"All that o'er grief a cheering influence shed, "Are these for ever and for ever fled?

"When, in the years gone by, the trying years, "When faith and hope had strife with wants and fears,

"Thy nerves have trembled till thou couldst not eat (Dress'd by this hand) thy mess of simple

meat ;'

"When, grieved by fastings, gall'd by fates severe, "Slow pass'd the days of the successless year; "Still in these gloomy hours, my brother then "Had glorious views, unseen by prosperous men : "And when thy heart has felt its wish denied, "What gracious texts hast thou to grief applied; "Till thou hast enter'd in thine humble bed,

By lofty hopes and heavenly musings fed; "Then I have seen thy lively looks express "The spirit's comforts in the man's distress.

"Then didst thou cry, exulting, 'Yes, 'tis fit, "'Tis meet and right, my heart! that we submit:' "And wilt thou, Abel, thy new pleasures weigh

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Against such triumphs?-Oh! repent and pray.

"What are thy pleasures?-with the gay to sit, "And thy poor brain torment for awkward wit; "All thy good thoughts (thou hat'st them) to restrain,

"And give a wicked pleasure to the vain ; "Thy long, lean frame by fashion to attire,

"That lads may laugh and wantons may admire;

"To raise the mirth of boys, and not to see, "Unhappy maniac! that they laugh at thee.

"These boyish follies, which alone the boy "Can idly act or gracefully enjoy,

"Add new reproaches to thy fallen state, "And make men scorn what they would only hate.

"What pains, my brother, dost thou take to prove

"A taste for follies which thou canst not love!

Why do thy stiffening limbs the steed bestride"That lads may laugh to see thou canst not ride? "And why (I feel the crimson tinge my cheek) "Dost thou by night in Diamond-Alley sneak?

"Farewell! the parish will thy sister keep, "Where she in peace shall pray and sing and sleep, "Save when for thee she mourns, thou wicked, wandering sheep!

"When youth is fallen, there's hope the young may rise,

"But fallen age for ever hopeless lies;

"Torn up by storms, and placed in earth once more, "The younger tree may sun and soil restore; "But when the old and sapless trunk lies low, "No care or soil can former life bestow; "Reserved for burning is the worthless tree-"And what, O Abel! is reserved for thee?"

These angry words our hero deeply felt, Though hard his heart, and indisposed to melt!

To gain relief he took a glass the more,
And then went on as careless as before;
Thenceforth, uncheck'd, amusements he partook,
And (save his ledger) saw no decent book;
Him found the Merchant punctual at his task,
And that perform'd, he'd nothing more to ask;
He cared not how old Abel play'd the fool,
No master he, beyond the hours of school:
Thus they proceeding, had their wine and joke,
Till merchant Dixon felt a warning stroke,
And, after struggling half a gloomy week,
Left his poor Clerk another friend to seek.

Alas! the son, who led the saint astray,
Forgot the man whose follies made him gay;
He cared no more for Abel in his need,
Than Abel cared about his hackney steed;
He now, alas! had all his earnings spent,
And thus was left to languish and repent;
No school nor clerkship found he in the place,
Now lost to fortune, as before to grace.

For town-relief the grieving man applied, And begg'd with tears what some with scorn denied ; Others look'd down upon the glowing vest, And frowning, ask'd him at what price he dress'd? Happy for him his country's laws are mild, They must support him, though they still reviled; Grieved, abject, scorn'd, insulted, and betray'd, Of God unmindful, and of man afraid,

No more he talk'd; 'twas pain,'t was shame to speak, His heart was sinking, and his frame was weak.

His sister died with such serene delight,
He once again began to think her right;
Poor like himself, the happy spinster lay,
And sweet assurance bless'd her dying-day :
Poor like the spinster, he, when death was nigh,
Assured of nothing, felt afraid to die.

The cheerful clerks who sometimes pass'd the door,
Just mention'd "Abel!" and then thought no more.
So Abel, pondering on his state forlorn,

Look'd round for comfort, and was chased by scorn.
And now we saw him on the beach reclined,
Or causeless walking in the wintery wind;
And when it raised a loud and angry sea,
He stood and gazed, in wretched reverie :
He heeded not the frost, the rain, the snow,
Close by the sea he walk'd alone and slow:
Sometimes his frame through many an hour he
spread

Upon a tombstone, moveless as the dead;

And was there found a sad and silent place,
There would he creep with slow and measured pace;

Then would he wander by the river's side,
And fix his eyes upon the falling tide;
The deep dry ditch, the rushes in the fen,
And mossy crag-pits were his lodgings then:
There, to his discontented thought a prey,
The melancholy mortal pined away.

The neighb'ring poor at length began to speak Of Abel's ramblings - he'd been gone a week; They knew not where, and little care they took For one so friendless and so poor to look.

At last a stranger, in a pedlar's shed,

Beheld him hanging-he had long been dead.
He left a paper, penn'd at sundry times,

Entitled thus—“My Groanings and my Crimes!"

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"I was a christian man, and none could lay

Aught to my charge; I walk'd the narrow way: "All then was simple faith, serene and pure,

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My hope was steadfast and my prospects sure; "Then was I tried by want and sickness sore, "But these I clapp'd my shield of faith before, "And cares and wants and man's rebukes I bore: "Alas! new foes assail'd me; I was vain,

They stung my pride and they confused my brain : "Oh! these deluders! with what glee they saw "Their simple dupe transgress the righteous law; "'Twas joy to them to view that dreadful strife, "When faith and frailty warr'd for more than life; "So with their pleasures they beguiled the heart, "Then with their logic they allay'd the smart; "They proved (so thought I then) with reasons

strong,

"That no man's feelings ever lead him wrong:

"And thus I went, as on the varnish'd ice,

"The smooth career of unbelief and vice.

"Oft would the youths, with sprightly speech and bold,

"Their witty tales of naughty priests unfold;

'Twas all a craft,' they said, 'a cunning trade, "Not she the priests, but priests Religion made;' So I believed:"—No, Abel! to thy grief: So thou relinquish'dst all that was belief:

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