Th' exposure she can well display As if it were but yesterday, But further knowledge is requir'd And what events may have conspir'd To shape his Life--If he should live, 'Tis what this paper asks to give.

Who has such tidings and will tell 'em, With all due proofs, to Mr. VELLUM, Or sent by Post to his abode, Near_ Sh.o.r.editch Church _in_ Hackney Road, _Will the remuneration prove That's fully stated as above._"

Again he read the paper o'er, Resolv'd its purport to explore, And strait to _Number_ THREE repairs When hobbling down the ancient stairs, He met the Matron whom he sought, And told his story as he ought, A rapid sketch--nor did it fail To be an interesting Tale: Which when she heard, against the wall The broom she held was seen to fall, And scarce her old arms could prevail To bear the burthen of her pail.

Her gla.s.ses then she sought to place On the _Proboscis_ of her face; Not that a likeness she should see 'Tween riper years and infancy.

But now her heart began to melt At _Recollections_ that she felt, And thus she wish'd to tell them o'er, As she had often done before.

"What, though so many years are gone, And you to man's estate are grown, Since I, in all its infant charms, Dandled the Foundling in my arms, Were I but certain it was _you_, Yes I would hug--and kiss you too."

--But though he vow'd and did exclaim He was the very--very same; And though he put forth ev'ry grace } With which his words could gild his face, } He could not gain a kind embrace; } Though twenty-five don't often sue To claim a kiss from sixty-two: But some suspicions had possess'd The avenues to _Betty's_ breast; For she liv'd where her open ear Was practis'd ev'ry day to hear Of art array'd in fairest guise And truth o'erthrown by artifice.

Thus what could the old Matron do?

She fear'd him false, and wish'd him true: Then turn'd him round, but look'd aghast, As at his back her eye she cast; When she thus spoke, and heav'd a sigh, "I hope it is not treachery!

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, Or 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 _Sh.o.r.editch 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 QUae 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 _a.s.size_, 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 QUae GENUS as his darling Son.

CANTO IX

The 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 Pa.s.sion, 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 pa.s.sion 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 n.o.ble 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, Should he be living, I'll make known The Babe I bore to be _your own_.

Scarce was it born, but 'twas my care That you a parent's part should bear.

My quiv'ring hands then wrapp'd it o'er, } I trembling plac'd it on the floor } And gave a signal at the door: } When I, my eyes bedimm'd with tears, And flurried by alarming fears, In a dark night mistook the stair And left it to a stranger's care.

Such was my error, as I thought The child was harbour'd where it ought; And, O my friend, how well I knew The helpless would be safe with YOU:-- And when, by secret means, I heard It was receiv'd and would be rear'd, I doubted not you did prepare The blessings of a parent's care.

--I was content, and join'd the train Of warring men who cross'd the main; And since, for twenty years or more, I've follow'd Camps on India's sh.o.r.e; But when, how chang'd by years of pain, I saw my native land again, I look'd, how vainly, for the joy Of seeing my deserted Boy!

Think how my disappointment grew, } When, from a strict research, I knew } He never had been known to you! } But, favour'd by the will of Heaven, To Mercy's hand he has been given; Though of his first or latter years No record of him yet appears: At least, beyond the earliest day As in his cot the Infant lay, And when his smiling place of rest Was on a fondling nurse's breast!

I the child's story, but in vain, Have strove with anxious heart to gain; For she who gave him milk still lives And tells all that her mem'ry gives.

But of your child what is become, Whether he has a house or home, Whether he sails the ocean o'er } Or wanders on some desert sh.o.r.e, } Whether he lives or breathes no more, } If you've the heart that once I knew May shortly be made known to you: For, with the means which you possess, He may be found your age to bless.

I only ask of Heaven to live To see him your embrace receive; And, dare I hope the joy, to join A mother's fond embrace with thine: Then may my pilgrim wanderings cease, And I, at length, shall die in peace!

--Thus I have my last duty done, And may kind Heaven restore your Son!--"

--She spoke--the tale she did impart Sunk deep into the good man's heart; For, as he said, there did not live To close his eyes one relative.

He then in eager speech declar'd No cost, no labour should be spar'd The Boy to find, and should he be What his fond eyes might wish to see, His Father's name he soon would bear, And of his fortune be the Heir.

--No time was lost--what could be done, To give her ease and find her Son, Was soon employ'd in ev'ry way That public notice could display.

The good man now the subject weigh'd, Then call'd in VELLUM to his aid, And did, with anxious wish commend The office to his long-known friend, To set afloat enquiry due If what MARIA told were true; Nor did he think of pains or cost To find the stray-sheep that was lost.

"To you," he said, "I give the task, The greatest favour I can ask, To trace, if 'tis in any power, The _Foundling_ from that favor'd hour When DOCTOR SYNTAX first receiv'd The child and all its wants reliev'd; And you, at once, call'd in to share The wishes of his guardian care.

Believe me that my high-wrought feeling, Which you must see there's no concealing,"

(For the tear glisten'd in his eye, And his breast spoke the long-drawn sigh) "Disdains at once all sordid sense Which hesitates at recompence: O what would I refuse to give Should he be blest with worth and live!

Indulge my whims--nor let me know } Or what you've done or what you do, } Till you can answer--_Yea_ or _No_. } Till your grave voice attests my claim To bear a parent's tender name: Nor let the claimant here be shown, Till he is prov'd to be my own."

VELLUM began by exercising His well-known zeal in advertising; Nay, did, from _Kent_, to the _Land's-End_, QUae GENUS and his birth extend, And as the _King's Bench Walks_ had been Of his first days the curious scene, Within those environs were spread The grand _Placards_ which he had read; And did a forc'd attention call To many a window, many a wall, Whose tempting story to rehea.r.s.e Has wak'd an effort in our verse.

QUae GENUS' plain, consistent tale Seem'd with old VELLUM to prevail; And rather tallied with the view Of what, in former times, he knew: But, that same _Hump_ his shoulders bore, And oft had been his foe before, Forbad the Laundress to bestow A favouring opinion now; The want of which kept things aloof From certain and substantial proof.

For though the Doctors in the North, } Men of acknowledg'd skill and worth, } Were ready to confirm on oath, } That, 'twas disease which gave the blow And bent the strait back to a bow; Yet this same Hump of direful note Still stuck in _Betty's_ doubtful throat, For all that she would say or swear Was, when the Child was in her care, To the most, keen, observing eye, His back bore no deformity; And thus continued the suspense From want of better evidence.

--_Vellum_ was not without a fear, That, from the Gout's attack severe, The anxious Father's self might die Before truth clear'd the Mystery, And had, from doubt reliev'd, made known The Child as his begotten Son-- Besides on his discovery bent, To _Oxford_ when kind _Vellum_ went, To seek his venerable Friend, The well-known Rev'rend DOCTOR BEND, Who would have set all matters right, He died on the preceding night.

But still, as we pa.s.s on our way, What changes mark life's transient day; The sun-beams gild the o'erhanging cloud, The mists the glitt'ring rays enshroud; And, while from storms of beating rain } We strive some shelter to obtain, } The scene is chang'd--'tis bright again. } Hence 'tis we share th' uncertain hour Of joys that smile, of cares that lour.

Thus, while Enquiry seem'd to wear The very aspect of Despair, A sudden instantaneous thought Was to OLD BETTY'S mem'ry brought, That a _Ripe_ STRAWBERRY, blushing red, As it grew on its verdant bed, By Nature's whimsey, was impress'd Not on the cheek or on the breast But _Betty_ said, "'Tis I know where, } And could I once but see it there, } On Bible Book, ay, I would swear, } The young man is the child who left, And, of a mother's care bereft, Was by the Doctor given to me To nurse his tender Infancy."

--QUae GENUS now was call'd to tell What he knew of this secret spell.

When he without delay declar'd What of the mark he oft had heard By gamesome play-fellows at school When he was bathing in the pool; And though he sometimes strove to feel it, Its strange position did conceal it From his own eyes, though, as a joke, It often did a laugh provoke.

Then did he to her wish display, What the verse hides from open day; But _Betty Broom_ was not so shy } To turn away her curious eye } From this same blushing STRAWBERRY. } Nay, when she saw the mark, she swore She oft had kiss'd it o'er and o'er; And, were he not to manhood grown, She'd do what she so oft had done.

O she exclaim'd with tears of joy, QUae GENUS is the very boy Whom their so anxious wishes sought And was to full discovery brought.

--Nor was this all, at the strange show Old VELLUM wip'd his moisten'd brow, And said, with an uplifted eye, "Here ends this curious Mystery."

When he again, the Symbol saw In its right place without a flaw, At once he did remember well, SYNTAX would smiling oft foretell, This mark might to _the Foundling_ show To whom he did existence owe.

"'Tis all fulfill'd, the proof is shewn,-- The FATHER may embrace _his Son_!"

As _Vellum_, thought another hour Should not delay that darling power He to his friend's impatient ear In all due substance did declare The Hist'ry of QUae GENUS past, With all the proofs from first to last, As on his own conviction shone That he was truly _Fairman's_ Son: When the good man, with brighten'd eye, And the heart's tend'rest sympathy, As he look'd upwards thus express'd The joy that revell'd in his breast.

"From all I've heard and you have shown With zeal and friendship rarely known, To the fond truth I'm reconcil'd That poor QUae GENUS is my Child, Confirm'd by all his Mother said, As I sat by her dying bed; And ere another sun shall shine, I'll prove, at least, I think him mine, By giving him a rightful claim To share my fortune and my name.

You then, my friend, may bring him here, 'Tis a strange task, but do not fear, At this so unexpected hour, My firmness will relax its power,-- Though I'm beneath a certain course Of medicine, of promis'd force On which I have a firm reliance To bid the tort'ring Gout defiance, My vig'rous spirits will sustain The shock of joy as well as pain."

--_Vellum_, with pleasure now withdrew To shape the approaching Interview,-- And suit QUae GENUS to a change: So unexpected and so strange; But how can we relate the scene That is about to intervene Where we shall see in different parts The weeping eyes, the melting hearts, Affection's warm and yielding sense And looks of cold indifference, While Reason yields, with ample fee, To be the dupe of Quackery.

This to describe with all the rest The verse, we trust, will do its best; But if the labour it refuses We'll scout OLD POLL and his NINE MUSES, And leave our JOHN TROT lines to tell The Story and, we hope, as well.

An _Empiric_ had hither bent His journey from the Continent, Who boasted, by his Chymic skill, Disease was subject to his will; And that his cunning had found out A _Panacea_ for the _Gout_.

It seems this wonderful receipt Form'd a warm-bath for legs and feet; And ev'ry day, for a full hour, The period might be less or more, The Patient sat, but ill at ease His legs immers'd up to his knees, Each in a pail just plac'd before him Fill'd with a fluid to restore him.

_Fairman_, who dup'd by Quack'ry's lures, Had often sought for promis'd cures Thought it would be no harm to try The efforts of this Remedy.

--But _Vellum_ eager to make known This curious pair as SIRE and SON.

Did not consult his better reason Respecting the right place and season, But a most heedless moment sought When he QUae GENUS trembling brought, While the Old Man up to his knees Was bathing for expected ease, And thought of nothing but the ails He hop'd to drown within the pails.

Then _Vellum_ said, my Duty's done Behold, my friend and see your Son!

QUae GENUS, kneeling on the floor, Began a blessing to implore!

The good man said, I ask of Heaven That its protection may be given To this my long-lost, darling Boy Of coming time my only joy!

'Twas then he press'd the frizzled hair And sunk back senseless in his chair.

The good old _Bookseller_ amaz'd On the strange, motley picture gaz'd, And _Betty Broom_ began to vow "'Twere pity he should die just now."

While the staid Cook, whose ev'ry feature Scarce knew a change from sober nature, Was to expression ne'er beguil'd, Who never wept nor ever smil'd Then calmly said, but said no more, "I never saw him so before:"-- While, "look! behold! see he revives!"