The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 263

In short, dear, this preaching and psalm-singing pair, Chosen "vessels of mercy," as _I_ thought they were, Have together this last week eloped; making bold To whip off as much goods as both vessels could hold-- Not forgetting some scores of sweet Tracts from my shelves, Two Family Bibles as large as themselves, And besides, from the drawer--I neglecting to lock it-- My neat "Morning Manna, done up for the pocket."[1]

Was there e'er known a case so distressing, dear Liz?

It has made me quite ill:-and the worst of it is, When rogues are _all_ pious, 'tis hard to detect _Which_ rogues are the reprobate, _which_ the elect.

This man "had a _call_," he said--impudent mockery!

What call had he to _my_ linen and crockery?

I'm now and have been for this week past in chase Of some G.o.dly young couple this pair to replace.

The enclosed two announcements have just met my eyes In that venerable Monthly where Saints advertise For such temporal comforts as this world supplies; And the fruits of the Spirit are properly made An essential in every craft, calling and trade.

Where the attorney requires for his 'prentice some youth Who has "learned to fear G.o.d and to walk in the truth;"

Where the sempstress, in search of employment, declares That pay is no object, so she can have prayers; And the Establisht Wine Company proudly gives out That the whole of the firm, Co. and all, are devout.

Happy London, one feels, as one reads o'er the pages, Where Saints are so much more abundant than sages; Where Parsons may soon be all laid on the shelf, As each Cit can cite chapter and verse for himself, And the _serious_ frequenters of market and dock All lay in religion as part of their stock.[2]

Who can tell to what lengths we may go on improving, When thus thro' all London the Spirit keeps moving, And heaven's so in vogue that each shop adver_tise_ment Is now not so much for the earth as the skies meant?

P. S.

Have mislaid the two paragraphs--can?t stop to look, But both describe charming--both Footman and Cook.

She, "decidedly pious"--with pathos deplores The increase of French cookery and sin on our sh.o.r.es; And adds--(while for further accounts she refers To a great Gospel preacher, a cousin of hers,) That "tho' _some_ make their Sabbaths mere matter-of-fun days, She asks but for tea and the Gospel, on Sundays."

The footman, too, full of the true saving knowledge;-- Has late been to Cambridge--to Trinity College; Served last a young gentleman, studying divinity, But left--not approving the morals of Trinity.

P. S.

I enclose, too, according to promise, some sc.r.a.ps Of my Journal--that Day-book I keep of my heart; Where, at some little items, (partaking, perhaps, More of earth than of heaven,) thy prudery may start, And suspect something tender, sly girl as thou art.

For the present, I'm mute--but, whate'er may befall, Recollect, dear, (in Hebrews, xiii. 4,) St. Paul Hath himself declared, "marriage is honorable in all."

EXTRACTS FROM MY DIARY.

_Monday_.

Tried a new chale gown on--pretty.

No one to see me in it--pity!

Flew in a pa.s.sion with Fritz, my maid;-- The Lord forgive me!--she lookt dismayed; But got her to sing the 100th Psalm, While she curled my hair, which made me calm.

Nothing so soothes a Christian heart As sacred music--heavenly art!

_Tuesday_

At two a visit from Mr. Magan-- A remarkably handsome, nice young man; And, all Hibernian tho' he be, As civilized, strange to say, as we!

I own this young man's spiritual state Hath much engrossed my thoughts of late; And I mean, as soon as my niece is gone, To have some talk with him thereupon.

At present I naught can do or say, But that troublesome child is in the way; Nor is there, I think, a doubt that he Would also her absence much prefer, As oft, while listening intent to me, He's forced, from politeness, to look at her.

Heigho!--what a blessing should Mr. Magan Turn out, after all, a "renewed" young man; And to me should fall the task, on earth, To a.s.sist at the dear youth's second birth.

Blest thought! and ah! more blest the tie, Were it Heaven's high will, that he and I-- But I blush to write the nuptial word-- Should wed, as St. Paul says, "in the Lord"; Not _this_ world's wedlock--gross, gallant, But pure--as when Amram married his aunt.

Our ages differ--but who would count One's natural sinful life's amount, Or look in the Register's vulgar page For a regular twice-born Christian's age, Who, blessed privilege! only then Begins to live when he's born again?

And, counting in _this_ way--let me see-- I myself but five years old shall be.

And dear Magan, when the event takes place, An actual new-born child of grace-- Should Heaven in mercy so dispose-- A six-foot baby, in _swaddling_ clothes.

_Wednesday_.

Finding myself, by some good fate, With Mr. Magan left _tete-a-tete_, Had just begun--having stirred the fire, And drawn my chair near his--to inquire, What his notions were of Original Sin, When that naughty f.a.n.n.y again bounced in; And all the sweet things I had got to say Of the Flesh and the Devil were whiskt away!

Much grieved to observe that Mr. Magan Is actually pleased and, amused with Fan!

What charms any sensible man can see In a child so foolishly young as she-- But just eighteen, come next Mayday, With eyes, like herself, full of naught but play-- Is, I own, an exceeding puzzle to me.

[1] "Morning Manna, or British Verse-book, neatly done up for the pocket,"

and chiefly intended to a.s.sist the members of the British Verse a.s.sociation, whose design is, we are told, "to induce the inhabitants of Great Britain and Ireland to commit one and the same verse of Scripture to memory every morning. Already, it is known, several thousand persons in Scotland, besides tens of thousands in America and Africa, _are every morning learning the same verse_."

[2] According to the late Mr. Irving, there is even a peculiar form of theology got up expressly for the money-market, "I know how far wide," he says, "of the mark my views of Christ's work in the flesh will be viewed by those who are working with the stock-jobbing theology of the religious world." "Let these preachers." he adds, "(for I will not call them theologians), cry up, brother like, their article,"--_Morning Watch_."-- No. iii, 442. 443.

LETTER III.

FROM MISS f.a.n.n.y FUDGE, TO HER COUSIN, MISS KITTY ----.

STANZAS ENCLOSED.

TO MY SHADOW; OR, WHY?--WHAT?--HOW?

Dark comrade of my path! while earth and sky Thus wed their charms, in bridal light arrayed, Why in this bright hour, walkst thou ever nigh; Blackening my footsteps, with thy length of shade-- Dark comrade, WHY?

Thou mimic Shape that, mid these flowery scenes, Glidest beside me o'er each sunny spot, Saddening them as thou goest--say, what means So dark an adjunct to so bright a lot-- Grim goblin, WHAT?

Still, as to pluck sweet flowers I bend my brow, Thou bendest, too--then risest when I rise;-- Say, mute, mysterious Thing! how is't that thou Thus comest between me and those blessed skies-- Dim shadow, HOW?

(ADDITIONAL STANZA, BY ANOTHER HAND.)

Thus said I to that Shape, far less in grudge Than gloom of soul; while, as I eager cried, Oh Why? What? How?--a Voice, that one might judge To be some Irish echo's, faint replied, Oh fudge, fudge, fudge!

You have here, dearest Coz, my last lyric effusion; And, with it, that odious "additional stanza, Which Aunt _will_ insist I must keep, as conclusion, And which, you'll _at once_ see, is Mr. Magan's;--a Most cruel and dark-designed extravaganza, And part of that plot in which he and my Aunt are To stifle the flights of my genius by banter.

Just so 'twas with Byron's young eagle-eyed strain, Just so did they taunt him;--but vain, critics, vain All your efforts to saddle Wit's fire with a chain!

To blot out the splendor of Fancy's young stream, Or crop, in its cradle, her newly-fledged beam!!!

Thou perceivest, dear, that, even while these lines I indite, Thoughts burn, brilliant fancies break out, wrong or right, And I'm all over poet, in Criticism's spite!

That my Aunt, who deals only in Psalms, and regards Messrs. Sternhold and Co. as the first of all bards-- That _she_ should make light of my works I can?t blame; But that nice, handsome, odious Magan--what a shame!

Do you know, dear, that, high as on most points I rate him, I'm really afraid--after all, I--_must_ hate him, He is _so_ provoking--naught's safe from his tongue; He spares no one auth.o.r.ess, ancient or young.

Were you Sappho herself, and in _Keepsake_ or _Bijou_ Once shone as contributor, Lord! how he'd quiz you!

He laughs at _all_ Monthlies--I've actually seen A sneer on his brow at _The Court Magazine_!-- While of Weeklies, poor things, there's but one he peruses, And buys every book which that Weekly abuses.

But I care not how others such sarcasm may fear, _One_ spirit, at least, will not bend to his sneer; And tho' tried by the fire, my young genius shall burn as Uninjured as crucified gold in the furnace!

(I suspect the word "crucified" must be made "crucible,"

Before this fine image of mine is producible.) And now, dear--to tell you a secret which, pray Only trust to such friends as with safety you may-- You know and indeed the whole country suspects (Tho' the Editor often my best things rejects), That the verses signed so,[symbol: hand], which you now and then see In our County _Gazette_ (vide _last_) are by me.

But 'tis dreadful to think what provoking mistakes The vile country Press in one's prosody makes.

For you know, dear--I may, without vanity, hint-- Tho' an angel should write, still 'tis _devils_ must print; And you can?t think what havoc these demons sometimes Choose to make of one's sense, and what's worse, of one's rhymes.

But a week or two since, in my Ode upon Spring, Which I _meant_ to have made a most beautiful thing, Where I talkt of the "dewdrops from freshly-blown roses,"