Oh death! terrific ere thy dart is try'd! Whose hand o'erturns the tow'ring domes of pride; What wide destruction marks thy fatal reign! What numbers bleed thro' all thy vast do main! Whether thy arm, its dreadful strength to show, Like SAMPSON's, sweeps its thousands at a blow; Or gives the cannon's parting ball to fly, Or wings the lightning glancing through the sky; Or bursts the opening ground (whole fields destroy'd), The city tumbling through the dreadful void! Though all her sons, the victims of thy pow'r, Her sons, that fall by millions in an hour; Yet know, should all thy terrors stand display'd, 'Tis but the meaner soul that shrinks with dread: That solemn scene the suppliant captive mourns; That scene intrepid virtue views, and scorns. Thine, virtue! thine is each persuasive charm; Thine ev'ry soul with heavenly raptures warm; When nobler prospects, an eternal train, shade.' OGILVIE. As I leaned on the fragments of what had once been a pillar, contemplating the surrounding objects, fancy almost peopled the space with the imagined figures of those who had once been the inmates of this now-dilapidated ruin. Lo! rising from yon dreary tomb, What spectres stalk across the gloom! VOL. XXXVIII. With haggard eyes, and visage pale, Ere Death's fell hand had mark'd its aim, Greatness! what art thou? for a little while thou blazest a meteor amongst mankind; often more hated than beloved: death at last puts an end to thy career, and a splendid pageant conducts thee to the grave. When any man is infatuated by the false glare of ambition, and is discontented in his station, at which he probably inwardly repines, let reason draw aside the veil; let him seek the tomb of departed greatness, and The great man, at the last day, will fare no better, nor be better looked upon, than the humblest hind that waited on him when here. Finely has Ogilvie pictured this in his poem entitled The Day of Judgment; and the language he puts into the angel's mouth who sounds the last trump is sublimely energetic. Be dark, thou sun, in one eternal night; And cease, thou moon, to rule with paler light Ye planets, drop from these dissolving skies! Rend, all ye tombs ! and, all ye dead, arise! Ye winds, be still; ye tempests, rave no more! And roll, thou deep, thy millions to the shore! Earth, be dissolv'd, with all these worlds on high! And time, be lost in vast eternity! T o'er! I swear by Him, that Time shall be no more. He spoke (all Nature groan'd a loud reply ;) Then shook the sun, and tore him from the sky!' From the nature of my contemplations in this night's walk, my ideas had become very sombre, but I was not the less improved by it on that account: I returned home, I trust better than I went out, and as I sank to repose put up a short prayer to Him Whose hand the bolted thunder forms, Who wings the whirlwind, and who breathes the storms.' MARY had left her husband at an obscure village in Cornwall, where they had retired to avoid the importunity of their numerous creditors. Here they had time for reflection on past follies, and here they might have been happy; but ill habits, which are easily acquired but difficult to expell, followed them to their retirement. Gordon could not procure wine, but he dozed away his time over jugs of ale: while Mary affected a pre-eminence in wit and fashion among the humble villagers; and perhaps it was only to change the scene a little, which first led her to think of paying her mother and sister a visit. After the funeral of poor Martha, Sabina disposed of the cottage and its furniture to a neighbouring farmer; but many of its most useful effects Mary entreated her sister to give to her. They will be dear to me and Gordon, for my mother's sake,' said she: but afterwards, when she found how the Land's-end would be, she sold expensive the carriage of them to them, and put the money pocket. in her own On the departure of Mrs. Gordon, John Adams, (Mrs.. Westwood's husband), kindly enough, invited Sabina to the house; which invita. tion she gladly accepted, not knowing, indeed, where to go-for Mary had not asked her sister to accompany her to Hendon. She flattered herself that she could make them some amends for their hospitality, by her attention to the domestic affairs of so large a family; for Jane had many children by her late husband, and they had several servants. But unhappily the temper of John' was exceedingly irritable, and the patience of Jane but small, so that constant quarrels and contentions rendered the house insupportable to the mild and placid Sabina. She therefore determined to go to Lon den, and endeavour to get a situation in some family; but first she would visit her dear Mrs. Smith, and take her advice. Accordingly she took leave of honest John and his wife, returning them many thanks for their civility; which so pleased John (for the vulgar love thanks), that he went himself with her to the stage, and even insisted on paying her fare. Sabina arrived safe at dame Smith's humble cot. The good woman rejoiced to see her. My dear child,' said she, the sight of you does me good: but you must be my bedfellow, Sabina; for the little room your good mother had is occupied by a most worthy young man, who visits these parts once a year, and always has that room. He is in the linen trade and I believe is an Irish man; but a better, nor a worthier, nor a handsomer man, perhaps, never lived. I have told him what a dutiful tender angel I have had here, and right glad am 1 that you are come while he is here. God send he may see you with old dame Smith's eyes and you won't go from this house Sabina Gayton-that's all.' My dear friend, how you talk!' said Sabina. I have come to ask your advice concerning my future plan of life.' Marry the handsome Irishman, my sweet girl.' What, before he asks me?' said Sabina, smiling. No, not so neither: but I have talked to him a great deal about you, my child, and now I shall say a little more; and as you are on the spot, as a body may say, who knows what may happen-hey?' For pity's sake, for my sake,' cried Sabina, say nothing to him.— Do not drive me from your house, I have much to say to you-have great need of your counsel: you are my only friend, whom next to Heaven I look to for comfort and The worthy Mrs. Smith, affected In the cottage of Mrs. Smith Sabina found herself perfectly at home, and, for the first time since her mother's death, felt happy. She informed her attentive hostess of all that had befallen her since their separation. The good woman was much offended with Mary for not inviting her sister to Hendon, and still more at her asking for part of the furniture.- Proud, yet mean and good-for-nothing creature!" cried she, your dear mother never meant her to have a rag. But I warrant she took care to have the best. I wish I had been therethat's all.' Sabina, finding it impossible to stop her frientay, but to her painful, harangue, said, My dear Mrs. Smith, while you prepare our room, I will indulge in a visit to the dear drooping willow.-Nay, I will soon return, and the walk will do me good.' Well, my lovely child! go.-But remember your mother is happy, and do not give way to useless sorrow.' I will think on what you say,' answered Sabina, and was out of sight in an instant. When she arrived at the grave, she was surprised to see a neat plain stone cover the spot which she had left bound with osiers. This was the work of the kind-hearted Mrs, married, and the married happy," desired Sabina (to the no small confusion of the poor girl) to pledge her. Smith, Sabina sat down on the humble grave, and gave free indulgence to her imagination till the church clock struck eight. She arose to return, and, lifting up her. Their companion, Mr. Hool, amuseyes, observed a tall, elegant looked them by singing several Irish songs, ing man, leaning on an opposite and relating many pleasant anecdotes tomb, whose attention was fixed on which had happened in his travels; her. She was embarassed, as she and while the good dame promust pass him in her way to the nounced him the drollest of mortals, gate. He moved his hat, and ap- Sabina thought him the most ac proaching her, said, Will you ex- complished of men. cuse a stranger's curiosity, madam ? Was the owner of that lowly bed known to you?' "O yes,' said Sabina; the body of my mother. lies beneath this stone.' 'Amiable miss Gayton!' cried the stranger, with vivacity, my heart, claims you for a friend. The worthy dame Smith has taught me to reverence the virtues of her who sleeps in peace beneath the willow. She has also taught me to love and admire the character of her daughter. I presume you are going to Mrs. Smith's. Do me the honour of accepting my arm.' Sabina was more and more embarassed: not doubting but this was the handsome Irishman, and fearing to provoke Mrs. Smith's mirth, by returning in company with the man she most wished to avoid-stammered out something, she scarce knew what herself, and hurried on. When they entered the little kitchen, the good woman held up her hands and eyes; but an imploring look from Sabina returned that to her heart which was springing to her lips. The kind soul had killed one of her best fowls, which with a piece of her ham was soon set out on the table with much pride and pleasure; she declaring she had not felt so much happiness since the loss of her poor boy as she felt then. After supper, she drew a cork of her currant wine, and drinking the single When they retired for the night My dear Mrs. Smith,' said Sabine, I have been much surprised this evening, and, though flattered by your goodness and respect for my dear mother's memory, am half angry with you.' Angry, my child! what have I done to offend you?" Do not talk of offending me, my dear, good woman.-But why-why did you put yourself to the expence of a stone?" O! is that all? To be sure, I thought you left the five guineas in the table-drawer for that purpose. Shall the wicked and the worthless have marble monuments erected to their memory, and shall not a plain stone point out the place where goodness and virtue sleep?" Sabina could not sleep for thinking of the goodness of Providence, in raising her up so true a friend.How vain, how foolish, thought she, is it for mortals to trust in riches or relations for comfort in the hour of distress! Riches are fleeting-relations are selfish; but God can incline the heart of the stranger to sooth the sinking spirits, to pour balm on the wounded mind of those who put their trust in him, Nor was the person who occupied the next chamber more inclined to slumber. The charms of the unas suming orphan, the modesty of her deportment, the amiableness of her character, had entered the heart of Ah! do not say. so,' cried Sabina, with emotion. Never, never shall I cease to remember the happy days I have passed beneath this roof. Never can I forget the dear friends I am about to quit.' Charming girl!' cried Hool, snatching her hand, and pressing it to his lips. Charming girl! may I hope you said friends, may I hope I am included in the kind appellation?' 'Certainly,' returned Sabina blushing, and withdrawing her hand. I have to thank you for much amusement, and the improvement your conversation has afforded me.' 'Sabina, you are going, and I must speak. I have found it impossible to live in the same house (prepared as my heart was to love you by our worthy hostess), and behold you with indifference.' Your piety, your tender attention at the bed of your dying mother, your patient resignation to the will of Heaven when that beloved mother was taken from you, have all been imparted to me by the genuine language of nature. Í loved your character before I beheld your lovely person. Just such a wife had I often prayed Heaven to bestow on me. I have no father, no mother. No friends to consult, none to offend. To my own exertions, my own industry, I trust alone. Providence has hitherto blessed my endeavours. I am partner (an under one indeed at present), but in three years am entitled to a half of a flourishing linen establishment. I have no doubt of success. Would you, my, dear Sabina, consent to be mine, it would be a further incitement to industry; and to render you, my sweet girl, happy, would be the constant endeavour of my life. Mrs. Smith has known me many years. Make any enquiries of her or through her you think proper, and I am persuaded you will find I have not deceived you.' Sabina looked around with the most painful emotions. Words did not immediately offer: at last she returned the followingans wer, which, as it marks the prudence and simplicity of her character in colours more vivid than my pen can paint, I shall give verbatim. You do me much honour, sir, by your favourable opinion; but to accept your offer I must be lost to all sense of gratitude. You say you have no parents, no friends; you depend on your own exertions and the blessings of Heaven for support. May that Heaven prosper your endeavours! But shall Sabina Gayton, an orphan, without parents, without a home, almost without a friend, retard your progress in life? Shall she be a clog to your endeavours to attain that rank in society in which many would find their account? Forbid it honour, and forbid it justice. No, sir; among your equals seek a wifeone whose family and connections may forward your laudable endeavours. As for me, I have neither money, friends, nor connections; and until I can, call at least one of those necessary requisites my own I will remain single. |