LETTER VIII.

FOOTNOTES:[51]Opiferque per orbemDicor.[Ovid,Metam.Lib. I. vv. 521-2.][52]An empiric whoflourishedat the same time with this great man.

FOOTNOTES:

[51]Opiferque per orbemDicor.[Ovid,Metam.Lib. I. vv. 521-2.]

[51]

Opiferque per orbemDicor.[Ovid,Metam.Lib. I. vv. 521-2.]

Opiferque per orbem

Dicor.

[Ovid,Metam.Lib. I. vv. 521-2.]

[52]An empiric whoflourishedat the same time with this great man.

TRADES.

Non possidentem multa vocaverisRecte beatum: rectius occupatNomen Beati, qui DeorumMuneribus sapienter uti,Duramque callet pauperiem pati.Hor.lib. iv. od. 9 [vv. 45-9].

Non possidentem multa vocaveris

Recte beatum: rectius occupat

Nomen Beati, qui Deorum

Muneribus sapienter uti,

Duramque callet pauperiem pati.

Hor.lib. iv. od. 9 [vv. 45-9].

Non uxor salvum te vult, non filius: omnesVicini oderunt; noti, pueri atque puellæ.Miraris, cum tu argento post omnia ponas,Si nemo præstet, quem non merearis, amorem?Hor.Sat. lib. 1. [Sat. 1. vv. 84-7].

Non uxor salvum te vult, non filius: omnes

Vicini oderunt; noti, pueri atque puellæ.

Miraris, cum tu argento post omnia ponas,

Si nemo præstet, quem non merearis, amorem?

Hor.Sat. lib. 1. [Sat. 1. vv. 84-7].

Non propter vitam faciunt patrimonia quidam,Sed vitio cæci propter patrimonia vivunt.Juvenal.Sat. 12. [vv. 50-1].

Non propter vitam faciunt patrimonia quidam,

Sed vitio cæci propter patrimonia vivunt.

Juvenal.Sat. 12. [vv. 50-1].

No extensive Manufactories in the Borough: yet considerable Fortunes made there—Ill Judgment of Parents in disposing of their Sons—Thebest educated not the most likely to succeed—Instance—Want of Success compensated by the lenient Power of some Avocations—The Naturalist—The Weaver an Entomologist, &c.—A Prize-Flower—Story of Walter and William.

LETTER VIII.

TRADES.

Of manufactures, trade, inventions rare,Steam-towers and looms, you'd know our Borough'sshare—'Tis small: we boast not these rich subjects here,Who hazard thrice ten thousand pounds a year,We've no huge buildings, where incessant noiseIs made by springs and spindles, girls and boys;Where, 'mid such thundering sounds, the maiden's songIs "Harmony in Uproar"[53]all day long.Still, common minds with us, in common trade,10Have gain'd more wealth than ever student made;And yet a merchant, when he gives his sonHis college-learning, thinks his duty done;A way to wealth he leaves his boy to find,Just when he's made for the discovery blind.Jones and his wife perceived their elder boyTook to his learning, and it gave them joy;This they encouraged, and were bless'd to seeTheir son a Fellow with a high degree;A living fell, he married, and his sire20Declared 'twas all a father could require;Children then bless'd them, and when letters came,The parents proudly told each grandchild's name.Meantime the sons at home in trade were placed,Money their object—just the father's taste;Saving he lived and long, and when he died,He gave them all his fortune to divide."Martin," said he, "at vast expense was taught;He gain'd his wish, and has the ease he sought."Thus the good priest (the Christian-scholar!) finds30What estimate is made by vulgar minds;He sees his brothers, who had every giftOf thriving, now assisted in their thrift;While he whom learning, habits, all prevent,Is largely mulct for each impediment.Yet, let us own that trade has much of chance:Not all the careful by their care advance;With the same parts and prospects, one a seatBuilds for himself; one finds it in the Fleet.Then, to the wealthy you will see denied40Comforts and joys that with the poor abide:There are who labour through the year, and yetNo more have gain'd than—not to be in debt;Who still maintain the same laborious course,Yet pleasure hails them from some favourite source;And health, amusements, children, wife or friend,With life's dull views their consolations blend.Nor these alone possess the lenient powerOf soothing life in the desponding hour;Some favourite studies, some delightful care,50The mind with trouble and distresses share;And by a coin, a flower, a verse, a boat,The stagnant spirits have been set afloat;They pleased at first, and then the habit grew,Till the fond heart no higher pleasure knew;Till, from all cares and other comforts freed,Th' important nothing took in life the lead.With all his phlegm, it broke a Dutchman's heart,At a vast price with one loved root to part;And toys like these fill many a British mind,60Although their hearts are found of firmer kind.Oft have I smiled the happy pride to seeOf humble tradesmen, in their evening glee;When, of some pleasing, fancied good possess'd,Each grew alert, was busy, and was bless'd;Whether the call-bird yield the hour's delight,Or, magnified in microscope, the mite;Or whether tumblers, croppers, carriers seizeThe gentle mind, they rule it and they please.There is my friend the Weaver; strong desires70Reign in his breast; 'tis beauty he admires:See! to the shady grove he wings his way,And feels in hope the raptures of theday—}Eager he looks; and soon, to glad his eyes,}From the sweet bower, by nature form'd, arise}Bright troops of virgin moths and fresh-born butterflies;Who broke that morning from their half-year's sleep,To fly o'er flow'rs where they were wont to creep.Above the sovereign oak a sovereign skims,The purple Emp'ror, strong in wing and limbs:80There fair Camilla takes her flight serene,Adonis blue, and Paphia, silver-queen;With every filmy fly from mead or bower,And hungry Sphinx, who threads the honey'd flower;She o'er the Larkspur's bed, where sweets abound,Views ev'ry bell, and hums th' approving sound;Poised on her busy plumes, with feeling niceShe draws from every flower, nor tries a floret twice.He fears no bailiff's wrath, no baron's blame,His is untax'd and undisputed game;90Nor less the place of curious plant he knows[54];He both his Flora and his Fauna shows;For him is blooming in its rich arrayThe glorious flower which bore the palm away;In vain a rival tried his utmost art,His was the prize, and joy o'erflow'd his heart."This, this is beauty! cast, I pray, your eyesOn this my glory! see the grace! the size!Was ever stem so tall, so stout, so strong,Exact in breadth, in just proportion, long!100These brilliant hues are all distinct and clean,No kindred tint, no blending streaks between;This is no shaded, run-off[55], pin-eyed[56]thing,A king of flowers, a flower for England's king:I own my pride, and thank the favouring star,Which shed such beauty on my fair Bizarre[57]."Thus may the poor the cheap indulgence seize,While the most wealthy pine and pray for ease;Content not always waits upon success,And more may he enjoy who profits less.110Walter and William took (their father dead)Jointly the trade to which they both were bred;When fix'd, they married, and they quickly foundWith due success their honest labours crown'd:Few were their losses, but, although a few,Walter was vex'd, and somewhat peevish grew:"You put your trust in every pleading fool,"Said he to William, and grew strange and cool."Brother, forbear," he answer'd; "take your due,Nor let my lack of caution injure you."120Half friends they parted,—better so to close,Than longer wait to part entirely foes.Walter had knowledge, prudence, jealous care;He let no idle views his bosom share;He never thought nor felt for othermen—"Let one mind one, and all are minded then."Friends he respected, and believed them just;But they were men, and he would no man trust;He tried and watch'd his people day andnight,—The good it harm'd not; for the bad 'twas right:130He could their humours bear, nay disrespect,But he could yield no pardon to neglect;That all about him were of him afraid,"Was right," he said—"so should we be obey'd."}These merchant-maxims, much good-fortune too,}And ever keeping one grand point in view,}To vast amount his once small portion drew.William was kind and easy; he compliedWith all requests, or grieved when he denied;To please his wife he made a costly trip,140To please his child he let a bargain slip;}Prone to compassion, mild with the distress'd,}He bore with all who poverty profess'd,}And some would he assist, nor one would he arrest.}He had some loss at sea, bad debts at land,}His clerk absconded with some bills in hand,}And plans so often fail'd that he no longer plann'd.To a small house (his brother's) he withdrew,At easy rent—the man was not a Jew;And there his losses and his cares he bore,150Nor found that want of wealth could make him poor.No, he in fact was rich; nor could he move,But he was follow'd by the looks of love;All he had suffer'd, every former grief,Made those around more studious in relief;He saw a cheerful smile in every face,And lost all thoughts of error and disgrace.Pleasant it was to see them in their walkRound their small garden, and to hear them talk;Free are their children, but their love refrains160From all offence—none murmurs, none complains;Whether a book amused them, speech or play,Their looks were lively, and their hearts were gay;There no forced efforts for delight were made,Joy came with prudence, and without parade;Their common comforts they had all in view,Light were their troubles, and their wishes few;Thrift made them easy for the coming day;Religion took the dread of death away;A cheerful spirit still insured content,170And love smiled round them wheresoe'er they went.Walter, meantime, with all his wealth's increase,Gain'd many points, but could not purchase peace;When he withdrew from business for an hour,Some fled his presence, all confess'd his power;He sought affection, but received insteadFear undisguised, and love-repelling dread;He look'd around him—"Harriet, dost thou love?"—"I do my duty," said the timiddove;—"Good Heav'n, your duty! prithee, tell menow—180To love and honour—was not that your vow?Come, my good Harriet, I would gladly seekYour inmost thought—Why can't the woman speak?Have you not all things?"—"Sir, do I complain?"—"No, that's my part, which I perform in vain;I want a simple answer, anddirect—But you evade; yes! 'tis as I suspect.Come then, my children! Watt! upon your kneesVow that you love me."—"Yes, sir, if youplease."—"Again! by Heav'n, it mads me; I require190Love, and they'll do whatever I desire.Thus too my people shun me; I would spendA thousand pounds to get a single friend;I would be happy—I have means to payFor love and friendship, and you run away;Ungrateful creatures! why, you seem to dreadMy very looks; I know you wish me dead.Come hither, Nancy! you must hold me dear;Hither, I say; why! what have you to fear?You see I'm gentle—Come, you trifler, come;200My God! she trembles! Idiot, leave the room!Madam! your children hate me; I supposeThey know their cue; you make them all my foes;I've not a friend in all the world—not one:I'd be a bankrupt sooner; nay, 'tis done;In every better hope of life I fail;You're all tormentors, and my house a jail;Out of my sight! I'll sit and make mywill—What, glad to go? stay, devils, and be still;'Tis to your uncle's cot you wish to run,210To learn to live at ease and be undone;Him you can love, who lost his whole estate,And I, who gain you fortunes, have your hate;'Tis in my absence you yourselves enjoy:Tom! are you glad to lose me? tell me, boy:'Yes!' does he answer?"—"'Yes!' upon my soul;""No awe, no fear, no duty, no control!Away! away! ten thousand devils seizeAll I possess, and plunder where they please!What's wealth to me?—yes, yes! it gives me sway,220And you shall feel it—Go! begone, I say."

Of manufactures, trade, inventions rare,

Steam-towers and looms, you'd know our Borough'sshare—

'Tis small: we boast not these rich subjects here,

Who hazard thrice ten thousand pounds a year,

We've no huge buildings, where incessant noise

Is made by springs and spindles, girls and boys;

Where, 'mid such thundering sounds, the maiden's song

Is "Harmony in Uproar"[53]all day long.

Still, common minds with us, in common trade,

Have gain'd more wealth than ever student made;

And yet a merchant, when he gives his son

His college-learning, thinks his duty done;

A way to wealth he leaves his boy to find,

Just when he's made for the discovery blind.

Jones and his wife perceived their elder boy

Took to his learning, and it gave them joy;

This they encouraged, and were bless'd to see

Their son a Fellow with a high degree;

A living fell, he married, and his sire

Declared 'twas all a father could require;

Children then bless'd them, and when letters came,

The parents proudly told each grandchild's name.

Meantime the sons at home in trade were placed,

Money their object—just the father's taste;

Saving he lived and long, and when he died,

He gave them all his fortune to divide.

"Martin," said he, "at vast expense was taught;

He gain'd his wish, and has the ease he sought."

Thus the good priest (the Christian-scholar!) finds

What estimate is made by vulgar minds;

He sees his brothers, who had every gift

Of thriving, now assisted in their thrift;

While he whom learning, habits, all prevent,

Is largely mulct for each impediment.

Yet, let us own that trade has much of chance:

Not all the careful by their care advance;

With the same parts and prospects, one a seat

Builds for himself; one finds it in the Fleet.

Then, to the wealthy you will see denied

Comforts and joys that with the poor abide:

There are who labour through the year, and yet

No more have gain'd than—not to be in debt;

Who still maintain the same laborious course,

Yet pleasure hails them from some favourite source;

And health, amusements, children, wife or friend,

With life's dull views their consolations blend.

Nor these alone possess the lenient power

Of soothing life in the desponding hour;

Some favourite studies, some delightful care,

The mind with trouble and distresses share;

And by a coin, a flower, a verse, a boat,

The stagnant spirits have been set afloat;

They pleased at first, and then the habit grew,

Till the fond heart no higher pleasure knew;

Till, from all cares and other comforts freed,

Th' important nothing took in life the lead.

With all his phlegm, it broke a Dutchman's heart,

At a vast price with one loved root to part;

And toys like these fill many a British mind,

Although their hearts are found of firmer kind.

Oft have I smiled the happy pride to see

Of humble tradesmen, in their evening glee;

When, of some pleasing, fancied good possess'd,

Each grew alert, was busy, and was bless'd;

Whether the call-bird yield the hour's delight,

Or, magnified in microscope, the mite;

Or whether tumblers, croppers, carriers seize

The gentle mind, they rule it and they please.

There is my friend the Weaver; strong desires

Reign in his breast; 'tis beauty he admires:

See! to the shady grove he wings his way,

And feels in hope the raptures of theday—

}

Eager he looks; and soon, to glad his eyes,

}

From the sweet bower, by nature form'd, arise

}

Bright troops of virgin moths and fresh-born butterflies;

Who broke that morning from their half-year's sleep,

To fly o'er flow'rs where they were wont to creep.

Above the sovereign oak a sovereign skims,

The purple Emp'ror, strong in wing and limbs:

There fair Camilla takes her flight serene,

Adonis blue, and Paphia, silver-queen;

With every filmy fly from mead or bower,

And hungry Sphinx, who threads the honey'd flower;

She o'er the Larkspur's bed, where sweets abound,

Views ev'ry bell, and hums th' approving sound;

Poised on her busy plumes, with feeling nice

She draws from every flower, nor tries a floret twice.

He fears no bailiff's wrath, no baron's blame,

His is untax'd and undisputed game;

Nor less the place of curious plant he knows[54];

He both his Flora and his Fauna shows;

For him is blooming in its rich array

The glorious flower which bore the palm away;

In vain a rival tried his utmost art,

His was the prize, and joy o'erflow'd his heart.

"This, this is beauty! cast, I pray, your eyes

On this my glory! see the grace! the size!

Was ever stem so tall, so stout, so strong,

Exact in breadth, in just proportion, long!

100

These brilliant hues are all distinct and clean,

No kindred tint, no blending streaks between;

This is no shaded, run-off[55], pin-eyed[56]thing,

A king of flowers, a flower for England's king:

I own my pride, and thank the favouring star,

Which shed such beauty on my fair Bizarre[57]."

Thus may the poor the cheap indulgence seize,

While the most wealthy pine and pray for ease;

Content not always waits upon success,

And more may he enjoy who profits less.

110

Walter and William took (their father dead)

Jointly the trade to which they both were bred;

When fix'd, they married, and they quickly found

With due success their honest labours crown'd:

Few were their losses, but, although a few,

Walter was vex'd, and somewhat peevish grew:

"You put your trust in every pleading fool,"

Said he to William, and grew strange and cool.

"Brother, forbear," he answer'd; "take your due,

Nor let my lack of caution injure you."

120

Half friends they parted,—better so to close,

Than longer wait to part entirely foes.

Walter had knowledge, prudence, jealous care;

He let no idle views his bosom share;

He never thought nor felt for othermen—

"Let one mind one, and all are minded then."

Friends he respected, and believed them just;

But they were men, and he would no man trust;

He tried and watch'd his people day andnight,—

The good it harm'd not; for the bad 'twas right:

130

He could their humours bear, nay disrespect,

But he could yield no pardon to neglect;

That all about him were of him afraid,

"Was right," he said—"so should we be obey'd."

}

These merchant-maxims, much good-fortune too,

}

And ever keeping one grand point in view,

}

To vast amount his once small portion drew.

William was kind and easy; he complied

With all requests, or grieved when he denied;

To please his wife he made a costly trip,

140

To please his child he let a bargain slip;

}

Prone to compassion, mild with the distress'd,

}

He bore with all who poverty profess'd,

}

And some would he assist, nor one would he arrest.

}

He had some loss at sea, bad debts at land,

}

His clerk absconded with some bills in hand,

}

And plans so often fail'd that he no longer plann'd.

To a small house (his brother's) he withdrew,

At easy rent—the man was not a Jew;

And there his losses and his cares he bore,

150

Nor found that want of wealth could make him poor.

No, he in fact was rich; nor could he move,

But he was follow'd by the looks of love;

All he had suffer'd, every former grief,

Made those around more studious in relief;

He saw a cheerful smile in every face,

And lost all thoughts of error and disgrace.

Pleasant it was to see them in their walk

Round their small garden, and to hear them talk;

Free are their children, but their love refrains

160

From all offence—none murmurs, none complains;

Whether a book amused them, speech or play,

Their looks were lively, and their hearts were gay;

There no forced efforts for delight were made,

Joy came with prudence, and without parade;

Their common comforts they had all in view,

Light were their troubles, and their wishes few;

Thrift made them easy for the coming day;

Religion took the dread of death away;

A cheerful spirit still insured content,

170

And love smiled round them wheresoe'er they went.

Walter, meantime, with all his wealth's increase,

Gain'd many points, but could not purchase peace;

When he withdrew from business for an hour,

Some fled his presence, all confess'd his power;

He sought affection, but received instead

Fear undisguised, and love-repelling dread;

He look'd around him—"Harriet, dost thou love?"—

"I do my duty," said the timiddove;—

"Good Heav'n, your duty! prithee, tell menow—

180

To love and honour—was not that your vow?

Come, my good Harriet, I would gladly seek

Your inmost thought—Why can't the woman speak?

Have you not all things?"—"Sir, do I complain?"—

"No, that's my part, which I perform in vain;

I want a simple answer, anddirect—

But you evade; yes! 'tis as I suspect.

Come then, my children! Watt! upon your knees

Vow that you love me."—"Yes, sir, if youplease."—

"Again! by Heav'n, it mads me; I require

190

Love, and they'll do whatever I desire.

Thus too my people shun me; I would spend

A thousand pounds to get a single friend;

I would be happy—I have means to pay

For love and friendship, and you run away;

Ungrateful creatures! why, you seem to dread

My very looks; I know you wish me dead.

Come hither, Nancy! you must hold me dear;

Hither, I say; why! what have you to fear?

You see I'm gentle—Come, you trifler, come;

200

My God! she trembles! Idiot, leave the room!

Madam! your children hate me; I suppose

They know their cue; you make them all my foes;

I've not a friend in all the world—not one:

I'd be a bankrupt sooner; nay, 'tis done;

In every better hope of life I fail;

You're all tormentors, and my house a jail;

Out of my sight! I'll sit and make mywill—

What, glad to go? stay, devils, and be still;

'Tis to your uncle's cot you wish to run,

210

To learn to live at ease and be undone;

Him you can love, who lost his whole estate,

And I, who gain you fortunes, have your hate;

'Tis in my absence you yourselves enjoy:

Tom! are you glad to lose me? tell me, boy:

'Yes!' does he answer?"—"'Yes!' upon my soul;"

"No awe, no fear, no duty, no control!

Away! away! ten thousand devils seize

All I possess, and plunder where they please!

What's wealth to me?—yes, yes! it gives me sway,

220

And you shall feel it—Go! begone, I say."

NOTES TO LETTER VIII.[53]Note 1, page 358, line 8.Is "Harmony in Uproar" all day long.The title of a short piece of humour by Arbuthnot.[54]Note 2, page 360, line 90.Nor less the place of curious plant he knows.In botanical language, "the habitat," the favourite soil or situation of the more scarce species.[55]Note 3, page 360, line 102.This is no shaded, run-off, pin-eyed thing.This, it must be acknowledged, is contrary to the opinion of Thomson, and I believe of some other poets, who, in describing the varying hues of our most beautiful flowers, have considered them as lost and blended with each other; whereas their beauty, in the eye of a florist (and I conceive in that of the uninitiated also), depends upon the distinctness of their colours: the stronger the bounding line, and the less they break into the neighbouring tint, so much the richer and more valuable is the flower esteemed.[56]Note 4, page 360, line 102.Pin-eyed.An auricula, or any other single flower, is so called when thestigma(the part which arises from the seed-vessel) is protruded beyond the tube of the flower, and becomes visible.[57]Note 5, page 360, line 105.Which shed such beauty on my faire Bizarre.This word, so far as it relates to flowers, means those variegated with three or more colours irregularly and indeterminately.

NOTES TO LETTER VIII.

[53]Note 1, page 358, line 8.Is "Harmony in Uproar" all day long.The title of a short piece of humour by Arbuthnot.

[53]Note 1, page 358, line 8.

Is "Harmony in Uproar" all day long.

The title of a short piece of humour by Arbuthnot.

[54]Note 2, page 360, line 90.Nor less the place of curious plant he knows.In botanical language, "the habitat," the favourite soil or situation of the more scarce species.

[54]Note 2, page 360, line 90.

Nor less the place of curious plant he knows.

In botanical language, "the habitat," the favourite soil or situation of the more scarce species.

[55]Note 3, page 360, line 102.This is no shaded, run-off, pin-eyed thing.This, it must be acknowledged, is contrary to the opinion of Thomson, and I believe of some other poets, who, in describing the varying hues of our most beautiful flowers, have considered them as lost and blended with each other; whereas their beauty, in the eye of a florist (and I conceive in that of the uninitiated also), depends upon the distinctness of their colours: the stronger the bounding line, and the less they break into the neighbouring tint, so much the richer and more valuable is the flower esteemed.

[55]Note 3, page 360, line 102.

This is no shaded, run-off, pin-eyed thing.

This, it must be acknowledged, is contrary to the opinion of Thomson, and I believe of some other poets, who, in describing the varying hues of our most beautiful flowers, have considered them as lost and blended with each other; whereas their beauty, in the eye of a florist (and I conceive in that of the uninitiated also), depends upon the distinctness of their colours: the stronger the bounding line, and the less they break into the neighbouring tint, so much the richer and more valuable is the flower esteemed.

[56]Note 4, page 360, line 102.Pin-eyed.An auricula, or any other single flower, is so called when thestigma(the part which arises from the seed-vessel) is protruded beyond the tube of the flower, and becomes visible.

[56]Note 4, page 360, line 102.

Pin-eyed.

An auricula, or any other single flower, is so called when thestigma(the part which arises from the seed-vessel) is protruded beyond the tube of the flower, and becomes visible.

[57]Note 5, page 360, line 105.Which shed such beauty on my faire Bizarre.This word, so far as it relates to flowers, means those variegated with three or more colours irregularly and indeterminately.

[57]Note 5, page 360, line 105.

Which shed such beauty on my faire Bizarre.

This word, so far as it relates to flowers, means those variegated with three or more colours irregularly and indeterminately.

AMUSEMENTS.

Interpone tuis interdum gaudia curis,Ut possis animo quemvis sufferre laborem.[(Dionys.) Cato de Moribus.III. 7.]

Interpone tuis interdum gaudia curis,

Ut possis animo quemvis sufferre laborem.

[(Dionys.) Cato de Moribus.III. 7.]

... nostra [fatiscit]Laxaturque chelys; vires instigat alitqueTempestiva quies, major post otia virtus.Statius, Sylv.lib. IV. [4, vv. 32-3].

... nostra [fatiscit]

Laxaturque chelys; vires instigat alitque

Tempestiva quies, major post otia virtus.

Statius, Sylv.lib. IV. [4, vv. 32-3].

Jamque mare et tellus nullum discrimen habebant;Omnia pontus [erat]: deerant quoque littora ponto.Ovid. Metamorph.lib. I [vv. 291-2].

Jamque mare et tellus nullum discrimen habebant;

Omnia pontus [erat]: deerant quoque littora ponto.

Ovid. Metamorph.lib. I [vv. 291-2].

Common Amusements of a Bathing-place—Morning Rides, Walks, &c.—Company resorting to the Town—Different Choice of Lodgings—Cheap Indulgences—Sea-side Walks—Wealthy Invalid—Summer-Evening onthe Sands—Sea Productions—"Water parted from the Sea"—Winter Views serene—In what Cases to be avoided—Sailing upon the River—A small Islet of Sand off the Coast—Visited by Company—Covered by the Flowing of the Tide—Adventure in that Place.

LETTER IX.

AMUSEMENTS.

}Of our amusements ask you?—We amuse}Ourselves and friends with sea-side walks and views,}Or take a morning ride, a novel, or the news;Or, seeking nothing, glide about the street,And, so engaged, with various parties meet;Awhile we stop, discourse of wind and tide,Bathing and books, the raffle, and the ride:Thus, with the aid which shops and sailing give,Life passes on; 'tis labour, but we live.10When evening comes, our invalids awake,Nerves cease to tremble, heads forbear to ache;Then cheerful meals the sunken spirits raise,Cards or the dance, wine, visiting, or plays.Soon as the season comes, and crowds arrive,To their superior rooms the wealthy drive;Others look round for lodging snug and small,Such is their taste—they've hatred to a hall;Hence one his fav'rite habitation gets,The brick-floor'd parlour which the butcher lets;20Where, through his single light, he may regardThe various business of a common yard,Bounded by backs of buildings form'd of clay,By stable, sties, and coops, et-cætera.The needy-vain, themselves awhile to shun,For dissipation to these dog-holes run;Where each (assuming petty pomp) appears,And quite forgets the shopboard and the shears.For them are cheap amusements: they may slipBeyond the town and take a private dip;30When they may urge that to be safe they mean:They've heard there's danger in a light machine;They too can gratis move the quays about,And gather kind replies to every doubt;There they a pacing, lounging tribe may view,The stranger's guides, who've little else to do;The Borough's placemen, where no more they gainThan keeps them idle, civil, poor, and vain.Then may the poorest with the wealthy lookOn ocean, glorious page of Nature's book!}40May see its varying views in every hour,}All softness now, then rising with all power,}As sleeping to invite, or threat'ning to devour:'Tis this which gives us all our choicest views;Its waters heal us, and its shores amuse.See those fair nymphs upon that rising strand,Yon long salt lake has parted from the land;Well pleased to press that path, so clean, so pure,To seem in danger, yet to feel secure;Trifling with terror, while they strive to shun50The curling billows; laughing as they run;They know the neck that joins the shore and sea,Or, ah! how changed that fearless laugh would be.Observe how various parties take their way,By sea-side walks, or make the sand-hills gay;There group'd are laughing maids and sighing swains,And some apart who feel unpitied pains:Pains from diseases, pains which those who feelTo the physician, not the fair, reveal;For nymphs (propitious to the lover's sigh)60Leave these poor patients to complain and die.Lo! where on that huge anchor sadly leansThat sick tall figure, lost in other scenes;He late from India's clime impatient sail'd,There, as his fortune grew, his spirits fail'd;For each delight, in search of wealth he went,For ease alone, the wealth acquired isspent—And spent in vain; enrich'd, aggriev'd, he seesThe envied poor possess'd of joy and ease;And now he flies from place to place, to gain70Strength for enjoyment, and still flies in vain.Mark, with what sadness, of that pleasant crew,Boist'rous in mirth, he takes a transient view,And, fixing then his eye upon the sea,Thinks what has been and what must shortly be:Is it not strange that man should health destroy,For joys that come when he is dead to joy?Now is it pleasant in the summer-eve,When a broad shore retiring waters leave,Awhile to wait upon the firm fair sand,80When all is calm at sea, all still at land;And there the ocean's produce to explore,As floating by, or rolling on the shore;Those living jellies[58]which the flesh inflame,Fierce as a nettle, and from that its name;Some in huge masses, some that you may bringIn the small compass of a lady's ring;Figured by hand divine—there's not a gemWrought by man's art to be compared to them;Soft, brilliant, tender, through the wave they glow,90And make the moon-beam brighter where they flow.Involved in sea-wrack, here you find a race,Which science, doubting, knows not where to place;On shell or stone is dropp'd the embryo-seed,And quickly vegetates a vital breed[59].While thus with pleasing wonder you inspectTreasures the vulgar in their scorn reject,See as they float along th' entangled weedsSlowly approach, upborne on bladdery beads;Wait till they land, and you shall then behold100The fiery sparks those tangled frons' infold,Myriads of living points[60]; th' unaided eyeCan but the fire and not the form descry.And now your view upon the ocean turn,And there the splendour of the waves discern;Cast but a stone, or strike them with an oar,And you shall flames within the deep explore;Or scoop the stream phosphoric as you stand,And the cold flames shall flash along your hand;When, lost in wonder, you shall walk and gaze110On weeds that sparkle, and on waves that blaze[61].The ocean too has winter-views serene,When all you see through densest fog is seen;When you can hear the fishers near at handDistinctly speak, yet see not where they stand;Or sometimes them and not their boat discern,Or half-conceal'd some figure at the stern;The view's all bounded, and from side to sideYour utmost prospect but a few ells wide;Boys who, on shore, to sea the pebble cast,120Will hear it strike against the viewless mast;While the stern boatman growls his fierce disdain,At whom he knows not, whom he threats in vain.'Tis pleasant then to view the nets float past,Net after net till you have seen the last;And as you wait till all beyond you slip,A boat comes gliding from an anchor'd ship,Breaking the silence with the dipping oarAnd their own tones, as labouring for theshore—Those measured tones which with the scene agree,130And give a sadness to serenity.All scenes like these the tender maid should shun,Nor to a misty beach in autumn run;Much should she guard against the evening cold,And her slight shape with fleecy warmth infold;This she admits, but not with so much easeGives up the night-walk when th' attendants please.Her have I seen, pale, vapour'd through the day,With crowded parties at the midnight play;Faint in the morn, no powers could she exert;140At night with Pam delighted and alert;In a small shop she's raffled with a crowd,Breathed the thick air, and cough'd and laugh'd aloud;She, who will tremble if her eye explore"The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor;"Whom the kind doctor charged, with shaking head,At early hour to quit the beaux for bed:She has, contemning fear, gone down the dance,Till she perceived the rosy morn advance;Then has she wonder'd, fainting o'er her tea,150Her drops and juleps should so useless be:Ah! sure her joys must ravish every sense,Who buys a portion at so vast expense.Among those joys, 'tis one at eve to sailOn the broad river with a favourite gale;When no rough waves upon the bosom ride,But the keel cuts, nor rises on the tide;Safe from the stream the nearer gunwale stands,Where playful children trail their idle hands,Or strive to catch long grassy leaves that float160On either side of the impeded boat:What time the moon, arising, shows the mudA shining border to the silver flood;When, by her dubious light, the meanest views,Chalk, stones, and stakes, obtain the richest hues;And when the cattle, as they gazing stand,Seem nobler objects than when view'd from land.Then anchor'd vessels in the way appear,And sea-boys greet them as they pass—"What cheer?"The sleeping shell-ducks at the sound arise,170And utter loud their unharmonious cries;Fluttering, they move their weedy beds among,Or, instant diving, hide their plumeless young.Along the wall, returning from the town,The weary rustic homeward wanders down;Who stops and gazes at such joyous crew,And feels his envy rising at the view;He the light speech and laugh indignant hears,And feels more press'd by want, more vex'd by fears.Ah! go in peace, good fellow, to thine home,180Nor fancy these escape the general doom;Gay as they seem, be sure with them are heartsWith sorrow tried; there's sadness in their parts.If thou couldst see them when they think alone,Mirth, music, friends, and these amusements gone;Couldst thou discover every secret illThat pains their spirit, or resists their will;Couldst thou behold forsaken Love's distress,Or Envy's pang at glory and success,Or Beauty, conscious of the spoils of Time,190Or Guilt, alarm'd when Memory shows the crime—All that gives sorrow, terror, grief, and gloom:Content would cheer thee, trudging to thine home[62].There are, 'tis true, who lay their cares aside,And bid some hours in calm enjoyment glide;Perchance some fair-one to the sober nightAdds (by the sweetness of her song) delight;And, as the music on the water floats,Some bolder shore returns the soften'd notes;Then, youth, beware, for all around conspire200To banish caution and to wake desire;}The day's amusement, feasting, beauty, wine,}These accents sweet and this soft hour combine,}When most unguarded, then to win that heart of thine:But see, they land! the fond enchantment flies,And in its place life's common views arise.Sometimes a party, row'd from town, will landOn a small islet form'd of shelly sand,Left by the water when the tides are low,But which the floods in their return o'erflow:210There will they anchor, pleased awhile to viewThe watery waste, a prospect wild and new;The now receding billows give them spaceOn either side the growing shores to pace;And then, returning, they contract the scene,Till small and smaller grows the walk between,As sea to sea approaches, shore to shores,Till the next ebb the sandy isle restores.Then what alarm! what danger and dismay,If all their trust, their boat should drift away;220And once it happen'd—gay the friends advanced;They walk'd, they ran, they play'd, they sang, they danced;The urns were boiling, and the cups went round,And not a grave or thoughtful face was found;On the bright sand they trod with nimble feet,Dry shelly sand that made the summer-seat;The wondering mews flew fluttering o'er the head,And waves ran softly up their shining bed.Some form'd a party from the rest to stray,Pleased to collect the trifles in their way;230These to behold, they call their friends around—No friends can hear, or hear another sound;Alarm'd, they hasten, yet perceive not why,But catch the fear that quickens as they fly.For lo! a lady sage, who paced the sandWith her fair children, one in either hand,Intent on home, had turn'd, and saw the boatSlipp'd from her moorings, and now far afloat;She gazed, she trembled, and though faint her call,It seem'd, like thunder, to confound them all.240Their sailor-guides, the boatman and his mate,Had drank, and slept regardless of their state;"Awake!" they cried aloud; "Alarm the shore!"Shout all, or never shall we reach it more!"Alas! no shout the distant land can reach,Nor eye behold them from the foggy beach.}Again they join in one loud, powerful cry,}Then cease, and eager listen for reply;}None came—the rising wind blew sadly by.They shout once more, and then they turn aside,250To see how quickly flow'd the coming tide;Between each cry they find the waters stealOn their strange prison, and new horrors feel;Foot after foot on the contracted groundThe billows fall, and dreadful is the sound;Less and yet less the sinking isle became,And there was wailing, weeping, wrath, and blame.Had one been there, with spirit strong and high,Who could observe, as he prepared to die:He might have seen of hearts the varying kind,260And traced the movement of each different mind;He might have seen, that not the gentle maidWas more than stern and haughty man afraid;Such calmly grieving, will their fears suppress,And silent prayers to Mercy's throne address;While fiercer minds, impatient, angry, loud,Force their vain grief on the reluctant crowd.The party's patron, sorely sighing, cried,"Why would you urge me? I at first denied."Fiercely they answer'd, "Why will you complain,270"Who saw no danger, or was warn'd in vain?"A few essay'd the troubled soul to calm;But dread prevail'd, and anguish and alarm.Now rose the water through the lessening sand,And they seem'd sinking while they yet could stand;The sun went down, they look'd from side to side,Nor aught except the gathering sea descried;Dark and more dark, more wet, more cold it grew,And the most lively bade to hope adieu;Children, by love then lifted from the seas,280Felt not the waters at the parents' knees,But wept aloud; the wind increased the sound,And the cold billows as they broke around."Once more, yet once again, with all our strength,Cry to the land—we may be heard at length."Vain hope, if yet unseen! but hark! an oar,That sound of bliss! comes dashing to their shore;Still, still the water rises; "Haste!" they cry,"Oh! hurry, seamen; in delay we die;"(Seamen were these, who in their ship perceived290The drifted boat, and thus her crew relieved.)And now the keel just cuts the cover'd sand,Now to the gunwale stretches every hand;With trembling pleasure all confused embark,And kiss the tackling of their welcome ark;While the most giddy, as they reach the shore,Think of their danger, and theirGodadore.

}

Of our amusements ask you?—We amuse

}

Ourselves and friends with sea-side walks and views,

}

Or take a morning ride, a novel, or the news;

Or, seeking nothing, glide about the street,

And, so engaged, with various parties meet;

Awhile we stop, discourse of wind and tide,

Bathing and books, the raffle, and the ride:

Thus, with the aid which shops and sailing give,

Life passes on; 'tis labour, but we live.

When evening comes, our invalids awake,

Nerves cease to tremble, heads forbear to ache;

Then cheerful meals the sunken spirits raise,

Cards or the dance, wine, visiting, or plays.

Soon as the season comes, and crowds arrive,

To their superior rooms the wealthy drive;

Others look round for lodging snug and small,

Such is their taste—they've hatred to a hall;

Hence one his fav'rite habitation gets,

The brick-floor'd parlour which the butcher lets;

Where, through his single light, he may regard

The various business of a common yard,

Bounded by backs of buildings form'd of clay,

By stable, sties, and coops, et-cætera.

The needy-vain, themselves awhile to shun,

For dissipation to these dog-holes run;

Where each (assuming petty pomp) appears,

And quite forgets the shopboard and the shears.

For them are cheap amusements: they may slip

Beyond the town and take a private dip;

When they may urge that to be safe they mean:

They've heard there's danger in a light machine;

They too can gratis move the quays about,

And gather kind replies to every doubt;

There they a pacing, lounging tribe may view,

The stranger's guides, who've little else to do;

The Borough's placemen, where no more they gain

Than keeps them idle, civil, poor, and vain.

Then may the poorest with the wealthy look

On ocean, glorious page of Nature's book!

}

May see its varying views in every hour,

}

All softness now, then rising with all power,

}

As sleeping to invite, or threat'ning to devour:

'Tis this which gives us all our choicest views;

Its waters heal us, and its shores amuse.

See those fair nymphs upon that rising strand,

Yon long salt lake has parted from the land;

Well pleased to press that path, so clean, so pure,

To seem in danger, yet to feel secure;

Trifling with terror, while they strive to shun

The curling billows; laughing as they run;

They know the neck that joins the shore and sea,

Or, ah! how changed that fearless laugh would be.

Observe how various parties take their way,

By sea-side walks, or make the sand-hills gay;

There group'd are laughing maids and sighing swains,

And some apart who feel unpitied pains:

Pains from diseases, pains which those who feel

To the physician, not the fair, reveal;

For nymphs (propitious to the lover's sigh)

Leave these poor patients to complain and die.

Lo! where on that huge anchor sadly leans

That sick tall figure, lost in other scenes;

He late from India's clime impatient sail'd,

There, as his fortune grew, his spirits fail'd;

For each delight, in search of wealth he went,

For ease alone, the wealth acquired isspent—

And spent in vain; enrich'd, aggriev'd, he sees

The envied poor possess'd of joy and ease;

And now he flies from place to place, to gain

Strength for enjoyment, and still flies in vain.

Mark, with what sadness, of that pleasant crew,

Boist'rous in mirth, he takes a transient view,

And, fixing then his eye upon the sea,

Thinks what has been and what must shortly be:

Is it not strange that man should health destroy,

For joys that come when he is dead to joy?

Now is it pleasant in the summer-eve,

When a broad shore retiring waters leave,

Awhile to wait upon the firm fair sand,

When all is calm at sea, all still at land;

And there the ocean's produce to explore,

As floating by, or rolling on the shore;

Those living jellies[58]which the flesh inflame,

Fierce as a nettle, and from that its name;

Some in huge masses, some that you may bring

In the small compass of a lady's ring;

Figured by hand divine—there's not a gem

Wrought by man's art to be compared to them;

Soft, brilliant, tender, through the wave they glow,

And make the moon-beam brighter where they flow.

Involved in sea-wrack, here you find a race,

Which science, doubting, knows not where to place;

On shell or stone is dropp'd the embryo-seed,

And quickly vegetates a vital breed[59].

While thus with pleasing wonder you inspect

Treasures the vulgar in their scorn reject,

See as they float along th' entangled weeds

Slowly approach, upborne on bladdery beads;

Wait till they land, and you shall then behold

100

The fiery sparks those tangled frons' infold,

Myriads of living points[60]; th' unaided eye

Can but the fire and not the form descry.

And now your view upon the ocean turn,

And there the splendour of the waves discern;

Cast but a stone, or strike them with an oar,

And you shall flames within the deep explore;

Or scoop the stream phosphoric as you stand,

And the cold flames shall flash along your hand;

When, lost in wonder, you shall walk and gaze

110

On weeds that sparkle, and on waves that blaze[61].

The ocean too has winter-views serene,

When all you see through densest fog is seen;

When you can hear the fishers near at hand

Distinctly speak, yet see not where they stand;

Or sometimes them and not their boat discern,

Or half-conceal'd some figure at the stern;

The view's all bounded, and from side to side

Your utmost prospect but a few ells wide;

Boys who, on shore, to sea the pebble cast,

120

Will hear it strike against the viewless mast;

While the stern boatman growls his fierce disdain,

At whom he knows not, whom he threats in vain.

'Tis pleasant then to view the nets float past,

Net after net till you have seen the last;

And as you wait till all beyond you slip,

A boat comes gliding from an anchor'd ship,

Breaking the silence with the dipping oar

And their own tones, as labouring for theshore—

Those measured tones which with the scene agree,

130

And give a sadness to serenity.

All scenes like these the tender maid should shun,

Nor to a misty beach in autumn run;

Much should she guard against the evening cold,

And her slight shape with fleecy warmth infold;

This she admits, but not with so much ease

Gives up the night-walk when th' attendants please.

Her have I seen, pale, vapour'd through the day,

With crowded parties at the midnight play;

Faint in the morn, no powers could she exert;

140

At night with Pam delighted and alert;

In a small shop she's raffled with a crowd,

Breathed the thick air, and cough'd and laugh'd aloud;

She, who will tremble if her eye explore

"The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor;"

Whom the kind doctor charged, with shaking head,

At early hour to quit the beaux for bed:

She has, contemning fear, gone down the dance,

Till she perceived the rosy morn advance;

Then has she wonder'd, fainting o'er her tea,

150

Her drops and juleps should so useless be:

Ah! sure her joys must ravish every sense,

Who buys a portion at so vast expense.

Among those joys, 'tis one at eve to sail

On the broad river with a favourite gale;

When no rough waves upon the bosom ride,

But the keel cuts, nor rises on the tide;

Safe from the stream the nearer gunwale stands,

Where playful children trail their idle hands,

Or strive to catch long grassy leaves that float

160

On either side of the impeded boat:

What time the moon, arising, shows the mud

A shining border to the silver flood;

When, by her dubious light, the meanest views,

Chalk, stones, and stakes, obtain the richest hues;

And when the cattle, as they gazing stand,

Seem nobler objects than when view'd from land.

Then anchor'd vessels in the way appear,

And sea-boys greet them as they pass—"What cheer?"

The sleeping shell-ducks at the sound arise,

170

And utter loud their unharmonious cries;

Fluttering, they move their weedy beds among,

Or, instant diving, hide their plumeless young.

Along the wall, returning from the town,

The weary rustic homeward wanders down;

Who stops and gazes at such joyous crew,

And feels his envy rising at the view;

He the light speech and laugh indignant hears,

And feels more press'd by want, more vex'd by fears.

Ah! go in peace, good fellow, to thine home,

180

Nor fancy these escape the general doom;

Gay as they seem, be sure with them are hearts

With sorrow tried; there's sadness in their parts.

If thou couldst see them when they think alone,

Mirth, music, friends, and these amusements gone;

Couldst thou discover every secret ill

That pains their spirit, or resists their will;

Couldst thou behold forsaken Love's distress,

Or Envy's pang at glory and success,

Or Beauty, conscious of the spoils of Time,

190

Or Guilt, alarm'd when Memory shows the crime—

All that gives sorrow, terror, grief, and gloom:

Content would cheer thee, trudging to thine home[62].

There are, 'tis true, who lay their cares aside,

And bid some hours in calm enjoyment glide;

Perchance some fair-one to the sober night

Adds (by the sweetness of her song) delight;

And, as the music on the water floats,

Some bolder shore returns the soften'd notes;

Then, youth, beware, for all around conspire

200

To banish caution and to wake desire;

}

The day's amusement, feasting, beauty, wine,

}

These accents sweet and this soft hour combine,

}

When most unguarded, then to win that heart of thine:

But see, they land! the fond enchantment flies,

And in its place life's common views arise.

Sometimes a party, row'd from town, will land

On a small islet form'd of shelly sand,

Left by the water when the tides are low,

But which the floods in their return o'erflow:

210

There will they anchor, pleased awhile to view

The watery waste, a prospect wild and new;

The now receding billows give them space

On either side the growing shores to pace;

And then, returning, they contract the scene,

Till small and smaller grows the walk between,

As sea to sea approaches, shore to shores,

Till the next ebb the sandy isle restores.

Then what alarm! what danger and dismay,

If all their trust, their boat should drift away;

220

And once it happen'd—gay the friends advanced;

They walk'd, they ran, they play'd, they sang, they danced;

The urns were boiling, and the cups went round,

And not a grave or thoughtful face was found;

On the bright sand they trod with nimble feet,

Dry shelly sand that made the summer-seat;

The wondering mews flew fluttering o'er the head,

And waves ran softly up their shining bed.

Some form'd a party from the rest to stray,

Pleased to collect the trifles in their way;

230

These to behold, they call their friends around—

No friends can hear, or hear another sound;

Alarm'd, they hasten, yet perceive not why,

But catch the fear that quickens as they fly.

For lo! a lady sage, who paced the sand

With her fair children, one in either hand,

Intent on home, had turn'd, and saw the boat

Slipp'd from her moorings, and now far afloat;

She gazed, she trembled, and though faint her call,

It seem'd, like thunder, to confound them all.

240

Their sailor-guides, the boatman and his mate,

Had drank, and slept regardless of their state;

"Awake!" they cried aloud; "Alarm the shore!

"Shout all, or never shall we reach it more!"

Alas! no shout the distant land can reach,

Nor eye behold them from the foggy beach.

}

Again they join in one loud, powerful cry,

}

Then cease, and eager listen for reply;

}

None came—the rising wind blew sadly by.

They shout once more, and then they turn aside,

250

To see how quickly flow'd the coming tide;

Between each cry they find the waters steal

On their strange prison, and new horrors feel;

Foot after foot on the contracted ground

The billows fall, and dreadful is the sound;

Less and yet less the sinking isle became,

And there was wailing, weeping, wrath, and blame.

Had one been there, with spirit strong and high,

Who could observe, as he prepared to die:

He might have seen of hearts the varying kind,

260

And traced the movement of each different mind;

He might have seen, that not the gentle maid

Was more than stern and haughty man afraid;

Such calmly grieving, will their fears suppress,

And silent prayers to Mercy's throne address;

While fiercer minds, impatient, angry, loud,

Force their vain grief on the reluctant crowd.

The party's patron, sorely sighing, cried,

"Why would you urge me? I at first denied."

Fiercely they answer'd, "Why will you complain,

270

"Who saw no danger, or was warn'd in vain?"

A few essay'd the troubled soul to calm;

But dread prevail'd, and anguish and alarm.

Now rose the water through the lessening sand,

And they seem'd sinking while they yet could stand;

The sun went down, they look'd from side to side,

Nor aught except the gathering sea descried;

Dark and more dark, more wet, more cold it grew,

And the most lively bade to hope adieu;

Children, by love then lifted from the seas,

280

Felt not the waters at the parents' knees,

But wept aloud; the wind increased the sound,

And the cold billows as they broke around.

"Once more, yet once again, with all our strength,

Cry to the land—we may be heard at length."

Vain hope, if yet unseen! but hark! an oar,

That sound of bliss! comes dashing to their shore;

Still, still the water rises; "Haste!" they cry,

"Oh! hurry, seamen; in delay we die;"

(Seamen were these, who in their ship perceived

290

The drifted boat, and thus her crew relieved.)

And now the keel just cuts the cover'd sand,

Now to the gunwale stretches every hand;

With trembling pleasure all confused embark,

And kiss the tackling of their welcome ark;

While the most giddy, as they reach the shore,

Think of their danger, and theirGodadore.

NOTES TO LETTER IX.[58]Note 1, page 368, line 83.Those living jellies which the flesh inflame.Some of the smaller species of the Medusa (sea-nettle) are exquisitely beautiful: their form is nearly oval, varied with serrated longitudinal lines; they are extremely tender, and by no means which I am acquainted with can be preserved, for they soon dissolve in either spirit of wine or water, and lose every vestige of their shape, and indeed of their substance: the larger species are found in mis-shapen masses of many pounds weight; these, when handled, have the effect of the nettle, and the stinging is often accompanied or succeeded by the more unpleasant feeling, perhaps in a slight degree resembling that caused by the torpedo.[59]Note 2, page 368, line 94.And quickly vegetates a vital breed.Various tribes and species of marine vermes are here meant: that which so nearly resembles a vegetable in its form, and perhaps, in some degree, manner of growth, is the coralline called by naturalists Sertularia, of which there are many species in almost every part of the coast. The animal protrudes its many claws (apparently in search of prey) from certain pellucid vesicles which proceed from a horny, tenacious, branchy stem.[60]Note 3, page 368, line 101.Myriads of living points; th' unaided eyeCan but the fire and not the form descry.These are said to be a minute kind of animal of the same class; when it does not shine, it is invisible to the naked eye.[61]Note 4, page 369, line 110.On weeds that sparkle, and on waves that blaze.For the cause or causes of this phenomenon, which is sometimes, though rarely, observed on our coasts, I must refer the reader to the writers on natural philosophy and natural history.[62]Note 5, page 371, line 192.Content wouldcheer thee, trudging to thine home.This is not offered as a reasonable source of contentment, but as one motive for resignation: there would not be so much envy if there were more discernment.

NOTES TO LETTER IX.

[58]Note 1, page 368, line 83.Those living jellies which the flesh inflame.Some of the smaller species of the Medusa (sea-nettle) are exquisitely beautiful: their form is nearly oval, varied with serrated longitudinal lines; they are extremely tender, and by no means which I am acquainted with can be preserved, for they soon dissolve in either spirit of wine or water, and lose every vestige of their shape, and indeed of their substance: the larger species are found in mis-shapen masses of many pounds weight; these, when handled, have the effect of the nettle, and the stinging is often accompanied or succeeded by the more unpleasant feeling, perhaps in a slight degree resembling that caused by the torpedo.

[58]Note 1, page 368, line 83.

Those living jellies which the flesh inflame.

Some of the smaller species of the Medusa (sea-nettle) are exquisitely beautiful: their form is nearly oval, varied with serrated longitudinal lines; they are extremely tender, and by no means which I am acquainted with can be preserved, for they soon dissolve in either spirit of wine or water, and lose every vestige of their shape, and indeed of their substance: the larger species are found in mis-shapen masses of many pounds weight; these, when handled, have the effect of the nettle, and the stinging is often accompanied or succeeded by the more unpleasant feeling, perhaps in a slight degree resembling that caused by the torpedo.

[59]Note 2, page 368, line 94.And quickly vegetates a vital breed.Various tribes and species of marine vermes are here meant: that which so nearly resembles a vegetable in its form, and perhaps, in some degree, manner of growth, is the coralline called by naturalists Sertularia, of which there are many species in almost every part of the coast. The animal protrudes its many claws (apparently in search of prey) from certain pellucid vesicles which proceed from a horny, tenacious, branchy stem.

[59]Note 2, page 368, line 94.

And quickly vegetates a vital breed.

Various tribes and species of marine vermes are here meant: that which so nearly resembles a vegetable in its form, and perhaps, in some degree, manner of growth, is the coralline called by naturalists Sertularia, of which there are many species in almost every part of the coast. The animal protrudes its many claws (apparently in search of prey) from certain pellucid vesicles which proceed from a horny, tenacious, branchy stem.

[60]Note 3, page 368, line 101.Myriads of living points; th' unaided eyeCan but the fire and not the form descry.These are said to be a minute kind of animal of the same class; when it does not shine, it is invisible to the naked eye.

[60]Note 3, page 368, line 101.

Myriads of living points; th' unaided eyeCan but the fire and not the form descry.

Myriads of living points; th' unaided eye

Can but the fire and not the form descry.

These are said to be a minute kind of animal of the same class; when it does not shine, it is invisible to the naked eye.

[61]Note 4, page 369, line 110.On weeds that sparkle, and on waves that blaze.For the cause or causes of this phenomenon, which is sometimes, though rarely, observed on our coasts, I must refer the reader to the writers on natural philosophy and natural history.

[61]Note 4, page 369, line 110.

On weeds that sparkle, and on waves that blaze.

For the cause or causes of this phenomenon, which is sometimes, though rarely, observed on our coasts, I must refer the reader to the writers on natural philosophy and natural history.

[62]Note 5, page 371, line 192.Content wouldcheer thee, trudging to thine home.This is not offered as a reasonable source of contentment, but as one motive for resignation: there would not be so much envy if there were more discernment.

[62]Note 5, page 371, line 192.

Content wouldcheer thee, trudging to thine home.

Content would

cheer thee, trudging to thine home.

This is not offered as a reasonable source of contentment, but as one motive for resignation: there would not be so much envy if there were more discernment.

CLUBS AND SOCIAL MEETINGS.

Non inter lances mensasque nitentes,Cum stupet insanis acies fulgoribus, et cumAcclinis falsis animus meliora recusat;Verum hîc impransi mecum disquirite.Hor.Sat. lib. ii. [Sat. 2. vv. 4-7].

Non inter lances mensasque nitentes,

Cum stupet insanis acies fulgoribus, et cum

Acclinis falsis animus meliora recusat;

Verum hîc impransi mecum disquirite.

Hor.Sat. lib. ii. [Sat. 2. vv. 4-7].

O prodiga rerumLuxuries, nunquam parvo contenta paratu,Et quæsitorum terrâ pelagoque ciborumAmbitiosa fames et lautæ gloria mensæ.Lucan.lib. iv. [vv. 373-6].

O prodiga rerum

Luxuries, nunquam parvo contenta paratu,

Et quæsitorum terrâ pelagoque ciborum

Ambitiosa fames et lautæ gloria mensæ.

Lucan.lib. iv. [vv. 373-6].

[Sed] quæ non prosunt singula, [multa] juvant.[Ovid. Remed. Amor.v. 420.]

[Sed] quæ non prosunt singula, [multa] juvant.

[Ovid. Remed. Amor.v. 420.]

Rusticus agricolam, miles fera bella gerentem,Rectorem dubiæ navita puppis amat.Ovid. Pont.lib. ii. [Ep. 2. vv. 61-2].

Rusticus agricolam, miles fera bella gerentem,

Rectorem dubiæ navita puppis amat.

Ovid. Pont.lib. ii. [Ep. 2. vv. 61-2].

Desire of Country Gentlemen for Town Associations—Book-clubs—Too much of literary Character expected from them—Literary Conversation prevented: by Feasting: by Cards—Good, notwithstanding, results—Card-club with Eagerness resorted to—Players—Umpires at the Whist Table—Petulances of Temper there discovered—Free-and-easy Club: not perfectly easy or free—Freedom, how interrupted—The superior Member—Termination of the Evening—Drinking and Smoking Clubs—The Midnight Conversation of the Delaying Members—Society of the poorer Inhabitants: its Use: gives Pride and Consequence tothe humble Character—Pleasant Habitations of the frugal Poor—Sailor returning to his Family—Freemasons' Club—The Mystery—What its Origin—Its professed Advantages—Griggs and Gregorians—A Kind of Masons—Reflections on these various Societies.

LETTER X.

CLUBS AND SOCIAL MEETINGS.

You say you envy in your calm retreatOur social meetings;—'tis with joy we meet.In these our parties you are pleased to findGood sense and wit, with intercourse of mind;Composed of men, who read, reflect, and write;Who, when they meet, must yield and share delight.To you our Book-club has peculiar charm,For which you sicken in your quiet farm;Here you suppose us at our leisure placed,10Enjoying freedom, and displaying taste;With wisdom cheerful, temperately gay,Pleased to enjoy, and willing to display.If thus your envy gives your ease its gloom,Give wings to fancy, and among us come.We're now assembled; you may soonattend—I'll introduce you—"Gentlemen, myfriend."—"Now are you happy? you have pass'd a nightIn gay discourse, and rationaldelight."—"Alas! not so; for how can mortals think,20Or thoughts exchange, if thus they eat and drink?No! I confess, when we had fairly dined,That was no time for intercourse of mind;There was each dish prepared with skill t' invite,And to detain the struggling appetite;On such occasions minds with one consentAre to the comforts of the body lent;There was no pause—the wine went quickly round,Till struggling Fancy was by Bacchus bound;Wine is to wit as water thrown on fire:30By duly sprinkling, both are raised the higher;Thus largely dealt, the vivid blaze they choke,And all the genial flame goes off insmoke."—"But when no more your boards these loads contain,When wine no more o'erwhelms the labouring brain,But serves, a gentle stimulus: we knowHow wit must sparkle, and how fancyflow."—It might be so, but no such club-days come;We always find these dampers in the room.If to converse were all that brought us here,40A few odd members would in turn appear;Who, dwelling nigh, would saunter in and out,O'erlook the list, and toss the books about;Or, yawning, read them, walking up and down,Just as the loungers in the shops in town;Till, fancying nothing would their minds amuse,They'd push them by, and go in search of news.But our attractions are a stronger sort,The earliest dainties and the oldest port;All enter then with glee in every look,50And not a member thinks about a book.Still let me own, there are some vacant hours,When minds might work, and men exert their powers:Ere wine to folly spurs the giddy guest,But gives to wit its vigour and its zest;Then might we reason, might in turn displayOur several talents, and be wisely gay;We might—but who a tame discourse regards,When whist is named, and we behold the cards?We from that time are neither grave nor gay;60Our thought, our care, our business is to play:Fix'd on these spots and figures, each attendsMuch to his partners, nothing to his friends.Our public cares, the long, the warm debate,That kept our patriots from their beds so late;War, peace, invasion, all we hope or dread,Vanish like dreams when men forsake their bed;And groaning nations and contending kingsAre all forgotten for these painted things:Paper and paste, vile figures and poor spots,70Level all minds, philosophers and sots;And give an equal spirit, pause, and force,Join'd with peculiar diction, to discourse:"Who deals?—you led—we're three by cards—had youHonour in hand?"—"Upon my honour, two."Hour after hour, men thus contending sit,Grave without sense, and pointed without wit.Thus it appears these envied clubs possessNo certain means of social happiness;Yet there's a good that flows from scenes likethese—80Man meets with man at leisure and at ease;We to our neighbours and our equals come,And rub off pride that man contracts at home;For there, admitted master, he is proneTo claim attention and to talk alone:But here he meets with neither son nor spouse;No humble cousin to his bidding bows;To his raised voice his neighbours' voices rise;To his high look as lofty look replies;When much he speaks, he finds that ears are closed,90And certain signs inform him when he's prosed;Here all the value of a listener know,And claim, in turn, the favour they bestow.No pleasure gives the speech, when all would speak,And all in vain a civil hearer seek.To chance alone we owe the free discourse,In vain you purpose what you cannot force;'Tis when the favourite themes unbidden spring,That fancy soars with such unwearied wing;Then may you call in aid the moderate glass,100But let it slowly and unprompted pass;So shall there all things for the end unite,And give that hour of rational delight.Men to their clubs repair, themselves to please,To care for nothing, and to take their ease;In fact, for play, for wine, for news they come;Discourse is shared with friends, or found at home.But cards with books are incidental things;We've nights devoted to these queens and kings.Then, if we choose the social game, we may;110Now, 'tis a duty, and we're bound to play;Nor ever meeting of the social kindWas more engaging, yet had less of mind.Our eager parties, when the lunar lightThrows its full radiance on the festive night,Of either sex, with punctual hurry come,And fill, with one accord, an ample room.Pleased, the fresh packs on cloth of green they see,And, seizing, handle with preluding glee;They draw, they sit, they shuffle, cut and deal;120Like friends assembled, but like foes to feel:But yet not all—a happier few have joysOf mere amusement, and their cards are toys;No skill nor art, nor fretful hopes have they,But while their friends are gaming, laugh and play.Others there are, the veterans of the game,Who owe their pleasure to their envied fame;Through many a year, with hard-contested strife,Have they attain'd this glory of their life.Such is that ancient burgess, whom in vain130Would gout and fever on his couch detain;And that large lady, who resolves to come,Though a first fit has warn'd her of her doom!These are as oracles: in every causeThey settle doubts, and their decrees are laws;But all are troubled, when, with dubious look,Diana questions what Apollo spoke.Here avarice first, the keen desire of gain,Rules in each heart, and works in every brain;Alike the veteran-dames and virgins feel,140Nor care what gray-beards or what striplings deal;Sex, age, and station, vanish from their view,And gold, their sov'reign good, the mingled crowd pursue.Hence they are jealous, and as rivals, keepA watchful eye on the beloved heap;Meantime discretion bids the tongue be still,And mild good-humour strives with strong ill-will;Till prudence fails; when, all impatient grown,They make their grief, by their suspicions, known."Sir, I protest, were Job himself at play,150He'd rave to see you throw your cards away;Not that I care a button—not a pinFor what I lose; but we had cards to win:A saint in heaven would grieve to see such handCut up by one who will notunderstand."—"Complain of me! and so you might indeed,If I had ventured on that foolish lead,That fatal heart—but I forgot yourplay—Some folk have ever thrown their heartsaway."—"Yes, and their diamonds; I have heard of one160Who made a beggar of an only son."—"Better a beggar, than to see him tiedTo art and spite, to insolence andpride."—"Sir, were I you, I'd strive to be polite,Against my nature, for a singlenight."—"So did you strive, and, madam! with success;I knew no being we could censure less!"—Is this too much? alas! my peaceful museCannot with half their virulence abuse.And hark! at other tables discord reigns,170With feign'd contempt for losses and for gains;Passions awhile are bridled; then they rage,In waspish youth, and in resentful age;With scraps of insult—"Sir, when next you play,Reflect whose money 'tis you throw away.No one on earth can less such things regard,But when one's partner doesn't know a card——""I scorn suspicion, ma'am, but while you standBehind that lady, pray keep down yourhand."—"Good heav'n, revoke! remember, if the set180Be lost, in honour you should pay the debt."—"There, there's your money; but, while I have life,I'll never more sit down with man and wife;They snap and snarl indeed, but in the heatOf all their spleen, their understandings meet;They are Freemasons, and have many a sign,That we, poor devils! never can divine:May it be told, do ye divide th' amount,Or goes it all to family account?"Next is the club, where to their friends in town190Our country neighbours once a month come down;We term it Free-and-easy, and yet weFind it no easy matter to be free:Ev'n in our small assembly, friends among,Are minds perverse, there's something will be wrong;Men are not equal; some will claim a rightTo be the kings and heroes of the night;Will their own favourite themes and notions start,And you must hear, offend them, or depart.There comes Sir Thomas from his village-seat,200Happy, he tells us, all his friends to meet;He brings the ruin'd brother of his wife,Whom he supports, and makes him sick of life:A ready witness whom he can produceOf all his deeds—a butt for his abuse.Soon as he enters, has the guests espied,Drawn to the fire, and to the glassapplied—"Well, what's the subject?—what are you about?The news, I take it—come, I'll help youout;"—And then, without one answer, he bestows210Freely upon us all he hears and knows;}Gives us opinions, tells us how he votes,}Recites the speeches, adds to them his notes,}And gives old ill-told tales for new-born anecdotes;Yet cares he nothing what we judge or think,Our only duty's to attend and drink.At length, admonish'd by his gout, he endsThe various speech, and leaves at peace his friends;But now, alas! we've lost the pleasant hour,And wisdom flies from wine's superior power.220Wine, like the rising sun, possession gains,And drives the mist of dulness from the brains;The gloomy vapour from the spirit flies,And views of gaiety and gladness rise.Still it proceeds, till from the glowing heat,The prudent calmly to their shadesretreat;—Then is the mind o'ercast—in wordy rageAnd loud contention angry men engage;Then spleen and pique, like fire-works thrown in spite,To mischief turn the pleasures of the night;230Anger abuses, Malice loudly rails,Revenge awakes, and Anarchy prevails:Till wine, that raised the tempest, makes it cease,And maudlin Love insists on instant peace;He noisy mirth and roaring song commands,Gives idle toasts, and joins unfriendly hands;Till fuddled Friendship vows esteem and weeps,And jovial Folly drinks and sings and sleeps.A club there is of Smokers.—Dare you comeTo that close, clouded, hot, narcotic room?240When, midnight past, the very candles seemDying for air, and give a ghastly gleam;When curling fumes in lazy wreaths arise,And prosing topers rub their winking eyes;When the long tale, renew'd when last they met,Is spliced anew, and is unfinish'd yet;When but a few are left the house to tire,And they half-sleeping by the sleepy fire;Ev'n the poor ventilating vane, that flewOf late so fast, is now grown drowsy too;250When sweet, cold, clammy punch its aid bestows,Then thus the midnight conversationflows:—"Then, as I said, and—mind me—as I say,At our last meeting—you remember"—"Ay;""Well, very well—then freely as I drinkI spoke my thought—you take me—what I think:And sir, said I, if I a freeman be,It is my bounden duty to befree."—"Ay, there you posed him; I respect the chair,But man is man, although the man's a mayor.260If Muggins live—no, no!—if Muggins die,He'll quit his office—neighbour, shall I try?"—"I'll speak my mind, for here are none but friends:They're all contending for their private ends;}No public spirit, once a vote would bring;}I say a vote was then a pretty thing;}It made a man to serve his country and his king.But for that place, that Muggins must resign,You've my advice—'tis no affair of mine."The poor man has his club; he comes and spends270His hoarded pittance with his chosen friends;Nor this alone—a monthly dole he pays,To be assisted when his health decays;Some part his prudence, from the day's supply,For cares and troubles in his age, lays by;The printed rules he guards with painted frame,And shows his children where to read his name:Those simple words his honest nature move,That bond of union tied by laws of love.This is his pride, it gives to his employ280New value, to his home another joy;While a religious hope its balm appliesFor all his fate inflicts and all his state denies.Much would it please you, sometimes to exploreThe peaceful dwellings of our borough poor;To view a sailor just return'd from sea;His wife beside; a child on either knee,And others crowding near, that none may loseThe smallest portion of the welcome news:What dangers pass'd, "when seas ran mountains high,290When tempests raved, and horrors veil'd the sky;When prudence fail'd, when courage grew dismay'dWhen the strong fainted, and the wickedpray'd,—Then in the yawning gulf far down we drove,And gazed upon the billowy mount above;Till up that mountain, swinging with the gale,We view'd the horrors of the watery vale."The trembling children look with stedfast eyes,And panting, sob involuntary sighs:Soft sleep awhile his torpid touch delays,300And all is joy and piety and praise.Masons are ours. Freemasons—but, alas!To their own bards I leave the mystic class;In vain shall one, and not a gifted man,Attempt to sing of this enlighten'd clan:I know no word, boast no directing sign,And not one token of the race is mine;Whether with Hiram, that wise widow's son,They came from Tyre to royal Solomon,Two pillars raising by their skill profound,310Boaz and Jachin through the East renown'd:Whether the sacred books their rise express,Or books profane, 'tis vain for me to guess.It may be, lost in date remote and high,They know not what their own antiquity;It may be too, derived from cause so low,They have no wish their origin to show.If, as crusaders, they combined to wrestFrom heathen lords the land they long possess'd,Or were at first some harmless club, who made320Their idle meetings solemn by parade,Is but conjecture—for the task unfit,Awe-struck and mute, the puzzling theme I quit.Yet, if such blessings from their order flow,We should be glad their moral code to know;Trowels of silver are but simple things,And aprons worthless as their apron-strings;But, if indeed you have the skill to teachA social spirit, now beyond our reach;If man's warm passions you can guide and bind,330And plant the virtues in the wayward mind;If you can wake to christian-love theheart—In mercy, something of your powers impart.But, as it seems, we Masons must becomeTo know the secret, and must then be dumb;And, as we venture for uncertain gains,Perhaps the profit is not worth the pains.When Bruce, the dauntless traveller, thought he stoodOn Nile's first rise, the fountain of the flood,And drank exulting in the sacred spring,340The critics told him, it was no such thing;That springs unnumber'd round the country ran,But none could show him where they first began:So might we feel, should we our time bestowTo gain these secrets and these signs to know;Might question still if all the truth we found,And firmly stood upon the certain ground;We might our title to the mystery dread,And fear we drank not at the river-head.Griggs and Gregorians here their meetings hold,350Convivial sects, and Bucks alert and bold:A kind of Masons, but without their sign;The bonds of union—pleasure, song, and wine.Man, a gregarious creature, loves to flyWhere he the trackings of the herd can spy;Still to be one with many he desires,Although it leads him through the thorns and briers.A few—but few—there are, who in the mindPerpetual source of consolation find;The weaker many to the world will come,360For comforts seldom to be found from home.}When the faint hands no more a brimmer hold;}When flannel-wreaths the useless limbs infold,}The breath impeded, and the bosom cold;When half the pillow'd man the palsy chains,And the blood falters in the bloatedveins—Then, as our friends no further aid supplyThan hope's cold phrase and courtesy's soft sigh,We should that comfort for ourselves ensure,Which friends could not, if we could friends procure.370Early in life, when we can laugh aloud,There's something pleasant in a social crowd,Who laugh with us—but will such joy remain,When we lie struggling on the bed of pain?When our physician tells us with a sigh,No more on hope and science to rely,Life's staff is useless then; with labouring breathWe pray for hope divine—the staff of death.This is a scene which few companions grace,And where the heart's first favourites yield their place.380Here all the aid of man to man must end,Here mounts the soul to her eternal Friend;The tenderest love must here its tie resign,And give th' aspiring heart to love divine.Men feel their weakness, and to numbers run,Themselves to strengthen, or themselves to shun;But though to this our weakness may be prone,Let's learn to live, for we must die, alone.

You say you envy in your calm retreat

Our social meetings;—'tis with joy we meet.

In these our parties you are pleased to find

Good sense and wit, with intercourse of mind;

Composed of men, who read, reflect, and write;

Who, when they meet, must yield and share delight.

To you our Book-club has peculiar charm,

For which you sicken in your quiet farm;

Here you suppose us at our leisure placed,

Enjoying freedom, and displaying taste;

With wisdom cheerful, temperately gay,

Pleased to enjoy, and willing to display.

If thus your envy gives your ease its gloom,

Give wings to fancy, and among us come.

We're now assembled; you may soonattend—

I'll introduce you—"Gentlemen, myfriend."—

"Now are you happy? you have pass'd a night

In gay discourse, and rationaldelight."—

"Alas! not so; for how can mortals think,

Or thoughts exchange, if thus they eat and drink?

No! I confess, when we had fairly dined,

That was no time for intercourse of mind;

There was each dish prepared with skill t' invite,

And to detain the struggling appetite;

On such occasions minds with one consent

Are to the comforts of the body lent;

There was no pause—the wine went quickly round,

Till struggling Fancy was by Bacchus bound;

Wine is to wit as water thrown on fire:

By duly sprinkling, both are raised the higher;

Thus largely dealt, the vivid blaze they choke,

And all the genial flame goes off insmoke."—

"But when no more your boards these loads contain,

When wine no more o'erwhelms the labouring brain,

But serves, a gentle stimulus: we know

How wit must sparkle, and how fancyflow."—

It might be so, but no such club-days come;

We always find these dampers in the room.

If to converse were all that brought us here,

A few odd members would in turn appear;

Who, dwelling nigh, would saunter in and out,

O'erlook the list, and toss the books about;

Or, yawning, read them, walking up and down,

Just as the loungers in the shops in town;

Till, fancying nothing would their minds amuse,

They'd push them by, and go in search of news.

But our attractions are a stronger sort,

The earliest dainties and the oldest port;

All enter then with glee in every look,

And not a member thinks about a book.

Still let me own, there are some vacant hours,

When minds might work, and men exert their powers:

Ere wine to folly spurs the giddy guest,

But gives to wit its vigour and its zest;

Then might we reason, might in turn display

Our several talents, and be wisely gay;

We might—but who a tame discourse regards,

When whist is named, and we behold the cards?

We from that time are neither grave nor gay;

Our thought, our care, our business is to play:

Fix'd on these spots and figures, each attends

Much to his partners, nothing to his friends.

Our public cares, the long, the warm debate,

That kept our patriots from their beds so late;

War, peace, invasion, all we hope or dread,

Vanish like dreams when men forsake their bed;

And groaning nations and contending kings

Are all forgotten for these painted things:

Paper and paste, vile figures and poor spots,

Level all minds, philosophers and sots;

And give an equal spirit, pause, and force,

Join'd with peculiar diction, to discourse:

"Who deals?—you led—we're three by cards—had you

Honour in hand?"—"Upon my honour, two."

Hour after hour, men thus contending sit,

Grave without sense, and pointed without wit.

Thus it appears these envied clubs possess

No certain means of social happiness;

Yet there's a good that flows from scenes likethese—

Man meets with man at leisure and at ease;

We to our neighbours and our equals come,

And rub off pride that man contracts at home;

For there, admitted master, he is prone

To claim attention and to talk alone:

But here he meets with neither son nor spouse;

No humble cousin to his bidding bows;

To his raised voice his neighbours' voices rise;

To his high look as lofty look replies;

When much he speaks, he finds that ears are closed,

And certain signs inform him when he's prosed;

Here all the value of a listener know,

And claim, in turn, the favour they bestow.

No pleasure gives the speech, when all would speak,

And all in vain a civil hearer seek.

To chance alone we owe the free discourse,

In vain you purpose what you cannot force;

'Tis when the favourite themes unbidden spring,

That fancy soars with such unwearied wing;

Then may you call in aid the moderate glass,

100

But let it slowly and unprompted pass;

So shall there all things for the end unite,

And give that hour of rational delight.

Men to their clubs repair, themselves to please,

To care for nothing, and to take their ease;

In fact, for play, for wine, for news they come;

Discourse is shared with friends, or found at home.

But cards with books are incidental things;We've nights devoted to these queens and kings.Then, if we choose the social game, we may;110Now, 'tis a duty, and we're bound to play;Nor ever meeting of the social kindWas more engaging, yet had less of mind.Our eager parties, when the lunar lightThrows its full radiance on the festive night,Of either sex, with punctual hurry come,And fill, with one accord, an ample room.Pleased, the fresh packs on cloth of green they see,And, seizing, handle with preluding glee;They draw, they sit, they shuffle, cut and deal;120Like friends assembled, but like foes to feel:But yet not all—a happier few have joysOf mere amusement, and their cards are toys;No skill nor art, nor fretful hopes have they,But while their friends are gaming, laugh and play.Others there are, the veterans of the game,Who owe their pleasure to their envied fame;Through many a year, with hard-contested strife,Have they attain'd this glory of their life.Such is that ancient burgess, whom in vain130Would gout and fever on his couch detain;And that large lady, who resolves to come,Though a first fit has warn'd her of her doom!These are as oracles: in every causeThey settle doubts, and their decrees are laws;But all are troubled, when, with dubious look,Diana questions what Apollo spoke.Here avarice first, the keen desire of gain,Rules in each heart, and works in every brain;Alike the veteran-dames and virgins feel,140Nor care what gray-beards or what striplings deal;Sex, age, and station, vanish from their view,And gold, their sov'reign good, the mingled crowd pursue.Hence they are jealous, and as rivals, keepA watchful eye on the beloved heap;Meantime discretion bids the tongue be still,And mild good-humour strives with strong ill-will;Till prudence fails; when, all impatient grown,They make their grief, by their suspicions, known."Sir, I protest, were Job himself at play,150He'd rave to see you throw your cards away;Not that I care a button—not a pinFor what I lose; but we had cards to win:A saint in heaven would grieve to see such handCut up by one who will notunderstand."—"Complain of me! and so you might indeed,If I had ventured on that foolish lead,That fatal heart—but I forgot yourplay—Some folk have ever thrown their heartsaway."—"Yes, and their diamonds; I have heard of one160Who made a beggar of an only son."—"Better a beggar, than to see him tiedTo art and spite, to insolence andpride."—"Sir, were I you, I'd strive to be polite,Against my nature, for a singlenight."—"So did you strive, and, madam! with success;I knew no being we could censure less!"—Is this too much? alas! my peaceful museCannot with half their virulence abuse.And hark! at other tables discord reigns,170With feign'd contempt for losses and for gains;Passions awhile are bridled; then they rage,In waspish youth, and in resentful age;With scraps of insult—"Sir, when next you play,Reflect whose money 'tis you throw away.No one on earth can less such things regard,But when one's partner doesn't know a card——""I scorn suspicion, ma'am, but while you standBehind that lady, pray keep down yourhand."—"Good heav'n, revoke! remember, if the set180Be lost, in honour you should pay the debt."—"There, there's your money; but, while I have life,I'll never more sit down with man and wife;They snap and snarl indeed, but in the heatOf all their spleen, their understandings meet;They are Freemasons, and have many a sign,That we, poor devils! never can divine:May it be told, do ye divide th' amount,Or goes it all to family account?"

But cards with books are incidental things;

We've nights devoted to these queens and kings.

Then, if we choose the social game, we may;

110

Now, 'tis a duty, and we're bound to play;

Nor ever meeting of the social kind

Was more engaging, yet had less of mind.

Our eager parties, when the lunar light

Throws its full radiance on the festive night,

Of either sex, with punctual hurry come,

And fill, with one accord, an ample room.

Pleased, the fresh packs on cloth of green they see,

And, seizing, handle with preluding glee;

They draw, they sit, they shuffle, cut and deal;

120

Like friends assembled, but like foes to feel:

But yet not all—a happier few have joys

Of mere amusement, and their cards are toys;

No skill nor art, nor fretful hopes have they,

But while their friends are gaming, laugh and play.

Others there are, the veterans of the game,

Who owe their pleasure to their envied fame;

Through many a year, with hard-contested strife,

Have they attain'd this glory of their life.

Such is that ancient burgess, whom in vain

130

Would gout and fever on his couch detain;

And that large lady, who resolves to come,

Though a first fit has warn'd her of her doom!

These are as oracles: in every cause

They settle doubts, and their decrees are laws;

But all are troubled, when, with dubious look,

Diana questions what Apollo spoke.

Here avarice first, the keen desire of gain,

Rules in each heart, and works in every brain;

Alike the veteran-dames and virgins feel,

140

Nor care what gray-beards or what striplings deal;

Sex, age, and station, vanish from their view,

And gold, their sov'reign good, the mingled crowd pursue.

Hence they are jealous, and as rivals, keep

A watchful eye on the beloved heap;

Meantime discretion bids the tongue be still,

And mild good-humour strives with strong ill-will;

Till prudence fails; when, all impatient grown,

They make their grief, by their suspicions, known.

"Sir, I protest, were Job himself at play,

150

He'd rave to see you throw your cards away;

Not that I care a button—not a pin

For what I lose; but we had cards to win:

A saint in heaven would grieve to see such hand

Cut up by one who will notunderstand."—

"Complain of me! and so you might indeed,

If I had ventured on that foolish lead,

That fatal heart—but I forgot yourplay—

Some folk have ever thrown their heartsaway."—

"Yes, and their diamonds; I have heard of one

160

Who made a beggar of an only son."—

"Better a beggar, than to see him tied

To art and spite, to insolence andpride."—

"Sir, were I you, I'd strive to be polite,

Against my nature, for a singlenight."—

"So did you strive, and, madam! with success;

I knew no being we could censure less!"—

Is this too much? alas! my peaceful muse

Cannot with half their virulence abuse.

And hark! at other tables discord reigns,

170

With feign'd contempt for losses and for gains;

Passions awhile are bridled; then they rage,

In waspish youth, and in resentful age;

With scraps of insult—"Sir, when next you play,

Reflect whose money 'tis you throw away.

No one on earth can less such things regard,

But when one's partner doesn't know a card——"

"I scorn suspicion, ma'am, but while you stand

Behind that lady, pray keep down yourhand."—

"Good heav'n, revoke! remember, if the set

180

Be lost, in honour you should pay the debt."—

"There, there's your money; but, while I have life,

I'll never more sit down with man and wife;

They snap and snarl indeed, but in the heat

Of all their spleen, their understandings meet;

They are Freemasons, and have many a sign,

That we, poor devils! never can divine:

May it be told, do ye divide th' amount,

Or goes it all to family account?"

Next is the club, where to their friends in town190Our country neighbours once a month come down;We term it Free-and-easy, and yet weFind it no easy matter to be free:Ev'n in our small assembly, friends among,Are minds perverse, there's something will be wrong;Men are not equal; some will claim a rightTo be the kings and heroes of the night;Will their own favourite themes and notions start,And you must hear, offend them, or depart.There comes Sir Thomas from his village-seat,200Happy, he tells us, all his friends to meet;He brings the ruin'd brother of his wife,Whom he supports, and makes him sick of life:A ready witness whom he can produceOf all his deeds—a butt for his abuse.Soon as he enters, has the guests espied,Drawn to the fire, and to the glassapplied—"Well, what's the subject?—what are you about?The news, I take it—come, I'll help youout;"—And then, without one answer, he bestows210Freely upon us all he hears and knows;}Gives us opinions, tells us how he votes,}Recites the speeches, adds to them his notes,}And gives old ill-told tales for new-born anecdotes;Yet cares he nothing what we judge or think,Our only duty's to attend and drink.At length, admonish'd by his gout, he endsThe various speech, and leaves at peace his friends;But now, alas! we've lost the pleasant hour,And wisdom flies from wine's superior power.220Wine, like the rising sun, possession gains,And drives the mist of dulness from the brains;The gloomy vapour from the spirit flies,And views of gaiety and gladness rise.Still it proceeds, till from the glowing heat,The prudent calmly to their shadesretreat;—Then is the mind o'ercast—in wordy rageAnd loud contention angry men engage;Then spleen and pique, like fire-works thrown in spite,To mischief turn the pleasures of the night;230Anger abuses, Malice loudly rails,Revenge awakes, and Anarchy prevails:Till wine, that raised the tempest, makes it cease,And maudlin Love insists on instant peace;He noisy mirth and roaring song commands,Gives idle toasts, and joins unfriendly hands;Till fuddled Friendship vows esteem and weeps,And jovial Folly drinks and sings and sleeps.

Next is the club, where to their friends in town

190

Our country neighbours once a month come down;

We term it Free-and-easy, and yet we

Find it no easy matter to be free:

Ev'n in our small assembly, friends among,

Are minds perverse, there's something will be wrong;

Men are not equal; some will claim a right

To be the kings and heroes of the night;

Will their own favourite themes and notions start,

And you must hear, offend them, or depart.

There comes Sir Thomas from his village-seat,

200

Happy, he tells us, all his friends to meet;

He brings the ruin'd brother of his wife,

Whom he supports, and makes him sick of life:

A ready witness whom he can produce

Of all his deeds—a butt for his abuse.

Soon as he enters, has the guests espied,

Drawn to the fire, and to the glassapplied—

"Well, what's the subject?—what are you about?

The news, I take it—come, I'll help youout;"—

And then, without one answer, he bestows

210

Freely upon us all he hears and knows;

}

Gives us opinions, tells us how he votes,

}

Recites the speeches, adds to them his notes,

}

And gives old ill-told tales for new-born anecdotes;

Yet cares he nothing what we judge or think,

Our only duty's to attend and drink.

At length, admonish'd by his gout, he ends

The various speech, and leaves at peace his friends;

But now, alas! we've lost the pleasant hour,

And wisdom flies from wine's superior power.

220

Wine, like the rising sun, possession gains,

And drives the mist of dulness from the brains;

The gloomy vapour from the spirit flies,

And views of gaiety and gladness rise.

Still it proceeds, till from the glowing heat,

The prudent calmly to their shadesretreat;—

Then is the mind o'ercast—in wordy rage

And loud contention angry men engage;

Then spleen and pique, like fire-works thrown in spite,

To mischief turn the pleasures of the night;

230

Anger abuses, Malice loudly rails,

Revenge awakes, and Anarchy prevails:

Till wine, that raised the tempest, makes it cease,

And maudlin Love insists on instant peace;

He noisy mirth and roaring song commands,

Gives idle toasts, and joins unfriendly hands;

Till fuddled Friendship vows esteem and weeps,

And jovial Folly drinks and sings and sleeps.

A club there is of Smokers.—Dare you comeTo that close, clouded, hot, narcotic room?240When, midnight past, the very candles seemDying for air, and give a ghastly gleam;When curling fumes in lazy wreaths arise,And prosing topers rub their winking eyes;When the long tale, renew'd when last they met,Is spliced anew, and is unfinish'd yet;When but a few are left the house to tire,And they half-sleeping by the sleepy fire;Ev'n the poor ventilating vane, that flewOf late so fast, is now grown drowsy too;250When sweet, cold, clammy punch its aid bestows,Then thus the midnight conversationflows:—"Then, as I said, and—mind me—as I say,At our last meeting—you remember"—"Ay;""Well, very well—then freely as I drinkI spoke my thought—you take me—what I think:And sir, said I, if I a freeman be,It is my bounden duty to befree."—"Ay, there you posed him; I respect the chair,But man is man, although the man's a mayor.260If Muggins live—no, no!—if Muggins die,He'll quit his office—neighbour, shall I try?"—"I'll speak my mind, for here are none but friends:They're all contending for their private ends;}No public spirit, once a vote would bring;}I say a vote was then a pretty thing;}It made a man to serve his country and his king.But for that place, that Muggins must resign,You've my advice—'tis no affair of mine."

A club there is of Smokers.—Dare you come

To that close, clouded, hot, narcotic room?

240

When, midnight past, the very candles seem

Dying for air, and give a ghastly gleam;

When curling fumes in lazy wreaths arise,

And prosing topers rub their winking eyes;

When the long tale, renew'd when last they met,

Is spliced anew, and is unfinish'd yet;

When but a few are left the house to tire,

And they half-sleeping by the sleepy fire;

Ev'n the poor ventilating vane, that flew

Of late so fast, is now grown drowsy too;

250

When sweet, cold, clammy punch its aid bestows,

Then thus the midnight conversationflows:—

"Then, as I said, and—mind me—as I say,

At our last meeting—you remember"—"Ay;"

"Well, very well—then freely as I drink

I spoke my thought—you take me—what I think:

And sir, said I, if I a freeman be,

It is my bounden duty to befree."—

"Ay, there you posed him; I respect the chair,

But man is man, although the man's a mayor.

260

If Muggins live—no, no!—if Muggins die,

He'll quit his office—neighbour, shall I try?"—

"I'll speak my mind, for here are none but friends:

They're all contending for their private ends;

}

No public spirit, once a vote would bring;

}

I say a vote was then a pretty thing;

}

It made a man to serve his country and his king.

But for that place, that Muggins must resign,

You've my advice—'tis no affair of mine."

The poor man has his club; he comes and spends270His hoarded pittance with his chosen friends;Nor this alone—a monthly dole he pays,To be assisted when his health decays;Some part his prudence, from the day's supply,For cares and troubles in his age, lays by;The printed rules he guards with painted frame,And shows his children where to read his name:Those simple words his honest nature move,That bond of union tied by laws of love.This is his pride, it gives to his employ280New value, to his home another joy;While a religious hope its balm appliesFor all his fate inflicts and all his state denies.Much would it please you, sometimes to exploreThe peaceful dwellings of our borough poor;To view a sailor just return'd from sea;His wife beside; a child on either knee,And others crowding near, that none may loseThe smallest portion of the welcome news:What dangers pass'd, "when seas ran mountains high,290When tempests raved, and horrors veil'd the sky;When prudence fail'd, when courage grew dismay'dWhen the strong fainted, and the wickedpray'd,—Then in the yawning gulf far down we drove,And gazed upon the billowy mount above;Till up that mountain, swinging with the gale,We view'd the horrors of the watery vale."The trembling children look with stedfast eyes,And panting, sob involuntary sighs:Soft sleep awhile his torpid touch delays,300And all is joy and piety and praise.

The poor man has his club; he comes and spends

270

His hoarded pittance with his chosen friends;

Nor this alone—a monthly dole he pays,

To be assisted when his health decays;

Some part his prudence, from the day's supply,

For cares and troubles in his age, lays by;

The printed rules he guards with painted frame,

And shows his children where to read his name:

Those simple words his honest nature move,

That bond of union tied by laws of love.

This is his pride, it gives to his employ

280

New value, to his home another joy;

While a religious hope its balm applies

For all his fate inflicts and all his state denies.

Much would it please you, sometimes to explore

The peaceful dwellings of our borough poor;

To view a sailor just return'd from sea;

His wife beside; a child on either knee,

And others crowding near, that none may lose

The smallest portion of the welcome news:

What dangers pass'd, "when seas ran mountains high,

290

When tempests raved, and horrors veil'd the sky;

When prudence fail'd, when courage grew dismay'd

When the strong fainted, and the wickedpray'd,—

Then in the yawning gulf far down we drove,

And gazed upon the billowy mount above;

Till up that mountain, swinging with the gale,

We view'd the horrors of the watery vale."

The trembling children look with stedfast eyes,

And panting, sob involuntary sighs:

Soft sleep awhile his torpid touch delays,

300

And all is joy and piety and praise.

Masons are ours. Freemasons—but, alas!To their own bards I leave the mystic class;In vain shall one, and not a gifted man,Attempt to sing of this enlighten'd clan:I know no word, boast no directing sign,And not one token of the race is mine;Whether with Hiram, that wise widow's son,They came from Tyre to royal Solomon,Two pillars raising by their skill profound,310Boaz and Jachin through the East renown'd:Whether the sacred books their rise express,Or books profane, 'tis vain for me to guess.It may be, lost in date remote and high,They know not what their own antiquity;It may be too, derived from cause so low,They have no wish their origin to show.If, as crusaders, they combined to wrestFrom heathen lords the land they long possess'd,Or were at first some harmless club, who made320Their idle meetings solemn by parade,Is but conjecture—for the task unfit,Awe-struck and mute, the puzzling theme I quit.Yet, if such blessings from their order flow,We should be glad their moral code to know;Trowels of silver are but simple things,And aprons worthless as their apron-strings;But, if indeed you have the skill to teachA social spirit, now beyond our reach;If man's warm passions you can guide and bind,330And plant the virtues in the wayward mind;If you can wake to christian-love theheart—In mercy, something of your powers impart.But, as it seems, we Masons must becomeTo know the secret, and must then be dumb;And, as we venture for uncertain gains,Perhaps the profit is not worth the pains.When Bruce, the dauntless traveller, thought he stoodOn Nile's first rise, the fountain of the flood,And drank exulting in the sacred spring,340The critics told him, it was no such thing;That springs unnumber'd round the country ran,But none could show him where they first began:So might we feel, should we our time bestowTo gain these secrets and these signs to know;Might question still if all the truth we found,And firmly stood upon the certain ground;We might our title to the mystery dread,And fear we drank not at the river-head.

Masons are ours. Freemasons—but, alas!

To their own bards I leave the mystic class;

In vain shall one, and not a gifted man,

Attempt to sing of this enlighten'd clan:

I know no word, boast no directing sign,

And not one token of the race is mine;

Whether with Hiram, that wise widow's son,

They came from Tyre to royal Solomon,

Two pillars raising by their skill profound,

310

Boaz and Jachin through the East renown'd:

Whether the sacred books their rise express,

Or books profane, 'tis vain for me to guess.

It may be, lost in date remote and high,

They know not what their own antiquity;

It may be too, derived from cause so low,

They have no wish their origin to show.

If, as crusaders, they combined to wrest

From heathen lords the land they long possess'd,

Or were at first some harmless club, who made

320

Their idle meetings solemn by parade,

Is but conjecture—for the task unfit,

Awe-struck and mute, the puzzling theme I quit.

Yet, if such blessings from their order flow,

We should be glad their moral code to know;

Trowels of silver are but simple things,

And aprons worthless as their apron-strings;

But, if indeed you have the skill to teach

A social spirit, now beyond our reach;

If man's warm passions you can guide and bind,

330

And plant the virtues in the wayward mind;

If you can wake to christian-love theheart—

In mercy, something of your powers impart.

But, as it seems, we Masons must become

To know the secret, and must then be dumb;

And, as we venture for uncertain gains,

Perhaps the profit is not worth the pains.

When Bruce, the dauntless traveller, thought he stood

On Nile's first rise, the fountain of the flood,

And drank exulting in the sacred spring,

340

The critics told him, it was no such thing;

That springs unnumber'd round the country ran,

But none could show him where they first began:

So might we feel, should we our time bestow

To gain these secrets and these signs to know;

Might question still if all the truth we found,

And firmly stood upon the certain ground;

We might our title to the mystery dread,

And fear we drank not at the river-head.

Griggs and Gregorians here their meetings hold,350Convivial sects, and Bucks alert and bold:A kind of Masons, but without their sign;The bonds of union—pleasure, song, and wine.Man, a gregarious creature, loves to flyWhere he the trackings of the herd can spy;Still to be one with many he desires,Although it leads him through the thorns and briers.A few—but few—there are, who in the mindPerpetual source of consolation find;The weaker many to the world will come,360For comforts seldom to be found from home.}When the faint hands no more a brimmer hold;}When flannel-wreaths the useless limbs infold,}The breath impeded, and the bosom cold;When half the pillow'd man the palsy chains,And the blood falters in the bloatedveins—Then, as our friends no further aid supplyThan hope's cold phrase and courtesy's soft sigh,We should that comfort for ourselves ensure,Which friends could not, if we could friends procure.370Early in life, when we can laugh aloud,There's something pleasant in a social crowd,Who laugh with us—but will such joy remain,When we lie struggling on the bed of pain?When our physician tells us with a sigh,No more on hope and science to rely,Life's staff is useless then; with labouring breathWe pray for hope divine—the staff of death.This is a scene which few companions grace,And where the heart's first favourites yield their place.380Here all the aid of man to man must end,Here mounts the soul to her eternal Friend;The tenderest love must here its tie resign,And give th' aspiring heart to love divine.Men feel their weakness, and to numbers run,Themselves to strengthen, or themselves to shun;But though to this our weakness may be prone,Let's learn to live, for we must die, alone.

Griggs and Gregorians here their meetings hold,

350

Convivial sects, and Bucks alert and bold:

A kind of Masons, but without their sign;

The bonds of union—pleasure, song, and wine.

Man, a gregarious creature, loves to fly

Where he the trackings of the herd can spy;

Still to be one with many he desires,

Although it leads him through the thorns and briers.

A few—but few—there are, who in the mind

Perpetual source of consolation find;

The weaker many to the world will come,

360

For comforts seldom to be found from home.

}

When the faint hands no more a brimmer hold;

}

When flannel-wreaths the useless limbs infold,

}

The breath impeded, and the bosom cold;

When half the pillow'd man the palsy chains,

And the blood falters in the bloatedveins—

Then, as our friends no further aid supply

Than hope's cold phrase and courtesy's soft sigh,

We should that comfort for ourselves ensure,

Which friends could not, if we could friends procure.

370

Early in life, when we can laugh aloud,

There's something pleasant in a social crowd,

Who laugh with us—but will such joy remain,

When we lie struggling on the bed of pain?

When our physician tells us with a sigh,

No more on hope and science to rely,

Life's staff is useless then; with labouring breath

We pray for hope divine—the staff of death.

This is a scene which few companions grace,

And where the heart's first favourites yield their place.

380

Here all the aid of man to man must end,

Here mounts the soul to her eternal Friend;

The tenderest love must here its tie resign,

And give th' aspiring heart to love divine.

Men feel their weakness, and to numbers run,

Themselves to strengthen, or themselves to shun;

But though to this our weakness may be prone,

Let's learn to live, for we must die, alone.

INNS.

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