Our farmers round, well pleased with constant gain,

Like other farmers, flourish and complain,These are our groups; our portraits next appear,

And close our exhibition for the year.

With evil omen we that year begin: A Child of Shame, stern Justice adds, of Sin,

Is first recorded;-I would hide the deed, But vain the wish; I sigh and I proceed: And could I well th' instructive truth convey, 'Twould warn the giddy and awake the gay. Of all the nymphs who gave our village grace,

The Miller's daughter had the fairest face: Proud was the Miller; money was his pride; He rode to market, as our farmers ride, And 'twas his boast, inspired by spirits, there, His favourite Lucy should be rich as fair; But she must meek and still obedient prove, And not presume, without his leave, to love. A youthful Sailor heard him;-Ha! quoth he,

This Miller's maiden is a prize for me; Her charms I love, his riches I desire, And all his threats but fan the kindling fire; My ebbing purse no more the foe shall fill, But Love's kind act and Lucy at the mill. Thus thought the youth, and soon the chase began,

| Stretch'd all his sail, nor thought of pause or plan:

His trusty staff in his bold hand he took,
Like him and like his frigate, Heart of Oak;
Fresh were his features, his attire was new;
Clean was his linen, and his jacket blue:
Of finest jean his trowsers, tight and trim,
Brush'd the large buckle at the silver rim.
He soon arrived, he traced the village-
green,

There saw the maid, and was with pleasure

seen;

Then talk'd of love, till Lucy's yielding heart Confess'd 'twas painful, though 'twas right, to part:

For ah! my father has a haughty soul;
Whom best he loves, he loves but to control;
Me to some churl in bargain he'll consign,
And make some tyrant of the parish mine:
Cold is his heart, and he with looks severe
Has often forced but never shed the tear;
Save, when my mother died, some drops
express'd

A kind of sorrow for a wife at rest:-
To me a master's stern regard is shown,
I'm like his steed, prized highly as his own;
Stroked but corrected, threaten'd when sup-
plied,

His slave and boast, his victim and his pride.

Cheer up, my lass! I'll to thy father go, The Miller cannot be the Sailor's foe;

Both live by Heaven's free gale, that plays aloud

In the stretch'd canvas and the piping shroud ; The rash of winds, the flapping sails above, And rattling planks within, are sounds we love;

Calms are our dread; when tempests plough the deep,

We take a reef, and to the rocking sleep. Ha! quoth the Miller, moved at speech so rash, Art thou like me? then where thy notes and cash?

Away to Wapping, and a wife command, With all thy wealth, a guinea, in thine hand;

There with thy messmates quaff the muddy cheer,

And leave my Lucy for thy betters here.
Revenge! revenge! the angry lover cried,
Then sought the nymph, and: Be thou now
my bride.
Bride had she been, but they no priest could

move

near,

seen;

come,

content,

They were, each pay-day, ready with their

rent:

denied,

In a small chamber was my office done, Where blinks through paper'd panes the setting sun;

Where noisy sparrows, perch'd on penthouse near,

Chirp tuneless joy, and mock the frequent tear;

Bats on their webby wings in darkness move, And feebly shriek their melancholy love. No Sailor came; the months in terror fled! Then news arrived-He fought, and he was DEAD!

At the lone cottage Lucy lives, and still Walks for her weekly pittance to the mill; A mean seraglio there her father keeps, Whose mirth insults her, as she stands and weeps;

And sees the plenty, while compell'd to stay,
Her father's pride, become his harlot's prey.
Throughout the lanes she glides, at evening's
close,

And softly lulls her infant to repose;
Then sits and gazes, but with viewless look,
Agilds the moon the rippling of the brook;
And sings her vespers, but in voice so low,
She hears their murmurs as the waters flow:
And she too murmurs, and begins to find
The solemn wanderings of a wounded mind:
Visions of terror, views of wo succeed,
The mind's impatience, to the body's need;
By turns to that, by turns to this a prey,
She knows what reason yields, and dreads
what madness may.

The neighbouring town, at trifling cost, supplied. If at the draper's window Susan cast A longing look, as' with her goods she pass'd, And, with the produce of the wheel and churn,

Bought her a Sunday-robe on her return; True to her maxim, she would take no rest, Till care repaid that portion to the chest: Or if, when loitering at the Whitsun-fair, Her Robert spent some idle shillings there; Up at the barn, before the break of day, He made his labour for th' indulgence pay: Thus both — that waste itself might work in vain

Wrought double tides, and all was well again. Yet, though so prudent, there were times of joy,

The day they wed, the Christening of the boy,When to the wealthier farmers there was shown

Welcome unfeign'd, and plenty like their own; For Susan served the great, and had some pride

Among our topmost people to preside:
Yet in that plenty, in that welcome free,
There was the guiding nice frugality,
That, in the festal as the frugal day,
Has, in a different mode, a sovereign sway;
As tides the same attractive influence know,
In the least ebb and in their proudest flow;
The wise frugality, that does not give
A life to saving, but that saves to live;
Sparing, not pinching, mindful though not

mean,

O'er all presiding, yet in nothing seen.

Recorded next a babe of love I trace! Of many loves, the mother's fresh disgrace.Again, thou harlot! could not all thy pain, All my reproof, thy wanton thoughts restrain? Alas! your Reverence, wanton thoughts, I grant,

Were once my motive, now the thoughts of want;

Women, like me, as ducks in a decoy, Swim down a stream,and seem to swim in joy; Your sex pursue us, and our own disdain; Return is dreadful, and escape is vain. Would men forsake us, and would women strive

To help the fall'n, their virtue might revive. For rite of churching soon she made her way, In dread of scandal, should she miss the day :

Two matrons came! with them she humbly knelt,

| Their action copied and their comforts felt,

Look'd joyful love, and softly said, Amen. Now of that vine he 'd have no more increase, Those playful branches now disturb his peace: Them he beholds around his table spread, But finds, the more the branch, the less the bread;

And while they run his humble walls about,
They keep the sunshine of good-humour out.
Cease,man, to grieve! thy master's lot survey,
Whom wife and children, thou and thine
obey;

A farmer proud, beyond a farmer's pride,
Of all around the envy or the guide;
Who trots to market on a steed so fine,
That when I meet him, I'm ashamed of

mine:

to me.

Aged were both, that Dawkins, Ditchem

this,

Who much of marriage thought, and much amiss;

Both would delay,the one, till-riches gain'd, The son he wish'd might be to honour train'd; His Friend—lest fierce intruding heirs should

come,

To waste his hoard and vex his quiet home. Dawkins, a dealer once, on burthen'd back Bore his whole substance in a pedlar's pack; To dames discreet, the duties yet unpaid, His stores of lace and hyson he convey'd: When thus enrich'd, he chose at home to stop, And fleece his neighbours in a new-built shop; Then woo'd a spinster blithe, and hoped, when wed,

For love's fair favours and a fruitful bed. Not so his Friend; — on widow fair and staid He fix'd his eye, but he was much afraid; Yet woo'd; while she his hair of silver hue Demurely noticed, and her eye withdrew: Doubtful he paused-Ah! were I sure, he cried,

No craving children would my gains divide; Fair as she is, I would my widow take,

ous fare, Which five stout sons and three tall daughters share:

Cease, man, to grieve, and listen to his care. A few years fled, and all thy boys shall be Lords of a cot, and labourers like thee: Thy girls unportion'd neighb'ring youths

shall lead

Brides from my church, and thenceforth

thou art freed:

But then thy master shall of cares complain, Care after care, a long connected train; His sons for farms shall ask a large supply, For farmers' sons each gentle miss shall sigh; Thy mistress, reasoning well of life's decay, Shall ask a chaise, and hardly brook delay; The smart young cornet who, with so much grace,

Rode in the ranks and betted at the race, While the vex'd parent rails at deed so rash, Shall d-n his luck, and stretch his hand for cash.

Sad troubles, Gerard! now pertain to thee, When thy rich master seems from trouble free;

But 'tis one fate at different times assign'd, And thou shalt lose the cares that he must find.

And hoping, dreading, they were bound at 1

last.

And what their fate? Observe them as they go,
Comparing fear with fear and wo with wo.
Humphrey ! said Dawkins, envy in my breast
Sickens to see thee in thy children blest;
They are thy joys, while I go grieving home
To a sad spouse, and our eternal gloom:
We look despondency; no infant near,
To bless the eye or win the parent's ear;
Our sudden heats and quarrels to allay,
And soothe the petty sufferings of the day:
Alike our want, yet both the want reprove;
Where are, I cry, these pledges of our love?
When she, like Jacob's wife, makes fierce
reply,

Yet fond-Oh! give me children, or I die:
And I return-still childless doom'd to live,
Like the vex'd patriarch-Are they mine to
give?

Ah! much I envy thee thy boys, who ride On poplar branch, and canter at thy side; And girls, whose cheeks thy chin's fierce fondness know,

And with fresh beauty at the contact glow. Oh! simple friend, said Ditchem, wouldst thou gain

A father's pleasure by a husband's pain? Alas! what pleasure-when some vig'rous boy Should swell thy pride, some rosy girl thy joy?

A glorious boy, he cried, and what the name?
Angry I growl'd-My spirit cease to teaze,
Name it yourselves,—Cain, Judas, if you
please;
His father's give him,—should you that ex-
plore,
I said, and sought
the door.

The devil's or yours:
My tender partner not a word or sigh
Gives to my wrath, nor to my speech reply;
But takes her comforts, triumphs in my pain,
And looks undaunted for a birth again.-
Heirs thus denied afflict the pining heart,
And thus afforded, jealous pangs impart;
Let, therefore, none avoid, and none demand
These arrows number'd for the giant's hand.

An orphan-girl succeeds: ere she was born Her father died, her mother on that morn: The pious mistress of the school sustains Her parents' part, nor their affection feigns, But pitying feels: with due respect and joy, I trace the matron at her loved employ; What time the striplings, wearied e'en with play, Part at the closing of the summer's day, And each by different path returns the wellknown wayThen I behold her at her cottage-door, Frugal of light; her Bible laid before, When on her double duty she proceeds, Of time as frugal-knitting as she reads: Her idle neighbours, who approach to tell Some trifling tale, her serious looks compel To hear reluctant, while the lads who pass, In pure respect, walk silent on the grass: Then sinks the day, but not to rest she goes, Till solemn prayers the daily duties close.

But I digress, and lo! an infant-train Appear, and call me to my task again. Why Lonicera wilt thou name thy child? I ask'd the Gardener's wife, in accents mild:

We have a right, replied the sturdy dame;—
And Lonicera was the infant's name.
If next a son shall yield our Gardener joy,
Then Hyacinthus shall be that fair boy;
And if a girl, they will at length agree,

That Belladonna that fair maid shall be. High-sounding words our worthy Gardener gets,

And at his club to wondering swains repeats; He then of Rhus and Rhododendron speaks, And Allium calls his onions and his leeks; Nor weeds are now, for whence arose the weed,

Scarce plants, fair herbs, and curious flowers proceed; Where Cuckoo-pints and Dandelions sprung, (Gross names had they our plainer sires among,)

There Arums, there Leontodons we view, And Artemisia grows, where Wormwood grew.

But though no weed exists his garden round, From Rumex strong our Gardener frees his ground,

Takes soft Senicio from the yielding land, And grasps the arm'd Urtica in his hand. Not Darwin's self had more delight to sing Of floral courtship, in th' awaken'd Spring, Than Peter Pratt, who simpering loves to tell

How rise the Stamens, as the Pistils swell; How bend and curl the moist - top to the

spouse,

And give and take the vegetable vows; How those esteem'd of old but tips and chives, Are tender husbands and obedient wives; Who live and love within the sacred bower,— That bridal bed, the vulgar term a flower. Hear Peter proudly, to some humble friend, A wondrous secret, in his science, lend :Would you advance the nuptial hour, and bring

The fruit of Autumn with the flowers of Spring;

View that light frame where Cucumis lies spread,

And trace the husbands in their golden bed, Three powder'd Anthers; — then no more delay,

But to the Stigma's tip their dust convey; Then by thyself, from prying glance secure; Twirl the full tip and make your purpose

how food and raiment they might give,

their aid,

Is knowledge,gain'd by man,to man convey’d? But from that source shall all our pleasures flow?

Shall all our knowledge be those names to know?

Then he, with memory blest, shall bear away The palm from Grew,and Middleton,and Ray: No! let us rather seek, in grove and field, What food for wonder, what for use they yield;

Some just remark from Nature's people bring,

And some new source of homage for her King.

To name an infant meet our village-sires, Assembled all, as such event requires: Frequent and full, the rural sages sate, And speakers many urged the long debate, Some harden'd knaves, who roved the country round,

Had left a babe within the parish-bound.First, of the fact they question'd-Was it true?

The child was brought-What then remain'd to do?

Was 't dead or living? This was fairly proved,―

'Twas pinch'd, it roar'd, and every doubt removed.

Then by what name th' unwelcome guest to call

Was long a question, and it posed them all; For he who lent it to a babe unknown, Censorious men might take it for his own: They look'd about, they gravely spoke to all, And not one Richard answer'd to the call. Next they inquired the day, when, passing by, Th' unlucky peasant heard the stranger's cry:

Back to their homes the prudent Vestry went,
And Richard Monday to the workhouse sent.
There was he pinch'd and pitied, thump'd
and fed,

And duly took his beatings and his bread;
Patient in all control, in all abuse,
He found contempt and kicking have their use:
Sad, silent, supple; bending to the blow,
A slave of slaves, the lowest of the low;
His pliant soul gave way to all things base,
He knew no shame, he dreaded no disgrace.
It seem'd, so well his passions he suppress'd,
No feeling stirr'd his ever-torpid breast;
Him might the meanest pauper bruise and
cheat,

He was a footstool for the beggar's feet;
His were the legs that ran at all commands;
They used on all occasions Richard's hands :
His very soul was not his own; he stole
As others order'd, and without a dole;
In all disputes on either part he lied,
And freely pledged his oath on either side;
In all rebellions Richard join'd the rest,
In all detections Richard first confess'd:
Yet, though disgraced, he watch'd his time
so well,

He rose in favour, when in fame he fell;
Base was his usage, vile his whole employ,
And all despised and fed the pliant boy..
At length, 'tis time he should abroad be sent
Was whisper'd near him, — and abroad he
went;

One morn they call'd him, Richard answer'd not;

They deem'd him hanging, and in time forgot,

Yet miss'd him long, as each, throughout the clan,

Found he had better spared a better man. Now Richard's talents for the world were fit, He'd no small cunning, and had some small wit; Had that calm look which seem'd to all assent, And that complacent speech which nothing

meant:

He'd but one care, and that he strove to hide, How best for Richard Monday to provide. Steel, through opposing plates, the magnet draws,

And steely atoms culls from dust and straws;
And thus our hero, to his interest true,
Gold through all bars and from each trifle
drew;

But still more surely round the world to go,
This fortune's child had neither friend nor foe.
Long lost to us, at last our man we trace,——
Sir Richard Monday died at Monday-place:
His lady's worth, his daughter's we peruse,
And find his grandsons all as rich as Jews:
He gave reforming charities a sum,
And bought the blessings of the blind and
dumb;