if thou force him, for whom thou art bound, to pay it himself, he will become thy enemy; if thou use to pay it thyself, thou wilt be a beggar; and believe thy father in this, and print it on thy thought, that what virtue soever thou hast, be it never so manifold, if thou be poor withal, thou and thy qualities shall be despised ; besides, poverty is oft times sent as a curse of God, it is a shame amongst men, an imprisonment of the mind, a vexation of every worthy spirit ; thou shalt neither help thyself nor others, thou shalt drown thee in all thy virtues, having no means to shew them ; thou shalt be a burden and an eye-sore to thy friends--every man will fear thy company—thou shalt be driven basely to beg and depend on others to flatter unworthy men-to make dishonest shifts, and to conclude, poverty provokes a man to do infamous and detested deeds ; let no vanity therefore, or persuasion, draw thee to that worst of worldly miseries. .

“ If thou be rich, it will give thee pleasure in health, comfort in sickness, keep thy mind and body free, save thee from many perils, relieve thee in thy elder years, relieve the poor and thy honest friends, and give means to thy posterity to live, and defend themselves and thine own fame. Where it is said in the Proverbs, That he shall be sore vexed that is surety for a stranger, and he that hateth suretyship is sure ; it is further said, The poor is hated even of his own neighbour, but the rich have many friends. Lend not to him that is mightier than thyself, for if thou lendest him, count it but lost; be not surety above thy power, for if thou be surety, think to pay it."

CHAP. X.

STRAY POETRY. “ The other day,” said Egeria one evening after tea, “ I called your attention to that bundle of manuscripts which you brought for us to look over, and I read to you two very clever and philosophical little essays. In looking this afternoon again into the same papers, I have found several other things no less deserving of attention. I wonder who is the author. It is surprising that one who writes so well should be so little known.”

The Bachelor did not reply to this question, but, giving a sigh, said, “ Let me hear you read these which have given you so much pleasure.”

Egeria, without affecting to notice the pensive reminiscence which her question had awakened, took the following little poem from the bundle.

THE SHIPWRECK.
The ship is unmoor’d,

All hands are on board,
Released from the bonds of affection;

High-mounted, the crew

Bid a cheering adieu,
To stifle each fond recollection.

The sails all are spread,

The ship shoots ahead,
The rough billows proudly dividing ;

Now plunging amain,

Now rising again,
Like a sea-bird on white bosom riding.

The wind louder grows,

And fiercer it blows,
Now shrill, and then hoarse as the thunder ;

The masts all are bent,

And the topsail is rent,
By the swift-rushing blast burst asunder.

Awe-struck, from the skies

The pilot descries
The whirlwind in circles descending,

And marks over head,

Up-looking with dread,
The waves in white ridges impending.

The rudder is broke;

She reels from the stroke;
O’erwhelm’d, for a moment she's sinking :

In silence their fate

The seamen await;
On the sweetness of home they are thinking.

The twilight is gone,

Dark night is come on,
All dreary and wild is the ocean ;

And shoreward in haste

The billows are chased,
High-raging in boundless commotion.

The breakers are heard,

And all are prepar'd; To the rigging with cords they have bound them: No star in the sky,

Nor light they espy,
But the foam of the waves all around them.

The landsman shall start,

As his slumbers depart,
On his soft couch so peacefully lying,

And hear with affright,

Through the darkness of night,
The groans and the shrieks of the dying.

“ Yes,” said the Bachelor, “ it is a very beautiful

poem.”

6 And,” added Egeria, “ both original and striking in the conception and execution. It is what I would call a talismanic composition: it produces its effect not by what it describes, but by what it recalls to recollection, or by the associations which it awakens. This other is, however, still more beautiful. I have seldom met with any thing so simple and touching.”

THE OLD MAN'S REVERIE.

Sooth'd by the self-same ditty, see

The infant and the sire;
That smiling on the nurse's knee,

This weeping by the fire;
Where unobserved he finds a joy

To list its plaintive tone,
And silently his thoughts employ

On sorrows all his own.

At once it comes, by memory's power,

The loved habitual theme,

Reserved for twilight's darkling hour,

A voluntary dream;
And as with thoughts of former years

His weakly eyes o’erflow,
None wonders at an old man's tears,

Or seeks his grief to know.

Think not he dotes because he weeps;

Conclusion, ah! how wrong !
Reason with grief joint empire keeps,

Indissolubly strong;
And oft in age a helpless pride

With jealous weakness pines, (To second infancy allied)

And every woe refines.

How busy now his teeming brain,

Those murmuring lips declare ;
Scenes never to return again
Are represented there.

* * * *

He ponders on his infant years,

When first his race began,
And, oh! how wonderful appears

The destiny of man!
How swift those lovely hours were past,

In darkness closed how soon ! As if a winter's night o'ercast

The brightest summer's noon.

His wither'd hand he holds to view,

With nerves once firmly strung, And scarcely can believe it true

That ever he was young.