That shed the dust, and grow upon the threads; You call them wives and husbands, but you know 300 That is a joke--here, look, and I will show All I remember.’--Doleful was the look Of the preceptor, when he shut his book-- The system brought to aid them in their view, And now with sighs return’d--‘It will not do.’ “A handsome face first led him to suppose, There must be talent with such looks as those; The want of talent taught him now to find The face less handsome with so poor a mind; And half the beauty faded, when he found 310 His cherish’d hopes were falling to the ground. “Finch lost his spirit; but e’en then he sought For fancied powers: she might in time be taught. Sure there was nothing in that mind to fear; The favourite study did not yet appear.-- “Once he express’d a doubt if she could look For five succeeding minutes on a book; When, with awaken’d spirit, she replied, ‘He was mistaken, and she would be tried.’ “With this delighted, he new hopes express’d-- 320 ‘How do I know?--She may abide the test? Men I have known, and famous in their day, Who were by chance directed in their way. I have been hasty.--Well, Augusta, well, What is your favourite reading? prithee tell; Our different tastes may different books require-- Yours I may not peruse, and yet admire: Do then explain.’--‘Good Heaven!’ said she, in haste, ‘How do I hate these lectures upon taste!’ “‘I lecture not, my love; but do declare-- 330 You read, you say--what your attainments are.’ “‘Oh! you believe,’ said she, ‘that other things Are read as well as histories of kings, And loves of plants, with all that simple stuff About their sex, of which I know enough. Well, if I must, I will my studies name, Blame if you please--I know you love to blame. When all our childish books were set apart, The first I read was ‘Wanderings of the Heart:’ It was a story, where was done a deed 340 So dreadful, that alone I fear’d to read. “‘The next was ‘The Confessions of a Nun--’ ’Twas quite a shame such evil should be done; ‘Nun of--no matter for the creature’s name, For there are girls no nunnery can tame. Then was the story of the Haunted Hall, Where the huge picture nodded from the wall When the old lord look’d up with trembling dread, And I grew pale, and shudder’d as I read. Then came the tales of Winters, Summers, Springs, 350 At Bath and Brighton,--they were pretty things! No ghosts nor spectres there were heard or seen, But all was love and flight to Gretna-green. Perhaps your greater learning may despise What others like, and there your wisdom lies-- Well! do not frown--I read the tender tales Of lonely cots, retreats in silent vales