self-evident truths we have the advantage of hearing every day; and if Trim had not trusted more to his hat than his head, he had made nothing at all of it.

“ Are we not here now, continued the corporal, and “ are we not” (dropping his hat plump upon the ground “ -and pausing, before he pronounced the word) gone! « in a moment ?" The descent of the hat was as if a heavy lump of clay had been kneaded into the crown of it. -Nothing could have expressed the sentiment of mortality, of which it was the type and forerunner, like it; his hand feemed to vanish from under it, it fell dead, the corporal's eye fixed upon it, as upon a corps, -and Susannah burst into a flood of tears.

STERNE,

A

LL our praises why should Lords engross?

Rife, honest Muse! and sing the Man of Ross: Pleas'd Vaga echoes through her winding bounds, And rapid Severn hoarse applause resounds. Who hung with woods yon mountain's sultry brow? From the dry rock who bade the waters flow? Not to the skies in useless columns tost, Or in proud falls magnificently lost, But clear and artless, pouring through the plain Health to the fick, and folace to the swain. Whofe causeway parts the vale with shady rows ? Whose feats the weary traveller repose? Who taught that heav'n-directed spire to rise ? 5. The Man of Ross," each lifping babe replies.

Behold

Behold the market place with poor o'erspread!
The Man of Ross divides the weekly bread :
He feeds yon alms-houfe, neat, but void of state,
Where

age and want fit smiling at the gate :
Him portion'd maids, apprentic'd orphans bles,
The young who labour and the old who reft.
Is
any

fick? The Man of Ross relieves,
Prescribes, attends, the med'cine makes, and gives.
Is there a variance ? Enter but his door,
Balk'd are the courts, and conteft is no more.
Despairing quacks with curses fled the place,
And vile attornies, now a useless race.
Thrice happy man! enabled to pursue
What all so wish, but want the power to do!
Oh say, what fums that gen'rous hand fupply?
What mines, to swell that boundless charity?

Of debts and taxes, wife and children clear,
This man poffefs'd-five hundred pounds a year.
Blush Grandeur, blush ! proud Courts, withdraw your blaze!
Ye little stars! hide your diminish'd rays.

And what! no monument, infcription, stone?
His race, his form, his name almost unknown!

Who builds a Church to God, and not to Fame,
Will never mark the marble with his Name :
Go search it there, where to be born and die,
Of rich and

CH A P. V.

THE COUNTRY CLERGYM AN.

NI

EAR yonder copse, where once the garden smild,

And still where many a garden flower grows wild ; There, where a few torn fhrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modeft manfion rose. A man he was, to all the country dear, And pasting rich with forty pounds a year ; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had chang'd, nor wish'd to change his place ; Unpractis'd he to fawn, or seek for power, By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour; Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize, More skill'd to raise the wretched than to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train, He chid their wanderings, but reliev'd their pain, The long remember'd beggar was his gueft, Whose beard defcending swept his aged breast; The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd; The broken soldier, kindly bade to ftay; Sate by his fire, and talk'd the night away; Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done, Shoulder'd his crutch, and fhew'd how fields were won. Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; Careless their merits, or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began.

Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And even his failings lean'd to Virtue's fide;

But

But in his duty prompt at every call,
He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt, for all.
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries,
To tempt its new-fledg'd offspring to the skies ;
He try'd each art, reprov'd each dull delay,
Allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the way.

Beside the bed where parting life was laid,
And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismay'd,
The reverend champion stood. At his controul,
Despair and anguish fled the struggling foul ;
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise,
And his last faultering accents whisper'd praise.
At church, with meek and unaffected

grace,
His look's adorn'd the venerable place;
Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway,
And fools who came to scoff, remain’d to pray.
The service past, around the pious man,
With ready zeal each honest ruftic ran ;
E'en children follow'd with endearing wile,
And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile.
His ready smile a parent's warmth expreft,
Their welfare pleas’d him, and their cares diftreft ;
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given,
But all his serious thoughts had reft in Heav'n.
As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm,
Tho'round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head.

GOLDSMITH.

TH CONTENTMENT, parent of delight,

So much a stranger to our fight,
Say, goddess, in what happy place
Mortals behold thy blooming face;
Thy gracious auspices impart,
And for thy temple choose my heart.
They, whom thou deignet to inspire,
Thy science learn, to bound desire ;
By happy alchymy of mind
They turn to pleasure all they find ;
They both disdain in outward mien
The grave and folemn garb of Spleen,
And meretricious arts of dress,
To feign a joy, and hide distress:
Unmov'd when the rude tempest blows,
Withoat an opiate they repose ;
And cover'd by your shield, defy
The whizzing shafts, that round them fly:
Nor meddling with the gods' affairs,
Concern themselves with diftant cares;
But place their bliss in mental rest,
And feast upon the good poffess’d.

Forc'd by soft violence of pray’r,
The blithsome goddess fooths my care ;
I feel the deity inspire,
And thus she models my desire.
Two hundred pounds half-yearly paid,
Annuity securely made,

A farm