LETTER XVIII.

THE POOR AND THEIR DWELLINGS.

Bene Paupertas

Humili tecto contenta latet.

Seneca.

Omnes quibu' res sunt minu' secundæ, magi' sunt
nescio quo modo

Suspiciosi: ad contumeliam omnia accipiunt magis;
Propter suam impotentiam se semper credunt negligi.
Terent. in Adelph. Act. 4, Scen. 8

To quit of torpid sluggishness the cave,
And from the pow'rful arms of sloth be free,
Tis rising from the dead-Alas! it cannot be.
Thomson's Castle of Indolence.

THE POOR AND THEIR DWELLINGS.

The Method of treating the Borough Paupers.-Many maintained at their own Dwellings.-Some Characters of the Poor. -The Schoolmistress, when aged.-The Idiot.-The poor Sailor. The declined Tradesman and his Companion.-This contrasted with the Maintenance of the Poor in a common Mansion erected by the Hundred.—The Objections to this Method: Not Want, nor Cruelty, but the necessary Evils of this Mode.-What they are.-Instances of the Evil.- -A Return to the Borough-Poor. The Dwellings of these.-The Lanes and Bye-Ways.-No Attention here paid to Convenience.-The Pools in the Path-Ways.-Amusements of Sea-port Children.-The Town-Flora.-Herbs on Walls and vacant Spaces.-A female Inhabitant of an Alley.-A large Building let to several poor Inhabitants.-Their Manners and Habits.

LETTER XVIII.

THE POOR AND THEIR DWELLINGS.

YES! we've our Borough-Vices, and I know
How far they spread, how rapidly they grow;
Yet think not Virtue quits the busy Place,
Nor Charity, the Virtues? Crown and Grace.

'Our Poor, how feed we?'-To the most we give
A weekly Dole, and at their Homes they live ;-
Others together dwell, but when they come
To the low Roof, they see a kind of Home,
A social People whom they've ever known,

With their own Thoughts and Manners like their own.

At her old House, her Dress, her Air the same, I see mine antient Letter-loving Dame:

"Learning, my Child," said she, "shall Fame com"mand ;

"Learning is better worth than House or Land-
"For Houses perish, Lands are gone and spent ;
"In Learning then excel, for that's most excellent."

"And what her Learning?'-'Tis with awe to look
In every Verse throughout one sacred Book;
From this her Joy, her Hope, her Peace is sought;
This she has learn'd, and she is nobly taught.

If aught of mine have gain'd the public Ear;
If RUTLAND deigns these humble Tales to hear;
If Critics pardon, what my Friends approv'd;
Can I mine antient Widow pass unmov❜d?
Shall I not think what pains the Matron took,
When first I trembled o'er the gilded Book ?
How she, all patient, both at Eve and Morn,
Her Needle pointed at the guarding Horn;
And how she sooth'd me, when with Study sad
I labour'd on to reach the final Zad?
Shall I not grateful still the Dame survey,
And ask the Muse the Poet's Debt to pay?

T

Nor I alone, who hold a Trifler's Pen, But half our Bench of wealthy, weighty Men, Who rule our Borough, who enforce our Laws; They own the Matron as the leading Cause, And feel the pleasing Debt, and pay the just Applause: To her own House is borne the Week's Supply;" There she in credit lives, there hopes in peace to die.

With her an harmless Idiot we behold,
Who boards up Silver Shells for shining Gold;
These he preserves, with unremitted care,
To buy a Seat, and reign the Borough's Mayor:
Alas!--who could th' ambitious Changeling tell,
That what he sought our Rulers dar'd to sell ?

TX

Near these a Sailor, in that Hut of Thatch
(A Fish-Boat's Cabin is its nearest match),
Dwells, and the Dungeon is to him a Seat,
Large as he wishes in his view complete:
A lockless Coffer and a lidless Hutch

That hold his Stores, have room for twice as much :: His one spare Shirt, long Glass and Iron Box,

T H

Lie all in view; no need has he for Locks:
Here he abides, and, as our Strangers pass, and puff
He shows the Shipping, he presents the Glasse

He makes (unask'd) their Ports and Business known,
And (kindly heard) turns quickly to his own, off
Of noble Captains, Heroes every one,

You might as soon have made the Steeple run red 113
And then his Mess-mates, if you're pleas'd to stay,wolk
He'll one by one the gallant Souls display,

And as the Story verges to an end,

He'll wind from Deed to Deed, from Friend to Friend;"
He'll speak of those long lost, the Brave of old, ./
As Princes gen'rous and as Heroes bold;

Then will his Feelings rise, till you may trace
Gloom, like a Cloud, frown o'er his manly Face,!
And then a Tear or two, which sting his Pride; LOD
These he will dash indignantly aside

And splice his Tale-now take him from his Cot
And for some cleaner Birth exchange his Lot,
How will he all that cruel Aid deplore?

His Heart will break and he will fight no more. For

Here is the poor old Merchant; he declin❜d, And, as they say, is not in perfect Mind;