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motherly affection; she at length, overcome by her miserable passion, efter much abuse of Mary's Temper and moral tendencies, exclaimed with violent emotion-O'Edward! indeed, indeed, she is not fit for you-she has not a heart to love you as you deserve. It is I that love you! Marry me, Edward! The Lover's eyes and I will this very day settle all my property on you.were now opened: and thus taken by surprize, whether from the effect of the horror which he felt, acting as it were hysterically on his nervous system, or that at the first moment he lost the sense of the guilt of the proposal in the feeling of it's strangeness and absurdity, he flung her from him and burst into a fit of Laughter. Iriitated by this almost to frenzy, the Woman fell on her knees, and in a loud voice, that approached to a Scream, she prayed for a Curse both on him and on her own Child. Mary happened to be in the room directly above them, heard Edward's Laugh, and her Mother's blasphemous Prayer, and fainted away He hearing the fall, ran up stairs, and taking her in his arms, carried her off to Ellen's Home; and after some fruitless attempts on her part, toward a reconciliation with her Mother, she was married to him -And here the third part of the Tale begins.

I was not lead to chuse this story from any partiality to tragic, much less, to monstrous events (though at the time that I composed the verses, somewhat more than twelve years ago, I was less averse to such subjects than at present), but from finding in it a striking proof of the possible effect on the imagination, from an Idea violently and suddenly imprest on it. I had been reading Bryan Edward's account of the effects of the Oby Witchcraft on the Negroes in the West Indies, and Hearne's deeply interesting Anecdotes of similar workings on the imagination of the Copper Indians: (those of my Readers, who have it in their power, will be well repaid for the trouble of referring to those Works, for the passages alluded to) and I conceived the design of shewing, that instances of this kind are not peculiar to savage or barbarous tribes, and of illustrating the mode in which the mind is affected in these cases, and the progress and symptoms of the morbid action on the fancy from the beginning.

The Tale is supposed to be narrated by an old Sexton, in a country Churchyard to a Traveller, whose curiosity had been awakened by the appearance of three Graves, close by each other, to two only of which there were Gravestones. On the first of these was the Name and Dates, as usual: on the second no name, but only a Date, and the Words: The Mercy of God is infinite.

The language was intended to be dramatic, that is, suited to the narrator and the metre to correspond to the homeliness of the Diction; and for this reason, I here present it not as the Fragment of a Poem, but of a Tale in the common ballad metre.

A FRAGMENT.

THE Grapes upon the vicar's wall
Were ripe as they could be;
And yellow leaves in sun and wind
Were falling from the tree.
On the hedge-elms in the narrow lane
Still swung the spikes of Corn:
Dear Lord! it seems but yesterday-
Young Edward's marriage-morn.
Up thro' that wood behind the Church
There leads from Edward's door
A mossy Track, all over-bough'd
For half a mile or more.

And from their House-door by that Track
The Bride and Bride-groom went:
Sweet Mary, tho' she was not gay,

Seem'd chearful and content.

But when they to the Church-yard came,
I've heard poor Mary say,

As soon as she stepp'd into the Sun,
Her heart-it died away.

And when the Vicar join'd their hands,
Her limbs did creep and freeze;

But when he pray'd, she thought she saw
Her mother on her knees.

And o'er the Church-path they return'd-
I saw poor Mary's back

Just as she stepp'd beneath the boughs
Into the mossy track.

Her feet upon the mossy track
The Married Maiden set:

That moment-I have heard her say
She wish'd she could forget.

The shade o'er-flushed her limbs with heat-
Then came a chill like Death :
And when the merry Bells rang out,
They seem'd to stop her Breath.
Beneath the foulest Mother's curse
No child could ever thrive:
A Mother is a Mother still;
The holiest thing alive.

So five Months pass'd: the Mother still
Would never heal the strife;
But Edward was a loving Man
And Mary a fond wife.
"My Sister may not visit us,
"My Mother says her, nay:
"O Edward! you are all to me,
"I wish for your sake, I could be
"More lifesome and more gay.
"I'm dull and sad! indeed, indeed
"I know, I have no reason!
"Perhaps I'm not well in health,
"And 'tis a gloomy season."
"Twas a drizzly Time-no ice, no snow!
And on the few fine days
She stirr'd not out lest she might meet
Her Mother in the ways.
But Ellen, spite of miry ways

And weather dank and dreary,

Trudg'd every day to Edward's house
And made them all more cheary.
O! Ellen was a faithful Friend,
More dear than any Sister!
As chearful too, as singing Lark;
And she ne'er left them till 'twas dark,
And then they always miss'd her.

And now Ash-wednesday came-that day
But few to Church repair:

For on that day you know, we read

The Commination prayer.

Our late old Vicar, a kind Man,

Once, Sir! he said to me,

He wish'd that service was clean out
Of our good Liturgy.

The Mother walk'd into the Church-
To Ellen's seat she went :

Tho' Ellen always kept her. Church

All Church-days during Lent. And gentle Ellen welcom❜d her

With courteous looks and mild:
Thought she "what if her heart should melt
And all be reconcil'd!"

The Day was scarcely like a Day-
The Clouds were black outright:
And many a night with half a moon
I've seen the Church more light.'
The wind was wild; against the Glass
The rain did beat and bicker;
The Church-tower singing over head-
You could not hear the Vicar!
And then and there the Mother knelt
And audily she cried-

"O may a clinging curse consume,
"This woman by my side!

"O hear me, hear me, Lord in Heaven,
"Altho' thou take my life-

"O curse this woman at whose house
"Young Edward woo'd his wife.
"By night and day, in bed and bower,
"O let her cursed be!"

So having pray'd steady and slow,
She rose up from her knee;
And left the Church, nor e'er again

The Church-door entered she.

I saw poor Ellen kneeling still,

So pale! I guess'd not why:

When she stood up, there plainly was
A Trouble in her Eye.

And when the Prayers were done, we all
Came round and ask'd her, why:

Giddy she seem'd and, sure, there was,

A Trouble in her eye.

But ere she from the Church-door stepp'd,
She smil'd and told us why:

"It was a wicked Woman's curse,
"Quoth she, and what care I?"

She smil'd and smil'd, and pass'd it off
Ere from the door she stepp'd-

But all agree it would have been
Much better, had she wept.
And if her heart was not at ease,

This was her constant cry-:
"It was a wicked woman's curse-
"God's good! and what care I ?"
There was a Hurry in her Looks,
Her struggles she redoubled:
"It was a wicked Woman's curse,
"And why should I be troubled ?"
These tears will come! I dandled her,
When 'twas the merest fairy!—
Good creature !—and she hid it all—
She told it not to Mary.

But Mary heard the Tale-her arms
Round Ellen's neck she threw :
"O Ellen, Ellen! She curs'd me,
"And now she has curs'd you!"
I saw young Edward by himself
Stalk fast adown the lea:

He snatch'd a stick from every Fence,
A twig from every Tree.

He snapt them still with hand or knee,
And then away they flew!

As if with his uneasy Limbs
He knew not what to do!

You see, good Sir! that single Hill ?
This Farm lies underneath:

He heard it there he heard it all,
And only gnash'd his teeth.
Now Ellen was a darling Love
In all his joys and cares;
And Ellen's name and Mary's name
Fast link'd they both together came,
Whene'er he said his Prayers.
And in the Moment of his Prayers

He lov'd them both alike:

Yea, both sweet names with one sweet joy

Upon his heart did strike.

He reach'd his home, and by his looks

They saw his inward strife;

And they clung round him with their arms,

Both Ellen and his Wife.

And Mary could not check her tears,

So on his breast she bow'd,

Then frenzy melted into grief

And Edward wept aloud. Dear Ellen did not weep at all,

But closelier she did cling;

And turn'd her face, and look'd as if
She saw some frighful Thing!

did those, who opposed the theories of Innovators, conduct their untheoretic Opposition with more Wisdom or to a happier result? And secondly, are Societies now constructed on Principles so few and so simple, that we could, even if we wished it, act as it were by Instinct, like our distant Forefathers in the infancy of States? Doubtless, to act is nobler than to think; but as the old man doth not become a Child by means of his second Childishness, as little can a Nation exempt itself from the necessity of thinking, which has once learnt to think. Miserable is the delusion of the present mad Realizer of mad Dreams, if he believe that he can transform the Nations of Europe into the unreasoning Hordes of a Babylonian or Tartar Empire, or even reduce the Age to the Simplicity, (so desirable for Tyrants) of those Times, when the Sword and the Plough were the sole Implements of human Skill. Those are Epochs in the History of a People which having been, can never more recur. Extirpate all Civilization and all its Arts by the Sword, trample down all ancient Institutions, Rights, Distinctions, and Privileges, drag us backward to our old Barbarism, as Beasts to the Den of Cacus deem you that thus you will re-create the unexamining and boisterous youth of the World, when the sole questions were" What is to be conquered? and who is the most famous Leader?

Or shall I rather address myself to those, who think that as the Peace of Nations has been disturbed by the diffusion of Knowledge, falsely so called, and by the excitement of Hopes that could not be gratified; that this Peace may be re-established by excluding the People from all Knowledge, all Thought, and all prospect of Amelioration? O never, never! Reflection, and stirrings of Mind, with all their Restlessness and all their Imperfections and Errors, are come into the World. The Powers that awaken and foster the Spirit of Curiosity and Investigation, are to be found in every Village; Books are in every Cottage. The Infant's cries are hushed with picture-Books; and the Child sheds his first bitter Tears over the Pages which will render it impossible for him, when a Man, to be treated or governed as a Child. The Cause of our disquietude must be the means of our Trap. quillity; only by the Fire, which has burnt us, can we be enlightened to avoid a repetition of the Calamity,

In an Age in which artificial knowledge is received almost at the Birth, Intellect and Thought alone can be our. Upholder and Judge. Let the importauce of this Truth procure pardon for its repetition. Only by means