AN EPISTLE TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.

DEAR JOSEPH,-five and twenty years ago-
Alas, how time escapes !-'tis even so-
With frequent intercourse and always sweet
And always friendly we were wont to cheat1
A tedious hour-and now we never meet.
As some grave gentleman in Terence says,
('Twas therefore much the same in ancient days)
Good lack, we know not what to-morrow brings-
Strange fluctuation of all human things!
True. Changes will befall, and friends may part,
But distance only cannot change the heart:
And were I call'd to prove th' assertion true,
One proof should serve a reference to you.

Whence comes it then, that in the wane of life,
Though nothing have occurr'd to kindle strife,
We find the friends we fancied we had won,
Though num'rous once, reduced to few or none?
Can gold grow worthless that has stood the touch?
No. Gold they seem'd, but they were never such.
Horatio's servant once, with bow and cringe,
Swinging the parlour-door upon its hinge,
Dreading a negative, and overawed

Lest he should trespass, begg'd to go abroad.
Go, fellow!-whither ?-turning short about-
Nay. Stay at home;-you're always going out.
'Tis but a step, sir, just at the street's end-
For what P-An please you, sir, to see a friend.
A friend! Horatio cried, and seem'd to start-
Yea, marry shalt thou, and with all my heart-
And fetch my cloak, for though the night be raw
I'll see him too-the first I ever saw.

I knew the man, and knew his nature mild,
And was his plaything often when a child;
But somewhat at that moment pinch'd him close,
Else he was seldom bitter or morose.

Perhaps, his confidence just then betray'd,

His grief might prompt him with the speech he made;

1 "Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire,
Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire
Help weste a sullen day ?"

MILTON, Sonnet xx.

Perhaps 'twas mere good-humour gave it birth,
The harmless play of pleasantry and mirth.
Howe'er it was, his language in my mind
Bespoke at least a man that knew mankind.

But not to moralize too much, and strain
To prove an evil of which all complain,
(I hate long arguments, verbosely spun)
One story more, dear Hill, and I have done.
Once on a time, an emp'ror, a wise man,
No matter where, in China or Japan,
Decreed that whosoever should offend
Against the well-known duties of a friend,
Convicted once, should ever after wear
But half a coat, and show his bosom bare;
The punishment importing this, no doubt,
That all was naught within and all found out.

Oh happy Britain! we have not to fear
Such hard and arbitrary measure here;
Else could a law, like that which I relate,
Once have the sanction of our triple state,
Some few that I have known in days of old
Would run most dreadful risk of catching cold.
While you, my friend, whatever wind should blow,
Might traverse England safely to and fro,
An honest man, close button'd to the chin,
Broad-cloth without, and a warm heart within.

TIROCINIUM;

OR, A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS.

Κεφαλαιον δη παιδειας ορθη τροφη.

PLATO.

Αρχη πολιτείας απασης, νέων τροφα.

DIOG. LAERT.

TO THE REV. WILLIAM CAWTHORNE UNWIN, RECTOR OF
STOCK, IN ESSEX, THE TUTOR OF HIS TWO SONS, THE
FOLLOWING POEM, RECOMMENDING PRIVATE TUITION
IN PREFERENCE TO AN EDUCATION AT SCHOOL, IS
INSCRIBED BY HIS AFFECTIONATE FRIEND, WILLIAM
COWPER.1
OLNEY, NOV. 6, 1784.

["IN the poem on the subject of education, he would be very sorry to stand suspected of having aimed his censure at any particular school. His objections are such as naturally apply themselves to schools in general. If there were not, as for the most part there is, wilful neglect in those who manage them, and an omission even of such discipline as they are susceptible of, the objects are yet too numerous for minute attention; and the aching hearts of ten thousand parents, mourning under the bitterest of all disappointments, attest the truth of the allegation. His quarrel, therefore, is with the mischief at large, and not with any particular instance of it." Such was the Author's preface. Sincerer indignation never made verses; the whole vehement heart was in them. "I do not know," he wrote, "that schools in the gross, and especially public schools, have ever been so pointedly condemned before. But they are become a nuisance, a pest, an abomination; and it is fit that the eyes and noses of mankind should, if possible, be opened to perceive it." These are hard words; and yet the Public School recollections of Cowper were not unpleasing. "I, the other day,' he told Unwin, "sent my imagination upon a trip thirty years

1 "I can easily see that you may have very reasonable objections to my dedicatory proposal. You are a clergyman, and I have banged your order; you are a child of Alma Mater, and I have banged her too."-(To Unwin, October 20, 1784.)

behind me. She was obedient, and very swift of foot, presently performed her journey, and set me down on the sixth form at Westminster. I fancied myself once more a schoolboy-a period of life in which, if I had never tasted true happiness, I was, at least, equally unacquainted with its contrary. No manufacturer of waking dreams ever succeeded better in his employment than I do. I can weave such a piece of tapestry in a few minutes as not only has all its charms of reality, but is embellished also with a variety of beauties, which, though they never existed, are more captivating than any that ever did; accordingly, I was a schoolboy in high favour with the master, received a silver groat for my exercise, and had the pleasure of seeing it sent from form to form, for the admiration of all who were able to understand it." He should have distinguished the Academy from the School, and have shown, at least, the sunny side of the system which he denounced. There is a good remark of Coleridge-"I am clear for Public Schools as the general rule; but, for particular children, private education may be proper. For the purpose of moving at ease in the best English society, the defect of a public education upon the plan of our great schools is hardly to be supplied." On the opposite argument, an observation of Johnson may be remembered. A gentleman had expressed a hope of curing the shyness of his son by a public school. "Sir," exclaimed the Doctor, "this is a preposterous expedient for removing his infirmity; such a disposition should be cultivated in the shade. Placing him at a public school is forcing an owl upor day."]

Ir is not from his form, in which we trace

Strength join'd with beauty, dignity with grace,
That man, the master of this globe, derives
His right of empire over all that lives.
That form indeed, th' associate of a mind
Vast in its powers, ethereal in its kind,
That form, the labour of Almighty skill,
Framed for the service of a free-born will,
Asserts precedence, and bespeaks control,
But borrows all its grandeur from the soul.
Hers is the state, the splendour, and the throne,
An intellectual kingdom, all her own.
For her the mem'ry fills her ample page
With truths pour'd down from ev'ry distant age,
For her amasses an unbounded store,

The wisdom of great nations, now no more:

Though laden, not encumber'd with her spoil;
Laborious, yet unconscious of her toil;
When copiously supplied, then most enlarged;
Still to be fed, and not to be surcharged.
For her the fancy, roving unconfined,
The present muse of ev'ry pensive mind,
Works magic wonders, adds a brighter hue
To nature's scenes, than nature ever knew:
At her command winds rise and waters roar,
Again she lays them slumb'ring on the shore;
With flow'r and fruit the wilderness supplies,
Or bids the rocks in ruder pomp arise.
For her the judgment, umpire in the strife,
That grace and nature have to wage through
life,

Quick-sighted arbiter of good and ill,

Appointed sage preceptor to the will,

Condemns, approves, and with a faithful voice
Guides the decision of a doubtful choice.

Why did the fiat of a God give birth
To yon

fair sun and his attendant earth? And, when descending he resigns the skies, Why takes the gentler moon her turn to rise, Whom ocean feels through all his countless waves, And owns her pow'r on ev'ry shore he laves? Why do the seasons still enrich the year, Fruitful and young as in their first career? Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees, Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze; Summer in haste the thriving charge receives Beneath the shade of her expanded leaves, Till autumn's fiercer heats and plenteous dews Dye them at last in all their glowing hues.— "Twere wild profusion all, and bootless waste, Pow'r misemploy'd, munificence misplaced, Had not its Author dignified the plan, And crown'd it with the majesty of man. Thus form'd, thus placed, intelligent, and taught, Look where he will, the wonders God has wrought, The wildest scorner of his Maker's laws

Finds in a sober moment time to pause,

To press th' important question on his heart,

66

Why form'd at all, and wherefore as thou art ?" If man be what he seems,-this hour a slave,

The next mere dust and ashes in the grave,