"Sure, father," cried Moses, "you are too se"vere in this; for Heaven will never arraign him "for what he thinks, but for what he does. Every "man has a thousand vicious thoughts, which arise "without his power to suppress. Thinking freely "of religion may be involuntary with this gentle"man; so that allowing his sentiments to be wrong, 66 yet as he is purely passive in his assent, he is no 66 more to be blamed for his errors, than the gover66 nor of a city without walls for the shelter he is "obliged to afford an invading enemy. "True, my son," cried I, " but if the governor invites the enemy there, he is justly culpable. "And such is always the case with those who em"brace error. The vice does not lie in assenting "to the proofs they see; but in being blind to "many of the proofs that offer. So that, though ❝our erroneous opinions be involuntary when form"ed, yet as we have been wilfully corrupt, or very "negligent in forming them, we deserve punish❝ment for our vice, or contempt for our folly." My wife now kept up the conversation, though not the argument: she observed, that several very prudent men of our acquaintance were free-thinkers, and made very good husbands; and she knew some sensible girls that had skill enough to make converts of their spouses: "And who knows, my "dear," continued, she, "what Olivia may be able "to do. The girl has a great deal to say upon 65 every subject, and to my knowledge is very well "skilled in controversy." "Why, my dear, what controversy can she have "read?" cried I. "It does not occur to me that "I ever put such books into her hands: you cer"tainly over-rate her merit." "Indeed, papa," replied Olivia, "she does not I have read a great "deal of controversy. I have read the disputes be"tween Thwackum and Square; the controversy "between Robinson Crusoe and Friday the savage, " and I am now employed in reading the contro"versy in Religious Courtship."-" Very well," cried I, "that's a good girl, I find you are perfectly "qualified for making converts, and so go help your "mother to make the gooseberry-pye." CHAP. VIII. An amour, which promises little good fortune, yet may be productive of much. THE next morning we were again visited by Mr. Burchell, though I began for certain reasons, to be displeased with the frequency of his return; but I could not refuse him my company and my fire-side. It is true his labour more than requited his entertainment; for he wrought among us with vigour, and either in the meadow or at the hay-rick put himself foremost. Besides, he had always something amusing to say that lessened our toil, and was at once so out of the way, and yet so sensible, that I loved, laughed at, and pitied him. My only dislike arose from an attachment he discovered to my daughter: he would, in a jesting manner, call her his little mistress, and when he bought each of the girls a set of ribbands, hers was the finest. I knew not how, but he every day seemed to become more amiable, his wit to improve, and his simplicity to assume the superior airs of wisdom. Our family dined in the field, and we sate, or rather reclined, round a temperate repast, our cloth spread upon the hay, while Mr. Burchell gave cheer fulness to the feast. To heighten our satisfaction two blackbirds answered each other from opposite hedges, the familiar red-breast came and pecked the crumbs from our hands, and every sound seemed but the echo of tranquillity. "I never sit thus," says Sophia, but I think of the two lovers, so sweetly described by Mr. Gay, who were struck dead in each other's arms. There is something so pathetic in the description, that I have read it an hundred times with new rapture." "In my opinion," cried my son, "the finest strokes in that description are much below those in the Acis and Galatea of Ovid. The Roman poet understands the use of contrast better, and upon that figure artfully managed all strength in the pathe. tic depends."- "It is remarkable," cried Mr. Burchell, "that both the poets you mention have equally contributed to introduce a false taste into their respective countries, by loading all their lines with epithet. Men of little genius found them most easily imitated in their defects, and English poetry, like that in the latter empire of Rome, is nothing at present but a combination of luxuriant images, without plot or connexion; a string of epithets that improve the sound, without carrying on the sense. But perhaps, madam, while I thus reprehend others, you'll think it just that I should give them an opportunity to retaliate, and indeed I have made this remark only to have an opportunity of introducing to the company a ballad, which, whatever be its other defects, is I think at least free from those I have mentioned *." * We have introduced this beautiful poem in this place, because it appears to be too intimately connected with the story, to be omitted with any propriety, though it is inserted in a preceding volume among the rest of the Doctor's poetical productions. A BALLAD. i. "TURN gentle Hermit of the dale, "And guide my lonely way, "To where yon taper cheers the vale "With hospitable ray. II. "For here forlorn and lost I tread, "With fainting steps and slow; "Where wilds, immeasurably spread, "Seem length'ning as I go." III. "Forbear, my son," the Hermit cries, "To tempt the dangerous gloom; "For yonder faithless phantom flies "To lure thee to thy doom. IV. "Here to the houseless child of want "My door is open still ; "And though my portion is but scant, "I give it with good will. V. "Then turn to-night, and freely share, "Whate'er my cell bestows; "My rushy couch and frugal fare, "My blessing and repose. VI. "No flocks that range the valley free, "To slaughter I condemn ; "Taught by that power that pities me, "I learn to pity them: VII. "But from the mountain's grassy side "A guiltless feast I bring; "A scrip with herbs and fruits supply'd, "And water from the spring. VIII. "Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego; "All earth-born cares are wrong; "Man wants but little here below, "Nor wants that little long." IX. Soft as the dew from Heav'n descends, His gentle accents fell: The modest stranger lowly bends, And follows to the cell. X. Far in the wilderness obscure The lonely mansion lay, And strangers led astray. XI. No stores beneath its humble thatch Requir❜d a master's care; The wicket, op'ning with a latch, |