the fight;

While Lucy's feelings for the brave who bled
Put all such glorious triumphs from her
head.

They both were frugal; Lucy from the fear
Of wasting that which want esteems so dear
But finds so scarce; her sister from the pain
That springs from want, when treated with
disdain.

But Jane that glory felt with proud delight, | Young, handsome, sprightly, and with good
When England's foes were vanquish'd in
address,
Not mark'd for folly, error or excess;
Yet not entirely from their censure free,
Who judge our failings with severity;
The very care he took to keep his name
Stainless, with some was evidence of shame.
Jane heard of this, and she replied: 'Enough;
Prove but the facts, and I resist no proof;
Nor is my heart so easy as to love
The man my judgment bids me not approve.'
But yet that heart a secret joy confess'd,
To find no slander on the youth would rest;
His was, in fact, such conduct, that a maid
Might think of marriage, and be not afraid;
And she was pleased to find a spirit high,
Free from all fear, that spurn'd hypocrisy.
'What fears my sister?' said the partial fair,
For Lucy fear'd, 'Why tell me to beware?
No smooth deceitful varnish can I find;
His is a spirit generous, free, and kind;
And all his flaws are seen, all floating in
his mind.

Jane borrow'd maxims from a doubting
school,

And took for truth the test of ridicule;
Lucy saw no such virtue in a jest,
Truth was with her of ridicule a test.
They loved each other with the warmth of
youth,

With ardour, candour, tenderness, and truth;
And though their pleasures were not just
the same,

Yet both were pleased whenever one became;
Nay, each would rather in the act rejoice,
That was th' adopted, not the native choice.

Each had a friend, and friends to minds so fond
And good are soon united in the bond;
Each had a lover; but it seem'd that fate
Decreed that these should not approximate.
Now Lucy's lover was a prudent swain,
And thought, in all things, what would be
his gain;

The younger sister first engaged his view,
But with her beauty he her spirit knew;
Her face he much admired, but, put the case,
Said he, I marry, what is then a face?
At first it pleases to have drawn the lot;
He then forgets it, but his wife does not;
Janc too, he judged, would be reserved
and nice,

And many lovers had enhanced her price.
Thus, thinking much, but hiding what he
thought,

The prudent lover Lucy's favour sought,
And he succeeded, she was free from art;
And his appear'd a gentle guileless heart;
Such she respected; true, her sister found
His placid face too ruddy and too round,
Too cold and inexpressive; such a face
Where you could nothing mark'd or manly

trace.

But Lucy found him to his mother kind,
And saw the Christian meekness of his mind;
His voice was soft, his temper mild and sweet,
His mind was easy, and his person neat.
Jane said he wanted courage; Lucy drew
No ill from that, though she believed it too;
'It is religious, Jane, be not severe;'
Well, Lucy, then it is religious fear.'
Nor could the sister, great as was her love,
A man so lifeless and so cool approve.

Jane had a lover, whom a lady's pride
Might wish to see attending at her side,

A little boldness in his speech. What then?
It is the failing of these generous men.
A little vanity, but-O! my dear,
They all would show it, were they all sincere.
But come, agreed; we'll lend each other eyes
To see our favourites, when they wear
disguise;

And all those errors that will then be shown
Uninfluenced by the workings of our own.'

Thus lived the sisters, far from power removed,

And far from need, both loving and beloved.
Thus grew, as myrtles grow; I grieve at
heart

That I have pain and sorrow to impart.
But so it is, the sweetest herbs that grow
In the lone vale, where sweetest waters flow,
Ere drops the blossom, or appears the fruit,
Feel the vile grub, and perish at the root;
And in a quick and premature decay,
Breathe the pure fragrance of their life

away.

A town was near, in which the buildings all
Were large, but one pre-eminently tall-
An huge high house. Without there was
an air

Of lavish cost; no littleness was there;
But room for servants, horses, whiskies, gigs,
And walls for pines and peaches, grapes and
figs;

Bright on the sloping glass the sunbeams
shone;

And brought the summer of all climates on.
Here wealth its prowess to the eye display'd,
And here advanced the seasons, there delay'd;
Bid the due heat each growing sweet refine,
Made the sun's light with grosser fire
combine,

And to the Tropic gave the vigour of the Line.

Yet, in the master of this wealth, behold
A light vain coxcomb taken from his gold,
Whose busy brain was weak, whose boasting
heart was cold.

A style of friendship suited to his taste, Brought on, and ripen'd, like his grapes, in haste;

She saw the wants that wealth in vain would hide,

Lucy perceived-but she replied, "why heed Such small defects?-they're very kind indeed!'

O! how he talk'd to that believing town, And all the tricks and littleness of pride:
That he would give it riches and renown;
On all the wealth would creep the vulgar stain,
Cause a canal where treasures were to swim, | And grandeur strove to look itself in vain.
And they should owe their opulence to him!
In fact, of riches he insured a crop,
So they would give him but a seed to drop.
As used the alchymist his boasts to make,
I give you millions for the mite I take;'
The mite they never could again behold,
The millions all were Eldorado-gold.
By this professing man, the country round
Was search'd to see where money could be
found.

The thriven farmer, who had lived to spare,
Became on object of especial care;
He took the frugal tradesman by the hand,
And wish'd him joy of what he might com-
mand;

And the industrious servant, who had laid
His saving by, it was his joy to aid;
Large talk, and hints of some productive plan
Half named, won all his hearers to a man;
Uncertain projects drew them wondering on,
And avarice listen'd till distrust was gone.
But when to these dear girls he found his way,
All easy, artless, innocent were they;
When he compell'd his foolish wife to be
At once so great, so humble, and so free;
Whom others sought, nor always with suc-
cess!

But they were both her pride and happiness;
And she esteem'd them, but attended still
To the vile purpose of her husband's will;
And when she fix'd his snares about their mind,
Respected those whom she essay'd to blind;
Nay with esteem she some compassion gave
To the fair victims whom she would not save.
The Banker's wealth and kindness were her
themes,

His generous plans, his patriotic schemes;
What he had done for some, a favourite few,
What for his favourites still he meant to do;
Not that he always listen'd - which was
hard-

To her, when speaking of her great regard
For certain friends—but you, as I may say,
Are his own choice-I am not jealous-nay!
Then came the man himself, and came with
speed,

As just from business of importance freed;
Or just escaping, came with looks of fire,
As if he'd just attain'd his full desire;
As if Prosperity and he for life

Were wed, and he was showing off his wife;
Pleased to display his influence, and to prove
Himself the object of her partial love:
Perhaps with this was join'd the latent fear,
The time would come when he should not
be dear.
Jane langh'd at all their visits and parade,
And call'd it friendship in an hot-house made;

And kind they were, and ready to produce
Their easy friendship, ever fit for use,
Friendship that enters into all affairs,
And daily wants, and daily gets, repairs.
Hence at the cottage of the sisters stood
The Banker's steed-he was so very good;
Oft through the roads, in weather foul or fair,
Their friend's gay carriage bore the gentle
pair;

His grapes and nectarines woo'd the Virgins'
hand,

His books and roses were at their command;
And costly flowers, he took upon him shame
That he could purchase what he could not

name.

Lucy was vex'd to have such favours shown,
And they returning nothing of their own;
Jane smiled, and begg'd her sister to be-
lieve,-

We give at least as much as we receive.'
Alas! and more; they gave their ears and eyes,
His splendor oft-times took them by surprise ;
And if in Jane appear'd a meaning smile,
She gazed,admired, and paid respect the while;
Would she had rested there! Deluded maid,
She saw not yet the fatal price she paid;
Saw not that wealth, though join'd with
folly, grew

In her regard; she smiled, but listen'd too;
Nay would be grateful, she would trust her
all,

Her funded source,—to him a matter small;
Taken for their sole use,and ever at their call:
To be improved-he knew not how, indeed,
But he had methods-and they must succeed.

This was so good, that Jane, in very pride,
To spare him trouble, for a while denied;
And Lucy's prudence, though it was alarm'd,
Was by the splendor of the Banker charm'd;
What was her paltry thousand pounds to him,
Who would expend five thousand on a whim?
And then the portion of his wife was known;
But not that she reserved it for her own.
Lucy her lover trusted with the fact,
And frankly ask'd, if he approved the act?
It promised well, he said; he could not tell
How it might end, but sure it promised well;
He had himself a trifle in the Bank,
And should be sore uneasy if it sank.
Jane from her lover had no wish to hide
Her deed; but was withheld by maiden pride;

To talk so early- as if one were sure
Of being his; she could not that endure.
But when the sisters were apart, and when
They freely spoke of their affairs and men;
They thought with pleasure of the sum
improved,

And so presented to the men they loved.

Things now proceeded in a quiet train;
No cause appear'd to murmur or complain;
The monied man, his ever smiling dame,
And their young darlings, in their carriage

came;

Jane's sprightly lover smiled their pomp to

see,

'And let him feel, my sister, — let the woes
That he creates be bane to his repose!
Let them be felt in his expiring hour,
When death brings all his dread, and sin its
power:

Then let the busy foe of mortals state
The pangs he caused, his own to aggravate!
Wretch! when our life was glad, our pro-

spects gay,

With savage hand to sweep them all away!
And he must know it-know when he beguiled
His easy victims-how the villain smiled!
Oh! my dear Lucy, could I see him crave
The food denied, a beggar and a slave,
To stony hearts he should with tears apply,
And Pity's self withhold the struggling sigh;
Or, if relenting weakness should extend
Th' extorted scrap that justice would not lend,
Let it be poison'd by the curses deep
Of every wretch whom he compels to weep!'
Nay,my sweet sister, if you thought such pain
Were his, your pity would awake again;
Your generous heart the wretch's grief would
feel,

And ate their grapes,with gratitude and glee,
But with the freedom there was nothing mean,
Humble, or forward, in his freedom seen;
His was the frankness of a mind that shows
It knows itself, nor fears for what it knows:
But Lucy's ever humble friend was awed
By the profusion he could not applaud;
He seem'd indeed reluctant to partake
Of the collation that he could not make;
And this was pleasant in the maiden's view,-
Was modesty- was moderation too;
ThoughJane esteem'd it meanness;and she saw
Fear in that prudence, avarice in that awe.
But both the lovers now to town are gone,
By business one is call'd, by duty one;
While rumour rises,- whether false or true
The ladies knew not-it was known to few-
But fear there was, and on their guardian-But he should feel them hot as fires are felt ;

They who had heard they should their
savings lose,
Were weeping.swearing,drinking at the news;
And still the more they drank, the more
they wept,

And swore, and rail'd, and threaten'd, till
they slept.

And you would soothe the pangs you could
not heal.'
'Oh! never, never,-I would still contrive
To keep the slave whom I abhorr'd alive;
His tortured mind with horrid fears to fill,
Disturb his reason, and misguide his will;
Heap coals of fire, to lie like melted lead,
Heavy and hot, on his accursed head;
Not coals that mercy kindles hearts to melt,

Corroding ever, and through life the same,
Strong self-contempt and ever burning shame;
Let him so wretched live that he may fly
To desperate thoughts,and be resolved to die—
And then let death such frightful visions give,
That he may dread th' attempt, and beg
to live!'

So spake th' indignant maid, when Lucy
sigh'd,
And, waiting softer times, no more replied.

Barlow was then in town; and there he
thought

Of bliss to come, and bargains to be bought ;
And was returning homeward-when he found
The Bank was broken, and his venture
drown'd.

The morning-truth confirm'd the evening-Ah! foolish maid,' he cried, and what wilt

dread;

The Bank was broken, and the Banker fled;
But left a promise that his friends should have,
To the last shilling-what his fortunes gave.
The evil tidings reach'd the sister-pair,
And one like Sorrow look'd, and one Despair;
They from each other turn'd th' afflicting
look,

And loth and late the painful silence broke.
The odious villain!' Jane in wrath began;
In pity Lucy: the unhappy man!
When time and reason our affliction heal,
How will the author of our sufferings feel?

thou

Say for thy friends and their excesses now?
All now is brought completely to an end;
What can the spendthrift now afford to spend?
Had my advice been-true, I gave consent,
The thing was purposed; what could I
prevent?

Who will her idle taste for flowers supply,—
Who send her grapes and peaches? let her
try ;-

There's none will give her,and she cannot buy.
Yet would she not be grateful if she knew
What to my faith and generous love was due?

T

Calmly she spoke-'Your prospects, sir, and
mine

Are not the same,-their union I decline;
Could I believe the hand for which you strove
Had yet its value, did you truly love,
I had with thanks address'd you, and replied,
Wait till your feelings and my own subside,
Watch your affections, and, if still they live,
What pride denies, my gratitude shall give;
Ev'n then, in yielding, I had first believed
That I conferr'd the favour, not received.
You I releasc-nay, hear me I impart
Joy to your soul,—I judge not of your heart.
Thinkst thou a being, to whom God has lent
A feeling mind, will have her bosom rent
By man's reproaches? Sorrow will be thine,
For all thy pity prompts thee to resign!
Thinkst thou that meekness' self would con-
descend

Daily to see the man who took her hand,
When she had not a sixpence at command;
Could I be sure that such a quiet mind
Would be for ever grateful, mild, and kind,
I might comply-but how will Bloomer act,
When he becomes acquainted with the fact?
The loss to him is trifling—but the fall
From independence, that to her is all;
Now should he marry, 'twill be shame to me
To hold myself from my engagement free;
And should he not, it will be double grace
To stand alone in such a trying case.
Come then, my Lucy, to thy faithful heart
And humble love I will my views impart ;
Will see the grateful tear that softly steals
Down the fair face and all thy joy reveals;
And when I say it is a blow severe,
Then will I add—restrain, my love, the tear,
And take this heart, so faithful and so fond,
Still bound to thine; and fear not for that bond.' To take the husband when she scorns the
He said; and went, with purpose he believed
Of generous nature-so is man deceived.

Lucy determined that her lover's eye
Should not distress nor supplication spy ;
That in her manner he should nothing find,
To indicate the weakness of her mind.
He saw no eye that wept, no frame that
shook,

No fond appeal was made by word or look;
Kindness there was, but join'd with some
restraint;

And traces of the late event were faint."
He look'd for grief deploring, but perceives
No outward token that she longer grieves;
He had expected for his efforts praise,
For he resolved the drooping mind to raise;
She would, he judged, be humble, and afraid
That he might blame her rashness and
upbraid;

And lo! he finds her in a quiet state,
Her spirit easy and her air sedate ;
As if her loss was not a cause for pain,
As if assured that he would make it gain.—
Silent awhile, he told the morning-news,
And what he judged they might expect to lose;
He thought himself, whatever some might
boast,

The composition would be small at most;
Some shabby matter, she would see no more
The tithe of what she held in hand before.

How did her sister feel? and did she think
Bloomer was honest,and would never shrink?
But why that smile? is loss like yours so light
That it can aught like merriment excite?
Well, he is rich, we know, and can afford
To please his fancy, and to keep his word;
To him 'tis nothing; had he now a fear,
He must the meanest of his sex appear;
Bat the true honour, as I judge the case,
la, both to feel the evil, and embrace.'
Here Barlow stopp'd, a little vex'd to see
No fear or hope, no dread or ecstasy :

friend?

Forgive the frankness, and rejoice for life
Thou art not burden'd with so poor a wife.
Go! and be happy-tell, for the applause
Of hearts like thine, we parted, and the cause
Give, as it pleases --With a foolish look
That a dull school-boy fixes on his book
That he resigns, with mingled shame and joy;
So Barlow went, confounded like the boy.

Jane, while she wept to think her sister's pain
Was thus increased, felt infinite disdain;
Bound as she was, and wedded by the ties
Of love and hope, that care and craft despise;
She could but wonder that a man, whose taste
And zeal for money had a Jew disgraced,
Should love her sister; yet with this surprise,
She felt a little exultation rise;
Hers was a lover who had always held
This man as base, by generous scorn impell'd;
And yet, as one, of whom for Lucy's sake
He would a civil distant notice take.

Led to the theme that he had shunn'd before,
He used a language he must use no more-Jane too will strive the daily tasks to share,