He planted ample woods and gardens fair, And walk'd with anguish and compunction there :

The rich man's pines, to every friend a treat,
He saw with pain, and he refused to eat ;
His daintiest food, his richest wines, were all
Turn'd by remorse to vinegar and gall:
The softest down, by living body press'd,
The rich man bought, and tried to take his
rest;

But care had thorns upon his pillow spread,
And scatter'd sand and nettles in his bed:
Nervous he grew,-would often sigh and
groan,

He talk'd but little, and he walk'd alone; Till by his priest convinced, that from one deed

Of genuine love would joy and health proceed; He from that time with care and zeal began To seek and soothe the grievous ills of man; And as his hands their aid to grief apply, He learns to smile and he forgets to sigh. Now he can drink his wine and taste his food,

And feel the blessings, Heav'n has dealt, are good;

And, since the suffering seek the rich man's door,

He sleeps as soundly as when young and poor. Here much he gives-is urgent more to gain; He begs-rich beggars seldom sue in vain : Preachers most famed he moves, the crowd

to move,

And never wearies in the work of love:
He rules all business, settles all affairs,
He makes collections, he directs repairs;
And if he wrong'd one brother,-Heav'n
forgive

The man by whom so many brethren live!

Then, 'mid our signatures, a name appears Of one for wisdom famed above his years; And these were forty: he was from his youth A patient searcher after useful truth: To language little of his time he gave, To science less, nor was the muse's slave; Sober and grave, his college sent him down, A fair example for his native town.

Slowly he speaks, and with such solemn air, You'd think a Socrates or Solon there; For though a Christian, he 's disposed to draw His rules from reason's and from nature's law.

6

6

Know,' he exclaims, my fellow mortals, know,

Virtue alone is happiness below;
And what is virtue ? prudence first to choose
Life's real good,-the evil to refuse ;
Add justice then, the eager hand to hold,
To curb the lust of power and thirst of gold;
Join temp'rance next, that cheerful health
insures,

And fortitude unmoved, that conquers or endures.'

He speaks, and lo !—the very man you see, Prudent and temperate, just and patient he, By prudence taught his worldly wealth to keep

No folly wastes, no avarice swells the heap: He no man's debtor, no man's patron lives; Save sound advice, he neither asks nor gives ; By no vain thoughts or erring fancy sway'd, His words are weighty, or at least are weigh'd; Temp'rate in every place-abroad, at home, Thence will applause, and hence will profit

come;

And health from either he in time prepares For sickness, age, and their attendant cares, But not for fancy's ills ;-he never grieves For love that wounds or friendship that deceives;

His patient soul endures what Heav'n ordains, But neither feels nor fears ideal pains.

'Is aught then wanted in a man so wise ?'Alas!-I think he wants infirmities; He wants the ties that knit us to our kindThe cheerful, tender, soft, complacent mind, That would the feelings, which he dreads, excite,

And make the virtues he approves delight; What dying martyrs, saints, and patriots feel,

The strength of action and the warmth of zeal.

Again attend!-and see a man whose cares Are nicely placed on either world's affairs,Merchant and saint; 'tis doubtful if he knows To which account he most regard bestows; Of both he keeps his ledger :-there he reads Of gainful ventures and of godly deeds; There all he gets or loses find a place, A lucky bargain and a lack of grace.

The joys above this prudent man invite To pay his tax-devotion !-day and night; The pains of hell his timid bosom awe, And force obedience to the church's law;

make,

prayer.

All these (when conscience, waken'd and afraid,

To think how avarice calls and is obey'd) He in his journal finds, and for his grief Obtains the transient opium of relief.

'Sink not, my soul!-my spirit, rise and look

O'er the fair entries of this precious book: Here are the sins, our debts;-this fairer side

Has what to carnal wish our strength denied;
Has those religious duties every day
Paid,-which so few upon the sabbath pay;
Here too are conquests over frail desires,
Attendance due on all the church requires;
Then alms I give-for I believe the word
Of holy writ, and lend unto the Lord,
And if not all th' importunate demand,
The fear of want restrains my ready hand;
-Behold! what sums I to the poor resign,
Sums placed in Heaven's own book, as well as
mine :

Rest then, my spirit!-fastings, prayers, and alms,

Will soon suppress these idly-raised alarms,
And weigh'd against our frailties, set in view
A noble balance in our favour due:
Add that I yearly here affix my name,

doubt,

Pray without dread, and place our money out."

Such the religion of a mind that steers

Its way to bliss, between its hopes and fears; Whose passions in due bounds each other keep,

And thus subdued, they murmur till they sleep;

Whose virtues all their certain limits know, Like well-dried herbs that neither fade nor grow;

Who for success and safety ever tries,
And with both worlds alternately complies.
Such are the guardians of this bless'd estate,
Whate'er without, they're praised within the
gate;

That they are men, and have their faults, is true,

But here their worth alone appears in view: The Muse indeed, who reads the very breast, Has something of the secrets there express'd, But yet in charity ;-and when she sees Such means for joy or comfort, health or ease, And knows how much united minds effect, She almost dreads their failings to detect; But truth commands:-in man's erroneous kind,

Virtues and frailties mingle in the mind;

fame,

And even vices to the work of love.

Bene paupertas

Humili tecto contenta latet.

SENECA, Oct., Act v. 884-5.

Omnes quibus res sunt minus secundae, magis sunt, nescio quo modo, Suspitiosi; ad contumeliam omnia accipiunt magis;

Propter suam impotentiam se semper credunt

ludier.

TERENT., in Adelph., Act iv, Sc. 3.
Show not to the poor thy pride,
Let their home a cottage be;
Nor the feeble body hide
In a palace fit for thee;
Let him not about him see
Lofty ceilings, ample halls,

Or a gate his boundary be,
Where nor friend or kinsman calls.
Let him not one walk behold,

That only one which he must tread,
Nor a chamber large and cold,

Where the aged and sick are led ;
Better far his humble shed,
Humble sheds of neighbours by,

And the old and tatter'd bed,
Where he sleeps and hopes to die.
To quit of torpid sluggishness the lair,
And from the pow'rful arms of sloth get free,
'Tis rising from the dead-Alas! it cannot be.
THOMSON'S Castle of Indolence, Canto II, v. 61.

The Method of treating the Borough Paupers --Many maintained at their own Dwellings -Some Characters of the Poor-The School-mistress, when aged-The IdiotThe 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 PoorThe Dwellings of these-The Lanes and By-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. YES! we've our Borough-vices, and I know How far they spread, how rapidly they grow;

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 ancient letter-loving dame : 'Learning, my child,' said she, 'shall fame command;

Learning is better worth than house or landFor 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 approved;
Shall I not think what pains the matron took,
Can I mine ancient widow pass unmoved?
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 soothed 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 ?
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
To her own house is borne the week's supply;
applause:
There she in credit lives, there hopes in peace
to die.

With her a harmless idiot we behold, Who hoards 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 dared to sell? 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

much :

His one spare shirt, long glass, and iron box,
Lie all in view; no need has he for locks:
Here he abides, and, as our strangers pass,
He shows the shipping, he presents the glass;
He makes (unask'd) their ports and business
known,

And (kindly heard) turns quickly to his own,
Of noble captains, heroes every one,—
You might as soon have made the steeple run:
And then his messmates, if you're pleased to
stay,

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;
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.

Here is the poor old merchant: he declined, And, as they say, is not in perfect mind; In his poor house, with one poor maiden friend,

Quiet he paces to his journey's end.

Rich in his youth, he traded and he fail'd; Again he tried, again his fate prevail'd; His spirits low and his exertions small, He fell perforce, he seem'd decreed to fall: Like the gay knight, unapt to rise was he, But downward sank with sad alacrity. A borough-place we gain'd him-in disgrace For gross neglect, he quickly lost the place;

Here they together (meet companions) dwell, And dismal tales of man's misfortunes tell: ''Twas not a world for them, God help them! they

Could not deceive, nor flatter, nor betray; But there's a happy change, a scene to come, And they, God help them! shall be soon at home.'

If these no pleasures nor enjoyments gain, Still none their spirits nor their speech restrain;

They sigh at ease, 'mid comforts they complain.

The poor will grieve, the poor will weep and sigh,

Both when they know, and when they know not why;

But we our bounty with such care bestow, That cause for grieving they shall seldom know.

Your plan I love not;-with a number you Have placed your poor, your pitiable few; There, in one house, throughout their lives to be,

The pauper-palace which they hate to see: That giant-building, that high-bounding wall, Those bare-worn walks, that lofty thund'ring

hall!

That large loud clock, which tolls each dreaded hour,

Those gates and locks, and all those signs of power:

It is a prison, with a milder name,
Which few inhabit without dread or shame.

Be it agreed-the poor who hither come
Partake of plenty, seldom found at home;
That airy rooms and decent beds are meant
To give the poor by day, by night, content;
That none are frighten'd, once admitted here,
By the stern looks of lordly overseer:
Grant that the guardians of the place attend,
And ready ear to each petition lend ;