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 fam'd, 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 fam'd 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 dispos'd to draw
His Rules from Reason's and from Nature's Law.

"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 unmov'd, 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 Kind-
The 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 plac'd 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: Hence that continual Thought,-that solemn Air,Those sad good Works, and that laborious 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 plac'd in Heaven's own Book, as well as mine: "Rest then, my Spirit!-Fastings, Prayers and Alms, "Will soon suppress these idly-rais'd 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,

"Pledge for large Payment-not from love of Fame, "But to make Peace within ;-that Peace to make, "What Sums I lavish! and what Gains forsake! "Cheer up, my Heart!-let's cast off every 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 blest Estate,
Whate'er without, they're prais'd 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,
Happy!-when Fears to public Spirit move,
And even Vices to the work of Love.

LETTER XVIII.

THE POOR AND THEIR DWELLINGS.

Bene Paupertas

Humili tecto contenta latet.

Seneca.

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

Suspiciosi: ad contumeliam omnia accipiunt magis;
Propter suam impotentiam se semper credunt negligi.

Terent. in Adelph. Act 4. Scen. 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 ag'd and sick are led;
Better far his bumble 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 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.