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Townsman. A long parade, indeed, sir, and yet
You see but half; round yonder bend it reaches
A furlong farther, carriage behind carriage.
S. 'Tis but a mournful sight, and yet the pomp
Tempts me to stand a gazer.
T. Yonder School-boy
Who plays the truant, says the proclamation
Of peace was nothing to the show, and even
The chairing of the members at election
Would not have been a finer sight than this;
Only that red and green are prettier colours
Than all this mourning.-There, sir, you behold
One of the red gown'd worthies of the city,
The envy and the boast of our exchange,
Aye, what was worth last week, a good half million.
Screw'd down in yonder hearse.
S: Then he was born
Under a lucky planet, who to-day
Puts mourning on for his inheritance.
T. When first I heard his death, that very wish
Leapt to my lips; but now the closing scene
Of the Comedy hath waken'd wiser thoughts:
And I bless God, that when I go to the grave,
There will not be the weight of wealth like his
To sink me down.
S. The camel and the needle,
I would ride the camel,
Yea, leap him flying through the needle's eye,
As easily as such a pamper'd soul
Could pass the narrow gate.
8. Your pardon, sir;
But sure this lack of Christian charity
Looks not like Christian truth.
T. Your pardon too, sir,
If, with this text before me, I should feel
In the preaching mood! But for these barren Sq
With all their flourish and their leafiness,
We have been told their destiny and use,
When the axe is laid unto the root, and they
Cumber the earth no longer.
Stor'd fraudfully, the spoil of orphans wrong'd,
And widows who had none to plead their right?
7. All honest, open, honourable, gains;
Fair legal interests, bonds and mortgages,
Ships to the East and West.
Undone for sins, not one of which is mention'd
In the Ten Commandments. He, I warrant him,
Believ'd no other Gods than those of the Creed:
Bow'd to no idols,--but his money-bags :
Swore no false oaths,-except at a custom-house.
Kept the Sabbath idle: built a monument
To honour bis dead father; did no murder:
Was too old-fashion'd for adultery;
Never picked pockets: never bore false witness :
And never, with that all-commanding wealth,
Coveted his neighbour's house, nor ox, nor ass.
8. You knew him, then, it seems?
7. As all men know The virtues of your hundred-thousanders;
They never hide their lights beneath a bushel.
8. Nay, nay, uncharitable sir! for often
Doth bounty like a streamlet flow unseen,
Freshening and giving life along its course.
T. We track the streamlet by the brighter green
And livelier growth it gives :-but, as for this-
This was a pool that stagnated and stunk,
The rains of heaven engender'd nothing in it
But slime and foul corruption.
Are reservoirs, whence public charity
Still keeps her channels full.
T. Now, sir, you touch
Upon the point. This man of half a million
Had all these public virtues which you praise :-
But the poor man rung never at his door;
And the old beggar at the public gate,
Who, all the summer long, stands, hat in hand,
He knew how vain it was to lift an eye
To that hard face. Yet he was always found
Among your ten and twenty pound subscribers,
Your benefactors in the news-papers.
His alms were money put to interest
Cres In the other world,-donations to keep open
A running charity-account with heaven:-
-Retaining fees against the last assizes,
When, for the trusted talents, strict account
Shall be required from all,and the old Arch-Lawyer
Plead his own cause as plaintiff.
S. I must needs
Believe you, sir:-these are your witnesses,
These mourners here, who from their carriages
Gape at the gaping crowd. A good March win
Were to be pray'd for now, to lend their eyes
Some decent rheum. The very hireling mute
Bears not a face blanker of all emotion
Than the old servant of the family!
How can this man have liv'd, that thus his death Casts not the soiling one white handkerchief!
T. Who should lament for him, sir, in whose
Love had no place, nor natural charity?
The parlour spaniel, when she heard his step,
Rose slowly from the hearth, and stole aside
With creeping pace; she never rais'd her eyes
To woo kind words, from him, nor laid her head
Up-rais'd upon his knee, with fondling whine.
How could it be but thus! Arithmetic
Was the sole science he was ever taught.
The multiplication-table was his Creed,
His Pater-noster, and his Decalogue.
When yet he was a boy, and should have breath'd
The open air and sun-shine of the fields,
To give his blood its natural spring and play,
He, in a close and dusky counting-house,
Smock-dried and sear'd and shrivell'd up his heart.
So, from the way in which he was train'd up,
His feet departed not; he toil'd and moil'd,
Poor muck-worm! thro' his three-score years and
And when the earth shall now be shovell'd on him,
If that which serv'd him for a soul were still
Within its husk, 'twould still be, dirt to dirt.
S. Yet your next newspapers will blazon him For industry and honourable wealth,
T. Even half a million Gets him no other praise. But come this way Some twelve-months hence, and you will find his virtues
Trimly set forth in lapidary lines,
Faith, with her torch beside, and little Cupids
Dropping upon his urn their marble tears.
View of the heavenly bodies.
THE spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue etherial sky,
And spangled heavens, a shining frame,
Their great original proclaim.
Th' unwearied sun, from day to day,
Doth his Creator's power display;
And publishes, to every land,
The work of an Almighty hand.
Soon as the evening shades prevail,
The moon takes up the wond'rous tale;
And, nightly, to the listening earth
Repeats the story of her birth.
While all the stars that round her burn,
And all the planets in their turn,
Confirm the tidings as they roll,
And spread the truth from pole to pole.
What tho', in solemn silence, all
Move round the dark terrestrial ball;
What tho' no real voice nor sound
Amidst the radient orbs be found;
In reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice;
For ever singing, as they shine,
"The hand that made us is divine!"