Before that door the child lay sprawling,
And mov'd the Doctor with its squalling:
But, before Heaven I can swear,
It then was as a Cherub fair;
Strait as a little arrow he,
In perfect form and symmetry;
And from its neck unto its rump,
Believe me, he had no such hump
As that, though hid with every care,
Your injur'd form is seen to bear;
And cannot but appear to be
A natural deformity.
How this change came of course you know,—
With the poor child it was not so ;—
Prepare its Hist❜ry to explain,
you will visit here in vain.
-My good young man, strive not to cheat,
Nor think to profit by deceit :
You have with knowing folk to do,
Not to be foil'd by such as you.
I own you tell a moving tale,
But Facts alone will now prevail :
You will be sifted up and down
Till e'en your marrow-bones are known.
-I've not another word to say;
To Master Vellum take your way,
You'll find him at his snug abode
Near Shoreditch Church, in Hackney Road:
For, when the infant first was left,
Of all parental care bereft,
The Bookseller and I, between us,
Had much to do with dear QUÆ GENUS:
For to his shop I us'd to go
'Twas then in Paternoster Row,
As he the money did supply
For the poor Foundling's nursery.
-O, if he finds your story true,
It will, indeed, be well for you!
I will then hug and kiss you too!"
He took his leave-she gave a blessing
As good, perhaps, as her caressing.
In haste, and on his great intent To Vellum He his footsteps bent; Who had long since left off the trade By which he had a fortune made: But why we do the old Man see A figure in this history, Becomes a duty to explain, Nor shall it be employ'd in vain: And now, as brief as can be told, We must the Mystery unfold; And, since so many years are o'er, Why it was not explain'd before. Though he who length of life has seen, Must have a cold observer been; Whose languid or incurious eye Has not the power to descry, On what a chain of odds and ends The course of Human Life depends.
But now we quit the beaten road And turn into an Episode,
Nor fear the track, though we shall draw The picture of a Man of Law;
For we have seldom had to do
With one so gen'rous, just and true;
So he was thought by grateful fame, And Fairman was the good man's name. If in that long-suspected trade
An honest fortune e'er was made
'Twas that he could in Honour boast
As Justice always tax'd the cost.
'Twas his to bid Contention cease
And make the Law a Friend to peace:
He strove to silence rising feud,
And all his practice led to good:
By mildest means it was his aim
To silence each opposing claim;
To take Injustice by the brow
And make it to right reason bow:
Nay, where in courts he must contend,
He saw no foe, and knew no friend.
He fail'd not by his utmost power
To wing with speed Law's ling'ring hour;
A busy foe to dull delay,
He spurr'd each process on its way;
Nor were his words, by skill made pliant,
Arrang'd to flatter any Client:
Whene'er he claim'd his well-earn'd Fee,
Justice and Law would answer- Yea.
And when Oppression knit its brow
And said, proceed,-He answer'd—No.
-When summon'd to the great Assize,
Held in the Court above the skies,
He will not be afraid to hear
The VERDICT which awaits him there.
-Such was the Man who soon would own
QUE GENUS as his darling Son.
HE man of pure and simple heart
Through Life disdains a double part,
Nor does he need a mean device
His inward bosom to disguise:
Thus as he stands before mankind
His actions prove an honest mind.
But though 'gainst Reason's rigid rule
He may have play'd the early fool,
As wise men may, perhaps, have done
In the long race which they have run;
For Passion, which will act its part
In the best regulated heart,
Is, as we may too often see
Beset with Nature's frailty.
Yet Virtue in its course prevails;
The better impulse seldom fails
When smiling Conscience holds the scales:
Nay, through the venial errors past,
Maintains its influence to the last,
And thus, with righteous hope endued,
Rests on predominating good.
Something like this we hope to see
In our progressive History.
One morn as worthy Fairman lay Courting his pillow's soft delay,
Enjoying, in his mind's fair view,
Good he had done, or meant to do;
A Letter came, as it appear'd,
Sign'd by a name, he'd never heard,
To beg he instant would attend
An old and long-forgotten friend,
Matter of import to unfold
Which could by her alone be told,
Whose trembling hand in Nature's spite
Had strove the wretched scrawl to write.
She wish'd into his ear to pour
The tidings of a dying hour,
Which she was anxious to impart
To the recesses of his heart.
This Summons the good man obey'd
And found upon, a sick-bed laid,
A female form, whose languid eye
Seem'd to look bright when he drew nigh.
"Listen," she said, "I humbly pray,
Though short the time, I've much to say.
My features now no longer bear
The figure when you thought them fair:
MARIA was my borrow'd name
When passion shook my early claim
To woman's glory, that chaste fame
Which when once lost, no power should give,
But to repent the wish to live.
A mother's lab'ring pangs I knew,
And the child ow'd its life to you.
Though ever gen'rous, just and kind
Here doubt perplex'd your noble mind,
And had dispos'd you to believe
That I was false, and could deceive :
But now, if solemn oaths can prove,
And if my dying words can move,
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