parent shall never influence my integrity as a man; name then your day, let it be as distant as you think proper, and in the mean time take care to let Mr. Thornhill know the exact time on which I design delivering you up to another; if he really love you, his own good sense will readily suggest that there is but one method alone to prevent his losing you for ever.' This proposal, which she could not avoid considering as perfectly just, was readily agreed to. She again renewed her most positive promise of marrying Mr. Williams, in case of the other's insensibility; and at the next opportunity, in Mr. Thornhill's presence, that day month was fixed upon for her nuptials with his rival.

Such vigorous proceedings seemed to redouble Mr. Thornhill's anxiety; but what Olivia really felt gave me some uneasiness. In this struggle between prudence and passion, her vivacity quite forsook her, and every opportunity of solitude was sought and spent in tears. One week passed away; but Mr. Thornhill made no efforts to restrain her nuptials. The succeeding week he was still assiduous, but not more open. On the third he discontinued his visits entirely; and instead of my daughter testifying an impatience, as I expected, she seemed to retain a pensive tranquillity, which I looked upon as resignation. For my own part, I was now sincerely pleased with thinking that my child was going to he secured in a continuance of competence and peace, and frequently applaud

ed her resolution, in preferring happiness to ostentation.

It was within about four days of her intended nuptials, that my little family at night were gathered round a charming fire, telling stories of the past, and laying schemes for the future; busied in forming a thousand projects, and laughing at whatever folly came uppermost. 'Well, Moses, cried I, we shall soon, my boy, have a wedding in the family; what is your opinion of matters and things in general?' 'My opinion, father, is, that all things go on very well; and I was just now thinking, that when sister Livy is married to Farmer Williams, we shall then have the loan of his cider-press and brewing tubs for nothing.' That we shall, Moses,' cried I, ' and he will sing us Death and the Lady, to raise our spirits, into the bargain.' 'He has taught that song to our Dick,' cried Moses; ' and I think he goes through it very prettily.'-' Does he so?' cried I, 'then let us have it: where is little Dick? let him up with it boldly.' 'My brother Dick,' cried Bill, my youngest,' is just gone out with sister Livy; but Mr. Williams has taught me two songs, and I'll sing them to you, papa. Which song do you choose, The dying Swan, or the Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog? The Elegy, child, by all means,' said I; 'I never heard that yet, and Deborah, my life, grief, you know, is dry; let us have a bottle of the best gooseberry wine, to keep up our spirits. I have wept so much at all sorts of elegies of late, that, without an enlivening glass, I am sure this will

overcome me.-And Sophy, love, take your guitar,

thrum it with the boy a little'

AN ELEGY

ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG.

1

GOOD people all, of every sort,

Give ear unto my song;
And if you find it wond'rous short,
It cannot hold you long.

In Islington there was a man,

Of whom the world might say,
That still a godly race he ran,
When'er he went to pray.

A kind and gentle heart he had,
To comfort friends and foes;
The naked every day he clad,
When he put on his clothes.

And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be,

Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,

And curs of low degree.

This dog and man at first were friends;

But when a pique began,

The dog to gain some private ends,

Went mad, and bit the man.

Around from all the neighb'ring streets,

The wond'ring neighbours ran;

And swore the dog had lost his wits,

To bite so good a man.

The wound it seem'd both sore and sad,
To every Christian eye;

And while they swore the dog was mad,
They swore the man would die.

But soon a wonder came to light,
That show'd the rogues they lied;

The man recover'd of the bite,
The dog it was that died.

'A very good boy, Bill, upon my word; ana an elegy that may truly be called tragical-Come, my childen, here's Bill's health, and may he one day be a bishop!'

'With all my heart, cried my wife; and if he but preaches as well as he sings, I make no doubt of him. The most of his family by the mother's side could sing a good song; it was a commen saying in our country, that the family of the Blenkinsops could never look straight before them, nor the Hugginsons blow out a candle; that there were none of the Grograms but could sing a song, or of the Marjorams but could tell a story.'-' However that be,' cried I, 'the most vulgar ballad of all generally pleases me better than the fine modern odes, and things that petrify us in a stanza; productions that we at once detest and praise. Put the glass to your brother, Moses. The great fault of these elegiasts is, that they are in despair for griefs that give the sensible part of mankind very little pain. A lady loses her muff, 'her fan, her lap-dog, and so the silly poet runs home to versify the disaster.'

"That may be the mode,' cried Moses, 'in sublimer compositions; but the Ranelagh songs that come down to us are perfectly familiar, and all cast in the same mould; Collin meets Dolly, and they hold a dialogue together; he gives her a fairing to put in her hair, and she presents him with a nosegay; and then they go together to church, where they give good advice to young nymphs and swains to get married as fast as they can.'

'And very good advice too,' cried I; and I am told there is not a place in the world where advice can be given with so much propriety as there; for, as it persuades us to marry, it also furnishes us with a wife; and surely that must be an excellent market, my boy, where we are told what we want, and supplied with it when wanting.?

'Yes, Sir,' returned Moses, and I know but of two such markets for wives in Europe; Ranelagh in England, and Fontarabia in Spain. The Spanish market is open once a year; but our English wives are saleable every night.'

'You are right, my boy,' cried his mother, Old England is the only place in the world for husbands to get wives.'-'And for wives to manage their husbands,' interrupted I. 'It is a proverb abroad, that if a bridge were built across the sea, all the ladies of the continent would come over to take pattern from ours: for there are no such wives in Europe as our own. But let us have one bottle more, Deborah, my life—and, Moses, give us a good song. What thanks do we not owe to heaven for thus bestowing tranquillity, health, and competence! I think myself happier now than the greatest monarch upon earth: He has no such fire-side, nor such pleasant faces about it. Yes, Deborah, we are now growing old; but the evening of our life is likely to be happy. We are descended from ancestors that knew no stain, and we shall leave a good and virtuous race of children behind us. While we live, they will