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and told him of the little plan which he had been con certing with the corporal the night before for him.

--You shall go home directly, Le Fever, said my uncle Toby, to my house--and we'll send for a doctor to see what's the matter--and we'll have an apothecary→→ and the corporal shall be your nurse-and I'll be your servant, Le Fever.

There was a frankness in my uncle Toby--not the effect of familiarity, but the cause of it-which let you at once into his soul, and showed you the goodness of his nature; to this there was something in his looks, and voice, and manner, superadded, which eternally beckoned to the unfortunate to come and take shelter under him; so that before my uncle Toby had half finished the kind offers he was making to the father, had the son insensibly pressed up close to his knees, and had taken hold of the breast of his coat, and was pulling it. towards him. The blood and spirit of Le Fever, which were waxing cold and slow within him, and were retreated to their last citadel, the heart, rallied back-the film forsook his eyes for a moment, he looked up wishfully in my uncle Toby's face--then cast a look upon his boy.

Nature instantly ebb'd again--the film returned to its place the pulse fluttered, stopped-went on-throbbed stopped again-moved-stopped--shall I go on?-No.

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No flatt'ry, with his colors laid,
To bloom restor'd the faded maid;
He gave each muscle all its strength
The mouth, the chin, the nose's length,
His honest pencil touch'd with truth,
And mark'd the date of age and youth.
He lost his friends; his practice fail'd,
Truth should not always be reveal'd;
In dusty piles his pictures lay;
For no one sent the second pay.

Two busto's, fraught with every grace, A Venus' and Apollo's face,

He plac'd in view, resolv'd to please,
Whoever sat, he drew from these;
From these corrected every feature,
And spirited each awkward creature.

All things were set; the hour was come,
His palette ready o'er his thumb:
My Lord appear'd, and seated right,
In proper attitude and light,

The painter look'd, he sketch'd the piece
Then dipt his pencil, talk'd of Greece,
Of Titian's tints, of Guido's air,

Those eyes, my Lord, the episit there,
Might well a Raphael's hand require,
To give them all the native fire;
The features, fraught with sense and wit,
You'll grant, are very hard to hit:
But yet, with patience, you shall view
As much as paint or art can do:
Observe the work."-My Lord replied,
"Till now I thought my mouth was wide;
Besides, my nose is somewhat long;
Dear sir, for me 'tis far too young
"O pardon me," the artist cried,
"In this we painters must decide.

The piece e'en common eyes must strike;
I'll warrant it extremely like."
My Lord examin'd it anew,

No looking-glass seem'd half so true,

A lady came. With borrowed grace,

He from his Venus form'd her face,
Her lover prais'd the painter's art,
So like the picture in his heart!
To every age some charm he lent;
E'en beauties were almost content.
Through all the town his art they prais'd
His custom grew, his price was rais'd
Had he the real likeness shown,
Would any man the picture own?
But when thus happily he wrought,
Each found the likeness in his thought,

VI.-Diversity of the Human Character.

VIRTUOUS and vicious every man must be,.
Few in th' extreme, but all in the degree;
The rogue and fool by fits are fair and wise,
And e'en the best by fits what they despise.
'Tis but by part we follow good or ill,
For, Vice or Virtue, Self directs it still;
Each individual seeks a sev'ral goal;

But heaven's great view is one, and that the whole..
That counterworks each folly and caprice;
That disappoints th' effect of every vice;
That happy frailties to all ranks appli'd-
Shame to the virgin, to the matron pride,
Fear to the statesman, rashness to the chief,
To kings presumption, and to crowds belief.
That virtue's end from vanity can raise,
Which seeks no int'rest, no reward but praise;
And build on wants, and on defects of mind,
The joy, the peace, the glory of mankind.
Heaven, forming each on other to depend,
A master, or a servant, or a friend,

Bids each on other for assistance call,
Till one man's weakness grows the strength of all.
Wants, frailties, passions, closer still ally
The common int'rest or endear the tie.
To those we owe true friendship, love sincere,
Each homefelt joy that life inherits here;
Yet from the same, we learn in its decline,
Those joys, those loves, those int'rests to resign,
Taught, half by reason, half by mere decay,
To welcome death, and calmly pass away.
Whate'er the passion, knowledge, fame or pelf,
Not one would change his neighbor with himself.
The learn'd is happy, nature to explore,
The fool is happy that he knows no more ;
The rich is happy in the plenty given,

The poor contents him with the care of heaven;
See the blind beggar dance, the cripple sing,
The sot a hero, lunatic a king;

The starving chymist in his golden views
Supremely blest, the poet in his muse.

See some strange comfort ev'ry state attend,
And pride, bestow'd on all, a common friend;
See some fit passion ev'ry age supply,
Hope travels through, nor quits us when we die.
Behold the child, by nature's kindly law,
Pleas'd with a rattle, tickled with a straw;
Some livelier plaything gives his youth delight,
A little louder, but as empty quite;

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Scarfs, garters, gold, amuse his riper stage,
And cards and counters are the toys of age;
Pleas'd with this bauble still, as that before;
Till tir'd he sleeps, and life's poor play is o'er.
Mean while opinion gilds, with varying rays,
Those painted clouds that beautify our days;
Each want of happiness by hope supply'd,
And each vacuity of sense by pride.

These build as fast as knowledge can destroy:
In folly's cup still laughs the bubble, joy:
One prospect lost, another still we gain,
And not a vanity is giv'n in vain:

E'en mean self-love becomes, by force divine,
The scale to measure others' wants by thine.
See! and confess, one comfort still must rise;
"Tis this: Though man's a fool, yet God is wise.
VII-The Toilet.

AND now, unveil'd, the toilet stands display'd,
Each silver vase in mystic order laid.
First rob'd in white, the nymph intent adores,
With head uncover'd, the cosmetic powers.
A heavenly image in the glass appears;
To that she bends, to that her eye she rears.
Th' inferior priestess, at the altar's side,
Trembling, begins the sacred rites of pride.
Unnumber'd treasures ope at once, and here
The various offerings of the world appear;
From each she nicely culls, with curious toil,
And decks the goddess with glittering spoil.
This casket India's glowing gems unlocks,
And all Arabia breathes from yonder box.
The tortoise here, and elephant unite,
Transform'd to combs, the speckled and the white;
Here files of Pins extend their shining rows,
Puffs, powders, patches, bibles, billetdoux.
Now awful beauty puts on all its arms,
The fair, each moment, rises in her charms,
Repairs her smiles awakens ev'ry grace,
And calls forth all the wonders of her face.
VIII-The Hermit.

FAR in a wild, unknown to public view,
From youth to age, a rev'rend hermit grew.
The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell,
His food the fruits, his drink the chrystial well:
Remote from man, with God he passed the days,
Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise.

A life so sacred, such serene repose,
: Seem'd heaven itself, till one suggestion rese;
That vice should triumph, virtue vice obey;

Thus sprung some doubt of Providence's sway.
His hopes no more a certain prospect boast,
And all the tenor of his soul is lost.

So, when a smooth expanse receives, imprest,
Calm nature's image on its wat'ry breast,

Down bend the banks, the trees, depending, grow;
And skies beneath, with answ'ring colors, glow;
But if a stone the gentle sea divide,

Swift ruffling circles curl on ev'ry side;
And glimm ring fragments of a broken sun,
Banks, trees and skies in thick disorder ran.

To clear this doubt; to know the world by sight;
To find if books or swains report it right;
(For yet by swains alone the world he knew,
Whose feet come wand'ring o'er the nightly dew;)
He quits his cell; the pilgrim staff he bore,
And fix'd the scallop in his hat before;
Then, with the sun, a rising journey went,
Sedate to think, and watching each event.

The morn was wasted in the pathless grass,
And long and loathsome was the wild to pass:
But when the southern sun had warm'd the day,
A youth came posting o'er the crossing way;
His raiment decent, his complexion fair,
And soft, in graceful ringlets wav'd his hair.
Then, near approaching, Father, hail ! he cri'd;
And hail! my son, the rev'rend sire reply'd :
Words follow'd words; from question answer flow'd;
And talk of various kind deceiv'd the road;
Till, each with other pleas'd, and loth to part,
While in their age they differ, join in heart.
Thus stands an aged elm in ivy bound;
Thus youthful ivy clasps an elm around.
Now sunk the sun; the closing hour of day
Come onward, mantled o'er with sober gray;
Nature, in silence, bid the world repose;
When, near the road, a stately palace rose :
There, by the moon through ranks of trees they pass,
Whose verdure crown'd the sloping sides of grass.
It chanc'd the noble master of the dome

Still made his house the wand'ring stranger's home:
Yet still, the kindness from a thirst of praise,
Prov'd the vain flourish of expensive ease.
The pair arrive; the liv'ry'd servants wait,
Their lord receives them at the pompus gate;
A table groans with costly piles of food;
And all is more than hospitably good.
Then, led to rest, the day's long toil they drown,
Deep sunk in sleep, and silk, and heaps of down.
At length 'tis morn; and at the dawn of day,
Along the wide canals the zephyrs play;

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