Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben;

24

23

A strappan youth, he taks the mother's eye;
Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill-ta'en;

The father cracks 25 of horses, pleughs, and kye."
The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy,

But blate 27 an' laithfu',28 scarce can weel behave:
The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy

What maks the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave,
Weel pleased to think her bairn's respected like the lave.29

O, happy love! where love like this is found!
O heartfelt raptures! bliss beyond compare!
I've paced much this weary, mortal round,

And sage experience bids me this declare, —
"If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare,
One cordial in this melancholy vale,

'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair

In other's arms breathe out the tender tale,
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale."

Is there, in human form, that bears a heart, -
A wretch, a villain, lost to love and truth,
That can, with studied, sly, insnaring art,
Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth?
Curse on his perjured arts! dissembling smooth!
Are honor, virtue, conscience, all exiled?

30

Is there no pity, no relenting ruth,3

Points to the parents fondling o'er their child?
Then paints the ruined maid, and their distraction wild?

But now the supper crowns their simple board!

31

The healsome parritch,31 chief o' Scotia's food:

The soupe

32 their only hawkie 33 does afford,

That 'yont 34 the hallan 35 snugly chows her cood:
The dame brings forth, in complimental mood,

To grace the lad, her weel-hained 36 kebbuck,37 fell,38

An' aft he's pressed, an' aft he ca's it good;

The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell,

How 'twas a towmond 39 auld,40 sin 41 lint was i' the bell."

The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face,
They round the ingle form a circle wide;
The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace,
The big Ha'-Bible, 13 ance his father's pride;

His bonnet reverently is laid aside,

44

His lyart haffets 45 wearin' thin an' bare;

Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide,

He wales 46 a portion with judicious care;

And "Let us worship God," he says, wi' solemn air.

They chant their artless notes in simple guise;
They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim;
Perhaps Dundee's " wild warbling measures rise,
Or plaintive Martyrs,47 worthy of the name;
Or noble Elgin 47 beets the heavenward flame,
The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays :
Compared with these, Italian trills are tame;

The tickled ears no heartfelt raptures raise;
Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise.

The priest-like father reads the sacred page,
How Abram was the friend of God on high;
Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage

With Amalek's ungracious progeny;

Or, how the Royal Bard 48 did groaning lie
Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire;
Or, Job's pathetic plaint and wailing cry;
Or, rapt Isaiah's wild seraphic fire;
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre.

Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme,

How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed;
How He, who bore in heaven the second name,
Had not on earth whereon to lay his head:
How His first followers and servants sped,

The precepts sage they wrote to many a land:
How he 49 who lone in Patmos 50 banished,

Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand,

[command.

And heard great Babylon's doom pronounced by Heaven's

Then kneeling down to Heaven's Eternal King,
The saint, the father, and the husband prays;
Hope "springs exulting on triumphant wing,”
That thus they all shall meet in future days;
There ever bask in uncreated rays,

No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear,
Together hymning their Creator's praise,
In such society, yet still more dear,

While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere.

44 Gray. 45 The temples, the sides of the head. 46 Chooses.

48 David.

47 The names of Scottish psalm-tunes. 49 Saint John.

50 An island in the Archipelago, where John is supposed to have written the book of Revelation.

Compared with this, how poor Religion's pride,
In all the pomp of method and of art,
When men display to congregations wide
Devotion's every grace, except the heart!
The Power, incensed, the pageant will desert,
The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole;
But haply, in some cottage far apart,

51

May hear, well pleased, the language of the soul;
And in His book of life the inmates poor enroll.

Then homeward all take off their several way;
The youngling cottagers retire to rest;
The parent pair their secret homage pay,

And proffer up to Heaven the warm request
That He, who stills the raven's clamorous nest,
And decks the lily fair in flowery pride,
Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best,

For them and for their little ones provide;

But, chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside.

From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, That makes her loved at home, revered abroad; Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, "An honest man's the noblest work of God;' And certes,52 in fair virtue's heavenly road, The cottage leaves the palace far behind: What is a lordling's pomp? a cumbrous load, Disguising oft the wretch of human-kind, Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refined!

O Scotia! my dear, my native soil!

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent! Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil

Be blessed with health, and peace, and sweet content! And, O! may Heaven their simple lives prevent

From luxury's contagion, weak and vile!

Then, however crowns and coronets be rent,

A virtuous populace may rise the while,

And stand, a wall of fire, around their much-loved isle.

O Thou! who poured the patriotic tide

That streamed through Wallace's undaunted heart, Who dared to, nobly, stem tyrannic pride,

Or nobly die, the second glorious part

(The patriot's God peculiarly Thou art,

His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward),

O never, never, Scotia's realm desert:

But still the patriot, and the patriot bard,

In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard!

JOHN WOLCOTT. 1738-1819. (Manual, p. 370.)

252. The Razor Seller.

A fellow in a market town,

Most musical, cried razors up and down,
And offered twelve for eighteen pence;
Which certainly seemed wondrous cheap,
And for the money quite a heap,

As every man would buy, with cash and sense.

A country bumpkin the great offer heard:
Poor Hodge, who suffered by a broad black beard,
That seemed a shoe-brush stuck beneath his nose:
With cheerfulness the eighteen pence he paid,

And proudly to himself, in whispers, said,
"This rascal stole the razors, I suppose.

"No matter if the fellow be a knave,
Provided that the razors shave;

It certainly will be a monstrous prize."
So home the clown, with his good fortune, went,
Smiling in heart and soul, content,

And quickly soaped himself to ears and eyes.

Being well lathered from a dish or tub,

Hodge now began with grinning pain to grub,
Just like a hedger cutting furze :

"Twas a vile razor!

then the rest he tried

All were impostors. "Ah!" Hodge sighed,
"I wish my eighteen pence within my purse."

Hodge sought the fellow found him.
and begun :
"P'rhaps, Master Razor-rogue, to you 'tis fun,
That people flay themselves out of their lives:
You rascal! for an hour have I been grubbing,
Giving my crying whiskers here a scrubbing,
With razors just like oyster knives.

Sirrah! I tell you, you're a knave,

To cry up razors that can't shave."

"Friend," quoth the razor-man, "I'm not a knave:

As for the razors you have bought,

Upon my soul I never thought

That they would shave."

"Not think they'd shave!" quoth Hodge, with wondering eyes,

And voice not much unlike an Indian yell;

"What were they made for then, you dog?" he cries:

"Made!" quoth the fellow, with a smile, "to SELL."

-

RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. 1751-1816. (Manual, p. 371.)

FROM "THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL."

253. THE Old Husband and the Young Wife.

Sir Peter Teazle. But here comes my helpmate! She appears in great good humor. How happy I should be if I could tease her into loving me, though but a little!

Enter LADY Teazle.

Lady Teaz. Lud! Sir Peter, I hope you haven't been quarrelling with Maria? It is not using me well to be ill humored when I am not by.

Sir Pet. Ah, Lady Teazle, you might have the power to make me good humored at all times.

Lady Teaz. I am sure I wish I had; for I want you to be in a charming sweet temper at this moment. Do be good humored now, and let me have two hundred pounds, will you?

Sir Pet. Two hundred pounds; what, a'n't I to be in a good humor without paying for it! But speak to me thus, and i' faith there's nothing I could refuse you. You shall have it; but seal me a bond for the repayment.

Lady Teaz. O, no

there my note of hand will do as well.
[Offering her hand.

Sir Pet. And you shall no longer reproach me with not giving you an independent settlement. I mean shortly to surprise you: but shall we always live thus, hey?

Lady Teaz. If you please. I'm sure I don't care how soon we leave off quarrelling, provided you'll own you were tired first.

Well then let our future contest be, who shall be

Sir Pet. most obliging.

Lady Teaz. I assure you, Sir Peter, good nature becomes you. You look now as you did before we were married, when you used to walk with me under the elms, and tell me stories of what a gallant you were in your youth, and chuck me under the chin, you would; and ask me if I thought I could love an old fellow, who would deny me nothing didn't you?

Sir Pet. Yes, yes, and you were as kind and attentive.

Lady Teaz. Ay, so I was, and would always take your part, when my acquaintance used to abuse you, and turn you into ridicule. Sir Pet. Indeed!

Lady Teaz. Ay, and when my cousin Sophy has called you a stiff, peevish old bachelor, and laughed at me for thinking of marrying one who might be my father, I have always defended you, and said, I didn't think you so ugly by any means.

Sir Pet. Thank you,