His frequent visits seldom fail'd to please;
Easy himself, he sought his neighbour's ease:
To a small garden with delight he came,
And gave successive flowers a summer's fame;
These he presented with a grace his own
To his fair friends, and made their beauties
known,

Not without moral compliment; how they Like flowers were sweet, and must like flowers decay.'

Simple he was, and loved the simple truth, Yet had some useful cunning from his youth; A cunning never to dishonour lent,

And rather for defence than conquest meant;
'Twas fear of power, with some desire to rise,
But not enough to make him enemies;
He ever aim'd to please; and to offend
Was ever cautious; for he sought a friend;
Yet for the friendship never much would pay,
Content to bow, be silent, and obey,
And by a soothing suff'rance find his way.

Fiddling and fishing were his arts at times He alter'd sermons, and he aim'd at rhymes; And his fair friends, not yet intent on cards, Oft he amused with riddles and charades.

Mild were his doctrines, and not one dis

course

But gain'd in softness what it lost in force:
Kind his opinions; he would not receive
An ill report, nor evil act believe;

Mistaken choirs refuse the solemn strain
Of ancient Sternhold, which from ours amain
Comes flying forth from aile to aile about,
Sweet links of harmony and long drawn out.'
These were to him essentials; all things new
He deem'd superfluous, useless, or untrue;
To all beside indifferent, easy, cold,
Here the fire kindled, and the wo was told.

Habit with him was all the test of truth, It must be right: I've done it from my youth.'

Questions he answer'd in as brief a way,
It must be wrong-it was of yesterday.'
Though mild benevolence our priest
possess'd,

'Twas but byw ishes or by words express'd: Circles in water, as they wider flow,

The less conspicuous in their progress grow; And when at last they touch upon the shore, Distinction ceases, and they're view'd no

more.

His love, like that last circle, all embraced, But with effect that never could be traced. Now rests our Vicar. They who knew him

best,

Proclaim his life t' have been entirely rest; Free from all evils which disturb his mind, Whom studies vex and controversies blind The rich approved,-of them in awe he stood;

Have all mankind; yea, sinners are we all.'
If ever fretful thought disturb'd his breast,
If aught of gloom that cheerful mind op-
press'd,

It sprang from innovation; it was then
He spake of mischief made by restless men;
Not by new doctrines: never in his life
Would he attend to controversial strife;
For sects he cared not; They are not of us,
Nor need we, brethren, their concerns discuss;
But 'tis the change, the schism at home I feel;
Ills few perceive, and none have skill to heal;
Not at the altar our young brethren read
(Facing their flock) the decalogue and creed;
But at their duty, in their desks they stand,
With naked surplice, lacking hood and band:
Churches are now of holy song bereft,
And half our ancient customs changed or
left;

Few sprigs of ivy are at Christmas seen,
Nor crimson berry tips the holly's green;

good;

The old and serious of his habits spoke ; The frank and youthful loved his pleasant joke;

Mothers approved a safe contented guest, And daughters one who back'd each small request:

In him his flock found nothing to condemn ;
Him sectaries liked,-he never troubled them;
No trifles fail'd his yielding mind to please,
And all his passions sunk in early ease;
Nor one so old has left this world of sin,
More like the being that he enter'd in.

THE CURATE ASK you what lands our pastor tithes?-Alas! But few our acres, and but short our grass: In some fat pastures of the rich, indeed, May roll the single cow or favourite steed; Who, stable-fed, is here for pleasure seen, His sleek sides bathing in the dewy green:

But these, our hilly heath and common wide
Yield a slight portion for the parish-guide;
No crops luxuriant in our borders stand,
For here we plough the ocean, not the land;
Still reason wills that we our pastor pay,
And custom does it on a certain day:
Much is the duty, small the legal due,
And this with grateful minds we keep in view;
Each makes his off'ring, some by habit led,
Some by the thought, that all men must be fed;
Duty and love, and piety and pride,
Have each their force, and for the priest
provide.

Not thus our Curate, one whom all believe
Pious and just, and for whose fate they grieve;
All see him poor, but ev'n the vulgar know
He merits love, and their respect bestow.
A man so learn'd you shall but seldom see,
Nor one so honour'd, so aggrieved as he ;-
Not grieved by years alone; though his appear
Dark and more dark; severer on severe :
Not in his need,—and yet we all must grant
How painful 'tis for feeling age to want :
Nor in his body's sufferings; yet we know
Where time has plough'd, there misery loves
to sow ;

But in the wearied mind, that all in vain Wars with distress, and struggles with its pain. His father saw his powers-'I'll give,' quoth he,

No more a help, a smiling, soothing aid,
But boding, drooping, sickly, and afraid.
A kind physician, and without a fee,
Gave his opinion- Send her to the sea.'
'Alas!' the good man answer'd,' can I send
A friendless woman? Can I find a friend?
No; I must with her, in her need, repair
To that new place; the poor lie everywhere;-
Some priest will pay me for my pious pains:'
He said, he came, and here he yet remains.

Behold his dwelling; this poor hut he hires, Where he from view, though not from want, retires;

Where four fair daughters, and five sorrowing

sons,

Partake his sufferings, and dismiss his duns; All join their efforts, and in patience learn To want the comforts they aspire to earn ; For the sick mother something they'd obtain, To soothe her grief and mitigate her pain; For the sad father something they'd procure, To ease the burthen they themselves endure. Virtues like these at once delight and press On the fond father with a proud distress; On all around he looks with care and love, Grieved to behold, but happy to approve.

Then from his care, his love, his grief he

steals,

And by himself an author's pleasure feels; Each line detains him; he omits not one,

But all he had:-he learn'd, and was undone! Better, apprenticed to an humble trade, Had he the cassock for the priesthood made, Or thrown the shuttle, or the saddle shaped, And all these pangs of feeling souls escaped. He once had hope-hope ardent,lively, light; His feelings pleasant, and his prospects bright: Eager of fame, he read, he thought, he wrote, Weigh'd the Greek page, and added note on note;

At morn, at evening at his work was he, And dream'd what his Euripides would be.

engage,

Some scrawl for payment thrust 'twixt page and page;

Some bold, loud rapping at his humble door,

Some surly message he has heard before,
Awake, alarm, and tell him he is poor.

An angry dealer, vulgar, rich, and proud, Thinks of his bill, and passing, raps aloud; The elder daughter meekly makes him way

his bed

A Curate's bed! then came the woful years; The husband's terrors, and the father's tears; A wife grown feeble, mourning, pining, vex'd, With wants and woes-by daily cares perplex'd ;

grind ;

Go tell your father he must raise the wind:
Still trembling, troubled, the dejected maid
Says, 'Sir, my father!-' and then stops
afraid :
Ev'n his hard heart is soften'd, and he hears
Her voice with pity; he respects her tears;

Dealers in Greek, are fearful 'twill not sell ;
Then he himself is timid, troubled, slow,
Nor likes his labours nor his griefs to show;
The hope of fame may in his heart have
place,

But he has dread and horror of disgrace;
Nor has he that confiding, easy way,

That might his learning and himself display;
But to his work he from the world retreats,
And frets and glories o'er the favourite sheets.
But see! the man himself; and sure I trace
Signs of new joy exulting in that face
O'er care that sleeps-we err, or we discern
Life in thy looks-the reason may we learn?
'Yes,' he replied, 'I'm happy, I confess,
To learn that some are pleased with happiness
Which others feel-there are who now com-
bine

The worthiest natures in the best design,
To aid the letter'd poor, and soothe such ills
as mine:

We who more keenly feel the world's contempt,

And from its miseries are the least exempt; Now hope shall whisper to the wounded breast, And grief, in soothing expectation, rest.

'Yes, I am taught that men who think, who feel,

Unite the pains of thoughtful men to heal; Not with disdainful pride, whose bounties make

The needy curse the benefits they take;
Not with the idle vanity that knows

But these are men who yield such bless'd relief,

That with the grievance they destroy the grief;

Their timely aid the needy sufferers find, Their generous manner soothes the suffering mind;

Theirs is a gracious bounty, form'd to raise
Him whom it aids; their charity is praise;
A common bounty may relieve distress,
But whom the vulgar succour, they oppress
This though a favour, is an honour too,
Though mercy's duty, yet 'tis merit's due
When our relief from such resources rise,
All painful sense of obligation dies;
And grateful feelings in the bosom wake,
For 'tis their offerings, not their alms, we
take.

;

'Long may these founts of charity remain, And never shrink, but to be fill'd again; True! to the author they are now confined, To him who gave the treasure of his mind, His time, his health, and thankless found mankind :

But there is hope that from these founts may flow

A sideway stream, and equal good bestow; Good that may reach us, whom the day's distress

Keeps from the fame and perils of the press;
Whom study beckons from the ills of life,
And they from study; melancholy strife!
Who then can say, but bounty now so free,
And so diffused, may find its way to me?
"Yes! I may see my decent table yet
Cheer'd with the meal that adds not to my
debt;

May talk of those to whom so much we owe, And guess their names whom yet we may not know;

Bless'd we shall say are those who thus can give,

And next who thus upon the bounty live; Then shall I close with thanks my humble meal,

Only a selfish joy when it bestows;

Hurls the superfluous bliss at groaning pain;

feel!'

They come to us as riders in a trade,
And with much art exhibit and persuade.

Minds are for sects of various kinds decreed, As diff'rent soils are form'd for diff'rent seed; Some when converted sigh in sore amaze, And some are wrapt in joy's ecstatic blaze; Others again will change to each extreme, They know not why-as hurried in a dream; Unstable they, like water, take all forms, Are quick and stagnant; have their calms and storms;

Then muddily they move debased and slow; High on the hills, they in the sunbeams glow, Or cold and frozen rest, and neither rise nor flow.

Yet none the cool and prudent teacher prize, On him they dote who wakes their ecstasies; With passions ready primed such guide they

meet,

And warm and kindle with th' imparted heat; 'Tis he who wakes the nameless strong desire, The melting rapture, and the glowing fire;

-Jews.

Methodists of two Kinds; Calvinistic and Arminian.

The Preaching of a Calvinistic EnthusiastHis Contempt of Learning Dislike to sound Morality: why-His Idea of Conversion-His Success and Pretensions to Humility.

The Arminian Teacher of the older FlockTheir Notions of the Operations and Power of Satan-Description of his DevicesTheir Opinion of regular Ministers-Comparison of these with the Preacher himself

A Rebuke to his Hearers; introduces a Description of the powerful Effects of the Word in the early and awakening Days of Methodism.

'SECTS in Religion?'-Yes, of every race We nurse some portion in our favour'd place; Not one warm preacher of one growing sect Can say our Borough treats him with neglect ; Frequent as fashions, they with us appear, And you might ask, how think we for the year? ›

Enrich'd by golden grain, and pasture green; And these fair acres rented and enjoy'd, May those excel by Solway-Moss destroy'd.1 Still must have mourn'd the tenant of the day,

For hopes destroy'd, and harvests swept away;
To him the gain of future years unknown,
The instant grief and suffering were his own :
So must I grieve for many a wounded heart,
Chill'd by those doubts which bolder minds
impart :

Truth in the end shall shine divinely clear,
But sad the darkness till those times appear;
Contests for truth, as wars for freedom, yield
Glory and joy to those who gain the field:
But still the Christian must in pity sigh
For all who suffer, and uncertain die.

Here are, who all the Church maintains approve,

But yet the Church herself they will not love; In angry speech, they blame the carnal tie, Which pure Religion lost her spirit by; What time from prisons, flames, and tortures led,

She slumber'd careless in a royal bed; To make, they add, the Church's glory shine, Should Diocletian reign, not Constantine. 'In pomp,' they cry, is England's Church array'd,

6

Her cool reformers wrought like men afraid, We would have pull'd her gorgeous temples down,

And spurn'd her mitre, and defiled her gown; We would have trodden low both bench and stall,

Nor left a tithe remaining, great or small.'

Let us be serious-Should such trials come, Are they themselves prepared for martyrdom? It seems to us that our reformers knew Th' important work they undertook to do; An equal priesthood they were loth to try, Lest zeal and care should with ambition die;

To them it seem'd that, take the tenth away, Yet priests must eat, and you must feed or pay:

Would they indeed, who hold such pay in scorn,

Put on the muzzle when they tread the corn? Would they all, gratis, watch and tend the fold,

Nor take one fleece to keep them from the cold?

Men are not equal, and 'tis meet and right That robes and titles our respect excite; Order requires it; 'tis by vulgar pride That such regard is censured and denied ; Or by that false enthusiastic zeal, That thinks the spirit will the priest reveal, And show to all men, by their powerful speech, Who are appointed and inspired to teach : Alas! could we the dangerous rule believe, Whom for their teacher should the crowd receive?

Since all the varying kinds demand respect, All press you on to join their chosen sect, Although but in this single point agreed, Desert your churches and adopt our creed.' We know full well how much our forms