me to j^ass bad money. 
 
 " My confidants, finding I was successful, and likely 
 to be stanch in their cause, proposed to me a scheme 
 much more lucrative, namely, to pass forged bills, 
 which I was to have upon very advantageous terms. 
 In putting off bad bills, I generally used much pre- 
 caution, as well as in putting off bad money; but, 
 notwithstanding this, I was sometimes in danger of 
 being discovered. 
 
 " At times, I was so much alarmed with the fear of 
 detection, that I could hardly sleeji for several nights 
 together; and when nature was quite exhausted, and 
 I was overpowered by sleep, I used to imagine myself 
 pursued by justice, conveyed to prison, arraigned, con- 
 demned, carried to the gallows, and suspended by the
 
 THE FORGE AND THE BELLOWS. 149 
 
 neck, — when I have suddenly awaked, and been trans- 
 ported with joy on finding it was only a dream. The 
 agitation of my mind was sometimes visibly expressed 
 by a pale countenance and a trembling hand; especially 
 when any of my associates were arrested and brought 
 to justice. I feared that they would impeach me, and 
 that my crimes would find me out. I often resolved 
 to amend, and support myself by honest industry ; but, 
 having been so long abandoned to vice and idleness, 
 my resolutions proved ineffectual. 
 
 " I believe, indeed, I should have renounced my evil 
 ways long since, had I been wise enough to renounce 
 my wicked companions; but I still kept upon good 
 terms with them, and by that means my hands were 
 strengthened in wickedness, * * * 
 
 " The temptation which I felt to attend an execution 
 at Washwood Heath on Easter Monday, was too power- 
 ful to be i-esisted. I approached the awful spot with 
 trembling steps. I felt what I cannot describe. I 
 smote upon my breast, and said, ' God be merciful to 
 me a sinner ! ' I asked myself, ' Why am I not one 
 of them? — for surely I deserve the gallows!' I said, 
 ' It is of thy mercy, Lord, that I am not consumed.' 
 
 " After the awful scene was closed, I returned home 
 with a heart deeply oppressed with grief. On my way 
 I was overtaken by an old acquaintance, who asked me 
 if I wanted anything in his way. I told him I did 
 not; that I had had enough, and too much, in that 
 way already; that I was determined to reform. Be- 
 fore parting with him, I exhorted him to do the same. 
 He heard me very patiently, and said he thought it 
 would be the best for us all. When I came home, I
 
 150 THE BATH FAliUES. 
 
 immediately burned all my bad bills, which amounted 
 to more than fifty pounds. I opened my Bible, and 
 my attention was arrested by these words : — ' Let the 
 wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his 
 thoughts, and let him return unto the Lord, and he 
 will have mercy upon him ; ' which very much en- 
 couraged me in my good purposes. The next day I 
 went to my work, and found myself more happy in 
 my lawful emidoymeut than I had been for a con- 
 siderable time before. ♦ ♦ » 
 
 "I had in my possession 'Paine's Age of Reason,' 
 with several other deistical publications, and one even- 
 ing I determined to burn them, in consequence of 
 reading the following passage in the Acts of the 
 Apostles: — 'Many of them also which used curious 
 arts brought their books together, and burned them 
 before all men : and they counted the pi-ice of them, 
 and found it fifty thousand pieces of silver.' (chap. xix. 
 19.) While devoting them to the flames, I sincerely 
 jirayed that all anti-Christian books miglit speedily 
 share the same deserved fate. * * 
 
 " About a year after my mind had been thus affected, 
 a circumstance occurred which very much agitated me. 
 One (of my old companions in iniquity (tiie man who 
 accosted me in returning from the execution at Wash- 
 wood Heath) was apprehended for offering a forged bill. 
 After his commitment, he wrote to me, begging me to 
 come and see him ; but I thought it most proper to 
 suspend my visit till after his trial. 
 
 " At the ensuing assizes he was found guilty, and, 
 being a notorious offender, was left for execution. A 
 few days after, I received from liim the following 
 letter : —
 
 THE FORGE AND THE BELLOWS. 151 
 
 " ' The issue on which you suspended your visit is 
 now determined — I have no hojje of life ! Had I 
 hearkened to, and been influenced by, your good 
 counsel, I should not have been in this dreadful situa- 
 tion — dreadful, both with respect to body and soul ! 
 My horrible cell and galling chains are terrific ! But 
 this is only a faint representation of eternal darkness, 
 fire, and chains ! O wretched man ! — what shall I do ? 
 Locks, bolts, and impenetrable walls, forbid my flight ; 
 I must endure my situation, and yet it is intolerable. 
 Do, do come and see me without delay ! Let me see 
 you at least once before death separate us for ever. 
 The good advice you gave me, on our way from Wash- 
 wood Heath, recurs to my remembrance with many 
 aggravated circumstances. It sunk deeper into my 
 heart the same evening, after I arrived at home ; but 
 going tlie next day among my old companions in 
 wickedness, I forgot it, and my mind became as callous 
 as it had been at any former period of my life. Life 
 is rapidly hastening away, and death, judgment, and 
 eternity assume a terrible form ! I shall look for you 
 with great impatience and anxiety.' 
 
 " Upon the receipt of this letter, I determined to 
 fulfil my promise immediately. Our first interview 
 was truly afiecting ; we were neither of us able to utter 
 a word for a considerable time. He said, ' Oh, my 
 friend, you find me in an awful situation ! I am 
 ruined for ever ! It is all over with me ! ' On inquiring 
 into the state of his mind, I found it approached nearly 
 to desperation. I explained to him the nature of 
 evangelical repentance, and set before him the Lord 
 Jesus Christ, as the Saviour of sinners; in whom I 
 exhorted him to believe for present pardon and accept-
 
 152 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 ance with God. I prayed with him several times, 
 aud when I left him, 1 referred him to ' the Lamb of 
 God who taketh away the sins of the world.' He was 
 executed shortly after; but I have not been able to 
 learn that there was any hope in his death. * * 
 
 " Having suffered so much by the opinions of Thomas 
 Paine, 1 most seriously and strongly caution my readers 
 against them. His writings laid the foundation of that 
 superstructure of ungodliness, which I was several years 
 in raising. ***** 
 
 " Will infidels, and sinners of other description, not 
 fear and tremble, having such awful examples before 
 their eyes? Let them reflect on the just severity of 
 God ; and not forget that He is, to the finally impeni- 
 tent, ' a consuming fire.' " (Heb. xii. 29.) 
 
 Authentic Narrative. 
 
 FABLE XVI. 
 
 THE SHEEP AND THE BABOONS. 
 
 FOR PARENTS AND GUARDIANS. 
 
 NO patriot breast but must recoil. 
 When truth and virtue quit the soil ; 
 When travelled wealth and modish taste, 
 Lay Britain's holy Zion waste. 
 Th' appalling ills my lines deplore, 
 I've wept full oft on Gallia's shore.
 
 THE SHEEP AND THE BABOONS. 
 
 153 
 
 Two sheep, upon the Grampian hills, 
 Browsed the green turf and sipped the rills ; 
 Their shepherds vigilant and bold. 
 Their pastures sweet, and warm the fold. , 
 By day they gi-azed, and slept by night, 
 Nor thief could rob, nor wolf affright. 
 Oh, happy sheep ! for what could grieve ? 
 But few, alas ! in bliss believe. 
 
 " We'll see the world! " the muttons cried; 
 *' We'll span the billowy ocean's tide ! " 
 And so they did — -I know not how — 
 But find them next at far Lucknow, 
 Ranging the wildest jungles o'er. 
 That flank the sacred Gangia's shore ; 
 And many a herd and flock they saw, 
 And studied customs, manners, law ; 
 And oft with learned face they scan 
 Such lions as a traveller can. 
 That sheep should lionize is queer. 
 But how can tourists stoop to fear? 
 
 Our learned muttons took some rest, 
 
 Then made a detour for the west; 
 
 And here they happened on a race 
 
 Of tall baboons, who studied grace ; 
 
 Made their acquaintance, learned their tongue. 
 
 Picked up their manners, right or wrong ; 
 
 And ere they'd spent a year, at most. 
 
 In rambling o'er that sunlit coast, 
 
 What with pedantic ciceronies, 
 
 Soirees and conversaziones. 
 
 Our mutton friends were so aufait, 
 
 At every foreign dish and way,
 
 154 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 At monkey gambols and virtu, — 
 I vow tliey looked like monkeys too ! 
 
 At length our tourists paid their bills, 
 Once more to seek the Gram^iiau hills ; 
 And with a vast exjaense of toil. 
 They gained at last their natal soil. 
 But now the sheep, those hills that range, 
 Stood all aghast t' observe the change; 
 To liud their friends buHbous and gluttons, 
 Instead of sober, homely muttons. 
 For, as upon those fells they rambled, 
 Our tourists chattered, aped, and gamboled, 
 Intent a traveller's name on earning. 
 By showing off outlandish learning. 
 Nor this alone ; for lapse of time 
 Had changed their taste to mock-sublime : 
 The greensward of tlieir native hills. 
 The friendly bleat and limpid rills. 
 With shepherd's fold, so unadorned, — 
 Such humdrum things our tourists scorned. 
 
 " Mere rustics," said the affected sheep, 
 " Such homely manners well may keep ; 
 Keep them, at least, for us, since we 
 Are dreadful travellers — don't ye see ? 
 Virtu and ton, and all that strikes, 
 Such are the things that Jacko likes; 
 And so do we — his fine grimace. 
 To caper, shrug, and grin with grace ! 
 Yet must we add — -pardonnez nous — 
 These polished modes befit not you : 
 But two sweet lambkins, born abroad, 
 Whose maniiers tout le monde must laud,
 
 THE SHEEP AND THE BABOONS. 155 
 
 We've left among the monkey nation, 
 To gain a finished education : 
 These vvell-hred lambs will grace the fold, 
 And polish you, both young and old. 
 For, only think, those little dears. 
 Are learning such accomplished leers. 
 Such shrugs divine, such (jout, such ton,. 
 As Grampian clowns ne'er gazed upon!" 
 
 " My friends ! " replied a grave old sheep, 
 " Such folly makes your brethren weep. 
 You've got, it seems, baboonish skill, — 
 Vast honour to the Grampian hill ! 
 But dearly is your learning bought, 
 And with portentous evil frought. 
 With all your fuss and much ado, 
 I think we're better bred than you. 
 To grin may suit, perhaps, for monkeys. 
 As braying suits the brainless donkeys; 
 But surely he's a silly loon, 
 Who sighs to ape a mere baboon : 
 Nor does it fit our sober race. 
 To study caj)ering and grimace. 
 Yet, most it grieves my anxious mind, 
 for those poor lambs you've left behind : 
 Be sure, my friends, you'll weep one day, 
 For throwing those poor dears away. 
 That foreign, crafty, monkey race. 
 By false tuition, will efface 
 All that is Grampian, all that's good. 
 All that befits their mind and blood, 
 All that is lamb-like, all that's true. 
 And turn them into monkeys too!"
 
 156 THK BATH FAHLES. 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Two ills infest the British nation — 
 Travel, and cloistered education ; 
 That were a blessing, wisely sought. 
 But this with every peril frought ! 
 
 Ye little dream, O ye who scale 
 Yon Alpine summits ! now so stale, 
 In annual visits to the grave 
 Of Roman grandeur and the brave, — 
 Ye little dream with v^hni finesse, 
 The Tiber monks your visits press, 
 And get up, year by year, for rjou, 
 St. Peter's paltry puppet view ! 
 
 And is it English ? is it gi-eat. 
 To see the elite of Albion's state, — 
 The rich, the noble, the devout, — 
 All flocking to this gew-gaw rout, 
 Mobbing and scrambling every year, 
 Like rustics at a wake or fair. 
 To gaze upon yon trumpery lore, — 
 The trappings of the scarlet whore ? 
 Oh, martyred Britons! burst your tomb, 
 And warn these truants of their doom ! 
 
 But chief I ask, how dare ye place 
 
 Your children in the wolf embrace. 
 
 Of hoodwinked nuns and Jesuits vile, 
 
 Who practise every harlot's wile, 
 
 Their freeborn souls to lure, while nursed. 
 
 Back to the chains our fathers burst ! 
 
 Spenser ! tliy hapless fate I weep ; 
 
 Thy fate should warn our wandering sheep !
 
 THE SHEEP AND THE BABOONS. 157 
 
 True British hearts, true British blood, 
 
 Must nobly stem the turbid flood, 
 
 Of foreign vices, feeling, thought, 
 
 So modish now, so dearly bought, 
 
 In Paris, Naples, crafty Rome, 
 
 The monk-wolf's lair, the strayling's tomb ! 
 
 Ye tourists of my natal isle ! 
 Awake, and fly the Pontiff's guile ! 
 I sound the tocsin ; mark it well, 
 Or 'tis the British Ziou's knell. 
 Stray not on Tiber's banks ; alas ! 
 There lurks a serpent in the grass ! 
 Or, travelling, faithful stand to truth, 
 To Britain's God and Britain's youth. 
 Trust not your offspring with the blind ; 
 Their hemlock cup would taint the mind ; 
 Preserve yourself, preserve your race. 
 From the malaria of the place. 
 So shall ye shield, from Rome's foul tread, 
 The isle where many a martyr bled ; 
 So shall ye guard, from Rome's foul stain, 
 That truth for which our sires were slain ! 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE PEOSE. 
 
 THE PERILS OF MONASTIC EDUCATION. 
 
 " We pledge, in the following lines, a glance behind 
 the convent scenes. With the immorality of these dread 
 abodes we will have nothing in common. For such 
 exposes of papal sanctity the reader may pernse Roscoe's
 
 158 THE BATU FABLKS. 
 
 ' Life of Bishop Scipio di Kicci,* and many other au- 
 thors of the highest reputation, that might be named, 
 where may be found details of facts at which morality 
 recoils. We could, indeed, recite facts of a most fright- 
 ful character, narrated to ourselves by a youth, who 
 had been placed in a conventual house of education ; 
 but with such details these pages shall not be sullied. 
 The offences we shall notice are against the minor 
 morals only. # * * « • 
 
 " For some weeks subsequent to her entrance among 
 her new companions, Agnes felt happy. The promises 
 held out in the card of the ' Maison d' Education Re- 
 ligieuse' were most scrupulously observed, even to mere 
 punctilios; and Miss Agnes began to wonder at the 
 strange anxiety of her dear, absent Orpheline. Respect 
 to her preventions, as Madame la Blanchette softly termed 
 her Protestant principles — respect of the most delicate 
 aspect — coupled with all the blandishments of Parisian 
 jjolitesse, all the acuteness of a practised Jesuit, and 
 all the seeming fondness of a solicitous and doting 
 mother, had thrown Agnes Moreville entirely off her 
 guard. But towards the close of the thii-d month, 
 her nice sense of propriety was somewhat shocked. 
 This first event to disturb her equanimity, and to alarm 
 her virtue, was a short conversation she had with one 
 of the secular pupils of the convent, Mdlle. Duplessis, 
 the only daughter of a banker of Berne, about two 
 years above her own age. This we must briefly detail: — 
 
 " About five o'clock of a most charming summer's 
 eve, Agnes and Julie Duplessis, having completed the 
 studies of the day, were seated alone in a small chambei- 
 that overlooked an elegant parterre in the rear of the 
 institution. The decorations of this apartment were
 
 THE SHEEP AND THE BABOONS, 
 
 159 
 
 in pei-fect keeping with the character of the place. 
 Among various prettinesses on a sofa-tahle, lay a pair 
 of scissors and some paper crosses, cut by the young 
 ladies the previous evening, as an amusement. The 
 skill and tact of this monastic recreation lie in so 
 folding a small slip of post, as, by a single longitudinal 
 slit with the scissors, to produce the cross of Christ, 
 those of the two thieves, the spear, tlie superscription, 
 and the dice used in casting lots for the Saviour's 
 garment. Ai-ound the room were hung characteristic 
 prints and paintings. Archbishop Sharp and Dr. 
 Watts, two sops to Cerberus, were almost lost in a 
 crowd of tutelary saints, beautiful virgins at confes- 
 sion, handsome young men taking the vows, a pompous 
 Pope blessing the kneeling Romans from the lofty 
 balcony of St. Peter's, and a small portrait of Erasmus, 
 neither a sop nor a bore. On an elegant boudoir stood 
 a tall, richly-gilt crucifix, and over this was suspended, 
 against the wall, a most fascinating print, tastefully 
 coloured, of the fable of St. Mary, in the act of de- 
 scending from the sky, and handing the rosary or beads 
 to a kneeling monk. The object of all this is most 
 obvious, nor less so the usual result. The eye is the 
 chief inlet to the heart, and juxtaposition to papal 
 usages makes as many proselytes to Romanism, as all 
 the wiles of a finished propagandist. 
 
 " ' Come, dear,' said Mdlle. Duplessis to Miss Agnes ; 
 ' come, sit by me a little, my love ; I want to tell you 
 something, for I love you, my Agnes — I love you 
 much, and in you I know I can confide.' 
 
 " ' I don't know how it is,' replied Agnes, as she 
 seated herself by her new friend, who threw a snowy 
 arm round her waist ; ' but I really could not help
 
 ] CO THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 loving you, dearest Julie, the first moment our eyes 
 met. In me you may confide ; for I think there is no 
 greater dishonour to one's-self, than first to raise con- 
 fidence and then betray it.' 
 
 " 'Do you like this Maison d'Education, dear Agnes?' 
 
 " ' Why, yes — on the whole. Madame is so kind — so 
 very kind ; and, dear Julie, as you are a Protestant, 
 I may add that every respect is paid to our principles.' 
 
 " ' That, my dear love, is precisely what I wish to 
 speak about. At first I felt as you do now, Agnes; but 
 two years have opened my eyes. My honoured parents 
 place such confidence in the promises of these con- 
 ventuals, I have hitherto hesitated to apprize them 
 of my danger, at least of the artful attacks systemati- 
 cally made upon my princii^les ; though I feel you have 
 most justly said, that first to raise confidence and then 
 betray it, is a horrid thing ; yes, dear Agnes, a horrid 
 thing.' 
 
 "'I own, my dearest Julie, it hardly seems fair to 
 furnish our little recreation room in this harlequin 
 
 style ; but ' 
 
 "'Ah, ma cJiere amie! that's nothing — nothing to 
 what I most complain of. Ere I had been six months 
 in this man-trap, I found to my extreme concern that 
 it is not the place for the children of Protestants. 
 Madame began to indulge in sly, witty, good-tempered 
 reflections on our faith. Books of papal character and 
 tendency were frequently tlirown in my way — care- 
 lessly as it was designed I should suppose ; but I soon 
 saw through all. When we do anything amiss, you 
 must yourself have observed that we are compelled to 
 do penance on our knees, much in the style of the con-
 
 THE SHEEP AND THE BABOONS. 161 
 
 fessional. And I do, I really do find, my love, that 
 constant contact, and warm young friendships with 
 the papal eleves, strangely familiarize one with popery, 
 and induce the helief that the creed of friends so 
 affectionate cannot he so false as is imagined. One 
 forgets that a mind may be angelic in sociability, yet 
 fiendish in creed — I mean when its creed is called upon 
 to act out its tendencies. Then again, at Christmas, 
 we are always solicited for a trifle to two or three 
 Chi-istmas-boxes, in order to aid the coffers of some 
 saint; for in convents, and in many papal lands, the 
 original object of these Christmas-boxes, or Christ's 
 mass boxes, is still kept up; and thus Protestant 
 pupils become insensibly mixed with papal usages and 
 papal modes of thinking.' 
 
 " ' Oh, my dearest Julie ! these are mere trifles.' 
 " ' Trifles they may be, my Agnes ; but an aggregate 
 of trifles the human mind must feel, and does feel, 
 highly detrimental to the strength and stability of its 
 principles. Water does not hollow the marble by great 
 force, but by frequent dropping. Yet this, my love, 
 is not all. Do we not often converse with young 
 ladies about to take the veil? Do we not often feel 
 rather disposed to admire than censure tbem ? Do we 
 not sometimes see the nuns at devotion ? Does not 
 Madame la gouvernante often speak to us of those 
 " angelic virgins," as she chooses to style the nuns, in 
 terms that make us half ashamed of our own secularity? 
 Are we not made, as though without design — at least, 
 the richer lay pupils — to hear the choral chanting of 
 the veiled ladies, and this in circumstances formed to 
 make a deep and lasting impression on the heart of 
 the young listener ? And when a nun takes the veil, 
 
 M
 
 IG2 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 amidst every blandishment of scene and of circum- 
 stance, arc we not "permitted" to witness the pompous 
 rites? And let me ask you, dear Agnes, can all this 
 be for ever before our eyes, and we yet remain un- 
 scathed?'" 
 
 " Agnes Moreiille." 
 
 FABLE XVII. 
 THE CHAFFINCH AND THE COW. 
 
 FOR THE STINGY. 
 
 OH, Tommy Selfish ! when you've got 
 A fine Bath-bun, all piping hot, 
 Yet grudge dear sister Jane a bit, 
 Though she in tears solicits it ; 
 If you peruse this fable o'er, 
 I hope you'll ne'er be stingy more : 
 Nay, let some others read the page; 
 'Twill give a hint to every age. 
 
 A t that sweet stage of vernal time, 
 "When smiling Spring is in her prime, 
 The loving birds begin to pair, 
 And build their nests, all neat and fair. 
 Merry they pass their hours away. 
 And sing of love the livelong day : 
 And oft the urchin, when he strays, 
 O'er the green fields on sunny days. 
 May see the daring warblers pull, 
 From cows and sheep, the hair and wool,
 
 THE CHAFFINCH AND THE COW. 163 
 
 To make their nests both soft and warm, 
 And guard their young ones from the storm. 
 How good is God — supreme!}^ good — 
 Who teaches birds to mind their brood ! 
 And strange a sinful world like this, 
 Should teem with life, and love, and bliss ! 
 
 A i^retty chaffinch, one such dawn, 
 Came to a cow upon the lawn, 
 Near farmer Wheatsheaf's barton gate, 
 Wliere sheep and cattle lay in state ; 
 And made old Peg this one request, — 
 A tuft of hair to line her nest. 
 
 " Pray, Mrs. Cow!" the chaffinch said, 
 " Lend me your aid to make a bed ; 
 I only," cries the little creature. 
 With suppliant air in every feature, 
 " I ouly ask — indeed 'tis true — 
 What's old and quite unfit for you. 
 In picking loose hairs from your back, 
 I shall be rich, and you'll not lack. 
 These hairs, which cause you no expense, 
 I'll take to yon sweet holly fence, 
 And spread them, with my little legs. 
 All round my nest, to warm the eggs ; 
 And when my pretty young are flush. 
 They'll perch on some nice verdant bush. 
 And sing you many a tuneful lay. 
 For favours granted me this day." 
 
 " I see," responds the churUsh cow, 
 
 " Some truth in that old adage now, — 
 
 ' Folks count their chicks before they're hatched ;' 
 
 But Peg is not so tamely catched.
 
 104 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 Not with a single hair I part, 
 
 To make a stranger's dwelling smart ; 
 
 Your young ma^' die, your eggs may freeze, 
 
 Or you may eat 'm if you please. 
 
 And why come begging as you do ? 
 
 I ne'er got anything of you. 
 
 Go oif to farmer Dobson's sheep, 
 
 And pluck their wool wliile fast asleep. 
 
 As to your songs, and all that stufi', 
 
 I've heard your lyrics long enough ; 
 
 You tear your throat from spray to spray, 
 
 And scream me crazy every day. 
 
 Cows are no poets, you must know. 
 
 Nor want a song from friend or foe ; 
 
 And as I ask no boon of you. 
 
 Excuse me if 1 give none too : 
 
 None will you get from me to-day ; 
 
 So you may take yourself away. 
 
 Sing to the wood ; let cows alone ; 
 
 We've sweeter music of our own." 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Commend me to a noble mind. 
 Delighting to oblige mankind ; 
 Prompt to impart to all around, 
 The happiness itself has found. 
 This mind, this nobleness of thought, 
 The ever-loving -lesus tauglit, — 
 Taught both in life, and when, in death, 
 For others He resigned his breatli. 
 "I'he grudge, the stingy, and the churl — 
 Or man or woman, boy or gii'l —
 
 THE CHAFFINCH AND THE COW. 165 
 
 We cannot love : so, reader, be 
 Obliging, generous and free ; 
 Thus will you cojiy God above, 
 Whose nature and whose law is love. 
 
 ILLTJSTEATIVE PROSE. 
 
 A SCENE ON THE PONT NEUE. 
 
 " If the French do not follow in all respects the 
 precepts of the Gospel, at least it must be confessed 
 that they pay due regard to the apostle's injunction, 
 ' Weep with those that weej^, and rejoice with those 
 that rejoice.' I have seen a thousand instances of 
 this disposition, but I do not know that I ever wit- 
 nessed one with more pleasure than that which I am 
 about to relate. 
 
 " I was crossing the Pont Neuf, which, be it said, 
 by way of parenthesis, is the most misshapen, ugly, 
 clumsy-looking bridge I ever saw in my life ; but this 
 one must not say to the Parisians, who are as proud 
 of it, and the dirty, ditch-like river that runs under 
 it, as if the one were the masterpiece of nature, and 
 the other of art. I remember a Frenchman once 
 asking me whether we had anything like it in London. 
 T answered, ' No,' with gi-eat emphasis and equal sin- 
 cerity ; but as a Frenchman always construes what you 
 say into a compliment, if it be possible, he professed 
 liimself enchanted with my candour, and invited me 
 to dinner on the spot.
 
 1(56 THE I5ATH FABLES. 
 
 " 3Iais revenons a nos moutons ! I was crossing the 
 Pont Neuf at the moment when a porter, helougiug 
 to the Bank of France, pretty well tired of the weight 
 he carried (it was a bag containing nine thousand 
 iVancs in silver), stopped to rest liimself, by leaning 
 against the parapet-wall of the bridge ; but at the 
 moment that he did so, his valuable load, either from 
 awkwardness or carelessness, slipped out of his hands, 
 and fell into the Seine, which in that spot is very deep. 
 
 " Never shall I forget his look of despair. He made 
 a movement as if to jump over; and, I believe, would 
 have efiected his j)urpose, but for the presence of mind 
 of a girl, a little delicate-looking thing about sixteen, 
 a violet-seller, who, clasping her arms round him, cried 
 for help, which in an instant was afforded. Myself 
 and some others seized him ; he struggled with us 
 desperately. 
 
 " * Let me go ! let me go ! ' cried he ; ' I am ruined 
 for ever ! My wife ! my children ! what will become 
 of you ? ' 
 
 " A multitude of voices were raised at once, some 
 to console, others to inquire ; but above the rest were 
 heard the clear and silvery tones of the little violet- 
 girl :— 
 
 " ' My friend, have patience ; you have lost nothing.' 
 
 " ' Nothing ! heavens ! ' 
 
 "'No, no; I tell you no. Let some one run for 
 the divers ; there is no doubt that they will succeed 
 in bringing it up.' 
 
 " ' She is right ! ' resounded from a number of voices, 
 and from mine among the rest ; and in an instant
 
 THE CHAFFINCH AND THE COW. 16'i 
 
 half-a-dozen people ran to fetch the divers. Those 
 who remained exerted themselves, each in his way, 
 for the solace of the poor porter. One brought him a 
 small glass of liqueur ; another a little brandy; a third 
 some eau-de-Cologne; and four or five presented the 
 gi-and specific, sugar and water. The little violet-girl 
 had been before all the rest in administering a cordial, 
 and perhaps hers was the most efficacious — a glass of 
 pure water, which she held to his trembling lips, and 
 made him swallow. 
 
 "'Drink '.'cried she; 'drink it up; it will do you good' 
 " Whether it was the water, or the kind and sympa- 
 thetic manner with which it was offered, that relieved 
 him, I know not ; but certainly one of the two had its 
 effect, for his looks grew less wild ; he burst into a 
 passionate fit of weeping, and, by degrees, became 
 composed enough to make his acknowledgments to the 
 humane spectators, who had shown such interest in 
 his misfortune. 
 
 " The divers soon came, and one of them descended 
 without loss of time. Never did I witness such an 
 intense anxiety as the search excited: if the fate of 
 every one present had hung upon the success, they 
 could not have testified greater interest in it. Soon he 
 re-appeared, bringing up, not the bag of silver, but a 
 small iron box. It was instantly broken open, and 
 found to be full of twenty-franc pieces in gold. They 
 were soon counted, and found to amount to nearly 
 12,000 francs— about £450 sterling.* 
 
 * The cii-cumstances of the porter's dropping his bag into the 
 Seine, and the diver's finding, on descending to search for it, a 
 box full of gold, actually happened in Paris, in the month of 
 Febniary, 1826.
 
 168 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 " There were three divers, who, overjoyed at their 
 good fortune, speedily divided the prize among them- 
 selves; and directly afterwards another descended in 
 search of the porter's bag. This time he returned with 
 it in triumph. The poor fellow could scarcely speak 
 when they put it into his hands. Ou coming to him- 
 self, he cried with vehemence — 
 
 " ' God reward you ! you know not the good that you 
 have done. I am the father of five children. I was 
 formerly in good circumstances, but a series of mis- 
 fortunes reduced me to the greatest distress. All that 
 I had left was an irreproachable character, and that 
 procured me my present situation ; I have had it but 
 a week. To-day, without your help, I should have lost 
 it. My wife, my children, would have been exposed 
 to all the horrors of want ; they would have been de- 
 prived of a husband and a father; for never — no, never! 
 — could I have survived the ruin 1 should have brought 
 ui»on them ! It is you who have saved us all ; God 
 will reward you — He alone can.' 
 
 " WhUe he thus spoke, he rummaged in his pocket, 
 and drew out some francs. 
 
 " ' This is all I have — 'tis very little ; but tell me 
 where you live, and to-morrow ' 
 
 "'Not a farthing!' interrupted they with one voice. 
 And one of them added, ' Stop a bit ; let mo talk to my 
 comrades.' They stepped aside for a moment; I fol- 
 lowed them with my eyes, and I saw, by their gestures, 
 that they listened to their companion with emotion. 
 
 " ' We are all of a mind,' said be, returning with 
 them. ' Yes, my friend, if we have been serviceable 
 to you, YOU also have been the cause of our good
 
 THE CHAFFINCH AND THE COW. 
 
 169 
 
 fortune : it seems to me, then, that we ought to share 
 with you what God has sent us through your means. 
 My companions think so too, and we are going to 
 divide it into four equal shares.' 
 
 "The porter would have remonstrated, hut his voice 
 was drowned by the acclamations of the spectators. 
 
 " ' Generous fellows ! '— ' ^Much good may it do you ! ' 
 — ' The same luck to you many more times ! ' resounded 
 from every mouth. There was not one present but 
 seemed as happy, as if he or she were about to par- 
 ticipate in the contents of the box. I defy the most 
 determined misanthrope to witness this touching pic- 
 ture of happiness, arising from motives so disinterested 
 and pure, without thinking the better of poor, calum- 
 niated human nature. 
 
 "The money was divided, and, malgre his excuses, 
 the porter was forced to take liis share. The generous 
 divers went their way ; the crowd began to disperse ; 
 but the porter still lingered, and I had the curiosity 
 to remain, in order to watch his motions. He a})- 
 proached the little violet-girl. 
 
 " ' Ah ! my dear,' cried he ; ' what do I not owe you ! 
 but for you it had been all over with me. My wife, 
 my little ones, must thank you.' 
 
 "'2Iafoi! it is not worth mentioning. Would you 
 have had me stand by, and see you drown yourself? ' 
 
 " ' But your courage, your strength ! could one have 
 exi)ected it from so young a girl ? ' 
 
 " ' Ah ! there is no want of strength wherever there 
 is good-will.' 
 
 " 'And nobody ever had more of that. Give me six 
 of your bouquets, my dear; my childi-en are so fond
 
 170 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 of violets, aud never have they jirized any as they will 
 do these." 
 
 " She twisted a hit of thread round six of her fairy 
 nosegays, and ])resented them to him. He deposited 
 them carefully in his bosom, and slipped something 
 into her hand ; then, without waiting to hear the ac- 
 knowledgments which she began to pour forth, took to 
 liis heels as if Ins bag had been made of feathers. 
 
 " The girl looked after him with pleasure dancing 
 in her eyes. 
 
 " ' What will you take for the rest of j'our nosegays?' 
 said I, going up to her. 
 
 " ' Whatever you are pleased to give,' cried she, with 
 vivacity ; ' for that good man's money will burn my 
 pocket till I get home to give it to my mother. Oh ! 
 how glad will she be to have all that, and still more 
 when she knows why it has been given to me ! ' 
 
 " The reader will easily believe that my purchase 
 was speedily made : the good girl's purse was some- 
 thing the heavier for it, and I had the pleasure of 
 thinking that I contributed, in a small degree, to re- 
 ward the goodness of heart she had so imequivocally 
 displayed. She hastened home with her little treasure, 
 and I returned to my lodging to put my violets into 
 water, promising myself, as I did so, to be a frequent 
 customer to the little nosegay-girl of the Pont Neuf." 
 
 Achermann's Repository. 
 
 There are niggards who would burn a neighbour's 
 thatch to roast an Q^g, or try to save their gold wlien the 
 world is on fire ; yet, how often one meets with generous 
 souls after all !
 
 THE TODRIST AND THE CICERONE. 171 
 
 FABLE XVm. 
 THE TOURIST AND THE CICERONE. 
 
 FOR SENATORS. 
 
 AS gossips lounge at every door, 
 On scandal bent, and nothing more ; 
 So brainless tourists often spend 
 Whole seasons I'or no earthly end. 
 But fritter aU their time away, 
 From Paris down to Naples' Bay, — 
 See all the lions, all the fun, 
 Yet vacant ail when all is done ; 
 For what can monks and moppets teach, 
 Save morals honoured in the breach ? 
 
 But some inspect the princely dome, 
 The villa, senate, fane, or tomb. 
 To enrich the mind by all they view. 
 And add a page to science too. 
 What pity, then, if thirst of gain. 
 Their noble ardour should restrain! 
 
 A British tourist crossed the wave, 
 To droj) a tear at Virgil's grave. 
 'Twas easy work a tomb to find. 
 Embalmed in every classic mind : 
 Yet as he paced the hallowed moimd, 
 A cicerone reached the ground, 
 And, with officious cai'e, began 
 To show the tomb, mark out the plan, 
 And fix, with much annoying chat. 
 The name of this, the date of that.
 
 172 
 
 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 To shake such fellows off, demands 
 A hero's nerve, if not his hands : 
 No matter what our tourist wished. 
 The man was firm, and lie was dished. 
 The survey made, our traveller gave 
 A few carlini to the knave ; 
 Then kindly bowed his comrade off. 
 But found the fellow rather tough. 
 
 " Signor ! " the cicerone cried ; 
 
 " Will five carlini pay your guide"? 
 
 Madonna ! after all my jjains 
 
 And studies in these vast remains, — 
 
 Pompcian, Herculanean mound, — 
 
 For through and through I've conned the 
 
 ground, — 
 Am I, a learned cicerone. 
 To starve on salt and macaroni? 
 Per caritd, Signor, reflect ; 
 How can Milordo e'er expect 
 A gentleman of my profession, 
 Should tamely bow to such opjiression? 
 Two ducats I must have, at least. 
 And even that's a meagre feast." 
 
 The hampered Briton forced a frown, 
 But threw the shining ducats down; 
 And " Zounds!" he cried, as down they flew, 
 " There's no escaping sharks like you ! " 
 
 " Sharks ! did you say?" the man replied ; 
 " Am I a shark — your learned guide ? 
 Then what, Milordo, can you say, 
 Should I avow, as well I may,
 
 THE TOURIST AND THE CICERONE. 173 
 
 That Eugland has hei* sharks as well, 
 
 And great sharks, too, as travellers tell ! 
 
 For never yet — so all complain — • 
 
 Did tourist cross the German main, 
 
 The lions of your isle to view, 
 
 Without abundant cause to rue: 
 
 You fleece them here, you fleece them there ; 
 
 In short, you fleece them everywhere ! " 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Ye senators of Albion's isle ! 
 How long shall love of pelf beguile ? 
 How long shall this deep stigma last ? 
 How long shall strangers stand aghast ? 
 We, only we, a splendid nation. 
 Make public fanes a speculation ! 
 
 Say, is it manly, great or wise, 
 
 When foreign friends would feast their eyes 
 
 Upon oui' monuments of yore. 
 
 To plant your showmen at each door ; 
 
 Who, in the nation's name, demand 
 
 A shabby threepence, cap in hand ? 
 
 What travelled Briton ever pays 
 At French jardins, or cabinets ? 
 Go to the tyrant of the Nile, 
 Where genius scarcely dares to smile, 
 Where Arabs dread the proud Bashaw, 
 Whose will is fate, whose nod is law ; 
 Demand his price for what you see. 
 And learn tliat Egypt's fanes are fi-ee ! 
 
 Let, then, the Senate and the Hall, 
 The Pillar, Abbey, and St. Paul,
 
 174 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 No longer stoop a fare to take, 
 Like raree-showmen at a wake ; 
 But freely ope each ample dome, 
 To all abroad, and all at home ! 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE PROSE. 
 
 JONATHAN KENTUCKY'S JOURNAL. 
 
 " What a different animal an Englishman is at home 
 and abroad ! Abroad, he cannot move a step without 
 abusing everything and everybody, while he sings an 
 everlasting lo Pmin in praise of Old England ; at 
 home, he rails, with equal violence, at all the customs 
 and institutions of his own country. At home, he is 
 a lover of liberty, and an advocate for the equal rights 
 of mankind ; abroad, he acts, like the Roman pro- 
 consuls in their provinces, as if the greater part of 
 the human species were brought into the world for 
 no other purpose than to wait upon his pleasure. In 
 lighter matters, too, the distinction is equally striking. 
 Abroad, he is an indefatigable sight-seer, and will not 
 pass through the obscurest town without an accurate 
 scrutiny of everything that a laquais de place can point 
 out to his notice : at home, he loses entirely this thirst 
 for information ; and I verily believe there are many 
 Englishmen who have lived half their lives in London, 
 and yet know less of its curiosities than they do of 
 Rome, Athens, or Thebes. 
 
 " An English friend, who has visited three quarters
 
 THE TOURIST AND THE CICERONE. 175 
 
 of tlie globe, called on rae this morniug just as I was 
 setting out upon my daily pilgrimage, and upon my 
 applying to him to direct me in the selection of the 
 worthiest objects of curiosity, he candidly acknowledged 
 that, excepting Westminster Abbey, the Tower, the 
 British Museum, and Exeter Change, which he had 
 been taken to see as a school-boy, he had never de- 
 voted a single morning to the examination of London. 
 ' Come, then,' said I, ' you shall accompany me to-day ;' 
 and so off we set. For the first time in his life he saiv 
 St. Paul's; for though he had often looked at it through 
 the fog of Fleet-street, he had never surveyed it, in all 
 its details, with the attention which so noble a struc- 
 ture deserves. St. Paul's is only second to St. Peter's ; 
 and in comparing them, we must not forget what the 
 English with justice boast of — that while it required 
 twelve architects, nineteen popes, and 145 years, to 
 complete the building of St. Peter's, St. Paul's was 
 begun and finished in the short space of thirty-five 
 years, under one bishop — Dr. Compton — and by one 
 architect — Sir Christopher Wren, who laid the first 
 stone in the year 1675, and lived to see the last stone 
 of the lantern placed by the hands of his son, in the 
 year 1710. 
 
 " Wren, the son of the architect, in liis * Parentalia,' 
 relates, that ' in the beginning of the new works of 
 St. Paul's, an incident was taken notice of by some 
 people as a memorable omen : when Sir Christopher 
 in person had set out upon the place the dimensions 
 of the great dome, and fixed upon the centre, a common 
 labourer was ordered to bring a flat stone from the 
 heaps of I'ubbish (such as should first come to hand), 
 to be laid for a mark and direction to the masons. The
 
 176 THE HATH FABLES. 
 
 Stone, which was immediately brought and laid down 
 for that purpose, happened to be a piece of a grave- 
 stone, with nothing remaining of the inscription but 
 this simjile word, in large capitals — K.ESUKGAM ! ' 
 This accidental hint suggested to Sii* Christopher the 
 idea of the phoenix, which he placed on the soutli 
 portico, with the same word inscribed beneath it. * * 
 
 " I have been much interested, during my residence 
 in London, by visiting different j)laces of education. 
 I have already explored Westminster and the Charter 
 House, and I hope soon to make excursions to Eton 
 and Harrow. There is not in the world to me a more 
 gratifying spectacle than a well-regulated, happy school; 
 — and in order to be ha])py, it seems only necessary 
 that it should be well-regulated. There must be some- 
 thing vicious indeed in the system, that can throw a 
 cloud over that joyous season of existence, whe i the 
 * first sprightly runnings ' of life are all sparkle and 
 vivacity. If there be a duty incumbent on parents, 
 it is to take care, by the proper destination of tlieir 
 children in this respect, that those be not years of 
 l)itter sufieriug and galling servitude, which ought to 
 be years of sportive gaiety and light-hearted enjoy- 
 ment. * * * * 
 
 "It is really edifying, after witnessing their own 
 practices, to hear the English scoff at the obli piities 
 of other nations, and put themselves forward as the 
 leaders and enhghteners of Christendom. The fact is, 
 there is no country where improvement wins its way 
 with slower j^rogress, against the inveterate opposition 
 of ignorance and prejudice. They seem yet to be 
 scarcely convinced, in spite of the examjile of other
 
 THE TOURIST AND THE CICERONE. 177 
 
 nations, that tlie discipline of an army can be main- 
 tained without the constant flaying alive of a certain 
 portion of tlie soldiers, 'pour encourager les autres! It 
 is but the other day that they ventured to repeal the 
 established law which subjected women {horresco re- 
 ferens) to be nakedly and publicly whipped in the open 
 market-place, by the common executioner. Whatever 
 progress they have made in civilisation and improve- 
 ment, is due to the persevering efforts of enterprising 
 individuals, who have pursued their object through all 
 obstacles, with enthusiastic and unabating ardour. 
 * # « # * 
 
 " This being Easter Monday, a party of holiday 
 friends called to invite me to join them in a water 
 expedition down to Greenwich. It is this part of its 
 scenery that gives to Eondon so great a superiority 
 over Paris in grandeur and magnificence. The ma- 
 jestic march of the river, the solid splendoi.ir of the 
 bridges, and the countless forest of masts through 
 which you wiud your course, overpower the mind with 
 tlie ideas of an unlimited extent of wealth and power. 
 An Englishman who wishes to impress a stranger with 
 an admiration of London, should take him in a boat 
 from Waterloo-bridge to the Custom House, the great 
 room of which is indeed an imposing spectacle. The 
 weather was beautiful, and nothing could be more pro- 
 pitious to the diversions of the Park. The trees were 
 in their freshest green, tlie grass soft and dry, — the day, 
 in short, seemingly made on purpose for the lasses to 
 roll down the hill, with all due observances. The 
 English, however, do not appear to advantage in a 
 holiday scene. Those who were not drunk, were dull ; 
 and in the merriment of the former there was too much
 
 178 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 coarseness and brutality. The French are the people 
 to figure at a fair ! and a fete at St. Cloud exhibits that 
 light-heeled and light-hearted nation in their most he- 
 coming point of view. The view from Greenwich-hill 
 cannot well be surpassed. It reminds me of the de- 
 scription in the Scripture of that mountain, from which 
 the Devil ' showed all the kingdoms of the world in a 
 moment of time.' Independently of the picturesque 
 beauty of the scene, the mind of the spectator is lost 
 in the contemplation of all the pride, pomp, and cir- 
 cumstance belonging to the gi-eat ones of the earth, 
 that is here spread out with so much prodigality be- 
 neath his feet. 
 
 " Nothing amused me more at the fair than to see 
 the Chancellor of the Exchequer, with another of the 
 cabinet ministers, arm-in-arm, mingled with the crowd, 
 in the very thick of the fun. I presume, if he had been 
 recognised as 'the gentleman who laid on all the taxes,' 
 it would have created no small alarm, especially among 
 the * little goes' lest his visit should turn out to be a 
 voyage of discovery in quest of ways and means for his 
 next budget." 
 
 New Monthly Magazine. 
 
 VISITORS TO PUBLIC MONUMENTS. 
 
 According to a return, the number of visitors to the 
 armory of the Tower of London, from the 1st of Feb- 
 ruary, 1845, to March 31, 18.50, has been 249,338; and 
 the amount received, at the rate of 0<7. each for admission, 
 is X'0233 <Js. During the above period, £-U2G has been 
 expended in the purchase of armour and ancient weapons,
 
 THE TOUKIST AND THE CICERONE. 179 
 
 and the allowaaces to warders, collectors, &c., have been 
 £4320. The annual number of visitors to the Jewel- 
 houses, from January 1, 1,845, to January 1, 1850, has 
 ranged from 46,737 (in 184(3) to 41,482 (in 1849), the 
 receipts from the admission fee of 6d. being for the cor- 
 responding years ^1168 and ^1037. The yearly amount 
 expended in keeping up this establishment varies from 
 £1354 (in 1849) to ^1339 (in 1845). The total number 
 of visitors admitted without charge to the Gardens and 
 Palace of Hampton Court during the year 1849 amounted 
 to 168,195, the largest numbers being in the months of 
 May, June, July, August, and September, ranging from 
 49,476 (in August) to 14,505 (in September). The 
 number of visitors admitted gratis to the Botanical Gar- 
 dens at Kew, in the same year, was 187,865, from June 
 to September being the period when the greatest number 
 of visitors were admitted. The Royal pleasure-grounds 
 at Kew, which are open from Midsummer to Michaelmas, 
 were visited in the same year by 41,455 persons. 
 
 The total yearly amount of money taken at West- 
 minster Abbey from 1845 to 1849, inclusively, has ranged 
 from £1306 (in 1845) to ^968 (in 1849). The public is 
 admitted gratis to the nave, transepts, and choir, and a 
 charge of 6d. is made on each individual for exhibiting 
 the chapels. The money thus levied, after payment of 
 the tomb-showmen and the expenses of cleaning the 
 monuments, is devoted to such ornamental improve- 
 ments of the abbey, and buildings belonging thereto, as 
 do not fall within the ordinary repairs of the fabric. 
 The yearly amount received for the admission of visitors 
 to St. Paul's Cathedral, at the rate oi 2d. for each indi- 
 vidual, during the same period, ranges from ^589 (in 
 1845) to ^429 (in 1848). The sums so received are
 
 180 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 divided, according to long-continued practice, among the 
 four vergers of the cathedral, for their own benefit. 
 
 The gi'oss snm is not at all considerable, for a 
 na,tion whose annual revenue is about fifty millions 
 sterling. Let us, then, hope that a considerate Legisla- 
 ture and clergy will soon place England on a par with 
 Egypt and the continental nations, as regards our public 
 monuments. 
 
 FABLE XIX. 
 
 THE MONKEY AND THE BEAK. 
 
 FOR FOPS AND FLIRTS. 
 
 NO slattern is the maid for me ; 
 A well-dressed youth I love to see : 
 But should the young, and old, alas ! 
 Mis-spend full liours before the glass. 
 Yet neither mind nor heart adorn. 
 Can I admire? — 1 only scorn. 
 "What's fair I love, as Heaven designed ; 
 But give me virtue, taste, and mind ! 
 
 Down in the sunny soutli of France — 
 At Lyons — where the Rhone waves dance. 
 While at my inn, one sultry day. 
 Behold a scene both gi-ave and gay ! 
 A noisy rabble crammed the court. 
 Intent, I saw, on vulgar s])ort; 
 A swarthy Lombard led the van. 
 And by him rode a little man : 
 A man it seemed, and yet the prig 
 Was but an ape in fullest Jigue.
 
 THE MONKEY AND THE BEAR. 181 
 
 This exquisite, this grinning elf, 
 Might pass for all things but himself, — 
 The dwarfish, jabbering, strutting ape. 
 Appeared iu such fantastic drape. 
 He wore a crimson pantaloon. 
 Laced up each thigh with gilt galloon ; 
 This clad his breech, and yet did fail 
 To hide the little fellow's tail ! 
 A gaudy coat, a vest of blue, 
 Of red, and gold, and every hue, — 
 A dashing colonel's gold-laced cap, — 
 Completely robed the bustling chap. 
 
 I marked that this conceited noodle 
 Was mounted on a shaggy poodle. 
 On whose stout back he learned to ride, 
 A broadsword dangling at his side. 
 With many a grin he mounts, descends. 
 Draws out his sword, attacks, defends ; 
 And when a shower of coppers fall. 
 Pug doffs his cap, and pockets all. 
 Lau ! how the folks stood giggling round, 
 To see him cull them from the ground ! 
 But when he crammed his pocket full. 
 They roared like some Tiberian bull. 
 
 " Thanks, good Signers ! " the Lombard tramp 
 Demurely cries, and all decamp. 
 
 Just as our pigmy chevalier 
 
 Had left my inn, he met a bear, 
 
 Led in a chain, and skilled to dance, — 
 
 Such things are common-place in France. 
 
 Now, Bruin was a civil blade. 
 
 For, as they plied the selfsame trade.
 
 182 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 He bowed to Pug with friendly look, 
 But met an insult few could brook. 
 
 " You clumsy scoundrel ! " bawls the ape ; 
 " You lump of life, devoid of sba]ic ! 
 How dare you, sirrah ! make so free 
 With well-dressed gentlemen like me ! 
 Look at my cap, with plumes so rare, — 
 Such caps field-marshals only wear ! 
 Look at my gold-laced coat, how gay ! — 
 You don't see such things every day ! 
 Look at my nag and pantaloon, — 
 Fit for a knight or bold dragoon ! 
 Look at my sword, my whiskers too, 
 And think if I'm to speak to you ! 
 Fine gentlemen, of my estate, 
 Associate only with tlie great, — 
 That well-dressed clique of belles and beaux. 
 Known by the splendour of their clothes. 
 So budge ! for colonels and diagoons 
 Have no acquaintance with i)oltroous ! " 
 
 " You brainless puppy !" Bruin cries ; 
 " You're known in spite of your disguise : 
 No iinery can change an ape. 
 In manners, morals, mind, or shape. 
 Hope not, Sir Pug! a half baboon 
 Can pass for colonel or dragoon : 
 You strut too much for gentle birth — 
 The butt of each spectator's mirth. 
 Folks rai-ely laugh at birtli or need, 
 For being what it is indeed; 
 'Tis apes like you they jeer and joke, 
 Who faiu would pass for other folk.
 
 THE MONKEY AND THE BEAR. 183 
 
 Put gaudy robes, I plainly see, 
 Have made no gentleman of thee : 
 Belace a hoi>sack as you will, 
 'Tis but a vulgar hop-sack still. 
 
 " I saw a peacock t'other day, 
 
 Like you, Sir Pug ! a popinjay; 
 
 Like you an ape, like you a thrall, 
 
 Like you the laughing-stock of all. 
 
 ' Look at that bird ! ' some dustmen bawl ; 
 
 ' Proud as a lacquey at Vauxhall ! 
 
 Look what a fuss the coxcomb makes, 
 
 Like all Boul'vard and Opera rakes ! 
 
 Fine feathers make fine birds, you see ; 
 
 Dustmen might look as grand as he : 
 
 But strip his finery away. 
 
 And what's a peacock any day ? ' 
 
 And what are you, my bold dragoon. 
 
 In colonel's cap and pantaloon, 
 
 That scarce conceals — forgive my speech — 
 
 The tail that dangles at your breech ! 
 
 I'll tell you what you are, — you're still 
 
 A monkey, don you as they will ! " 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 The fairest ornaments of youth, 
 Ai-e virtue, modesty, and truth : 
 Temper and intellect will grace 
 The rudest form, the plainest face ; 
 But virtue is the crown of all, 
 'Tis beauty's self in great and small. 
 
 Would you be loved ? — and all folks may, — 
 Dress neat and cleanly every day ;
 
 184 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 Waste not two precious hours each morn, 
 The bust, the face, tlie head t' adorn. 
 No ornament makes good or wise ; 
 Dress to your rank, but pomp despise : 
 Eraiding and tinsel, rouge and eait, 
 The good for goodness will forego : 
 Improve your heart and mind with care ; 
 'Twill make you lovely, if not fair. 
 
 Fair are the fair, we don't disguise ; 
 But fairer yet, if good and wise : 
 Fair are the fair, but fairer still 
 Are those we love, bo what they will. 
 For goodness, not for charms alone, 
 Othello loved young Desdemone ; 
 But virtue, temper, sense, and heart, 
 The gaudiest drajje can ne'er impart. 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE PROSE. 
 
 ON BEAUX AND COQUETTES. 
 
 " I WAS yesterday engaged in an assembly of vir- 
 tuosos, where one of them produced many curious ob- 
 servations, which he had lately made in the anatomy 
 of a human body. Another of the company commu- 
 nicated to us several wonderful discoveries, wliicli he had 
 also made on the same subject, by the help of very fine 
 glasses. * * The different opinions which were 
 started on this occasion, j^resented to my imagination 
 so many new ideas, that, by mixing with those which 
 were already there, they employed my fancy all the last 
 night, and composed a very wild, extravagant dream.
 
 THE MONKEY AND THE BEAR.' 185 
 
 " I was invited, metlioiicfht, to the dissection of a 
 heaus head, and a coquette's heart, which were both 
 of them laid on a table before us. An imaginary- 
 operator opened the first, with a great deal of nicety, 
 which, upon a cursory and superficial view, appeared 
 like the head of another man ; but, upon applying our 
 glasses to it, we made a very odd discovery, namely, 
 that what we looked upon as brains, were not such in 
 reality, but a heap of strange materials, wound up in 
 that sha])e and texture, and packed together with won- 
 derful art in the several cavities of the skull. 
 
 " The pineal gland, which many of our modern phi- 
 losophers suppose to be the seat of the soul, smelt very 
 strong of essence and orange-flower water, and was 
 encompassed with a kind of horny substance, cut into 
 a thousand little faces or mirrors, which were imper- 
 ceptible to the naked eye; insomuch, that the soul, if 
 there had been any here, must have been always taken 
 up in contemj^lating her own beauties. 
 
 " We observed a large antrum or cavity in the 
 sinciput, that was filled with ribands, lace, and em- 
 broidery, wrought together in a most curious piece of 
 network, the parts of which were likewise imper- 
 ceptible to the naked eye. Another of these antrums, 
 or cavities, was stuffed with invisible billets-doux, love- 
 letters, pricked dances, and other trumpery of the same 
 nature. In another, we found a kind of powder, which 
 set the whole company a-sneezing, and by the scent 
 discovered itself to be right Spanish. The several 
 other cells were stored with commodities of the same 
 kind, of which it would be tedious to give the reader 
 an exact inventory.
 
 186 THE 15ATH FABLES. 
 
 " There was a large cavity on each side the head, which 
 I must not omit. That on the right side was filled 
 with fictions, flatteries, and falsehoods; vows, promises, 
 and jirotestations : that on the left, with oaths and 
 imprecations. There issued out a duct from each of 
 these cells, which ran into the root of the tongue, where 
 both joined together, and passed forward in one com- 
 mon duct to the tip of it. We discovered several little 
 roads or canals running from the ear into the brain, 
 and took jiarticuilar care to trace them out through their 
 several passages. One of them extended itself to a 
 bundle of sonnets and little musical-instruments. 
 Others ended in several bladders, whicli were filled 
 either with wind or froth. J5ut the lai'ge canal entered 
 into a great cavity of the skull, from whence there went 
 another canal into the tongue. This great cavity was 
 filled with a kind of sjiongy substance, which the 
 French anatomists call galimatias, and the English, 
 nonsense. 
 
 " The skins of the forehead were extremely tough and 
 thick, and, what very much surprised us, had not in them 
 any single blood-vessel, that we were able to discover, 
 cither with or without our glasses ; from whence we 
 concluded that the party, when alive, must have been 
 entirely deprived of the faculty of blushing. 
 
 " The OS cribriforme was exceedingly stuffed, and in 
 some places damaged with snutf. We could not but 
 take notice in particular of that small muscle, which is 
 not often discovered in dissection, and draws the nose 
 upwards, when it expresses the contempt whicli the 
 owner of it has, upon seeing anything he does not like, 
 or hearing anything he does not understand. I need 
 not tell my leai'ned reader, this is that muscle which
 
 THE MONKEY AND THE BEAR. 187 
 
 performs the motion so often mentioned by the Latin 
 poets, when they talk of a man's cocking his nose, or 
 plajdng the rhinoceros. 
 
 " We did not find anything very reraarkalile in the eye, 
 saving only, that the musculi amatorii, or, as we may 
 translate it into English, the ogling muscles, were very 
 much worn and decayed with use ; whereas, on the con- 
 trary, the elevator, or the muscle which turns the eye 
 towards heaven, did not appear to have been used at all. 
 
 " Our operator, before he engaged in this visionary dis- 
 section, told us, that there was nothing in his art more 
 difficult than to lay open the heart of a coquette, by 
 reason of the many labyrinths and recesses which are to 
 be found in it, and which do not appear in the heart of 
 any other animal. 
 
 " He desired us first of all to observe th.Q pericardium, or 
 outward case of the heart, which we did very attentively; 
 and by the help of our glasses discerned in it millions 
 of little scars, which seem to have been occasioned by 
 the points of innumerable darts and arrows, that from 
 time to time had glanced upon the outward coat ; though 
 we could not discover the smallest orifice, by which any 
 of them had entered and pierced the inward substance. 
 
 "Every smatterer in anatomy knows that this^em-ar- 
 dium, or case of the heart, contains in it a thin, reddish 
 liquor, supposed to be bred from the vapours which 
 exhale out of the heart, and being stopped here, are 
 condensed into this watery substance. Upon examining 
 this liquor, we found that it had in it all the qualities of 
 that spirit, which is made use of in the thermometer, to 
 show the change of weather. 
 
 " Nor must I here omit an experiment one of the company
 
 188 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 assured us ho himself had made with this liquor, whicli 
 he fonnri in great quantity about the heart of a coquette 
 wliom he luid formerly dissected. He affirmed to us, 
 that he had actually enclosed it in a small tube made after 
 the manner of a weather-glass ; but that, instead of 
 acquainting him with the variations of the atmosphere, 
 it showed him the qualities of those persons who entered 
 the room where it stood. He affirmed, also, that it rose 
 at the approach of a plume of feathers, an embroidered 
 coat, or a pair of fringed gloves ; and that it fell as soon 
 as an ill-shaped ])eiuwig, a clumsy pair of shoes, or an 
 unfashionable coat, came into his house. Nay, he pro- 
 ceeded so far as to assure us, that upon his laughing 
 aloud when he stood by it, the liquor mounted very 
 sensibly, and immediately sunk again ujjou his looking 
 serious. In short, he told us, that he knew very well, 
 by this invention, whenever he had a man of sense or a 
 coxcomb in his room. 
 
 " Having cleared away the pericardium, or the case, and 
 liquor before mentioned, we came to the heart itself. 
 The outward surface of it was extremely slippery, and 
 the mucro, or point, so very cold withal, that, upon 
 endeavouring to take hold of it, it glided through the 
 fingers like a smooth piece of ice. 
 
 "The fibres were turned and twisted in a more intricate 
 and perplexed manner than they are usually found iu 
 otlier hearts; insomuch that the whole heart was wound 
 up together in a Gordian knot, and must have had very 
 irregular and unequal motions, while it was employed 
 in its vital function. 
 
 " One thing we thought very observable, namely, that
 
 THE RECTOR AND THE QUAKER. 189 
 
 upon examining all the vessels which came into it, or 
 issued out of it, we could not discover any communica- 
 tion that it had with the tongue. 
 
 " We could not but take notice, likewise, that several of 
 those little nerves in the heart which are affected by the 
 sentiments of love, hatred, and other passions, did not 
 descend to this before us from the brain, but from the 
 muscles which lie about the eye. 
 
 " Upon weighing the heart in my hand, I found it to be 
 extremely light, and consequently very hollow, which I 
 did not wonder at, when, upon looking in to the inside of 
 it, I saw multitudes of cells, or cavities, running one 
 within another, as our historians describe the apartments 
 of Rosamond's bower. Several of these little hollows were 
 stuffed with innumerable sorts of trifles, which I shall 
 forbear giving any particular account of, and shall there- 
 fore only take notice of what lay first and uppermost, 
 which, upon our unfolding it, and applying our micro- 
 scopes to it, appeared to be a iiame-coloured hood. 
 
 Addison. 
 
 FABLE XX. 
 
 THE RECTOR AND THE QUAKER. 
 
 FOR ALL GOOD PEOPLE. 
 
 WHO breaks one cup destroys the set ; 
 So man may keep the law, and yet. 
 By one misdeed, 'gainst all ofiend : 
 I wish such folks may read and mend !
 
 190 
 
 TIIK BATH FABLES. 
 
 Good Doctor Saygrace — that's the story — 
 A wortliy man, altlunigh a Tory, 
 Avowed he would get his church-rates in, 
 Though fierce Noncons made such a din : 
 So Isaac Broadbrim got his bill, 
 For nine and eightpence, will or nill. 
 
 Now, Doctor Saygrace owned a mind 
 With talent ftauglit ; his heart was kind ; 
 Nor sought he place, or power, or pay, 
 By sermons fashioned to the day. 
 The man had little pomp or pride ; 
 He feared his God, but nought beside ; 
 And truth, let peer or jjatron croak. 
 Distilled as dew-drops when he spoke. 
 Oh ! what a pity such a mind, 
 To one great foible should be blind ! 
 Oh ! what a pity such good people 
 Entail dishonour on the steeple ! 
 
 Well ; Isaac Broadbrim read his bill : . 
 " Pay this !" cried he ; " I never will ! " 
 For Quakers, you must know, will fret. 
 To pay for things tliey never get. 
 So Isaac banged his glasses down, 
 Cocked his broad hat upon his ci-own. 
 Slipped on bis doublet and his shoes, 
 Still vowing he'd jiay no such dues ; 
 Then off he posted to the rector. 
 And thus put in his loud objector : — 
 
 " Thy bill, friend Saygrace, I've received, 
 And verily I feel aggrieved, 
 That such a worthy man as thee,
 
 THE RECTOR AND THE QUAKER. 191 
 
 Should send this arrant thing to me. 
 
 I'll pay no rates, believe me, friend ; 
 
 So let this matter calmly end. 
 
 The folks who choose t' attend thy meeting. 
 
 Should pay thee church-rates for their sitting ; 
 
 I pay my own, and ne'er repine ; 
 
 Thee knows I never enter thine. 
 
 Say not the law is on thy side, 
 
 For jm-ists have that plea denied ; 
 
 But though it were, a lawless law 
 
 In legislation is a flaw, 
 
 And must he mended ; for it's sad 
 
 To pay for things one never had. 
 
 Against thy church I've no ill-will, 
 
 But cannot pay this gi-oundless hill ; 
 
 And let me tell thee, once for all, 
 
 I'd sooner see thy steeple fall ! " 
 
 " Well, Mr. Broadbrim ! " Say grace cries ; 
 *' Do as you like — you're vastly wise ! 
 I'll seize your chattels for the amount, 
 And thus we settle the account. 
 I must, however, plainly say, 
 'Tis right you should the church-rate pay ; 
 For though my church you won't attend, 
 You might, and so might every Friend; 
 And let me tell you to your face, 
 To murmur is a foul disgrace. 
 Does not the Church invite you ail- 
 Both king and clown, both great and small ? 
 If built for all, let all supply ; 
 So says the law, and so say I. 
 If such a bill were scut to me, 
 I'd ne'er refuse, the world should see ;
 
 192 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 I'd ne'er be boggling, like a clown, 
 But throw the dirty raone)' down ! " 
 
 " Well, Saygi-ace ! " said the cunning Friend, 
 
 " Thy last remark our leud may end. 
 
 I am a draj^er, as thee knows; 
 
 Pay this amount for thy last clothes." 
 
 So saying, Isaac gave a bill. 
 
 And stood to learn the rector's will. 
 
 His reverence stared, and well he might, 
 
 As thus he read the bill at sight : — 
 
 " From Jonas Saygrace, due this day, 
 
 To Isaac Broadbrim, come for pay. 
 
 One new black suit, all superfine, — 
 
 Six sterling pounds and shillings nine ! " 
 
 " How now, good sir ! " the rector cries. 
 With wonder glaring in his eyes; 
 " How ca7i yon say such sum is due ? 
 I've had no clothes at all of you !" 
 
 " Why, verily, thy plea is just," 
 Eejoincd the Friend ; " and so we must 
 'J'liis trifling error rectify, — 
 I want no brother's gold, not I. 
 To pay might justly make thee wrath ; 
 For, tliough a gcmman of the cloth, 
 Thec's had no cloth at all of me. 
 And I'll make no demands on thee ; 
 Nay, since thee has not had the clothes, 
 I'll burn my bill before thy nose. 
 But now, iiieuu ba^yiacc let me add, 
 Thy bill on me is just as bad ;
 
 THE RECTOR AND THE QUAKER. 193 
 
 So owa this truth, howe'er it gall, — 
 What's just for thee is just for all." 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Oh, hear my fable ! for, alas ! 
 'Tis much required in every class; 
 Nor Church alotie its moral chides, — 
 Injustice floats in countless tides. 
 The fane that Cranmer loved, love I ; 
 The martyr's record is on high, 
 In every patriot breast enshrined, — 
 Nor Knox more fearful to the blind. 
 
 Thee, Canterbury ! let me hail, — 
 An elder sister in the pale. 
 Bold were thy martyrs, bright thy dawn ; 
 But purer still must be thy lawn ! 
 Happy the day — that day will be, — 
 When every sister Church is free ! 
 When Judah shall not Ephraim vex. 
 Nor Ephraim Judah more perplex : 
 But happier still when Christ shall reign. 
 And universal right maintain ! 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE PROSE. 
 
 THE GOLDEN RULE. 
 
 " When our blessed Lord became a public Teacher 
 among men, he not only instructed them in the sacred 
 mysteries of religion, and informed them of their duty 
 to God his Father and to himself; but he employed
 
 194 THE RATH FABLES. 
 
 much of his ministry in explaining and recommending 
 the practice of social virtue. He knew that the nature 
 of man was corrupt, his passions strong, his memory 
 frail, and that he would he ready to neglect and forget 
 his various sacred precepts, when there was most need 
 to practise them ; and, therefore, he thought it proper 
 to give one short and comprehensive rule of equity, to 
 regulate all our conduct towards each other, that it 
 should be written, as it were, in our very souls ; namely, 
 ' Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, 
 do ye even so to them: for this is the law and the 
 prophets.' (Matt. vii. Vi) * * * 
 
 " We must remember,' — that this rule does not 
 oblige us to give to another, or do for another, all that 
 we could possibly wish to be bestowed on us, or done 
 for US; but whatsoever we could reasonahly desire and 
 justly expect another should do to us, that we ought 
 to do to hira, when he is in like circumstances. An 
 instance will fully explain what I mean. 
 
 "A criminal, under righteous condemnation, may 
 thhik thus with himself: 'Surely I would pardon the 
 Prince, if he were in my circumstances ; tlierefore he 
 ought to pardon me.' Or the Prince himself might 
 think, ' I should be glad to be pardoned, if I were in 
 the case of tliis criminal ; therefore I will pardon him.' 
 Such tlioughts, arising from unreasonable and unjust 
 principles, ai'e not to be the measure of our actions or 
 expectations : they are not just and reasonable, nor 
 can our own consciences, in our sedate and calm in- 
 quiries, judge so concerning them. * * 
 
 " This golden rule hath many excellent properties 
 belonging to it.
 
 THE RECTOR A\I) THE QUAKER. 195 
 
 It is a riUe easy to be understood, and as easy to be 
 applied, by the meanest and weakest understanding. 
 
 " The laws of man are often expressed in such obscure 
 language and terms of art, that they puzzle us to find 
 out their meaning. But this is a law that every one 
 understands. Those who are not capable of long trains 
 of reasoning, or of applying general rules to all their 
 particular cases, are able to look into their own hearts, 
 and to ask this easy question : ' Would I myself be 
 content to have others deal thus with me? If not, 
 why should I deal thus with another ? * * 
 
 " It is a most extensive rule, with regard to all the 
 stations, ranks, and characters of mankind. 
 
 " Let the tenant say ; ' If I were a landlord, what 
 should I think reasonable that my tenant should pay 
 me ? ' and the landlord ask himself; ' Were I a tenant, 
 what should I claim of a landlord ? ' I would have the 
 master inquire; 'What should I expect, if I were a 
 servant, at the hands of my master? ' And let the 
 servant say; ' What, if I were a master, should I expect 
 from the hand of one that served me ? ' Parents should 
 ask themselves ; ' If I had been a negligent child, and 
 guilty of some trifling offence, could I think it just 
 that my father should be in such a passion with me ? ' 
 And the son should inqiure; ' If I were a father, would 
 I not think it reasonable that my child should obey 
 me in such particular instances or commands? ' 
 
 " The merchant should say to himself, ' If I were an 
 artificer, should I think it reasonable that the labour 
 of my bands, and the sweat of my brow, should be 
 screwed down to so cheap a price?' The seller of 
 goods should say ; ' If I were the buyer, would I think
 
 196 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 it just to have such corrupt or faulty wares ])ut into 
 my bands ? Am I willing to have my necessity, my 
 ignorance, or unwariness, thus imposed upon?' And 
 the buyer should ask himself; ' If I were the seller, 
 should I bear to have my goods thus run dowo and 
 depreciated below their just value ? ' 
 
 " The learned professions may also learn their duty 
 from this rule. The lawyer should say to himself; 'If 
 I were the client, should I think it equitable to have 
 my cause so long delayed, by so many shiftiugs and 
 escapes, from a determination?' The physicians and 
 surgeons should put themselves in the places of their 
 sick or wounded patients, and say ; ' Do we never pre- 
 scribe a potion, never use a plaster, more than we 
 could think proper for ourselves, if we were languishing 
 under the same sickness or wounds? Do we take the 
 same safe and speedy methods of relief for others, 
 that we would have applied to oiu'selves ? ' And the 
 preachers of the Gospel should place themselves in 
 the room of their hearers, and say ; ' Do we labour in 
 our closets, in our secret hours of retirement, and in 
 our public ministrations, for the conversion and sal- 
 vation of those who hear us, as we would have minis- 
 ters do for us, if we were pcrisliing in our sins, and 
 in danger of eternal death ? Do we take such pains 
 to awaken the slumberers upon the borders of hell, as 
 we ourselves would have others take, in order to awaken 
 us out of such fatal slumbers ? Do we study and con- 
 trive with what divine cordials we may refresh and 
 comfort mourners in Zion, even as we should desire 
 to be comforted and refreshed?' Such sort of self- 
 inquiries as these, will lead us to the practice of
 
 THE RECTOn AND THE QUAKER. 197 
 
 our present duty, and solve many a difficult case of 
 conscience better than turning over the largest volumes. 
 
 ♦ # * * 
 
 " In short, if this blessed rule of our Saviour did 
 1 ut more universally obtain, we should never persecute 
 one another for our disagreement in opinion; for we 
 should learn this lesson, that another has as much 
 right to differ from me as I have to differ from him. 
 If this rule did but prevail among all that own the 
 Christian name, then truth, honesty, and justice, meek- 
 ness and love, would reign and triumph through all 
 the churches of Christ ; and the vile actions and prac- 
 tices of pride, envy, wrath, cruelty, backbiting, and 
 persecution, would be banished for ever from among 
 
 ****** 
 us. * * * 
 
 " If we were not so shamefully wrapped up in self, in 
 our own party, or in our own kindred, but could look 
 upon our neighbours as our other selves, and seek their 
 advantage together with our own, every man would 
 become a diffusive blessing among his neighbours, and 
 the mutual benefits of mankind would scatter happi- 
 ness through all the world. This earth would be a 
 little image of heaven ; and our present social life 
 among men would be a foretaste of our future happi- 
 ness among saints and angels. In those glorious re- 
 gions, every one rejoices in the welfare of the whole 
 community ; and they have a double relish of their own 
 personal blessedness, in consequence of the pleasure 
 they take in contributing to the blessedness of all their 
 fellows. 
 
 " Now, since the true wisdom of Christ thought fit 
 to teach us rules of equity and righteousness among
 
 198 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 men, and has, as it were, extracted the very soul and 
 spirit of all social duties, and summed them up in this 
 short sentence ; let not the disciples of Christ forget 
 this rule, nor let the most eminent and exalted Chris- 
 tians think it beneath their study and practice. The 
 love of God and Christ is not the whole of our duty, 
 nor can we be Christians indeed if we neglect to love 
 our neighbour. How vain are all our pretences to 
 faith in Christ, and piety towards God, if we grow 
 careless in our conduct towards men! All our fancied 
 attainments in the school of Christ — how are they 
 disgraced and destroyed, if we abandon this rule of 
 moral virtue, and treat our neighbours contrary to this 
 divine principle of equity and love ! " 
 
 Dr. Watts. 
 
 FABLE ni. 
 THE CRAB AND THE CRABLINS. 
 
 FOR PARENTS. 
 
 BOIiD Sparta — so historians say — 
 E'en taught her lovely youth to stray. 
 Parents ! ye ask, witli anxious thought, 
 Why children stray though better taught? 
 Lend me your car, or use your eye ; 
 Perchance you'll learn some reason why. 
 
 Six miles from Athens lies a creek, 
 Piraeus styled by Frank and Greek.
 
 THE CRAB AND THE CRABLINS. 190 
 
 What classic mind but knows the wave, 
 Where countless Persians found a grave, 
 Where Parian marbles still display 
 Some glories of a brighter day ? 
 Oft on that magic strand I've stood, 
 And, pensive, viewed the lucid flood. 
 Ah ! what attractions round me lie ! 
 Yet memory sees beyond the eye ; — 
 Sages and bards, and martial men, 
 Burst their old tombs and breathe again. 
 
 Here, sheltered 'neath a marble slab, 
 Once dwelt a venerable crab ; 
 Parent of six young crablins she. 
 As fine a race as crabs might be, 
 Who daily strove, as mothers ought. 
 To have her childi-en early taught. 
 
 " Rise," she would say, " my darlings, rise. 
 Ere Phoebus' lamp illume the skies ; 
 Clutch the young grubs with fearless claw, 
 But mind you never cram your maw. 
 Be sure, my dears, you ne'er attack 
 Such shell-fish as you cannot crack. 
 Don't climb the rocks when boys are nigh ;- 
 The rogues will nab you, and you die. 
 Each angler's bait be sure to shun, 
 And when you see the mullets, run ! 
 Run for your life ! the greedy things 
 Would crush you all like emmet's wings. 
 Keep clear of nets," she said and sighed, 
 " 'Twas thus your poor old father died. 
 On one thing more I must insist ; 
 My little darlings ! stay and list ; —
 
 200 THE BATH FABLKS. 
 
 You know already how to talk, 
 But, lau ! how clownishly you walk ! 
 You waddle so from side to side, 
 Like lobsters in an ebbing tide : 
 As genteel crablins you should go 
 Straight forward, my sweet urchins — so !" 
 
 Thus said, the grave maternal crab 
 Essayed to step across the slab : 
 But vain, alas! in vain she tried, 
 Fixed habits brought her to the side ; 
 As when a barque would steer due east, 
 But falls to lee ten leagues at least. 
 
 " Dear mother, your advice is wise ; " 
 
 A little saucy crab replies : 
 
 " But why tell us to walk like you ? 
 
 That's just the very thing we do ! 
 
 'Tis right young crablins should revere 
 
 The counsels of a jiarent dear : 
 
 Early we'll rise : — in that you're right ; 
 
 Fearless we'll hunt, nor glut, nor fight. 
 
 As to the boys that haunt this bay, 
 
 We know the rogues too well to stray : 
 
 Last tide but one those truant chaps, 
 
 With stray young crablins filled their caps. 
 
 Never shall we forget that night; 
 
 It put us all in such a fright, 
 
 Those hapless prisoners thus to see, 
 
 Struggling and crying to get free ! 
 
 All hooks and nets we know are bad, 
 
 And oft we sigh for poor old dad. 
 
 But, mother! it seems vastly queer, 
 
 To rally us in terms severe.
 
 THE CRAB AND THE CRABLINS. 201 
 
 Because we walk from side to side ; 
 
 Your own example is our guide ! 
 
 I well remember how you spoke, 
 
 When first my leading-strings I broke : 
 
 ' Scratchy,' you cried, ' mind how you tread : 
 
 March forward, child; hold up your head!' 
 
 Yet, when I turned, with all your fuss, 
 
 I saw you sidling just like us. 
 
 Thanks for your counsels and your creed ; 
 
 But then it can't, it can't indeed, 
 
 Be wrong to sidle as we do. 
 
 For surely we may copy you !" 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 How blest an early life to spend, 
 Where counsel and example blend ! 
 Had Suffolk lived less high, less vain, 
 No heart had wrung for Lady Jane. 
 Stanhope had wiser proved, 'tis thought, 
 Had Chesterfield's example taught; 
 And many a sigh and many a teai". 
 For many a jilt's or rake's career. 
 Would ne'er have flowed had holy truth. 
 And good example, formed their youth. 
 
 Parents I you teach your child to pray, 
 To walk in wisdom's flowery way, 
 Passion to govern, truth to speak. 
 To be discreet and wise and meek. 
 To pay respect to holy time. 
 To speak no ill, indulge no crime, 
 The lower appetites to sway. 
 And grow in wisdom every day.
 
 202 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 'Tis well ; but hear, oli ! hear me out : 
 
 You're found at every ball and rout; 
 
 You quit your room uublest by prayer; 
 
 You breakfast, — God is absent there ! 
 
 This children mark : — they mark yet more, — 
 
 Vespers forgot, or huri-ied o'er : 
 
 The nectar ye too freely sup, 
 
 While anger sparkles like the cup. 
 
 O this ! — is this the way to teach? 
 
 Example, — let exawpJe preach ! 
 
 For not repressing youtliiul lire, 
 
 The God of love once slew a sire ; 
 
 If Eli j)erished, Heaven forefend 
 
 That you, a parent, guardian, friend, 
 
 Should boldly deal in higlier crimes, — 
 
 Mislead the young, and taint the times ! 
 
 ye, whose ofSce 'tis to guide 
 The young athwart life's billowy tide ! 
 In wisdom's calm and lucid wake. 
 Pilot your barque o'er ocean lake : 
 And if you be the Lord's professed. 
 And wish them now and ever blessed, 
 Lest ruin your young barque o'crwhelm, 
 Let wise example take the helm ! 
 
 ultjstrative prose. 
 
 ON PARENTAL EXAMPLE. 
 
 " I STOOD the other day, and beheld a father sitting in 
 the middle of a room with a large family of children 
 about him : and methought I could observe in his coun- 
 tenance ditferent emotions of delight, as he turned his eye
 
 THE CRAB AND THE CRABLINS. 203 
 
 towards the one or the other of them. The man is a 
 person moderate in his designs for their preferment and 
 welfare : and as he has an easy fortune, he is not solici- 
 tous to make a great one. His eldest son is a child of 
 a very towardly disposition, and, much as the father 
 loves him, I dare say he will never he a knave to improve 
 his fortune. I do not know any man who has a juster 
 relish of life than the person I am speaking of, or keeps 
 a hotter guard against the terrors of want, or the hopes 
 of gain. It is usual, in a crowd of children, for the 
 parent to name out of his own flock all the great officers 
 of the kingdom. There is something so very surprising 
 in the parts of a child of a man's own, that there is 
 nothing too great to he expected from his endowments. 
 I know a good woman who has but three sons, and there 
 is, she says, nothing she expects with more certainty, 
 than that she shall see one of them a bishop, the other 
 a judge, and the third a court physician. The humour 
 is, that anything which can happen to any man's child, 
 is expected by every man for his own. But my friend, 
 whom J am going to speak of, does not flatter himself 
 with such vain expectations, but has his eye more upon 
 the virtue and disposition of his children than their 
 advancement or wealth. Good habits are what will 
 certainly improve a man's fortune and reputation ; but, 
 on the other side, affluence of fortune will not as pro- 
 bably produce good ati"ections of the mind. 
 
 "Itis very natural for a man of a kind disposition to amuse 
 himself with the promises his imagination makes to him 
 of the future condition of his children, and to represent 
 the figure they shall bear in the world after he has left 
 it. When his prospects of this kind are agreeable, his 
 fondness gives, as it were, a longer date to his own life ;
 
 204 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 and the survivorship of a worthy man in his son, is a 
 pleasure scarce inferior to the hojjcs of the continuance 
 of his own life. That man is happy who can believe of 
 his son, that he will escape the follies and indiscretions 
 of which he himself was guilty, and pursue and improve 
 everythinjT that was valuable in him. The continuance 
 of his virtue is much more to bo regarded than that of 
 his life ; but it is the most lamentable of all reflections, 
 to think, that the heir of a man's fortune is such a one 
 as will be a stranger to his friends, alienated from the 
 same interests, and a promoter of everything that he 
 himself disapproved. An estate in possession of such a 
 successor to a good man, is worse than laid waste ; and 
 the family, of which he is the head, is in a more 
 deplorable condition than that of being e.\tinct. 
 
 " When I visit the agi-eeable seat of my honoured 
 friend Ruricola, and walk from room to room, revolving 
 many pleasing occurrences, and the ex])ressions of many 
 just sentiments I have heard him utter, and see the 
 booby his heir in pain, while he is doing the honours of 
 his house to the friend of his father, the heaviness it 
 gives one is not to be expressed. Want of genius is not 
 to be imputed to any man, but want of humanity is a 
 man's own fault. The son of Ruricola (whose life was 
 one continued series of worthy actions, and gentleman- 
 like inclinations) is the companion of drunken clowns, 
 and knows no sense of praise but the flattery he receives 
 from his own servants ; his pleasures are mean and 
 inordinate, his language base and filthy, his behaviour 
 rough and absurd. Is this creature to be accounted the 
 successor of a man of virtue, wit, and breeding ? At the 
 same time that I have this melancholy prospect at the 
 house where I miss my old friend, I can go to a gentle-
 
 THE CRAB AND THE CRABLIN3. 205 
 
 man's not far off, where he has a daughter, who is the 
 picture both of his body and mind, but both improved 
 with the beauty aud modesty pecuhar to her sex. It is 
 she who supphes ihe loss of her father to the world; she, 
 without his name or fortune, is a truer memorial of him, 
 than her brother who succeeds him in both. Such an 
 offspring as the eldest son of my friend, perpetuates his 
 father in the same manner as the appearance of his ghost 
 would : it is indeed Euricola, but it is Ruricola grown 
 frightful, 
 
 " I know not to what to attribute the brutal turn which 
 this young man has taken, except it may be to a certain 
 severity and distance which his father used towards him, 
 and which might perhaps have occasioned a dislike to 
 those modes of life, that were not made amiable to him 
 by freedom and affability. 
 
 " We may promise ourselves that no such excrescence 
 will appear in the family of the Cornelii, where the 
 father lives with his sons like their eldest brother, aud 
 the sons converse with him as if they did it for no other 
 reaso than that he is the wisest man of their actpiaint- 
 anee. As the Cornelii* are eminent traders, their good 
 correspondence with each other is useful to all that know 
 them, as well as to themselves : and their friendship, 
 good-will, and kind offices, are disposed of jointly as well 
 
 * By t' e Cornelii, the Spectator is supposed to mean the family 
 of the Eyles's, merchants of distinction; of whom Francis Eyles, 
 Esq., the father, who was a director of the East India Company, 
 and alderman of lioudon, was created a haronet hy Geor'^e I. His 
 eldest sui-viving son. Sir John Eyles, Bart., was afterwards lord- 
 major, in 1727 ; and another of his sons, Sir Joseph Eyles, Knt., 
 was sheriff of London in 1725.
 
 20G THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 as their fortune, so that no one ever obliged one of them, 
 who had not the obligation multiplied in returns from 
 them all. 
 
 " It is not in the power of all men to leave illustrious 
 names or great ibrtunes to their posterity, but they can 
 very much conduce to their having industry, probity, 
 valour, and justice. It is in every man's power to leave 
 his son the honour of descending from a virtuous man, 
 and adtl tlie blessing of Heaven to whatever he leaves 
 him. I shall end this rhapsody with a letter to an 
 excellent young man of my acquaintance, who has lately 
 lost a worthy father. 
 
 "'Dear Sir, 
 " 'I know no part of life more impertinent than the 
 oflQce of administering consolation : I will not enter into 
 it, for I cannot but applaud your grief. The virtuous 
 principles you had from that excellent man whom you 
 have lost, have wrought in you as they ought, to make 
 a youth of three-and-twenty incapable of comfort upon 
 coming into possession of a great fortune. I doubt not 
 but you will honour his memory by a modest enjoyment 
 of his estate ; and scorn to triumph over his grave, by 
 employing in riot, excess, and folly, what he pur- 
 chased with so much industry, prudence, and wisdom. 
 This is the true way to show the sense you have of your 
 loss, and to take away the distress of others upon the 
 occasion. You cannot recal your father by your grief, 
 but you may revive him to his friends by your con- 
 duct.' " 
 
 Steele.
 
 JAQUES AND BEPPO. 207 
 
 FABLE XXir. 
 JAQUES AND BEPPO. 
 
 FOR BUELLISTS. 
 
 HE who descended from yon sky, 
 To teach, to sufier, and to die, 
 This adage gave to all that live, — 
 " As ye would be forgiven, forgive." 
 How sad, if some who bear His name, 
 Like hot volcanoes fume and flame ; 
 And, 'stead of showing good for ill, 
 Will e'en a brother's life-blood spill ! 
 
 'Tis now some fifty years ago, — 
 At least, historians tell ns so, — 
 When Gallic hordes gave kings a rap, 
 And thrashed their foes before Jemmappes ; 
 O'erturned old thrones, deposed the Pope, 
 And spread their arms beyond all hope ; 
 For great Moreau had crossed the Khine, 
 And greater Nap the Austrian line, — 
 A victor here, a victor there, 
 A victor almost everywhere. 
 What marvel France, not over gi-ave, 
 Should dub him bravest of the brave ? 
 What marvel all admired his force. 
 Till Britain checked his fiery course ? 
 
 Well ; Bonaparte, so brave and hot. 
 Was loved by every sans-culotte ; 
 And every sans-culotte would sigh, 
 To look as bold and swell as high ;
 
 208 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 For kind was Nap, and well he knew 
 To win tlie heart of such a crew, 
 Who vowed it was their highest aim, 
 To vie with him in I'eat and fame. 
 
 Two jinvatcs in Napoleon's train, 
 
 Gallant and huffy, proud and vain, 
 
 Glowed above all with that high flame, 
 
 And called each other by his name. 
 
 Jaques Sotte was one — a French chasseur, 
 
 Whose phiz had scars at least a score ; 
 
 And, troth ! Jaques was a gallant blade, 
 
 As ever plied his murderous trade ! 
 
 Beppo of Parma was the other. 
 
 Not so Quixotic as his brother. 
 
 Since he wore arms to clutch the sous, 
 
 As some wear cassocks, just for dues. 
 
 Beppo for fame felt little thirst. 
 
 But showed his heels whene'er be durst ; 
 
 Nor thought it pleasant or genteel. 
 
 To rush against a yard of steel : 
 
 " For why, "thought Bep, "should soldiers die. 
 
 With brains to scheme, or legs to iiy ? " 
 
 Well; fluslied with victory, wealth and fame, 
 
 The Gauls to Camjio Foiinio came; 
 
 And tliere, while waiting ior their foes, 
 
 One night a (iery contest rose 
 
 'Tween Beppo and his comrade Jaques, 
 
 Whicli placed poor Beppo on the rack. 
 
 The question was — so duels start ! — 
 Which more resembled Bonaparte ? 
 Wliich was as clever, brave and bright, 
 As cool in camp, as firm in light ?
 
 Since logic failed to calm the affray, 
 
 A duel seemed the only way ; 
 
 " A duel ! " all arouud I'epeat, 
 
 And so the fools agreed to meet; 
 
 " Rapiei-s," — " the fosse," — all fixed by law, 
 
 And four a. m. the horn* to draw. 
 
 That was a busy, anxious night, 
 As each got readj^ for the fight ! 
 Jaques, like a man, his seconds found, 
 With friends to mark and watch the ground ; 
 Polished his sword, and even swore 
 To shed the vile Italian's gore : 
 This done, he sat to sleep or yawn, 
 While waiting for the morrow's dawn. 
 
 Meanwhile, poor Beppo got all ready, 
 
 His purpose firm, his sword-arm steady ; 
 
 But ere tlie dawn, fresh notions came, 
 
 And Beppc sighed for peace, not fame : 
 
 " For," as he oft and wisely mused, 
 
 " A brave Italian is not used 
 
 To breakfast on a yard of steel. 
 
 But looks for some more Christian meal. 
 
 Is there no way of backing out. 
 
 With honour safe? There is, no doubt, — 
 
 Shake hands with Jaques ; perhaps he'll cow ; 
 
 But, hang it ! mine are shaking now ! 
 
 I have it, though ! " at last he said, 
 
 Then blew his nose, and went to bed. 
 
 Now rose the sun ; the champions came ; 
 Seconds and comrades urge the game ; 
 The swoi-ds are drawn — no time to rust — 
 Prepared to parry, lunge, or thrust.
 
 210 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 I should use fitter terms, I trow, 
 
 But, thank my stars ! I don't know how. 
 
 Well ; Jaqucs was ready, sword in rest, 
 His eye on fire, his lijis compressed ; 
 But Bep2)0, bent to 'scape the strife, 
 Yet save his honour with his life, 
 Looked daggers, thunders, fire and smoke. 
 And thus his Gallic foe bespoke : — 
 
 " Jaques ! I'm prepared to break a lance, 
 
 With boldest, bravest sons of France ; 
 
 For Parma's bravos never yield. 
 
 But lose their life, or win the field ! 
 
 Yet stay ; where shall our battle end ? 
 
 When blood first streams from either friend ? 
 
 Or shall we these bright rapiers wield, 
 
 Till only one retains the field ? 
 
 I choose the last ; for, as I said, 
 
 Italians fight till one is dead ! " 
 
 " Coward ! poltroon ! " Jaques Sotte replies. 
 
 And shook his blade in Beppo's eyes ; 
 
 " You a Napoleon ! you bis like ! 
 
 Go — rock your babe, or dig the dike. 
 
 ' Cease at first blood ! ' no, dastard! no ! 
 
 A Gaul but scorns your milksop foe ; 
 
 No man escapes, no man restrains. 
 
 Till on this spot but one remains ! " 
 
 " Right, comrade, right ! " his foe replies, 
 Good Inimour flashing in his eyes ; 
 " I like your plan, — ' no arm restrains, 
 Till one — till oiilv one remains.' 
 Then you remain ; I'm off, my dear I 
 For what's the fun of fighting here ?
 
 JAQOES AND BEPPO. 211 
 
 I've no great appetite for steel, 
 And so, brave Jarjues, behold my heel ! " 
 Thus said our humorist, when, lo ! 
 He quits at once the field and foe ; 
 And, bolting through the gaping ci'owd. 
 He left them laugliing long and loud ; 
 For Beppo coolly stalked away. 
 While Jaques had not a word to say ! 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 To what shall moralists appeal. 
 
 Against the knights of fire and steel, 
 
 Should hot-brained youth, or shambling age, 
 
 In such Satanic feuds engage ? 
 
 To reason ? No ! 'twere waste of time, 
 
 To prove that duelling is crime ; 
 
 Or show, by logic, that to slay 
 
 Is not a moral virtue. Nay, 
 
 'Twere just as wise as 'tis to show, 
 
 A musket-ball is not a sloe. 
 
 Should yon pert fool insult his friend, 
 Must he be challenged ? Heaven forefend ! 
 An ass may kick you : well, what then? 
 Pray, would ye kick the brute again ? 
 To pardon, not resent, demands 
 A hero's soul, if not his hands : 
 But Hotspur coxcombs only share 
 The ignoble soul of wolf or bear ! 
 
 Some prate of honour when they slay 
 E'en friends in this unchristian way. 
 Style it, mortals ! what ye will ; 
 God calls the duel murder stiU ;
 
 212 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 Nor less so that j'e stand fire too, 
 For that's what other murderers do ! 
 
 When by some testy spitfire bid, 
 To die or kill as others did, 
 'Tis likely ye detest the game. 
 But tremble at a coward's name. 
 Let bullies boast, let wits lampoon, 
 And dub you dastard or poltroon, 
 'Tis greater courage, after all. 
 To face the bully than the ball ! 
 
 Full many a braggart takes his stand ; 
 But mark the craven's trembling hand! 
 While he's a brave and dauntless soul, 
 Who scorns the duellist's red role, 
 Burns his base scrip, nor deigns to cow 
 Beneath the bully's braggart brow. 
 
 Then treat the camp's dread smile with scorn; 
 
 To nobler courage man was born; 
 
 And he's the hero who can show 
 
 His courage to the common foe. 
 
 Thus Sully, when a challenge came, 
 
 Took snufi', and tossed it to the flame ! 
 
 ulustkative peose. 
 
 ON DUELLING. 
 
 "According to Montesquieu, liberty, in its relation to 
 the members of a community, consists in their security, 
 or at least in the opinion they entertain of that security.
 
 JAQDES AND BEPPO. 213 
 
 The man who lives in fear is certainly anything but 
 free : thus fear has been at all times made the conservative 
 principle of despotism ; whereas, confidence and security 
 are the necessary conditions of a free state. Is it there- 
 fore possible to establish either, and consequently liberty, 
 in a country where one is daily exposed to the danger of 
 losing his life by the hand of adueUist, or, in other words, 
 a tolerated assassin ? 
 
 " What serves to distinguish a free state from one that 
 is not so, is that the first is governed by laws, and the 
 second by men. The empire of law insures the safety 
 of each citizen, because all know beforehand what it 
 requires; and from not being subjected to inconstancy 
 or caprice, that which is once prescribed always con- 
 tinues to operate : under this system, a man has only to 
 regulate his actions in conformity to legal authority, and 
 every cause of apprehension as to his future conduct 
 ceases. The precision of law furnishes a standard of 
 moral rectitude, by which we may be guided with the 
 same degree of exactness that influences physical habits, 
 arising from the immutable laws of nature. 
 
 "Admitting the truth of the above positions, duelling, 
 under whatever point of view it is examined, cannot be 
 tolerated in a free state, because it has a direct tendency 
 to overturn the constitutive principle of liberty. Why, 
 therefore, should not those who wantonly violate that 
 sacred principle, be marked with that obloquy and con- 
 tempt of the community, which are so liberally bestowed 
 on others who are guilty of a similar violation, but of a 
 different description ? 
 
 " People vainly attempt to excuse this dreadful prac- 
 tice, by an appeal to existing prejudices, the point of
 
 214 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 honour, &c. ; but surely the highest honour in a free 
 state consists in fulfilling the duties of a good citizen ; 
 and it is scarcely nccessaiy to say, that the first of these 
 duties is to respect the laws, never substituting one's own 
 will for them ; suffering patiently, rather than participate 
 in their violation. I would ask whether the duellist 
 fulfils these conditions ? 
 
 " Under an absolute government, duelling may, per- 
 haps, admit of some excuse, in the arbitrary will of the 
 despot, who generally treats his own laws with contempt, 
 since they are abrogated or changed according to his 
 will and caprice ; so that from being constantly subject 
 to this unnatural exercise of power, those who live under 
 such a government think much less of respecting 
 the laws than profiting by their infraction, and of turning 
 it to their own advantage. When this corruption has 
 become habitual in any country, it may be com])ared to 
 a disease extremely difficult to be eradicated, in those 
 who have caught the contagion. 
 
 " It is generally felt and acknowledged, that a proper 
 degree of respect for the laws, not only excludes, but 
 repels and disapproves of duelling ; and that there would 
 be no necessity of inflicting punishments on duellists in 
 a country, whose inhal)itants were really animated by a 
 thorough love of good order, for the purpose of removing 
 a practice founded on an utter contempt of legal authority 
 and moral justice. Experience, in fact, proves that it 
 never existed amongst the free states of antiquity, that 
 it originated in anarchy and despotism, and, finally, that 
 it can only be perpetuated under the caprice of similar 
 circumstances.
 
 JAQUES AND BEPPO. 215 
 
 " There was a time when tribunals appointed to admi- 
 nister justice ordered the litigants to fight a duel, for the 
 purpose of ascertaining which of them had reason on 
 his side. In those da3's, if any man was accused of 
 having committed murder, it was necessary that he 
 should kill another fellow-creature, to prove that the 
 charge was false and calumnious ! 
 
 " Such were the conduct and reasoning suggested by 
 ignorance and superstition in former days; and those 
 who lament the progress of knowledge, might, with 
 equal propriety, prefer this primitive legislation to that 
 which our advancement in the thorny science of truth 
 has adopted amongst some of the present nations of 
 Eui-ope. At all events, it is evident that the result of a 
 duel neither proves the guilt nor innocence of the parties 
 engaged in it. The question of right and wrong, inno- 
 cence or guilt, is precisely in the same state after the 
 contest as it was before. None of these important 
 points are decided by fighting, although both the anta- 
 gonists should fall. If a man has been accused of some 
 act injurious to his reputation, a duel does not prove 
 that he was calumniated, and ouly shows that he has 
 fought. 
 
 " Sainte-Foix, the ingenious author of ' Essays on 
 Paris,' having one day entered a coffee-house at the 
 dinner hour, and observed some one taking a jelly, said, 
 loud enough to be heard by the ])arty, ' A jelly makes but 
 a very poor dinner.' — Offended by this remark, the 
 gentleman, turning to him who made it, said it was 
 his own choice, and he thought it very strange any one 
 should find fault with him. ' That may be,' replied 
 Sainte-f oix; ' but you will allow, sir, that a jelly makes
 
 216 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 but a poor dinner.' This repetition of his observation 
 irritated the stranger to such a degree, that some further 
 altercation terminated by liis demanding immediate satis- 
 faction. As it was then the custom for every one to go 
 armed, they had merely to draw their small swords, when 
 the aggi'essor soon received his adversary's weapon; on 
 which the former asked whether he was satisfied, and 
 being answered in the affirmative, Sainte-L'oix added — 
 'You have wounded me slightly, sir, and I shall get over 
 it, after a few days' confinement to my room ; but if you 
 had killed me, it would not have been the less true, that 
 a jelly makes hut a poor dinner!' 
 
 " If a person fights to prove that his antagonist is 
 wrong, this proof can never result from the duel in which 
 he has engaged : if it is to obtain reparation for an injury 
 or real insult, the chances are equal on both sides. 
 Nothing can guarantee the success of the ofl'ended party ; 
 whereas daily experience proves that he may lose his 
 life, in addition to previous outrages. What, therefore, 
 ought we to consider duelling, but a breach of common- 
 sense, a gi-atuitous abandonment of the most obvious 
 principles of reason and justice? Since this inhuman 
 custom does not answer any of the ends for the attain- 
 ment of which it is adopted, what are we to call it but a 
 proof of atrocious folly ?— and yet, the point of honour 
 has converted duelling into an indispensable duty, as 
 if it were honourable to manifest proofs of folly and 
 atrocity ! " 
 
 New Monthly Magazine.
 
 THE JACKAL AND THE ASS. 217 
 
 FABLE XXIII. 
 THE JACKAL AND THE ASS. 
 
 FOR PLACE-HUNTERS. 
 
 THOUGH now condemned to starve on rhyme, 
 I've been a cointier in my time, 
 And know full well those heartless things — 
 Court levees, both of lords and kings. 
 Do you, my friend ? or do you pine, 
 In brilliant coteries to shine? 
 If bent on courtly smiles you roam, 
 Read, and perchance you'll rest at home. 
 
 Far in a trackless forest glade, 
 
 Fit haunt for brutes of every grade, 
 
 A courtly Jackal fixed his lair, 
 
 And daily held full levees there ; 
 
 For he, the royal lion's friend, 
 
 Each modish heast was proud t' attend. 
 
 With looks now pompous, now profound. 
 Jack eyed his'fawning clients round ; 
 The fawning clients eyed their lord, 
 And grinned or cringed at every word ; 
 For power makes e'en the soph more witty, 
 As gold can turn Bruttella pretty. 
 
 " His Majesty," the Jackal cries. 
 With modish airs and leering eyes, 
 " Told me last night — but let that pass! 
 Ah ! you, Sir Leopard ! you, Sir Ass !
 
 218 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 Vastly obliging, 'pon my word ; 
 
 But soon you'll catch a bouncing bird ! 
 
 My royal master, 'pon my honour ! 
 
 His Queen too, — for I wait upon her, — 
 
 Vowed to promote you both, but, mum ! 
 
 Court secrets these ! I hate a drum. 
 
 You know the Jackal and the king, 
 
 Are hand and glove in every thing; 
 
 He takes confoundedly to me, 
 
 But mum's the word at court, d'ye see? 
 
 " I left him deuc'dly late last night ; 
 The court was brilliant ; what a sight ! — 
 Tigers in chains the king embrace. 
 And I, of course, was in my place ; 
 Eicb embassies from every court, 
 News from abroad of every sort, 
 Baboons from India, apes from Gaul, 
 And royal tigers swarmed the hall ; 
 While legates from the Beast at Rome, 
 Stood mute to learn that monster's doom. 
 
 " The king — but, sirs, I must be mute ; 
 Court secrets ! hang each babbling brute ! 
 Well ! up he bounces straight to me; 
 ' Jack ! my dear fellow ! Jack ! ' says he, — 
 The monarch always calls me Jack, 
 And thumjts me gaily on the back ; — 
 'Jack!' says the king,— but mum once more! 
 Past one! adieu! the levee's o'er I" 
 
 " Not yet, your Grace," loud brayed Sir Ass : 
 " Pray hear a word before you pass. 
 Whene'er you cater for the king. 
 Oh spare my son ! the puny thing
 
 THE JACKAL AND THE ASS. 219 
 
 So trembles at the royal roar, 
 I never saw the like before ; 
 Not e'en when Jenny was, by him, 
 Graciously mangled limb by limb ! 
 Seize not son Ned to feast your lord ; 
 'Twould break my heart, upon my word ! 
 'Tis plain, from all we've heard to day, 
 The king's your friend ; so only say, 
 You wish it, and the trembling thing 
 Shall live to bray, God save the king ! " 
 
 Pleased to be dubbed so gi-eat at court. 
 
 And find such dupes to wing report. 
 
 Our Jackal bowed with modish airs ; 
 
 Sir Ass, loud braying thanks and prayers, 
 
 Bounced from the scene and homeward flew. 
 
 To tell poor Ned what Jack would do. 
 
 But how shall we the story end ? 
 
 Oh, Jack ! you proved a mighty friend ! 
 
 The forest king, if fame be right, 
 
 Devoured young Ned that very night ! 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Long live the Russells, sire and son. 
 From Bedford's thane to good Lord John ! 
 They must have power whoe'er may reign, 
 And be what Jackals only feign. 
 But affectation, pomp, pretence, — 
 How hateful to the man of sense ! 
 
 Yet famished gulls, or idle fools, — 
 Templars, divines, cadets from schools,
 
 220 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 Gaping for pensions, mitres, j^lace, 
 Like foxes in a wild-goose cliase, 
 Neglect their briefs, or waste estate, 
 To dance attendance on tbe great. 
 Vain id'ers ! few the prize attain. 
 And fewer find it worth the j^ain ! 
 
 O ye who vainly fawn and cram ! 
 
 Disgusted with chicane and sham. 
 
 Quit levee-days without a sigh, 
 
 And wisely bait for smaller fry. 
 
 So Charles of Austria left his throne, 
 
 To time his clocks and dwell alone; 
 
 And Cincinnatus, wisely great, 
 
 To guide his plough forsook the State. 
 
 There tvill be sycophants, I own, 
 Scrambling to pick the placeman's bone : 
 Wisdom to both ! for oft, alas ! 
 'Tis but the Jackal and the Ass. 
 
 ILLUSTEATIVE PROSE. 
 
 ON COURTLY SERVILITY. 
 
 " When we look round us, and behold the strange 
 variety of faces and persons which fill the streets with 
 business and hurry, it is no unpleasant amusement to 
 make guesses at their different pursuits, and judge by 
 their countenances what it is thai so anxiously engages 
 their present attention. Of all this busy crowd, there
 
 THE JACKAL AND THE ASS. 221 
 
 are none who would give a man inclined to such in- 
 quiries better diversion for his thoughts, than those 
 whom we call good courtiers, and such as are assiduous 
 at the levees of great men. These worthies .are got 
 into a habit of being servile with an air, and enjoy a 
 certain vanity in being known for understanding how 
 the world passes. In the jjleasure of this they can rise 
 early, go abroad sleek and well-dressed, with no other 
 hope or purpose than to make a bow to a man in court 
 favour, and be thought, by some insignificant smile of 
 his, not a little engaged in his interests and fortunes. 
 
 " It is wondrous that a man can get over the natural 
 existence and possession of his own mind so far, as to 
 take delight either in paying or receiving such cold and 
 repeated civilities. But what maintains the humour 
 is, that outward show is what most men pursue, rather 
 than real happiness. Tlius both the idol and idolater 
 equally impose upon themselves, in pleasing their imagi- 
 nations this way. But as there are very many of Her 
 Ma-jcsty's good subjects, who are extremely uneasy at 
 their own seats in the country, where all from the 
 skies to the centre of the earth is their own, and have 
 a mighty longing to shine in courts, or to be partners 
 in the power of the world ; I say, for the benefit of these, 
 and others who hanker after being in the whisper with 
 great men, and vexing their neighbours with the 
 changes they would be capable of making in the ap- 
 jjearance of a country sessions, it would not, methinks, 
 be amiss, to give an account of that market for pre- 
 ferment, a great man's levee. 
 
 " For aught I know, this commerce between the 
 mighty and their slaves, very justly represented, might 
 do so much good, as to incline the great to regard
 
 222 THE IJATH FABLES. 
 
 business rather than ostentation ; and make the little 
 know the use of their time too well to spend it in vain 
 a])plifatious and addresses. The famous doctor in 
 Moorlields, who gained so much reputation for his 
 horary predictions, is said to have had in his parlour 
 diflercnt ropes to little hells, vvliich hung in tlie room 
 above stairs, where the doctor tliought lit to be oracu- 
 lous. If a girl had been deceived by her lover, one 
 bell was pulled ; and if a peasant had lost a cow, the 
 servant rang another. This method was kept in respect 
 to all other passions and concerns, and the skilful waiter 
 below sifted tlie inquirer, and gave the doctor notice 
 accordingly. The levee of a great man is laid after the 
 same manner; and twenty whispers, false alarms, and 
 Ijrivate iiitimations, i^ass backward and forward from 
 the porter, the valet, and the patron himself, before the 
 gaping crew who arc to pay their court are gathered 
 together. When the scene is ready, the doors fly'ojien, 
 and discover his Lordship. 
 
 ■ " There are several ways of making this first ap- 
 pearance. You may be either half dressed, and washing 
 yourself, which is indeed the most stately ; but this 
 way of opening is peculiar to military men, in whom 
 there is something graceful in exposing themselves 
 naked : but the politicians, or civil officers, have tisually 
 affected to be more reserved, and preserve a certain 
 chastity of deportment. Whether it be hierogly])hical 
 or not, this difference in the military and civil list, I 
 will not say ; but I have ever understood the fact to be, 
 that the close minister is buttoned up, and the brave 
 officer open-breasted on these occasions. 
 
 " However that is, I humbly conceive the business 
 of a levee is to receive the acknowledgments of a mul-
 
 THE JACKAL AND THE ASS. 223 
 
 titude, that a man is wise, bounteous, valiant, and 
 powerful. When the first shot of eyes is made, it is 
 wonderful to observe how much submission the patron's 
 modesty can bear, and how much servitude the client's 
 spirit can descend to. In the vast multiplicity of busi- 
 ness, and the crowd about him, my Lord's parts are 
 usually so great, that, to the astonishment of the whole 
 assembly, he has something to say to every man there, 
 and that so suitable to his capacity, that any man may 
 judge it is not without talents that men can arrive at 
 great employments. I have known a great man ask a 
 flag-oflficer which way was the wind; a commander of 
 horse, the present jirice of oats ; and a stockjobber, 
 at what discount such a fund was, with as much ease 
 as if he had been bred to each of those several ways 
 of life. Now this is extremely obliging ; for at the 
 same time that the patron informs himself of matters, 
 he gives the person of whom he inquires an oppor- 
 tunity to exert himself. * * * 
 
 " The satirist says, ' There is seldom common-sense 
 in high fortune ;' and one woidd think, to behold a 
 levee, that the great were not only infatuated with their 
 station, but also that they believed all below were 
 seized too ; else, how is it possible they could think of 
 imposing upon themselves and others in such a degree, 
 as to set up a levee for anything but a direct farce ? 
 But such is the weakness of our nature, that when men 
 are a little exalted in their condition, they immediately 
 conceive they have additional senses, and their capa- 
 cities enlarged not only above other men, but above 
 human comprehension itself. Thus it is ordinary to 
 see a great man attend one listening, bow to one at 
 a distance, and call to a third at the same instant.
 
 224 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 "A girl in new ribands is not more taken with herself, 
 nor does she betray more apparent coquetries, than 
 even a wise man in such a circumstance of courtship. 
 I do not know anything that I ever thought so very 
 distasteful, as the affectation which is recorded of Caesar; 
 to wit, that he would dictate to three several writers 
 at the same time. This was an ambition below the 
 greatness and candour of liis mind. He, indeed, if 
 any man had pretensions to greater faculties than any 
 other mortal, was the person ; but such a way of acting 
 is cliildish, and inconsistent with the manner of our 
 being. It ai)pears, from tlie very nature of things, that 
 tlicre cannot be anything effectually despatched in the 
 distraction of a public levee ; but the whole seems to 
 be a conspiracy of a set of servile slaves, to give up 
 their own liberty in order to take away their patron's 
 understanding." 
 
 Steele. 
 
 FABLE XXIV. 
 
 THE MAID AND THE MOP. 
 
 FOR THE PROUD. 
 
 «< T)TIIDE, oil! insinuating elf ! 
 
 X It pestei-s all men but myself." 
 Thus many cry in humbler state, 
 Acquit tliemselves, and tax the great: 
 But pride disdains in courts to stop, — 
 She scrubs the pans and twirls the mop. 
 
 A buxom lass to Kichmond camo. 
 Unknown, save now, to song or fame,
 
 THE MAID AND THE MOP. 225 
 
 And there engaged, with prompt accord, 
 As under housemaid to My Lord. 
 This hoyden girl, each ruby morn — 
 More rubicund herself — would scorn 
 To lounge in bed, as many do. 
 In high life, and in low life too. 
 Down she would hie, and never fail, 
 To lave the hall with mop and paiJ ; 
 And, as she plied her honest trade. 
 Warbled aloud this sweet tirade : — 
 
 " Oh ! happiest of the happy, I ! 
 
 If I've no wealth, for none I sigh : 
 
 No coach have I, nor rich brocade, 
 
 For I'm a poor, hard-working maid. 
 
 I am not wise, I am not grand ; 
 
 No gold-laced general asks my hand ; 
 
 But if I have no coach to ride, 
 
 I thank my stars I'm free from pride ! 
 
 I hate all show, all pomp and puflP, 
 
 And can't endure such fulsome stuff. 
 
 Look at my lady ; what parade ! 
 
 How finical my lady's maid ! 
 
 Oh ! let me dwell behind some screen. 
 
 Alike unseeing and unseen ! 
 
 What friends may think, or foes may say. 
 
 Is all the same to Polly Gray ! " 
 
 One morning, as she closed her strain, 
 Polly descried a neighbour swain : 
 Clodpole, outside the palisade, 
 Was slyly listening to the maid, 
 And ogled through the garden rail. 
 Our heroine of mop and pail, —
 
 236 THE BATU FABLES. 
 
 Her skill, her ease, her dextrous airs, 
 
 In managing her great affiiirs. 
 
 " How gracefully she dips the sponge! 
 
 What ecstasy at every plunge!" 
 
 But when she stepped upon the ground. 
 
 And twirled her mop all round and round, 
 
 Such grace, such skill, such everything. 
 
 The coldest heart might feel the sting. 
 
 The fascination of the mop 
 
 Fairly enchained our rustic fop; 
 
 As Sally languishes to view 
 
 Her sailor in his Sunday hhie. 
 
 Just then, the maid, so free from pride, 
 The gazing, ogling clown espied ; 
 When she, who languislied for a screen, 
 To live unseeing and unseen ; 
 Who cared not what the world might say, 
 Since all was one to Polly Gray, — 
 This humble maid resolved to show 
 Her prowess to the admiring beau. 
 
 With mincing leer and flijipant style. 
 And swimming gait and simpering smile, 
 She swung the pail — with such an air — 
 Our rustic quite admired the fair. 
 How finical she dipped the mop ! 
 And doused the steps at every sop, 
 With such genteel, elaborate grace, 
 As rouged yet more her rosy face. 
 See how she manages the can. 
 And twirls her mop as maids a fan ! 
 Round goes the mop, in giddiest maze, 
 And scatters streams of watery rays ;
 
 THE MAID AND THE MOP. 227 
 
 Just as a fire-wheel at Vauxliall, 
 While whirling sparks in myriads fall. 
 
 And sparks fell now — full one at least — 
 For as the giii prolonged the feast, 
 And twirled her mop with blandest air, 
 Wliat Olodpole could withstand the fair? 
 Transfixed with wonder stood the swain, 
 Drenched equally with tears and rain. 
 So when poor Jack quits Britain's shore, 
 Belike to see dear Peg no more, 
 She lingers on the strand for hours, 
 'Midst whirling gales and drenching showers. 
 And waves her liand, till, drowned with rain, 
 She runs and dries her clothes again. 
 
 At length the mop, half drowned, half crazed, 
 Breatiiless as Polly, and amazed, 
 Scarce found her trundling brains at rest, 
 When thus the maiden she addressed: — 
 
 " Alas ! alas ! poor Polly Gray ! 
 Where's your humility to-day? 
 Now that my whirling brains are staid. 
 Permit your mop t' instruct a maid. 
 I ne'er yet heard your humble song, 
 Without suspecting something wrong. 
 'Gainst pride of splendour you can croak, 
 Yet you're as jjvoud as otlier folk ; 
 Proud in your way, proud of your mop, 
 Proud as a Bond-street belle or fop ! " 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Since man's unhappy sin and fall. 
 Pride, like a plague-spot, clings to all.
 
 228 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 Pride dwelt with in the Cynic's tub ; 
 Pride nerves the scullion's arm to scrub ; 
 And holy men who 'gainst it preach, 
 Its promptings own in every sjieech. 
 The filthiest monk that ever cursed 
 The Church, since monks came in at first, 
 Is proud as Dunstan to be thought 
 Humble, and sordid, and untaught. 
 
 'Tis wisdom's part, then, not to croak 
 At pride and swell in other folk ; 
 But first of all one's own to find, 
 And chase the demon from the mind. 
 So shall we tread where Jesus trod, 
 The meek and lowly Lamb of God; 
 That Lamb who erst a victim died, 
 To save us from the curse of pride. 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE PKOSE. 
 
 TRAGICAL CONSEQUENCES OF FEMALE 
 COQUETRY. 
 
 " In the reign of Queen Anne, two youths of Wigton- 
 shire, in the south of Scotland, had been fondly attached 
 from childhood. The elder was a foundling. He had 
 been laid at the gate of an old naval officer, who, though 
 a bachelor, was moved with generous compassion for the 
 desolate babe, and took upon himself the charge of his 
 rearing and education. His niece, who managed his 
 family, had but lately returned from Edinburgh, where
 
 THE MAID AND THE MOP. 229 
 
 she had been resident some months for medical advice. 
 Mr. Clark feared that she might object to an intruder 
 likely to interfere with her own expectations ; but her 
 promptitude in acceding to his proposal, and the unre- 
 mitting tenderness she showed the boy, greatly endeared 
 her to her uncle. 
 
 " The following year she married a gentleman in the 
 neighbourhood. Her second son was the Pyiades of our 
 foundling, who was named Orestes, in commemoration 
 of a vessel, the first captured by the gallant tar, who cut 
 her out of a French port at the price of his left leg. 
 The boys were educated together, and together went as 
 midshipmen into the navy ; and though each with fear- 
 less ardour encountered dangers and endured fatigues in 
 their line of duty, emulous of distinction, their profes- 
 sional ambition never interfered with their private 
 friendship. After years of unbounded confidence and 
 affection, their ship was stationed in a West Indian 
 harbour, and on the adjacent coast. Here they both 
 became violently enamoured of a beautiful Creole of 
 Jamaica, and as both the young officers were remarkably 
 handsome and conspicuous for bravery, the lady was 
 flattered by the impression which she had evidently 
 made on them, and with consummate art she afforded 
 hopes to both, without giving either room to suppose 
 that his rival was preferred. In this manner both these 
 noble hearts were subdued and riveted by her charms ; 
 and even when each began to discover a rival in his 
 friend, though they were in some degree estranged, they 
 still would have shuddered at the thoughts of a quarrel 
 — a sanguinary quarrel. 
 
 " The younger, whose name was Cuthbert, imagined
 
 230 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 at length that Orestes had gained tlie lady, and charged 
 him accordingly. The charge was retorted with some 
 acrimony ; for it occurred to the accused that his friend 
 wished to break with him, as the only obstacle to pur- 
 suing his inclinations. In few words, the friends took 
 in the most oH'ensive light every phrase reciprocally 
 intended as explanatory of their conduct. A challenge 
 ensued, and it was agreed that both should fire in the 
 same moment. Orestes received a mortal wound, and 
 Cuthbert was also shot through the body. His hurt was 
 not immediately fatal, yet he was obliged to return to Scot- 
 land for the recovery of his health. His voyage was so 
 rapid, that he gave his mother the first account that his 
 friend, now dearer tlian life, never uttered a word after 
 receiving his fire. 'Great God!' exclaimed the unfor- 
 tunate lady, 'my ill-fated son has slain his brother! 
 Yes, Cuthbert, I was secretly married to an ofiicer who 
 fell at the battle of Kamillies. I was delivered of my 
 poor boy in a week after I lieard that his father had 
 bled for his country. I had gone to Edinburgh to con- 
 ceal my situation, till my husband should be promoted 
 to a company, and I hoped my uncle would forgive 
 me. To secure having the child under my own eye, my 
 nurse, the only confidanteoi my marriage and pregnancy, 
 left my babe at the door of my uncle's house. Alas ! I 
 brought him thither, and encouraged your mutual friend- 
 ship, only to be the sorrow of my declining years !' 
 
 "Cuthbert lingered a few months. His unhappy 
 mother did not survive him a year. We have not heard 
 what became of the vain coquette, whose selfish artifices 
 caused this tragedy ; but as she was virtually a murderess, 
 the awful retribution of Divine justice ]>robably chas- 
 tised her crime." — Achcnnanns Rejjository.
 
 THE PHEASANT AND THE HARE. 231 
 
 FABLE XXV. 
 THE PHEASANT AND THE HARE. 
 
 rOR LANDLORDS. 
 
 TIME was when serfs to Normans bowed; 
 Time is when yeomen think aloud ; 
 Time will be when the British hinds, 
 Aided by high and patriot minds, 
 Bold in their own and country's cause, 
 Shall dig the grave of lawless laws ! 
 
 A famished peasant left his cot, 
 
 Repining at his cruel lot, 
 
 Since wife and little ones would cry, 
 
 For bread his toil could ill supply. 
 
 As o'er the glebe tlie sad one went, 
 
 To God his pent-up woe to vent, 
 
 He chanced to near the gilded gate, 
 
 Of bluff Lord Coppercap's estate, 
 
 Where game in plenty glut and rest, 
 
 That might his pining home have blest. 
 
 Here as he gazed with hungry eyes, 
 
 A hare and pheasant he espies. 
 
 Just tete-d-tete ; so lists with care. 
 
 When thus the pheasant spake the hare : — 
 
 " Of all the birds or beasts that roam 
 The greenwoods of our charming home, 
 Not one, for comfort, can compare 
 With me, the partridge, and the hare.
 
 232 
 
 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 Old Eg3'pt worshipped brute and fowl, 
 The i-eptile, ibis, hawk and owl ; 
 But we are creatures more divine. 
 For Christian blood bedews our shrine ! 
 I well might snub the eagle king. 
 His rocky throne aud grizzly wing ; 
 Since potent lords, in whose high hands, 
 Lie England's broad and fertile lands, — 
 Yes, lords, my friend, are serfs to me, 
 O'er all this island of the free : 
 Brutes only die where eagles reign, 
 But cotters bleed if I be slain ! 
 
 " Mark how they guard our holy ground, 
 From poachers, farmers, gun or hound ; 
 While laws and deadly strife restrain 
 Who tempts our life with hand profane. 
 Yes ! dungeons, chains, a felon's doom, 
 A murderous blast, a blood-stained tomb. 
 Await the daring peasant-slave, 
 Who me molests e'en life to save : 
 Though pinched with famine he must die, 
 And wife and babes for food may sigh ! 
 
 " For us is man sent o'er the deep. 
 While orphans in cold unions weep ; 
 And though the game-laws foster crimes. 
 Swell the high rates and curse the times, 
 Eob the snubbed farmer of his due, 
 Cram each bastile with paupers too, 
 Give to the few what God gave all. 
 And thus the starving cotter gall ;
 
 THE PHEASANT AND THE HARE. 233 
 
 Yet, iwor man ! sport's the rich niau's due, 
 Though sport to him be death to you ! 
 I sometimes think it hardly fair, 
 But tell me, what say you, Sir Hare ?" 
 
 He said : when supercilious Puss, 
 
 Just rubbed his nose, and answered thus: — 
 
 " Guarded by blunderbuss and laws, 
 
 And destined to patrician maws, 
 
 We are indeed an honoured r&,ce. 
 
 Nor vile plebeian haunts our place. 
 
 E'en monks can't glut like you and me, 
 
 And yet I'm often galled to see 
 
 Poor famished rascals lurking near. 
 
 With noose and gun and ugly leer. 
 
 Last night nine poachers broke the l&w, 
 
 And all to cram their vulgar maw ; 
 
 As though a clown had right to eat 
 
 What's only fit to feast the great ! 
 
 To check such arrogance as this. 
 
 Some stringent laws were not amiss ; 
 
 Since low, unlicensed fellows claim, 
 
 To share with lords the very game ; 
 
 And we must lose our pampered lives, 
 
 For boors with wretched brats and wives ! 
 
 " A pretty thing, my friend, indeed, 
 
 That Norman game for knaves must bleed ! 
 
 To die as dainty bits for lords. 
 
 And swim in jelly at their boards,— 
 
 All's well ; but what disgrace to die, 
 
 To stuff a poor man's clownish pie,
 
 234 TIIK BATH FABLKS. 
 
 Or feast their wives and pining brats, 
 Sans shoes, sans bonnets, frocks or hats ! 
 Evils like these, so vows the press, 
 Another sessions must distress, 
 And teach each clown, each starving wight, 
 The feudal adage — ^Power is right !" 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Puss had a soul ! so have the squires, 
 Who tompt the" poor to guns and wires. 
 Puss had his ])ridc ! and so have they. 
 Who England's glebe alone would sway. 
 Puss was a brute of spirit too ! 
 Magnates of sessions ! such are you ; 
 For many a widow's heart ye wring, 
 And orphans doom to starve and swing ! 
 Yet, fanners ! meekly bear your woe ; 
 'Tis hard to yield, and light moves slow : 
 All-healing time will soon redress, 
 And whom ye curse you'll shortly bless. 
 
 On, Bright, again ! thy honest tale, 
 Saint Stephen's squires in vain assail. 
 Sir Harry Yerney ! join the van; 
 E'en Buckingham will play the man; 
 For British hearts, of hearts the best, 
 Rejoice to see the poor man blest. 
 
 Thrice happy man, tin-ice happy day, 
 That wipes the Noi-man code away, 
 And opes the ample forest glade. 
 To laws the God of nature made ! 
 For then the rich in peace may rest, 
 And thane and thrall be doubly blest.
 
 THE PHEASANT AND THE HARE. 
 
 235 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE PEOSE. 
 
 ON THE GAME LAWS. 
 
 "The agricultural valley of the Avon is, perhaps, the 
 most remarkable for game-keeping and game-killing in 
 the south of England. The New Forest has for seven 
 hundred years been noted for its hunting-grounds. It 
 is said that "William the Conqueror, finding much sport 
 in it, caused it to be extended ; for which end many 
 villages and churches were entirely cleared away. As 
 is well known, his son, William Rufus, as keen a hunter 
 as his father, was shot in this forest by an arrow, which 
 Sir Walter Tyrrel intended for a deer. History tells us 
 that this accident was attributed, by the country peojile, 
 to the justice of Heaven : the crime being tlie 'inordinate 
 love of hunting, to gratify which, many 2)opulous towns 
 and villages, and thirty-six parish churches, were 
 destroyed.' 
 
 " New Forest has been encroached upon since that 
 period by the spade and the plough; but it has always 
 been, and is yet, less or more, a hunting-ground. It is 
 said to be forty miles in circumference yet. Its timber 
 is valuable for ship-building, but is sadly neglected in 
 management. Still, from the days of Rufus up to a recent 
 pieriod, hunting and the kindred sports were confined to 
 the forest. It was reserved for one Henry Baring, a 
 member of the great mercantile firm of the Barings, to 
 outdo William Rufus and William the Conqueror. He 
 did not demolish 'thirty-six parish churches, and many 
 populous towns and villages,' to give him space to run 
 and ride; and it is very doubtful if Rufus and his father
 
 236 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 did so much mischief as that; yet, if they did, they wei'e 
 kings aud conquerors. Henry Baring was lord of only 
 six miles of country ; a gi-eat part of which was cultivated 
 land, held hy farmers who paid him rent. He did not 
 jiuU down the harns, uproot the fences, and lay the valley 
 of the Avon into an open chase; but, being, as history 
 says of Rufus and the Conqueror, an ' inordinate hunter,' 
 he stocked every acre of his six miles with hares and 
 rabbits, also with pheasants, until they swarmed beyond 
 number or calculation ; aud these he caused his tenants 
 to feed at their own expense ! " 
 
 Orapheus. 
 
 " From this root (the Forest Laws) has sprung a bas- 
 tard slip, known by the name of the Game Laws, now 
 arrived to and wantoning in its highest Adgour ; both 
 founded upon the ' same unreasonable notions of jterma- 
 nent property in wild creatures, and botli productive of 
 the same tyranny to the commons ; but with tliis dif- 
 ference, — that the Forest Laws established only one 
 mighty hunter tlirough the land ; the Game Laws have 
 raised a little Nimrod in every manor." 
 
 Blackstone. 
 
 But game laws existed four hundred years before 
 the Normans. " The common rights of nature, such as 
 they had always been deemed by the Roman jurispru- 
 dence, were severely restrained by the German con- 
 querors, whose amusement, or rather passion, was the 
 exercise of hunting. Gaul was again overspread with 
 woods, and tlie animals wlio were reserved for the use, 
 or pleasure of the lord, might ravage, with impunity, the
 
 THE BUTTERFLY AND THE BEE. 237 
 
 fields of his industrious vassals. Jones, Bishop of 
 Orleans, censures the legal tyrannj' of the nobles : John 
 of Salisbury asserts the rights of nature." 
 
 Gibbon. 
 
 FABLE XXVI. 
 
 THE BUTTERFLY AND THE BEE. 
 
 FOR SNEEREE.S. 
 
 FULL oft I've blushed to mark a mind, 
 In love with zeal of every kind, 
 Save that which first in heaven began, — 
 Zeal for the future weal of man. 
 Such minds would waste a summer's rays, 
 To set a cracker in a blaze ; 
 Or drain the ocean's boundless tide. 
 To find the wrecks of Tyrian pride. 
 Like alchymists, they'd spend a life, 
 To make an ingot of a knife ; 
 And were their dwelling in a blaze, 
 They'd save a coin or end their days : 
 Yet grudge a single ray of light. 
 To cheer the gloom of Payuim night ; 
 And scorn the smallest sacrifice. 
 That man may gain his native skies. 
 Peruse ye, O misguided men! 
 The musings of a friendly pen. 
 
 On Joliba's oft-travelled strand, 
 "Where rolls a tide of golden sand ;
 
 238 THE HATH FABLES. 
 
 Some prairies flourish green and fair, 
 And fill with balm the sunny air. 
 In thcso sweet meads, where snakes in sheen, 
 And lizards shine in gold and green ; 
 Where fluttering insects toil or play, 
 Throughout the livelong vernal day; 
 A bee and butterfly erst met, 
 On vastly different objects set. 
 
 " Good morrow, sir !" Papilio cried ; 
 "What brings you to the river's side? 
 I thought some bee must sure be near, 
 Your ])iorcing bum half stunned my ear. 
 But what a charming day we've got! 
 'Tis true, this sun is piping hot ; 
 Yet Afrio's suns are ever warm. 
 And after all, I hate a storm ; 
 For flasliy butterflies, you know. 
 Detest, of all tilings, rain and snow ; 
 We get the vapours, cough and sneeze. 
 Or tear our finery in the trees. 
 
 " D'ye know. Sir Bee, I'm here so fast. 
 On business of a serious cast? — 
 A novelty just now afloat. 
 The newest gilding for our coat. 
 I've been deputed by my nation. 
 Who hold a charming nice ])lantation, 
 Some fiiteen lurlongs farther west, 
 To set this mighty jioint at rest; 
 And so I'm come t' observe the modes 
 Of butterflies in these abodes. 
 
 " But we've a weiglitier question yet, — 
 A jea'ous point of etiquette:
 
 THE BUTTERFLY AND THE BEE. 239 
 
 We've had some frightful wars of late, 
 Among our folks of rank and state. 
 I'll tell you how these feuds arise : — 
 When tliree or four gay butterflies 
 Come all at once to taste a flower, 
 And each puts fortli his giaut power, 
 To gain exclusive right, it leads 
 To tattered wings and broken heads ! 
 
 " We wish to learn what customs reign, 
 'Mong butteiflies of this domain ; — 
 A most important point, d'ye see ? 
 And this affair is lodged with me. 
 Negotiations so profound, 
 Oppress one's spirits to the ground ; 
 Yet he's a worthless butterfly. 
 Who for his country would not die." 
 
 He paused ; but mark the trifling creature ! 
 Importance swelled in every feature : 
 He pawed his nose and flapped his wings, 
 In all the emptiest pomp of kings. 
 And wondered why the list'ning bee 
 Should not in reverence bend his knee. 
 Truth is, our pliilosophic friend 
 Saw really nothing to commend. 
 And would have lectured on the crime, 
 Of vain ])ursuits and murdering lime. 
 Impossible ! the rattling blade 
 Kesumed, and dealt him this tirade : — 
 
 " You'll own, Sir Bee, these vast aSairs 
 May well command our nation's cares;
 
 240 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 But what, meantime, are you about? 
 
 A bumpkin J'armer, or bis lout, 
 
 Is notbiug of a fag to yon, 
 
 Yet what's the good of all you do ? 
 
 You luim, bum, bum, each sunny hour, 
 
 And cram your nose in every flower, 
 
 Load wings and legs with pollen dust, 
 
 And mumble at it like a crust ; 
 
 Then drudge your soul out at the hive ; — 
 
 Zounds ! one may wonder you're alive ! 
 
 " And why this fuss the livelong day ? 
 
 What toil ! what pains ! what wretched pay ! 
 
 You ne'er consume e'en half your gains. 
 
 And why for others fag your brains ? 
 
 Nay, after all is said and done, 
 
 I see no science in the fun : 
 
 A hive is but a vulgar thing. 
 
 But Beauty's self adorns my wing. 
 
 Look at my nose, my eyes, my feet ! 
 
 Was ever Psyche half so neat ? 
 
 What modes have not our nation taught ? 
 
 There's something noble in tlie thought ! 
 
 So quit. Sir Bee, your vile pursuits. 
 
 And cull like me, diviner fruits." 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Thus many, in this selfish age. 
 As wisely vent their pointless rage. 
 Against that noble enterprise, 
 That drew a Saviour from the skies. 
 That aims t' erect one common fane. 
 And hails the great millennial reign :
 
 THE BDTTERFLY AND THE BEE. 241 
 
 Uugenerous souls ! — yet soft, my muse ! — 
 They know not what they thus ahuse. 
 
 Oh ! list to me, and let me find, 
 
 To meet my own, a candid mind. 
 
 Our cause ye style " a zealot's dream, 
 
 A groundless and Utopian scheme :" 
 
 Unmanly stigma! wait awhile. 
 
 And say it, siionld our plans beguile. 
 
 If on i^hilosophy were based 
 
 Our splendid hopes, or if we raised 
 
 Those hopes on human ethics, then, 
 
 You'd fitly style us phrenzied men. 
 
 On such a scheme ye well might frown : — 
 
 No ant can hurl the Andes down; 
 
 But we repose on God above, 
 
 Jehovah's arm, not that of Jove. 
 
 " Yet why so much ado ? " ye cry ; 
 
 " We hate enthusiasm." That's a lie ! 
 
 You love enthusiasm, when its forte 
 
 Is science, commerce, war or sport. 
 
 You love the moi who thread, forlorn, 
 
 Dark Afric's wilds our maps t' adorn : 
 
 You love, I ween, the ardent brave, 
 
 Who wield the sword on land or wave ; 
 
 Nor would ye scorn to deify 
 
 The French enthusiasts of July. 
 
 You love Bilboa's patriot band, 
 
 Who chased Don Carlos through the land 
 
 You love the youth whose noble rage 
 
 Blazes upon the classic page. 
 
 " Dulce et ileeus est," ye sigh, 
 
 " Tis sweet for country's weal to die !"
 
 242 ^H^ ftATH FABLE&. 
 
 Strange creed! y6 gratit the heart may glow, 
 For science, honour, wealth or foe ; 
 E'en you display the enthusiast's rage, 
 To palm your creed upon tlie age ; 
 And all enthusiasts win eclat, 
 Save such as teach Jehovah's law ! 
 
 He, who from heaven came down to hleed, 
 Hath taught His chinch a nobler ci-eed: 
 Yours is a creed I cannot sign, 
 But change it, Lamb of God! for thine. 
 
 ELLUSTRATIVE PEOSE. 
 CLARINDA'S JOURNAL OF A WEEK. 
 
 " Dear Mr. Spectator, 
 " You having set your readers an exercise in one of 
 your last week's papers, I have performed mine ac- 
 cording to your orders, and herewith send it you en- 
 closed. You must know, Mr. Spectator, that I am a 
 maiden lady of a good fortune, who have had several 
 good matches ofiered mc for these ten years last past, 
 and have at present warm applications made to me by 
 ' A Very Pretty Fellow.' As I am at my own disposal, 
 I come up to town every winter, and pass my time in 
 it after the manner you will find in the following jour- 
 nal, which 1 began to write the very day after your 
 Spectator upon that subject. 
 
 "Tuesday night. Could not go to sleep till one in 
 the morning for thinking of my journal.
 
 THE BUTTERFLY AND THE BEE. 243 
 
 " Wednesday. From eight till ten. Drank two dishes 
 of chocolate in bed, and fell asleep after them. 
 
 " From ten to eleven. Ate a slice of bread and 
 butter, drank a dish of bohea, and read the Spectator. 
 
 " From eleven to one. At my toilette ; tried a new 
 hood. Gave orders for Veny to be combed and washed. 
 Mem. I look best in blue. 
 
 " From one till half an hour after two. Drove to the 
 'Change. Cheapened a coujjle of fans. 
 
 " Till four. At dinner. Mem. jNIr. Froth passed by 
 in his new liveries. 
 
 "From four to six. Dressed; paid a visit to old 
 Lady Blithe and her sister, having before heard they 
 were gone out of town that day. 
 
 " From si.x. to eleven. At basset. Mem. Never set 
 again upon the ace of diamonds. 
 
 " Thursday. From eleven at night to eight in the 
 morning. Dreamed that I punted* to Mr. Froth. 
 
 " From eight to ten. Chocolate. Eead two acts in 
 ' Aurengzebe ' a-bed. 
 
 " From ten to eleven. Tea-table. Sent to borrow 
 Lady Faddle's Cupid for Yeny. Read the iilay-bills. 
 Received a letter from Mr. Froth. Mem. Locked it 
 up in my strong box. 
 
 "Rest of the morning. Fontange, the tire-woman; 
 her account of my Lady Blithe's wash. Broke a tooth 
 in my little tortoiseshell comb. Sent Frank to know 
 how my Ladv Hectic rested after her monkey's ]ea2)ing 
 out at window. Looked pale. Fontange tells me my 
 glass is not true. Dressed by three. 
 
 o 
 
 * A term in the game of basset.
 
 244 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 " From tlii'ee to four. Dinner cold before I sat down. 
 
 " From four to eleven. Saw company. Mr. Froth's 
 opinion of Milton. His accounts of tlio iMoliocks. His 
 fancy for a pincushion. Picture in the lid of his snuff- 
 bo.K. Old Lady Faddle j^romises me her woman to cut 
 my hair. Lost five guineas at crimp. 
 
 " Twelve o'clock at night. Went to bed. 
 
 " Friday. Eight in the moining. A-bed. Read 
 over all Mr. Froth's letters. Cupid and Veny. 
 
 " Q'en o'clock. Stayed within all day ; not at home. 
 
 " From ten to twelve. In conference with my mantua- 
 maker. Sorted a suit of ribands. Broke my blue china 
 cup. 
 
 " From twelve to one. Shut myself up in my cham- 
 ber; practised Lady Betty Modlcy's skuttle.* 
 
 " One in the afternoon. Called for my flowered 
 handkerchief. Worked half a violct-lcaf in it. Eyes 
 ached, and head out of order. Threw by my work, and 
 read over the remaining part of ' Aurengzebe.' 
 
 " From three to four. Dined. 
 
 " From four to twelve. Changed my mind; dressed, 
 went abroad, and played at crimp till midnight. Found 
 Mrs. Spitcly at home. Conversation : Mrs. Biilliant's 
 necklace false stones. Old Lady Loveday going to be 
 married to a young fellow that is not worth a gi'oat. 
 Miss True gone into the country. Tom Townley has 
 red hair. Mem. Mrs. Spitely whispered in my ear, 
 that she had something to tell me about Mr. Froth ; 
 T am sure it isn't true. 
 
 • A pace of affected precipitation.
 
 THE BUTTERFLY AND THE BEE. 245 
 
 " Between twelve and one. Dreamed that Mr. Froth 
 lay at my feet, and called me Indaraora. 
 
 " Saturday. Rose at eight o'clock in the morning. 
 Sat down to my toilette. 
 
 "From eight to nine. Shifted a 25atch for half an 
 hour before I could determine it. Fixed it above my 
 left eye-brow. 
 
 " From nine to twelve. Drank my tea and dressed. 
 
 " From twelve to two. At chapel. A great deal 
 of good company. Mem. The third air in the new 
 opera. Lady Blithe dressed frightfully. 
 
 " From three to four. Dined. Miss Kilty called 
 upon me to go to the Opera before I was risen from 
 table. 
 
 " From dinner to six. Drank tea. Turned off a 
 footman for being rude to Veny. 
 
 " Six o'clock. Went to the Opera. I did not see 
 Mr. Froth till the begiuniug of the second act. Mr. 
 Froth talked to a gentleman in a black wig : bowed 
 to a lady in the front box. Mr. Froth and his friend 
 clapped Nicolini in the third act. Mr. Froth cried out 
 ' Aneora ! ' Mr. Froth led me to my chair. I think 
 he squeezed my hand. 
 
 " Eleven at night. Went to bed. Melancholy dreams. 
 Methought Nicolini said he was Mr. Froth. 
 
 " Sunday. Indisposed. 
 
 " Monday. Eight o'clock. Waked by Miss Kitty. 
 ' Aurengzebe' lay upon the chair by me. Kitty relocated 
 without book the eight best lines in the play. Went 
 in oui' mobs* to the dumb man, accordiug to appoint- 
 
 * A huddled economy of di'ess so called.
 
 246 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 ment. Told me tliat my lover's name began with a G. 
 Mem. The conjuror* was within a letter of Mr. Froth's 
 name. 
 
 " Upon looking back into this journal, I find that I 
 am at a loss to know whether I pass ray time well or 
 ill; and indeed ne\-er tlioiight of considering how I did 
 it, before I jjcrused your speculation njion that subject. 
 I scarce find a single action in these five days that I 
 can thoroughly approve of, except in the working upon 
 the violet-le.'if, which I am resolved to finish the first 
 day I am at leisure. As for Mr. Froth and Veny, I did 
 not think they took up so much of my time and thoughts 
 as I find they do upon my journal. The latter of them 
 I will turn off, if you insist upon it; and if Mr. Froth 
 do not bring matters to a conclusion very suddenly, I 
 will not let my life run away in a dream. 
 
 " Clarinda." 
 
 " To resume one of the morals of my first paper, and 
 to confirm Clarinda in her good inclinations, I would 
 have her consider wJiat a pretty figure she would make 
 among posterity, were the history of her whole life 
 published like these five days of it." 
 
 Addison. 
 
 Poor Clarinda ! If people of easy fortune would 
 employ their talents in the cause of God and of hu- 
 manity, instead of trifling life and soul away in mind- 
 less, useless gossip, or selfish recreation, what an 
 amount of good our Clarindas and Blithes might effect 
 in this sad and sinful world of onvsl Well-employed 
 talent is the cheapest of all luxuries, and implants no 
 thorn in liie bed of death. — W. 
 
 * Duncan Campbel.
 
 THE POrPY AND THE WHEAT. 247 
 
 FABLE XXVn. 
 THE rOPPY AND THE WHEAT. 
 
 FOR PREACHERS, 
 
 TE pedant sparks, and ye who prize 
 The pulpit jay, the carnal wise, 
 But scorn tlie unadorned harangue, 
 List to the tale a sage once sang. 
 
 As through my grounds, one vernal day, 
 I strolled t' enjoy the charms of May, — 
 The sun, the stream, the leafy trees, 
 The flowers, the flocks, the birds and bees,- 
 Bright works of Him who built the sky, 
 A waving corn-field caught my eye, 
 A forest dense of golden stems, 
 Whose sunlit-heads, like topaz gems. 
 All rustling in the balmy gale, 
 Outsang the warblers of the vale. 
 
 Fixed to the scene by charms so rare, 
 
 I gazed, and quaffed the ambrosial air : 
 
 But as I gazed, a gaudier thing, 
 
 Like butterfly on painted wing. 
 
 High reared its head to court the view, 
 
 Arrayed in robes of crimson hue. 
 
 This was a ]'oppy, tall and gay, 
 
 A sort of floral popinjay ; 
 
 Of dandy strut, and haughty mien. 
 
 As Bond-street sees, or erst has seen. 
 
 Our exquisite, with flippant scorn, 
 Looked down, and thus addressed the corn
 
 248 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 " Pray, Master Yellow-phiz ! may I 
 
 Presume to ask the reason why, 
 
 Such ill-hred, useless weeds as you 
 
 Infest all nature as you do ? 
 
 Or why you dare thus strut and swell, 
 
 Where nobler poppies deign to dwell ? 
 
 To live to purpose is a rule, 
 
 Laid down in every ethic scliool ; 
 
 And, true to this, I'm daily found, 
 
 Where'er physicians go their round, 
 
 Steeping in balmiest repose. 
 
 The sleepless hours of pains and woes. 
 
 But as for you — it's quite absurd ! 
 
 You're fit for nothing, 'pon my word ! 
 
 And e\ery fanner thinks with us. 
 
 Or would he thrasli you as he does ? 
 
 You're piqued, I see, at what I've said, 
 
 And well may hang your ponderous head." 
 
 So ends the fop ; when thus the wheat : — 
 
 " Suspend, good sir, your needless heat; 
 
 Your dull, empyric dose, I own. 
 
 Will oft suppress the patient's groan, 
 
 And slumber to his couch allure ; 
 
 But did you e'er effect a cure ? 
 
 How many, too, have slept to death. 
 
 Fanned by your soporific breath ? 
 
 But as for me — a modest soul, 
 
 Leaves boasting to an ass's foal ; 
 
 Yet, since you choose the point to moot, 
 
 Permit me, sir, to urge my suit. 
 
 You give the sick repose, you boast ; 
 
 That's but a negative, at most :
 
 THE POPPY AND THE WHEAT. 249 
 
 But I am styled the staff of life, — 
 Ask every sage and every wife. 
 Nay, I supply both food aud bed ; 
 With me fair ladies deck their head ; 
 And your repose, without my food, 
 Would do the world but little good." 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Thus many a soporific preacher 
 Harangues the humbler, better teacher ; 
 Talks of his logic, mathematics, 
 Shows off his Romans and his Attics, 
 And struts as he alone had knowledge. 
 Because, forsooth, he's dozed at college. 
 
 Now, though I'm neither churl nor Vandal, 
 
 But love a Virgil, Newton, Handel, 
 
 Yet Heaven send me — all else are lumber — 
 
 The preacher who brings food, not slumber ; 
 
 Intelligent, devout, and feeling. 
 
 To truth, and not to trash appealing ; 
 
 In doctrine soimd, and in behaviour. 
 
 He points the sinner to a Saviour ; 
 
 An Atterbury in his diction, 
 
 A Neal, opposed to papal fiction ; 
 
 True to the cross like Watts and Flavel, 
 
 And skilled its mysteries to unravel. 
 
 Behold the preacher of the people ! 
 In chapel he, or 'ueath the steeple; 
 But pulpit drones, all show and airs. 
 Are poppy-heads, and worse than tares.
 
 250 TIIF. BATH FABLTsS. 
 
 ILLUSTEATIVE PROSE. 
 
 ON THE ENGLISH CLERGY AND POPULAR 
 PREACHERS. 
 
 " It is allowed on all hands, that our English divines 
 receive a more liberal education, and improve that educa- 
 tion, by frequent study, more than any others of this 
 reverend in-ofcssion in Europe. lu general, also, it may 
 be observed, tliat a greater degree of gentility is aflixcd 
 to the character of a student in England tiian elsewhere; 
 by which moans our clergy have an opportunity of seeing 
 belter cumpauy vvliile )oung, and ol buouer wearing otf 
 those prejudices, whicli they are apt to imbibe even in 
 the best-regulated universities, and which may be justly 
 te.med the vulgar errors of the wise. 
 
 " Yet, witli all these advantages, it is very obvious, 
 tliat tiie clergy are nowliere so litile tliought of. by the 
 populace, as licre ; and, though our divines are foremost 
 witli respect to abilities, yet tliey are found last in the 
 eif .;ts of their ministry; tlie vulgar, in general, appearing 
 no way impressed with a sense of reli.^ious duty. I am 
 not for whining at the depravity of the times, or for 
 e deavouring to jiaint a prospect more gloomy than in 
 nature ; but certain it is, no person who has travelled 
 will contradict me, when I aver, that the lower orders of 
 mankind, in other countries, testify, on eveiy occasion, 
 tlie ]>rof()un(lost awe of religion ; while in England they 
 are scarccjv mvnl.oiiod into n ';cnse of its duties, even in 
 circumstances of the greatest d stress.
 
 " 'J'his dissolute and fearless conduct foreigners are 
 apt to attribute to climate and constitution : May not 
 the vidgav being pretty much neglected in our exhorta- 
 tions from the ])ulpit, be a conspiring cause? Our 
 divines seldom stoop to their mean capacities ; and they 
 who want instruction most, find least in our religious 
 assemblies. 
 
 " Whatever may become of the higher oi-dei's of man- 
 kind, wlio are generally possessed of collateral motives to 
 virtue, the vulgar si)0uld be particularly regarded, whose 
 behaviour in civil life is totally hinged upon tlieir hopes 
 and fears. Those who constitute the basis of the great 
 fabric of society, should be particularly regarded ; for, 
 in policy, as in architecture, ruin is most fatal when it 
 begins from the bottom. 
 
 " Men of real sense and understanding prefer a pru- 
 dent mediocrity to a precarious popularity ; and, fearing 
 to outdo their duty, leave it half done. Their discourses 
 from the pulpit are generally dry, methodical, and unaf- 
 fecting : delivered with the most insipid calmness; 
 insomuch, that should the peaceful preacher lift his head 
 over the cushion, which alone he seems to address, he 
 might discover his audience, instead of being awaked to 
 remorse, actually sleeping over his methodical and 
 laboured composition. 
 
 " This method of preaching is, however, by some called 
 an address to reason, and not to the passions: this is 
 styled the making of converts from conviction ; but such 
 are indifterently acquainted with human nature, who 
 are not sensible that men seldom reason about their 
 debaucheries till they are committed. Reason is but a 
 weak antagonist when headlong passion dictates; in all
 
 252 THE BATtI FAIU.ES. 
 
 such cases we should arm one passion against another: 
 it is with the huraan mind as in natiu-c; from the mix- 
 ture of two opposites, the result is most frequently 
 neutral tranquillity. Those who attempt to reason us 
 out of our follies, begin at the wrong end, since the 
 attempt naturally presupposes us capable of reason ; 
 but to be made cajjable of this, is one great point of the 
 cure. 
 
 " There are but few talents requisite to become a 
 popular preacher; for the people are easily pleased, if 
 they perceive any endeavours in the oriitor to ])lease 
 them ; the meanest qualifications will work this effect, 
 if the preacher sincerely sets about it. Perhaps little, 
 indeed, very little, more is required, than sincerity and 
 assurance ; and a becoming sincerity is always certain 
 of producing a becoming assurance. ' Si vis me flere, 
 dolendum est primiivi tibi ipsi,' is so trite a quotation, 
 that it almost demands an apology to repeat it; yet 
 though all allow the justice of the remark, how few do 
 we find j)ut it in practice ! Our orators, with the most 
 fault}' bash fulness, seem imj)ressed ratlier with an awe 
 of their audience, than with a just respect for the ti'uths 
 they are about to deliver. They, of all professions, seem 
 the most bashful, who have the greatest right to glory 
 in their commission ! 
 
 " The French preachers generally assume all that 
 dignity which becomes men who are ambassadors from 
 Christ: the English divines, like erroneous envoys, seem 
 more solicitous not to offend the court to which they are 
 sent, than to drive liome the interests of their employer. 
 The ISishop of Massillon, in the first sermon he ever 
 preached, found the whole audience, upon his getting
 
 THE POPPY AND THE WHEAT. 253 
 
 into the iniljiit, in a disposition no way favourable to 
 his intentions : their nods, whispers, or drowsy behaviour, 
 showed him that there was no great profit to be ex];)ected 
 from his sowing in a soil so improper ; however, he soon 
 changed the disposition of his audience by his manner 
 of beginning. ' If,' says he, ' a cause, the most import- 
 ant that could be conceived, were to be tried at the bar 
 before qualified judges ; if this cause interested ourselves 
 in particular ; if the eyes of the whole kingdom were 
 fixed upon the event; if the most eminent counsel wei-e 
 employed on both sides ; and if we had heard from our 
 infancy of this yet-undetermined trial ; would you not 
 all sit with due attention, and warm expectation, to the 
 pleadings on each side? Would not all your liopes and 
 fears be hinged upon the final decision ? and yet, let me 
 tell you, you have this moment a cause of much greattr 
 importance before you ; a caiise where not one nation, 
 but all tlie world, are spectators ; tried, not before a 
 fallible tribunal, but the awful throne of Heaven ; where, 
 not your temporal and transitory interests are the sub- 
 ject of debate, but your eternal happiness or misery; 
 where the cause is still undetermined, but, perhaps, the 
 very moment I am speaking may fix the irrevocable 
 decree that shall last for ever : and yet, notwithstanding 
 all this, you can hardly sit with patience to hear the 
 tidings of your own salvation! I plead the cause of 
 Heaven, and yet I am scarcely attended to ! ' 
 
 "The style, the abruptness of a beginning like this, 
 in the closet would appear absurd ; but in the jiulpit it 
 is attended with the most lasting impressions : that style 
 which in the closet might justly be called flimsy, seems 
 the true mode of eloquence here. I never read a fine 
 composition under the title of a sermon, that 1 do not
 
 254 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 tliink the anUior lias miscalled his piece ; for the talents 
 to be used in writing well eiitii-ely tlilier iV<>m those of 
 speaking well. 'J'he qualifications for speaking, as has 
 been alieady observed, are easily acquired; they are 
 accomplishments which may be taken up by every can- 
 didate who will bo at the pains of stooping. Impressed 
 witii a sense of tlie truths he is about to deliver, a preacher 
 disregards tlie applause or the contempt of his audience, 
 and he insensibly assumes a just and manly sincerity. 
 Will) this talent alone, we see what crowds are drawn 
 around enthusiasts, even destitute of common sense; 
 what numbers convert d to Chi-istianity ! Folly may 
 sometnnes set an e.xample for wisdom to practise; and 
 our legular divines may borrow instruction from even 
 Methodists, who go their circuits, and preach prizes 
 among tlie ])opulace. Even Whitfield may be placed as 
 a model to some of our young divines : let them join to 
 their own good sense his earnest manner of delivery^ 
 
 "It will be perhaps objected, that by confining the 
 excellences of a preacher to proper assurance, earnest- 
 ness, and openness of style, I make tiie qualifications too 
 trifling for estimation; there will be something called 
 oratory brought up on this occasion: action, attitude, 
 grace, elocution, may be repeated as absolutely necessary 
 to complete the character: but let us not be deceived; 
 common sense is seldom swayed by fine tones, musical 
 periods, just attitudes, or the disjilay of a white hand- 
 kerchief; oratorial behaviour, except in very able hands 
 indeed, genei-ally sinks into awkward and paltry affec- 
 tation. 
 
 " It must be observed, however, that these rules are 
 calculated only for him who would instruct the vulgar,
 
 THE POPPY AND TT-IE WHEAT. 255 
 
 who stand in most need of iustruction ; to address 
 philosophers, and to obtain the character of a jjolite 
 preacher among the polite — a much more useless, though 
 more sought-for character — requires a different method 
 of proceeding. All T shall observe on this head is, to 
 entreat the polemic divine, in his controversy with the 
 deist, to act rather offensively tlian to defend ; to push 
 home the grounds of his belief, and the impracticability 
 of theirs, rather than to spend time in solving the objec- 
 tions of every opponent. ' It is ten to one,' says a late 
 writer on the art of war, ' but that the assailant who 
 attacks the enemy in his trenches is always victorious.' 
 
 " Yet, upon the whole, our clergy might employ them- 
 selves more to the benefit of society, by declining all 
 controversy, than by e.^hibiting even the profoundest 
 skill in polemic disputes: their contests with each other 
 often turn on speculative trifles ; and their disputes with 
 the deist are almost at an end, since they can have no more 
 than victory ; and that they are already possessed of, as 
 their antagonists have been driven into a confession of 
 the necessity of revelation, or an open avowal of atheism. 
 To continue the dispute longer would only endanger it; 
 the sce|)tic is ever e.Kpert at puzzling a debate which he 
 finds himself unable to continue, ' and, like the Olympic 
 boxer, generally fights best when undermost.' " 
 
 Goldsmith. 
 
 Though to the truthfulness of the above excellent 
 essay T freely subscribe, yet must it be read with some 
 discrimination. Papal nations are more superstitious 
 thnn our own, but by no means equally pious. And 
 though too many of the clergy have overshot the lower 
 orders, yet will every candid Churchman devoutly bless
 
 God, that other churches have laboured among them 
 witli the most signal blessing of Heaven. 
 
 Nor must it be overlooked, that "dry.imaflFecting dis- 
 courses," among any body of Cinistians, instead of warm, 
 evangelical appeals to the heart, will never quicken the 
 soul of man, but merely lay out the dead. " Christ and 
 him crucified" is the darling theme of faithful pastors — 
 the lever to move the world. — W. 
 
 FABLE XXVIII. 
 
 THE NEWLIGHT AND THE QUAKER. 
 
 FOR SCEPTi::S. 
 
 WHOE'ER has travelled oft by stage, 
 Has yielded, I'm afraid, to rage, 
 On sitting by some noisy elf. 
 With ears for no one but himself. 
 Such bullies cow the strongest mind. 
 But sometimes meet a check in kind. 
 
 The Dart once started from the Strand, 
 
 And rattled off" for Ta(fy's-land : 
 
 Within, a Sceptic snugly sat, 
 
 Faced by a man in bioad-brimmed hat. 
 
 Our Sceptic was a blowsy blade ; 
 
 Had been in Germany for trade, 
 
 And there had made a wretched bargain, — 
 
 Exchanged sound sense for Newlight jargon. 
 
 Such pedants cannot hold their tongue. 
 
 But must be prating, right or wrong;
 
 THE NEWLIGHT AND THE QUAKER. 257 
 
 So seeing Broadbrim near him sit, 
 He thus began to spout his wit : — 
 
 " To judge you by your phiz and brim. 
 Your drab, your speech, aud cut so prim, 
 You are, I see, an honest Quaker, 
 A Friend, a Christian, or a Shaker: 
 I'm sorry, sir, to meet such things, — 
 The nin-eteenth age in leading-strings! 
 'Tis time this worn-out Christian code 
 The age of Newlights should explode : 
 Our new philosophy, or light, 
 Finds all things wroug, sets all things right ; 
 Exalts the human mind, and starts 
 New principles for liberal arts. 
 
 " In short, I wonder why our race 
 Goes blundering on at baby's pace, 
 Misguided by your Christian lamp, 
 Whose broken rays young genius cramp; 
 Instead of marching, as they might, 
 Amidst the blaze of German light — 
 Light of philosophy, I mean — 
 Now dawning on this lurid scene." 
 
 Such is the meekness of a Friend, 
 Old Broadbrim heard him to an end ; 
 Then cocked his hat, and shook his head, 
 And to this Newlight coolly said : — 
 
 " Why, truly, friend, thee looks as big. 
 As legal witling in a wig; 
 Yet have I tried in vain to find. 
 One ray of genius in thy mind. 
 Tliis light of thine, so new, so clear, 
 Is dark enough from what I hear :
 
 258 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 Philosophy, if only true, 
 
 I love as much as thee can do; 
 
 But light that 's dark I must despise, 
 
 As wisdom that makes no man wise. 
 
 " With endless words I've heard thee tell, 
 The wondrous properties tliat dwell 
 In this new-fangled light of thine, 
 As brighter than the light divine; 
 Nor are these wheels, that tear along, 
 By half so noisy as thy tongue: 
 But there's a further difference still, 
 Thee has not named, and so I will." 
 
 " Of course ! " our sciolist replied ; 
 " There doubtless is, and more beside. 
 I never meant to mention all ; 
 'Twould fill a volume — every scrawl. 
 However, my good-natured Friend, 
 Your dilference name, and I'll attend; 
 I'm always glad to see a mind, 
 Not altogether steeled or blind." 
 
 " Well, then," rejoined the witty Friend, 
 " This is the difference I intend : — 
 The good old light of Revelation, 
 Which thee would banish from the nation, 
 Enters the mind in native guise, 
 Through windows in the ears and eyes ; 
 But as for this Newlight of thine. 
 It takes the oddest way to shine, — 
 Passing, as men of thought have said, 
 Through some great crack about thy head ! "
 
 THE NEWLIGHT AND THE QUAKER. 259 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Ye youngsters ! and ye sages, too ! 
 This fable I indite for you : 
 Get wisdom ; get it how ye can ; 
 'Tis good for every age of man. 
 But, Germany ! thy lurid light. 
 One-sided views, and giddy flight, 
 I cannot love, but all resign, 
 For sober truth and light divine; 
 Nor to his race can he be kind, 
 Who spreads philosoiDhy so blind. 
 
 Let Hume, let Paine, let Gibbon smile, 
 And tax God's hallowed light with guile; 
 Let mitres deck the basest brows. 
 And thus the sceptic's scorn arouse ; 
 The smile I bear, forgive the scorn, 
 And hail the light in Salem born ! 
 
 ILLTJSTRATIYE PROSE. 
 
 ON MODERN INFIDELITY. 
 
 " The worn-out Materialism of the infidels of the 
 last century has been succeeded by a more spiritual 
 and sentimental unbelief. The scepticism of Hume 
 and Voltaire was a cold, i-epulsive infidelity. Thei-e 
 was nothing in it of romance or beauty. Its fairest 
 chaplet is the night-shade ; and its brightest colours,
 
 260 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 instead of being ' clipped in heaven,' only reflect the 
 lurid flames of the bottomless abyss. Its vocabulary 
 rung the changes on the words, 'priestcraft, imposture, 
 and fraud.' Its influence was as demoralising as its taste 
 was corrupt. Lord Byron and his friends on the shores 
 of Italy, attending the incremation of the remains of him 
 who, amidst the glories of the Alps and the sublimities of 
 Mont Blanc, subscribed himself Atheist, is one of the 
 most frightful exhibitions of the old form of infidelity. 
 ' The return of the mourners from the burning ' of poor 
 Shelley's dead body, is described by Mr. Gait as 'the 
 most aj^palling orgia, without the horror of crime, of 
 which I have ever heard.' AVhen the duty was done, 
 and the ashes, sprinkled with wine and perfumed witli 
 frankincense, were collected, ' they dined and drank 
 much togctlier, and, bursting from the calm mastery 
 with which they had repi'essed their feelings during the 
 solemnity, gave way to frantic exultation. They were 
 all drunk; they sang, they shouted, and their barouche 
 was driven like a whirlwind through the forest. I can 
 conceive nothing descriptive of the demoniac revelry of 
 that flight, but scraps of the dead man's own song in 
 Faust.' 
 
 " But the old infidelity had culminated in the days 
 of Byron, and was even then dying out. The modern 
 infidelity resembles vice which has tlu'own away its 
 coarseness, and assumed the garb of polish and re- 
 finement. It revolts at the vulgarity of Tom Paine, 
 and the indecency of Gibbon ; and it admits much 
 that Hume and Voltaire denied. It afl^ects to admire 
 the beauty and the grandeur of Christianity; it even 
 adopts the terminology of its expositors, and allows to 
 the Bible the loftiest place in the scale of universal
 
 THE NEWLIGHT AND THE QUAKER. 261 
 
 inspiration. Like Rousseau, it can dwell with raptuie 
 on the contemplation of the character of Jesus, and it 
 would not disturb the faith of those, who have neither 
 the scholarship nor the leisure to take in the more 
 comprehensive views which the new ' lights of the age ' 
 propound. 
 
 " It is important that we should be aware of the 
 danger to which we are exposed, although we do not 
 look upon the crisis either with panic or alarm. 
 
 " ' There is,' says a writer in the British Quarterly 
 Review, — 'there is coming upon the Church a current 
 of doubt, deeper far and darker than ever swelled 
 against her before — a current strong in learning, crested 
 with genius, strenuous, yet calm, in progress. It 
 seems the last grand trial of the truth of our faith. 
 Against the battlements of Zion, a motley throng have 
 gathered themselves together. Unitarians, Atheists, Pan- 
 theists, doubters, open foes, secret foes, and bewildered 
 friends of Christianity, are in the field, although no 
 trumpet has openly been blown, and no charge publicly 
 sounded. There are the old desperadoes of infidelity — 
 the last followers of Paine and Voltaire. There is the 
 soberer and stolider Owen, with his now scanty and 
 sleepy troop : then follow the Communists of France, 
 a fierce, but disorderly crew : the Commentators of 
 Germany come, .too, with pickaxes in their hands, 
 ci'ving, "Raze it! raze it to its foundations!" Then 
 you see the Garde Mobile — the vicious and the vain 
 youth of Europe ; and on the outskirts of the fight 
 hangs, cloudy and uncertain, a small but select band, 
 whose wavering surge is surmounted by the dark and 
 lofty crests of Carlyle and Emerson. " Their swords
 
 262 
 
 THE BATU FABLES. 
 
 are a thousand " — their purposes are various ; iu this, 
 however, all agree — that historical Christiauity ought to 
 go dowa before advancing civilisation. Sterling, and 
 some of his co-mates, the merciful cloud of death has 
 removed from the field, whilst others stand in deep 
 uncertainty, looking in agony and in prayer above.' 
 
 " To the dangers of the crisis thus graphically por- 
 ti'ayed, we are not insensible. But we are more alarmed 
 on account of bewildered friends than open enemies. 
 We are, above all, eager to resist that species of theo- 
 logy, so popular amongst scholars and men of learning, 
 which is based on intellect rather than on the teaching 
 of the Holy Spirit — which strives to reduce Christianity 
 to the level of human philosopliy, and pursues its re- 
 searches by the same lights that guide the bootless 
 speculations of the metaphysician. The basis of true 
 theology is the Word of God, revealed in the Scriptures 
 of the Old and New Testament; and it is under the 
 guidance of the promised Comforter, that we must seek 
 to know and to do the Lord's will. It is, however, 
 against the written word tliat modern philosophisers 
 have most arrogantly rebelled. Many fine things they 
 may say of the Bible ; but their Bible is not that of the 
 humble Christian, whose simple faith takes God at his 
 word, like the poor cottager of whom Cowper so beauti- 
 fully says, — 
 
 ' Just knows aiiii knows no more I — her Bible true, — 
 A trutli the brilliant Frenchman never knew ! ' 
 
 " On the contrary, they sneer at simple Christians, as 
 Bibliolaters, * who know nothing of the history of the 
 canon,' who imagine that the books of the sacred 
 volume were issued just like modern books, and believe
 
 THE N0T3 AND THE FIRBOBS. 263 
 
 that every word was dictated by the Almighty. Such 
 a mode of dealing with religion may gratify the pride 
 of reason, inasmuch as it tends to bring the Bible to 
 the bar of human. criticism, in order that its component 
 parts may be judged, censured, commended, altered, 
 improved, or rejected, at pleasure. 
 
 "Such conduct is calculated to precipitate a crisis; 
 but let the collision come when it may, we feel that the 
 Bible and the faith of Christianity are strong in the 
 invincible power of their almighty Author. The shock 
 may be violent, but it is better than the deadly poison 
 of that system of halfand-half Christianity, in the 'Con- 
 fessions of an Inquiring Spirit,' which betrays the faith 
 at the moment it appears to salute it; which is con- 
 stantly making admissions as to the imperfections of 
 the Bible, but hinting that these must not be publicly 
 talked of; which intimates that plenary inspiration is 
 a ' dead idol,' and tliat the Canon of Scripture cannot 
 be defended. 
 
 " It is not by the violence, either of physical or moral 
 persecution, that the truth is endangered; it is by the 
 lukewarmness of its timid friends, or the treachery of 
 its i^rofessed defenders." — Christian Times. 
 
 FABLE XXIX. 
 THE NUTS AND THE FIRBOBS. 
 
 FOR BRAGGARTS. 
 
 THE braggart is a silly blade. 
 For all des{)ise his gasconade ; 
 And though he spout his garnished feats. 
 To curry praise from all he meets,
 
 The coxcomb's fibs but rarely fail, 
 Contempt or pity to entail. 
 
 As o'er the Alps, one sultry day, 
 
 I took my solitary way, 
 
 An incident occurred, d'ye see ? 
 
 That suits this moral to a tee. 
 
 Alp after Alp, with nerA-e oppressed, 
 
 I traversed slow and sighed for rest ; 
 
 But other Alps, and others still, 
 
 Bounded my view and checked my will. 
 
 It seemed as though creation's Lord, 
 Who called up chaos by his word. 
 Had, after raising nature's fane. 
 Without a lever, line or plane. 
 Left all the rubbish there, to form. 
 The bluff abode of snow and storm. 
 
 At length by Susa's ancient town, 
 Panting and spent, I threw me down. 
 Where Cenis rears his awful crest. 
 And Hannibal to vict'rv pressed. 
 As here I lay, a mountain breeze 
 Rudely assailed the fruitful trees ; 
 The fruitful trees resent the blast, 
 And all around their foliage cast. 
 
 ^D^ 
 
 While at this Boreal gust I frown, 
 The rolling fruit came rustling down ; 
 Walnuts and tirbobs bounce and fight. 
 All mingling in their downward flight. 
 For all tlie world like roguish rats, 
 In flight before half-famished cats.]
 
 THE NUTS AND THE FlRBdBS. 265 
 
 As down the steep this garbage falls, 
 
 " What cheer, ray boys ? " a firbob bawls ; 
 
 " How well we walnuts roll along ! 
 
 We ouglit to grace some poet's song. 
 
 That was indeed a frightful shock. 
 
 Which wrenched us from our walnut stock ; 
 
 Yet, what is that? why, I remember, 
 
 One stormy night — 'twas in December, — • 
 
 A gale of wind passed o'er the town. 
 
 And turned Mount Cenis upside down. 
 
 We nuts belike had perished all, 
 
 But happily a second squall. 
 
 Soon set the mountain right again,. 
 
 And so relieved us from our pain. 
 
 We walnuts are a noble race, 
 
 In 1 alaces we find a place ; 
 
 And so, compatriots ! bear your fate, 
 
 With walnut heart, as suits the great." 
 
 " Braggart !" a genuine nut replies; 
 You want a horsewhip for your lies. 
 Vile crab ! you 're making all this fuss, 
 In hopes to pass for one of us. 
 No nut are you, ye Gascon vile ! 
 A scaly firbob is your style : 
 I know you well ; with all your shine, 
 Your mother was a worthless pine ; 
 She 's standing there upon the cliflF, 
 And like yourself, she 's pretty stiflf. 
 
 " Of perils, courts, and kings you prate, 
 And spout adventures with the great : 
 I really thought, my boastful blade ! 
 So clever at your fibbing trade,
 
 266 THE BVTil FABLES. 
 
 You 'd next have ventured to avow, 
 That you were standing on the brow 
 Of this said mount, huge ages back, — 
 For you 'twere no astounding crack, — 
 When martial Carthagenians passed. 
 And laid Italia's villas waste. 
 But all folks know a firbob's story ; 
 The bake-house is your field of glory ; 
 For there in honour bright you blaze, 
 And on a dunghill cud your days 
 
 MOU.\L. 
 
 No worthv man is satirised 
 For what he is ; but, if despised, 
 'Tis that the coxcomb sighs to pass, 
 For what he 's not, nor ever was. 
 What turns on youth the satire's pen? 
 'Tis that the puppies would be men : 
 What dooms the modest man to smart? 
 'Tis when he acts the bully's part : 
 What turns e'en frogs to laughing-stocks? 
 'Tis when they swell to ape the ox: 
 Nor fairest dames keen satire sjiares, 
 Whene'er they practise maid'nisli airs. 
 Can Wilberforce be Hercidcs? 
 Can Wellington bo Socrates? 
 Brutus can never be a 'I'uHy, 
 Nor Mazarin a faithful Sully. 
 
 Eeaders ! if you respect would gain, 
 Be natural, be true, be i:)lain ;
 
 THE NITS AND THE FIRBOBS. 267 
 
 If good, be what you are, then all 
 The good will love you, great or small. 
 Who wears a visor, justly finds, 
 He rarely dupes the sim^dest minds. 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE JPEOSE. 
 
 BEAU TIBBS. 
 
 " Attracted by the serenity of the evening, ray friend 
 and I lately went to gaze upon the company in one 
 of the public walks near the city. Here we sauntered 
 together for some time, either praising the beauty of 
 such as were handsome, or the dresses of such as had 
 nothing else to recommend them. We had gone thus 
 deliberately forward for some time, when, stopping on 
 a sudden, my friend caught me by the elbow, and led 
 me out of the public walk. I could perceive, by the 
 quickness of his pace, and by his frequently looking 
 behind, that he was attempting to avoid somebody who 
 followed. We now turned to the right, then to the 
 left; and as we went forward, he still went faster, but in 
 vain. The person whom he attempted to escape hunted 
 us through every doubling, and gained upon us each 
 moment; so that, at last, we fairly stood still, resolving 
 to face what we could not avoid. 
 
 " Our pursuer soon came uj), and joined us with all 
 the familiarity of an old acquaintance. 
 
 "' My dear Drybone ! "cries he, shaking my friend's 
 hand, ' where have you been hiding this half a century?
 
 268 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 Positively, I liad fancied you were gone down to cul- 
 tivate matrimony and your estate in the country.' 
 
 " During the re])]y, I had an opportunity of surveying 
 the appearance of our new companion : his liat was 
 pinched up with peculiar smartness ; his looks were 
 pale, thin, and sharp; round his neck he wore abroad 
 black ribbon, and in his bosom a buckle, studded with 
 glass; his coat was trimmed with tarnished twist; he 
 wore by his side a sword with a black hilt ; and his 
 stockings of silk, though newly washed, were grown 
 yellow by long service. I was so much engaged with 
 the peculiarity of his dress, that I attended only to 
 the latter part of my friend's reply, in which he com- 
 plimented Mr. Tibbs on the taste of his clothes, and 
 the bloom in liis countenance. 
 
 " ' Psha ! psha! Will,' cried the figure; 'no more of 
 that, if you love me. You know I hate flattery : 
 on my soul I do ! And yet, to be sure, an intimacy 
 with the great will improve one's a]>|iearance, and a 
 course of venison will fatten : and yet, faith ! I despise 
 the great as much as you do ; but there are a great 
 many very honest fellows among them, and we must 
 not quarrel with one half because the other wants 
 weeding. If tliey were all such as my Lord Mudler, 
 one of the most good-natiu-ed fellows that ever squeezed 
 a lemon, I should myself be among the number of 
 their a(hnircrs. I went yesterday to dine at the Duchess 
 of Picca^lillv's: my Lord was there. "Ned," says he, 
 " I'll hold gold to silver, I can tell where you were 
 poaching last night." " Poaching, my Lord !" says I ; 
 " faith ! you have missed already ; for I stayed at home, 
 and let otliurs poajh for me." That's my way ; I
 
 THE NUTS AND THE FIRBOBS. 269 
 
 take a fine woman as some animals do their prey, — 
 stand still, and — swoop ! they fall into my mouth.' 
 
 " ' Ah ! Tibbs ; thou art a happy fellow ! ' cried my 
 companion, with looks of infinite pity ; ' I hope your 
 fortune is as much improved as your understanding in 
 such company.' 
 
 '•'Improved!' replied the other; 'you shall know: 
 but let it go no farther — a great secret — five hundred 
 a year to begin with. My Lord's word of honour for 
 it. His Lordship took me down in his own chariot 
 yesterday, and we had a tete-d-tete dinner in the country, 
 where we talked of nothing else.' 
 
 " ' I fancy you forgot, sir,' cried I, ' you told us but 
 this moment of your dining yesterday in town.' 
 
 " ' Did I say so ? ' replied he, coolly ; ' to be sure ; 
 if I said so, it was so — dined in town. Egad ! now 
 I do remember, I did dine in town; but I dined in the 
 country too; for you must know, my boys, I eat two 
 dinners. By the bye, I am grown as nice as the deuce 
 in my eating. I'll tell you a pleasant affair about 
 that : we were — a select party of us — to dine at Lady 
 Grogram's, an affected piece — but let it go no farther — 
 a secret. Well ; there happened to be no assafoetida 
 in the sauce to a turkey ; upon which, says I, " I'll 
 hold a thousand guineas, and say done first, that" — But, 
 dear Drybone, you are an honest creature ; lend me 
 half-a-crown for a minute or two, or so, just till — but 
 harkee — ask me for it the next time we meet, or it may 
 be twenty to one but I forget to pay you.' 
 
 " When he left us, our conversation naturally tui'ned 
 upon so extraordinary a character. 
 
 " ' His very dress,' cries my friend, ' is not less ex-
 
 270 THE RATH FABLES. 
 
 traordin; ry than his conduct. If you meet him this 
 day, you liod him in rags; if the next, in embroidery. 
 With those persons of distinction, of whom he talks so 
 familiarly, he has scarce a cotfee-house acquaintance. 
 However, both for the interests of society, and perhaps 
 for his own. Heaven has made him poor; and while all 
 the world perceives his wants, he fancies them concealed 
 from every eye. An agreeable companion, because he 
 understands flattery, and all must be ])leased with the 
 first part of his conversation, though all are sure of its 
 ending with a demand on their purse. While his youth 
 countenances the levity of his conduct, he may thus earn 
 a precarious subsistence; but when age comes on, the 
 gravity of which is incompatible with buffoonery, then 
 will he find himself forsaken by all, — condemned, in the 
 decline of life, to hang upon some rich family, whom he 
 once despised, there to undergo all the ingenuity of 
 studied contempt, to be employed only as a s])y upon 
 the servants, or a bugbear to iright the children into 
 obedience.' " 
 
 Ooldsmith. 
 
 FABLE XXX. 
 THE TIGRESS AND HER KEEPER. 
 
 FOR LIBERALS. 
 
 WITHIN the British isles I find 
 Full many an luisuspccting mind : 
 In vain yon w^arn of pending storms, 
 Of clashing in religious forms, 
 Of brooding schemes, of dark designs. 
 Prompt to explode from fitful mines: —
 
 THE TIGRESS AND HKR KEEPER. 271 
 
 These generous dupes will only smile ; 
 The good 'tis easy to beguile : 
 Oh list, ye simple ones ! while I 
 Sound the loud tocsin far and nigh. 
 
 In days of yore, by Tiber's stream, 
 
 The scene of many a poet's dream, 
 
 Beneath a sky for ever fair, 
 
 A savage tigress held her lair. 
 
 True to her taste, she ranged the plains ; 
 
 Her steps were traced by crimson stains ; 
 
 And harmless flocks that grazed around, 
 
 All trembled at the very sound. 
 
 Oh tell, ye maids of that dire day ! 
 
 What lovely youths became her prey. 
 
 Oh tell, ye youths ! how oft the fair, 
 
 To you espoused, were slaughtered there. 
 
 The sun who lit that smiling land. 
 
 The zephyrs that her mountains fanned, 
 
 The streams, the fells, the vales, the meads,— 
 
 All nature sickened at her deeds: 
 
 She rioted in blood and feud. 
 
 And left the West a solitude ! 
 
 At length a noble band engage, 
 
 This cruel ranger to encage: 
 
 They look to Heaven, and sigh for aid. 
 
 Then aim, and straight her lair invade. 
 
 The tigress growled in fearful style. 
 
 And lashed her bursting ribs the while, — 
 
 Eoaring and foaming froth and gall, 
 
 Loud as Niag'ra's distant Fall. 
 
 But Heaven upheld those venturous men ; — 
 
 They dragged the monster from her den ;
 
 272 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 A cliain hor brawny neck compressed, 
 And all pronounced the victors blest ! 
 
 The humbled brute now ceased to rage, 
 Yet showed her talons through the cage : 
 Deprived of liberty, she still 
 Thirsted for blood, as tigers will ; 
 And thus addressed, with ogling glare, 
 The watchful guardian of her lair : — 
 
 " When I was savage, why, my dear, 
 It might be wise to place me here ; 
 But, sir, believe me, lapse of time 
 Has fully quenched my thirst of crime : 
 So, snap this chain, and let me range, — 
 For all the world must own the change." 
 
 " Tigress! " the cautious guard rej^lies, 
 " Your former deeds have made us wise. 
 Changed, did you say, my treacherous puss ? 
 Hope not to practise arts on us. 
 Perfidious thing ! wc know your ways ; 
 To change, would be to end your days. 
 You arc not changed, but chained, say I, 
 And chained you shall be till you die ! " 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 I would not perpetrate the deed. 
 Of pinning office to a creed. 
 Save what the laws have wisely done. 
 To guard the woolsack and the throne : 
 Let senates legislate for all. 
 Reformed or Koman, great or small. 
 Whate'er a mortal may profess, 
 Whatc'er adore, or curse, or bless,
 
 THE TIGRESS AND HER KEEPER. 273 
 
 To Heaven alone that man should be 
 Eesponsible, and not to me. 
 
 But while, friends of sacred lore ! 
 Ye wash our code of needless gore, 
 And franchise give to every pale, 
 Guard your own franchise ere it fail ! 
 Would ye behold the tiger's lair ? 
 Go ! seek the Alps and St. Omer : 
 A " Den " there is in Erin's isle ; 
 Watch, watch th' insidious crocodile ! 
 
 I own it pities me to find, 
 
 How heartless Jesuits gull and blind 
 
 E'en children of a martyred race, 
 
 By hint of " change" in time and place. 
 
 Oh ! tell me not what words they spout, 
 
 Within our senate or without : 
 
 'Tis zero all, 'tis laymen's rant, 
 
 Till Trent and Pontiff shall recant ! 
 
 Can ye forget what Gregory planned ? 
 What Boniface? what Hildebrand? 
 " Lords of the world by Heaven's bequest," 
 They claimed the crowns of all the West ; 
 Hurled many a king from many a throne ; 
 Gave spurs and sceptres to their own; 
 All liberty of thought denied ; 
 Built Inquisitions far and wide ; 
 Sang paeans o'er the millions slain. 
 By Guise, by Catharine, and Lorraine ; 
 Nay, oft as reckless schemes had need, 
 Preached treason, and absolved the deed ; 
 And I defy the world to name 
 One cancelled, one recanted claim !
 
 274 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 What boots that some, within that pale, 
 rronounce such bold assumptions stale ? 
 Blest be those men ! but their good will 
 Leaves each bold claim uncancelled still. 
 Wliat boots that these ingenuous souls, 
 Would burn the high-iiretending rolls ? 
 Not clerk, nor priest, nor Pope alone, — 
 The unchanged council gives the tone ! 
 What boots each pro-re-natd blind ? 
 'Tis not a hull, and cannot hind ; 
 The crafty Pontiff, tiger-like. 
 Sits mute, and waits the hour to strike ! 
 
 In caution, then, our safety lies; 
 
 In holy caution, just and wise. 
 
 Leave thought as free as heaven's sweet air ; 
 
 To curb it let no senate dare ; 
 
 Give — what the conclave would refuse — 
 
 To each the right his creed to choose ; 
 
 But ever watch, with eagle eye. 
 
 The Pontiff's lure and Jesuit's lie ! 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE PROSE. 
 
 Since the above fable was penned, a few thoughts 
 have suggested themselves to the author's mind, as neces- 
 sary to annul any charge of bigotry, that might otherwise 
 adhere to it : — 
 
 1st. We disavow, detest, and deprecate all persecution, 
 from the martyr's stake, to the " pinning of office to a
 
 creed." To all our comiiatriots, of whatever faith, we 
 concede, as we claim, the right to worship God as con- 
 science may suggest. We would persuade the erring, 
 but never use force. Yet : — 
 
 2ud. Siuce the pajial pale ohstinateh', and of necessity. 
 as still constituted, refuses to Protestants a like freedom,' 
 the chief aim of this fable is to warn our brethren of that 
 fact. Most of us are not aware of it — will not credit it — 
 roundly denij it!!! Yet no axiom in mathematics is, or 
 can be, more certain ! Freely do we grant, that thousands 
 of Roman Catholic laity detest persecution as honestly as 
 ourselves. But they are not " the church ;" — have no 
 power ; — nay, in conditions favourable to the complete 
 and im fettered action of the papal theory on human 
 rights, those generous Catholics would themselves be 
 compelled either to silence or to martyrdom ! 
 
 To body forth these and kindred thoughts, and so to 
 awaken this realm from a kind, but, alas! delusive dream, 
 as to any change having transpired in the j^apal church 
 and court, is the object we aim at in this, otherwise, 
 unpretending fable. 
 
 Should we be taxed with any discourtesy, we may 
 suggest that, as Protestants, we feel bound to defend our 
 sacred pale against the ceaseless attacks, and j^rurient 
 wishes, of papal assailants, not to harm a single human 
 heart. Surely a communion that presents, to all forms 
 of Protestantism, and to all eastern churches, a front of 
 bitter hospitality — a pale which coolly denies salvation 
 to be possible out of its own narrow limits, has no right 
 whatever to comijlain of discourtesy. Jf even its high 
 Pontiff can pour forth so much ungentlemanly abuse, 
 in what he calls his encyclics, against the chaste wives
 
 27G THE BATH FAHLES. 
 
 and virtuous husbands of the greatest of empires and the 
 holiest of cliurches, the language of the 13ath Fables is, 
 in comparison, the very essence of candour, — is Christian 
 urbanity itself. 
 
 The fact is, and we grieve to state it, the pale of the 
 ' Pope can not, dare not, recant its insane assumption of 
 universal supremacy. Its unhappy pretension to in- 
 fallibility precludes such change, and the papacy must 
 brazen it out to the last. It hence results that Romanism 
 is the avowed enemy of all other churclies, — the Bi'itish, 
 the Syrian, the Eussian, the A'audoise, the Greek, the 
 Lutheran and the Coptic; — in short, of all who s])urn at 
 pontilicial arrogance and heresy! 
 
 Most heartily do wc wish it otherwise ; but since Rome 
 is sleepless in her attaclcs, both we of England, and all 
 those our sister Protesters, must be sleei)less in indig- 
 nantly resenting her insufferable ambition and iusnlt; 
 for, " In jyuhlicos hostes omnis homo miles." — W. 
 
 PAPAL PRETENSIONS CANNOT BE 
 RECANTED. 
 
 " Pope Jui.rus, in seven years, was the occasion of the 
 slaughter of 200,000 Christians. The massacre in France 
 cut off 100,000 iu three mouths. Personius avers that 
 in the persecution of the Albigeuses and Waldenses, 
 1,000,000 lost their lives. From the beginning of the 
 Jesuits till 1080, that is, in 40 years, !)00,000 perished, 
 says Balduinus, The Duke of Alva, by the hangman, 
 put 30,000 to death. Vergerius aflirms that the Inquisi- 
 tion, in 30 years, destroyed 150,000. To all this may be
 
 THE TIGRESS AND HER KEEPER. 277 
 
 added the Irish Rebellion, in which 300,000 were de- 
 stroyed, as Lord Ossory reports iu a jiaper printed 
 in the reign of Charles il. Besides all these, vast 
 numbers have been destroyed in the subsequent persecu- 
 tions in France and Piedmont, iu the Palatinate and 
 Hungary. Can this be the religion of Jesus Christ, the 
 messenger of glad tidings ! — " peace on earth, and good 
 will to men?" — Monthly Review. 
 
 One would fain hope that the papal pale, even had it 
 power, would never repeat such unholy deeds. But 
 have we, alas ! solid ground for that charitable senti- 
 ment? I regret to add — I verily believe we have not! 
 for the Poutiif has recanted nothing ! 
 
 " We believe it is because the dogmas of Popery have 
 been so imperfectly understood, and its practices so little 
 considered, that the Legislature has already passed mea- 
 sures so pregnant with mischief, and that others are at 
 this time projected, which, if adopted, must entirely sub- 
 vert and destroy our Protestant Constitution. With this 
 persuasion, we have felt constrained to associate, for the 
 purpose of awakening the attention of Christians around 
 us to the true natui'e of Popery, and to the danger of its 
 aggressions ; and further, to entreat them to unite with 
 us, that our energies may be concentrated in the defence 
 and promotion of truth, as opposed to false principles 
 and Anti-Christian practices of the Church of Rome. 
 
 " In this short address we do not enter at length upon 
 the discussion of particular questions, but we feel called 
 upon to lift a warning voice against a notion craftily 
 insinuated, and which miscalled charity would foster, 
 that the Romanism of the present day essentially differs
 
 "218 THE BATH FA13LKS. 
 
 from tlie Popery of past times. On the conti-ary, its 
 character is the same. Tlie assiimi>tiou of infallihility 
 forbids all change. The pi-ofcssions and conduct of the 
 Church of Rome may vary with circumstances, but her 
 principles have been defined, and they are permanent 
 and unchangeable. That Church, when possessed of 
 power, has ever been a persecuting Church. She is so 
 still, wherever her influence predominates. She cannot 
 tolerate; she must extirpate all wiio repudiate her tenets 
 and abjure her authority. We have read the jiages of 
 history to little purpose if we have not learnt, that 
 Popery is insatiable and rapacious: it must be I'ampant 
 — it will not rest whilst its dogmas are disputed, whilst 
 its supremacy is questioned. Let none, therefore, be de- 
 ceived by any j)lausible and temporary jjretext, that Rome 
 seeks but a share of legislative power, or will be satisfied 
 with partial endowments. Lessons from experience may 
 prevent the delusion, and teach us that it is for the very 
 existence of Protestantism we are called to contend. 
 
 " Feelings of loyalty must further prompt our 
 e.Kertions in this holy cause. It was tlie sanction given 
 to Popery, and the attempt to re-establish its power, 
 which deprived the House of Stnart of tlie British 
 sceptre. It was Protestantism which called the House 
 of Brunswick to the sovereignty of these realms. Pro- 
 testant ])rinciples form the very basis, upon which the 
 throne of the present dynasty was established. Should 
 those ])rinciples bo undermined, the stability of that 
 throne would be endangered, and the right of succession 
 would be destroyed. 
 
 " It is not to meet the circumstances of the present 
 period alone, that this Protestant Institute has been
 
 THE PORT AND THE SHIP. 279 
 
 forinei : whilst the Church of Rome continues to propagate 
 her errors and strives to extend her usurped authority, so 
 long must strenuous and uncompromising resistance be 
 maintained. But the importance of immediate activity 
 cannot be over-estimated. Popery is now arrogant 
 in its pretensions, boastful in its anticipations, and 
 clamorous in its demands: those pretensions are admitted 
 — those anticipations are fostered — those demands are 
 jdelded to by statesmen, who are entrusted with legisla- 
 tive authority in our Protestant Constitution. Soon 
 must it prevail, unless at once vigorously opposed. 
 When, if not now, should Christians awake to a sense of 
 their danger and of tlieir duty ; and, in dependence on 
 the help of God, and with earnest prayer for his blessing 
 upon their endeavoui-s, unite and labour for the main- 
 tenance of those principles, in which are involved theu* 
 temporal and eternal interests, — the honour and glory 
 of Almighty God?" 
 
 Protestant Institute of Reading. 
 
 FABLE XXXL 
 THE PORT AND THE SHIP. 
 
 FOR VESTRIES. 
 
 THE laws of barter go by rule ; 
 Who breaks and brooks are knave and fool. 
 Oh ! might these simple verses preach, 
 And softly chide and meekly teach ! 
 Nor let this age insult a Muse, 
 Unskilled to smile if power abuse.
 
 280 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 As late I ploughed the billowy sea, 
 A splendid port lay on the lee : 
 It gently opened from the deep, 
 And inward formed a circling sweep. 
 In those calm waters, night and day, 
 A hundred gallant vessels lay, 
 Well sheltered from the wavy world, 
 With anchor cast, and canvas furled. 
 
 But though inviting in a gale, 
 We kept good ofling, and our sail 
 Made for a harbour close in view, 
 As safe to enter, and as true. 
 Chagrined, perchance, to miss her game, 
 The slighted port put forth a claim, 
 That honest minds must surely own, 
 'Twere lovelier far to let alone : — 
 
 " Hollo ! proud barque ! " the harbour ci-ies ; 
 
 " Lau ! comrade ! have ye lost your eyes ? 
 
 line fellow, you, to beat about, 
 
 With wind and wave in such a rout ! 
 
 Hark ! can't ye hear the billows roar ? 
 
 To port I or soon ye'll be ashore. 
 
 Haul to, ye careless lubbers ! haul; 
 
 No port like me for gale or squall ; 
 
 Nine fathoms are enough, I think, 
 
 For craft like you to float or sink : 
 
 At all events, I'll have my dues ; 
 
 You can have anchorage, if you choose." 
 
 So said the port, when thus the barque : — 
 " Pray, comrade, do ye hunt a lark ? 
 Two eyes I have, as well as you.
 
 THE PORT AND THE SHIP. 281 
 
 And know as well to use 'em too. 
 
 What cheer, my boj' ? your gasconade 
 
 Might gull or scare some younger blade ; 
 
 But I'm an old campaigner, dear. 
 
 And know my port, and bow to steer. 
 
 Your anchorage is good, but I 
 
 Make for another ])ort hard by : 
 
 Yoiu- shingly ground, your iron-bound shore, 
 
 Few ships upon the wave love more : 
 
 I love the gallant sails that ride 
 
 Within your bosom every tide : 
 
 Had I my grog, for all this squall, 
 
 I'd drink a bumper to ye all. 
 
 But since a sister port I use, 
 
 'Tis vastly odd to talk of dues. 
 
 Success to ye, my bonny lad ! 
 
 Hard weather seems to drive you mad : 
 
 Were I the port and you the ship, 
 
 You'd try, like me, to give the slip. 
 
 Say what you like, do what you may, 
 
 Shiver my timbers if I pay ! " 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Y'e brethren of the mitred pale ! 
 At you my friendly verses rail : 
 Is it, or is it not, — reply, — 
 A crime in Heaven's all-seeing eye, 
 To force good men of different view, 
 To build or furnish fanes for you? 
 The law may sanction, but, my friends, 
 When law is lawless, patience ends.
 
 282 THE HATH FABLES. 
 
 What would ye think were ye the spoiled, 
 And others seized when ye had toiled? 
 
 One is our faith, our Lord, our home; 
 Alike we i)ity all who roam ; 
 And is it manly, lovely, just. 
 Shall it not honest minds disgust, 
 
 Should you But why repeat the speech? 
 
 Oh, let the ship and harhour preach! 
 
 A God of justice reigns above ; 
 
 That God ye worship, serve and love ; 
 
 And as that God is truly iust, 
 
 Thrones, cabinets, and mitres must 
 
 Have audience with him at last, 
 
 Of justice and injustice past. 
 
 Heaven speed tlie Gospel plough for you ! 
 
 Thus should we pray, and thus we do ; 
 
 But, cease your bretln-en to opjuess. 
 
 Or how should Heaven your altars bless ? 
 
 ILLUSTEATIVE PSOSE. 
 
 ON PARTY SPIRIT. 
 
 " My worthy friend Sir Roger, when we are talking of 
 the malice of parties, very frequently tells us an accident 
 that happened to him when he was a school-boy, which 
 was at the time when the feuds ran high between the 
 Roundheads and Cavaliers. This worthy knight, being 
 then but a stripling, had occasion to inquire which was
 
 THE PORT AND THE SHiP. 283 
 
 the way to St Anne's-laue; upon which the person whom 
 he spoke to, instead of answering the question, called 
 liim a yonng popish cur, and asked him who made Anne a 
 saint. The boy being in some confusion, inquired of 
 the next he met, whicli was tlie way to Anne's-lane; but 
 was called a prick-eared cur for his pains, and instead of 
 being shown the way, was told that she had been a saint 
 before he was born, and would be one after he was 
 hanged. ' Upon this,' says Sir Eoger, 'I did not think 
 fit to repeat the former question, but going into every 
 lane of the neighbourhood, asked what they called the 
 name of that lane.' By this ingenious artifice he 
 found out the place he inquired after, without giving 
 offence to any party. 
 
 " There cannot a greater judgment befal a country, 
 than such a dreadful spirit of division as rends a govern- 
 ment into distinct peoples, and makes them greater 
 strangers, and more averse to one another, than if they 
 were actually two different nations. The effects of such 
 a division are pernicious to the last degree, not only with 
 regard to tliose advantages which they give the common 
 enemy, but to those private evils which they 2:)roduce in 
 the heart of almost every particular person. This 
 influence is very fatal, both to men's morals and their 
 understandings ; it sinks the virtue of a nation, and not 
 only so, but destroys even common sense. 
 
 " A furious party spirit, when it rages in its full vio- 
 lence, exerts itself in civil war and bloodshed ; and when 
 it is under its greatest restraints, naturally breaks out in 
 falsehood, detraction, and calumny, and a partial admi- 
 nistration of justice. In a word, it fills a nation with 
 spleen and rancour, and extinguishes all the seeds of 
 good-nature, compassion, and liumanity.
 
 284 THE BATH FAIU.ES. 
 
 " Plutarch says, very fiuely, ' that a man should not 
 allo\v himself to hate even his enemies ; because,' says 
 ho, ' if you indulge this passion on some occasions, it 
 will rise of itself in otliers ; if you hate your enemies, 
 you will contract sucji a vicious habit of mind, as by 
 degrees will break out upon those who are your friends, 
 or those who are indifferent to you.' I might here 
 observe how admirably this precept of morality (which 
 derives the malignity of hatred from passion itself, and 
 not from its object) answers to that great rule, which was 
 dictated to the world about a hundred years before this 
 philosopher wrote ;* but instead of that, 1 shall only 
 take notice, with a real grief of heart, tliat the minds of 
 many good men among ns apjiear soured with party 
 principles, and alienated from one another in such a 
 manner, as seems to me altogether inconsistent with the 
 dictates either of reason or religion. Zeal for a public 
 cause is apt to breed passions in the hearts of virtuous 
 persons, to which a regard to their own private interest 
 would never have betrayed them. 
 
 " If this party spirit has so ill an effect on our morals, 
 it has likewise a very great one upon our judgments. 
 We often hear a poor, insipid paper or pamphlet cried 
 up, and sometimes a noble piece dcjireciatcd, by those 
 who are of a different principle from the autlior. One 
 who is actuated by this spirit, is almost under an inca- 
 pacity of discerning either real blemishes or beauties. 
 A man of merit in a different ])rinciple, is like an object 
 seen in two different mediums, that apjiears crooked or 
 broken, however straight and entire it may be in itself. 
 
 • Viz. by Jesus Christ. See Luke vi. 27 — .16.
 
 THE PORT AND THE SHIP. 285 
 
 For this reason, tliere is scarce a person of any figure in 
 England, who does not go by two contrary characters, as 
 opi^osite to one another as light and darkness. Know- 
 ledge and learning suffer in a particular manner from this 
 strange jirejudice, which at present ji re vails amongst all 
 ranks and degrees in the British nation. As men for- 
 merly became eminent in learned societies by their parts 
 and acquisitions, they now distinguish themselves by 
 the warmth and violence with which they espouse their 
 respective parties. Books are valued upon the like con- 
 siderations. An abusive, scurrilous style passes for 
 satire, and a dull scheme of party notions is called fine 
 writing. 
 
 " There is one piece of sophistry practised by both 
 sides — and that is, the taking any scandalous story, that 
 has been ever whisj^ered or invented of a ])rivate man, 
 for a known, undoubted truth, and raising suitable 
 speculations ui^on it. Calumnies that have never been 
 proved, or have been often refuted, are the ordinary 
 postulatums of these infamous scribblers, upon which 
 they proceed as upon first princijiles gi-anted by all men, 
 though in their hearts they know they are false, or at 
 best very doubtful. When they have laid these founda- 
 tions of scurrility, it is no wonder that their supersti'uct- 
 ure is every way answerable to them. If this shameless 
 practice of the present age endure much longer, praise 
 and reproach will cease to be motives of action in good 
 men. 
 
 " There are certain periods of time in all governments, 
 when this inhuman spirit prevails. Italy was long torn 
 in pieces by the Guelfs and (Jibellines, and France by 
 those who are for and against the League : but it is very 
 unhappy for a man to be born in such a stormy and
 
 286 THE nATtI FABLES. 
 
 tempestuous season. It is the'restless ambition of artful 
 men, that tlius breaks a people into factions, and draws 
 several well-meaning persons to their interest, by a 
 specious concern i'or their country. How many honest 
 minds are filled with uncharitable and barbarous notions, 
 out of their zeal for the })ublic good ! What cruelties 
 and outrages would they not commit against men of an 
 adverse i)arty, whom they would honour and esteem if, 
 instead of considering them as they are represented, they 
 knew them as they are ! Thus are persons of the 
 greatest probity seduced into shameful errors and pre- 
 judices, and made bad men even by tliat noblest of prin- 
 ciples, ' the love of their country.' I cannot liere forbear 
 mentioning the famous Spanish proverb ; ' If there were 
 neither fools nor knaves in the world, all people would 
 be of one mind.' " 
 
 Addison. 
 
 " The protection of the subject, from the highest to 
 the lowest, is not only the true, but the only legitimate 
 object of all power ; and no act of power can be legiti- 
 mate, which is not founded on those principles of eternal 
 justice, without which law is but the mask of tyranny, 
 and jiower the instrument of despotism ! " 
 
 Queen Caroline. 
 
 This sentiment is surely founded in right reason; and 
 forcibly, though legally, to take from one portion of 
 Christ's church to give to another, is to fortify oppression 
 with the forms of law, and to give to injustice the sanc- 
 tion of authority ! — W.
 
 THE pal:mers and the mountains. 287 
 
 FABLE XXXLL 
 THE PALMERS AND THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 FOR PILGRIMS. 
 
 TE weary jDalmevs, wisely bound 
 To Solyma's celestial ground ! 
 Yet prone to pay, at dubious shrine, 
 A homage dark and undivine, — 
 Like pilgrims from Italian fanes, 
 Or where lone Mecca's prophet reigns, — 
 Two pilgrims view, of heavenly mind, 
 And bent a heavenly home to find ! 
 
 Two holy men took staff in hand, 
 
 And left their cot for Canaan's land. 
 
 As over hill and vale they go. 
 
 With many a weary step and slow, 
 
 By holy converse they beguile 
 
 Each languid hour and tedious mile, — 
 
 As palmers wont, while on the move, 
 
 From this vain world to that above. 
 
 Nor was their converse, Rome ! as thine, 
 
 Of relic lore, or sainted shi'ine, 
 
 Or legendary tales, that blind 
 
 The convent Quixote's moonlit mind ; 
 
 Or wondrous beads, or hermit's dream, — 
 
 Love, dying love, was all their theme. 
 
 At length arose, to left and right, 
 Two mountains of stupendous height,— 
 Sinai and Calvary, bluff and rude. 
 Flanked by a howling solitude.
 
 288 
 
 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 Awhile our toil-worn travellers gazed, 
 Apjiallcd, attracted, and ama/.ed; 
 For many a lurid flash did i)lay, 
 From Sinai's ridge, athwart their way ; 
 While thunders blended with the sheen, — 
 And yet the men must pass between ! 
 And so they did, with valiant port. 
 As warriors rush to storm a fort ; 
 For Heaven did aid : and now we find 
 The men before, the hills behind. 
 
 This 2ieril o'er, the joyous twain 
 Sang to their God a pilgrim strain ; 
 Then girt their loins, and, staff in hand, 
 Set out afresh for Canaan's land ; 
 But canvassed, as they trudged along. 
 The great event that claimed their song. 
 
 " Never," said one, " while memory's eye 
 Retains a glimpse of days gone by. 
 Shall I forget the appalling scene, 
 Where we this dreadful day have been ! 
 For, as those mountain-heights I passed, 
 And many a glance to Sinai cast, 
 Those fearful flashes scared me so, — 
 Those thimders, pealing to and fro, — 
 Mcthought I heard the voice of God, 
 Demanding why my feet had trod 
 Within the pale of that dread mount, 
 And calling me to give account. 
 But while the black'ning hills did shake. 
 And bid my guilty spirit quake, 
 A few mild beams, from Calvary's height, 
 Put all my guilty fears to ilight ;
 
 THE PALMERS AND THE MOUNTAINS. 289 
 
 At least, while gazing, pale and wan, 
 Those beams illumed and cheered me on." 
 
 " Brother ! " the list'ning palmer cries, 
 
 " Would thou hadst better used thine eyes ! 
 
 When Sinai's blackness first I saw, 
 
 And called to mind a broken law, 
 
 I straightway turned to Calvary's mount, 
 
 Whei'e mercy oped the atoning fount, 
 
 Where Shiloh calmed his Father's breast. 
 
 And Justice owned herself redressed. 
 
 In vain did Sinai's clarion sound. 
 
 In vain his thunders jjealed around, 
 
 In vain his tremor and his blaze, — 
 
 My steadfast eye refused to gaze : 
 
 For I did glance on that bright side, 
 
 Where Calvary rose our feet to guide, — 
 
 Where, as we oft have heard it said, 
 
 The Lamb for us poor pilgrims bled. 
 
 Its beams did banish all my fears, 
 
 And melt to penitential tears : 
 
 The more ray tears of sorrow fell, 
 
 The more it shone those tears to quell ; 
 
 The more I smiled its sheen to see, 
 
 The more it shone and smiled on me : 
 
 And here I stand, secure at last, 
 
 Scarce sensible of danger past. 
 
 Oh ! there's a charm in Calvary's hill, 
 
 The loudest storms of wrath to still ! " 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Ye tim'rous heaven-bound pilgrims, hear ! 
 Would ye escape each guilty fear ?
 
 290 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 Would ye eujoy a calm witliin, 
 
 And fly at once from fear and sin ? 
 
 Gaze not at iSinai's broken law, 
 
 To fill your guilty soul with awe ; 
 
 But eye, with firm, believing view, 
 
 The mount where Jesus hied for you. 
 
 That gaze will melt your soul to love, 
 
 Kindred to that of saints above ; 
 
 And love that from the cross doth spring, 
 
 Will bow to Zion's holy King. 
 
 A jailor erst, and Lydia, traced 
 The self-same road our palmers jiaced; 
 And while they kept those hills in view. 
 They trembled like our palmers too. 
 At Sinai's ridge the jailor gazed, 
 And horror seized him as it blazed; 
 But happier Lydia turned her head, 
 On Calvary gazed, and anguish fled. 
 From that dread hill, oh ! turn ye too. 
 And gaze where Jesus died for you ! 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE PROSE. 
 
 WRATH AND REFUGE. 
 
 " Give me leave to relate an uncommon incident, 
 which happened a little while ago in this neighbour- 
 hood, and of which I myself was a witness. The day 
 was the Sabbath ; the })lace appropriated to Divine 
 worship was the scene of this remarkable affair.
 
 THE PALMERS AND THE MOUNTAINS. 291 
 
 "A boy came running into the cburcb, breathless 
 and trembling. He told, but in a low voice, those who 
 stood near, that a press-gang was advancing to surround 
 the doors, and arrest the sailors. An alarm was im- 
 mediately taken. 'J'he seamen, with much hurry, and 
 no small anxiety, began to shift for themselves. The 
 rest of the congregation, perceiving an unusual stir, 
 were struck with surprise. A whisper of inquiry ran 
 from seat to seat, which increased by degrees into a 
 confused murmur. No one could inform his neigh- 
 bour; therefore everyone was left to guess what had 
 happened, from the suggestions of a fearfvil imagination. 
 Some suspected the town was on fire. Some wei'e aj)- 
 prebensive of an invasion. Others looked up, and 
 looked round, to see if the walls were not giving way, 
 and the roof falling upon their heads. In a few mo- 
 ments the consternation became general. The men 
 stood like statues, in silent amazement and useless 
 perplexity. The women shrieked aloud, and fell into 
 fits. Nothing was seen but wild disorder; nothing 
 heard but tumultuous clamour. The preacher's voice 
 was drowned. Had he spoken in thunder, his message 
 would scarcely have been regarded. To have gone on 
 with his work, amidst such a prodigious disturbance, 
 liad been like arguing with a whirlwind, or talking to 
 a temjiest. 
 
 " This brought to my mind that great, tremendous 
 clay, when the heavens will pass away, when the earth 
 will be dissolved, and all its inhabitants receive their 
 final doom. If at such incidents, of so much less con- 
 sequence, our hearts are ready to fail, what unknown 
 and inconceivable astonishment must seize the guilty 
 conscience, when the hand of the Almighty shall open
 
 292 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 those unparalleled scenes of wonder, desolation, and 
 horror ! — when the trumpet shall sound — the dead 
 arise — the world he in flames — the Judge on the throne 
 — and all mankind at the har ! » * • 
 
 " ' Behold ! ' says the everlasting King, ' I lay in Zion 
 for a foundation a stone, a tried stone, a precious 
 corner stone, a sure foundation : he that believeth shall 
 not make haste.' (Isa. xxviil. 16.) As this text eon- 
 tains so noble a display of our Saviour's consummate 
 ability for his great work, as it is admirably calculated 
 to preserve the mind from distressing fears, and to 
 settle it in a steady tranquillity, I will touch it cursorily 
 with my pen, 
 
 " How beautiful the gradation ! How lively the 
 account! and how very important the practical im- 
 provement ! Come, look at the inscription which is 
 engraven on this wonderful stone : — 
 
 " BeJiold f intended to rouse and fix our most at- 
 tentive regard. The God of heaven speaks. He speaks, 
 and every syllable is balm ; every sentence is rich with 
 consolation. If ever, therefore, we have ears to hear, 
 let us bend them to this speaker, and on this occasion. 
 
 " A stone. Everything else is sliding sand, is yield- 
 ing air, is a breaking bubble. Wealth will prove a 
 vain shadow ; honour an empty breath ; pleasure a 
 deceitful dream ; our own righteousness a spider's web. 
 If on those we rely, disnp])ointnieut must ensue, and 
 shame is inevitable. Nothing but Christ, nothing but 
 Christ, can firmly support our spiritual interests, and 
 realise our expectation of true happiness. And, blessed 
 be the Divine goodness! He is, for this purpose, not 
 a stone only, but
 
 THE PALMERS AND THE MOUNTAINS. 293 
 
 "A tried stone. Tried, during the time he was ou 
 earth, by all the powers of temptatiou, and all the 
 weight of afflictions ; yet, like gold from the furnace, 
 rendered more shining and illustrious by the fiery 
 scrutiny. Tried, under the capacity of a Saviour, by 
 millions and millions of depraved, wretched, ruined 
 creatures, who have always found him perfectly able, 
 and as perfectly willing, to expiate the most enormous 
 guilt, to deliver from the most inveterate- corruptions, 
 and to save, to the very uttermost, all that come unto 
 God through him. 
 
 " A corner stone. Which not only sustains, but unites 
 the edifice ; incorporating both Jews and Gentiles, 
 believers of various languages, and many denomina- 
 tions — here, in one harmonious bond of brotherly love 
 — hereafter, in one common participation of eternal 
 
 joy- 
 
 " A precious stone. More precious than rubies ; the 
 pearl of great price, and the desire of all nations — 
 precious, with regai-d to the Divine dignity of his per- 
 son, and the unequalled excellency of his mediatorial 
 offices. In these and all respects, greater than Jonah, 
 wiser than Solomon, fairer than the children of men, 
 chiefest among ten thousand, and to the awaked sinner, 
 or enlightened believer, altogether lovely. 
 
 " A sure foundation. Such as no pressure can shake ; 
 equal, more than equal, to every weight, even to sin — 
 the heaviest load in the world. The Rock of ages, such 
 as never has failed, never will fail, those humble peni- 
 tents, who cast their burden upon the Lord their Ke- 
 deemer ; who roll all their guilt, and fix their whole 
 hopes, on this immoveable basis. Or, as the words may
 
 2i)4: THK HATH FABLES. 
 
 be rendered, A foundation ! a foundation ! There is a 
 fine spirit of vehemency in tlie sentence, thus under- 
 stood. It speaks the language of exultation, and ex- 
 presses an important discovery. Tliat which mankind 
 infinitely want; tliat which multitudes seek, and find 
 not, — it is hero ! it is liere! This, this is tlie foundation 
 for thoii' 2'ardon, their peace, their eternal i'clicity ! 
 
 " Whosoever helieveth, though pressed with adversities, 
 or suiroundcd by danger, shall not make haste; but, 
 free from tumultuous and peii^lexing thoughts, pre- 
 served from rash and precipitate steps, he shall possess 
 his soul in patience. Knowing the sufficiency of those 
 merits, and the fidelity of that grace on which he has 
 reposed his confidence, he shall quietly, and without 
 fear, wait for an expected end. And not only amidst 
 the perilous or disastrous changes of lii'e, but even in 
 the day of everlasting judgment, such j)ersons shall 
 stand with boldness. They shall look up to the grand 
 Arbitrator — look round on all the solemnities of his 
 ajjpcarance — -look forward to the unalterable sentence, 
 and neither feel anxiety nor fear damnation." 
 
 Heney. 
 
 F.4BLE XXXIII. 
 THE POET AND THE MONK. 
 
 FOR IMPOSTORS. 
 
 FULL many a nation's bounds I've crossed; 
 In fearful storms J eke have tossed; 
 I've wept where Grecia's ruins lie; 
 I've gazed on fair Italia's sky ;
 
 THE POET AND THK JIONK. 
 
 295 
 
 I've strid their Alps, I've spanned their seas, — 
 Believe, belie me, as you jilease : 
 At all events, 'twas in a stable 
 At Naples, I picked up my fable. 
 
 A strolling poet, in a crowd 
 
 Of porters, laughing long and loud, 
 
 Spouted his tales of wit and woe. 
 
 In nasal twang and antic show : 
 
 An improvisatore, he 
 
 Forethought of nothing— save his fee. 
 
 The fellow's wit adorned each line; 
 
 His stories sparkled like his wine ; 
 
 Yet so eKtravagaut they seemed. 
 
 As scarce a maniac could have dreamed. 
 
 He told as how, in air balloon. 
 Three frogs went up to see the moon ; 
 Where one was murdered as a spy, 
 And both the others lost an eye. 
 
 He sang as how a lobster stood 
 In ten pitched battles, drenched in blood : 
 How Nino's wife turned pale and died, 
 Just as the nuptial knot was tied, 
 Because she had not been confessed 
 Before her marriage, like the rest : 
 How fair Giannina's face, one day, 
 As by her husband's side she lay. 
 Turned black as jet, while his turned blue, 
 For cribbing the Madonna's shoe. 
 
 But now began a wondrous tale : — 
 
 " I saw," said he, " full fifty sail. 
 
 All British, fly before a Frenchman, 
 
 No bigger than Don Quixote's henchman ;
 
 296 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 And as they flew before the breeze, 
 
 Their masts began to sprout like trees : 
 
 The trees shot forth ten thousand stems, 
 
 Adorned with fifty thousand gems. 
 
 So large, so dazzling, and so bright. 
 
 The British tars all lost their sight. 
 
 The vessels stranded on a rock ; 
 
 Mount Etna trembled at the shock ; 
 
 The crazy ships the bottom found, 
 
 And, French nnd English, all were drowned. 
 
 What ! laugh ? 'tis true as I'm a poet ; 
 
 I was on board, and surely know it." 
 
 At length, a shabby begging friar 
 
 Bounced up, and dubbed the man a liar, 
 
 And said, with sanctimonious air, 
 
 " My son ! thy lying arts forbear ; 
 
 It ill becomes a man so wise, 
 
 To live by fraud and feed on lies." 
 
 " Eight ! " said the poet ; " yet if I 
 Invent a harmless sort of lie. 
 Pray tell me, father Bembo, how 
 You friars manage matters now ? 
 In former days, I know full well, 
 A thousand thumpers you could tell. 
 Who forged the decretals, and own 'em ? 
 Who forged King Constantine's rich donum, 
 To give your Pope pretext to claim 
 All western crowns in Peter's name ? 
 Who framed Lorctto's wondrous lies? 
 Who dragged the chaplet from the skies, 
 Twelve hundred years behind, at least. 
 The beads of every Hindoo priest ?
 
 THE POET AND THE MONK. 
 
 297 
 
 Who melts the blood of Januariua ? 
 Do I act farces so nefarious ? 
 What strolling poet ever showed 
 Letters from Limbo's droll abode, 
 Urging the rich, by thoughts most dread, 
 To found new chantries for the dead? 
 I ne'er, like Dunstaa, seized with tongs 
 The nose of Satan in my songs ; 
 With all a jjoet's flights and wishes, 
 I ne'er, like Andrew, preached to fishes ; 
 Nor e'er with Sales, to show my wit, 
 ^lade roasting larks fly off the spit. 
 That was a lark indeed ! but I 
 Ne'er managed such a bouncing lie. 
 Spectators ! mark the monk's grimaces ; 
 I wonder they can show their faces ! " 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Blessings on those, O Good and True ! 
 Moslem or Roman, Greek or Jew^, 
 Who with indignant mind assail 
 The liar's arts in every pale ! 
 O ye, who preach an unfalse God ! 
 Pursue the steps Eeformers trod, 
 All guile dismiss to Tiber's shore. 
 Nor let it taint the Churches more ! 
 
 God ne'er was honoured in a lie ; 
 Ti-uth is the guidepost to the sky : 
 Who fells it, leaves the world all dark, 
 As who the lighthouse, wrecks the barque. 
 A church by revelation awed. 
 Will never deal in " pious fraud.'
 
 20S THE RATH FABLES. 
 
 Away with legends ! truth must sway, 
 Jesus, " the Life, the Truth, the Way." 
 I would not style or good or I'rieud, 
 The man who lies, whate'er his end ; 
 But falsehood in religion's name, — 
 O heavens that rule ! avenge the shame ! 
 
 ILLUSTEATIVE PEOSE. 
 
 ON PAPAL FORGERIES. 
 
 "Fraud is the resource of weakness and cunning; 
 and the strong though ignorant harharian was often 
 entangled in the net of sacerdotal policy. Tlie Vatican 
 and Lateran were an arsenal and manufacture, which, 
 according to the occasion, liave produced or concealed a 
 various collection of false or genuine, of corrupt or 
 suspicious acts, as they tended to promote the interest of 
 the Roman Church. Before the end of the eighth 
 century, some apostolical scribe, perhaps the notorious 
 Isidore, composed the decretals and the donation of 
 Constantine, the two magic pillars of the spiritual and 
 temporal monarchy of the popes. 
 
 " According to the legend, the first of the Christian 
 emperors was healed of the leprosy, and i>urified in the 
 waters of baptism, by Sylvester, the Roman Bishop; and 
 never was physician more gloriously recompenced. His 
 royal proselyte withdrew from the seat and jiatrimony of 
 St. Peter, declared his resolution of founding a new caintal
 
 THK POET AND THE MONK. 209 
 
 in the East, and resigned to the popes the free and per- 
 petual sovereignty of Rome, Ital}', and the provinces of 
 the West. 
 
 " This fiction was productive of the most beneficial 
 effects. The Greek princes were convicted of the guilt 
 of usurpation, and the revolt of Gregory was the claim 
 of his lawful inheritance. The popes were delivered 
 from their debt of gratitude, and the nominal gifts of the 
 Carlovingians were no more thau the just and irrevocable 
 restitution of a scanty portion of the Ecclesiastical State. 
 The sovereignty of Home no longer depended on the 
 choice of a fickle people, and the successors of St. Peter 
 and of Constantine were invested with the purple and 
 prerogatives of the Ctesars ! 
 
 " So deep wei'e the ignorance and credulity of the 
 times, that this most absmd of fables was received with 
 equal reverence in Greece and in France, and is still 
 enrolled among the decrees of the Canon Law ! The 
 emperors and the Romans were incapable of discerning 
 a forgery, that subverted their rights and freedom ; and 
 the only opposition proceeded from a Sabine monastery, 
 which, in the beginning of the twelfth century, disputed 
 the truth and validity of this pretended donation of 
 Constantine. 
 
 " In the revival of letters and liberty, this fictitious 
 deed was transpierced by the pen of Laurentious Valla, 
 the pen of an eloquent critic and Roman patriot. His 
 cotemporaries of the fifteenth century were astonished 
 at his sacrilegious boldness; yet, such is the silent and 
 irresistible progress of reason, that before the end of the 
 next age, the fable was rejected by the contempt of 
 historians, and poets, and the tacit or modest censure of
 
 300 THE BATH FABLKS. 
 
 the advocates of the Roman Church. The popes tliem- 
 selves have iudulged a smile at the credulity of the 
 vulgar ; but a false and obsolete title still sanctions their 
 reign ; and, by the same fortune which has attended the 
 decretals and the Sibylline oracles, the edifice has sub- 
 sisted after the foundations have been undermined." 
 
 Oihbon. 
 
 I MAY just subjoin, that Cardinal Baronius, ashamed, 
 doubtless, of so wickedly flagitious a deed, su])poscs it 
 a forgery of the Greeks ! Of this document Cardinal 
 Perron was one day talking with the Pope of his time, 
 M^hen the latter replied with a laugh, — " What would 
 you have ? the canons read it." The Paladine Astolfo 
 found this singular document in the moon ; a vei-y fit 
 place for it ! — 
 
 " Questo era il dono, se pur dir lece. 
 Che Constantino al buon Silvestre feee." 
 
 " Orlando Ftirioso." — AV. 
 
 " The Church of St. Januarius itself was built by an 
 Angevin prince, and when scattered, or ratlier destroyed 
 by earthquakes, it was rebuilt by a Spanish Sovereign. 
 It is Gothic, but strangely disfigured by ornaments and 
 reparations in dillerent styles. In the subterraneous 
 chapel under the choir, is deposited the body of St. 
 Januarius. His sujiposed blood is kept in a vial in the 
 Tesoro (treasury), and is considered as the most valuable 
 of its deposits, and indeed as the glory and the ornament 
 of the cathedral and of the city itself. Into the truth of 
 the supposition little inquiiy is made ; and in this respect 
 the Neapolitans seem to have adopted the maxim of 
 the ancient Germans, ' Sanctius ac reverentiua de diis
 
 MURPHY AND MDSTAPHA. 301 
 
 credere quam scire.' * The blood of St. Stephen, in the 
 church of St. Gaudioso, belonging to the Benedictine 
 nuns, is said to liquify in the same manner; but only 
 once a year, on the festival of the martyr ! "f 
 
 Chetewood Eustace. 
 
 FABLE XXXIV. 
 MURPHY AND MUSTAPHA. 
 
 FOR TIPPLERS. 
 
 THE Emerald Isle, if fame be true, 
 Was erst too fond of mountain-dew ; 
 Nay, spite of Father Mathew's drill, 
 I fear poor Paddy likes it still. 
 But Turkey is a sober land, 
 True to Mohammed's stern command, 
 And wisely leaves all fire-fraught lures, 
 To Friar Tucks and Russian boors. 
 No harm, should Britain cease to tope : 
 Well, read a tale, and let us hope. 
 
 * " It is more holy and more reverent to believe things that 
 appertain to the gods, than to know them." — Tac. de Mor. 
 Germ. 34. 
 
 \ " The author has been accused of a want of candour, in not 
 having expressed in a more explicit manner his opinion of the 
 miracle alluded to : few readers, he conceives, will be at a loss to 
 discover it ; but if a more open declaration can give any satisfac- 
 tion, he now declares, that he does not believe the liquifying 
 substance to be the blood of St. Januarius."* — Eustace. 
 
 • Eustace was a priest of the papal communion.
 
 302 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 Old Mui-])hy worked before the mast, — 
 If long my yarn, call out " Avast ! " — 
 Aud served on board a Turkey brig, 
 No tar more skilled to reef or rig. 
 " So far, so well ; and brave, no doubt:" 
 Exactly so ; but hear me out. 
 
 Wliat i)ity Paddy was a hog ! 
 Too fond, 1 mean, of sponging grog : 
 And when with mellow whiskey lined, 
 No pontiff's bull was half so blind : 
 Nay, oft he owned, " The Boyne," his ship. 
 Had never once made good her trip. 
 Save that she knew the Turkish shore, 
 Because slie'd oft been there before ! 
 
 Well — one hot night, " The Boyne" in jiort, 
 Pat jumped ashore in quest of sp)ort. 
 Among tlie cits of old Stamboul, 
 But soon got fuddled near the Pool ; 
 For there he stowed a cargo in, 
 Of rich rosolio, rum, and gin, 
 When on he reeled, as you'll suj^pose, 
 Grog-blossoms glistening on his nose : 
 So o'er-charged pudding swells with haste, 
 And ruby sap illumes the jiaste. 
 
 Turk ai'lcr Turk poor INIurphy meets. 
 While staggering through their nai-row streets; 
 And since, with guzzling, wits must end, 
 Pat thought each Turk some Irish friend. 
 And asked those dramless souls to state, 
 What whiskey-shop they'd liked of late : — 
 " As Christians to a Christian guest, 
 Ye'll tell me where I'll buy the best."
 
 MURPHY AND MUSTAPHA. ;J03 
 
 At length our toper reeled before 
 Sofia's mosque, the prayers just o'er, 
 And seeing Moslems pouruig out, 
 The brainless maudlin felt no doubt 
 'Twas some shebeen-shop — staggered in. 
 And sought another liask of gin. 
 
 " Erin go-hragh ! " poor ]\Iur2:ihy cried ; 
 " Hand us some dew, to warm my hide ! 
 To-night's the day, I own with sorrow, 
 That I'm to quit your port to-morrow ; 
 And faix ! yell not let Paddy lave 
 More hollow than a galley-slave?" 
 Then passed the crowd, and tumbled in, 
 Expecting soon to gulp the gin : 
 But Turks not knowing what he said. 
 Some stared, some frowned, and others fled. 
 
 Happy for Pat had that been all ! 
 But soon the grog was turned to gall ; 
 For Mustapha, the mosque-bashee. 
 Chafed that a Frank should make so free, 
 As e'en to soil the holy fane, 
 Wliere Moslems only could remain. 
 Bushed on poor Pat with tiger bound. 
 And felled the maudlin to the gi-ound, — 
 Bawling in Turkish o'er and o'er, 
 As plain to Pat as Pat's before : — 
 
 " Ye impious giaour I ye Christian dog ! 
 
 Ye filthy Frank ! ye lumpish hog ! 
 
 How dare ye foul, with Christian shoes, 
 
 A fane we Moslems only use ? 
 
 You'll soon be shorter by the head. 
 
 Or drowned, or bow-stringed in its stead ! "
 
 304 THE BATH FABLE9. 
 
 This o'er, that fierce, indignant hlack, 
 Bound Murphy's hands behind his back, 
 And made th' amazed Hibernian trudge, 
 Through raging crowds, to face his judge. 
 Tims ends my yarn : I hope the song 
 Is not a marlinespike too long. 
 
 MORAL, 
 
 Whether, on that most luckless day. 
 
 They took poor Murjihy's life away. 
 
 Deponent knows not; but 'tis said. 
 
 Sir Stratford saved tlie maudlin's head. 
 
 I hope he did, and gave the Turk 
 
 A lecture on such fiendish work. 
 
 As chaining, drowning, strangling, burning. 
 
 For Mecca's fanes or monkish learning : 
 
 Go it, dear Elchi ! for it's sad, 
 
 Imaum or pontiff is so mad ! 
 
 Yet, embassies are needless things ; 
 Since posts, or messengers of kings. 
 With some slirewd consul on the spot, 
 To watch when things are getting hot. 
 Can do the office just as flash. 
 And save John Bull a mint of cash ! 
 
 Meantime those Moslems, though so blind, 
 
 May preacli a moral to mankind; 
 
 For though of blood they show a thirst, — 
 
 Of every crime the most accurst, — 
 
 Yet never did a thirst for grog 
 
 Level that people with the hog ! 
 
 Some few will brave their prophet's wrath. 
 
 And r oyster o'er the burning broth ;
 
 MURPHY AND MUSTAPHA. 305 
 
 But take the nation! Oh, that Pat 
 Would steer as free of grog as that ! 
 Nor Pat alone, but great and small ; 
 P'or drinking is the curse of all ! 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE PROSE. 
 
 THE RESULTS OF DRUNKENNESS. 
 
 " If you wish to be always thirsty, be a drunkard ; 
 for tlie oftener and more you drink, the oftener and 
 more thirsty you will be. 
 
 " If you seek to prevent your friends raising you in 
 the world, be a drunkard ; for that wiU defeat all their 
 efforts. 
 
 " If you would effectually counteract your own at- 
 tempts to do well, be a drunkard, and you will not be 
 disappointed. 
 
 " If you wish to repel the endeavours of the whole 
 human race to raise you to character, credit, and pros- 
 perity, be a drunkard, and you wUl most assuredly 
 triumph. 
 
 " If you are determined to be poor, be a drunkard, 
 and you will soon be ragged and pennyless. 
 
 " If you would wish to starve your family, be a 
 drunkard ; for that will consume the means of their 
 support. 
 
 " If you would be imposed on by knaves, be a 
 drunkard ; for that will make their task easy.
 
 300 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 " If you would wish to be robbed, be a drunkard, 
 which will enable the thief to do it with more safety. 
 
 " If you would wish to blunt your senses, be a 
 drunkard, and you wiU soon be more stuj^id tliau an 
 ass. 
 
 " If you would become a fool, be a drunkard, and 
 you will soon lose your understanding. 
 
 " If you wish to unfit yourself for rational inter- 
 course, be a drunkard ; for that will render you wholly 
 unfit for it. 
 
 " If you are resolved to kill yourself, be a drunkard, 
 that being a sure mode of destruction. 
 
 " If you would expose both your folly and your 
 secrets, be a drunkard, and they will soon run out as 
 the liquor runs in. 
 
 " If you think you are too strong, be a drunkard, 
 and you will soon be subdued by so powerful an enemy. 
 
 "If you would get rid of your money without 
 knowing how, be a drunkard, and it will vanish in- 
 sensibly. 
 
 " If you would have no resource, when past labour, 
 but a workhouse, be a drunkard, and you will be 
 unable to provide any. 
 
 " If you are determined to expel all comfort from 
 your house, be a drunkard, and you will soon do it 
 effectually. 
 
 " If you would be always under strong suspicion, 
 be a drunkard; for, little as you think it, all agree 
 that those who steal from themselves and families will 
 rob othei'S. 
 
 " If you would be reduced to the necessity of shun-
 
 \ 
 
 MDRPHY AND JIUSTAPHA. 307 
 
 ning your creditors, be a drunkard, and you will soon 
 have reason to prefer the by-paths to the public streets. 
 
 " If you would be a dead weight ou the community, 
 and 'cumber the ground,' be a drunkard; for that 
 will render you useless, helpless, burdensome, and 
 expensive. 
 
 " If you would be a nuisance, be a drunkard ; for 
 the approach of a drunkard is like that of a dunghill. 
 
 " If you would be hated by your family and friends, 
 be a drunkard, and you will soon be more than dis- 
 agreeable. 
 
 " If you would be a pest to society, be a drunkard, 
 and you will be avoided as infectious. 
 
 " If you do not wish to have your faults reformed, 
 continue to be a drunkard, and you will not care for 
 good advice. 
 
 " If you would smash windows, break the i^eace, get 
 your bones broken, tumble under carts and horses, and 
 be locked up in watch-houses, be a drunkard, and it will 
 be strange if you do not succeed. 
 
 " If you wish all your prospects in life to be clouded, 
 be a drunkard, and they will soon be dark enough. 
 
 " If you would destroy your body, be a drunkard, as 
 drunkenness is the mother of disease. 
 
 " If you mean to ruin your soul, be a drunkard, 
 that you may be excluded from heaven. 
 
 " Finally, if you are determined to be utterly de- 
 sti-oyed, in estate, body, and soul, be a drunkard, and 
 you will soon know that it is impossible to adopt a 
 more efi'ectual means to accomplish your — end." 
 
 Rowland Hill.
 
 308 THE BATH FAEI.KS. 
 
 " Drunkenness expels reason — drowns the memorj' 
 — defaces beauty — diminishes strength — inflames the 
 blood — causes internal, external, and incurable wounds 
 — is a witch to the senses, a devil to the soul, a thief 
 to the purse — the beggar's companion, the wife's woe, 
 and children's sorrow — makes a strong man weak, and 
 a wise man a fool. He is worse than a beast, and is 
 a self-murderer, who drinks to others' good health, and 
 robs himself of his own. He is worse than a beast, 
 for no animal will designedly intoxicate itself; but 
 a drunkard swallows his liquor, well knowing to wliat 
 it will reduce him, and that these draughts will deprive 
 him of the use of his reason, and render him worse 
 than a beast. By the effects of liquor, his evil passions 
 and tempers are freed from restraint ; and, while in 
 a state of intoxication, he commits actions which, when 
 sober, he would have shuddered only to have thought 
 of. Many an evil deed has been done, many a murder 
 has been committed, when those who did tiicse things 
 were intoxicated. Scarcely an assi/e passes without 
 some unhappy prisoner attempting to excuse liis guilt 
 by the plea that he was under the influence of liquor. 
 This excuse the law allows not, and most justly ; for, 
 if men voluntarily deprive themselves of their reason, 
 surely they cannot be innocent of whatever evils they 
 commit while in that state. Tremble, tl)on, O drunkard! 
 reflect before yoti put the cup to your lips! remember 
 that you are about to make yourself ready to commit 
 every crime to which an evil nature, no longer checked, 
 can incite you, and that you may awake from this state, 
 guilty of oll'ences against the laws of your country, 
 sufficient to draw down Just vengeance upon your head! 
 and while sufiering the punishment of your evil deeds,
 
 THE DRAGOON AND THE GIPSY. 309 
 
 or reflecting on the harm done, perhaps to your best 
 Mend, what consolation can the remembrance of your 
 worse than beastly enjoyment give you ? 
 
 " All the crimes on the earth do not destroy so many 
 of the human race, nor alienate so much projierty, as 
 drunkenness." 
 
 Lord Bacon. 
 
 FABLE XXXV. 
 
 THE DRAGOON AND THE GIPSY. 
 
 FOR BELLIGERENTS. 
 
 WHEN valiant nations rage and fight, 
 For private pique or public right, 
 Lo ! cohorts march ; lo! fleets are keeled, 
 And thousauds fall by flood and field : 
 But when the rage of battle's past, 
 And white- robed Peace appears at last, 
 Sum up your gain ; — 'tis crime, regret, 
 Orphan and widow, tax and debt: 
 Hear, then, the moralist who sighs, 
 To make those valiant nations wise ! 
 
 A bold dragoon in tinsel garb. 
 Well mounted on a noble barb, 
 With helmet, plume and lace bedight. 
 Paced round the camp one moonlit night. 
 To guard his friends, at foes to peer, 
 And sound alarm should danger near.
 
 310 THE HATH FABLES. 
 
 As rouiul and round he kejit patrole, 
 
 And sang full oft that night's parole, 
 
 Or ever and anon would curb 
 
 His neighing steed, if sound disturb ; 
 
 He chanced to near the camp canteen, 
 
 Illumed by Cynthia's silvery sheen ; 
 
 When, peering stealthily about, 
 
 He spied a Gipsy skulking out, 
 
 "With keg in hand, with fowls half bled, 
 
 And fifty rations on his head. 
 
 " Avast, ye ragged buccaneer !" 
 Growled the dragoon ; " how came ye here?" 
 Then spurred his barb to make a plunge, 
 And floored the robber by the lunge. 
 
 " You murderous rufBan ! is our camp 
 
 To be the ])roy of such a scamp ? 
 
 Must well-fod poultry bleed for you. 
 
 Or any of your thievish crew? 
 
 Here we defend the nation's cause. 
 
 Her bounds, her wealth, her church, her laws, 
 
 And while we bleed to shield her right, 
 
 Are ye to skulk in dead of night. 
 
 Glide like a ghost from tent to tent, 
 
 A bold brigand on thieving bent? 
 
 Sdeath ! arc dragoons to risk tlieir blood, 
 
 While Gipsies steal their very food ! 
 
 Hark, fellow ! yond's a pretty tree ; 
 
 Leave here your i>illage ; follow me ; 
 
 'Tis time the gibbet had its due, 
 
 And, zounds ! we've rope enough for you!" 
 
 " Alas!" the trembling culprit cried, 
 As oft he sobbed and oft he sighed,
 
 THE DRAGOON AND THE GIPSy. 311 
 
 " A rogue by trade, a rogue of sense, 
 To honour I make no pretence ; 
 Perhaps I e'en deserve the tree, 
 But ere I perish list to me : — 
 
 " Why call me robber to my face ? 
 Who made me such, and all my race ? 
 Timour, four hundred years ago ; 
 To him our misery we owe. 
 And what was he ? a soldier chief, — 
 Forgive me, sir — a gold-laced thief, 
 Who robbed us of our Indian lands. 
 And made us vagabond brigands ! 
 
 "Why scoi-n my rags? 'tis fit that rogues, 
 Should trounce in tattered shirt and brogues 
 And surely you, whose daily bread, 
 Is but the price of thousands dead, 
 Should blush to strut in lace and gold ; 
 The rough-clad sailor is as bold ; 
 And pity 'tis that gauds so fine. 
 Bedeck so dire a trade as thine ! 
 
 " Am / a miirderous buccaneer ? 
 My bold dragoon, that's you, I fear! 
 For though I stole a little bread, 
 And one small coop of chickens bled, 
 Wliat's that to you, who bleed e'en man? 
 And that by thousands, if ye can ! 
 For slaying poultry I'm to swing; 
 By slaying men you please your king ! 
 Oh ! haste, dragoon, and let me die ; 
 From such a world I'm glad to fly !"
 
 312 THE RATH FABLES. 
 
 MORAL 
 
 Soldiers ! it is not you I chide, 
 So oft your country's honest pride ; 
 But selfish magn<ites, who can farm, 
 With golden bribes, your valiant arm, 
 And madly push the game of war, 
 To place their clients on the car ! 
 For what's the loss, ten thousand slain. 
 If they each post of honour gain ? 
 And fall who may, still victory's cheap, 
 While they the golden harvest reap ! 
 
 But real heroes blush to glow. 
 In ruthless joy at others' woe ; 
 They sigh to see a brother bleed. 
 Nor fight but in the direst need ; 
 Yet share no home, nor deign to rest. 
 Should prince or patriot sigh opprest. 
 Yet, is it, Britons ! is it right. 
 In garisli foppery to dight 
 Men who with woe the nations flood, 
 And hoist their banners rolled in blood? 
 Shall nodding plumes adorn their crest, 
 And blazing stars bestud their breast? 
 Why is fell Mars in pomp arrtayed, 
 When millions feel his brilliant blade ? 
 
 Love not the heartless hero's name, 
 If pelf, not peace, his soul inflame ; 
 Or if he shed a brother's blood, 
 For empire, honour, fame or food !
 
 THE DRAGOON AND THE GIPSY. 313 
 
 The shallow Macedonian's name 
 Shall outlaw be to blushing Fame : 
 She scorns the fiend, however brave, 
 Whose sword but digs the millions' grave. 
 
 I'd rather beg my bread than share 
 The blood-thir£t of yon Russian bear ; 
 Or die Kossuth in Arctic snow, 
 Than cram yon gibbet like Hay nan ! 
 As soon my loathing soul endures 
 Pizarros, Borgias and Timoin-s! 
 As soon the martyr might admire, 
 The fiendish monks that light his fire ! 
 And Rush or Manning be my friend. 
 Than knaves that war for such an end! 
 
 Cease, Christian ! cease at war to glow, 
 And lay the blood-stained banner low. 
 That draws Jehovah's thunder down, 
 And oft entails His awful frown. 
 The nation's crime it is, my friend ! 
 That war's alarms no sooner end ; 
 Since rulers must respect her voice. 
 When peace shall be a nation's choice. 
 Be once convinced ; in God unite : 
 And who's the prince shall dare to fight? 
 For, if the crowd be sons of Peace, 
 In spite of senates, war shall cease ! 
 
 Charge, Cobden, charge! on, Leaguers, on! 
 
 Stand by your banner, every one ! 
 
 If God is true, if reason reign, 
 
 Ye must your peaceful triumph gain !
 
 314 
 
 THK BATH FABLES. 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE PEOSE. 
 
 INTERNATIONAL ARBITRATION. 
 
 " Whatever may be said in the press and in Parlia- 
 ment, the idea of international arbitration is becoming 
 one of the recognised principles of I^nglishmcn of the 
 middle class. It is a practical application of the people's 
 religious creed. In Belgium, also, — in France, — in the 
 United States of America, the friends of the Peace move- 
 ment have zealous fellows in tlie faith, labouring to 
 imbue their countrymen with the same Christian views, 
 — little lumps of leaven, which will, in due time, leaven 
 the whole of their respective masses. Tlic courtiers of 
 Canute, encouraging him to bid the wild waves go back- 
 wards, were a faint type of the hopeless folly of those, 
 who set themselves to resist, by hollow and heartless 
 flippancy, the rise of this moral tide. 
 
 " The shallow scollers who affect to laugh down the 
 International Arbitration movement, forget, or are igno- 
 rant of, our domestic history since the revolution of 1688. 
 Since that time England has had its Mohawks, who, 
 with wanton imjiunity, mutilated honest, unoffending 
 citizens for their drunken amusement. Since that time 
 the only quasi police of London was exercised by the 
 Jonathan Wilds, the Lockets, and Peachums, whose 
 revolting and degrading story is recorded in the annals 
 of the Old Bailey, and the pages of imaginative fiction. 
 Since that time the duellist has lorded it uncontrolled in 
 England. But all these nuisances have been put down, 
 and the sovereign sway of a baton-armed police estab-
 
 THE DRAGOON AND THE GIPSY. 315 
 
 lished to repress tlisliouesty and maintain peace between 
 man and man. How has this been brouglit about? 
 Not by additions to the power of the executive govern- 
 ment, for tlie people have become stronger, and their 
 rulers weakened, since the abuses we have enumerated 
 flourished. Tlie enlightenment of public opinion, and 
 the diifusion of Christian principles, have done the good 
 work ! 
 
 "War, in all its forms, is. in Christians, the conse- 
 quence of a remnant of unbelief lingering about the 
 strong and unsubdued heart of the natural man. ' Lord, 
 I believe; help thou my unbelief,' was the half-conscious 
 admission of one who had attained to a height of faith 
 which few have accomplished. In every action, almost, 
 of ordinary men, may be traced symptoms of those callo- 
 sities of the heart, which remain even after faith has 
 attempered and softened it in the main. The fear of 
 the world's laugh, the hesitation to regulate our small 
 bargains of daily life on the self-denying principles of 
 revelation, the so-called codes of gallantry and honour, — 
 all are symptoms of the recurring original disease; and 
 of all of them the grave justification of wai- is the worst. 
 The men who call themselves Christians, yet argue that 
 war is an evil ineradicable from our present state, affect 
 to be wiser than their Creator and Saviour. They accept 
 revelation with restrictions suggested by what they im- 
 piously deem their own superior judgment. They prac- 
 tically declare. We will adopt such and such a maxim or 
 principle of Christianity ; but its denunciations of war 
 are an amiable hallucination and weakness, in which our 
 strong minds cannot stoop to participate. 
 
 " Yet, if these proud reliers on their own judgments—
 
 316 THE BATU FABLES. 
 
 whose wisdom is the most wretched folly — would dis- 
 l>a$8iouately view the workings of society, they would 
 see, in the events of the last two centuries, strong ground 
 of liope that all men and nations may be reclaimed from 
 the absurd and inhuman practice of war. Barely two 
 hundred years liavce!a])scd since George Fox and his few 
 followers began to preach the unlimited application of 
 the pacific doctrines of the gospel to national as well as 
 to individual conduct. The eccentricities of those earnest 
 men did not even then meet with universal ridicule and 
 opposition. Among many of the noblest minds of the 
 Independent party — men whose bearing on the dread 
 days of Naseby, and Marston Moor, and Worcester, 
 showed how little influence fear had over them — George 
 Fox and other Quakers found respectful and symijathising 
 protectors. Their condemnation of war continued for a 
 century afterwards to make converts, not only among 
 those who openly adhered to their sect, but among other 
 classes of Christians, and even among many who re- 
 mained strangers to the influences of the gospel. Anta- 
 gonism to war was a recognised principle of the wisest 
 politicians at that remarkable era, when the American 
 and first French Revolutions inaugurated a change in 
 political opinions and relations, whicli has not been con- 
 fined to the i)0])ular party of our own day. The prin- 
 ciples of the Franklins and Washingtons of America, of 
 the originators of the first French Revolution, of the 
 religious public in England, their contemporaries, were 
 opposed to any but defensive wars. In the headlong 
 current of events, in the fierce strife of ignorant passion 
 which was awakened, too many were drawn or driven 
 from their principles, but a remnant still clung to 
 the truth they had discovered. Since Waterloo, such
 
 THE DRAGOON AND THE GIPSY. 317 
 
 views liave gradually been regaining the ground tbey 
 had lost, and are making successful incnrsious into the 
 war-loving realm of darkness and old night." 
 
 " Christian Times." 
 
 BATTLE OF TRAFALGAR. 
 
 If ever the horrors of war were feelingly, and withal 
 wisely alluded to, the following remarks, by the author 
 of " Nautical Essays," are a beautiful example. I only 
 premise that Mr. Marks, the writer, though now a 
 clerical member of the Episcopal Church in England, 
 was an officer at the Battle of Trafalgar ; so that he 
 speaks of what he well understands. 
 
 " Often," says he, "since the 21st of October, 1805, 
 the writer's mind has retraced a variety of scenes, which 
 occurred in the memorable battle of that day, off the 
 hills of Trafalgar." After stating the force of the hostile 
 fleets at 27 sail of the line, on the part of England, and 
 33 as that of the combined fleet of France and Spain, 
 many of which were greatly superior in size to ours ; he 
 thus proceeds : — 
 
 "A little before noon, the enemy opened their fire on 
 our fleet, as we stood down to them ; and soon afterwards 
 their line was broken through in two places, and the 
 action became mixed and general over a large space of 
 the before peaceful ocean, and all the havoc of a great 
 sea-fight went forward on a large scale. Could all the 
 inhabitants of Europe, or some of every class, previous 
 to the commencement of the action, have stood and 
 looked on, with what difierent emotions would they 
 have contemplated the surrounding scenes, and the im- 
 pending encounter ! Nature, that day, seemed to invite
 
 318 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 the world to lift up its voice, and to praise the God of 
 love. The tranquil ocean, the gentle and refreshing 
 breeze that swejit its surface, and the expanded, cloudless 
 sk}', all seemed to call on men to be at peace with each other, 
 and to ' Glory in the Lord, who executeth lovingkind- 
 ness, judgment, and justice in the earth, as his delightful 
 work.' The very winds that bore the fleets to each other, 
 seemed to do it with lingering reluctance ; and angels, 
 who minister to man, might justly be conceived to sorrow 
 over the sins of distracted Europe ! 
 
 "When," Mr. Marks proceeds, "when we read the 
 past history of our own, or of any other country, it is 
 impossible not to be struck with the amazing indifference 
 with which many princes and statesmen have stood by, 
 and looked on the sufferings and slaughter of their fellow- 
 creatures ! But least of all do they appear to have con- 
 sidered the poor, devoted victims of their ambition, as 
 being possessed of immortal souls, or of the unspeakable 
 importance of hurrying 07ie such soul, unprepared, into 
 the i)resencc of its Judge. Hence they have often num- 
 bered and arranged their fleets and armies for battle, 
 with as little Christian feeling, as they would marshal 
 their troops and castles on a chess-board, in an hour of 
 idle amusement ! " 
 
 I shall now follow Mr. Marks to the result of that 
 fearful conflict, singling out here and there a few speci- 
 mens of the havoc of our " glorious victory" off Trafal- 
 gar, at which he served " on board the Dreadnought." 
 
 " The last ship the D engaged was a Spanish 
 
 seventy-four, which struck just before her masts went by 
 the board. This ship was taken possession of by our 
 crew, and was one of the only four which reached
 
 THE DRAGOON AXD THE GIPSY. 319 
 
 Gibraltar. Poor San Ildafonzo ! I am sure every 
 
 officer on board tbe D rejoicecl, for the sake of lier 
 
 maugied crew, to see her strike her colours, and thus 
 stay our destructive fire." After the victory. Lord 
 Nelson's advice was, "Anchor, Hardy, anchor !" But 
 Lord Collingwood chose not to follow this advice of our 
 dying hero, the result of which was fatal; for a storm 
 rising soon after Nelson's death, scattered and wrecked 
 most of the numerous jn-izes. The rest is thus stated 
 by our author, chiefly in his own words :— 
 
 " Our Sjjanish ship, the San Ildafonzo, of 74 guns, 
 was sent to Gibraltar. Another, the San Juan Napo- 
 maceno, also a 74, reached the same port. Another 74, 
 the Bahama, and a French ship, each carrying 74 guns, 
 got to the same harbour. But the Monarca, a Spaniard 
 of 74; a French ship of the same weight, the Fougeux ; 
 another of 84, the Indomitable ; another of 80, the 
 Bucentaur; a Spaniard of 74, the San Francisco; another 
 of 100, the El Raijo ; a third of 84, the Neptuno ; a 
 Frenchman of 74, the Bentinch ; and a second of 74, the 
 L'Aigle; in all, nine magnificent ships of the line, — 
 carrying some thousands of poor warriors, many of them 
 Englishmen on service as prize-masters and men, — were 
 all driven ashore and lost ! Few men were saved : in 
 some of them every soul on board perished ! ! " 
 
 " The Intrepid," adds Mr. ]\Iarks, " a French man-of- 
 war, was burnt by the Britannia : the Sa?i Augustin, a 
 Spaniard, by the Leviathan: a third; also Spanish, the 
 Santissima Trinidada, of 140 guns, was sunk: so was the 
 Redoubtable, a Frenchman of 74 ; while the Ajax sank 
 the Spanish Angouart of 80 ; and, to finish this appalling 
 list, the Achille, a Frenchmaa of 74, caught fire during
 
 320 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 the action, and blew up soon after its close. And who, 
 save tlie omniscient God, can tell the numbers of hap- 
 less victims, that sank on that beauteous day amidst 
 those terrific events ! " I close with Mr. Marks as fol- 
 lows : — 
 
 " Well does the writer know with what contempt the 
 ambitious, the worldly, and merely ])olitical character 
 will read these observations, and with what contempt he 
 himself should once have read them! He knows with 
 what supreme disdain they will hear of the disappro- 
 bation of those Christians, whose prayers have been 
 more instrumental in saving our country, than all the 
 valour of our fleets and armies." — " Nautical Essays." 
 
 If, as Pascal states, " public opinion is the queen of 
 the world," only let this monarch raise her voice wisely, 
 unitedly and firmly, and soon, very soon, " nations 
 shall lonrn the art of war no more!" What, for this 
 object, is required, but a simple arbitration clause in 
 every international treaty? What crime, what misery, 
 would such a clause avert ! — W. 
 
 FABLE XXXVI. 
 
 THE SPIDER AND THE FLY. 
 
 FOR MAIDENS. 
 
 TO teach the fiolicsome and fair. 
 And lay the wiles of miscreants bare,- 
 The blushlcss wit, the artful sjnile. 
 The base betrayer's fatal gxiile.
 
 THE SPIDER AND THE FLY. 321 
 
 A moralist must never fail, 
 Since heartless rakes — but read the tale ; 
 And maids ! pursue the moral too, 
 'Tis penned most anxiously for you ! 
 
 In a dark nook, stray waifs to snare, 
 A wily sj)ider fixed his lair, 
 And sj)uu his web a thousand ways. 
 Athwart and round in endless maze. 
 This done, he 2:)lants his lumpish self, 
 Than death more still, the cunning elf, 
 And lurks within his silken hall, 
 To see what visitors might call. 
 
 Nor did the ruffian wait full long, 
 As all may learn who read my song ; 
 For soon a buzzing, frolic fly. 
 In reckless fun comes whizzing by. 
 Who, heedless of the cobweb, reels. 
 And tumbles in, head over heels. 
 Lau ! how she trembled as she saw 
 The ugly spider raise his claw ! 
 Yet, trusting to her cool finesse, 
 She hoped the evil to redress. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," 'gan the fly, 
 
 " 'Tis rude, I own, but, sir, I — I — 
 
 Must hope you're not offended yet ; 
 
 I really did not see your net ; 
 
 'Tis dark as night : why don't the scamps 
 
 Put on more gas, or clean the lamps? 
 
 Falling with such a bump, I fear, 
 
 I may have done some mischief here."
 
 322 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 " Oh, not at all !" was liis reply, 
 
 Bowing politely to the lly ; 
 
 " The blame, dear Madam, lies on me ; 
 
 My gas is almost spent, I see : 
 
 Yet pray don't stir ; all's right as yet, 
 
 But if you move, you'll rend my net : 
 
 Allow me to assist." This said, 
 
 The wily villain winds his thread. 
 
 Now round her legs, and now her wings. 
 
 And folds her in a thousand strings, 
 
 While, she, with unsus]iicious mind. 
 
 Vowed the gallant was vastly kind. 
 
 "And now, fair maid," the spider cries, 
 An ugly leer in both his eyes, 
 " You shook my hall with such a gust, 
 You must be hurt, I'm sure you must, — 
 Your legs, your wings, your side, or head. 
 And so, my dear, you must be bled." 
 
 " Bled, gallant sir !" rejoins the fly ; 
 " Excuse me if I don't comply : 
 You're vastly kind, or vastly free. 
 But no phlebotomy for me." 
 
 " Come, come, my dear !" the villain said, 
 
 " So higli your pulse, you must be bled ; 
 
 'Tis thus I always treat the fair. 
 
 Who stray from home and reach my lair." 
 
 So saying, he drew forth a lance, 
 
 And rudely oflcred to advance. 
 
 " Hands off!" she bawls, with many a frown ; 
 " If you advance I'll knock you down :
 
 THE SPIDER AND THE FLY. 323 
 
 Hands off, I say ! no fool am I ; 
 He'll find it who insults a fly." 
 
 " Oh, doubtless, Madam !" said the spider, 
 And laughed aloud as still he tied lier, 
 " Oh, doubtless, Madam ! I must die, 
 If once assailed by such a fly ; 
 You'll first get up, though, if you can. 
 And slay me with your buzzing fan : 
 But since you can't, my pretty fly ! 
 There ! there, fair patient ! bleed and die." 
 
 With that he stabs her o'er and o'er, 
 And blends his poison with her gore. 
 Till the poor victim gasped for breath, 
 And, shivering, moaning, bled to death ! 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Ladies ! I sing that your fair prime 
 May happily be warned in time : 
 There's many a base poltroon, believe, 
 Intent your ruin to achieve. 
 This spawn of vicious Charles's reign 
 Have duped full many a thoughtless Vane ; 
 And Shore and Sedley vainly wept, 
 That they fair Virtue's line o'erstepped. 
 Had Cleopatra but been wise, 
 To frown a traitor in disguise, 
 She had not wept, slie had not died, 
 A friendless, helpless suicide. 
 Would you, my Cloe, you, Miss Jane, 
 Court happier lot than Shore or Vane ?
 
 324 
 
 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 Trust not too far, though Coelebs smile, 
 His boast it may be to beguile. 
 Keej) the parental dome at night, 
 For white-robed Virtue loves the light : 
 Had Dinah done so, safe from shame. 
 She ne'er had wept her ruined fame. 
 
 Still, wi'ite not every man a knave ; 
 The good are plenteous as the brave : 
 Converse, yet guard ; be kind, alert ; 
 The prude is loveless as the flirt. 
 
 ILLTJSTEATIVE PKOSE. 
 
 ON MALE AND FEMALE JILTS. 
 " Mr. Spectator, 
 
 " When you spoke of the jilts and coquettes, you 
 then promised to be very impartial, and not to spare 
 even your own sex, should any of their secret or open 
 faults come luider yotu- cognisance ; which has given 
 me encouragement to describe a certain species of man- 
 kind luider the denomination of male jilts. They are 
 gentlemen who do not design to marry, yet, that they 
 may ajipear to have some sense of gallantry, think they 
 must pay their devoir's to one particular fair; in order 
 to which, they single out from amongst the herd of 
 females her to whom they design to make their fruitless 
 addresses. This done, they first talie every opportunity 
 of being in her company, and they never fail ujion all
 
 THE SPIDER AND THE FLY. 325 
 
 occasions to be particular to her, laying tliemselves at 
 her feet, protesting the reality of their passion with a 
 thousand oaths, soliciting a return, and saying as many 
 fine things as their stock of wit will allow ; and if they 
 are not deficient that way, generally speak so as to 
 admit of a double interpretation : which the credulous 
 fair is too apt to turn to her own advantage, since it 
 frequently happens to be a raw, innocent young crea- 
 ture, who thinks all the world as sincere as herself. 
 And so her unwary heart becomes an easy prey to those 
 deceitful monsters, who no sooner perceive it, but 
 immediately they grow cool, shun her whom they 
 before seemed so much to admire, and proceed to act 
 tlie same common-place villany towards another. A 
 coxcomb, flushed with many of these infamous victories, 
 will say he is sorry for the poor fools, protest and vow 
 he never thought of matrimony, and wonder talking 
 civilly can be so strangely misinterpreted. Now, Mr. 
 Spectator, you, who are a professed friend to love, will, 
 I hope, observe upon those who abuse that noble 
 passion, and raise it in innocent minds by a deceitful 
 affectation of it, after which they desert the enamoured. 
 Pray bestow a little of your counsel on those fond, be- 
 lieving females who already have, or are in danger of 
 having, broken hearts. — Melainia." 
 
 Steele. 
 
 " Mr. Spectator, 
 
 " You and your correspondents are very severe on a 
 sort of men whom you call male coquets ; but without 
 any other reason, in my apprehension, than that of 
 paying a shallow compliment to the fair sex, by ac- 
 cusing some men of imaginary faults, that the women
 
 326 THE HATH FABLKS. 
 
 may not seem to be the more faulty sex ; though, at 
 tlie same time, you supjiose there are some so weak as 
 to be imposed upon by fine things and false addresses. 
 T cannot persuade myself that your design is to debar 
 the sexes the benefit of each other's convei-sation within 
 the rules of honour ; nor will you, I dare say, recom- 
 mend to them, or encourage the common tea-table 
 talk, much less that of politics and matters of state ; 
 and if these ai-e forbidden subjects of discourse, then 
 as long as there are any women in the world who take 
 a pleasure in hearing themselves praised, and can bear 
 the sight of a man prostrate at their feet, so long I shall 
 make no wonder that there are those of the other sex 
 who will pay them those impertinent humiliations. "We 
 should have few people such fools as to practise flattery, 
 if all were so wise as to despise it. I do not deny but 
 you would do a meritorious act, if you could prevent 
 all impositions on the simplicity of young women ; but 
 I must confess, I do not apprelieud you have laid the 
 fault on the proper persons ; and if I trouble you with 
 my thoughts upon it, I promise myself your pardon. 
 Such of the sex as are raw and innocent, and most 
 exposed to these attacks, have, or their parents are 
 much to blame if they have not, one to advise and 
 guard them, and are obliged themselves to take care of 
 them ; but if these, who ought to hinder men from all 
 opportunities of this sort of conversation, instead of 
 that, encourage and ]H-omote it, the suspicion is very 
 just that there are some juivate reasons for it, and T 
 will leave it to you to determine on which side a part 
 is then acted. Some women there are who are arrived 
 at years of discretion — I mean, are got out of the hands 
 of their parents and governors, and have set up for
 
 THE CASTLE AND THE CONVENT. 327 
 
 themselves — who are yet liable to these attempts ; but 
 if these are prevailed upon, you must excuse me if I 
 lay the fault upon them, that their wisdom is not grown 
 with their years. — Philanthropcs." 
 
 Steele. 
 
 FABLE XXXVII. 
 
 THE CASTLE AND THE CONVENT. 
 
 FOR EIQHTEEN-FORTY-NINE. 
 
 THE realm of Bess, by Jesuits pressed, 
 Well knew its bane, and banned the pest ; 
 But thine, Victoria ! Church and all, 
 Must hear the tocsin, or must fall. 
 
 High o'er a bluff and craggy mound, 
 
 A baron's castle grimly frowned, 
 
 And just below its rocky bed, 
 
 A musty convent reared its head: 
 
 While near the town, 'midst song and sound, 
 
 A busy mill flew round and round, 
 
 Transforming wools to endless shapes. 
 
 In ginghams, calicoes, and tapes. 
 
 That " walls have ears," is often sung. 
 But who could dream they boast a tongue ? 
 Yet so it seems, for 'tis but late, 
 I heard those walls in high debate. 
 
 " Fidl oft I think," the Castle cried, 
 " What ground I have for honest pride !
 
 !328 THE UATH FABLES. 
 
 My Gothic and Burgundian Lords— 
 
 So mediaeval lore records — 
 
 With Vandal and I.ombardic tlianes, 
 
 Who crushed the Romans, Gauls and Danes,— 
 
 Zounds ! what a mighty host were they ! 
 
 What prowess marked their martial sway ! 
 
 Those barons and their mailed retainers, 
 
 Seized the broad lands of old campaigners ; 
 
 While I and grimmer castles rose, 
 
 To guard our friends and check our foes. 
 
 Lo ! here since Clovis, here I stand, 
 
 Bristling in arms on every hand ! 
 
 The falchion, bow, and eastellet, 
 
 The gabion, gun, and falconet. 
 
 To shelter an illustrious line — 
 
 The mail-clad barons of the Rhine ! " 
 
 Thus spake the Castle, while around, 
 Loud thunders o'er the crags rebound. 
 Heaven seemed to frown at woi'ds so bold — 
 Such tempests 'midst the azure rolled ; 
 Crash went the walls ! but still it stood, 
 And waved " dark banners rolled in blood ! " 
 
 On this, the convent, dull and dank. 
 With foul and fetid odours rank. 
 Looked upward in a fiendish glow, 
 And thus harangued the proud chateau : — 
 
 " Sir What's-your-name ! — I crave your ruth; 
 Your gasconade may smack of truth. 
 But since you challenge rank and fame, 
 I must assert a higher claim. 
 Monastics, sir, let barons know, 
 A nobler origin can show.
 
 THE CASTLE AND THE CONVENT. 329 
 
 " You castles rose with Franks and Huns ; 
 But we — abodes of monks and nuns — 
 Though holy oracles may blame, 
 From Platonists and Cynics came, — 
 From western Druids, eastern Brahmins, 
 Jewish Essenes, and Roman Flamens. 
 
 " My founders were Numidian drones. 
 Men who disdained to waste their bones 
 In earthly toil, nor deigned to eat 
 Knights' fare, but fed on daintier meat; 
 And though oft drunk, 'twas but to stun 
 All sense of things beneath the sun. 
 
 " How brawny are our monks ! and why ? 
 To fight the deil, and make him fly : 
 But I've seen many a braggart baron, 
 As lank as though he starved on cliarogne ; 
 While one monk's bones, if polished fine. 
 To great Saint Mump would build a shrine! 
 
 " Then look what feats the monks have done ! 
 What sturdy beggars every one ! 
 For mendicants, beyond all hope, 
 Heaped gold enough to buy the Pope. 
 Saint Dunstan, as the story goes, 
 Once grasped the devil by the nose 
 With burning tongs, and made him roar, 
 As lion never did before ! 
 
 " Saint Thomas was a monk of spirit. 
 Who gained a world of cloisteral merit. 
 By plaguing Henry out of life, 
 And lost his own, to end the strife. 
 Simon Stylites played his role. 
 Full thirty years, upon a pole ;
 
 3;10 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 Nor e'er came down, except when beut 
 On mischief to his licart's content. 
 Such noble souls, mon Dieu .' as those. 
 Begrimed with filtli from crown to toes, 
 Swelled by the gas of saintly leaven, 
 Turned earth to hell to get to heaven ! 
 
 " What artful schemes the monks erst planned, 
 
 To get the wives their canons banned ! 
 
 Nor deemed it either sin or shame, 
 
 For popes and abbots did the same ; 
 
 And many a cloistered story runs, 
 
 Of faithless vestals — now called nuns. 
 
 " In fine, my friend, while barons wane. 
 The monks their ancient rights maintain ; 
 For nations still by canons go, 
 And dare not wed, if monks say no. 
 E'en England bows to friars, and must : 
 Witness her Senate and her Fust, 
 On faith and marriage ruling others, 
 By Father Mumpsimus and brothers ! 
 Folks wonder why, since Luther rose. 
 But monks lead all men by the nose ! " 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Castle and convent played one role ; 
 That spoiled the body, this the soul ; 
 In use and deed the twain were one. 
 And Heaven be blest that both are gone! 
 For since the Henrys, and such kings, 
 Barons and peers are milder things. 
 But monks, the bane of ages past. 
 Are banned, and must be to the last, —
 
 THE CASTLE AND THE CONVENT. 331 
 
 Not Oxford perverts more au fait, 
 
 To lead the soul of man astray ! 
 
 Ye Grays and Russells ! sport your ermine, 
 
 But God preserve from cloistered vermin ! 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE PROSE. 
 
 REFLECTIONS ON MONKS. 
 
 " In my opinion," says Sallust, " he alone can truly 
 lie said to live, who engages in some laudable pursuit, 
 and acquires a name by some illustrious action, or use- 
 ful art." Test the life of monastics by this rule, and 
 what do we find? — a few that lived to purpose, and 
 myiiads that fed on others for nothing but sloth. The 
 great Samuel Johnson was not at all free from super- 
 stition ; yet what was his judgment of monastic life ? 
 
 " It is," remarks Johnson, " as unreasonable for a 
 man to go into a Carthusian convent, for fear of being 
 immoral, as for a man to cut oft" his hands, for fear he 
 should steal. There is, indeed, great resolution in the 
 immediate act of dismembering himself; but when that 
 is once done, he has no longer merit; for, though it 
 is out of his power to steal, he may all his life be a 
 thief in his heart. Their silence, too, is absurd: we 
 read in the Gospels, of the apostles being sent to preach, 
 but not to hold their tongues. All severity that does 
 not tend to increase good, or prevent evil, is idle. I 
 once said to the lady abbess of a convent, ' Madam, 
 you are here not for the love of virtue, but the fear 
 
 f* it* 
 
 vice.
 
 332 THK BATH FABLES. 
 
 Since, both in liis " Kambler " and " Idler," Jolmson 
 treats ascetic austerities with too much respect, so much 
 the greater del'erence is due to his repugnance to mo- 
 nastic institutions. St. Paul's rule is plain : — " He 
 that will not work, neither let him eat;" and as to 
 the worth of monkish virtue, one may rationally ask, 
 What is the value, in Heaven's eye, of that virtue 
 which requires bars and bolts for its defence ? — AV. 
 
 ON THE DESIGN OF LIFE. 
 
 " It has cost me very much care and thought, to 
 marshal and fix. the people under their proper de- 
 nominations, and to range them according to their 
 respective characters. These my endeavours have been 
 received with unexpected success in one kind, but 
 neglected in another ; for, though I have many read- 
 ers, I have but few converts. Tliis must certainly 
 proceed from a false opinion, that what I write is 
 designed rather to amuse and entertain, tlian convince 
 and instruct. I entered upon my essays with a declara- 
 tion, that I should consider mankind in quite another 
 manner than they had hitherto been represented to the 
 ordinary world, and asserted that none but a useful 
 life should be, with me, any life at all. But, lest this 
 doctrine should have made this small progress towards 
 the conviction of mankind, because it may have ap- 
 peared to the unlearned, light and whimsical, I must 
 take leave to unfold the wisdom and antiquity of my first 
 proposition in these my essays; to wit, that 'every 
 worthless man is a dead man.' This notion is as old 
 as Pythagoras, in wliose school it was a ])oint of dis- 
 cipline, that if among the 'AksotikoI, or probationers, 
 there were any who grew weary of studying to be useful,
 
 and returned to an idle life, they were to regard them 
 as dead ; and, upon their departing, to perform their 
 obsequies, and raise them tombs, with inscriptions to 
 warn others of the like mortality, and quicken them to 
 resolutions of refining their souls above that wretched 
 state. It is upon a like supposition, that young ladies, 
 at this very time, in Koman Catholic countries, are 
 received into some nunneries with their coffins, and 
 with the pomp of a formal funeral, to signify, that 
 henceforth they are to be of no further use, and conse- 
 quently dead. Nor was Pythagoras himself the first 
 author of this symbol, with whom, and with the He- 
 brews, it was generally received. Much more might 
 be offered in illustration of this doctrine, from sacred 
 authority, which I recommend to my reader's own 
 reflection, who will easily recollect, from places which 
 I do not think fit to quote here, the forcible manner 
 of applying the words dead and living, to men as they 
 are good or bad. 
 
 " I have, therefore, composed the following scheme 
 of existence, for the benefit both of the living and the 
 dead ; though chiefly for the latter, whom I must desire 
 to read it with all possible attention. In the number 
 of the dead I comprehend all persons, of what title or 
 dignity soever, who bestow most of their time in eating 
 and drinking, to support that imaginary existence of 
 theirs, which they call life ; or in dressing and adorning 
 those shadows and apparitions, which are looked upon 
 by the vulgar as real men and women. In short, who- 
 ever resides in the world without having any business 
 in it, and passes away an age without ever tliinking 
 on the errand for which he was sent hither, is to me 
 a dead man, to all intents and purposes, and I desire
 
 334 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 that he may be so reputed. The living are only those 
 that are some way or other laudably em ployed in the 
 improvement of their own minds, or for the advantage 
 of others ; and even amongst these, I shall only reckon 
 into their lives that part of their time which has been 
 spent in the manner above mentioned. By these means, 
 I am afraid, we shall find the longest lives not to con- 
 sist of many months, and tlie greatest part of the earth 
 to be quite unpeopled. According to this system, we 
 may observe, that some men are born at twenty years 
 of age, some at thirty, some at threescore, and some 
 not above an hour before they die : nay, we may observe 
 multitudes that die without ever being born, as well 
 as many dead persons that fill up the bulk of mankind, 
 and make a better figure in the eyes of the ignorant, 
 tlian those who are alive, and in their proper and full 
 state of health. However, since there may be many 
 good subjects that pay their taxes, and live peaceably 
 in their habitations, who are not yet born, or have 
 departed this life several years since; my design is to 
 encourage both to join themselves as soon as possible 
 to the number of the living. For, as I invite the 
 former to break forth into being, and become good for 
 something, so I allow the latter a state of resuscitation." 
 
 Addison. 
 
 The most useless, dronish, and dead-alive class of 
 mankind, are unquestionably the locust-like inmates of 
 monastic institutions, and all Europe has found out this 
 important practical truth. As to the charity of monks, 
 it is that of a gamester, who beggars an heir, but doles 
 him back sixpence to buy him a dinner; or that of a 
 storm, which wrecks the noble bark, and then throws 
 a few splinters ashore, to warm the shivering mari- 
 ners. — W.
 
 CiESAR AND QUACKO. 335 
 
 FABLE nivin. 
 
 C^SAR AND QUACKO. 
 
 FOR THE POPE. 
 
 WHEN mumper ajies a noble's role, 
 Is there in life a thing so droll ? 
 There is : for when a Lackland prince, 
 By mightier brothers taught to wince, 
 Still brags like some bashaw or bey, 
 You smile still more, and well you may ! 
 
 But when a priest assumes to reign. 
 O'er every potentate's domain, 
 While e'en his own disdains the fool. 
 And justly sighs for manlier rule ; 
 When he coquets in pompous tone, 
 Affecting power no more his own. 
 Yet trembles like yon Alpine snows, 
 At every blast the patriot blows ; — 
 Who but must smile if such there be ? 
 Who but must laugh, a pontiff he ? j 
 
 For, be he Roman, Greek or Gaul, 
 This is the drollest thing of all ! 
 
 A sable serf, in Afric born, 
 But kidnapped in life's early morn, 
 Though galled and chafed to bite his chain. 
 Still, Caesar felt too proud and vain, 
 The hated name of slave to bear. 
 And vowed himself as free as air. 
 Oh, list! ye chainless realms of Guelf ! 
 How Caesar's logic duped himself;
 
 336 THE BATH FAHLES. 
 
 For, chained one day to servile Quacko, 
 He spouted thus his words and baoco : — 
 
 " Wliite Massa tell me I a slabe : 
 
 He lie ! I free as yon broad wabe. 
 
 True, he command and I obey ; 
 
 But if I like I run away : 
 
 De Queen command Lord John if 'please her, 
 
 Yet he no slabe — no more is Caesar! 
 
 " "When I was piccaninny boy — 
 My fader's pride, my moder's joy — 
 Dey stole me ; yes, and much 1 cried, 
 To quit my hut, and cross de tide : 
 Yet Garamity make us free, 
 And, Quacko ! dat's enough for me. 
 
 " Our Massa flog, and make me toil, 
 Howeber hot, to till de soil : 
 But what of dat? — I could be free, 
 By bang myself on some big tree. 
 Why den I free indeed ; 'cause why ? 
 I free to lib, or free to die. 
 
 " When from de sea yon big, bright sun, 
 
 Get up, across de sky to run. 
 
 Who make de weary nigger rise ? 
 
 Massa no open Csesar's eyes ; 
 
 No whipman drag me by my hair, — 
 
 I get up I'ree, and dat's all fair. 
 
 " When dinner come, who eat de grub ? 
 Why, me ; I eat him 'cause I lub. 
 Massa no cram it down my treat ; 
 I eat it free, like Massa's goat.
 
 CiESAR AND QUACKO. 337 
 
 " When night come dark, and dat big light, 
 Ober yon mountain take him flight, 
 Massa no come and sliut my eyes — 
 He neber care where Caesar lies. 
 Dey shut demsel, and I go sleep, 
 Like Massa, buflfaloes, and sheep. 
 Why, den, I free, and no mistake ; 
 Free to go sleep, and free to wake ! 
 
 " "When Massa ride, do him dribe me ? 
 No ; I dribe Massa : den I free. 
 I dribe him mule, himsel, him wife ; - 
 He ne'er dribe me in all him life. 
 Now, him what dribe is free and brabe, 
 And him what driben is de slabe. 
 
 " I wear dis chain just now, dat true ; 
 But lord and lady wear dem too ; 
 And if de world call me a slabe, 
 I call dat world a lying knabe. 
 What tink you, Quacko? aint I free? 
 Confound your laugh! you laugh at me?" 
 
 " Free ! " returned Quacko ; " Cgesar fi-ee, 
 'Cause he can hang him on a tree ! 
 Den monkey find him cage no jail, 
 For oft he hang him by de tail. 
 Zounds ! what a blunderbuss you seem ! 
 Like one dull whiteman, when he dream; 
 For whitemans blunder by the score. 
 But nebber nigger so afore ! 
 
 " You tink we free where'er we go, 
 'Cause Garamity make us so : 
 But He make hog, and ass, and quimbo, 
 Yet Massa put dem all in limbo !
 
 338 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 " ' I'm not a slabe ! ' pooi- Caesar cry, 
 'Cause no mau open him de eye. 
 Ah, 'posterous logic ! what a jest ! 
 You free to rise, but not to rest. 
 Sleep but one hour, and soon de whip 
 Make freeborn Ctesar dance and skip ! 
 
 " Massa no cram ; you 're free to eat — 
 Yes — squosh and oder dainty meat ; 
 Pig brout, bad fish, and all dat stuff, — 
 And den you neber get enough ! 
 I own dat when de cane we cut, 
 Massa 'low all him slabes de glut ; 
 And why ? — to make dem strong and big ; 
 But so him fat de goose and j)ig; 
 Yet are dey free ? let goose reply : 
 De goose say no, and so do I ! 
 
 " Massa you dribe ; him no dribe you : 
 So you no slabe, — but dat false too. 
 For, 'pose you dribe him 'gain his will, 
 He drub you like de mule at mill ! 
 
 " Dough Missa hab a chain like you, 
 You still a slabe, as all de crew. 
 Your chain is heavy, rough, and cold; 
 Missa's is light, and bright wid gold : 
 She wear it free, and neber groan ; 
 Spite o' your teet, yoii wear your own ! 
 
 " You not a slabe ! Oh, Caesar, fie ! 
 J blush you lub a bouncing lie ! 
 Wid all your pride and fuss, by Jacko ! 
 Cffisar is more a slabe dan Quacko !"
 
 C^SAR AND QUACKO. 339 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Pius! your " vtotii projirio" bull, 
 To fact so blind, of pomia so full, 
 Proclaims you Caesar — wondrous brave ! 
 A braggart priest, and yet a slave ! 
 Bear meekly, should I seem severe ; 
 A Pope I neither hate nor fear ! 
 
 You " free to act ! " or tell mankind, 
 You only move as self-inclined ? 
 When e'en your very seat depends 
 On sufferance of uncertain friends ! 
 Why, had you power as you have will, 
 A Pope would be old Gregory still ! 
 
 Mehercule ! let mortals see. 
 From what you were what yet you'd be : 
 Your " decretals," that boldly claim 
 All power on earth in Peter's name ; 
 Your " gift of Constantiue ;" your bulls, 
 That awed so many princely gulls ; 
 Nay, e'en your most insane pretence, 
 So hateful to the man of sense — 
 Ai-e still uncancelled, still in full, 
 Not one recanted by a bull ; 
 And each new pontiff", tiger-like. 
 Sits mute — and waits the hour to strike ! 
 
 Lo! Italy, like priest-rid Spain — 
 Two lovely realms, but rich in vain — 
 Sick of a pontiff"s worn-out rule. 
 And bent it shall no more befool, 
 Has nobly bled her right to obtain ; 
 Yet you, who fled, return again !
 
 Yes! 3011, who weeping told your slaves, 
 You could not brook to dig tliem graves. 
 Invoked tlie blood-stained Austrian's aid, 
 And blessed the Gaul's Quixotic blade, 
 Who slew his brother as a foe. 
 And laid the Roman patriots low I 
 
 Go back to Rome, then, fawning lamb! 
 Wave high your faded oriflanib ; 
 Let Spain, or Gaul, or Hapsburgh guard 
 Their motu proprio, chain-bound ward ! 
 Go back, the tyrant thing ye were; 
 Wield your old sceptre— if ye dare ! 
 Yes ! take it back, and tsike it all, — 
 The sooner comes your final fall ! 
 Caesar the consul, Romans bore. 
 But despot Cajsar reigned no more ! 
 
 ILLTJSTEATIVE PROSE. 
 
 YOUNG ITALY IN CONCLAVE. 
 
 A Chhistian, a philosopher, and a patriot, must be 
 scandalised by the temporal kingdom of the clergj- ; and 
 the local majesty of Rome, the remembrance of her con- 
 suls and triumphs, may seem to embitter the sense, and 
 aggravate the shame, of her actual slavery. If we calmly 
 weigh the merits and defects of the ecclesiastical govern- 
 ment, it may be praised in its present state, as a mild, 
 decent and tranquil system, exempt from the dangers of 
 minority, the sallies of youth, the exi)enses of luxury,
 
 C^SAR AND QDACKO. 341 
 
 and the calamities of war. But these advantages are 
 overbalanced by a frequent, perhaps a septennial, election 
 of a sovereign, who is seldom a native of the country ; 
 the reign of a young statesman of threescore, in the 
 decline of his life and abilities, without hope to accom- 
 plish, or children to inherit, the labours of his transitory 
 reign. 
 
 The successful candidate is drawn from the church, 
 and even the convent ; from a mode of education and life 
 the most adverse to reason, humanity, and freedom. In 
 the trammels of a servile faith, he has learned to believe 
 because it is absurd, to revere all that is contemptible, 
 and to despise whatever might deserve the esteem of a 
 rational being; to punish freedom of thought as a crime, 
 to reward mortification and celibacy as the first of 
 virtues; to place the saints of the calendar above the 
 oracles of inspiration, the heroes of Rome, and the sages 
 of Athens ; and to consider the missal or the crucifix a 
 more useful instrument than the plough or the loom. 
 In the otBce of nuncio, or the rank of cardinal, he may 
 have acquired some knowledge of the world ; but the 
 primitive stain will adhere to bis mind and manners: 
 from study and experience he may suspect the soundness 
 of his creed, but the sacerdotal artist will imbibe some 
 portion of the bigotry which he inculcates. 
 
 By ten at night all were assembled, in a small room 
 at the rear of the house. A single lamp shed its dim and 
 flickering rays over the apartment, and on every Pisan 
 visage Moreville and Standish could observe visible 
 traces of intense thought and stern resolve. 
 
 " Gentlemen," began Delia Gherardesca, "is the coast 
 clear ? — is the host on the alert ? — any sbirri ? "
 
 " All right, all right, Signer," exclaimed several re- 
 sponsive voices ; " with a Ghibeliue at the door, we fear 
 no Guelf." 
 
 "Then to it again!" replied the former; "we must 
 finish last week's conference on our actual government 
 and faith." 
 
 " Signer Gherardesca," replied Scotto, waving his 
 short, brawny arm in the air ; " my notions lie not so 
 quiet in my brain, as the wan-iors in the wooden horse 
 at I'roy ; I don't approve these tirades against tlie 
 church ; let us respect religion, and confine ourselves to 
 a change in our political frame. I bow to the patriarch 
 or bishop of Rome as head of the church, but I will not 
 have a pope to be my ]irince. Does he not stupidly 
 prohibit the best literature and scientific advances of 
 the age ? Let him return to the simple duties of his 
 s])iritual office, as in primitive ages. Shall Italy be 
 ruled by a bevy of stupid, plebeian priests? cieli ! our 
 country is the laughing-stock of the woi-ld." 
 
 " I have an impression," returned young Moreville, 
 " that Italy never can assure herself of freedom, so 
 long as her faith is really papal ; since tyranny is essen- 
 tially interwoven with its very nature. Can alandbe free, 
 and yet habitually kneel at the confessional ? — free, and 
 yet bend the Tuiderstanding to the monstrous absurdity 
 that, at the dictum of an ecclesiastic, a wafer becomes a 
 real human body ? — free, and yet tolerate the systematic 
 espionage of monks? — free, and yet submit to tyrannous 
 inquisitions? — free, and yet" 
 
 " There," exclaimed Scotto, " there we agi-ee ! Let us 
 change our ghostly to a secular government, and cease 
 to be the bye-word of Europe, as we ever must be while 
 ruled by the tiara of a monastic, though he were another
 
 CiESAR AND QUACKO. 343 
 
 Sixtus V. or Leo X. Down with the tiara ! The pope 
 hopes for safety, but is only like a fond, doomed courtier, 
 who, blind to his fate, never finds his brains till his 
 head's off." 
 
 "Bravo!" exclaimed many, "bravo! — down, down 
 with the tiara! — long live the name of Rienzi ! — Arnoldo 
 di Brescia for ever ! " 
 
 " It has often been a knotty point to my mind," re- 
 marked one of the less notable members of the conclave, 
 " how the pope became a temporal prince. Was he 
 always such ? " 
 
 " Pshaw !" exclaimed Orlandi, "no more than he was 
 always a 2>ope. The first bishops of Rome were only 
 bishops, and poor bishops too. But after the fall of 
 paganism, that see became rich, and then the richest 
 families in Rome scrambled for the episcopate. As Rome 
 was still the capital, her bishop, being the metropolitan, 
 gradually encroached on the rights of other bishops. 
 When Constantinople became the capital of the whole 
 empire, our Roman bishop, and four others, arose to tlie 
 style of patriarchs, but each of equal rank. Rome and 
 Constantinople now began to quarrel for superiority; 
 but a variety of j^olitical changes, and some merely 
 human conventions of priests and kings, styled councils, 
 insensibly raised the bishop of Rome over all his peers; 
 and the murderer Phocas created him, in the seventh 
 century, universal bishop, when he became the full- 
 blown man of sin." 
 
 " But what," reiterated the other, " what made him a 
 temporal prince ? was it God ?" 
 
 " God!" re-echoed Orlandi; "God! no more than God 
 made him universal bishop." 
 
 " Then tell me how he was made a prince."
 
 344 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 "That is soon done," replied Colelli; "that is soon 
 done, my dear fiiend. Pepin, mayor of the palace to 
 Childeric III. of France, who, in the exercise of that 
 high office, possessed in reality the royal power and 
 authority, not contented with this, aspired to the title 
 and honours of majesty, and formed the design of 
 dethroning his sovereign. For this purpose, the states 
 of the realm were assemhled by Pepin, in 751 ; and, 
 though devoted to the interests of this ambitious usurper, 
 they gave it as their opinion, that the bishop of Home 
 was previously to be consulted, whether the execution 
 of such a project were lawful. In consequence of this, 
 ambassadors were sent by Pepin to Pope Zachary. The 
 situation of Zachary, who stood much in need of the 
 succours of Pe2)in against the Greeks and Lombards, 
 rendered his answer sucli as the usurper desired. When 
 this impious decision of the Roman oracle was published 
 in France, the unhapi)y Childeric was stripped of royalty ; 
 and Pepin, without the smallest resistance from any 
 (|uarter, stepped into the throne of his master and his 
 sovereign." 
 
 " This only shows how the rebel Pepin became a 
 prince, but I asked how the pope became such," objected 
 the inquirer. 
 
 " Patience, my dear friend," resumed Colelli. " Tliis 
 decision of Pope Zachary, afterwards confirmed by 
 Stephen II., proved an abundant source of opulence and 
 credit to the church, and to its ambitious ministers. 
 When that part of Italy, which was as yet subject to the 
 Grecian emjiire, became involved in trouble by the sedi- 
 tions and tumults which arose from the im])erial edicts 
 against the worship of images, the kings of the Lorn-
 
 CESAR AND QUACKO. 845 
 
 bards employed the iiuited iuflueuce of arms and nego- 
 tiations, in order to terminate these contests. Their 
 success, indeed, was only advantageous to themselves ; 
 for they managed matters so as to become, by degrees, 
 masters of the Grecian provinces in Italy, which were 
 subject to the Exarch of Ravenna. Nay, one of these 
 monarchs, named Aistulphus, carried his views still fur- 
 ther: elated with these new accessions to his dominions, 
 he meditated the conquest of Rome, and formed the 
 ambitious project of reducing all Italif under the yoke 
 of the Lombards. The terrified pope, Stephen II., 
 addressed himself to his powerful protector, Pepin, re- 
 presenting his deplorable condition, and imploring 
 assistance. This French pope-made monarch embarked 
 with zeal in the cause of the suppliant pontiff; crossed 
 the Alps in 75-i, and having defeated Aistulphus, obliged 
 him to deliver up to the see of Rome the exarchate of 
 Ravenna, Pentapolis, and all the cities, castles, and terri- 
 tories he had seized in the Roman dukedom. It was 
 not, however, long before the Lombard prince violated, 
 without remorse, an engagement he had entered into 
 with reluctance. In 755 he again laid siege to Rome, 
 but was again obliged to sue for peace by the victorious 
 arms of Pepin, who, after forcing the Lombard to execute 
 the treaty he had violated, made a new grant of the 
 exarchate and of Pentapolis to the Roman pontiff and his 
 successors. And thus," emphatically added Colelli, " thus 
 have we seen that a murderer, Phocas, made the pope 
 universal bishop ; and that a successful rebel, Pepin, 
 presumed to declare him a temporal prince."* 
 
 * Consult Jluratori's " Annali J'ltalia," tome iv. ; also Moslieim's 
 '' Ecclesiastical Histon," vol. ii., p. 229 — ^233; edit. 1809.
 
 346 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 " No priest aud Idng in one person ! — no rex et sacer- 
 dos?" exclaimed at once a number of tbe conclave; 
 "down with the tiara!" 
 
 " The Jews, God's ancient people," observed Mr. Stan- 
 dish, " erroneously rejected Christ, when he appeared 
 among them as poor and of bumble rank; but the church 
 may justly plead her ignorance of bis jjretended vicar, 
 when he assumes the pomp and style, the pride and 
 power of a sovereign. Oh ! how different your pope 
 from that poor, bumble, zealous apostle, whose successor 
 he boldly pretends to be!" 
 
 " ylbasso il pajxi .'"■ — "Down with the pope !" was the 
 renewed exclamation ; "Ah, Arnoldo di Brescia ! burst 
 your grave, and breathe again for the rescue of poor 
 Italy!" 
 
 " The very fact," replied the impetuous Orlandi, " that, 
 m tbe year 1140, induced tbe great Arnoldo di Brescia 
 to sigh for a secular ruler instead of a ci-owned church- 
 man — the dishonour, absolutely the dishonour of Italy, 
 and which renders us, as Signor Scotto has justly said, 
 the laughingstock of the world — is still a fact to this day. 
 Oh, Colelli! may Arnoldo's story insj^irit yon, or some 
 of us, to tread in his footsteps ! " 
 
 " Arnoldo di Brescia," replied the pious churchman, 
 " was for me too rampant a reformer, too much of a 
 republican, and too deficient in Christian meekness ; yet 
 I honour his memory ; he was a man of unquestionable 
 piety, and an ardent patriot." 
 
 " Right, my good friend," said Gherardesca; "Arnoldo 
 might })0ssibly suit his age, but we want milder men and 
 measures." ♦ * *
 
 ADONIS AND MAEYGOLD. 347 
 
 Go on, uoble youths ! The God of Luther smile on 
 j^ou ! the benediction of Heaven repose on you ! A 
 blessed day for Italy — for her church, and for her state — 
 when all your just hopes shall be realised ! For, "when 
 the Son of man shall make you free, ye shall be free 
 indeed ! " 
 
 " Agnes Moreville." 
 
 FABLE XXXIX. 
 
 ADONIS AND MAEYGOLD. 
 
 FOR WIVES. 
 
 WHEN maids aspire to nuptial life, 
 And court the honours of a wife, 
 How well they dress to charm the beaux I 
 And could do always if they chose : 
 Yet once their net the prey has caught, 
 No more they mend it as they ought, 
 But fling that useful mesh away, 
 And trounce in tatters night and day. 
 Is tJiis the way their home to bless? 
 Read, Tatterella ! read and guess. 
 
 One vernal dawn I sought my bower, 
 To trail and prune each favourite flower, 
 And viewed in mute, entrancing thought, 
 The brilliant wonders God had wrought. 
 As here I stooped, in voiceless praise, 
 A drenched and drooping rose to raise, 
 I heard, methought, a whis]ier near. 
 And thus it caught my listening ear ; —
 
 348 THE BATH FAKLES. 
 
 " Oh, Marygold ! I'm bathed in woe; 
 Why treat your foud Adonis so? 
 How changed since tliat hymeneal hour, 
 When first we hailed this sunlit bower I 
 You know we wedded late in spring ; 
 And lo! scarce Autumn's on the wing, 
 Yet Where's the drape that pleased me then, 
 And winged the loftiest poet's pen ? 
 
 " Each bright-hued petal proved a dart, 
 That pierced my own and every heart; 
 You looked so neat, so fresh and fair, 
 Twas quite my pride to take the air. 
 But what a dowdy you're become ! 
 A belle abroad, a slut at home! 
 For me no more with taste you dress. 
 Yet daily ought, you must confess. 
 But flaunt in rags and faded tulle, 
 As shabby as a sluttish trull : 
 No flower more gay when first a bride. 
 But all your bravery's cast aside. 
 Just look at me : I dress as well. 
 As when they rang our wedding bell ; 
 And so I ouglit, and so ought you, 
 And every wife that's wise and true." 
 
 " Lau, dear Adonis !" Mary cries, 
 " I vow you kill me with surprise ! 
 You dress, I own, in ton so high. 
 The bellen all style you Plieasant's-eye ; 
 And well did bards, in Paynim times, 
 Vote you to Venus in their rhymes ; 
 So tall your mien ! so fair your shape ! 
 Your crimson buds and sap-green drape!
 
 ADONIS AND MAUYGOLD. 349 
 
 " Yet, who can wonder you should dress, 
 A thousand gazing eyes to bless ? 
 Amidst the fair you daily roam. 
 While I'm condemned to mope at home ; 
 At least you would roam could you rise, 
 I've seen it, sirrah, with surprise : 
 And sure it should not cause ill will. 
 If I delight in deshthiUe, 
 Except when friends drop in to dine, 
 And then, you know, I'm always fine." 
 
 " Fine ! said ye, Moll ? and once a week ! 
 Be daily neat : 'tis that I seek : 
 Pray take a leaf from Laura's book ; 
 How green and fair her habits look ! 
 As one part fades, fresh robes appear, 
 And thus she's lovely all the year." 
 
 MOEAL. 
 
 The man of elegance and taste. 
 May not adore the taper waist. 
 Nor be to dress alone inclined. 
 But prize still more the heart and mind ; 
 Yet neat and clean and fitting drape. 
 With symmetry of mind and shape. 
 He ever loves, and loves the wife. 
 That's neat through all her wedded life. 
 
 Too oft one meets the nuptial pair, 
 Whose looks might freeze the very air; 
 And why ? Because no sooner wed. 
 Than all the art of dressing fled :
 
 350 
 
 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 They plied the net to catch the prey, 
 But ban it since the hymeneal day. 
 Oh ! how unlike yon heaven above, 
 Where fairest robes combine with love ! 
 
 I ask not, no ! that wives disburse, 
 Beyond their rank, beyond their jiiu'se : 
 Shun poor Ophelia's tawdry taste, 
 Or Cleopatra's gorgeous waste. 
 Who gave her guest the pearl-mixed cup, 
 That might have bought a kingdom up ! 
 The man of sense disdains the belle, 
 Content with love and taste to dwell ; 
 For these are all, and must improve, 
 The Heaven-blest flames of nuptial love ! 
 
 Full oft the heart feels sick and sad. 
 To meet the poor so meanly clad, 
 And sighs for laws more just and kind, 
 Or senators of nobler mind : 
 For if the poor in rags must roam. 
 Be sui'e of vice and hate at home ; 
 Since Love, in all his (jentler wiles. 
 Can only dwell where neatness smiles. 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE PROSE. 
 
 EMILIA. 
 
 " Who ever beheld the charming Emilia, without 
 feeling in his breast at once the glow of love, and the 
 tenderness of virtuous friendship ? The unstudied
 
 ADONIS AND MARYGOLD. 351 
 
 gi'aces of her behavioui", and the pleasing accents of 
 her tongue, insensibly draw you on to wish for a nearer 
 enjoyment of them; but even her smiles carry in them 
 a silent reproof to the impulses of licentious love. Thus, 
 though the attractions of her beauty play almost iri-e- 
 sistibly upon you, and create hope, you immediately 
 stand corrected, not by the severity, but the decency 
 of her virtue. That sweetness or good-humour, which 
 is so visible in her face, naturally difluses itself into 
 every word and action : a man must be a savage, who, 
 at the sight of Emilia, is not more inclined to do her 
 good than gi'atify himself. Her person, as it is thus 
 studiously embellished by nature, thus adorned with 
 unpremeditated graces, is a fit lodging for a mind so 
 fair and lovely : there dwell rational piety, modest hope, 
 and cheerful resignation. 
 
 " Many of the prevailing passions of mankind un- 
 deservedh' pass under the name of religion, which 
 is thus made to express itself in action, according to 
 the nature of the coustitution in which it resides; so 
 that, were we to make a judgment from appearances, 
 one would imagine religion in some is little better 
 than sullenness and reserve ; in many, fear ; in others, 
 the despondings of a melancholy comijlexion; in others, 
 the formality of insignificant, unafFecting observances ; 
 in others, severity; in otliers, ostentation. In Emilia, 
 it is a principle founded in reason, and enlivened with 
 hope : it does not break forth into irregular fits and 
 sallies of devotion, but is a uniform and consistent 
 teuour of action. It is strict without severity, com- 
 passionate without weakness ; it is the perfection of 
 that good-humour which proceeds from the under- 
 standing, — not the efi'ect of an easy constitution. * *
 
 352 THE HATH FABLES. 
 
 " Were I to relate that part of Emilia's life, which 
 has given her an opportunity of exerting the lieroism 
 of Cliristianity, it would make too sad, too tender a 
 story; hut when I consider her alone in the midst of 
 her distresses, looking heyond this gloomy vale of 
 aflliction and sorrow, into the joys of heaven and im- 
 mortality, and when I see her in conversation, thought- 
 less and easy, as if she were the most happy creatui'e 
 in the world, I am transported with admiration. Surely, 
 never did such a philosophic soul inhahit such a heau- 
 tcous form ! For heauty is often nuule a privilege 
 against thought and reflection ; it laughs at wisdom, 
 and will not ahide the gravity of its instructions. * * 
 
 " Honoria's disposition is of a very different txu-n : 
 her thoughts are wholly hent upon conquest and ar- 
 hitrary power. That slie has some wit and beauty 
 nobody denies : she therefore has the esteem of all her 
 acquaintance, as a woman of an agreeable person and 
 conversation ; but (whatever her husband may think 
 of it) that is not sufficient for Honoria. She waives that 
 title to respect, as a mean acquisition, and demands 
 veneration in the right of an idol ; for this reason, 
 her natural desire of life is continually checked with 
 an inconstant fear of wrinkles and old age. 
 
 "Emilia cannot be supposed ignorant of her personal 
 charms, though she seems to be so; but she will not hold 
 her hajjpiuess upon so precarious a tenure, whilst her 
 mind is adorned with beauties of araore exalted and lasting 
 nature. When, in the full bloom of youth and beauty, 
 we saw her surrounded with a crowd of adorei's, she 
 took no pleasure in slaugliter and destruction, gave no 
 false, deluding hopes which might increase the torments
 
 ADONIS AND MARYGOLD. 353 
 
 of her disappointed lovers ; but having for some time 
 given way to the decency of a virgin coyness, and ex- 
 amined the merit of their several pretensions, she at 
 length gratified her own, by resigning , herself to the 
 ardent passion of Bromius. Bromius was then master of 
 many good qualities, and a moderate fortune, which was 
 soon after unexpectedly increased to a plentiful estate. 
 This for a good while proved his misfortune, as it fur- 
 nished his inexperienced age with the opportunities 
 of evil company and a sensual life. He might have 
 longer wandered in the labyrinths of vice and folly, 
 had not Emilia's jorudent conduct won him over to 
 the government of his reason. Her ingenuity has been 
 constantly employed in humanising his passions, and 
 refining his pleasures. She has showed him, by her 
 own example, that virtue is consistent with decent 
 freedoms and good-humour, or, rather, that it cannot 
 subsist without them. Her good sense readily in- 
 structed her, that a silent example, and an easy, uu- 
 rei)ining behaviour, will always be more j)ersuasive 
 than the severity of lectures and admonitions; and 
 that there is so much pride intej'woven into the make 
 of human nature, that an obstinate man must only 
 take the hint from another, and then be left to advise 
 and correct himself. Thus, by an artful train of 
 management, and unseen persuasions, having at first 
 brought him not to dislike, and at length to be pleased 
 with, that which otherwise he would not have borne to 
 hear of, she then knew how to press and secure this 
 advantage, by approving it as his thought, and se- 
 conding it as his proposal. By this means, she has 
 gained an interest in some of his leading passions, 
 and made them accessary to his reformation.
 
 354 THE DATH FABLES. 
 
 " There is another particular of Emilia's conduct 
 which J cannot forbear mentioning. To some, ]>erha})s, 
 it may at first sight appear but a trifling, inconsiderable 
 circumstance; but, for my part, I think it highly worthy 
 of observation, and to be recommended to the con- 
 sideration of tlic fair sex. I have often thouglit wrap- 
 l»inggowns and dirty linen, with all that huddled 
 economy of dress which jmsses under the name of ' a 
 mob,' the bane of conjugal love, and one of the readiest 
 means imaginable to alienate the afl'ection of a hus- 
 band, especially a fond one. 1 have heard some ladies 
 who have been surprised by company in such a des- 
 habille, apologise for it after this manner: — 'Truly, 
 1 am asliamcd to be caught in this pickle ,* but my 
 husband and I were sitting all alone by ourselves, and 
 1 did not expect to see such good company.' This, by 
 the way, is a line compliment to the good man, which 
 it is ten to one but he returns in dogged answers and 
 a churlish behaviour, without knowing what it is that 
 puts him out of humour. 
 
 " Emilia's observation teaches us, that as little in- 
 advertencies and neglects cast a blemish upon a great 
 character, so the neglect of ajiparel, even among the 
 most intimate friends, does insensibly lessen their re- 
 gards to each other, by creating a familiarity too low 
 and contemptible. She inidcrstauds the importance of 
 those tilings which the generality accoiuit trifles; and 
 considers everything as a matter of consequence that 
 has the least tendency towards keeping up or abating 
 tlie aflcction of her husband, whom she esteems as a 
 fit object to employ her ingenuity in pleasing, because 
 he is to be i)leased for life. 
 
 " By the help of these, and a thousand other name-
 
 THE BDXTERFLV A^■D THE ANT. 355 
 
 less arts, which it is easier for her to i)ractise than for 
 another to express; by the obstinacy of her goodness 
 and unprovoked submission, in spite of all her aiHic- 
 tions and ill usage, Bromius is become a man of sense 
 and a kind husband, and Emilia a happy wife." 
 
 Dr. Brume. 
 
 FABLE XL. 
 THE BUTTERFLY AND THE ANT. 
 
 FOR IMPR.OVIDBNTS. 
 
 IF all the idle, dull or gay, 
 Who fritter life and soul away, 
 But valued time, and acted right, 
 I 'd burn my fable with delight. 
 But, since there 's many a sloth of note, 
 This little argosy shall float : 
 Blow, gales propitious ! waft my sail. 
 Where spendthrifts die and orphans wail ! 
 
 Arrayed in purple, gold and blue, 
 With many a dash of ebon hue. 
 One bright, serene and joyous day, 
 As ever gilt a vernal May, 
 A drummer butterfly erst flew, 
 To kill an idle hour or two. 
 Close by an ant-hill, flushed with joy. 
 And perched upon a crimp savoy. 
 
 As here the gaudy trifler lay. 
 
 And basked hiui in the noontide ray,
 
 356 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 He chanced to turn his nose aside, 
 And thus some busy ants espied. 
 Ho thought it most prodigious fun, 
 To see them toiling in the sun ; 
 And how could idler such as he 
 Shake off' a hearty laugh, to see 
 Jove's sage economists so grave, — 
 Each toiling like a galley-slave? 
 Amused, amazed, half fool, half wise, 
 Papilio strained his grass-green eyes, 
 Flapped his bright wings with idle fuss, 
 And quizzed his busy neighbours thus : — 
 
 " I say, ye crawling pigmies, hark ! 
 Why slave ye thus from dawn to dark ? 
 Upon my word ! two hours I've lain, 
 And watched your toils with grief and pain. 
 Some bounce like crickets in the air, 
 And tug and hug as bear with bear, — 
 I mean you bigger cha])S, with wings; 
 While you without, poor anxious things! 
 With skulls so large, and jaws so strong, — 
 I've marked you chiefly all along. 
 
 " Your case seems hard, for, small and few. 
 
 Yet all the labour falls to you : 
 
 Ye dig the gall'ries, feed the young, 
 
 And haul provisions all day long. 
 
 I saw some hundreds, in a trice, 
 
 Rush helter-skelter, just like mice, 
 
 At signal giv'n — but soon came back, 
 
 With loads that all your bones might crack. 
 
 Pray, have ye speech ? You seemed as wise 
 
 As we — the nobler butterflies.
 
 THE BUTTERFLY AND THE ANT. 357 
 
 " Be tliat as may, you 're slaves and backs, 
 Or wliy those burdens on your backs ? 
 Your mummy brats you just hauled out, 
 To give them sun and air, no doubt; 
 Then, with a world of toil and pain, 
 You huddled all below again. 
 Some, with the courage of dragoons, 
 Stand watch and ward o'er those cocoons, 
 In which your larves or nymphs repose, 
 And guard them till each baby grows, — 
 Just like those two-legged fools called women. 
 With cradles large enough to swim in : 
 Though some, I hear, are grown too wise 
 To rock a babe whene'er it cries ! 
 We taught 'em that : our little elves. 
 In chrysalids, must rock themselves. 
 
 " I've caUed you slaves, and what's more true ? 
 
 For some poor ants are kidnaj^ped too : 
 
 I've conned your story o'er and o'er — 
 
 The rape of the Sabines not more. 
 
 'Twas but the other day I saw 
 
 Some Amazonian ants withdraw. 
 
 In one dense mass, on plunder bent, 
 
 To kidnap slaves their full intent. 
 
 I saw that swarm assail a place — 
 
 The ant-hill of a different race. 
 
 And capture full five hundred slaves, 
 
 As true as ever crossed the waves ; 
 
 And old ones they had nabbed before. 
 
 Train the young \m7.e iu slavish lore; 
 
 For red ants capture feebler hordes, 
 
 Who serve those Amazonian lords.
 
 358 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 " But look at me, ye faggiug fry ! 
 I live in i)leasiire till I die, 
 And spend each sunlit vernal hour, 
 In quaffing dew from flower to flower ; 
 In short, I live like lambs and sheep, 
 In jocund sport and balmy sleej)." 
 
 Thus said the flippant butterfly. 
 
 And stared as though for some reply ; 
 
 When, lo ! a venerable ant 
 
 Thus ably checked our spruce gallant : — 
 
 " Papilio ! we have heard you out, 
 So you '11 attend to me, no doubt ; 
 And if you do, I slirewdly guess. 
 You'll think the more, and prate the less : 
 For many a spell have I seen burst, 
 And fools turn grave who laughed at first. 
 
 " If now we fag beneath the soil, 
 A winter's stores repay our toil, — 
 Stores well secured, and recherche, — 
 Stores in abundance, night and day : 
 But cabbage forms your dainty fare, 
 And even that is sometimes spare. 
 
 " Nay more, my trifling popinjay ! 
 "When summer's sheen is passed away. 
 Pray, where are you ? I'll tell ye, friend : 
 'J'he days you now so idly spend 
 Are gone, and you 're gone too ; for why ?- 
 You 've no pi'ovision, and must die ! 
 
 " Thus, while myself, and these my kin, 
 Are warm without, and fed within.
 
 THE BUTTERFLY AND THE ANT. 359 
 
 Bereft of all your tawdry clothes, 
 
 You seek some hole to warm your nose ; 
 
 You seek, but oft, alas ! in vain, 
 
 And perish in the freezing rain ! 
 
 And when we re-appear in spring, 
 
 Amidst a thousand birds that sing, 
 
 How oft have we this tablet spied, — 
 
 ' Papilio idled here and died ! ' 
 
 So now, farewell ! your laugh is past; 
 
 But he laughs best who laughs the last." 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Improvidence, the thief of time, 
 The foe of man, the nurse of crime, — 
 Let all the good, let all the wise, 
 Who sigh for wealth, or bare supplies, 
 Shun the fell monster as a shame, 
 And rise to dignity and fame ; 
 For when did sloth one good present. 
 Or honest toil refuse content ? 
 
 Lo, Villiers ! — title, wit and name. 
 Had raised a wiser man to fame ; 
 But he, rash, profligate, and rake, 
 Could ne'er from his illusions wake, 
 Till in an attic, friendless left, 
 Death found him out, of all bereft ! 
 
 Far happier, Arkwright ! thy career ; 
 And, Franklin ! thine — to science dear ; 
 Though from the mass, your toils and cares 
 Shed wealth and honour on your heirs ! 
 
 I do not teach — O heavens forfend ! — 
 Wealth must abound, or comfort end ;
 
 360 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 For as, apart from Christian lore, 
 The master of a mint were poor, 
 So he that hatli in God a stay, 
 Is rich, whate'er you take away. 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE PEOSE. 
 
 EUGENE COLLOT. 
 
 " Eugene Collot was born between thirty and forty 
 years ago in onr village. He was distinguished from his 
 childhood for being one of the most handsome, active, 
 and industrious boys in it. He followed the same occu- 
 pation as his father, who was a day-labourer, but losing 
 his parents when lie was about sixteen, he went to reside 
 with an uncle, who lived in a village near Metz, and 
 who earned his livelihood in the same manner. 
 
 " Eugene had a very feeling heart : he grieved much 
 for the loss of his parents, and deeply regretted his native 
 village. These regrets were sharpened by his not finding 
 much kindness or sympatliy in his new connections : his 
 uncle was an austere man, and his cousins were little 
 disposed to look with friendship on one whom they re- 
 garded as an intruder. 
 
 " However, if Eugene had not consolation at home, 
 he soon found means to procure it abroad. The family 
 of a peasant who had formerly known his mother, made 
 him welcome to their cottage, and this cottage soon be- 
 came the scene of all liis enjoyments. 1'he family consisted
 
 THE BUTTERFLY AND THE ANT. 301 
 
 of the father, mother, three sons, aud a daughter. Never 
 was there a more united and happy family, though in 
 the lowest state of poverty ; for they derived their subsist- 
 ence wholly from the labour of the father aud daughter ; 
 the mother being too infirm to do much, aud the three 
 brothers being blind. Marie, active, industrious, and gay 
 as a lark, was the life and soul of the cottage. When 
 the weather permitted, she worked in the fields; when it 
 did not, she spun or knitted; and by her constant cheer- 
 fulness and good-humour, and by her tender attention 
 to her mother and brothers, she robbed penury and 
 sickness of their most bitter pangs. 
 
 " Constantly occupied in labouring for her family, 
 Marie had noiime to amuse herself, or, rather, she found 
 her amusement in making them happy. How could she, 
 then, be otherwise than thankful to the handsome young 
 man, who came regularly every Sunday to assist her in 
 that delightful task ? And Eugene, the good-natured 
 Eugene, was never so happy as when he was doing 
 something to serve or please the relations of Marie. 
 
 " Love played his usual pranks with both the young 
 people. At first they fancied that the sight of each other 
 was sufficient for their felicity ; tlien they thought that 
 they should be happier if they were married ; and by- 
 aud-by they found out that they could not be happy if 
 they were not. 
 
 " Eugene applied to the parents of Marie, and they 
 gave him unhesitatingly a fiat refusal. In point of 
 worldly prudence they were right, but it may be easily 
 supposed that the young people did not think so : they 
 submitted, however, without murmuring, and six months 
 afterwards Eugene went as the substitute for a conscript.
 
 302 THE IIATII FARI.ES. 
 
 " This was a cruel blow to poor Marie ; but her lover 
 had taken his resolution, and all her tears were una- 
 vailing. 
 
 " ' We part to meet again,' said he ; ' for something 
 tells rne that I siiall return to thee, and then thy parents 
 will not refuse their consent, for I sliall come back rich. 
 T will spend nothing — no, not a son of my pay : it shall 
 be all for my Marie.' 
 
 " The lovers parted. Eugene fought, bled, and re- 
 turned at last, as he had prophesied, safe to the arms of 
 his beloved, at the expiration of his six years' service. 
 Poor Marie ! he found her changed in all but her heart ! 
 Her father was dead, her mother more infirm than ever, 
 and her family reduced to the lowest distress. Grief and 
 excessive toil had antleii)ated the ravages of time. Marie 
 was no longer jiretty, except in the eyes of Eugene, and 
 he found her as handsome as ever. 
 
 " He folded her to his heart, swore to her mother that 
 if she gave liim Marie, he would be a son to her and a 
 brother to her helpless boys as long as he lived ; and he 
 has nobly kept his word. The lovers were married. 
 Eugene's first step was to buy a cottage, and to take his 
 mother-in-law and her sons to live with him. He calcu- 
 lated that, witli the rest of his money, and his earnings 
 as a day-labourer, he should be able to maintain his new 
 family in something like comfort; but his hopes were 
 disappointed : two years of scarcity succeeding each 
 other, and the birth of three children, exliausted his little 
 savings, and by the end of the third year, he had a family 
 of six persons and three infants to support out of his 
 miserable earnings of a franc a day. 
 
 " But neither his love nor his courage failed him.
 
 THE BDTTEKFLY AND THE ANT. 363 
 
 'What!' said he, to his weeping wife, who rein-oached 
 herself with haviug burthened him with her family, 'is 
 it not ray duty to take care of them? and shall I grieve 
 while God gives me health and strength to work ? Dry 
 thy tears, and pray to Him that I may still be spared to 
 labour for thee and them.' 
 
 " Ten years bad passed since the marriage of Eugene 
 and Marie, and during seven of them, the family owed 
 their subsistence to his labour alone. Neither time nor 
 hardship abated his courage, or humbled his noble pride. 
 When his poor blind brothers-in-law represented to him 
 that they could gain a trifle by soliciting chai-ity, he in- 
 stantly answered, ' Never, while I live, and have an 
 arm to work, shall you be reduced to that: it will come 
 too soon if God should take me from you.' 
 
 "The cottage of Eugene was situated at a little dis- 
 tance from the village ; and it chanced that one fine 
 evening, when his brothers were seated on a bench 
 before it, a young surgeon passed by : he had deviated 
 from the beaten track, and stopped to ask his road. 
 Struck with compassion at finding three men all 
 blind, and who declared that they were boru so, he ex- 
 amined their eyes, and conceived a hope that it was 
 possible to render them the blessing of sight. 
 
 " ' Ah, my God !' cried one of them, 'how happy we 
 should be ! and then we could work, and should be no 
 longer a burthen to poor Eugene.' 
 
 " At that moment Eugene himself appeared ; the sur- 
 geon offered his services, Collot received the proposal 
 with modest thankfulness, and from that time the sur- 
 geon went frequently to the cottage in the execution of 
 his benevolent jilan.
 
 3G-4 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 " In those visits, he learned the whole extent of the 
 sacrifices which Eugene liad made, — not from himself, 
 for during the whole time that he had so nobly struggled 
 with adversity, he was never known to boast or to 
 comjtlain, — but from his idolizing family. Struck with 
 admiration, the surgeon spoke to him of his conduct 
 wi ill the warmth it deserved ; but Collot modestly and 
 frankly disclaimed his praise : it seemed to him, that in 
 jjcrforming an act of the most sublime virtue, he had 
 done no more than his duty. ' And the incessant 
 labour, hardship, and privation of every kind that you 
 have suffered?' said the surgeon to him. — 'They do not 
 seem so hard, since by them I can at least keep my 
 family from starving, or, what would be to me as dread- 
 ful, from the humiliation of asking alms.' 
 
 " The surgeon was poor, and never perhaps had he re- 
 gretted his ])0vcrty so keenly as at that moment. ' Noble 
 fellow!' said he to himself, 'is there no way to relieve 
 him, and to spare his honest pride? Yes, there is a 
 means — such an instance of virtue shall neither be lost 
 to the world nor go unrewarded.' 
 
 " He carefully concealed his project, fearful of raising 
 hopes which might be disappointed like the first he 
 had given ; for all his endeavours to restore Marie's 
 brothers to sight were unavailing He took leave of the 
 interesting family, whose gratitude to him was boundless, 
 and hastened to Paris, where his first act was to draw 
 np a plain statement of Eugene's conduct, which he pre- 
 sented to the French Academy, just before the annual 
 prizes were distributed for acts of virtue. The Academy 
 made the necessary inquiries, and the consequence was, 
 that the first prize, a sum of ten thousand francs, was 
 adjudged to Eugene.
 
 THE JUGGLER AND THE PRIEST. 365 
 
 " The eloquent and learned nobleman who distributed 
 the prizes summed up, in a few words, all that he had 
 done for his family, and then added : ' The benevolent 
 founder of this institution has ordained rewards for acts 
 of virtue; but in this instance, it is not an act, but a life 
 of virtue which the Academy is called upon to reward ; 
 and it congratulates itself upon adjudging the first prize 
 to one so worthy of it.' " 
 
 Achermann's Bepository. 
 
 FABLE XLI. 
 THE JUGGLER AND THE PRIEST. 
 
 FOR IMPOSTORS. 
 
 THERE'S something in a lady's fan, 
 Akin to Fieiich legere de main ; 
 Yet, if the fair one only ply 
 Her magic wand and languid sigh, 
 To lure a faithful husband's smiles, 
 Success attend her harmless wiles ! 
 But should a knave befool his kind, 
 To bilk his dupes and rob the blind — 
 'Tis too bad, this ; the fan and sigh 
 Are honour bright to such a guy. 
 
 Hard by the Louvre, one bright day, 
 I strolled to while an hour away; 
 When, lo ! a crowd my eyes affix, 
 All grinning at a juggler's tricks.
 
 360 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 ^'Messieurs!" said he, " admire my skill; 
 I change all nature at my will. 
 Boy ! blow this egg:" ])oor Zany blows; 
 'Twas flour, aud sluli'ed his eyes and nose. 
 " Here ; crack this nut iu halt" a wink ;" 
 He cracks, and floods his mouth with ink. 
 High in the air he tossed a ball : 
 We gazed aud gazed, to see it fall ; 
 But though it rose, each gaping clown 
 Gazed but in vain — no ball came down ! 
 We saw him bag a pretty doll ; 
 He searched the bag, but where was Poll? 
 Then thimble-rig, with cup and ball, 
 Amused, aud gulled, and bilked tlicm all. 
 The dupes a])plaud ; the hat goes round ; 
 Our juggler hears the money sound; 
 "Messieurs !" he cries, " and ladies too, 
 I see you prize my skill : adieu ! " 
 
 Just tlien a priest his debut made, 
 
 And thus harangued our cunning blade : — 
 
 " Sir Juggler, I regret to see. 
 
 With wliat unblest etlroutery, 
 
 With wh&t finesse, you dupe and blind 
 
 The simple part of human kind ! 
 
 Yet babes might see, with lialf an eye. 
 
 Your boasted art 's au arrant lie. 
 
 You change all nature ! Oh, for shame ! 
 
 With all your change, 'tis just the same. 
 
 That egg, on wliicli you tried your power. 
 
 Was notliiug but an ounce of flour ; 
 
 While all your otlier splendid feats 
 
 Were hocus-pocus baby treats.
 
 THE jnCGLER AND THE PRIEST. 807 
 
 For sliame, Sir Juggler ! burn your tools ; 
 I blush to meet sucli knaves and fools!" 
 
 Tbus said, the priest looked vastly big ; 
 Took snuif, spit out, and cocked his wig ; 
 Gazed round, and stood with arms a-kimbo, 
 As though he 'd dragged a sprite from limbo. 
 
 " And now, good folks, hear me, I beg;" 
 
 Ileplied his kuightship of the egg ; 
 
 " You've heard his reverence; list while I 
 
 To each and every charge reply. 
 
 My nimble art he styles uublest ; 
 
 Would his, I wouder, stand the test? 
 
 That I make dupes, I frankly own ; 
 
 But do I bilk the world alone ? 
 
 His reverence's grace I crave. 
 
 But surely he 's the bolder knave; 
 
 For I ne'er dujie by force of fears, 
 
 But priests, — you know their way, my dears ! 
 
 " His reverence felt inclined to joke us, 
 
 About my harmless hocus-pocus ; 
 
 My hocus-pocus is a spell, 
 
 As good as his, and works as well. 
 
 Yes, sirs ! those trifles let me waive, 
 
 And boldly meet a charge more grave : — 
 
 Whate'er I change, this priest declares, 
 
 Kemains the same, with all my airs : 
 
 Granted, good folks ! but what 's the shame ? 
 
 I've seen his i-everence act the same: 
 
 For though these priestlings roundly say, 
 
 They change a cracknel every day ; 
 
 Yet, after all their much ado, 
 
 I see no change at all, — do you?
 
 368 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 His ounce of flour, for all his fuss, 
 
 Is no more changed than eggs with us." 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 ye, who crouch to ghostly piidc ! 
 'Tis you my muse would gently cliide ; 
 Nor ween your moralist severe ; 
 
 1 pen these stanzas with a tear. 
 Of such as guide me to the sky, 
 
 I would not lightly speak, not I ; 
 He rises who the truth proclaims, 
 Above all Greek, all Roman names. 
 
 But when a man, tricked out en jyrele, 
 In heathen pomp and tawdry state, 
 Enacts a farce, — it must be said, — 
 Duped he, or duping me for bread ; 
 Yet vows his jiantomimic wand 
 Achieves a change all change beyond ; 
 Avers his paste is paste no more, 
 Though tasting, looking, as before. 
 But changed, by words I dare not name. 
 Into a perfect human fi-ame. 
 With every nerve and every bone, 
 In bulk and weight some twice five stone ; 
 And when this poor brocaded clod 
 Adores, and then devours his God ; — 
 Fatigued and sick at heart, I sigh ; 
 Insulted mind resents the lie ; 
 And, " misguided men !" I say. 
 How can ye turn from truth away ? 
 How can ye wander thus from right ? 
 May Heaven, in pity, give you light !"
 
 THE JOGGLER AND THE PRIEST. 36Q 
 
 ILLTJSTEATIVE PROSE. 
 
 ON PRIESTLY FRAUD. 
 
 During my stay up the Levant, various proofs of un- 
 blushing i^riestly fraud fell into my hands. I shall 
 translate portions of two documents sold to devotees, 
 put out under high sanction, the latter by the late Pope 
 Leo XIL, in 1825. 
 
 The former document is styled, a " Responsorium in 
 Honour of the Miracle-workiug St. Spiridion," whose 
 relics,realoridea1,I have seen in a church of Corfu. Nay, 
 more : I have seen these same bones carried in procession 
 through crowded streets, closely surrounded by the Bri- 
 tish Governor and his suite of officei'S, who all bore im- 
 mense lighted tapers ! This " Responsorium " pompously 
 announces, in Latin, the miracles of Spiridion ; and the 
 lay proprietors of the old man's bones, with the Carmelite 
 priests, publish these mendacious jiuffs from time to 
 time, in order to draw devotees and cash from the unsus- 
 pecting. Beneath the Latin responses in verse, there 
 is a prose translation in Italian, of which the following 
 precious trash is a faithful English version : — 
 
 "If ye desire, O Christian souls! to obtain grace and 
 gifts from heaven, hasten with all confidence to the 
 sepulchre of St. Spiridion. He, following the footsteps 
 of father Elijah and Elisha, uses the authority im- 
 parted to him by God himself, over fire, air, earth, and 
 water. He heals pains of the head, as he miraculously 
 did to the emperor Constantius, son of the great Constan- 
 tine. 
 
 B B
 
 370 THE BATU FABLES. 
 
 " While, full of the Sjiirit of the Lord God, he was 
 prayintf, tlie idols fell down into a thousand pieces. He 
 wonderfully softens the hardness of the lieart, and 
 draws it to God. He defends from plague, drouglit, and 
 famine, all the towns that have recourse to him. At the 
 command of this great Saint, rivers are arrested in their 
 rapid course. Heretics are by him convinced and 
 abashed. While the Saint was at prayers, the angels 
 responded — 'Cum Spiritu tuo; kijrieeleison'/ and the oil 
 being all spent in his lamp, the vessel poured out of itself 
 such a quantity, as served to burn for the honour of God 
 a long time. 
 
 " By his prayer, St. Spiridiou loosed the invisible 
 bonds by which certain robbers were tied, who came to 
 steal from his ilock, and he ])laisantly gave them one of his 
 sheep. Malignant spirits tremble before the Saint; and 
 the Turks always tremble at his very liigh power, as 
 enemies of our faith. To this same W^onder-worker, 
 death and calamity are obedient, with every possible 
 evil. In order to go to the Council of Nice, lie crossed 
 the sea on his monastic gown. To console one that was 
 bitterly weeping, he recalls from the grave his dead 
 child Eirene, wlio points out to the Saint, her father, a 
 treasure she had preserved, and thus he restores it to 
 the owner. 
 
 " With a brick in his hand, be teaches blind Arians the 
 inedablc mystery of the most sacred Tiiuity, having 
 ■with lowly words convinced the proud Gentile philo- 
 sopher, who then became a true Catholic, together with 
 many of his followers. With a miraculous rain that fell 
 at his intercession, God beat down the grain of a miser, 
 while the water carried it as provision to the city of 
 'i'rigmithurte, for the use of paupers.
 
 THE JUGGLER AND THE PRIEST. 371 
 
 " His holy, incorruptible body reposes at Corfu, which, 
 as a true witness, publishes to the world the wonderful 
 might which God exercises at the intercession of the 
 Saint, in favour of all those who have humble recourse 
 to the said Saint Spiridion !" 
 
 If this is not a species of unholy juggling, what can 
 be? On looking again at the other document, I find it 
 too long, not to add, too grossly and painfully mendacious, 
 to be inserted here : yet it bears the signature of Car- 
 dinal Zurla — W. 
 
 " A510NG the monasteries at Berne, that of the Domini- 
 cans was most in repute. Its friars were engaged in a 
 serious quarrel with the Franciscans about the immacu- 
 late conception of the Virgin, a doctrine maintained by 
 the former, but denied by the latter. The humiliation 
 of their rivals became at last the all-engrossing thought 
 of the Dominicans, wherever they happened to direct 
 their steps, before the gorgeous altars that adorned their 
 church, or among the twelve columns that supported its 
 vaulted roof. They had remarked the beautiful voice of 
 Zwingle; they had heard of his jirecocious intellect; and, 
 thinking that he might confer a lustre on their order, 
 they endeavoured to inveigle him into joining them, and 
 invited him to make their monastery his home until the 
 proper time for passing his novitiate. The amman of 
 Wildhaus having heaid of the allurements offered by 
 the Dominicans, was alarmed for the innocence of his 
 son, and ordered him instantly to leave Berne ; and 
 Zwingle thus escaped from those monastic enclosures, 
 into which Luther voluntarily threw himself. What 
 happened afterwards may give us some idea of the im- 
 minent risk to which Zwingle was then exposed.
 
 372 THE BATH FABLKS, 
 
 " ]?erne, iu 1507, was the scene of intense excitement. 
 A youth from Znrzach, called John Jetzer, having pre- 
 sented himself cue day at this same Dominican monas- 
 tery, had been driven away ; but the poor lad was so 
 distressed at this repulse, as to renew his attempt to gain 
 admission. Holding out three and fifty florins and some 
 silken stuffs, 'There is all that 1 am worth,' said he; 
 ' take these, and admit me into your order.' He was 
 admitted on the 6th J anuary, as a lay brother. But, from 
 the first night after his admission, a strange noise that 
 he heard in his cell so terrified him, that he tied to a 
 monastery of the Chartreux, from which he was sent 
 back to that of the Dominicans. 
 
 " On the following night, being Saint Matthias's eve, 
 he was awakened by deep-drawn sighs, and on opening 
 his eyes, beheld close to his bedside a huge white phan- 
 tom. 'I am a soul escaped from the flames of purga- 
 tory,' said a sepulchral voice. The friar replied, trem- 
 bling all over, ' JNlay God deliver you, I can do nothing 
 for you !' whereupon the ghost went up to the })oor friar, 
 and, seizing him by the throat, indignantly reproached 
 him for his refusal. Jetzer upon this roared out in his 
 fright, 'What, then, can I do to save you?'— 'Flog 
 yourself for eight days, till you bleed, and then lie down 
 on the floor in St. John's chapel ; ' and having said this 
 the ghost disappeared. This apparition the lay brother 
 coinmunicated to his confessor, who was preacher to the 
 monastery, and, in comi)liance with his advice, submitted 
 to the discipline that was required. Straightway it was 
 told all over the town, that a soul had api)licd to the 
 Dominicans to be delivered out of purgatory. The 
 Franciscans were deserted, and all now rau to the church 
 where the holy man was to be seen lying prostrate upon the
 
 THE JOGGLER AND THE PRIEST. 373 
 
 earth. The soul from purgatory had announced tliat in 
 eight days it would re-appear, and on the appointed 
 night it did, in fact, appear, accompanied by two spirits 
 which tormented it, and made it utter the most heart- 
 rending moans. ' Scot,' it said, ' Scot, the inventor of the 
 doctrine of the Franciscans on the immaculate conception 
 of the Virgin, is among those who are suffering like 
 torments with myself.' This news, which soon spread 
 through Berne, still further increased the perturbation of 
 the partizans of the Franciscans. But on this occasion, 
 before vanishing, the ghost had given notice of a visit 
 from the Virgin herself, and, in fact, on the day appointed, 
 the astonished friar saw Mary appear in his cell. He 
 could not believe his eyes at this. Slie graciously ap- 
 proached him, gave him three tears wept by Jesus, three 
 drops of His blood, a cinicifix, and a letter addressed to 
 Pope Julius II., who, said she, ' was the man chosen 
 of God to abolish the festival of her pretended immacu- 
 late conception.' Then, drawing still nearer to the bed 
 on which the friar lay, she told him with a solemn voice 
 that a great favour was about to be conferred on him, 
 and so saying, j^ierced his hand with a nail. The friar 
 here shrieked out, but Mary wrapped his hand in a piece 
 of linen which her son, she said, had worn at the time 
 of his flight into Egypt. This wound was not enough: 
 in order that the glory of the Dominicans might equal 
 that of the Franciscans, Jetzer was to have the five 
 woimds of Christ and of St. Francis on his hands, feet, 
 and side. The four others were now inflicted ; then, after 
 giving hira something to drink, he was laid down in a hall 
 hung round with representations of our Lord's passion, 
 and there he spent long days fasting, until his imagina- 
 tion became highly excited. The doors of this hall were
 
 374 THE RATH FABLES. 
 
 tlicn opened from time to time for the admission of the 
 peo}i]o, wlio Hocked in crowds to gaze with devout won- 
 der on thefriar with his five wonnds, extending his arms, 
 inclining his head, and imitating in his gestures and 
 position our Lord's crucifixion. At times he was beside 
 liimsclf, — lie foamed at the mouth, and seemed at the 
 point of death. ' He is suffering Christ's cross,' the 
 people whispered as they stood round. Eager for 
 miracles, the multitude pressed unceasingly into the 
 monastery. }»I en deservedly enjoying the highest esteem, 
 including I.upulns himself, Zwingle's master, were ex- 
 ceedingly discomposed, and the Dominicans from the 
 pulpit magnified the glory with which God was investing 
 their order. 
 
 " This order had, in fact, for some years felt it neces- 
 sary to humble that of St. Francis, and to call in the aid 
 of miracles in order to augment the respect and liberality 
 of the people. For the scene of their operations they had 
 chosen Berne, ' a city at once simple, rustic and ignorant,' 
 said the sub-prior of Berne to the chapter held at Wimpfen 
 on the Neckar. The }n-ior, sub-prior, preacher, and pur- 
 veyor, had undertaken to act the chief parts, but failed in 
 the execution of them towards the close. A new appari- 
 tion of Mary having taken place, Jetzer thought he coidd 
 recognise the voice of his confessor, and having said this 
 aloud, Mary vanished. Slie soon, however, rc-appcared, 
 and began to reprove the unbelieving friar. ' This time 
 it is the prior,' said Jetzer, darting forward with a knife 
 in his hand. The sainted woman threw a pewter plate 
 at the head of the poor friar, and again disappeared. 
 
 " In consternation at the discovery which Jetzer had 
 made, the Dominicans endeavoured to rid themselves of 
 him by poison, perceiving which, he made his escape and
 
 THE RAT AND THE GIPSY. 375 
 
 told the whole story. They showed a good face, and sent 
 a deputation to Rome. The pope commissioned his 
 legate in Switzerland, and the hishops of Lausanne and 
 Sion, to judge in the case; and the result was, that the 
 four Dominicans, being found guilty, were condemned 
 to be burnt alive, and on the 1st of May, 1509, were con- 
 sumed by the flames in the presence of more than thirty 
 thousand spectators. This affair made a noise through- 
 out all Europe, and so far prepared the way for the 
 Reformation, by unveiling one of the most grievous 
 sores of the Church." 
 
 D'Aubigne. 
 
 FABLE XLII. 
 
 THE RAT AND THE GIPSY. 
 
 FOR EGOTISTS. 
 
 YE who in homes or senates rule ! 
 Ye who in conclave, hall, or school! 
 Nor rule alone, but dogmatise ! 
 Come, read a story, and be wise. 
 
 Down in a southern, sunlit dell, 
 Where glides the Exe with gentlest swell. 
 Hard by the hall of More Carew, 
 A dusky rat first came to view, 
 And Whiskerandus, with his tail, 
 Had just begun to sweep the vale. 
 Though short his beat, and green his age, 
 He plumed himself a learned sage ; 
 For, wonderful ! he knew his mother, 
 And sometimes he could tell his brother ;
 
 376 THE BATU FABLES. 
 
 He knew his whiskers, and his tail, 
 Were shorter than his native vale ; 
 He knew dead flies could not be grains. 
 That water drops whene'er it rains ; 
 He knew a cat was not a hog ; 
 He knew a hawk was not a frog : 
 In short, this learned rat could tell 
 When he was hungry, sick, or well. 
 Our little saucy, long-tailed sage, 
 Well knew the manners of the age ; 
 For he had lived twice fifty days, 
 And studied every squeaker's ways, — 
 When to attack, and when to fly ; 
 When to be frisk, and when to cry. 
 
 His notions of the times were right. 
 
 For well he knew the day from night; 
 
 Nay, foreign nations he liad found, 
 
 For crowded anthills swarmed around. 
 
 When donkeys brayed, or cartwheels creaked, 
 
 He knew 'twas not a rat that squeaked. 
 
 He was a rat of ways profound. 
 
 For much he burrowed under ground ; 
 
 Of mysteries, too, a shrewd unrav'ller, 
 
 For be had been a dreadful trav'ller — 
 
 Had run full fifty feet about; 
 
 He had indeed, so pray don't doubt ! 
 
 Well ; one marauder we have met. 
 But, reader, there's another yet, — 
 The famous Bamfylde More Carew : 
 I'll introduce the blade to you. 
 This hair-bi-ained youtli, though born a thane- 
 Son to Carew of that demesne —
 
 THE RAT AND THE GIPSY. 377 
 
 Unwisely from his fatlier strays, 
 And lives a beggar all his days. 
 
 Oh ! what a shame, that any child, 
 Or youth, or man, should grow so wild ! 
 For happier far is that good youth. 
 Who treads the flowery paths of trutli ; 
 Who early chooses wisdom's way. 
 And keeps it till his dying day ! 
 
 Young Bamfylde loved a vagi-aut life, — 
 Its freaks, its freedom, and its strife, — 
 And was, as many a tyro knows, 
 King of the Gipsies to its close. 
 This gentle gipsy took delight 
 In feigning misery to excite, 
 And gulled, in every quaint disguise, 
 The acutest wits and keenest eyes. 
 Now would he shake in rotten rags. 
 And now, a cripple, limps and lags. 
 Here he's a widow, wrapped in sack. 
 With three huge orphans at his hack ; 
 There he's a shipwrecked sailor-boy. 
 Or orphan girl, demure and coy. 
 Or soldier, minus arm and leg ; 
 And thus Carew would roam and beg, — 
 Nay, visit e'en his parent's door. 
 And crave a pittance of his store 
 
 One day our gipsy monarch came, 
 In tattered garb, one eye, and lame, — 
 Told his old sire a piteous tale, 
 While in his arms two urchins wail.
 
 378 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 " This rat," said he, " tliat dangles here, 
 Upon my stick, I killed just near, 
 And though unfit to serve for meat, 
 I vow we've nothing else to cat." 
 
 Now Whiskerandus, sporting nigh, 
 Chanced the hold heggar to espy. 
 And ran to inform his long- tailed race, 
 He'd seen an ugly stranger's face ; 
 " And fly ! " cried he, " for, hy my beard ! 
 The fellow's looks may well be feared, — 
 A foe to rats, too well I know : 
 Away, my comrades! sauve qui pent ! 
 Death to the rats lie means this day. 
 So scamper off, e'en while you may ! " 
 
 Away now flew some fifty rats, 
 As though pursued by famished cats, — 
 Scampering, jostling, squeaking, quaking. 
 As thongli their very liearts were breaking. 
 Lau ! what a hubbub, what affray. 
 Did Whiskerandus make that day ! 
 Thus have I seen a shoal, or fry, 
 Of bright anchovies l)ounce and fly, 
 When wide-mouthed mullet chased the fish. 
 And gulped some hundreds at a dish. 
 
 " Stay ! " bawled a rat, revered for age ; 
 " That's no rat-catcher, I'll engage. 
 I know the fellow more than you ; 
 I'll swear it's Bamfyldc More Carew : 
 With all his cant and quaint disguise, 
 I know him by his beard and eyes. 
 Young Whiskerandus! stop, I pray; 
 Yovu" wisdom's always in the way.
 
 THE RAT AND THE GIPSV. 379 
 
 I'll bet my tail to half a cheese, 
 The beggar won't disturb our ease ; 
 But such conceited sparks as you 
 Are wise as owls, and see as ti"ue." 
 
 " 'My honest clown !" the pedant cries, 
 
 " Greybeards like you might use your eyes ; 
 
 Whate'er may be my wit or sight, 
 
 I know you 're wrong, and I am right. 
 
 Look at the fellow's stick and air ; 
 
 See the poor rat that's dangling there : 
 
 The last ratcatcher bore the like, 
 
 Who made such havoc in the dike. 
 
 When ninety of our hapless race 
 
 He poisoned ere he left the place. 
 
 And so, old codge ! you'd better fly ; 
 
 For if you linger there, you'll die." 
 
 Thus saying, Whiskerandus flew. 
 
 Nor deigned to observe what others do, 
 
 Delighted vastly as he fled. 
 
 That he at least could boast a head ! 
 
 When snugly housed, our youngster sage 
 
 Bemoaned the folly of the age; 
 
 But hoped the day might yet arrive, 
 
 When every foolish rat alive 
 
 To his grave notions would attend. 
 
 That all disputes at last might end ! 
 
 Meantime, he judged that half his clan 
 Had fallen a victim to the man; 
 And deeply did his wisdom grieve, 
 That none their danger would believe. 
 Snug in his hole all that dread day. 
 Young Whiskerandus fasting lay ;
 
 380 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 The rest, all laughing at the fool, 
 That would be wise, and teach and rule, 
 Were frisking perfectly at ease, 
 And feasting on a Stilton cheese ! 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 To man, in every state and clime. 
 In snowy age and youthful prime, 
 From busldned clowns to gartered kings, 
 One peccadillo ever clings : — 
 He likes his own fond notions best. 
 And knows he's wiser than the rest ! 
 Yon forwaid trull contemns the prude; 
 To grave old maids coquettes are rude ; 
 A proser thinks the poet mad ; 
 And dandies scorn the neatly clad. 
 
 Far lovelier would our manners prove, — 
 Far happier homes, far warmer love. 
 Far calmer senates, princes, lands, — 
 Would each allow what each demands. 
 And grant that — maugre all one's skill — 
 Some brother may be wiser still. 
 
 Ye youths, ye sages, ye divines ! 
 Would ye be candid ? — read my lines. 
 Ye who are blest with nuptial life! 
 Would ye for ever banish strife ? — 
 Believe me, candour cannot fail, 
 And gold, without it, won't avail.
 
 THE RAT AND THE GIPSY. 381 
 
 ulustrative prose. 
 
 ON EGOTISM. 
 
 " ' It is a hard and nice subject for a man to speak 
 of himself,' says Cowley ; ' it grates his own heart to 
 say anything of disparagement, and the reader's ears 
 to hear anything of praise from liim.' Let the tenour 
 of his discourse be what it will upon this subject, it 
 generally proceeds from vanity. An ostentatious man 
 will rather relate a blunder or an absurdity he has 
 committed, than be debarred from talking of his own 
 dear person. 
 
 " Some very great writers have been guilty of this 
 fault. It is observed of Tully in particular, that his 
 works run very much in the first person, and that he 
 takes all occasions of doing himself justice. ' Does he 
 think,' says Brutus, ' that his consulship deserves more 
 applause than my putting Caesar to death, because I 
 am not perpetually talking of the ides of March, as he 
 is of the calends of December?' I need not acquaint 
 my learned reader, that in the ides of March Brutus 
 destroyed Caesar, and that Cicero quashed the con- 
 spiracy of Catiline in the calends of December. How 
 shocking soever this great man's talking of himself 
 might have been to his contemporaries, I must confess 
 I am never better ])leased than when he is on this 
 subject. Such openings of the heart give a man a 
 thorough insight into his personal character, and illus- 
 trate several passages in the history of his life : besides 
 that, there is some little jpleasure in discovering the
 
 382 TUE BATH FABLES. 
 
 infirmity of a great man, and seeing how the opinion 
 he lias of himself agrees with what the world cuter- 
 tains of him. 
 
 " The gentlemen of Port Royal, who were more 
 eminent for their learning and humility than any others 
 in France, hanished the way of speaking in the first 
 person out of all their works, as arising from vainglory 
 and selfconceit. 'L'o show their jiarticular aversion 
 to it, they branded this form of writing with the name 
 of an egotism ; a figure not to bo found among the 
 ancient rhetoricians. 
 
 " The most violent egotism that I have met with 
 in the course of my reading, is that of Cardinal Wolscv, 
 Ego et rex mens, — ' I and my king ;' as perhaps the 
 most eminent egotist that ever ajjpeared in the world 
 was Montaigne, the author of the celebrated Essays. 
 This lively old Gascon has woven all his bodily in- 
 firmities into his works ; and, after having spoken of 
 the faults or virtues of any other man, he immediately 
 publishes to the world how it stands with himself in 
 that particular. Had he ke2)t his own counsel, he 
 might have passed for a much better man, though 
 jierhaps he would not have been so diverting an author. 
 The title of an Essay promises j)erhaps a discourse 
 upon Yirgil or Julius Cajsar; but, when you look into 
 it, you aie sure to meet with more upon Monsieur 
 Montaigne than of either of them. The younger 
 Scaligcr, who seems to have been no great friend to 
 this author, after having acquainted the world that 
 liis father sold herrings, adds these words : — ' La grande 
 fitilaise ile Montaigne, qui a ccrit qa'il ainioit mieux le tin 
 hlanc: — Qucdinhle a-t-on a f aire desavoir ce qiiil uimeT 
 ' For my part,' says Montaigne, ' I am a great lover of
 
 THE RAT AND THE GIPSY. 383 
 
 your white wines:' — ' \Vliat the deuce signifies it to the 
 public,' says Scaliger, ' whether he is a lover of white 
 wines or of red ? ' 
 
 " I cannot here forbear mentioning a tribe of egotists, 
 for whom I always had a mortal aversion, — I mean the 
 authors of memoks, who are never mentioned in any 
 works but their own, and who raise all their productions 
 out of this single figure of sijeech. 
 
 " Most of our modern prefaces savour very strongly 
 of the egotism. Every insignificant author fancies it 
 of importance to the world, to know that he wrote his 
 book in the country, that he did it to pass away some 
 of his idle hoars, that it was published at the impor- 
 tunity of iVieuds, or that his natural temper, studies, 
 or conversations, dkected him to the choice of his sub- 
 ject. 
 
 ' Id populus curat scilicet !' 
 
 Such informations cannot but be highly gratifying to 
 the reader ! 
 
 " In the works of humour, especially when a man 
 writes under a fictitious personage, the talking of one's 
 self may give some diversion to the public ; but I 
 would advise every other writer never to speak of him- 
 self, unless there be something veiy considerable in his 
 character : though I am sensible this rule will be of 
 little use in the world, because there is no man who 
 fancies his thoughts worth publishing, that does not 
 look upon himself as a considerable jierson. 
 
 " I shall close this paper with a remark ujton sucli 
 as are egotists in conversation. These are generally 
 the vain or shallow part of mankind, people being na-
 
 384 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 turally full of themselves, when they have nothing else 
 in them. There is one kind of egotists which is very 
 couiraon in the world, tliougli J do not remember that 
 any writer has taken notice of them, — I mean those 
 empty, conceited fellows who repeat, as sayings of their 
 own or some of their particular friends, several jests 
 which were made before they were born, and which 
 every one who has conversed in the world has heard a 
 hundred times over. A forward young fellow of my 
 acquaintance was very guilty of this absurdity : he 
 would be always laying a new scene for some old piece 
 of wit, and telling us, that as he and Jack 6uch-a-one 
 were together, one or t'other of them had such a conceit 
 on such an occasion ; u])on which he would laugh very 
 heartily, and wonder the company did not join with 
 him. When his mirth was over, I have often repre- 
 hended him out of Terence, ' Tuumne, ohsecro te, hoc 
 dictum ernt ? vetus credidi.' But finding him still in- 
 corrigible, and having a kindness for the young cox- 
 comb, who was otherwise a good-natured fellow, I re- 
 commended to his perusal the Oxford and Cambridge 
 jests, with several little pieces of pleasantry of the 
 same nature. Upon the reading of them, he was 
 under no small confusion to find that all his jokes had 
 passed through several editions, and that what he 
 thought was a new conceit, and had ai)propriated to 
 his own use, had apjyeared in print before he or his 
 ingenious friends were ever heard of. This had so 
 good an effect upon him, that he is content at present 
 to pass for a man of plain sense in his ordinary con- 
 versation, and is never facetious but when he knows 
 his company." 
 
 Spectator.
 
 THE RABBITS AND THE C0NIK3. 385 
 
 FABLE XLin. 
 THE BABBITS AND THE CONIES. 
 
 FOR UNIVERSITIES. 
 
 ALL know that things may be tlie same, 
 Though passing by a diff 'rent name ; 
 And fie on senates, courts, and kings, 
 Who won't distinguish names from things ! 
 Rabbit and coney, tyros know, 
 Are but two names, and no more show 
 A diflf'rent race than Whig and Tory ; 
 And yet but you shall hear my story. 
 
 Once on a time, I sauntered round 
 Sir Willowby's extensive ground, 
 Hard by old Bosworth's field and dell. 
 Where ruthless Richard fought and fell. 
 On this estate a field you'll find, 
 Where scores of nimble rabbits hind. 
 That burrow 'neath the sap-green ground, 
 And swarm the warren all around. 
 
 On eyeing me, they stamped the sward, 
 And stared like men at watch and ward ; 
 Then cocked their tails, and took to flight — 
 A pretty and amusing sight: 
 For, as they scampered to their holes. 
 And one by one popped down in shoals, 
 They seemed like swarms of frightened rats. 
 Flying the fangs of murd'rous cats. 
 
 Scarce had these trembling bustlers found 
 A safe asylum under ground. 
 
 CO
 
 380 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 When, lo ! a secoiid Tium'roiis drove, 
 Came bouncing IVom the nearest gi'ove, — 
 Burst tlirough the fence, and, at a bound, 
 All crowded on the warren-ground. 
 These seek the burrows of their friends, 
 And each with timid step descends; 
 But soon ascends again, and why? — 
 The blades within proved rather shy ; 
 For each a flag of war unfurls ; 
 Zounds ! what inhospitable churls! 
 A parley soon ensued, which may 
 Wind up the tale of this affray. 
 
 " Whence be ye, sirs?" a spokesman cries, 
 Suspicion scowling in his eyes; 
 " Your name, your birth, your genus tell, 
 And why ye seek with us to dwell. 
 We ween you conies, and if so, 
 How can you hope to come below? 
 Since none but rabbits own this place. 
 And conies are a different race. 
 Nor this alone: we've made a law. 
 To test all claims ; so raise your ]>aw, 
 Stamp one and all with awe jnofound, 
 And rub your noses on the ground. 
 Since such oiu* test, you must submit, 
 Nor quibble just to show your wit. 
 If thirty stamps and rubs you sign, 
 You 're genuine rabbits, we opine : 
 Oppose the test — you then are flats, 
 And here you'll never hang your hats." 
 
 " 'J'hcn," said the conies, " we withdraw ; 
 No nose we lub, nor lift a paw :
 
 THE RABBITS AND THE CO^^IES. 38] 
 
 We're not arrived from Nootka Souud ; 
 Nose-rubbing suits not British ground. 
 But pray forgive, should we surmise, 
 You've lost your senses or your eyes ; 
 For svu-ely he wants one or both, 
 Who is incompetent, or loth 
 To know his friends or grant their due. 
 And we are friends and brethren too ; 
 For though of somewhat diff'reut name, 
 Eabbit and coney are the same." 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Blest be the church young Edward blessed ! 
 
 That church will stand without a test. 
 
 When Alfred oped the Muses' hall, 
 
 It stood alike for thane and thrall ; 
 
 And has that clerk a generous mind. 
 
 Who closes it to half his kind? 
 
 'Tis [)itiful, if not a jest, 
 
 To hamper youth about a test. 
 
 Cease, Cam and Isis ! cease to glide. 
 Till Britain cast that test aside. 
 Hail, London halls ! live, Scotia, long! 
 No test have ye to shock the young; 
 Nor shall this generation die,— 
 So think the good, and so think I, — 
 Ere elder sisters have confessed 
 The force of tiutli, and burned the test. 
 Still, deem me not to truth a foe ; 
 At dying Love my spirits glow : 
 Yet, ban Geneva ? — Heaven forfend ! 
 Who shuns the Tiber is a friend.
 
 388 
 
 THE HATH FABLES. 
 
 ILLUSTEATIVE PROSE. 
 
 ON THE ENGLISH UNIVERSITIES. 
 
 It is, I fancy, one characteristic of these fables — 
 in this respect unlike many I have read— that their 
 moral or scope is at once plain and unique. The 
 reader, therefore, cannot fail to have seen, that in the 
 " Rabbits and Conies " I tread on what even I must 
 admit to be delicate ground; since its sole object is to 
 commend the opening of our national vmiversities to 
 the entire British nation, or at least to tliose of the 
 Protestant pale. 
 
 This, it has been admitted, is a most delicate ques- 
 tion; yet r hope the chief obstacle may be tlius stated: — 
 " To open the universities to all, would be to open them 
 to members of the papal pale, not to Nonconformist 
 Protestants alone ; and this might throw wide the 
 floodgates of error, and lead to habitual lieartburnings 
 in our very temples of science." 
 
 Tlie force of such an objection I as sensibly feel as 
 many who raise it ; far more so than thousands of my 
 Nonconibrmist brethren. Still, let us, as anxious only 
 for God's revealed truth and even-handed justice, calmly 
 look it in the face. 
 
 1. Were the papacy in the ascendant in these realms, 
 I grant it would refuse to concede the right it claims ; 
 tliat it scorns to grant in Italy what it whiningly de- 
 mands in Britain ; and that to admit Romanists, as 
 such, might soon result in the establishment of chairs, 
 to teach the painful delusions and unrecanted preten-
 
 THE RABBITS AND THE CONIES. 389 
 
 sions of Antichrist. Such being the case, while on the 
 one hand I freely concede to a Romanist fellow-subject 
 that perfect liberty of conscience, which I hnoiv his 
 church would refuse to me, I must still wish him to 
 provide university ajjpliances for himself. Nor is this 
 any injustice ; for even the ancient founders of our 
 universities were not members of the Tridentine Church, 
 and many of the colleges and halls are of purely Pro- 
 testant foundation. But, 
 
 2. Whatever grounds may exist for closing our na- 
 tional seats of learning to Romanists, there cannot be 
 the same grounds for banning Protestants. Noncon- 
 formists, of all denominations, are brethren of the same 
 great pale as Protestants of the established section of 
 the Anglican churches. Separate in forms, they are 
 one in doctrine ; separate as waves, they are one as the 
 ?ea ; separate as branches, they are one as the tree , 
 separate as the solar rays, still are they one as the 
 solar orb. They are alike friends of the Bible ; alike 
 foes to Rome; alike loyal to the Queen : why not, then, 
 alike in privilege ? 
 
 Let us hope that a candid and considerate Legislature, 
 supported from without by a myriovocal and heartfelt 
 assent on the part of the diocesan section of England's 
 Protestant Zion, shall soon invite all her true-hearted 
 sons, of whatever name, to sip in common at the na- 
 tional fountains of knowledge. Thus shall we present 
 a more united front to all the assatilts of " the Man of 
 Sin ;" for if division is our weakness, union is our 
 strength ; and union at the fountain-head of study would 
 surely assimilate our apparently discordant ranks : just 
 as two trees, side by side, or two streams in close 
 parallelism, will often silently coalesce. — W.
 
 THE FREEDOM OF SALVATION. 
 
 " Tt is truly pleasant to tliink, that salvation is not 
 confined to any one section of the Church of Christ, but 
 may be obtained by all who seek for it in the appointed 
 way. The Holy Spirit must be honoured in our appli- 
 cation for mercy. ]\Iembers of tiie same family are 
 called by diflerent names ; but he would bo a knave 
 who would attempt to prove that dillerence of name, 
 in itself, proved difference of family. Just so it is, 
 my brethren, in tlie family of Christ. The Church of 
 England, the Ciiurch of Scotland, the Wesleyan Church, 
 the Baptist Church, the Indopendent Church, are but 
 parts, and not the ichole, of the Church of Christ. While 
 I would maintain with firmness our distinctive prin- 
 ciples of Church government, I would not, I dare not, 
 withhold the right hand of fellowship from any Chris- 
 tian brother, simply because he ha])peued not to be 
 connected with our party. 
 
 " While I would denounce the bigotry and want of 
 Christian charity among some that call themselves 
 Christians, I would not even wish to except our own 
 body. There is much reform required among ourselves. 
 Events are vocal, and are crying witli ten thousand 
 echoes, ' To your tents, O Israel ! ' Tlioso tents are 
 many, but the camp is one. We must live and love 
 as one people, one army of the living God, and let our 
 watchword bo, ' Firmness in the field, but union in the 
 camp.' Believe me, it is not the diversities of opinion 
 that iiurt the family of Christ, but the disunion of 
 hearts. I venture to predict that when we meet in 
 our Father's house, wc shall forget our denominational 
 names and dillereuces. A person once dreamed that
 
 THE HEART AND THE DERVISH. 391 
 
 he went as far as tlie gate of heaven, proposed the 
 following questions, and received the accompanying 
 replies : — ' Are the Episcopalians here ? ' ' No ! ' ' Are 
 the Baptists here ? ' ' No ! ' ' Are the Wesleyans here ? ' 
 ' No ! ' 'Are the Independents here ? ' ' No ! ' ' Then, 
 where are all the Christians ? ' ' Theij are all here ! ' " 
 
 Rev. James Reading. 
 
 FABLE XLIV, 
 
 THE HEART AND THE DERVISH. 
 
 FOR SENTIMENTALISTS. 
 
 WOE to the heartless, recreant knight. 
 To feeling false and honour bright ! 
 Ye fair! bemoan his tarnished fame; 
 Ye good ! his fall and blighted name. 
 But warmer tears shall tiovv for those, 
 Whose wordy tongues no heart disclose ; 
 Who love, dislike, receive, impart, 
 With all their tongue, not all their heart. 
 
 Hard by a meadow gay and fair, 
 I planned an elegant parterre : 
 The woodbine, jonquil. Jessamine, 
 The tulip, larkspur, eglantine. 
 Dahlias and pinks and polyanthus. 
 Wallflowers, narcissus and chrysauthus, 
 With daffodils on every side. 
 Embalmed the air each vernal tide.
 
 392 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 What bliss to sit in such fair bowers, 
 And muse on Him who paints the flowers I 
 
 But as I mused, one summer's day, 
 My truant heart stole quite away. 
 T sought the fugitive all round, 
 When, lo ! 'twas traversing the gi'ound, 
 Dancing as light as sylph or fairy, 
 'Mong the gay flow'rots of the prairie. 
 With eagle glance, 1 marked its ways : 
 Awhile it glowed in ambient blaze ; 
 Then languished, and then glowed anew, 
 As feeling hearts are wont to do; 
 And mine such feelings had confessed, 
 Just as the truant fled my breast. 
 
 Joyous it threads the leafy stems, 
 Decked with a thousand floral gems: 
 At length it peeps inside a rose, 
 Whose blushing petals still enclose 
 The limpid dewdrops of the morn, 
 That spangled every leaf and thorn. 
 Reflected there as in a glass, 
 My heart beheld itself: alas ! 
 The God of flowers it failed to find. 
 For hearts are selfish, proud and blind. 
 
 Now did my heart intently gaze, 
 Within the myrioramic blaze, 
 Delighted that tlie dewdrops there, 
 Showed its own form so bright and fair; 
 Yet weening that its base self-love 
 Was homage done to God above : 
 I listened what this heart might say, 
 To those frail flowers of vernal May.
 
 THE HEART AND THE DERVISH. 393 
 
 " Sweet inuoceiits ! " the mammet cried ; 
 
 " In your fair mansions let me hide : 
 
 Your rural beauties I adore, 
 
 And on your fairy plumage soar. 
 
 Gay courts, and palaces of kings, 
 
 Furnish devotion no such wings; 
 
 And Solomon, in all his pride. 
 
 Your countless charms might well deride." 
 
 While thus the truant thing gave vent 
 To vast parade of sentiment. 
 An aged dervish, passing nigh, 
 Stepped up, and gave this sage reply : — 
 
 " Ah ! sapient heart ! full well I know, 
 Why these gay bowers inspire thee so : 
 'Tis not that thou art wont to trace 
 Thy God among this gaudy race ; 
 Those dewdrop mirrors, in the rose. 
 Reflected thee, and therefore glows 
 That false devotion through thy veins, 
 Too kin, alas ! to Paynim strains. 
 
 " Those transient hues, those fading flowers. 
 
 That deck these ever-changeful bowers, 
 
 Might tell a Nazareue, if wise, 
 
 Of dying love that never dies, 
 
 And bloomy damask, I suppose, 
 
 Might draw a heart to Sharon's Rose 
 
 But you, O vain and silly thing ! 
 
 To far inferior mysteries cling ; 
 
 It is not God you love and laud, 
 
 'Tis but yourself, the creature-god, 
 
 " Why but on stem and blossom gaze? 
 Those flowers exhale your Prophet's praise ;
 
 394 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 Rise with their odours through the air, 
 To Him, heyoud tea thousand fair, 
 That clioicest Lily of the vale, 
 Whose balmy spices never fail. 
 And wherefore flutter to and fro, 
 Beneath the flowers that round you grow ? 
 Soar, trifling heart ! Oh ! soar above, 
 And muse on uncreated love." 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Oh! happiest of the happy they, 
 Wlio, as their thoughtful eyes survey 
 The wonders natui'c spreads abroad. 
 Through nature soar to nature's God ! 
 To souls thus skilled, the sky or main, 
 The Alpine ridge or verdant jilain, 
 Th' hibernal blast, or vernal sun. 
 Whisper what Deity hath done. 
 Far different they, whose mindless glance 
 Beyond brute pleasure fails to advance ; 
 Wlio gaze on land and sea and sky, 
 Yet ne'er the great First Cause descry. 
 
 But there's a holier science still, 
 
 A higher bliss, a purer rill 
 
 Of keen delight, to such as scan, 
 
 With faith's bright eye, creation's span. 
 
 What, though fair nature's splendid page 
 
 Chants not to savage, no, nor sage, 
 
 Bcdemption's deep and gracious scheme,— 
 
 For nature's light is but a dream ; — 
 
 Yet, when the mind outshoots the porch 
 
 Of nature's fane, and lights its torch
 
 THE HEART AND THE DERVISH. 395 
 
 At llevelation's brighter flame, 
 
 And reads a Saviour's charming name ; 
 
 Then star and rock, and plant and rose, 
 
 Yea, all that lives and all that grows, 
 
 Remind that soul of Him who died, — 
 
 The Lamb of God, the crucified! 
 
 Blest are such souls, beyond the sage, 
 
 Of Pythian or Augustan age; 
 
 For much of Christ and heaven they find. 
 
 Where reason's eye is all but blind. 
 
 Oh ! let me soar this world above. 
 
 And in His works Messiah love ! 
 
 How dark e'en reason's lamp to me, 
 
 Blest Revelation, but for thee ! 
 
 ILLTISTEATIVE PE03E. 
 
 THE FOOLS' PARADISE : A VISION. 
 
 " Our defects and follies are too often unknown to us; 
 nay, they are so far from being known to us, that they 
 jaass for demonstrations of our worth. This makes 
 us easy in the midst of them, fond to show them, fond 
 to approve them, and to be esteemed for them. Then 
 it is that a thousand unaccountable conceits, gay in- 
 ventions, and extravagant actions, must aflbrd us jilea- 
 sure, and display us to others in the colours which 
 we ourselves take a fancy to glory in. Indeed, there 
 is something so amusing, for the time, in this state of 
 vanity and ill-grounded satisfaction, that the wiser
 
 300 THE nATH FABLES. 
 
 world has chosen an exalted word to describe its en- 
 chantments, and called it ' The Paradise of Fools.' 
 
 " Perhaps the latter part of this reflection may seem 
 a false thought to some, and hear another turn than 
 wliat I have given ; but it is at present none of my 
 business to look after it, who am going to confess that 
 I have been lately amongst them in a vision. 
 
 " Methought I was transported to a hill, — green, 
 flowery, and of an easy ascent. Upon the broad top 
 of it resided squint-eyed Error, and Popular Opinion, 
 with many heads — two that dealt in sorcery, and were 
 famous for bewitching people witli the love of them- 
 selves. To these repaired a multitude from every side, 
 by two different paths wliich lead towards each of them. 
 Some, who had the most assuming air, went directly 
 of themselves to Error, without expecting a conductor: 
 others, of a softer nature, went first to Popular Opinion, 
 from whence, as she influenced and engaged them with 
 their own praises, she delivered them over to the govern- 
 ment of Error. 
 
 " When we had ascended to an open part of the 
 summit, where Opinion abode, we found her enter- 
 taining several who had arrived before us. Her voice 
 was ])leasing ; she breathed odours as she spoke. She 
 seemed to have a tongue for eveiy one ; every one 
 thouglit he heard of something that was valuable in 
 himself, and expected a paradise which she promised 
 as the reward of his merit. Thus were we drawn to 
 follow her, till she should bring us where it was to be 
 bestowed; and it was observable, that all the way we 
 went, the company were either praising themselves for 
 their qualifications, or one another for those qualifica-
 
 TUK HEART AND THE DERVISH. 397 
 
 tions which they took to be conspicuous in their own 
 characters, or dispraising others for wanting theirs, or 
 varying in the degrees of tliem. 
 
 " At last we approaclied a bower, at the entrance of 
 which Error was seated. The trees were thick-woven, 
 and the place where he sat artfully contrived to darken 
 him a little. He was disguised in a whitish robe, which 
 he had put on that he might appear to us with a nearer 
 resemblance to Truth ; and, as she has a mirror whereby 
 she manifests the beauties of nature to the eyes of 
 her adorers, so he had provided himself with a magical 
 wand, that he might do something in imitation of it, 
 and please with delusions. This he lifted solemnly, 
 and, muttering to himself, bid the glories which he kept 
 under enchantment to appear before us. Immediately 
 we cast our eyes on that part of the sky to which he 
 pointed, and observed a thin blue prospect, which 
 cleared as mountains in a summer morning, when the 
 mist goes off, and the palace of Vanity appeared to 
 sight. 
 
 " The foundation seemed hardly a foundation, but 
 a set of curling clouds, which it stood upon by magical 
 contrivance. The way by which we ascended was 
 painted like a rainbow ; and as we went, the breeze that 
 played about us bewitched the senses. The walks were 
 wilded, all for show ; the lowest set of pillars were of 
 the slight, fine Corinthian order, and the top of the 
 building being rounded, bore so far the resemblance of 
 a bubble. 
 
 " At the gate the travellers neither met with a porter, 
 nor waited till one should appear : every one thought 
 his merits a suflacient passport, and pressed forward.
 
 3^8 THE BATH I'ABLKS. 
 
 \n the hall we met with several yihantoras, that roved 
 among us, and ranged the company according to their 
 sentiments. 'J'here was enfeebled Honour, that had 
 nothing to show but an old coat, of his ancestors' 
 achievements. There was Ostentation, that made him- 
 self his own constant subject; and Gallantry, strutting 
 ujion his tiptoes. At the upper end of the hall siood 
 a throne, whose canopy glittered with all the liches 
 that Gaiety could contrive to lavish on it ; and between 
 the gilded arms sat Vanity, decked in the peacock's 
 feathers, and acknowledged for another Venus by her 
 votaries. The boy who stood beside her for a Cupid, 
 and who made the world to bow before her, was called 
 Self-Conccit. His eyes had every now and then a cast 
 inwards, to the neglect of all objects about him ; and 
 the arms wliich he made use of for conquest were bor- 
 rowed from those against whom he hud a design. The 
 arrow which he shot at the soldier, was fledged from 
 his own i)lame of featliers; the dart he directed against 
 the man of wit, was winged from the quills he wrote with; 
 and tlmt wliich he sent against those who presumed 
 ujiou their riches, was headed with gold out of their 
 treasuries. He made nets for statesmen from their 
 own contrivances ; he took fire from the eyes of ladies, 
 with which he melted their hearts; and lightning from 
 the tongues of tlie eloquent, to inllame them with their 
 own glories. At the foot of the throne sat tliree false 
 Graces: Flattery, with a shell of paint; Affectation, with 
 a mirror to practise at; and Fashion, ever changing the 
 posture of her clothes. These applied themselves to 
 secure the conquests which Self-Conccit had gotten, 
 and had each of them their particular polities. Flattery 
 gave new colours and complexions to all things; Affec-
 
 THE HEART AND THE DERVISH. 391) 
 
 tation, new airs and aju^earances which, as she said, 
 were not vulgar; and Fashion both concealed some 
 home defects, and added some foreign, external beauties. 
 
 " As I was reflecting upon what I saw, I heard a 
 voice in the crowd bemoaning the condition of man- 
 kind, who are thus managed by the breath of Opinion, 
 deluded by Error, fired by Self-Couceit, and given up 
 to be trained in all the courses of Vanity, till Scorn or 
 Poverty come ujion ns. These expressions were no 
 sooner handed about, than I immediately saw a general 
 disorder, till at last there was a parting in one place ; 
 and a grave old man, decent and resolute, was led 
 forward to be punished for some words he had uttered. 
 He appeared inclined to speak in his own defence, 
 but I could not observe that any one was willing to 
 hear him. Vanity cast a scornful smile at him ; Self- 
 Coueeit was angry; Flattery, who knew him for Plain- 
 Dealing, put on a vizard, and turned away; Afi'ectation 
 tossed her fan, made mouths, and called him Envy 
 or Slander ; and Fashion would have it, that at least 
 he must be Ill-Manners. Thus, slighted and despised 
 by all, he was driven out for abusing jieople of merit 
 and figure; and I heard it firmly resolved, that he 
 should be used no better wherever they met with him 
 hereafter. 
 
 Parnell. 
 
 Vapid and heartless sentimentalism ; devotion that 
 knows no more of the great atonement than did Paynim 
 sages ; and egotism, empty of knowledge, but full of self, 
 — are some of the inmates of the Fools' Paradise; but, 
 oh ! how extensive the entire coterie ! — W.
 
 FABLE XLV. 
 THE MANDARIN AND THE BLOOD-ORANGE. 
 
 FOR SECTARIANS. 
 
 WHOE'ER an orange-grove has seen, 
 Basking and bright in orient sheen, 
 Where bahny zephyrs shake the trees, 
 Where odours float on every breeze, 
 Where massive golden balls adorn, 
 Mid whitest bloom, the orange thorn : — 
 Whoe'er he be, must surely own, 
 'Tis luxury but rarely known. 
 To taste, amid that spicy scene, 
 A fine blood-orange clad in green. 
 This tawny bowl of purple juice, 
 Malta's savannas thus produce : — 
 An orange shoot the cultor slips, 
 Just where the parent juice it sips : 
 This orange scion next you see. 
 Engrafted on an alien tree, — • 
 
 A fine pomegranate, strong, yet mild. 
 Fit foster-parent for the child. 
 Whose crimson sap like nectar flows. 
 And blushes deep as damask rose. 
 
 This orange scion spreads apace, 
 Sheds balmy blossom round the place. 
 And when the golden crops appear, 
 Pomegranate nectar swells the sphere :
 
 THE MANDARIN AND THE BI.OOD-ORANGE. 401 
 
 And beauteous are those orient crops, 
 And cool and sweet those ruby drops : 
 Blood-orange, this twin fruit is styled; 
 'Tis man's device, but nature's child. 
 
 Two trees once grew upon a flat, 
 Pomegranate this and orange that : 
 Through the fair grove a spicy breeze 
 Sighed soft, and shook the crowding trees. 
 Their loaded branches tremble oft, 
 Now wave, now dip, now soar aloft, 
 Then suddenly spread out and bend, 
 While all their golden apples blend. 
 
 Goaded and piqued to maniac wrath, 
 like many a blade in gown and cloth, 
 An over-jostled Mandarin 
 Broke out at length in obvious spleen, 
 And* thus bespoke, with spiteful leer, 
 A fine blood-orange dangling near : — 
 
 " Vile renegade ! sheer oti"! away! 
 How dare you, sirrah! stand at bay ! 
 You know, or ought to know, at least, 
 Tliat I'm a Mandarin, — a feast 
 For royalty, the fair, the great, 
 A honne-houclie for lords of state. 
 Look at my citron hues, you clown ! 
 Nor dare again to touch my gown. 
 Your birth no heraldry can trace. 
 To any of the orange race ; 
 Nor chivalry, nor pedigree, 
 Connects your Creole tribe with me. 
 You spout, indeed, a yellowish skin, 
 But pray, Sir Boastful ! look within ; 
 
 D D
 
 402 TUE BATH FABLES. 
 
 You're half pomegranate flesh at least, 
 Scarce fit to grace a beggar's least : 
 So cut your stick ; our name renounce ; 
 No genuine orange knows you : bounce !" 
 
 " Patience, my friend ! not quite so quick ; 
 
 I'll neither bounce nor cut my stick : 
 
 What mighty being, sir, are you? 
 
 I know you well, your country too. 
 
 If to such matters we attend, 
 
 I fear your pride must shortly end : 
 
 I'ou're China-born, in Spartan gown ; 
 
 Bless me ! no marvel you should frown ! 
 
 For, small in bulk, you're great in pride, 
 
 A Mandarin, but what beside '? 
 
 You say you suit a princely board ; 
 
 No compliment, upon my word ! 
 
 At least I see no good it brings. 
 
 To be devoured, although by kings. 
 
 " As to my flesh and tawny hide. 
 Such evils I can well abide : 
 My blood, I own, is not Chinese, 
 But should your royal eater squeeze 
 Your carcass till you're black and blue. 
 He'll find no blood at all in you ! 
 Just one thing more ; — we both must die ; 
 But when we shall dissected lie. 
 On plate of wood, or plate Chinean, 
 For royal teeth, or teeth plebeian. 
 Doubt not they'll grant us all that's due, 
 And own that I'm as good as you."
 
 THE MANDARIN AND THE BLOOD-ORANGE. 403 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Ye ministers of truth, who stand 
 
 On Ziou's walls in Albion's land ! 
 
 Be one in heart, as brethren ought: 
 
 For this our martyred fathers fought, 
 
 'Gainst all the ghostly pride of Rome, 
 
 'Gainst Henry's rage, and Mary's gloom. 
 
 One pale, indeed, ye need not be, 
 
 And when ye were, what realm was free ? 
 
 Abroad sweet liberty was crime, 
 
 And where was ours in Wolsey's time ? 
 
 True unity in spirit lies ; 
 No other should our churches prize. 
 Since direful deeds, appalling crimes. 
 Have sprung, in varied realms and times, 
 From placing unity — how blind ! — 
 In names, in for-ms, and not in mind. 
 
 This papal idol, I detest, 
 A mere mosaic Church, at best ; 
 Each member fettered to the fold. 
 Like marble smooth, but, ah ! as cold ; 
 All fixed, and yet of varying hues, 
 No mind, no life, no right to choose. 
 
 One ye may be, in separate fanes, 
 And blest be he who thus maintains ! 
 One is the sea, of numerous waves ; 
 One are the saints, in numerous graves ; 
 Divergent rays, but from one Sun ; 
 And separate pales in Christ are one !
 
 •iOl TIIK HATH FABLES. 
 
 Give me this unity of heart ; 
 Be one in spirit, though apart ; 
 As brethren live, as brethren love ;- 
 Such is the unity above ! 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE PROSE. 
 
 THE DAIRYMAN'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 "It is a pleasing consideration that, amidst the spiritual 
 darkness which unhappily prevails in many parts of the 
 land, God nevertheless has a people. It not unfrequently 
 hajjpens that single individuals are to be found, who, 
 though very disadvantageoiisly situated with i-egard to 
 the ordinary means of grace, have received truly saving 
 impressions, and, througli a blessing on secret meditation, 
 reading, and prayer, are led to the closest communion 
 with God, and become eminently devoted Christians. It 
 is the no small error of too many professors of the pre- 
 sent day, to overlook or undervalue the instances of this 
 kind which exist. The religious profession and o])inions 
 of some have too much mere machinery in their compo- 
 sition. If every wheel, pivot, chain, spring, cog, or 
 pinion, be not exactly in its ])lace, or move not precisely 
 according to a favourite and prescribed system, the whole 
 is rejected as unworthy of regard. But, happily, ' The 
 Lord knoweth them that are his ;' nor is the impression 
 of his own seal wanting to characterise some, who, in 
 comparative seclusion from the religious world, ' name 
 the name of Christ, and depart from iniquity.'
 
 THE MANDARIN AND THE BLOOD-ORANGE. 405 
 
 " There are some real Christiaus so peculiarly circum- 
 stanced in this respect, as to illustrate the poet's beautiful 
 comparison ; — 
 
 ' Full manj' a gem of pui'est ray serene, 
 
 The dark imf'athom'd caves of ocean bear ; 
 Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
 And waste its sweetness in the desert air.' 
 
 " Yet this was not altogether the case with the Dairy- 
 man's Daughter. Her religion had indeed ripened in 
 seclusion from the world, and she was intimately known 
 but to few : but she lived usefully, departed most happily, 
 and left a shining track behind her. While I attempt a 
 faint delineation of it, may I catch its influence, and be- 
 come, through ine.Kpressible mercy, a follower of ' them 
 who through faith and patience inherit the promises!' 
 
 " From the day wherein I first visited her, I con- 
 sidered her end as fast approaching. Once more I re- 
 ceived a hastv summons, to inform me that she was 
 dying. It was brought by a soldier, whose countenance 
 bespoke seriousness, good sense, and piety. 
 
 •' ' I am sent, sir, by the father and mother of Elizabeth 
 
 W , at her own particular request, to say how 
 
 much they all wish to see you. She is going home, sir, 
 very fast indeed.' 
 
 " ' Have you known her long?' I replied. 
 
 " ' About a month, sir. I love to visit the sick ; and 
 hearing of her case from a serious person who lives close 
 by our camp, I went to see her. I bless God that ever I 
 did go. Her conversation has been very profitable to me.' 
 
 " ' I rejoice,' said I, 'to see in you, as I trust, a brother 
 soldier. Though we differ in our outward regimentals.
 
 406 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 I hope we serve under the same spiritual Captain. I 
 will go with you.' 
 
 " My horse was soon ready. My military companion 
 walked by my side, and gratified me with very sensible 
 and pious conversation. He related some remarkable 
 testimonies of the excellent disposition of the Dairyman's 
 Daughter, as they appeared from some recent intercourse 
 which he had had with her. 
 
 " ' She is a bright diamond, sir,' said the soldier, ' and 
 vn]\ soon shine brighter than any diamond upon earth.' 
 
 " We passed through lanes and fields, over hills and 
 valleys, by open and retired paths, sometimes crossing 
 over, and sometimes following, the windings of a little 
 brook which gently miu-mured by the road-side. Con- 
 versation beguiled the distance, and shortened the 
 apparent time of our journey, till we had nearly arrived 
 at the Dairyman's cottage. 
 
 "As we approached it, we became silent. — Thoughts 
 of death, eternity, and salvation, inspired by the sight of a 
 house where a dying believer lay, filled my own mind, and, 
 I doubt not, that of my companion also. 
 
 •'.No living object yet appeared, except the Dairyman's 
 dog, keeping a kind of mute watch at the door; for he 
 did uot, as formerly, baik at my approach. He seemed 
 to'partake so far of the feelings appropriate to the cir- 
 cumstances of the family, as not to wish to give a hasty 
 or painful alann. He came forward to the little wicket- 
 gate, then looked back at the house-door, a? if conscious 
 there was sorrow within. It was as if he wanted to say, 
 ' Tread softly over the threshold, as you enter the house 
 of mourning ; for my master's heart is full of gi-ief.'
 
 THE MANDARIN AND THE BLOOD-ORANGE. 407 
 
 " The soldier took mj' horse, and tied it up in a shed : 
 a solemn serenity ap])eared to surround the whole place. 
 It was only interrupted by the breeze passing through 
 the large walnut-troes which stood near the house, and 
 which my imagination indulged itself in thinking were 
 plaintive sighs of soirow. I gently opened the door ; no 
 one appeared, and all was still silent. The soldier fol- 
 lowed; we came to the foot of the stairs. 
 
 " ' They are come,' said a voice, which^I knew^ to be 
 the father's ; ' they are come.' 
 
 " He appeared at the top : I gave him my hand, and 
 said nothing. On entering tbe room above, I saw the 
 aged mother and her son supporting the much-loved 
 daughter and sister; the son's wife sat weeping in a 
 window-seat, with a child on her lap ; two or three per- 
 sons attended in the room, to discharge any office which 
 friendship or necessity might require. 
 
 " I sat down by the bed-side. The mother could not 
 weep, but now and then sighed deeply, as she alternately 
 looked at Ehzabeth and at me. Tlie big tear rolled down 
 the brother's cheek, and testified an affectionate regard. 
 The good old man stood at the foot of the bed, leaning 
 upon the post, and unable to take his eyes off the child 
 whom he was so soon to part from. 
 
 " Elizabeth's eyes were closed, and as yet she perceived 
 me not. But over the face, though pale, sunk, and hol- 
 low, the peace of God which passeth all understanding 
 had cast a triumphant calm. 
 
 " The soldier, after a short pause, silently reached out 
 his Bible towards me, pointing with his finger at 1 Cor. 
 XV. 55, 56, 57. I then broke silence by reading the pas-
 
 gage, ' death, where is thy sting? grave, where is 
 thy victoiy ? The sting of death is sin ; and the strengtli 
 of sin is the law. ]5ut thanks he to God which giveth 
 ns the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.' 
 
 " At the sound of these words her eyes opened, and 
 something like a ray of divine light beamed on her 
 countenance as she said, 'Victory! victory! through 
 our Lord Jesus Clirist.' 
 
 "She relapsed again, taking no further notice of any 
 one present. 
 
 " ' God be praised for the triumph of faith !' I said. 
 " 'Amen !' replied the soldier. 
 
 " The Dairyman's uplifted eye showed that the ' Amen' 
 was in his heart, though his tongue failed to utter it. 
 
 " A short struggling for breath took place in the dying 
 young woman, which was soon over, and then I said to 
 lier — 
 
 " ' My dear friend, do you npt feel that you are sup- 
 ported?' 
 
 " ' The Lord deals very gently with me,' she replied. 
 
 " ' Are not his ])romises now very precious to you?' 
 
 " ' They are all yea and amen in Christ Jesus.' 
 
 " ' Are you in much bodily pain ?' 
 
 " ' So little, that I almost forget it.' 
 
 " ' How good the Lord is ! ' 
 
 " ' And how unworthy am I !' 
 
 " 'You are going to see him as he is.' 
 
 " ' I think 1 hope 1 believe that I am.' 
 
 " She again fell into a short slumber.
 
 THE MANDARIN AND THE ULOOD-ORANGE. 409 
 
 " Looking at her mother, I said, ' What a mercy to 
 have a child so near heaven as yours is !' 
 
 " 'And what a mercy,' she repHed, in broken accents, 
 ' if lier poor old mother might but follow her there. But, 
 sir, it is so hard to part.' 
 
 " 'I hope, through grace by faith, you will soon meet 
 to part no more ; it will be but a little while.' 
 
 " ' Sir,' said the Dairyman, ' that thought supports me, 
 and the Lord's goodness makes me feel more reconciled 
 than I was.' 
 
 " 'Father! mother!' said the reviving daughter, 
 
 ' He is good to me trust him, praise him evermore.' 
 
 " ' Sir,' added she, in a faint voice, ' I want to thank 
 
 you for your kindness to me 1 want to ask a favour 
 
 You buried my sister ■will you do the same for me ?' 
 
 " ' All shall be as you wish, if God permit,' I replied. 
 
 " ' Thank you, sir ; thank you 1 have another 
 
 favour to ask When I am gone, remember my father 
 
 and mother. They are old, but I hope the good work is 
 
 begun in their souls My prayers are heard Pray 
 
 come and see them 1 cannot speak much, but I want 
 
 to speak, for their sakes Sir, remember them.* 
 
 " The aged parents now sighed and sobbed aloud, 
 uttering broken sentences, and gained some relief by 
 such an expression of their feelings. 
 
 " At length, I said to Elizabeth, 'Do you experience 
 any doubts or temptations on the subject of your safety ?' 
 
 "'No, sir; the Lord deals very gently with me, and 
 gives me peace.' 
 
 " ' What are your views of the dark valley of death, 
 now that you are passing through it ? '
 
 410 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 " ' It is not dark.' 
 
 '"Why so?" 
 
 " ' My Lord is there, and he is my light and my salva- 
 tion.' 
 
 " ' Have you any fears of more bodily suffering?' 
 
 " ' The Lord deals so gently with me, I can trust him.' 
 
 " Something of a convulsion came on. When it was 
 past, she said — again and again — 
 
 " ' The Lord deals very gently with me. Lord ! I am 
 thine, save me — Blessed Jesus — precious Saviour — His 
 blood cleanseth from all sin — Who shall separate? — His 
 name is Wonderful — Thanks be to God — He giveth us 
 
 the victory 1, even I, am saved grace, mercy, 
 
 and wonder ! — Lord, receive my spirit. Dear sir, 
 
 dear father, mother, friends, 1 am going but all is 
 
 well, well, weir . 
 
 " She relapsed again — we knelt down to prayer — The 
 Loi"d was in the midst of us, and blessed us. 
 
 " She did not again revive while I remained, nor ever 
 speak any more words that could be understood. She 
 slumbered for about ten hours, and at last sweetly fell 
 asleep in the arms of the Lord, who had dealt so gently 
 witli her. 
 
 " I left the house an hour after she had ceased to 
 speak. I pressed her hand as I was taking leave, and 
 said, ' Christ is the i-esurrection and the life.' She gently 
 returned the pressure, but could neither open her eyes 
 nor utter a reply. 
 
 " I never had witnessed a scene so impressive as this 
 before. It completely filled my imagination as I re- 
 turned homo. 
 
 " ' Farewell,' thought I, ' dear friend, till the morning
 
 THE TOADS AND THE TADPOLES. 411 
 
 of an eternal day shall renew our personal intercourse. 
 Tluis was a brand plucked from the burning, that thou 
 naightest become a star shining in the firmament of glory. 
 I have seen thy light, and thy good works, and will 
 therefore glorify our Father which is in heaven. I have 
 seen, in thy example, what it is to be a sinner freely saved 
 by grace. I have learned from thee, as in a mirror, who 
 it is that begins, continues, and ends the work of faith 
 and love. Jesus is all in all : he will and shall be 
 glorified. He won the crown, and alone deserves to 
 wear it. May no one attempt to rob him of his glory ! 
 He saves, and saves to the uttermost. Farewell, dear 
 sister in the Lord. Thy flesh and thy heart may fail ; 
 but God is the strength of thy heart, and shall be thy 
 portion for ever.' " 
 
 Legh Richmond. 
 
 FABLE XLVI. 
 
 THE TOADS AND THE TADPOLES. 
 
 FOR HIS GRACE OF EXETER. 
 
 TE pilgrims of the cross, all hail ! 
 God speed the plough in every pale ! 
 No foe am I to sect or name ; 
 Proud bigots shall be clad with shame. 
 But if some prelates, lost in fogs, 
 " Cry havoc, and let loose the dogs," — 
 Their ill-bred, papomanian subs, — 
 Against their Noncon brethren's tubs,
 
 412 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 Yet ask, with infixntile surprise, 
 "Whence can these Wards and Newmans rise?" 
 Our fable, sliould they read it out. 
 Perchance may solve the painful doubt. 
 
 Down in Glamorgan's sunny vale, 
 A yeoman farmed — so runs the tale : 
 Verdant and fertile lay his land, 
 As e'er a glebe on Cambria's strand. 
 I love thee, Wales ! — no papist she. 
 When Saxons basely bent the knee 
 To haughty Eome, so false and vile. 
 Erst ruthless tyrant of our isle. 
 Nor Wales alone her errors frowned. 
 But every rocky isle around ; 
 And Erin, too, the truth maintained, 
 Till England's second Henry reigned. 
 " But you digress." Exactly so ; 
 Yet pray be cool, and on we go. 
 
 One vernal dawn our yeoman flew, 
 
 To vi'atch his hinds, as yeomen do. 
 
 " What's here, my lads? what's here?" he cries; 
 
 " There, in the pond?" a clown rej)lics: 
 
 " Yes, in the cow-pond; look, boys, look ! 
 
 The water bubbling like a brook. 
 
 Zounds ! it is crammed with toads and frogs, 
 
 Huge as Sir Watkin's finest hogs : 
 
 They '11 swarm the land ! away for lime. 
 
 We 'd better drug the rogues in time." 
 
 " Maister !" the grinning bumpkin cries. 
 Scratching bis poll to seem more wise; 
 " I hate a toad, as you a hare. 
 But no such vermin flounders there :
 
 THE TOADS AND THE TADPOLES. 413 
 
 'Tis only tadpoles, thick as hail ; 
 
 Mark their round heads and wriggling tail ! 
 
 To harm such friends could ne'er be wise ; 
 
 They gulp young blight, and spawn of flies; 
 
 So let 'em dance their little day. 
 
 And soon they '11 dance their life away." 
 
 " Tadpoles, you clown !" our yeoman screams, 
 " Why, Taffy ! you 're a fool, it seems ; 
 Tadpoles are little frogs and toads, 
 And soon would swarm the glebe in loads : 
 So drench with lime their chubby heads. 
 And stop the plague before it spreads." 
 
 MOKAL. 
 
 Philpotts ! who hate your brother's shrine. 
 
 And symbolize, Rome ! with thine ; 
 
 Or ye who frown on Eome, yet hail 
 
 The blight of this Oxonian gale ! 
 
 Ye hope, by babbling worn-out themes. 
 
 To realize illusive dreams, — 
 
 To tread your Noncon brother down, 
 
 And raise the crozier o'er the crown ! — 
 
 Beware in time of wliat ye do ; 
 
 The pontiff builds his hopes on you ! 
 
 When Britons sought the Sa.xon smile, 
 They beat the Picts, but lost their isle. 
 Poor Erin, won by Henry's sword, 
 Soon owned the pontiff as her " Lord ;" 
 And Greece may trace her overthrow, 
 'J'o dalliance with her Vandal foe.
 
 414 THE BATH FAHLES. 
 
 Retrieve your error while ye may, 
 Then Rome's fond dream shall melt away : 
 The wrinkled hag that moment dies, 
 When smart shall make our prelates wise. 
 With sister jiales unite your host. 
 And sweep the tadpoles from your coast : 
 But should the spawn to life be nursed, 
 Still, truth shall triumph, do your worst ! 
 
 Yet, oh ! may love's cementing hands, 
 
 Join all our Zion's severed bands! 
 
 So friends to truth, in every ]mle, 
 
 Her universal march sluill hail; 
 
 While you, and they, and heaven shall win, 
 
 The downfaU of " The Man of sin." 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE PEOSE. 
 
 WHAT IS PUSEYISM? 
 
 " It is to ' utterly reject and anathematize the prin- 
 ciple of Protestantism as a lieresy, with all its forms, 
 sects, or denominations (1) ;' 'to hate the Reformation 
 and the Reformers more and more (2): ' — ' the Reformation 
 was a limb badly set ; it must be broken again in order 
 to be righted (3);' to 'desire the restoration of unity 
 wMth the Church of Rome (4);' to 'regard Rome as our 
 mother, through whom we were born to Christ (5).' 
 
 " It is to denounce the Church of England as being 
 ' in bondage, as working in chains, and as teaching
 
 THK TOADS AND THE TADPOLES. 415 
 
 with the stammeriug lips of aoibiguous formularies (6) :' 
 it is to eulogize the Church of Rome, as giving 'free scope 
 to the feelings; of awe, mystery, tenderness, reverence, 
 and devotedness (7),' and as 'having high gifts, and 
 strong claims on our admiration, love and gratitude (S),' 
 for that/ Rome has been,'even in her worst times, on 
 most points, a firm and consistent witness, in act and 
 word, for orthodox doctrine (U).' 
 
 "^ " It is to "declare, ' Your trumpery principle about 
 Scripture being the sole rule of faithjn fundamentals (I 
 nauseate "the word) is but^a^ mutilated edition, without 
 the breadth and axiomatic character of the original (10) :' 
 ' it is to teach, that the Romish ritual was a precious 
 possession (11),' and that the mass-book is ' a sacred and 
 most precious moniunent of the apostles (12).' j 
 
 " It is to assert, that 'Scripture" is not a rule of faith 
 (13) ;' that ' the tradition of the Church Catholic is the 
 legitimate interpreter of Scripture (14) ;' that the Bible, 
 ' 2)laced without note or comment in the hands of unin- 
 structed persons, is not calculated, in ordinary cases, to 
 make them wise unto salvation (15);' and that only 
 'persons disclaiming the right of private judgment in 
 things pertaining to God, are members of the Church of 
 Christ (IG).' 
 
 !: " It is to teach, that ' baptism, and not /aith, is the 
 primary instrument of justification (17);' that we are 
 not to ' neglect the doctrine of justification by works 
 (18) ;' and that ' the prevailing notion of bringing for- 
 ward the doctrine of the atonement, explicitly and pro- 
 minently, on all occasions, is evidently quite opposed to 
 the teaching of Scripture (19).'
 
 416 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 " It is to assort tliat, in the Lord's Siippor, 'the Bread 
 and Wine arc changed by the Consecration of the Priest, 
 and the operation of the Holy Ghost, and become the 
 very Body and Blood of our Lord (20) ; ' that ' the power 
 of making the Body and Blood of Christ is vested in the 
 Successors of the Ai)ostles (21);' and to affirm the 
 cleansing efKcacy of suffering (22). 
 
 " It is to declare, that ' she [Rome] has in her monastic 
 institutions, a refuge from the weariness and vanities of 
 the world, and ameans of higher perfection to individuals, 
 which many sigh after, and which might be revived in a 
 primitive form, but which as yet we have not (23).' 
 
 " It is to maintain the lawfulness of prayers for the 
 dead (24) ; and to assert that a person may believe that 
 there is a pm-gatory ; that relics may be venerated ; that 
 saints may be invoked ; that there are seven sacraments ; 
 that the mass is an offering for the quick and the dead, 
 for the remission of sins ; while he may yet, with a good 
 conscience, subscribe to the thirty-niue articles of the 
 Church of England (25) ! ! ! 
 
 " It is to put the visible church in the place of Christ, 
 by teaching that ' she alone is the true hiding-place into 
 which tlic servants of God may flee for refuge, and be 
 safe (26) :' it is to put the sacraments in place of God, by 
 declaring that they are ' the sources of Divine grace 
 (27).' 
 
 " If the above principles be generally adopted by those 
 who hold office in the Church, and who prol'ess to be the 
 successors of such men as Cranmcr, llidley, Latimer, 
 Jewell, Kennett, Tillotson, Burnett, Lcighton, Taylor, 
 Porteus, and Ilcber, does it not become the duty of every
 
 THE TOADS AND THE TADPOLES. 417 
 
 inquirer after truth for JdmseJf to try tliose principles by 
 the Word of God? ' To the law and to the testimony: if 
 they speak not according to this word, it is because there 
 is no light in them.' Isaiah viii. 20." 
 
 AUTHORITIES FOR THK PRECEDING STATEMKNTS. 
 
 "1. Palmer's Letter to Golightly,page 9. 2. Fraud's Remains, Vol. I. 
 p. 38D. 3. lb. p. 433. 4. Palmer's Letter to Gnlightly, p. 12. 5. Tracts 
 for the Times, No. 77, p. 33. 6. lb. No. 90, p. 4. 7. Newman's Letter 
 to Jelf, pp. 27, 28. 8. Tracts for the Times, Pxcord of the Church, No. 
 
 24, p. 7. 9. Ward's Few more Words, p. 80. 10. Fraud's Remains, 
 Vol. I.p.204. \\. Tracts for the Times, Yio.M,^.!. 12. Newman's 
 Letter to Fausselt, p. 46. 13. Tracts for the Times, No. 90, pp. 8 and 
 11. 14. Tracts for the Times, ISio. 11.}^. U). \b. Linwood's Sermons. 
 16. lb. 17. Newman on Justification. 18. Linwood's Sermons. 19. 
 Tracts for the Times, No. 80, p. 73. 20. Palmer's Letter to a Protest- 
 ant Catholic, \^.^0. 21. Fraud's Remains, ydi. I. ■^.'ilQ. 22, Ward's 
 Few more Words, p. 84. 23. Dr. PUSEY's Letter to the Archbishop 
 of Canterbury, 1842, p. 12. 24. Tracts for the Times, No. 90. p. 26. 
 
 25. lb. No. 90, pp. 23, 28, 37, 43, 63. 26. Linivood's Sermons. 27. 
 Dr. Pusey's Letter to the Bishop of Oxford, p 93." 
 
 SWEET EXTRACTED FROM BITTER. 
 
 A YOUNG clerical Newmanian, an erratic and papaleptic 
 tyro, uiipolitely addressed a Latin poem to a pious young 
 lady, calling her a "schismatic." Just at that time — about 
 1845 — Mr. Gatheroole was in prison for calumniating 
 some Roinanist nuns. He was another Quixotical clergy- 
 man, — both very unlike thousands of their candid and 
 more pious brethren of the Church. 
 
 By request of an esteemed, godly, and intelligent friend, 
 I composed the following reply, in Italian and Greek, to 
 be sent by the lady to her clerical correspondent. He 
 was left to translate both, but I here annex a version : — 
 
 E E
 
 418 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 "Sir, — The erratic t^'io who addresses Latin to ladies, 
 only gathers birch for himself, and richly deserves to be 
 sent to Gather-coal. Let him read what ibllows, and 
 translate it if he can. It is a storietta in Italian: — 
 
 [translation.] 
 
 "THE YOUNG ANGLOrAPIST. 
 
 " There was, once on a time, a certain young man, 
 who thought himself a great doctor. He also entered 
 the University, and unfortunately fell into the hands 
 of Papomanians. He finished by himself becoming a 
 semi-jiapist. Afterwards he wrote to a modest young 
 lady a poem of his, iullof extraordinary and extravagant 
 common-places. 
 
 " In fine, he called the lady a mere schismatic Now 
 I take the liberty of proposing to this tyro a very small 
 question : — By that corruiU Church in Italy, for whose 
 advantage you contend with so much ferocitv and Don- 
 Quixotism, what name is given to ijou ? The reply is — 
 'Heretic!'" 
 
 Read the following poetic picture of such a character. 
 This caustic lash was but too mild for the young Quixote 
 to whom the lady sent it. I took it from a Greek transla- 
 tion of the " Pilgrim's Progress," made and ])ublishf d at 
 Malta, adaptingit, by slight alteration, to the above young 
 man; and [ heartily wish the thoughts may remain with 
 certain young folks at Oxford and Cambridge now ! 
 
 [translation.] 
 
 ■ How bold at first ie Talkative ! how eloquent the gabbler! 
 He drops and elevates his eyes, like some Athanian babbler!
 
 THE IVY AM) THE MYRTLE. 
 
 419 
 
 He talks, he brags, he prates for Rome, as though in want of 
 
 bircli ; 
 All others are ' schismatics,' and himself the only church! 
 
 " By such young Papomanians we are, alas ! oppressed ; 
 Faith sits upon their lips indeed, but malice fills their breast. 
 A lady not of thy small clique ' schismatic' thou canst name ; 
 But Home dubs thee a 'heretic,' who lov'st the scarlet dame !" 
 
 With sentiments of real Christian candour for brethren 
 of every Evangelical pale, I wrote the above. If some- 
 what severe, that was surely called forth by the occasion. 
 After all, [ penned it more in good-natured humour than 
 in anger — more in sorrow than in malice ; and if it aid a 
 trifle in checking religious zealotism, — if it remind the 
 anathematizing Newmanian that the liome he panders 
 for, anathematizes himself, I shall the less rearet the 
 occasion that called it into being. — W. 
 
 FABLE XLVlf. 
 
 THE IVY AND^THE MYRTLE. 
 
 FOR CARDINALS. 
 
 1UME was that vacant reverence bowed, 
 . To monkish Vandals, sleek and proud; 
 To tinselled drones, in costly cars, 
 And meanest hearts, if decked with stars. 
 But now, awakened mind inquires, 
 Why this man's poor, why that aspires; 
 Nor can our cities fail to dread, 
 When fresh aspirants ask for bread: 
 When Wiseman dons the scarlet drape, 
 On British boards to play the ape.
 
 490 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 Let bat this caution prove discreet, — 
 Know when to frown and when to greet, — 
 Then every future age shall praise 
 Our Suniners, Noels, Humes, and Greys. 
 
 On Malinsb'ry's ancient albey lands, 
 
 A bleak and crumbling ruin stands : 
 
 A thousand wintry blasts have blown. 
 
 And whistled tlirough that pile of stone. 
 
 Around its hoary, time-worn walls. 
 
 An ivy mantle ))rondly falls ; 
 
 While here and there young myrtles bloom. 
 
 In humbler guise, o'er many a tomb. 
 
 I reck not had this iane ne'er been ; 
 
 But here my fable finds its scene. 
 
 Once on a time, our ivy friend. 
 
 With flippant side-glance, deigned to bend. 
 
 And to a trembling myrtle cries — 
 
 " Avaiint ! vile weed, of ])igmy size ! 
 
 Such interlopers may not tramp 
 
 On holy ground — and so, decamp ! 
 
 Who calls for you where I am found ? 
 
 My presence consecrates the ground, 
 
 And 'neath my venerable shade. 
 
 The living pray, the dead are laid ; 
 
 But you, in prairie, vase, or tub. 
 
 At best are but a scurvy shrub. 
 
 So pray, obtrusive fellow ! flee. 
 
 And leave this hallowed pile to me." 
 
 He said ; then flouncing high and fair, 
 Iv seal let drape and ])ort]y a r, 
 F<arce listened to such vulgar weeds, 
 While thus th' insulted myrtle pleads : —
 
 THE IVY AND THE MYRTLE. 421 
 
 " Great Sir ! I hope we Myrtles may 
 Compete with Ivy auy day ; 
 But some folks rate their powers so high, 
 This thouglitful age will question why: 
 So you, my friend, though prone to creep, 
 Have somehow climhed that lofty steep, 
 And, giddy with your elevation, 
 Duh you the saviour of the nation. 
 You talk of making holy ground ; 
 Is it uuholy ? Look around ; 
 Survey tliese weeping larclies nigh; 
 List how the pines and poplars sigh : 
 Pray, is there aught in ivy trees. 
 That yields a holier balm than these ? 
 Or must the dead, who sleep beneath. 
 Be lost without your ivial wreath? 
 
 " Nay, since ye make such high pretence, 
 I'm not content with mere defence ; 
 But tell you kindly, to your face, 
 'T were wise to seek some other place : 
 For shrubs in lowlier soil that grew. 
 Can shrive, good sir, as well as you ; 
 And this briglit age will scarcely brook 
 The well-fed drone, or cloistered rook." 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Mystics ! on you my strictures fall. 
 Nor ween my reed is steeped in gall : 
 The good I love in every pale, — 
 'T is only at your faults I rail. 
 Say ! what avails your mystic page ? 
 Is it to tell this thinking age,
 
 422 THE BATH TABLES. 
 
 A ])lace is lit for prajev or tomb ? 
 Why, that we knew as well as Home. 
 "J'o pay so high for news so stale, 
 Might make yon blessed angels quail. 
 
 But should you now be heard ])rofessing, 
 To make things holier by your blessing? — 
 For shame, ye mystics! sure ye know. 
 No lifeless thing can holy grow ; 
 No charm can make a holy grave. 
 As by no charm a sword is brave. 
 What knows no vice, it is coui'essed. 
 Can know no virtue, do your best. 
 The law of types has ceased to loom ; 
 Why fetch it back from errant Rome ? 
 
 Nor do the dead for pageants sigh ; 
 
 Soft sleep the good, where'er they lie : 
 
 Or should a sinner sleep uublest 
 
 By Heaven, no charm can give him rest. 
 
 If cloisters must be duly saint 
 
 For worship, or be deemed attaint, 
 
 So should each health wherie prayer is raised, 
 
 For there the selfsame God is praised. 
 
 \\ho set the Olive Mount apart. 
 Ere Jesus preached and changed tlie heart? 
 Did Paul first i)iuify Mars' Hill, 
 Ere he proclaimed Jehovah's will? 
 Did those good men who Stephen bore. 
 Grave oil from Salem's ]iriests of yore ? 
 Had they that ancient graveyard blest. 
 Before they bade his ashes rest ? 
 Thousands, yea, myriads not a few, 
 Sleep on the plains of Waterloo,
 
 THE ivy AND THE MYRTLE. 423 
 
 Blenheim, Marengo, Marathon, 
 
 Where blood-stained fields were lost and won ; 
 
 "While in the expansive world of waves, 
 
 Uncounted millions find their graves : 
 
 And are they less secure than those, 
 
 Who in a sainted grave repose ? 
 
 Or is the Gospel herald's shrine 
 
 Less blest, proud Babylon ! than thine? 
 
 Sleep on, ye dead ! Ye living! pray, 
 Though papal pomps all wane away, 
 In solitudes, or 'neath the deep, 
 God watclies where ye pray and sleep ; 
 Nor cease those vigils of the skies, 
 Till the loud clarion bid you rise. 
 
 ILLTJSTR4TIVE PBOSE. 
 
 THE PROGRESS OF PAPAL ERROR. 
 
 "When once the ministers of the church had de- 
 parted from the ancient simi)licity of religious worship, 
 and sullied the native purity of Divine truth by a motley 
 mixture of human inventions, it was diflficult to set 
 bounds to this growing corruption. Abuses were daily 
 multiplied, and superstition drew from its horrid fe- 
 cundity an incredible number of absurdities, which were 
 added to the doctrine of Christ and his apostles. The 
 controversial writers in the eastern provinces, continued 
 to render perplexed and obscure some of the principal
 
 424 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 doctrines of Christiauity, by the subtle distinctions 
 wliich ibey borrowed from a vain and chimerical phi- 
 losophy. Tlie public teachers and instructors of the 
 j)eople degenerated sadly from the apostolic character. 
 They seemed to aim at nothing else, than to sink the 
 multitude into the most opprobrious ignorance and 
 superstition ; to efface in their minds all sense of the 
 beauty and excellence of genuine piety ; and to sub- 
 stitute, in the place of religions principles, a blind 
 veneration for the clergy, and a stupid zeal for a sense- 
 less round of ridiculous rites and ceremonies. This, 
 perhaps, will appear less surprising, when we consider 
 that the blind led the blind; for the public ministers and 
 teachers of religion were, for the most part, grossly 
 ignorant: nay, almost as much so as the maltitude 
 whom they were appointed to instruct. 
 
 " To be convinced of the truth of the dismal repre- 
 sentation we have here given of the state of religion 
 at this time, nothing more is necessary than to cast 
 an eye upon the doctrines now taught concerning the 
 worship of images and saints, the fire of purgatory, the 
 efficacg of good iiorfcs — i e. the observance of human 
 rites and institutions — tonards the attainment of salva- 
 tion, the power of relics to heal the diseases of body 
 and mind, and such-like sordid and miserable fancies, 
 whicli are inculcated in many of the superstitious pro- 
 ductions of this century, and particularly in the epistles 
 and other writings of Gregory the Great. Nothing 
 more ridiculous, on the one hand, than the solemnity 
 and liberality with which this good, but silly pontitf, 
 distributed the wonder-working relics ; and nothing 
 more lamentable, on the other, than the stupid eager- 
 ness and devotion, with which the deluded multitude
 
 THE IVY AND THE MYRTLE. 425 
 
 received them, and suffered themselves to be persuaded 
 that a portion of stinking oil, taken from the lamps 
 which burned at the tombs of the martyrs, had a super- 
 natural efficacy to sanctify its jjossessors, and to defend 
 them from all dangers, both of a temporal and spiritual 
 
 nature. 
 
 » * # » 
 
 " This prodigious augmentation, of rites and cere- 
 monies, rendered an augmentation of doctors and in- 
 terpreters of these mysteries indispensably necessary. 
 Hence a new kind of science arose, which had for its 
 object the explication of these ceremonies, and the 
 investigation of the causes and circumstances from 
 whence they derived their origin. But the most of 
 those who entered into tliese researches never went to 
 the fountain-head, to the true sources of tliese idle 
 inventions. They endeavoured to seek their origin in 
 reason and Christianity ; but in this they deceived 
 themselves, or, at least, deluded others, and delivered 
 to the world their own fancies, instead of letting them 
 into the true causes of things. Had they been ac- 
 quainted with the opinions and customs of remote 
 antiquity, or studied the pontifical law of the Greeks 
 and Romans, they had come at the true origin of many 
 institutions, which were falsely looked upon as vene- 
 rable and sacred. 
 
 " The public worship of God was as yet celebrated 
 by every nation in its own language, but was enlarged, 
 from time to time, by tlie addition of various hymns, 
 and other things of that nature, wliich were considered 
 as proper to enliven devotion by the power of novelty. 
 Gregory the Great prescribed a new method of ad- 
 ministering the Lord's Supper, with a maguilicent as-
 
 426 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 sembluge of ])ompous ccremouies. Tliis institution of 
 his was called the canon of the mass; and if any are 
 unwilling to give it the name of a new appointment, 
 thoy must at least acknowledge, that it was a con- 
 siderable augmentation of the ancient canon for cele- 
 brating the eucharist, and occasioned a remarkable 
 change in tlie administration of that ordinance. Many 
 ages, however, ])assed before this Oregorian canon was 
 adopted by all tiie Latin churches. 
 
 " Baptism, exce))t in cases of necessity, was ad- 
 ministered only on great festivals. We omit men- 
 tioning, for the sake of brevity, the litanies that were 
 addressed to the saints, the different sorts of suppli- 
 oations, the stations or assemblies of Gregory, the 
 forms of consecration, and other such institutions, 
 which were contrived, in this century, to excite a 
 species of external devotion, and to engage the outward 
 senses in religious worship. * ♦ # 
 
 " There was an incredible number of temples erected 
 in honour of the saints during this century, both in 
 the eastern and western provinces. The places set 
 apart lor public worship were already very numerous; 
 but it was now that Christians first began to consider 
 these sacred edifices as the means of purchasing the 
 favour and protection of the saints, and to be ])eisuaded 
 tiiat these dejiarted spirits defended and guarded against 
 evils, and calamities of every kind, the provinces, lands, 
 cities, and villages in which they were honoured with 
 temples. The number of these temples was almost 
 equalled by tliat of the festivals, which were now ob- 
 served in the Christian Church, and many of which 
 seem to have been instituted upon a Pagan model. To 
 those that were celebrated in the ])rcceding century
 
 THE LINNET AND HEK BKOOD. 4'27 
 
 were now added the festival of the Purification of the 
 
 blessed Virgin, invented witli a design to remove the 
 
 uneasiness of the heatlien converts, on account of tlie 
 
 loss of their LitpercnJia, or feasts of Pan, whicli liad 
 
 been formeily observed in the month of February, tlie 
 
 festival of the immaculate conception, tlie day set apart 
 
 to commemorate the birth of St. John, and others less 
 
 worthy of mention." 
 
 Mosheim on the Sixth Century. 
 
 FABLE XIVIIL 
 
 THE LINNET AND HER BROOD. 
 
 FOR YOUNG SLUGGARDS. 
 
 TE listless youth who love yoiu- bed, — 
 Miss Fanny, you, and you, young Ned ! 
 When Betty wakes you uj) eacli dawn, 
 And you begin to pout and yawn, 
 I wish you'd recollect this fable, 
 And place it on your toilet-table. 
 
 One sweet July, at jieep of day, 
 
 Wlien nature all looked fresh and gay, 
 
 A pretty linnet, brown and red, 
 
 Awoke and soon popped out of bed. 
 
 Perched on a twig hard by her nest. 
 
 She plumed her wings and smoothed her breast; 
 
 Then sang a matin to the sky, 
 
 And jjeering round, prepared to fly. 
 
 Now, this dear linnet, in her nest, 
 
 Had four sweet yovuig ones, all at rest;
 
 428 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 For Hoppy, Pe(;l<y, Dick, and Flap]iy, 
 Were still asleep and so quite liap2)y. 
 These little folks, the parent knew, 
 Would soon be up, and hungry too; 
 She therefore rose to seek some food — 
 A breakfast for her charming brood. 
 Oh ! 'tis a pretty sight indeed. 
 When parent birds their young ones feed! 
 Give thanks to God, ye children, too. 
 That parents get nice food for you ! 
 
 Well ; ere our linnet spread the wing. 
 To tly, to forage, and to sing. 
 She hopped upon her well-built nest, 
 And thus her pretty brood addressed : — 
 
 " My little urchins! ope your eyes; 
 The sun is up ; 'tis time to rise : 
 Three sparrows young as you I see, 
 Fluttering in yon sweet hawthorn-tree. 
 When young, I ne'er disturbed your i-est — 
 ] always left you in your nest ; 
 But now, since fledged and ht to fly. 
 My sweet ones ! you must soar on high. 
 So get up, dears, and snufi"yon hay; 
 The thistles look quite fresh to-day, 
 While on the wing of vernal gales, 
 The downy dandelion sails. 
 
 " I 'm hopping just across the grove. 
 Where I and other linnets rove : 
 No fighting, mind, while I 'm away! 
 We 'd too much fighting yesterday, 
 When Flappy, like a naughty thing, 
 Struck poor dear Hoppy on the wing.
 
 THE LINNET AND HKR BROOD. 429 
 
 Oh ! 'tis a shocking tiling to see 
 Brotliers and sisters rlisagiee ! 
 Be sure you 're up when I come back, 
 Aud I'll be here iu half a crack." 
 
 This said, the linnet winged her flight. 
 
 And, twittering, darted out of sight. 
 
 The little birds, as off slie flew, 
 
 Began to talk of rising too ; 
 
 But talk, alas ! was all, for soon 
 
 They dozed, and might have dozed till noon, 
 
 "Wheu happily their mother came. 
 
 And asked them how they could for shame. 
 
 Lau ! how they blushed, the sleepy flock, 
 
 When found in bed at six o'clock! 
 
 But, after much amusing fuss, 
 
 Flappy took heart aud answered thus : — 
 
 " Why, mother, sure you need not scold, 
 
 The morning smelt so shocking cold, 
 
 And so we all lay nuzzling still. 
 
 To keep away the morning chill. 
 
 Yet, 'tis not my fault if we lay, 
 
 Too long a little, as you say : 
 
 Young Dicky first began to snore, 
 
 Or else we should have ris'n before. 
 
 Besides, when you awoke us first, 
 
 It looked so d'lrk, we hardly durst. 
 
 I had a dreadful headache too. 
 
 And little Pecky ciied for you ; 
 
 Hoppy complained of squeamish maw. 
 
 And Pecky bit poor F^icky's claw: 
 
 So what with headache, cold, and wrong, 
 
 I own we've slumbered rather long."
 
 430 THK BATH lABLES. 
 
 MOKAL. 
 
 Such as are wont to rice betime, 
 
 Need no pretext to cloak a crime. 
 
 "Whoe'er is good at false excuse, 
 
 Is rarely good for nobler use ; 
 
 Better need no excnse, indeed, 
 
 Than make a good one when you've need. 
 
 Yet guilt, alas ! too often tries. 
 
 To skulk behind ingenious lies : 
 
 But mark the peril ! one i)retext 
 
 Smooths a fair passage to the next. 
 
 'Twas not by sloth, or tardy rise. 
 That Locke and Bacon grew so wise; 
 By sparing sleep, not rising late, 
 King Alfred grew both wise and great. 
 Rise, then, betimes, ye lively youth ! 
 And kneel before the God of truth ; 
 Then seek the fleld, the park, the lawn. 
 And quaff the balmy breath of dawn ; 
 So shall your days be long and blest. 
 And soft your nightly couch of rest. 
 
 ILLUSTEATIVE PROSE. 
 
 ON EARLY RISING. 
 
 " One very effectual meansof killing time, is by sleep. 
 It is true, indeed, that a certain degree of sleep is neces- 
 sary alike to the physical and intellectual constitution :
 
 THE LINNET AND HKU BKOOD. 43 L 
 
 it is the kind restorer of the human faculties from a state 
 of exhausiiou; and is an evideuce aUl<e of the wisdom 
 and goodness of God. No douht, also, an individual 
 may err in taking too little repose ; as he may thus not 
 only ahridge his period of usefulness, bnt his amount of 
 exertion during that period: for if he bring to his work 
 faculties that have lost their elasticity through the want 
 of sleep, he may, indeed, keep himself busy, hut there is 
 reason to fear that he will be busied in a way that will 
 be little better than killing time. 
 
 " But the error to which I designed lieie to refer, is 
 that of excessive indulgence in sleep. And the evil of 
 this in respect to the loss of time is twofold : not only 
 time which is occupied by sleep is lost, but the mind 
 acquires a habit of drowsiness or indolence, which greatly 
 abates the vigour of all its operations. That different 
 constitutions may require different degrees of rest, there 
 can be no doubt : but how much is necessary in any 
 given case, is to be ascertained only by experiment ; and 
 every one ought to malse it a matter of conscience, to 
 consume as little lime in this way, as is consistent with 
 the most healthful and vigorous state of the faculties." 
 
 Sprague. 
 
 THE POWER OF HABIT. 
 
 '• The custom or frequent practice of anything, begets 
 in us a facility and easiness in doing it. It bends the 
 powers of our soul, turns the stream and current of 
 our animal spirits such a way, and gives all our faculties 
 a tendency and pliableness to such a sort of actions. 
 And when we have long stood bent one way, we grow 
 settled and confirmed in it ; and cannot, without great
 
 432 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 force and violence, be restored to our former state and 
 condition. P^or, the perfection of any habit, whether 
 good or bad, iuduceth a kind of necessity of acting 
 accordingly. A rooted habit becomes a governing prin- 
 ciple, and bears almost au equal sway in us with that 
 which is natin-al. It is a kind of new nature super- 
 induced, and even as hard to be expelled as some things 
 which are primitively and originally natural. When we 
 bend a tiling at first, it will endeavour to restore itself; 
 but it may be held bent so long, till it will continue so 
 of itself, and grow crooked; and tlien it may require 
 more force and violence to reduce it to its former straight- 
 ness, than we used to make it crooked at first. This 
 is the nature of all habits; the farther we proceed, the 
 more we are confirmed in them ; and that which at first 
 we did voluntarily, by degrees becomes so natural, and 
 necessary, that it is almost impossible for us to do other- 
 wise. This is plainly seen in the experience of every 
 day. 
 
 "Who knows what men, thoroughly roused and startled, 
 may resolve, and do ? A mighty resolution will break 
 through dilhculties wliich seem insuperable. Though 
 we be weak and jiitiful creatures, yet nature, when it is 
 mightily irritated and stirred, will do strange things. 
 The resolutions of men, upon the brink of desjiair, have 
 been of an incredible force; and the soul of nuui, in 
 nothing more discovers its divine ])Ower and original, 
 than in that spring which is in it, whereby it recovers 
 itself when it is mightily urged and pressed. There is 
 a sort of resolution which is, in a manner, invincible, 
 and hardly any difliculty can resist it, or stand before it. 
 
 " Of this, there have been great instances in several 
 kinds. Some, by an obstinate resolution, and taking
 
 THE FRIAR AND THE DEVOTEES. 433 
 
 incredible paius with themselves, have mastered great 
 natural vices and defects; as Socrates and Demosthenes, 
 who almost exceeded all mankind in those two things, 
 for which, by nature, they seemed to be least made, and 
 most unfit : one, in governing his jiassions ; and the 
 other, in the mighty force and power of his eloquence. 
 
 " The two great encouragements to virtue, which 
 Pythagoras gave to his scholars, were these, and they 
 were worthy of so great a philosopher : First — ' Choose 
 always the best course of life, and custom will soon make 
 it the most pleasant.' The other was this, — that ' Power 
 and necessity are neighbours, and never dwell far from 
 one another.' When men are pressed by a gi-eat necessity ; 
 when nature is spurred up, and urged to the utmost, 
 men discover in themselves a power they thought they 
 had not, and find at last they can do that, which at first 
 they despaired of ever being able to do." 
 
 A rchbishop Tillotson. 
 
 FABLE XLIX. 
 
 THE FRIAE AND THE DEVOTEES. 
 
 FOR THINKERS. 
 
 THOUGH rather droll this classic fable, 
 I learnt it at a Grecian table, 
 And add it here because, perchance, 
 It may the car of Truth advance. 
 
 A Grecian humorist, 'twas said, 
 Once took a fancy in his head. 
 
 F F
 
 To make confession to his priest, 
 At Santa Maura's holy feast : 
 Such shriving days, the gulls to fleece, 
 Are precious many now in Greece ! 
 
 He goes ; he kneels ; the monk prepares, 
 With sundry sanctimonious airs ; 
 And soon our humorist hegins 
 A pretty lengthy yarn of sins. 
 " Alas ! " he sighed, nor sighed in jest, 
 For that were heartless mirth at best ; 
 " I've one groat fault, let that come first. 
 Though mw\i I fear it's not the worst : — 
 In passing near a tailor's shop. 
 With windows open to the top, 
 I spied, upon a board within, 
 The tempting demon of my sin. 
 
 " This was a gay Albanian shawl, 
 
 Fit for an E])arch at a ball : 
 
 So, straight within I thi-ust my hand, 
 
 To seize a pri/c so great and grand : 
 
 But, mark ! though I would fain have reft it, 
 
 'Twas too far off, and so I left it. 
 
 Sadly I've sighed since that fell time. 
 
 Yet hope it's but a venial crime ; 
 
 For though I tried, it was no go. 
 
 And that 's auotlier thing, you know. 
 
 And so, Sir Monk! you'll mind your eye. 
 
 Nor let the penance rise too high." 
 
 " It's all the same," replied the ]>ricst ; 
 " You tried to steal — a crime at least; 
 For though you failed to clutch your game. 
 You tried, you know, and that's the same :
 
 THE FRIAR AND THE DEVOTEES. 435 
 
 I must absolve the thought itself; 
 So don't be sparing of your pelf." 
 
 Piqued at the doctrine of the friar, 
 
 Our rogue determined to retire, 
 
 And left his five-league yarn unfinished, 
 
 Which must his bootless task have minished ; 
 
 Yet thought it best to fee the priest — 
 
 Or fain to do the thing, at least. 
 
 So when he 'd passed the convent table. 
 
 And judged the man was scarcely able 
 
 To reach across, he searched his hoard, 
 
 And laid a florin on the board. 
 
 " This way, my son ! " the shaveling cries, 
 Straining across with arms and eyes ; 
 " I can't quite reach your pious mite : 
 Just push it o'er, and all is right." 
 
 " Oh, never mind ! " returned the rogue ; 
 " I quite admire your holy brogue ; 
 'Although you failed to clutch your game, 
 You tried, you know, and that 's the same.' " 
 Thus said, he bagged his gold once more, 
 And left the convent in a roar ! 
 
 Scarce had he passed the dingy wall. 
 When an old sailor chanced to call. 
 On the same needless errand bent, 
 For shi-iving 's all in orient Lent. 
 
 " Ah, Jason ! " 'gan the priest, " what now ? 
 You 've many a yarn to spin, I trow, — 
 You always have ; but tell me, pray, 
 What crimes have brought you here to-day?"
 
 43G THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 Now Jason was a Grecian droll — 
 
 A hum'rous, odd, and airy soul : 
 
 So, " Guess," he cried, " good father, guess ; 
 
 I'm rather backward to confess : 
 
 But you '11 make out, T '11 lay my hat, 
 
 What jolly sailors have been at." 
 
 *' Good ! " cried the monk ; " but time is short ; 
 So give the number, not the sort. 
 Have yon some fifty to confess ? 
 Say, Jason, whether more or less." 
 
 " Sail on," bawled Jason, " 'fore the gale ! 
 Sail on ! they 're more by many a bale." 
 
 " A hundred ? "— " Pshaw ! "— " A round six 
 
 score ? " — 
 " Sail on ! you '11 never make the shore." 
 " Five hundred ? " asked the priest, in doubt. 
 " Sail on ! " cried Jason ; " still you 're out ; 
 Put up more canvas ; scud away, 
 Or long's the cruise ye '11 have to-day." 
 " A thousand, then ; or fifty score ?" 
 " You 're not much nearer than before." 
 
 " Madonna ! " sighed the monkish friend; 
 " I don't know how the guess must end. 
 I '11 say at once, ten thousand times, — 
 Is that the budget of your crimes ? " 
 " Cast anchor ! " Jason bawls ; " no doubt, 
 It 's either there, or thereabout. 
 And now, good father ! will you say 
 How I'm to sponge that score away ?" 
 
 " Nay," says the canny priest, " guess thou ; 
 'Tis thine to guess a little now."
 
 1 
 
 THE FRIAR AND THE DEVOTEES. 437 
 
 " Well ; I'm to oiler as a fine, 
 Waxlights at Panagia's shrine. 
 Is that it, priest ? or is the waif 
 \. silver shrine for landing safe ? " 
 " Sail on ! " retorts the witty priest ; 
 " Sail on some fifty leagues at least." 
 
 " Oh ! flog my hide with scorpion whips ? 
 Zounds ! we 've enough of that in ships." 
 •' May be ; but you '11 sail on once more, 
 Or fail to reach the proper shore." 
 " Am I to quit my land and home, 
 A pilgrim vagabond to roam ? " 
 " Sail on ! sail on ! " the monk still cries ; 
 " Up with your topsails, man ! — she shies ! 
 You 've farther yet to sail, my friend, 
 Before your present run can end." 
 
 " 'Sdeath ! " bawled old Jason ; " what d' ye 
 
 mean ? 
 That 's penance bad enough, I ween ; 
 Unless you must be so uncivil. 
 As just to send me to the div'l." 
 " Cast anchor ! " said the jjiiest ; " no doubt, 
 It 's either there, or thereabout." 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 That man, imperfect man, should fall, 
 May grieve, yet not surprise at all ; 
 But can confessionals retrieve ? 
 Such notions both surprise and grieve. 
 Confession more ofienders makes. 
 Than executions, mimes, or wakes !
 
 438 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 Nor that aloue : Heaven's grace to vend 
 
 To who before a mortal bend, 
 
 Must rank among the worst of crimes, 
 
 The worst of wrongs, the worst of times,- 
 
 Times of abuse, of ghostly rule, 
 
 When monks are gods, and man a fool ! 
 
 What ! kneel at yon confessor's box ? — 
 As soon should freemen bear the stocks ! 
 If e'er a real slave there be, 
 Or real tyrant, you '11 agree, 
 'Tis he who crouches to the blind, 
 And he who thus enthrals the mind ; 
 For how can man of freedom boast. 
 When trampled by a surpliced host ? 
 
 Confessors arc the veriest Guys — 
 The Pope's police — domestic spies, — 
 Who pry beneath the broken " seal," 
 Each secret movement to reveal. 
 Whoe'er submits is both a slave, 
 And helps to dig his country's gi-ave \ 
 Would ye confess ? Go bend before 
 The holy God, like saints of yore. 
 I scorn each ghostly despot's shrine. 
 And, Lamb of God ! resort to thine. 
 
 ILIITSTEATIVE PKOSE. 
 
 ON THE LIJ^IITS OF CLERICAL CENSURE. 
 
 " If we inquire into the practice of the primitive 
 Church, wo shall, I believe, find the ministers of the
 
 THE FRIAR AND THE UEVOTEKS. 439 
 
 Word, not only encouraging the good by exhortation, 
 but terrifying the wicked by reproof and denunciation. 
 In the earliest ages of the Church, while religion was 
 yet pure from secular advantages, the punishment of 
 sinners was public censure and open penance ; jjenalties 
 inflicted merely by ecclesiastical authority, at a time 
 while the Church had yet no help from the civil power; 
 while the hand of the magistrate lifted only tlie rod of 
 persecution ; and when governors were ready to afford a 
 refuge to all those who fled from clerical authority. 
 
 "That the Church, therefore, had once a power of 
 public censure, is evident, because that power was fre- 
 quently exercised. That it borrowed not its power from 
 the civil authority, is likewise certain, because civil 
 authority was at that time its enemy. 
 
 " The hour catjie, at length, when after three hundred 
 years of struggle and distress. Truth took possession of 
 imperial power, and the civil laws lent their aid to the 
 ecclesiastical constitutions. The magistrate from that 
 time co-operated with the priest, and clerical sentences 
 were made efiicacious by secular force. But the State, 
 when it came to the assistance of the Church, had no 
 intention to diminish its authority. Those rebukes and 
 those censures which were lawful before, were lawful still. 
 But they had hitherto operated only upon voluntary 
 submission. The refi-actory and contemptuous were at 
 first in no danger of temporal severities, except what 
 they might suffer from the reproaches of conscience, or 
 the detestation of their fellow-Christians. When religion 
 obtained the support of law, if admonitions and censures 
 had no effect, they were seconded by the magistrates 
 with coercion and punishment.
 
 " It therefore appears, from ecclesiastical history, that 
 the right of inflicting shame hy puhlic censure has heen 
 always cousidored as inherent in the Church ; and that 
 this right was not conferred by the civil power ; for it 
 was exercised when the civil power operated against it. 
 By the civil power it was never taken away; for the 
 Christian magistrate interposed his office, not to rescue 
 sinners from censure, but to supply more powerful means 
 of reformation ; to add pain where shame was insufficient; 
 and when men were proclaimed unwoi-thy of the society 
 of the faithfid, to restrain them by imprisonment from 
 spreading abroad the contagion of wickedness. 
 
 " It is not improbable that from this acknowledged 
 power of public censure grew in time the practice of 
 auricular confession. Tliose who dreaded the blast of 
 jiublic reprcliension, were willing to submit themselves 
 to the priest, by a private accusation of themselves ; and 
 to obtain a reconciliation with the Church by a kind of 
 clandestine absolution and invisible penance : conditions 
 witli wliicl) the priest would, in times of ignorance and 
 corruption, easily comply, as they increased his influence, 
 by adding the knowledge of secret sins to that of no- 
 torious offences, and enlarged his authority, by making 
 him the sole arbiter of the terms of reconcilement. 
 
 " From this bondage the Reformation set us free. 
 The minister h.as no longer power to press into the re- 
 tirements of conscience, to torture us by interrogatories, 
 or put himself in possession of our secrets and our lives. 
 But though we have thus controlled liis usurpations, his 
 just and original power remains unimpaired. He may 
 still see, though he may not pry : he may yet hear, 
 though he may not question. And that knowledge which
 
 THE FRIAR AND THE DEVOTEES. 441 
 
 his eyes aud ears force upon him, it is still his duty to 
 use, for the beuetit of his tlock. A father who lives near 
 a wicked neighbour, may forbid a son to frequent his 
 company. A minister who has in his congregation a 
 man of open and scandalous wickedness, may warn his 
 parishioners to shun his conversation. To warn them 
 is not only lawful, but not to warn them would be 
 criminal. He may warn them, one by one, in friendly 
 converse, or by a parochial visitation. But if he may 
 warn each man singly, what shall forbid him to warn 
 them altogether ? Of that which is to be made known 
 to all, how is there any difference whether it be commu- 
 nicated to each singly, or to all together? What is 
 known to all, must necessarily be public. Whether it 
 shall be public at once, or public by degrees, is the only 
 question. And of a sudden and solemn publication the 
 impression is deeper, and the warning more effectual. 
 
 " It may easily be urged, if a minister be thus left at 
 liberty to delate sinners from the pulpit, and to publish 
 at will the crimes of a parishioner, he may often blast 
 the innocent, and distress the timorous. He may be 
 suspicious, and condemn without evidence ; he may 
 be rash, and judge without examination ; he may be 
 severe, and treat slight offences with too much harsh- 
 ness ; he may be malignant and partial, and gratify his 
 private interest or resentment under the shelter of his 
 pastoral character. 
 
 " ' Of all this there is possibility, and of all this there 
 is danger. But if possibility of evil be to exclude good, 
 no good ever can be done. If nothing is to be attempted 
 in which there is danger, we must all sink into hopeless 
 inactivity. The evils that may be feared from this
 
 4-12 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 practice, arise not from any defect in the institution, 
 but from the infirmities of human nature. Power, in 
 whatever hands it is phiccd, will bo sometimes impro- 
 perly exerted; yet courts of law must judge, though 
 they will sometimes judge amiss. A father must instruct 
 his children, though he himself may often want instruc- 
 tion. A minister must censure sinners, though his cen- 
 sure may be sometimes erroneous by want of judgment, 
 and sometimes unjust by want of honesty." 
 
 Dr. Johnson. 
 
 FABLE. L. 
 THE ASS AND THE MONK. 
 
 FOR RULERS. 
 
 f^ OOD Christians, hoar! and I '11 rehearse 
 
 VT A mirthful madrigal in verse, — 
 
 A racy yarn about an ass. 
 
 That turned a monk from eating gi-ass ; 
 
 And if Britannia road aright, 
 
 She '11 put each cowled brigand to flight. 
 
 A stalwart porter, Eoraan-born, 
 
 Was plodding, one bright summer's morn, 
 
 Across the squalid Pontine Pass, 
 
 And by a lialtcr led an ass : 
 
 But mark the moile, for if ye fail, 
 
 You '11 scarcely comprehend the tale. 
 
 The brawny porter trudged before. 
 Grasping the baiter Neddy wore,
 
 THE ASS AND THE MONK. 443 
 
 Yet crossed his hands behind his back, 
 And Neddy followed with his pack ; — 
 Follow or no, the porter led, 
 And, whistling, never thought of Ned. 
 
 At length, about a mile from town. 
 
 They passed a monk in dingy gown, — 
 
 A funny blade, as soon you '11 see, 
 
 Nor over-nice for such as he : 
 
 But monks are wags, and, bless your stars ! 
 
 Those wags will grin through convent bai'S ; 
 
 And, after all, give nie a friar, 
 
 That deals in fun and not in fire ; 
 
 For sick am I at cloistral deeds, 
 
 At which each manly bosom bleeds. 
 
 Well ; Father Selmo saw them pass, — 
 I mean our porter and his ass, 
 The porter whistling like a gale, 
 And Neddy trudging at his taiF: 
 So our facetious monkish spark 
 Resolved for once to have a lark, 
 And, " Bacco, aid ! " he cried with glee, 
 " A trick worth twenty ye shall see." 
 
 Anon he skips, with nimble toe, 
 Behind the pair as on they go, 
 Slips the noosed rope from Neddy's head. 
 And puts it o'er his own instead. 
 Glad to escape, the jaded ass 
 Soon fell behind to nib the grass. 
 Yet smiled to see his master trudge. 
 As gi-ave as any new-wigged judge, 
 Leading the monk, who, as we said, 
 Had got the halter o'er his head.
 
 444 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 And Ned a thousand thanks had hrayed, 
 But did not wish the friar hetrayed. 
 
 On stalks the porter still, nor feels 
 The monk, not Neddy, at his heels ; 
 And oft as " gee wau up !" he hawls. 
 Or jerks the halter as he calls, 
 Our mirthful friar would mend his pace, 
 And trot with genuine donkey grace ; 
 Nay, even dared to prance or hray, 
 If other donkeys crossed his way. 
 
 Alas, that gods such sport should mar ! 
 But soon he pushed the joke too far; 
 For, just to hring him to a stand, 
 He bit the porter's brawny hand. 
 Who, smarting with the pain he had, 
 And fearing Neddy might be mad, 
 Started, and spun most nimbly round, 
 To fell his donkey to the ground : 
 But fancy his bewildered mind. 
 So huge a miracle to find, 
 The clown was ready to expire, 
 For Neddy had become a friar ! 
 
 " My son !" the witty monk began, 
 " Fear not to find your ass a man ; 
 Though I was Ned, and now say mass, 
 Such changes come to many an ass : 
 Balaam's tlie human voice could ape, 
 And 1 but add the human shape : 
 So pax vohiscum ! cease to pine, 
 Some nobler ass may yet be thine."
 
 THE ASS AND THE MONK. 445 
 
 " Good Ned ! — good friar !" our porter cries, 
 
 And crossed himself witli iiiilift eyes ; 
 
 " Sir Monk ! Sir Edward! — Bah ! I vow, 
 
 I don't know what to call you now : 
 
 Dear Ned ! Dear father Edward ! — Zounds ! 
 
 Tins miracle my head confounds. 
 
 And yet — why yes ! by great St. Gaul ! 
 
 You must be hoaxing, after all: 
 
 You 're father Selmo hy your looks, 
 
 My own confessor ; yes, gadzooks ! 
 
 You must be larking, for I see 
 
 My Neddy, too, by yonder tree. 
 
 " And yet. Sir Monk ! to speak my mind, 
 I wonder I have been so blind. 
 Or felt so much surprise or ire, 
 To think my donkey turned a friar ; 
 For many an ass, as you 've just said, 
 Turns monk, as well as my poor Ned. 
 In short, no friar have I yet seen. 
 Though fifty years at Rome I 've been. 
 At home, abroad, at prayer or mass, 
 But spoke and acted like an ass. 
 There's father Numskull, father Brute, 
 And father Stiiff-enough, to boot; 
 There's father Tippler, father Pride, 
 And herds of holy friars beside ; 
 For abbots, priors, gi-eat and small, 
 Are mindless drones, and asses all." 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Ye Vandal herds, w^ho seek once more 
 Britannia's unsuspecting shore !
 
 440 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 Ye spies of Eome ! too skilled in crime ! 
 Ye sjiawn of dark Nuniidia's clime ! 
 Ye dreamy droues and Gothic clowns, 
 In pagan sack and shaven crowns ! 
 Fly hence as erst your fathers flew ; 
 This isle has had enough of you ! 
 
 At holy wedlock ye can scowl, 
 Yet maids and matrons dread your cowl ; 
 Of sacred freedom now ye rave, 
 Yet have ye dug her many a grave : 
 To Albion's strand ye wing your flight, 
 Yet even Spain detests your sight : 
 Fly hence as erst your fathers flew ; 
 Europe has had enough of you ! 
 
 No Dunstan shall usurp our crown; 
 No Becket on Victoria frown ; 
 No Dominic, no Pe re-la- Chaise, — 
 Those tyrant monks of worn-out days ! 
 Ours is a land to freedom kind : 
 Ours is a faith from God's own mind : 
 Fly, then, as erst your fathers flew ; 
 The world has had enough of you ! 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE PROSE. 
 
 THE EVILS OF MONACHISM. 
 
 " MoNAcnisM did not spring from jmre Christianity, 
 but was engrafted upon the system, after it had been 
 grievously corrupted. It is evidently one of the great
 
 THE ASS AND THE MONK. 447 
 
 offshoots of that ascetic principle, which is indigenous 
 in human nature, and of which the developments may 
 be traced in the Jewish Essenes, the Greek Cynics, the 
 Alexandrian Platonists, the British Druids, and the 
 Eastern Brahmins. 
 
 " The practice of a monastic life, in its connexion 
 with the Church, commenced in Egyj^t, in the third 
 century. The storms of persecution di"0ve many into 
 the deserts, where they sought to carry out the ascetic 
 prmciples which, even at that time, were so strongly 
 advocated by Cyprian and others. The spirit of self- 
 righteousness, which had led to the Pharisaism of the 
 Jews, and had produced no little of Pharisaism among 
 Christians, doubtless helped on the result ; to which, 
 perhaps, the contemplative habits of the East, the pre- 
 ference of quietude to activity, and the notion that the 
 height of religious excellence consists in the absorption 
 of the mind hy spiritual meditation, in some measure 
 contributed. The founders of Monachism were, in fact, 
 hermits, who sought the cavern and the den, the ruins 
 of sepulchres, and the dreariest spots of the desert, 
 as scenes favoiu-able to jjiety and communion with 
 Heaven. # * * # 
 
 " The first of the anchorets, whose name was Paul, 
 has been immortalised by Jerome, who, in bis inimi- 
 table biography of that singular person, aflbrds a 
 characteristic S2)ecimen of the absurd superstition and 
 credulity, or something worse, which then overflowed 
 the Church, mingled with those elevated sentiments 
 which, in many happy instances, were still cherished 
 and exi)ressed. The eloquent father relates the most 
 absurd stories respecting his hero, telling ns that he
 
 44:8 THE BATH I'A ISLES. 
 
 was met by a hippocentaur — a being balf Jiorse and 
 lialf man — who begged hiin to intercede with Christ for 
 his salvation ; that a raven, who brought hiiu lialf a 
 loaf every day, brought him a whole loaf on the occa- 
 sion of St. Anthony's visit ; that Paul was seen as- 
 cending to licavcn amidst bands of angels and pro^ihets, 
 and that two lions were sent to dig his grave, who, 
 when they had finished their task, crouched at the feet 
 of the saint, and sought and received his blessing. * * 
 
 " In tlie early part of the fifth century, there arose 
 an individual who created a great and a permanent 
 change in tlie monastic life, by reducing the institute 
 into a regular and defined system. This was Benedict, 
 the founder of tlie first monastic order, properly so 
 called. Marvellous are the stories related of this cele- 
 brated monk. He is said to have been frequently 
 buffeted by Satan, who sometimes appeared with horns 
 and hoofs, and sometimes in tl)e form of a blackbird. 
 The miracles the saint performed were more than 
 usually numerous, even in that miraculous age ; and 
 so strong and inherent was the devotional temperament 
 of his mind, that he is described as having sung psalms 
 before he was born t * * * 
 
 " On looking at the social influence of Monachism, 
 one of the first things that strike us is the eflect 
 which it was calculated to i^roducc upon the mind of 
 the fraternity, who, ai'lcr the order had spread, formed 
 no small portion of the population of Europe. Strict 
 conformity to the I'ules of St. Benedict, nnd obedience 
 to the su]ierior of the convent, formed the heauideal 
 of the monk. Implicit submission, moral and religious, 
 was yielded to a fellow-man. I'he more abject this 
 submission, the more meritorious it was deemed. St.
 
 THE ASS AND THE MONK. 449 
 
 Columbanus, who has been described as ' the most 
 remarkable character of his age,' stretched the priu- 
 cijile of obedience so far, in his penitential discipline, 
 as to lay down the following rules : — That any monk 
 who did not sign with a cross the s2:)oon with which he 
 ate, or who struck the table with his knife, or who 
 should cough at the beginning of a psalm, should re- 
 ceive the punishment of six lashes. The way in 
 which submission to a superior was sometimes ex- 
 pressed by the monkish fraternity, is amusing enough. 
 We read of one of these worthies, who, when his 
 superior, an illiterate man, stopped him as he was 
 reading a Latin sentence, and bade him pronounce 
 the e in docere short, he at once gave up the right 
 pronunciation; knowing, it is remarked, that to dis- 
 obey his abbot, who commanded him in Clirist's name, 
 was a greater sin than to adopt a false quantity. And 
 this very monk was no other than the celebrated 
 Laufranc, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury. 
 
 " This picture of the prostration of the human un- 
 derstanding to the vows of monastic obedience, is truly 
 humiliating ; and, in many cases, there can be no doubt 
 that the minds of the monks were decidedly enfeebled 
 by the discipline they observed. Monasteries soon be- 
 came, but too generally, most corrupt establishments, 
 which the energy and zeal of the more devout of the 
 order in vain attempted to reform. There is sufficient 
 evidence running through the whole history of the 
 middle ages, of the moral evils of the system. While 
 an extreme party often appeared doing their utmost 
 to tighten the cords of discipline, and rushing to the 
 most ridiculous excesses of monkish severity ; another 
 party, more numerous, was uever wanting, who j)racti- 
 
 G G
 
 -too THE BATU FABLES. 
 
 cally relaxed the bonds of tbeir order, and indulged 
 in various irregularities. Nor were the scenes of mo- 
 nastic seclusion quite so jieaceful as the romantic 
 imagination is wont to picture, or the vows of obedience 
 quite so binding as would ai)pear from the theory of 
 the system established by Benedict ; for, if we are to 
 believe the testimony of those times, it not seldom 
 happened that one fraternity quarreled with another; 
 that monasteries were scenes of confusion ; that monk 
 fell out with monk ; that the brotherhood rebelled 
 against their superior, and that some discontented 
 member turned fugitive, fairly escaped from the con- 
 vent, and sought refuge in another establishment, — in 
 consequence of which a warm correspondence took 
 place between the dishonoured abbot and some neigh- 
 bouring prior, who had taken the runaway wider his 
 patronage. Some were dissatisfied because discipline 
 was too lax ; some rebelled because it was too strict ; 
 and some did just as they liked, because there was uo 
 discipline at all. The effect of all this vice, disorder, 
 and misrule, upon society, could not fail to be i)cr- 
 nicious. The influence of such men, who, while they 
 set themselves up as models of sanctity and obedience, 
 thus violated their vows, fostered the practice of all 
 sorts of evil among the people at large. Historians 
 have, therefore, .justly laid at tlic door of these insti- 
 tutions, thus grossly corrupted, the blame of much of 
 that social depravity whicli darkened the middle ages. 
 
 Orajyheus. 
 
 Zimmerman's interesting work, " On Solitude," will 
 both enlighten and amuse the reader, by its singular 
 details on the portentous evils of IMonachism. — W.
 
 A 
 
 THE BACHELOR AND THE MAIDS. 451 
 
 FABLE LI. 
 THE BACHELOR AND THE MAIDS. 
 
 FOR HUSBAND-HUNTERS. 
 
 BALL, philosophers assever, 
 
 If once afloat, would float for ever, 
 Were no rude friction in the way, 
 Its force-locomotive to stay. 
 But woman's tongue, if love excite. 
 Or some rich Coelebs heave in sight, 
 Laughs e'en at friction, scorns the notion. 
 And ladies prove perpetual motion. 
 I don't mean all, for that 1 doubt : 
 Say half; 'tis there, or there about. 
 The story of Tom Solus read, 
 And you '11 agree ; you will, indeed. 
 
 Tom was an unwed millionaire, 
 
 Who truly loved the modest fair. 
 
 And longed to take a loving wife, 
 
 But durst not settle, for his life : 
 
 For Tom a silly notion had. 
 
 That if you 're rich and richly clad, — 
 
 Suppose ten thousand pounds a year, — 
 
 You 're only sought, and only dear. 
 
 Because you own that mint of gold. 
 
 And then you 're charming, young or old. 
 
 Now, Tom was rich, his tandem kept, 
 
 So vowed he 'd look before he leapt. 
 
 One night to Almack's rolled his carriage. 
 Where chaperons were plotting marriage,
 
 4r)2 THE BATH PABLES, 
 
 Where dehxUantes were shooting smiles, 
 With Cupid's most ensnaring wiles; 
 Ami tripped on light fantastic toe, 
 Like sylphids in a fairy row : 
 What pity that so hland a scene, ' 
 Should change to tournaments so keen ! 
 But earth is never truly blest, 
 And man must seek a higher rest. 
 
 Tom Solus always used some art, 
 From lady coteries to start, 
 But found himself, quadrilles scarce o'er. 
 Beset by, zounds ! at least a score. 
 All charming, lovable and fair. 
 Some sprrituelle and ilchonnaire. 
 And any man, save nabobs, might 
 Have fixed lor life that very night; 
 But Tom, afraid to seem a gudgeon. 
 Fought shy as any cool curmudgeon. 
 I blame him, ladies ! that I own. 
 And can't explain his sullen tone ; 
 Yet, ah ! it is a fearful thing, 
 To stand in such a fairy ring. 
 
 Then, women's tongues! But hang it, friends ! 
 
 I'm getting rude, and there it ends. 
 
 At length those maids, who loved a lark, 
 Resolved to twit our wealthy spark. 
 And, thronging round, they all began 
 To tease the cautious, scUish man; 
 Yet must I own, and so will you, 
 Tom paid 'em back, with interest too! 
 
 •' So, Mr. Solus!" Sylvia cried, 
 
 " 'Tis said, at last, you take a bride."
 
 TUE BACHELOR AND THE MAIDS. 453 
 
 " Indeed !" said Maud, " but tell us, pray, 
 
 When we're to hail that happy day?" 
 
 " I wish the lady joy !" bawled Kate, 
 
 " But Solus niay regret his fate, — 
 
 May think she worships cash, not him ; 
 
 One sometimes hears of such a whim!" 
 
 " Heigho!" sighed Jane, " I don't know why 
 
 Folks wish to wed ; I don't, not I ! 
 
 At all events, with you, Sir Solus, 
 
 Though ever anxious to cajole us!" 
 
 Thus rattled on the pretty crew. 
 As maids of ton are prone to do ; 
 And each pretended that her wit 
 Was only to give Tom a hit ; 
 But all their badinage just meant, — 
 " I wish he'd ask, and pa consent !" 
 
 So, when the girls had plied their battery,— 
 Banter and wheedling, joke and flattery, 
 Our millionaire returned their jeers, 
 And thus accounted for his fears : — 
 
 " Ye pretty maids, with sparkling eyes. 
 And, what is better, gentle, wise. 
 Sweet-tempered and of faith possessed, — 
 The very thing to make one blest! 
 You laugh because I'm sad, and fear 
 To wed a girl, however dear ; 
 But did you know why all my sadness, 
 You'd own some method in my madness. 
 
 "Ah, woe is me! go where I may, — 
 To court, to Almack's, park or play, 
 1 meet a hundred flashing eyes, 
 More brilliant than Italian skies ;
 
 454 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 But every glance, and every sigh, 
 And every word, — is just a lie ! 
 For though it whisper love, tis cold, 
 And only sighs to wed ray gold ; 
 While finer fellows than myself, 
 Are jilted day by day for pelf. 
 
 " When Alexander's neck is wiy, 
 His false, toad-eating court all fly 
 To wry-necks too, in ton to be, — 
 And that 's the women's way with me. 
 Why does Miss Clara shine in white ? 
 Because I praised it t'other night; 
 For scarce a week ago as yet, 
 She vowed there 's nothing like dairette! 
 Why do the tradesfolks round complain, 
 That you young ladies all disdain 
 To touch a ribbon ? just because, 
 I chanced to praise Italian gauze! 
 
 " I first planned bustles, just to show, 
 How far ye lady-toadies go ; 
 E'en sandal-bands ye kicked aside, 
 The moment I began to chide. 
 If parasols I banned, you 'd soon 
 Be seen without tlicm, e'en in June; 
 And if your bonnets, by the powers! 
 You 'd go without in April showers: 
 Yes ! eaeli would own Tom Solus' rule. 
 And make herself an April fool ! 
 
 " So beat your bosoms, maids ! and own. 
 Such are the follies ye have done ; 
 
 And why ? Ah ! blushing ! now its clear,- 
 
 You love ten thousand pounds a year ;
 
 THE BACHELOR AND THE JIAIDS. 455 
 
 You'd clutch the gold, and bear the mau, 
 But catch me, ladies, if ye can !" 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 I fear, Tom Solus ! you were rude, 
 Such cool aspersions to obtrude ; 
 And candid minds must ever chide 
 Your jealous foresight and your pride : 
 For why suppose, unmanly churl ! 
 That under each fair lady's curl 
 There lurks the god of gold ? Forshame ! — 
 Tom Solus ! you are much to blame. 
 
 Still, should a maid who reads my rhymes, 
 
 Deem me too candid for the times, 
 
 And fear some ladies, nay, herself, 
 
 Might wed Tom Solus for his pelf; 
 
 I hope my fable may effect 
 
 Her cure, and all such ills correct : 
 
 In short, I think it must, for sure. 
 
 To know one's case is half the cure. 
 
 Gaze, Aurivelle ! at history's page, 
 Fraught with the fate of many an age ; 
 And if on pomp or wealth intent. 
 Thy rage ignoble may relent. 
 Thus Boleyn sighed for royal state. 
 Yet sighed full soon to meet her fate ; 
 But Albion's Queen waved wealth away. 
 And Heaven hath blest her nuptial-day. 
 I spurn not gold : no sane one will ; 
 Fanshaw, though rich, lived happy still ; 
 But she was good, nor scorned to be 
 Heaven's almoner, j^ale Want ! to thee.
 
 400 THK BATH FABLES. 
 
 ILITISTIIATIYE PROSE. 
 
 LETTER FROM A RICH BACHELOR. 
 
 " My dear Friend : — Some men, you know, doat 
 upon riches, strive for them, slave for them, sin for 
 them : others are the miserable victims of love, whose 
 chains they fain would break, but cannot — whose tyran- 
 nical commands, in spite of reason, they obey. My dis- 
 comforts proceed from very different causes ; wealth is 
 my annoyance, freedom from love my grief. 
 
 " I was born a descendant from younger sons, with 
 only a noble name for my inheritance, and compelled to 
 gain my subsistence by labour and industry. Happy 
 necessity ! For ten years of my life I rose every morning 
 to a day of monotonous business ; for ten years every 
 moment of leisure was precious. You must remember 
 the delight with wliich I welcomed my annual holidays, 
 the glee with which I set out to gaze on green fields and 
 inhale fresh breezes. I often envy my former self the 
 transports of joy, which the permission to shoot over a 
 manor e.xcited. What preparation of powder and shot! 
 what borrowing of dogs and cleaning of guns ! what 
 voluntary hardships and willing fatigues ! The careful 
 arrangement of my expenditure was another source of 
 interest and amusement. How rich, how very rich, I 
 lelt when I had twenty guineas more than I absolutely 
 wanted ! how I speculated and debated about their 
 employment! The gradual acquisition of a tolerable 
 library was a constant reason for economy, and gi-eat 
 was the pleasure with which I hailed every addition to 
 my shelves. You have often laughed at the frequent
 
 THE BACHELOR AND THE MAIDS. 457 
 
 visits which I paid to every book-stall of any celebrity ; 
 and wherever a few dingy volumes were exposed for sale, 
 thither you were sure to see me direct my eyes and my 
 attention. How I lingered round the abode of some 
 coveted book, and cheapened, and hesitated, and de- 
 parted, and returned, till its owner relaxed his rigour, or 
 my eagerness yielded to his demands ! True, I had petty 
 restrictions, and ungratified wishes, but my disposition 
 delights in difficulty, and is not discouraged by distance. 
 I possessed blessings enough for present comfort, had 
 objects for eager pursuit, sanguine spirits to urge me on, 
 and hope to tell me that [ should at length succeed. 
 
 " There was no vacuum in my thoughts, no dulness in 
 my days; and, pleased, I beheld my industry attaining its 
 reward, my library lengthening its rows, and the time 
 approaching, so long anticipated as the commencement 
 of complete felicity, when my income might permit me, 
 without imprudence, to look about for a wife, — to select 
 some fair, and kind, and amiable woman, whose affection, 
 pure and disinterested, whose tastes, innocent as my own, 
 whose wishes, as humble, would allow her to find hap- 
 piness in that quiet, unpretending home, where all my 
 desires centred. Every man builds castles in the air; 
 every man will occasionally indulge in fancying a bright 
 futurity; and many a night did I steal an hour from sleep, 
 many a day did I waste a few unoccupied minutes, many 
 a man did I run against in the streets, and many a pud- 
 dle dimmed the brightness of my boots, while I was 
 figuring to myself the happiness of being two-and-thirty, 
 and having seven hundred a year, — for that was the 
 age, and this the sum, which were to be the immediate 
 precursors of Hymen. The intervening years would 
 soon slip away, and then I should make my selection. I 
 decided on the hair, the eyes, the height, the Christian
 
 458 THE n\TH FABLES. 
 
 name of my bride ; I saw her radiant smile, her looks of 
 modesty and love ; a hundred limes I ofiiered her my 
 hand and heart— a hundred times I heard her whispered 
 acceptance ; 1 fixed on twenty houses for our future re- 
 sidence, and almost arranged their furniture and eco- 
 nomy. I imagined myself disposing my books on the 
 shelves of my snug little parlour ; I fancied my break- 
 fast-table enlivened by woman's presence ; T saw the 
 parting nod which spoke the morning farewell, and the 
 cheerful smile which gi-eeted my return from business ; 
 and still advancing in time and in happiness, saw baby 
 faces held up to welcome my arrival, and lieard those 
 young and joyous voices which convey cheerfulness and 
 delight to a parent's heart. Meanwhile I steeled my 
 heart against female jiower ; resolutely ran away from 
 temptation ; and, convinced that an engagement of more 
 than a twelvemonth was neither pleasant nor prudent, I 
 determined not to attempt to gain any woman's affections, 
 till I had it in my power to offer her a comfortable home. 
 
 "Sometimes my heart was pricked, sometimes slightly 
 wounded. 1 occasionally detected myself identifying the 
 creation of my fancy with my last partner in a quadrille, 
 admitting the possibility of admiring blue eyes as well 
 as brown, or even sus])ecting that I might marry a 
 woman whose name was neither Mary nor Ellen. At 
 length, four years before the wooing-time arrived, the 
 deaths of an uncle, whom I had never seen, and of two 
 cousins, who refused me the honour of a passing bow, 
 put me most unexpectedly in possession of ten tliousand 
 a year. I was much surj)rised, and supposed that my 
 happiness would be considerably increased. I gave up 
 my business, discharged my lodgings, and prepared to 
 set out for the I'amily mansion. Already was a change
 
 THE BACHELOR AND THE MAIDS. 459 
 
 in my feelings visible. My little library, once so pre- 
 cious, was now of small importance, and I gave no direc- 
 tions about the packing of my books, though there was 
 a time when the loss of a single volume, or the injury of 
 a single leaf, would have been a serious annoyance. I 
 passed a shop where a handsome edition of Livy had 
 once attracted my envying eyes, without casting a glance 
 towards it. ' I can buy that at anytime,' thought I, and 
 the meditated purchase seemed robbed of half its value. 
 I soon found it the same in other respects. At first, 
 indeed, it was so new and pleasant to feel my acquired 
 dignity, to receive congratulations, issue orders, direct 
 improvements, that a twelvemonth passed away happily 
 enough. Even now, indeed, I ought to be happy : I have 
 health, and riches, and afiectionate friends, yet life 
 seems unusually dull, and time will sometimes hang 
 heavily on my hands. Now I have the entire disposal 
 of my whole day, leisure is less valuable ; now I might 
 read from morning to night, I find less pleasure in 
 study ; now I have only to order as many books as I 
 please, the selection affords me less amusement — the 
 acquisition less delight; now I may shoot over good 
 preserves from September 1st to April 5th, I take up 
 my gun with less glee, and bring down my bird with 
 less triumph ; and now I may marry any girl in the 
 country, I find it quite impossible to fall in love with 
 one of them. I am so fond of female society, so con- 
 vinced that man's happiness and respectability flourish 
 best in domestic life, that I really take pains to lose 
 my heart — try to coax myself into affection, to fan my- 
 self into flames. But, alas! all to no pui-pose; I cannot 
 persuade myself of the sincerity of that partiality which 
 I everywhere encounter ; and I read in sparkling eyes,
 
 400 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 and clieeks which grow brighter at my approach, uo- 
 thiiig but a readiness to live at Northwood Hall, aud 
 assist me in the expenditure of ten thousand a year. 
 
 " 'Jo be accepted merely for my wealth, to become 
 tlie prize and the dupe of some mercenary woman, to 
 find indiflbrence and dissipation, where I hoped for 
 true attachment and quiet tastes, would be, in my 
 o])inion, the summit of discomfort. Doubtless, there 
 ai'e thousands of women in the world who would spurn 
 the idea of marrying from interested motives — women 
 capable of the purest and the strongest affection ; but 
 how am I to discinminate? — how distinguish the words 
 and looks of dawning partiality, from those of crafty 
 semblance ? A mistake would be irretrievable, would 
 destroy the happiness of my life at a blow. The risk 
 is too great to be encountered; and I find myself obliged 
 to adopt the motto of a bachelor-peer of high rank, who 
 is, perhaps, in some degree actuated by similar feelings, 
 and to say to myself, when surrounded by winning 
 smiles and favouring glances, — ' Cavendo tutus ! cavendo 
 tutus !' 
 
 " I am not only excluded by my suspicions from 
 matrimony, but am almost shut out by my jirinciples 
 from female society. Too honourable to desire to excite 
 ini founded hopes and expectations, I carefully abstain 
 from any ])eculiar attentions to single women ; but, 
 alas ! I cannot now ask a young lady to drink wine, 
 without a congratulatory glance jiassing between her 
 father and mother ; nor request her to be my partner 
 in a quadrille, without raising sanguine hopes of a 
 partnership of a more durable nature. If I chance 
 to speak low to any fair expectant, a murmur runs 
 round the room, that I am making my proposals ; and
 
 THE BACHELOR AND THE MAIDS. 461 
 
 the offer of my arm during a walk, the loau of a book, 
 or the approval of a drawing, is sure to produce a 
 paragraph in the County Chronicle, in which I am led 
 to the hymeneal altar with the object of this unmeaning 
 attention. Then, how the fathers and mothers, and 
 uncles and aunts, teaze me about my bachelor con- 
 dition ! The health of the future Mrs. is drunk 
 
 at every dinner-party. Whenever North wood Hall is 
 mentioned, it is declared to want nothing but a mis- 
 tress ; and, ' So you are going to be married at last? ' — 
 ' So you are really about to become a Benedict ?' — 'Who 
 is the fortunate lady?' — 'When am I to wish you joy?' 
 — and a hundred jokes about honeymoons, curtain- 
 lectures, and petitions for wedding-cakes and favours, 
 meet me in all directions. If I may trust the account 
 of their relations, all the young women in my neigh- 
 bourhood are miracles of sense and excellence, patterns 
 of every virtue, and all I have to do is to decide between 
 rival angels. These pieces of perfection themselves ai'e 
 very willing to perform the agreeable. Two or three 
 are learning Italian, because I said, by chance, it was 
 my favourite language; four are squalling themselves 
 hoarse, because I am fond of singing; and there is not 
 a colour to be seen on one of them, since I was heai'd 
 to say that I thought white dresses most genteel and 
 becoming. In some respects my influence is beneficial. 
 I have banished waltzing from the country, by saying 
 I should not like my wife to waltz ; and the once 
 neglected National Schools have abundance of patronage, 
 since I expressed my approbation of two or three good 
 old ladies who occasionally attended them. 
 
 " Suppose not, my dear friend, that my vanity is 
 at all gratified by so much compliance and flattery :
 
 4G2 THE nATir fables. 
 
 ou the contrary, I assign all to the real motives, feel 
 vexed and mortified, and fear I must live and die a 
 bachelor, because all the ladies are anxious to marry 
 me. Willingly, cheerfully, would I resign my fortune, 
 leave Northwood Hall and idleness for London and 
 labour, could I do so consistently with duty and common 
 sense. But this is impossible; and 1 am obliged to 
 exchange unsusjiecting love and confiding afiection for 
 splendour I do not relish, and leisure I do not enjoy. 
 I yearn for the duties, the charities, tlie blessings of 
 domestic life ; but must content mysell" with performing 
 well the obligations of a master, a landlord, and a 
 friend; — happy if, after years of caution and suspicion, 
 I do not, in more advanced life, overthrow the prudence 
 of years by the infatuation of a week, and become at 
 threescore the dupe of arts which, at thirty, T should 
 have discovered and despised." 
 
 New Montldy Magazine. 
 
 FABLE Lll. 
 THE MOPPET AND THE SHOWMAN. 
 
 FOR SCEPTICS. 
 
 MIGHTY as is the human mind, 
 Blow out the lamp of heaven, 't is blind; 
 For though of science it may boast, 
 'T is dark in what concerns it most.
 
 THE MOPPET AND THE SHOWMAN. 463 
 
 One vernal eve, anear the Strand, 
 A puppet-sbowman took bis stand, 
 Encircled by some noisy masses, 
 Of cads and porters, lads and lasses. 
 Tbe curtain rose, the scene is clear. 
 When Punch and Judy prompt appear ; 
 And many a tussle, sure, they bad, 
 As though all wedded folks were mad, — 
 Scolding, scuffling, scrambling, squalling, 
 Thumping, bumping, tumbling, bawling, — 
 While all tbe loungers laughed aloud, 
 For Punch will never jade tbe crowd ; 
 And lords and dames of mighty port, 
 Like Lady Morgan, love the sport. 
 
 This combat o'er, now shifts the scene, — 
 Six fantoccini step between. 
 All lively, noisy, flippant things ; 
 You'd scarcely think they hung on springs. 
 These moppets spouted, sang and danced; 
 Mounted, descended, gamboled, pranced ; 
 And all, save one, performed their part, 
 With skill that tluilled through every heart. 
 This fa ntoccino, you must know, 
 Turned crustv, and refused to show ; 
 And, while the master blamed his man, 
 Our flippant moppet thus began : — 
 
 " Long have I harboured painful doubt ; 
 'T is time, Sir Showman ! to speak out: 
 I'm sick of wires and leading-strings ; 
 I bate your pulleys, gripes and springs. 
 Pray, is it not a crying shame. 
 That I've the toil, and you the fame ?
 
 404 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 A truce with your officious pains ! 
 You absolutely turn my biaiiis ! 
 I'm hugged and helj)ed, I do declare, 
 Like penny dolls at Fairlop fair. 
 You need not pull, nor haul, nor teach ; 
 I'm equal to the loftiest speech, — 
 To (jdlopade or treble tone, — 
 So let me act my part alone." 
 
 " Mopsey ! " the pensive showman cries, 
 " I blush to find you so unwise. 
 I turn your brains ! that 's rather queer, — 
 You 've got no brains to turn, my dear ! 
 You '11 rue your folly, I can say, 
 Whene'er I take your strings away ; 
 And yet, Impertinence ! I yield — 
 Your strings are off, so take the field !" 
 
 Emancipated from her thrall, 
 
 The. joyous puppet got a fall. 
 
 But begged the man, with wounded pride, 
 
 To set her up against the side ; 
 
 Tiien should he see her reel and prance, 
 
 Like all the dolls about to dance. 
 
 And now the merry choir began : 
 Round and still round the moppets ran, 
 Turned corners with an air so bland, 
 Poussette, pirotictts, and allemande, — 
 The simjtler folks full oft avowed. 
 The puppets were with life endowed. 
 Meantime, poor Mopsey stood apart, 
 A mere spectator of the art — 
 As stifi'as starch, as still as stone — 
 For how should puppets move alone ?
 
 THE JIOPPET AND THE SHOWMAN. 405 
 
 And now, if slie had brains at all, 
 They must be turned at such a fall: 
 For, as owx fantoccini reeled, 
 All giddy, on their narrow field. 
 One hapless fellow chanced to kick 
 Poor Mopsey's leg, while passing quick, — 
 His feet got tangled in her own. 
 And Mopsey uttered many a groan, 
 Till down she fell — a frightful thwack — 
 With all the dancers on her back ! 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 There are, and have been, minds astray, 
 From Shaftesbury to Byron's day, — 
 Bold sceptics who the truth disown. 
 And fondly hope to go alone. 
 To ghostly tyranny and crimes. 
 In Gaul, and eke in colder climes ; 
 To Louis, Borgia, Becket, Laud ; 
 We owe the men who slight their God. 
 
 Oh ! could the sceptic but aocord, 
 That though tiara, or My Lord, 
 May miscreant live, and recreant die, 
 Truth still holds kindred with tlie sky ; 
 Nor let this awful thought be passed, — 
 Who close the Bible, fall at last ! 
 
 And yet not all ; for thousands stray, 
 From hate to Salem's narrow way : 
 Else, in our Sumners, Smiths, and Jays, 
 Whose love and lore so brightly blaze. 
 Candour might own, and reason see. 
 How well their creed and life agree ! 
 
 H H
 
 •400 THE HATH FABLES. 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE PROSE. 
 
 THE OEIGIN OF DOLLS. 
 
 Moppet is but another name for puppet or doll, and 
 doll is i)robably from the Greek term, idol. But who 
 would have imagined the real origin of children's dolls ? 
 In "Ackermann's Repository" for 1825 we find the fol- 
 lowing facts : — 
 
 Charles VI. of France was of a disordered mind, 
 and to amuse him, some one invented the game at 
 cards. Of these, however, he soon became tired, when 
 the arrival of an Italian showman happily su]iplied 
 a substitute. His name was Pufello, and his exhibition 
 consisted of thirty-six Roman empresses, contained in 
 cofl'ers, carried about on thirty mules, decorated with 
 bells. 
 
 Pufello was commanded to the court of Charles, 
 before whom he e.xhibited with great eclat. Among 
 other names of Roman empresses, that of Poppea, wife 
 of Nero, so took the French king's fancy, that he pur- 
 chased her image of Pufello for a sum tantamount 
 to about three hundred francs of the present age, for 
 Charles died about the year 1400. As court example 
 is sure of imitation, Pufello, in a few days, found all 
 his thirty Roman ladies converted into solid cash. 
 Not coin-tiers alone, but wealthy citizens, vied with 
 each other in securing one; and as that of the king 
 was a Poppea, so all tho others got the same name, — 
 just as monks of rival convents boast of owning two 
 or three heads of St. John, or two or three garments 
 or " holy coats" of Christ.
 
 THE MOPPET AND THE SHOWMAN. 467 
 
 This name, Poppea, was gradually changed by our 
 French neighbours into poppee, pouppee, and, finally, 
 poupee. From poitpee comes the diminutive poupette, 
 a smaller sort of figure, and thenoe our puppet. After 
 grave men had tired of their puppets or dolls, they 
 became a toy for children, and remain such to the 
 present day. — W. 
 
 ON ATHEISM. 
 
 " There are two considerations which have been often 
 urged against Atheists, and whicli they never yet could 
 get over. The first is, that the greatest and most 
 eminent persons of all ages have been against them, 
 and always complied with the public forms of worshi]> 
 established in their respective countries, when there 
 was nothing in them either derogatory to the honour 
 of the Supreme Being, or prejudicial to the good of 
 mankind. 
 
 " Tlie Platos and Ciceros, among the ancients — the 
 Bacons, the Boyles, and the Lockes, among our own 
 countrymen — are all instances of what I have been 
 saying : not to mention any of the divines, however 
 celebrated, since our adversaries challenge all those as 
 men who have too much interest in this case to be 
 impartial evidences. 
 
 " But what has been often urged as a consideration 
 of much more weight, is not only the opinion of the 
 better sort, but the general consent of mankind to 
 this great truth; which I think could not possibly 
 have come to pass, but fi'om one of the three following 
 reasons : — either that the idea of a God is innate and
 
 468 THE BATH FABLKS. 
 
 co-existent with the mind itself; or that this truth is 
 so very obvious, that it is discovered by the first 
 exertion of reason in persons of the most ordinary 
 capacities ; or, lastly, that it has been delivered down 
 to us through all ages by a tradition from the first man. 
 
 " The Atheists are equally confounded, to whichever 
 of these three causes we assign it. They have been 
 so ])ressed by this last argument from the general 
 consent of mankind, that, after great search and pains, 
 they pretend to have found out a nation of Atheists — 
 I mean that polite ]ieople, the Hottentots. It is not 
 to be imagined how much tlie Atheists have gloried 
 in these their good friends and allies. If we boast 
 of a Socrates or a Seneca, they may now confront them 
 with these great philosojihers, the Hottentots. * * 
 
 " Besides tliese poor creatures, there have now and 
 then been instances of a few crazy people in several 
 nations who have denied tlie existence of a Deity. 
 The catalogue of these is, however, very short. Even 
 Yanini, the most celebrated champion for the cause, 
 professed before his judges that he believed the ex- 
 istence of a God ; and, taking iip a sti'aw which lay 
 before him on the ground, assured them, that alone 
 was sulhcicnt to convince him of it, alleging scA'eral 
 arguments to prove that it was impossible nature alone 
 could create anything. 
 
 " I was the other day reading an account of Casimir 
 Lyszynski, a gentleman of Poland, who was convicted 
 and executed for tliis crime. The manner of his pu- 
 nishment was very particular. As soon as his body 
 was burnt, his ashes were put into a cannon, and shot 
 into the air towards U'artary.
 
 THE MOPPET AND THE SHOWMAN. 4G9 
 
 " I am apt to believe, that if something like this 
 method of punishment should prevail in England, such 
 is the natural good sense of the British nation, that 
 whether we rammed an Atheist whole into a great 
 gun, or pulverised our Infidels, as they do in Poland, 
 we should not have many charges. I should, however, 
 propose, while our ammunition lasted, that, instead of 
 Tartary, we should always keep two or three cannons 
 ready ^^ointed towards the Cape of Good Hope, in order 
 to shoot oiu- unbelievers into the country of the Hotten- 
 tots. In my opinion, a solemn judicial death is too 
 great an honour for an Atheist ; though I must allow 
 the method of exploding him, as it is practised in this 
 ludicrous kind of martyrdom, has something in it 
 proper enough to the nature of his oflfence. * * 
 
 " If any of my readers imagine that I have treated 
 these gentlemen in too ludicrous a manner, I must 
 confess, for my own part, I think reasoning against 
 such unbelievers, upon a point that shocks the common 
 sense of mankind, is doing them too great an honour, 
 giving them a ligure in the eye of the world, and 
 making people fancy that they have more in them 
 than they really have." 
 
 Eustace Budgell. 
 
 THE BIBLE. 
 
 " Lord Bacon. — ' There never was found, in any age 
 of the world, either philosopher, or sect, or law, or disci- 
 pline, which did so highly exalt the public good as the 
 Christian Faith.' 
 
 " John Selden (called by Grotius the Glory of
 
 470 TIIK BAXU I'ABLEa. 
 
 Enijland). — ' There is no book upon which we can rest 
 in a dying moment, but the Bible.' 
 
 "John Milton, the immortal Poet. — 'There are no 
 songs comparable to the songs of Zion ; no orations 
 equal to those of the Prophets ; and no ijolitics like those 
 which the Scriptures teach.' 
 
 " Sir Matthew Hale. — ' There is no book like the 
 Bible, for excellent wisdom, learning, and use.' 
 
 "The Honourable Egbert Boyle. — ' It is a match- 
 less volume; it is impossible we can study it too much, 
 or esteem it too highly.' 
 
 " John Locke. — To a person who asked this profound 
 thinker, which was the shortest and surest way for a 
 young gentleman to attain the true knowledge of the 
 Christian Religion, in the full and just extent of it, he 
 replied : ' Let him study the Holy Scriptures, especially 
 the New Testament: therein are contained the words of 
 eternal life. It hath God for its Author, Salvation for 
 its end, and Truth, without any mixture of error, for its 
 matter.' At anotlier time he says, 'It is all jiure, all 
 sincere — nothing too much, nothing wanting.' 
 
 " Sir William Jones. — The following words were 
 written with his own hand in his Bible : — 'I liave care- 
 fully and regularly perused these Holy Scriptures, and am 
 of opinion that tlic volume, iiidei^endeutly of its Divine 
 origin, contains more sublimity, purer moi-ality, more 
 important history, and finer strains of eloquence, than 
 can be collected from all other books, in whatever lan- 
 guage they may have been written.' 
 
 "Reader! oppose those, the deliberate and disinterested 
 opinions of some of the greatest men that ever lived.
 
 THE PAHROT AND THE NABOB. 471 
 
 to the flippant sarcasms of the Freethiuker. Clasp 
 the Bihle to your heart — believe its holy truths — obey 
 its sacred commands — regulate your lives by its precepts 
 — and die resting on that Saviour whom the Scriptures 
 reveal, as having ' brought life and immortality to light 
 through the Gospel.' " 
 
 Religious Tract Society's Publications. 
 
 FABLE LIII. 
 
 THE PARROT AND THE NABOB. 
 
 FOR FLATS. 
 
 FLATS for the Senate barely fit ! 
 Flats who have cash, but wanting wit ! 
 Flats of the Church in every pale ! 
 Read a concise, but useful tale. 
 
 An affluent nabob at Bombay, 
 
 Where Indians dwell and Britons sway, 
 
 Sought the bazaar one vernal dawn, 
 
 To greet a friend from Ispahaun. 
 
 As here they j^aced in friendly chat. 
 
 And gazed about at this and that. 
 
 Up to a fowler's booth they walk, 
 
 Attracted by a parrot's talk, — 
 
 "Who, swinging in a gold-gilt cage. 
 
 Enounced her judgments like a sage. 
 
 And yet poor Polly knew no more 
 
 Of what she said than monks of yore. 
 
 In those obscure, pontific ages. 
 
 When cloistered parrots passed for sages.
 
 472 THE HATH FAULES. 
 
 The fowler, anxiously on watcli, 
 Some liberal customer to catch, 
 Soon gathered, from our nabob's face, 
 A bargain might be struck apace ; 
 And so bounced up to Polly's wires. 
 To show her ofl", while each admires. 
 
 " Poll ! you 're a clever bird ! " he cried. 
 " No doubt of that," poor Poll replied. 
 " In what a handsome house you chat ! " 
 " No doubt," said she, " no doubt of that." 
 " Your plumage shames the rainbow's hues." 
 " No doubt of that," the bird }mr^iues. 
 " And, still, six score rupees, my pet, 
 Would part us, who ne'er parted yet." 
 " No doubt of that," said Poll once more, 
 And all laughed louder than before. 
 " I think these gentlemen will buy." 
 " No doubt of that," was still her cry: 
 In short, whate'er the man was at. 
 Poll still replied, " No doubt of that." 
 
 Delighted with a bird so sage, 
 
 Our nabob bought both Poll and cage, 
 
 And deemed tlie man no common fiat. 
 
 To sell a prodigy like that, 
 
 For such a trifle:—" Why," he cries, 
 
 " I'd pay a lac for such a prize ! " 
 
 But scarce a week at most had Hed, 
 Ere he most gravely shook his head ; 
 For, to his grief, he found that Poll 
 Was but a booby, after all. 
 Whate'er remark the nabob made, 
 " No doubt of that," was all she said —
 
 THE PARROT AND THE NABOB. 473 
 
 Was all she could — was all she knew — 
 And e'en ignored the meaning, too ! 
 Just as the monks, in darker days, 
 Bnrnt many a martyr for a phrase ; 
 Yet what their hoctis-pocits meant. 
 They knew no more than fools at Trent. 
 
 As thoughts so sad his mind engage, 
 
 Our nahob stood beside the cage, 
 
 And " Ah ! " he sighs, " 'tis I'm the flat !" 
 
 The parrot bawls, " No doubt of that." 
 
 " Silence, ye owl ! " her master cries ; 
 
 " I thought you once the greatest prize, 
 
 Yet find you bat a gabbling goose ;" 
 
 " No doubt of that, was Poll's abuse. 
 
 " Silence, I say ! " the nabob screams ; 
 
 " I've scanned that villain fowler's schemes : 
 
 He's hoaxed a fool, he's caught a flat !" 
 
 Poll stared, aud cried, " No doubt of that." 
 
 Her cool retort, her modish stare. 
 Was more than hot Hindoos can bear : 
 The furious nabob darkly frowned, 
 Then dashed the parrot to the gi-ound ; 
 And as he stamped upon her cage, 
 And kicked it oft with maniac rage, 
 " You'll prate no more to me ! " he cried. 
 " No doubt of that," said Poll, and died. 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 As Phoenix, in poetic lays. 
 To ashes burned by solar rays,
 
 474 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 Fresh vigour from the ordeal drew, 
 And from her aslies lived anew ; 
 So let our parrot breathe again, 
 And speak her sense of other men. 
 
 When good Lord John in Senate rose, 
 And told lleformers to their nose, — 
 " Organic change is quite a bore ; 
 I'll not reform one ha'porth more !" — 
 Should Thompson vote Lord John a flat, 
 Poll soon responds, " No doubt of that." 
 
 When bland Disraeli fondly said, — 
 " Let toiling millions tax their bread. 
 And starve or pinch, with joyous will. 
 That peers and squires may pamper still ! " 
 Should Cobden say, " 'The man's a flat ! " 
 Poll yet replies, " No doubt of that." 
 
 Wlien Exeter, who loves a squabble, 
 Would cow the Evangelic rabble, 
 And vows our British Zion's doom. 
 Unless she symbolise with Rome : 
 Should Gorham dub him worse than flat. 
 Still Poll responds, " No doubt of that." 
 
 And when, in fine, Noncons will fight, 
 Get by tlie cars, devour and bite, 
 Expel their Pastor like a knave. 
 And sometimes drive him to his grave : 
 Sliould Noel sigh, " Each brand 's a flat," 
 Poll still replies, " No doubt of that." 
 
 Good Christian souls ! whate'er your clique. 
 Attend, should artless Polly speak : 
 We all may find her much a friend, 
 As here my fables find an end .
 
 THE PARROT AND THE NABOB. 475 
 
 ILLUSTHATIVE PROSE. 
 
 THE DEAR-BOUGHT WHISTLE. 
 
 " When I was a child of seven years old, my friends, 
 on a holiday, filled my i^ocket with cojipers. I went 
 dii'ectly to a shop where they sold toys for children ; 
 and, being charmed with the sound of a whistle, that 
 I met by the way in the hands of another boy, I 
 voluntarily offered and gave all my money for one. 
 I then came home, and went whistling all over the 
 house, much pleased with my whistle, but disturbing 
 all the family. My brothers, and sisters, and cousins, 
 understanding the bargain I had made, told me I had 
 given four times as much for it as it was worth ; put 
 me in mind what good things I might have bought 
 with the rest of the money; and laughed at me so 
 much for my folly, that I cried with vexation; and 
 the reflection gave me more chagrin tlian the whistle 
 gave me pleasure. 
 
 " This, however, was afterwards of use to me, the 
 impression continuing on my mind : so that often, 
 when I was tempted to buy some unnecessary thing, 
 I said to myself. Don't give too much for the whistle; 
 and I saved my money. 
 
 " As I gi-ew up, came into the world, and observed 
 the actions of men, I thought I met with many, very 
 many, who gave too much for the whistle. 
 
 " When I saw one too ambitious of court favour, 
 sacrificing his time in attendance on levees — his repose.
 
 470 THE BATH FABLES. 
 
 his liberty, his virtue, and perliaps his friends, to attain 
 it — 1 have said to myself, Tliis man (jives too much for 
 his whistle. 
 
 " When I saw another fond of i^opularity, constantly 
 emi)loying himself in political bustles, neglecting his 
 own affairs, and rniuiug them by that neglect, He pays, 
 indeed, said I, too much fur his whistle. 
 
 " If I knew a miser, who gave up every kind of com- 
 fortable living, all the pleasure of doing good to others, 
 all the esteem of his fellow-citizens, and the joys of 
 benevolent friendship, for the sake of accumulating 
 wealth, Pour vian ! said I, you 2>ay too much for your 
 whistle. 
 
 " When I met with a man of pleasure, sacrificing 
 every laudable improvement of the mind, or of his 
 fortune, to mere corporeal sensations, and ruining his 
 health in their pursuit, Mistaken man! said I, you are 
 2^roviding pain for yourself, instead of pleasure : you 
 give too much fur your whistle. 
 
 " If I see one fond of appearance, or fine clothes, 
 fine houses, fine furniture, tine equipages — all above 
 his fortune — for which he contracts debts, and ends 
 his career in a prison, Alas ! say I, he has irnid dear, 
 very dear, for his whistle. 
 
 " When I see a beautiful, sweet-tempered girl married 
 to an ill-natui-ed brute of a husband, Whit a inty, say 
 1, that she should pay so much for a whistle! 
 
 " In short, I cpnceive that great part of the miseries 
 of mankind are brought upon them by the false esti- 
 mates they have made of the value of things, and by 
 their giving too much for their whistles.
 
 THE PARROT AND THE NABOR. 
 
 " Yet I ought to have charity for these unhappy- 
 people, -when I cousicler, that, with all this wisdom of 
 which I am boasting, there are certain things in the 
 world so tempting — for examj^le, the apples of King 
 John, which happily are not to be bought; for if they 
 were put to sale by auction, I might very easily be led 
 to ruin myself in the purchase, and iind that I had 
 once more given too much for the u'histle." 
 
 Dr. Franklin. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
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