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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 238 pages of information about Tales.
   And now the Uncle left the hated pew,
With James, and James’s conduct, in his view;
A long farewell to all his favourite schemes! 
For now no crazed fanatic’s frantic dreams
Seem’d vile as James’s conduct, or as James: 
All he had long derided, hated, fear’d,
This, from the chosen youth, the uncle heard; —
The needless pause, the fierce disorder’d air,
The groan for sin, the vehemence of prayer,
Gave birth to wrath, that, in a long discourse
Of grace triumphant, rose to fourfold force: 
He found his thoughts despised, his rules transgress’d,
And while the anger kindled in his breast,
The pain must be endured that could not be expressed: 
Each new idea more inflamed his ire,
As fuel thrown upon a rising fire: 
A hearer yet, he sought by threatening sign
To ease his heart, and awe the young divine;
But James refused those angry looks to meet,
Till he dismiss’d his flock, and left his seat: 
Exhausted then he felt his trembling frame,
But fix’d his soul,—­his sentiments the same;
And therefore wise it seem’d to fly from rage,
And seek for shelter in his parsonage: 
There, if forsaken, yet consoled to find
Some comforts left, though not a few resign’d;
There, if he lost an erring parent’s love,
An honest conscience must the cause approve;
If the nice palate were no longer fed,
The mind enjoy’d delicious thoughts instead;
And if some part of earthly good was flown,
Still was the tithe of ten good farms his own. 
   Fear now, and discord, in the village reign,
The cool remonstrate, and the meek complain;
But there is war within, and wisdom pleads in vain. 
Now dreads the Uncle, and proclaims his dread,
Lest the Boy-priest should turn each rustic head;
The certain converts cost him certain woe,
The doubtful fear lest they should join the foe: 
Matrons of old, with whom he used to joke,
Now pass his Honour with a pious look;
Lasses, who met him once with lively airs,
Now cross his way, and gravely walk to prayers: 
An old companion, whom he long has loved,
By coward fears confess’d his conscience moved;
As the third bottle gave its spirit forth,
And they bore witness to departing worth,
The friend arose, and he too would depart: 
“Man,” said the ’Squire, “thou wert not wont to start;
Hast thou attended to that foolish boy,
Who would abridge all comforts, or destroy?”
   Yes, he had listen’d, who had slumber’d long,
And was convinced that something must be wrong: 
But, though affected, still his yielding heart,
And craving palate, took the Uncle’s part;
Wine now oppress’d him, who, when free from wine,
Could seldom clearly utter his design;
But though by nature and indulgence weak,
Yet, half converted, he resolved to speak;
And, speaking, own’d, “that in his mind the Youth
Had gifts and learning, and that truth was truth: 
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