A long black curtain served it for a screen; Not so the clock that, both by night and day, Click’d the short moments as they pass’d away. 360 “Is this a church? and does the parson read”— Said Peter—“here?—I mean, a church indeed?”— “Indeed it is, or as a church is used,” Was the reply—and Peter deeply mused, Not without awe. His sadness to dispel, They sought the gallery; and then all was well. Yet, enter’d there, although so clear his mind From every fear substantial and defined, Yet there remain’d some touch of native fear— } Of something awful to the eye and ear— 370} A ghostly voice might sound—a ghost itself appear. } There noble Pictures fill’d his mind with joy— He gazed and thought, and was no more the boy; And Madam heard him speak, with some surprise, Of heroes known to him from histories; He knew the actors in the deeds of old— He could the Roman marvels all unfold. He to his guide a theme for wonder grew, At once so little and so much he knew— Little of what was passing every day, 380 And much of that which long had pass’d away;— So like a man, and yet so like a child, That his good friend stood wond’ring as she smiled. The Scripture Pieces caused a serious awe, And he with reverence look’d on all he saw; His pious wonder he express’d aloud, And at the Saviour Form devoutly bow’d. Portraits he pass’d, admiring; but with pain Turn’d from some objects, nor would look again. He seem’d to think that something wrong was done, 390 When crimes were shown he blush’d to look upon. Not so his guide—“What youth is that?” she cried, “That handsome stripling at the lady’s side; Can you inform me how the youth is named?” He answer’d, “Joseph”; but he look’d ashamed. “Well, and what then? Had you been Joseph, boy! Would you have been so peevish and so coy?” Our hero answer’d, with a glowing face, “His mother told him he should pray for grace.” A transient cloud o’ercast the matron’s brow; 400 She seem’d disposed to laugh——but knew not how; Silent awhile, then placid she appear’d— “’Tis but a child,” she thought, and all was clear’d. No—laugh she could not; still, the more she sought To hide her thoughts, the more of his she caught. A hundred times she had these pictures named, And never felt perplex’d, disturb’d, ashamed; Yet now the feelings of a lad so young Call’d home her thoughts and paralysed her tongue. She pass’d the offensive pictures silent by, 410 With one reflecting, self-reproving sigh; Reasoning, how habit will the mind entice To approach and gaze upon the bounds of vice, As men, by custom, from some cliff’s vast height, Look pleased, and make their danger their delight. “Come, let us on!—see there a Flemish view, A Country Fair, and all as Nature true. See there the merry creatures, great and small, Engaged in drinking, gaming, dancing all,