"All the old Comfort, all the genial Fare

"For ever gone! how sternly would it stare : "And though it might not to their view appear, ""Twould cause among them Lassitude and Fear; "Then wait to see-where he Delight has seen"The dire effect of Fretfulness and Spleen.

"Such were the Worthies of these better Days; "We had their Blessings-they shall have our Praise. "Of Captain Dowling would you hear me speak? "I'd sit and sing his Praises for a Week: "He was a Man, and man-like all his Joy,--"I'm led to question was he ever Boy?

"Beef was his Breakfast ;---if from Sea and Salt,
"It relish'd better with his Wine of Malt;
"Then, till he din'd, if walking in or out,
"Whether the Gravel teaz'd him or the Gout,
"Though short in Wind and flannel'd every Limb,
"He drank with all who had Concerns with him:
"Whatever Trader, Agent, Merchant, came,
"They found him ready, every hour the same;
"Whatever Liquors might between them pass,
"He took them all, and never balk'd his Glass:
"Nay, with the Seamen working in the Ship,
"At their request, he'd share the Grog and Flip:
"But in the Club-room was his chief delight,
"And Punch the favourite liquor of the night;
"Man after Man they from the trial shrank,
"And Dowling ever was the last who drank :
"Arriv'd at home, he, ere he sought his Bed,
"With Pipe and Brandy would compose his Head;
"Then half an hour was o'er the News beguil'd,
"When he retir'd as harmless as a child.

"Set but aside the Gravel and the Gout,
"And breathing short---his Sand ran fairly out.

"At fifty-five we lost him---after that "Life grows insipid and its Pleasures flat; "He had indulg'd in all that Man can have, "He did not drop a Dotard to his Grave; "Still to the last, his Feet upon the Chair, "With rattling Lungs now gone beyond repair; "When on each feature Death had fix'd his stamp, "And not a Doctor could the Body vamp; "Still at the last, to his belov'd Bowl

"He clung, and cheer'd the sadness of his Soul; "For though a Man may not have much to fear, "Yet Death looks ugly, when the view is near: "I go,' he said, but still my Friends shall say, ""Twas as a Man-I did not sneak away; "An honest life, with worthy Souls I've spent,"Come, fill my glass;'-he took it and he went.

"Poor Dolly Murrey !—I might live to see

My hundredth year, but no such Lass as she. Easy by nature, in her Humour gay, "She chose her comforts, Ratafia and Play: "She lov'd the social Game, the decent Glass; "And was a jovial, friendly, laughing Lass; "We sat not then at Whist demure and still, "But pass'd the pleasant hours at gay Quadrille: "Lame in her Side, we plac'd her in her seat, "Her Hands were free, she car'd not for her Feet; "As the Game ended, came the Glass around,

66

(So was the Loser cheer'd, the Winner crown'd.) "Mistress of Secrets, both the Young and Old "In her confided-not a Tale she told;

"Love never made impression on her Mind, "She held him weak, and all his Captives blind; "She suffer'd no Man her free Soul to vex, "Free from the weakness of her gentle Sex;

"One with whom ours unmov'd conversing sate, "In cool discussion or in free debate.

"Once in her chair we'd plac'd the good old Lass, "Where first she took her Preparation-Glass;

66 By lucky thought she'd been that day at Prayers, "And long before had fix'd her small Affairs; "So all was easy-on her Cards she cast

"A smiling look; I saw the thought that pass'd: "A King,' she call'd-though conscious of her skill, "Do more,' I answer'd- More,' she said, 'I will ;' "And more she did-Cards answer'd to her call, "She saw the mighty to her mightier fall : "A vole! a vole!' she cried, "'tis fairly won, "My Game is ended and my Work is done;'"This said, she gently, with a single sigh, "Died as one taught and practis'd how to die. "Such were the Dead-departed; I survive, "To breathe in pain among the Dead-alive."

The Bell then call'd these ancient Men to pray, "Again!" said Benbow,-" tolls it every Day? "Where is the Life I led?"-He sigh'd and walk'd his

way.

LETTER XVII.

THE HOSPITAL AND GOVERNORS.

Blessed be the man who provideth for the sick and needy: the Lord shall deliver him in time of trouble.

Quas dederis, solas semper habebis opes.

Martial.

Nil negat, et sese vel non poscentibus offert.

Claudian.

Decipias alios verbis voltuque benigno;
Nam mihi jam notus dissimulator eris.

Martial.