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Note 3, page 24, lines 21 and 22.
Each has its motto: some contrived to tell,

In monkish rhyme, the uses of a bell.
The several


for which bells are used are expressed in two Latin verses of this kind.

Note 4, page 25, line 18.
But monuments themselves memorials need.

Quandoquidem data sunt ipsis quoque fata sepulchris.

Juvenal. Sat. x. I. 146.

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Note 5, page 31, last line.

Regard the dead, but to the living live.
It has been observed to me, that in the first part of the story
I have represented this young woman as resigned and attentive
to her duties; from which it should appear that the concluding
advice is unnecessary; but if the reader will construe the ex-
pression “ to the living live," into the sense-live entirely for
• them, attend to duties only which are real, and not those im-
posed by the imagination, I shall have no need to alter the
line which terminates the story.

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And telling me the sov’reign'st thing on earth
W'as parmacity for an inward bruise.

Shakspeare.—Henry IV. Part I. Act 1.

So gentle, yet so brisk, so wond'rous sweet,
So fit to prattle at a lady's feet.


Much are the precious hours of youth mispent
In climbing learning's rugged, steep ascent:
When to the top the bold adventurer 's got,
He reigns vain monarch of a barren spot ;
While in the vale of ignorance below,
Folly and vice to rank luxuriance grow;
Honours and wealth pour in on every side,
And proud preferment rolls her golden tide.



The lately departed Minister of the Borough-His soothing

and supplicatory Manners—His cool and timid Affections
– No Praise due to such negative Virtue-Address to Cha-
racters of this Kind-The Vicar's Employments-His Talents
and moderate Ambition–His Dislike of Innovation-His
mild but ineffectual Benevolence-A Summary of his Cha-

Mode of paying the Borough-Minister— The Curate has no

such Resources-His Learning and Poverty_Erroneous
Idea of his Parent_His Feelings as a Husband and Father
—The dutiful Regard of his numerous Family–His Plea-
sure as a Writer, how interrupted - No Resource in the
Press-Vulgar Insult--His Account of a Literary Society,
and a Fund for the Relief of indigent Authors, &c.




WHERE ends our chancel in a vaulted space,
Sleep the departed vicars of the place;
Of most, all mention, memory, thought are past,
But take a slight memorial of the last.

To what famed college we our Vicar owe,
To what fair county, let historians show:
Few now remember when the mild young man,
Ruddy and fair, his Sunday-task began;
Few live to speak of that soft soothing look
He cast around, as he prepared his book ;
It was a kind of supplicating smile,
But nothing hopeless of applause, the while ;
And when he finish'd, his corrected pride
Felt the desert, and yet the praise denied.
Thus he his race began, and to the end
His constant care was, no man to offend;

No haughty virtues stirr'd his peaceful mind,
Nor urged the priest to leave the flock behind;
He was his Master's soldier, but not one
To lead an army of his martyrs on:
Fear was his ruling passion; yet was love,
Of timid kind, once known his heart to move;
It led his patient spirit where it paid
Its languid offerings to a listening maid;
She, with her widow'd mother, heard him speak,
And sought awhile to find what he would seek :
Smiling he came, he smiled when he withdrew,
And paid the same attention to the two;
Meeting and parting without joy or pain,
He seem'd to come that he might go again.
The wondering girl, no prude, but something nice,
At length was chill'd by his unmelting ice;
She found her tortoise held such sluggish pace,
That she must turn and meet him in the chase :
This not approving, she withdrew till one
Came who appear'd with livelier hope to run ;
Who sought a readier way the heart to move,
Than by faint dalliance of unfixing love.

Accuse me not that I approving paint
Impatient hope or love without restraint;
Or think the passions, a tumultuous throng,
Strong as they are, ungovernably strong:

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