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“ 'Twas th'us, (by the glare of false sc'ience betrayed,

“ That le’ads, to bewi'lder ; and daz'zles, to bli’nd ;) “My thou’ghts wont to roa'm, from shade on'ward to sh’ade,

“ Destruction be'fore me, and s'orrow behin'd. “Opisty, (great Father of li'ght), then I cr'ied,

Thy cr’eature, (who fain would not wan'der from th’ee !) “ Lo, humbled in du'st, I relin quish my pri'de;

“ From dou'bt and from darʻkness/ thľou only/ canst free'. “ And darkness and dou'bt/ are now flying aw'ay;

“ No lon'ger I ro'am/ in conjecture forl'orn: “So breaks on the trav'eller, fai'nt, and astr'ay,

“ The bright and the balmy effu'lgence of mo'rn. “ See tr’uth, lo've, and mercy, in tri'umph descen'ding,

“ And na'ture (all glow'ing in E'den's first blo'om !) “On the cold ch'eek of deʻath/ sm'iles and ro'ses/ are ble’nding,

“ And beauty/ immoʻrtal/ awa'kes from the tom'b."

Lower tone.

PICTURES OF THE GOOD PREACHER AND

CLERICAL COXCOMB.

CowPER.*
I VENERATE the m'an/ whose he’art/ is war'm,
Whose han’ds/ are pu're, whose doc'trine and whose li'fe,
Co-'incident, exhibit lucid pro'of
That he is ho'nest in the sacred cau'se.
To suoch/ I render more than mere resp'ect,
Whose actions s'ay that they respect themselves.
But/ loose in mo'rals, and in man'ners vai'n,
In convers’ation fri'volous, in dr'ess
Extre'me, at once rapa'cious and profuse';
Frequent in park/ with lady at his s'ide,
Ambling and prattling scandal/ as he g'oes;
But ra’re at home, and ne'ver at his boo'ks,
Or with his p'en, sa've/ when he scrawls a car'd;
Co'nstant at rou'ts, familiar with a ro'und
Of la dyships-a stra'nger to the poo'r;

* The inimitable author of " John Gilpin.” This accomplished scholar and poet, after dreadfully suffering from mental derangement, died in 1800, aged 68.

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Ambitious of pref'erment for its goʻld,
A'nd/ we'll prepa'red, by i'gnorance and slot'h,
By infide'lity and love of wor'ld,
To make God's work/ a si'necure ; a slav'e
To his own pl’easures and his patron's pri'de :
From such-apostles, (oh, ye mitred h'eads,)
Preserve the chu'rch ! and lay not careless ha'nds/
On sku'lls/ that can'not te'ach, and will not lea'rn.

Would I describe a pre’acher/ such as Pa’ul,
Were he“ on e’arth, would he'ar, appro've, and o`wn-
Paul should himse

of/ direc't me. I would trace
His master-st'rokes, and drsaw from hi^s design.
I would express him sim'ple, gra've, since're ;
In do'ctrine/ uncorr'upt; in language plain,
And plasin/ in man'ner ; d'ecent, so'lemn, ch'aste,
And na'tural in ges'ture ; much impressed
Himself, (as co'nscious of his awful cha'rge,)
And anʼxious/ maiînly, that the flock he feed's
May feel it too'; affect'ionate in lo’ok,
And ten'der in addr'ess, as we^ll becomes
A messenger of gr’ace/ to guilty ma'n.
Behold the pic'ture !- Is it lik'e ?-Like whoʻm ?
The things, that mount the rostrum with a sk'ip,
And then skip dow'n agʻain ; pronounce a te'xt;
C'ryhem; an'd, (reading/ what they never wroîte,
Just fifte^en mi'nutes,) hu'ddle up their woʻrk,
A'nd/ with a well-bred whi'sper/ close the sce'ne !

In m'an or wo‘man, but far most in ma‘n,
And/ mo'st of a'll/ in man/ that ministers
And serves the altar, in my sooul/ I loa'the
All affecta'tion. 'Tis my perfect sco'rn ;
Ob'ject/ of my impla'cable disgu'st.
Wha't !-wili a man play tri'cks, will he indulge
A si'lly/ foạnd conceit of his fair foʻrm,
And just propo'rtion, fashionable mie'n,
And pretty fa'ce, (in presence of his Good ?)
Or/ will he seek to dazzle me with trʼopes,
(As with the di'amond/ on his lily ha’nd,)
And play his brilliant parts/ before my eyes,
(When I am hu'ngry/ for the bread of li¢fe ?)
He mocks his Maker, pros'titutes and shaʼmes
His n'oble oʻffice, a'nd, instead of truoth,
Displaying his own be’auty, staʼrves his flo'ck !

There'fore/ avaunt all atti'tude ; and star'e,
And start the'atric, prac'tised at the glass !
I seek divine simpli city/ in him/
Who han'dles things div'ine ; and all besi’des,
(Though learned with labour, and though much ad'mired
By curious ey'es/ and judgments ill infoʻrmed,)
To me is o dious as the nasal twa'ng
Heard at conven'ticle, where worthy m'en,
(Misled by cus'tom,) strain celes'tial theʼmes/
Through the pressed n'ostril, spe'ctacle-bestr'id.

So'me, (decent in demean'our, while they pre’ach,)
That task perfoʻrmed, relapse into themselves;
An'd, having spoken wi'sely, at the cl'ose
Grow wan'ton, giving pr'oof/ to every ey'e
Who^e'er was e dified, themselves were n'ot!
Forth coʻmes the pocket mir'ror.–First/ we stroke
An ey'e-brow; ne'xt/ compose a straggling lock ;
Th'en (with an air, most gracefully perfoʻrmed,)
Fall ba'ck into our se'at, extend an ar'm,
And lay it/ at its ea’se,
With handkerchief/ in ba'nd, depending lo'w :
The better ha’nd, (more bu'sy,) gives the nose
Its bergamot, or/ aids the ind'ebted-eye
With op'era-glass, to watch the moving sc'ene,
And r'ecognise the slo^w-retiring fair.-
No'w this is ful'some ; and offends me more
Th’an/ in a churc'hman slovenly negl’ect
And rustic coa’rseness wou'ld. A heavenly mi'nd/7
May be indifferent to her house of clay,
And slight the hov'el/ as beneath her ca’re ;
But/ how a bo'dy/ so fanta'stic, tri'm,
And quaiînt, in its depor'tment and att'ire,
Can lodge a heavenly mi nd—demands a dou'bt.

Concluding tone
-lower and slower
than any preceding
portion of the lesson.

TO MARY IN HEAVEN.

BURNS.
Thou lingering st'ar; with lessening ra'y,

That lovest to greet the early mo'rn,
Aga'in thou usherest in the day

My Ma'ry from my soʻul was toron.

O M'ary ! (dear/ departed sh’ade !)

Where is thy pla'ce of blissful res't ?
See'st thou thy lov'er/ lowly l'aid,

Hearest thou the gr'oans/ that re’nd his brea'st ?
That sacred ho'ur) can I forg'et ! -

Can I forget the ha'llowed gr'ove,
Wh'ere (by the winding Ayr,) we me't,

To live one day of parting lov'e !
Eternity/ will not effa'ce

Those records dear of transports p'ast !
Thy i'mage/ at our last embrace :-

Ah ! little thought we/ 'tw'as our la st!
A'yr, (gurgling,) kissed his pebbled sho're,

O'erhung with wild woods, thickening gr'een ;
The fragrant birc'h, and hawthorn ho’ar,

Twined amorous roʻund/ the raptured scen'e.
The flow'ers/ sprang wa'nton/ to be pre’ssed;

The bi°rds/ sung love' on every spray,
Till t'oo, too sooʻn, the glowing west

Proclaimed the spe'ed of winged day':
Still o'er these scenes my memory w'akes,

And fondly broo'ds, with miser ca’re ;
ime but the impr'ession/ dee per mak’es,-

(As streams their cha'nnels deeper wea'r.
My M'ary! (dear/ departed sh’ade !)

Where is thy blissful place of re'st ?
See'st thou thy lo'ver/ lowly la'id ?

Hea'rest thou the gro'ans/ that re’nd his breas't ?

Concluding

tone.

ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND.*

Dr. JOHNSON. NOTWITHSTANDING the wa'rnings of philo'sophers, and the da‘ily examples of los'ses and misfoʻrtunes/ which li'fe/ forces upon our observ'ation, such/ is the absorption of our thoʻughts) in the bu'siness of the pre-sent da'y, such the re

* This beautiful and pathetic paper was written on the death of the Doctor's venerable mother.

signa'tion of our rea'son/ to empty hopes of fu'ture felicity, or such our unwillingness/ to foresee what we dre’ad, that every calamity comes suddenly upo'n us, a’nd not only pre'sses us/ as a b'urthen, but crushes us/ as a blo‘w.

There are evils which happen out of the common course of na'ture, against whi’ch/ it is no reproach/ not to be provi'ded. A flash of lightning/ intercepts the tra'veller in his way; the concussion of an earthquake/ heaps the ruins of cit'ies upon their inna'bitants. But other miseries/ ti^me bri'ngs, (though s'ilently, yet vi`sibly forward/ by its even la'pse,) which yet approach us unse'en, because we turn our eyes aw'ay, and se'ize us, unresi'sted, because we could not arm ourselves again'st them, but/ by setting them/ befor'e us.

That it is vain/ to shrink from whʼat, cannot be avo'ided, and to hide thaạt from ourselves/ which must some time be foʻund, is a truth/ which we all kn'ow, but which a‘ll/ nego le ct; and/ perhaps none moʻre/ than the speculative resa. soner, whose thoughts are always from ho'me, whose e'ye/ wanders over life', whose faîncy/ dances after meteors of happiness kindled by its'elf, and who exa'mines/ every thing/ rather than his own-state.

No'thing/ is more e'vident, than that the decays of ag'e/ must terminate in de°ath; yet/ there is no m'an, (says Tu'lly) who does not belie've that he may yet live another ye’ar; and there is no ne/ who do'es not, (upon the same pr’inciple,) hope another year for his pa'rent or his friend : but, the fallacy will be in tim'el det'ected; the last year, the last da^y/ must c'ome. It ha's come, and is pas'sed. The life, which made my own life ple' asant/ is' at an eʼnd, and the gates of deaoth/ are shut upon my prospects.

The loss of a frie'nd, upon whom the he’art was fixed, tạo whom/ every wi’sh and every endea'vour te'nded, is a state of dreary desolation, in whi'ch/ the mind looks abr'oad/ impat'ient of itself, and finds not'hing/ but emp'tiness and hor':

The blaʼmeless life', the ar'tless ten'derness, the p'ious simpli city, the mo'dest resigna'tion, the pa'tient sic'kness, and the qui'et death, are remem'bered/ only to add va`lue to the lo'ss, to a’ggravate regret/ for what cannot be ame'nded, to dee'pen so rrow/ for what c’annot be reca'lled.

These are the calamities/ by which Providence gradually disengʻages us/ from the lo've of li'fe. Oother evils/ fortitude may repe'l, or hope/ may m'itigate ; but irreparable priva'

ror.

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