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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=395901" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Tale XIX</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">THE CONVERT.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Some to our Hero have a hero's name<br>Denied, because no father's he could claim;<br>Nor could his mother with precision state<br>A full fair claim to her certificate;<br>On her own word the marriage must depend -<br>A point she was not eager to defend:<br>But who, without a father's name, can raise<br>His own so high, deserves the greater praise;<br>The less advantage to the strife he brought,<br>The greater wonders has his prowess wrought;<br>He who depends upon his wind and limbs,<br>Needs neither cork nor bladder when he swims;<br>Nor will by empty breath be puff'd along,<br>As not himself--but in his helpers--strong.<br>Suffice it then, our Hero's name was clear,<br>For call John Dighton, and he answer'd 'Here!'<br>But who that name in early life assign'd<br>He never found, he never tried to find:<br>Whether his kindred were to John disgrace,<br>Or John to them, is a disputed case;<br>His infant state owed nothing to their care -<br>His mind neglected, and his body bare;<br>All his success must on himself depend,<br>He had no money, counsel, guide, or friend;<br>But in a market-town an active boy<br>Appear'd, and sought in various ways employ;<br>Who soon, thus cast upon the world, began<br>To show the talents of a thriving man.<br>With spirit high John learn'd the world to </div><div style="margin:10px 0">brave,<br>And in both senses was a ready knave;<br>Knave as of old obedient, keen, and quick,<br>Knave as of present, skill'd to shift and trick;<br>Some humble part of many trades he caught,<br>He for the builder and the painter wrought;<br>For serving-maids on secret errands ran,<br>The waiter's helper, and the ostler's man;<br>And when he chanced (oft chanced he) place to lose,<br>His varying genius shone in blacking shoes:<br>A midnight fisher by the pond he stood,<br>Assistant poacher, he o'erlook'd the wood;<br>At an election John's impartial mind<br>Was to no cause nor candidate confined;<br>To all in turn he full allegiance swore,<br>And in his hat the various badges bore:<br>His liberal soul with every sect agreed,<br>Unheard their reasons, he received their creed:<br>At church he deign'd the organ-pipes to fill,<br>And at the meeting sang both loud and shrill:<br>But the full purse these different merits gain'd,<br>By strong demands his lively passions drain'd;<br>Liquors he loved of each inflaming kind,<br>To midnight revels flew with ardent mind;<br>Too warm at cards, a losing game he play'd,<br>To fleecing beauty his attention paid;<br>His boiling passions were by oaths express'd,<br>And lies he made his profit and his jest.<br>Such was the boy, and such the man had been,<br>But fate or happier fortune changed the scene;<br>A fever seized him, 'He should surely die--'<br>He fear'd, and lo! a friend was praying by;<br>With terror moved, this Teacher he address'd,<br>And all the errors of his youth confess'd:<br>The good man kindly clear'd the Sinner's way<br>To lively hope, and counsell'd him to pray;<br>Who then resolved, should he from sickness rise,<br>To quit cards, liquors, poaching, oaths, and lies;<br>His health restored, he yet resolved and grew<br>True to his masters, to their Meeting true;<br>His old companions at his sober face<br>Laugh'd loud, while he, attesting it was grace,<br>With tears besought them all his calling to </div><div style="margin:10px 0">embrace:<br>To his new friends such convert gave applause,<br>Life to their zeal, and glory to their cause:<br>Though terror wrought the mighty change, yet strong<br>Was the impression, and it lasted long;<br>John at the lectures due attendance paid,<br>A convert meek, obedient, and afraid;<br>His manners strict, though form'd on fear alone,<br>Pleased the grave friends, nor less his solemn </div><div style="margin:10px 0">tone,<br>The lengthen'd face of care, the low and inward </div><div style="margin:10px 0">groan;<br>The stern good men exulted when they saw<br>Those timid looks of penitence and awe;<br>Nor thought that one so passive, humble, meek,<br>Had yet a creed and principles to seek.<br>The Faith that Reason finds, confirms, avows,<br>The hopes, the views, the comforts she allows -<br>These were not his, who by his feelings found,<br>And by them only, that his faith was sound;<br>Feelings of terror these, for evil past,<br>Feelings of hope to be received at last;<br>Now weak, now lively, changing with the day -<br>These were his feelings, and he felt his way.<br>Sprung from such sources, will this faith remain<br>While these supporters can their strength retain?<br>As heaviest weights the deepest rivers pass,<br>While icy chains fast bind the solid mass;<br>So, born of feelings, faith remains secure,<br>Long as their firmness and their strength endure;<br>But when the waters in their channel glide,<br>A bridge must bear us o'er the threat'ning tide;<br>Such bridge is Reason, and there Faith relies,<br>Whether the varying spirits fall or rise.<br>His patrons, still disposed their aid to lend.<br>Behind a counter placed their humble friend,<br>Where pens and paper were on shelves display'd,<br>And pious pamphlets on the windows laid:<br>By nature active, and from vice restrain'd,<br>Increasing trade his bolder views sustain'd;<br>His friends and teachers, finding so much zeal<br>In that young convert whom they taught to feel,<br>His trade encouraged, and were pleased to find<br>A hand so ready, with such humble mind.<br>And now, his health restored, his spirits eased,<br>He wish'd to marry, if the teachers pleased.<br>They, not unwilling, from the virgin-class<br>Took him a comely and a courteous lass;<br>Simple and civil, loving and beloved,<br>She long a fond and faithful partner proved;<br>In every year the elders and the priest<br>Were duly summon'd to a christening feast;<br>Nor came a babe, but by his growing trade<br>John had provision for the coming made;<br>For friends and strangers all were pleased to deal<br>With one whose care was equal to his zeal.<br>In human friendships, it compels a sigh<br>To think what trifles will dissolve the tie.<br>John, now become a master of his trade,<br>Perceived how much improvement might be made;<br>And as this prospect open'd to his view,<br>A certain portion of his zeal withdrew;<br>His fear abated--'What had he to fear -<br>His profits certain, and his conscience clear?'<br>Above his door a board was placed by John,<br>And 'Dighton, Stationer,' was gilt thereon;<br>His window next, enlarged to twice the size,<br>Shone with such trinkets as the simple prize;<br>While in the shop with pious works were seen<br>The last new play, review, or magazine:<br>In orders punctual, he observed--'The books<br>He never read, and could he judge their looks?<br>Readers and critics should their merits try,<br>He had no office but to sell and buy;<br>Like other traders, profit was his care;<br>Of what they print, the authors must beware.'<br>He held his patrons and his teachers dear,<br>But with his trade they must not interfere.<br>'Twas certain now that John had lost the dread<br>And pious thoughts that once such terrors bred;<br>His habits varied, and he more inclined<br>To the vain world, which he had half resign'd;<br>He had moreover in his brethren seen,<br>Or he imagined, craft, conceit, and spleen:<br>'They are but men,' said John, 'and shall I then<br>Fear man's control, or stand in awe of men?<br>'Tis their advice (their Convert's rule and law),<br>And good it is--I will not stand in awe.'<br>Moreover Dighton, though he thought of books<br>As one who chiefly on the title looks,<br>Yet sometimes ponder'd o'er a page to find,<br>When vex'd with cares, amusement for his mind;<br>And by degrees that mind had treasured much<br>From works his teachers were afraid to touch:<br>Satiric novels, poets bold and free,<br>And what their writers term philosophy;<br>All these were read, and he began to feel<br>Some self-approval on his bosom steal.<br>Wisdom creates humility, but he<br>Who thus collects it will not humble be:<br>No longer John was fill'd with pure delight<br>And humble reverence in a pastor's sight;<br>Who, like a grateful zealot, listening stood,<br>To hear a man so friendly and so good;<br>But felt the dignity of one who made<br>Himself important by a thriving trade:<br>And growing pride in Dighton's mind was bred<br>By the strange food on which it coarsely fed.<br>Their Brother's fall the grieving Brethren heard </div><div style="margin:10px 0">-<br>His pride indeed to all around appeared;<br>The world, his friends agreed, had won the soul<br>From its best hopes, the man from their control.<br>To make him humble, and confine his views<br>Within their bounds, and books which they peruse,<br>A deputation from these friends select<br>Might reason with him to some good effect;<br>Arm'd with authority, and led by love,<br>They might those follies from his mind remove.<br>Deciding thus, and with this kind intent,<br>A chosen body with its speaker went.<br>'John,' said the Teacher, 'John, with great </div><div style="margin:10px 0">concern.<br>We see thy frailty, and thy fate discern -<br>Satan with toils thy simple soul beset,<br>And thou art careless slumbering in the net:<br>Unmindful art thou of thy early vow;<br>Who at the morning meeting sees thee now?<br>Who at the evening? 'Where is brother John?'<br>We ask;--are answer'd, 'To the tavern gone.'<br>Thee on the Sabbath seldom we behold;<br>Thou canst not sing, thou'rt nursing for a cold:<br>This from the churchmen thou hast learn'd, for they<br>Have colds and fevers on the Sabbath-day;<br>When in some snug warm room they sit, and pen<br>Bills from their ledgers--world-entangled men,<br>'See with what pride thou hast enlarged thy </div><div style="margin:10px 0">shop;<br>To view thy tempting stores the heedless stop.<br>By what strange names dost thou these baubles know,<br>Which wantons wear, to make a sinful show?<br>Hast thou in view these idle volumes placed<br>To be the pander of a vicious taste?<br>What's here? a book of dances!--you advance<br>In goodly knowledge--John, wilt learn to dance?<br>How! 'Go,' it says, and 'to the devil go!<br>And shake thyself!' I tremble--but 'tis so;<br>Wretch as thou art, what answer canst thou make?<br>Oh! without question, thou wilt go and shake.<br>What's here? 'The School for Scandal'--pretty </div><div style="margin:10px 0">schools!<br>Well, and art thou proficient in the rules?<br>Art thou a pupil? Is it thy design<br>To make our names contemptible as thine?<br>'Old Nick, a novel!' oh! 'tis mighty well -<br>A fool has courage when he laughs at hell;<br>'Frolic and Fun;' the Humours of Tim Grin;'<br>Why, John, thou grow'st facetious in thy sin;<br>And what?--'The Archdeacon's Charge!'--'tis mighty </div><div style="margin:10px 0">well -<br>If Satan publish'd, thou wouldst doubtless sell:<br>Jests, novels, dances, and this precious stuff<br>To crown thy folly--we have seen enough;<br>We find thee fitted for each evil work:<br>Do print the Koran and become a Turk.<br>'John, thou art lost; success and worldly pride<br>O'er all thy thoughts and purposes preside,<br>Have bound thee fast, and drawn thee far aside:<br>Yet turn; these sin-traps from thy shop expel,<br>Repent and pray, and all may yet be well.<br>'And here thy wife, thy Dorothy behold,<br>How fashion's wanton robes her form infold!<br>Can grace, can goodness with such trappings dwell?<br>John, thou hast made thy wife a Jezebel:<br>See! on her bosom rests the sign of sin,<br>The glaring proof of naughty thoughts within:<br>What! 'tis a cross: come hither--as a friend,<br>Thus from thy neck the shameful badge I rend.'<br>'Rend, if you dare,' said Dighton; 'you shall </div><div style="margin:10px 0">find<br>A man of spirit, though to peace inclined;<br>Call me ungrateful! have I not my pay<br>At all times ready for the expected day?<br>To share my plenteous board you deign to come,<br>Myself your pupil, and my house your home:<br>And shall the persons who my meat enjoy<br>Talk of my faults, and treat me as a boy?<br>Have you not told how Rome's insulting priests<br>Led their meek laymen like a herd of beasts;<br>And by their fleecing and their forgery made<br>Their holy calling an accursed trade?<br>Can you such acts and insolence condemn,<br>Who to your utmost power resemble them?<br>'Concerns it you what books I set for sale?<br>The tale perchance may be a virtuous tale;<br>And for the rest, 'tis neither wise nor just<br>In you, who read not, to condemn on trust;<br>Why should th' Archdeacon's Charge your spleen </div><div style="margin:10px 0">excite?<br>He, or perchance th' Archbishop, may be right.<br>'That from your meetings I refrain is true:<br>I meet with nothing pleasant--nothing new;<br>But the same proofs, that not one text explain,<br>And the same lights, where all things dark remain;<br>I thought you saints on earth--but I have found<br>Some sins among you, and the best unsound:<br>You have your failings, like the crowds below,<br>And at your pleasure hot and cold can blow:<br>When I at first your grave deportment saw,<br>(I own my folly,) I was fill'd with awe;<br>You spoke so warmly, and it seem'd so well,<br>I should have thought it treason to rebel.<br>Is it a wonder that a man like me<br>Should such perfection in such teachers see -<br>Nay, should conceive you sent from Heaven to brave<br>The host of sin, and sinful souls to save?<br>But as our reason wakes, our prospects clear,<br>And failings, flaws, and blemishes appear.<br>'When you were mounted in your rostrum high,<br>We shrank beneath your tone, your frown, your eye:<br>Then you beheld us abject, fallen, low,<br>And felt your glory from our baseness grow;<br>Touch'd by your words, I trembled like the rest,<br>And my own vileness and your power confess'd:<br>These, I exclaim'd, are men divine, and gazed<br>On him who taught, delighted and amazed;<br>Glad when he finish'd, if by chance he cast<br>One look on such a sinner as he pass'd.<br>'But when I view'd you in a clearer light,<br>And saw the frail and carnal appetite;<br>When at his humble pray'r, you deign'd to eat,<br>Saints as you are, a civil sinner's meat;<br>When, as you sat contented and at ease,<br>Nibbling at leisure on the ducks and peas,<br>And, pleased some comforts in such place to find,<br>You could descend to be a little kind;<br>And gave us hope in heaven there might be room<br>For a few souls beside your own to come;<br>While this world's good engaged your carnal view,<br>And like a sinner you enjoy'd it too;<br>All this perceiving, can you think it strange<br>That change in you should work an equal change?'<br>'Wretch that thou art,' an elder cried, 'and </div><div style="margin:10px 0">gone<br>For everlasting!'--'Go thyself,' said John;<br>Depart this instant, let me hear no more;<br>My house my castle is, and that my door.'<br>The hint they took, and from the door withdrew,<br>And John to meeting bade a long adieu;<br>Attached to business, he in time became<br>A wealthy man of no inferior name.<br>It seem'd, alas! in John's deluded sight,<br>That all was wrong because not all was right:<br>And when he found his teachers had their stains,<br>Resentment and not reason broke his chains:<br>Thus on his feelings he again relied,<br>And never look'd to reason for his guide:<br>Could he have wisely view'd the frailty shown,<br>And rightly weigh'd their wanderings and his own,<br>He might have known that men may be sincere,<br>Though gay and feasting on the savoury cheer;<br>That doctrines sound and sober they may teach,<br>Who love to eat with all the glee they preach;<br>Nay! who believe the duck, the grape, the pine,<br>Were not intended for the dog and swine:<br>But Dighton's hasty mind on every theme<br>Ran from the truth, and rested in th' extreme:<br>Flaws in his friends he found, and then withdrew<br>(Vain of his knowledge) from their virtues too,<br>Best of his books he loved the liberal kind<br>That, if they improve not, still enlarge the mind;<br>And found himself, with such advisers, free<br>From a fix'd creed, as mind enlarged could be.<br>His humble wife at these opinions sigh'd,<br>But her he never heeded till she died:<br>He then assented to a last request,<br>And by the meeting-window let her rest;<br>And on her stone the sacred text was seen,<br>Which had her comfort in departing been.<br>Dighton with joy beheld his trade advance,<br>Yet seldom published, loth to trust to chance:<br>Then wed a doctor's sister--poor indeed,<br>But skill'd in works her husband could not read;<br>Who, if he wish'd new ways of wealth to seek,<br>Could make her half-crown pamphlet in a week:<br>This he rejected, though without disdain.<br>And chose the old and certain way to gain.<br>Thus he proceeded: trade increased the while,<br>And fortune woo'd him with perpetual smile:<br>On early scenes he sometimes cast a thought,<br>When on his heart the mighty change was wrought;<br>And all the ease and comfort Converts find<br>Was magnified in his reflecting mind:<br>Then on the teacher's priestly pride he dwelt,<br>That caused his freedom, but with this he felt<br>The danger of the free--for since that day<br>No guide had shown, no brethren join'd his way;<br>Forsaking one, he found no second creed,<br>But reading doubted, doubting what to read.<br>Still, though reproof had brought some present </div><div style="margin:10px 0">pain,<br>The gain he made was fair and honest gain;<br>He laid his wares indeed in public view,<br>But that all traders claim a right to do:<br>By means like these, he saw his wealth increase,<br>And felt his consequence, and dwelt in peace.<br>Our Hero's age was threescore years and five,<br>When he exclaim'd, 'Why longer should I strive?<br>Why more amass, who never must behold<br>A young John Dighton to make glad the old?'<br>(The sons he had to early graves were gone,<br>And girls were burdens to the mind of John.)<br>'Had I a boy, he would our name sustain,<br>That now to nothing must return again;<br>But what are all my profits, credit, trade,<br>And parish honours?--folly and parade.'<br>Thus Dighton thought, and in his looks appeared<br>Sadness, increased by much he saw and heard;<br>The Brethren often at the shop would stay,<br>And make their comments ere they walk'd away;<br>They mark'd the window, fill'd in every pane<br>With lawless prints of reputations slain;<br>Distorted forms of men with honours graced,<br>And our chief rulers in dirision placed:<br>Amazed they stood, remembering well the days<br>When to be humble was their brother's praise;<br>When at the dwelling of their friend they stopped;<br>To drop a word, or to receive it dropp'd;<br>Where they beheld the prints of men renown'd,<br>And far-famed preachers pasted all around,<br>(Such mouths! eyes! hair! so prim! so fierce! so </div><div style="margin:10px 0">sleek!<br>They look'd as speaking what is woe to speak):<br>On these the passing brethren loved to dwell -<br>How long they spake! how strongly! warmly! well!<br>What power had each to dive in mysteries deep,<br>To warm the cold, to make the harden'd weep;<br>To lure, to fright, to soothe, to awe the soul,<br>And listening locks to lead and to control!<br>But now discoursing, as they linger'd near,<br>They tempted John (whom they accused) to hear<br>Their weighty charge--'And can the lost one feel,<br>As in the time of duty, love, and zeal;<br>When all were summon'd at the rising sun,<br>And he was ready with his friends to run;<br>When he, partaking with a chosen few,<br>Felt the great change, sensation rich and new?<br>No! all is lost; her favours Fortune shower'd<br>Upon the man, and he is overpower'd;<br>The world has won him with its tempting store<br>Of needless wealth, and that has made him poor:<br>Success undoes him; he has risen to fall,<br>Has gain'd a fortune, and has lost his all;<br>Gone back from Sion, he will find his age<br>Loth to commence a second pilgrimage;<br>He has retreated from the chosen track,<br>And now must ever bear the burden on his back.'<br>Hurt by such censure, John began to find<br>Fresh revolutions working in his mind;<br>He sought for comfort in his books, but read<br>Without a plan or method in his head;<br>What once amused, now rather made him sad;<br>What should inform, increased the doubts he had;<br>Shame would not let him seek at Church a guide,<br>And from his Meeting he was held by pride;<br>His wife derided fears she never felt,<br>And passing brethren daily censures dealt;<br>Hope for a son was now for ever past,<br>He was the first John Dighton and the last;<br>His stomach fail'd, his case the doctor knew,<br>But said, 'he still might hold a year or two.'<br>'No more!' he said; 'but why should I complain?<br>A life of doubt must be a life of pain:<br>Could I be sure--but why should I despair?<br>I'm sure my conduct has been just and fair;<br>In youth, indeed, I had a wicked will,<br>But I repented, and have sorrow still:<br>I had my comforts, and a growing trade<br>Gave greater pleasure than a fortune made;<br>And as I more possess'd, and reason'd more,<br>I lost those comforts I enjoy'd before,<br>When reverend guides I saw my table round,<br>And in my guardian guest my safety found:<br>Now sick and sad, no appetite, no ease,<br>Nor pleasures have I, nor a wish to please;<br>Nor views, nor hopes, nor plans, nor taste have I;<br>Yet, sick of life, have no desire to die.'<br>He said, and died: his trade, his name is gone,<br>And all that once gave consequence to John.<br>Unhappy Dighton! had he found a friend<br>When conscience told him it was time to mend -<br>A friend descreet, considerate, kind, sincere,<br>Who would have shown the grounds of hope and fear,<br>And proved that spirits, whether high or low,<br>No certain tokens of man's safety show -<br>Had Reason ruled him in her proper place,<br>And Virtue led him while he lean'd on grace -<br>Had he while zealous been discreet and pure,<br>His knowledge humble, and his hope secure; -<br>These guides had placed him on the solid rock,<br>Where Faith had rested, nor received a shock;<br>But his, alas! was placed upon the sand,<br>Where long it stood not, and where none can stand.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=George+Crabbe">George Crabbe</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=395901" data-title="Tale XIX de George Crabbe" data-description="THE CONVERT.

Some to our Hero have a hero's name
Denied, because no father's he could claim;
Nor could his mother with precision state
A full fair claim to her certificate;
On her own word the marriage must depend -
A point she was not eager to d..."></div>
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