The Borough Part 12

THE HOSPITAL AND GOVERNORS.

Christian Charity anxious to provide for future as well as present Miseries--Hence the Hospital for the Diseased--Description of a recovered Patient--The Building: how erected--The Patrons and Governors--Eusebius--The more active Manager of Business, a moral and correct Contributor--One of different Description--Good, the Result, however intermixed with Imperfection.

AN ardent spirit dwells with Christian love, The eagle's vigour in the pitying dove; 'Tis not enough that we with sorrow sigh, That we the wants of pleading man supply, That we in sympathy with sufferers feel, Nor hear a grief without a wish to heal; Not these suffice--to sickness, pain, and woe, The Christian spirit loves with aid to go; Will not be sought, waits not for want to plead, But seeks the duty--nay, prevents the need; Her utmost aid to every ill applies, And plans relief for coining miseries.

Hence yonder Building rose: on either side Far stretch'd the wards, all airy, warm, and wide; And every ward has beds by comfort spread, And smooth'd for him who suffers on the bed: There all have kindness, most relief,--for some Is cure complete,--it is the sufferer's home: Fevers and chronic ills, corroding pains, Each accidental mischief man sustains; Fractures and wounds, and wither'd limbs and lame, With all that, slow or sudden, vex our frame, Have here attendance--here the sufferers lie, (Where love and science every aid apply,) And heal'd with rapture live, or soothed by comfort die.

See! one relieved from anguish, and to-day Allow'd to walk and look an hour away; Two months confined by fever, frenzy, pain, He comes abroad and is himself again: 'Twas in the spring, when carried to the place, The snow fell down and melted in his face.

'Tis summer now; all objects gay and new, Smiling alike the viewer and the view: He stops as one unwilling to advance, Without another and another glance; With what a pure and simple joy he sees Those sheep and cattle browsing at their ease; Easy himself, there's nothing breathes or moves, But he would cherish--all that lives he loves: Observing every ward as round he goes, He thinks what pain, what danger they inclose; Warm in his wish for all who suffer there, At every view he meditates a prayer: No evil counsels in his breast abide, There joy, and love, and grat.i.tude reside.

The wish that Roman necks in one were found, That he who form'd the wish might deal the wound, This man had never heard; but of the kind, Is that desire which rises in his mind; He'd have all English hands (for further he Cannot conceive extends our charity), All but his own, in one right-hand to grow, And then what hearty shake would he bestow.

"How rose the Building?"--Piety first laid A strong foundation, but she wanted aid; To Wealth unwieldy was her prayer address'd, Who largely gave, and she the donor bless'd: Unwieldy Wealth then to his couch withdrew, And took the sweetest sleep he ever knew.

Then busy Vanity sustained her part, "And much," she said, "it moved her tender heart; To her all kinds of man's distress were known, And all her heart adopted as its own."

Then Science came--his talents he display'd, And Charity with joy the dome survey'd; Skill, Wealth, and Vanity, obtain the fame, And Piety, the joy that makes no claim.

Patrons there are, and Governors, from, whom The greater aid and guiding orders come; Who voluntary cares and labours take, The sufferers' servants for the service' sake; Of these a, part I give you--but a part, - Some hearts are hidden, some have not a heart.

First let me praise--for so I best shall paint That pious moralist, that reasoning saint!

Can I of worth like thine, Eusebius, speak?

The man is willing, but the Muse is weak; - 'Tis thine to wait on woe! to soothe! to heal!

With learning social, and polite with zeal: In thy pure breast although the pa.s.sions dwell, They're train'd by virtue, and no more rebel; But have so long been active on her side, That pa.s.sion now might be itself the guide.

Law, conscience, honour, all obey'd; all give Th' approving voice, and make it bliss to live; While faith, when life can nothing more supply, Shall strengthen hope, and make it bliss to die.

He preaches, speaks, and writes with manly sense, No weak neglect, no labour'd eloquence; Goodness and wisdom are in all his ways, The rude revere him and the wicked praise.

Upon humility his virtues grow, And tower so high because so fix'd below; As wider spreads the oak his boughs around, When deeper with his roots he digs the solid ground.

By him, from ward to ward, is every aid The sufferer needs, with every care convey'd: Like the good tree he brings his treasure forth, And, like the tree, unconscious of his worth: Meek as the poorest Publican is he, And strict as lives the straitest Pharisee; Of both, in him unite the better part, The blameless conduct and the humble heart.

Yet he escapes not; he, with some, is wise In carnal things, and loves to moralize: Others can doubt if all that Christian care Has not its price--there's something he may share: But this and ill severer he sustains, As gold the fire, and as unhurt remains; When most reviled, although he feels the smart, It wakes to n.o.bler deeds the wounded heart, As the rich olive, beaten for its fruit, Puts forth at every bruise a bearing shoot.

A second friend we have, whose care and zeal But few can equal--few indeed can feel; He lived a life obscure, and profits made In the coa.r.s.e habits of a vulgar trade.

His brother, master of a hoy, he loved So well, that he the calling disapproved: "Alas! poor Tom!" the landman oft would sigh When the gale freshen'd and the waves ran high; And when they parted, with a tear he'd say, "No more adventure!--here in safety stay."

Nor did he feign; with more than half he had He would have kept the seaman, and been glad.

Alas! how few resist, when strongly tried - A rich relation's nearer kinsman died; He sicken'd, and to him the landman went, And all his hours with cousin Ephraim spent.

This Thomas heard, and cared not: "I," quoth he, "Have one in port upon the watch for me."

So Ephraim died, and when the will was shown, Isaac, the landman, had the whole his own: Who to his brother sent a moderate purse, Which he return'd in anger, with his curse; Then went to sea, and made his grog so strong, He died before he could forgive the wrong.

The rich man built a house, both large and high, He enter'd in and set him down to sigh; He planted ample woods and gardens fair, And walk'd with anguish and compunction there: The rich man's pines, to every friend a treat, He saw with pain, and he refused to eat; His daintiest food, his richest wines, were all Turn'd by remorse to vinegar and gall: The softest down by living body press'd, The rich man bought, and tried to take his rest; But care had thorns upon his pillow spread, And scatter'd sand and nettles in his bed: Nervous he grew,--would often sigh and groan, He talk'd but little, and he walk'd alone; Till by his priest convinced, that from one deed Of genuine love would joy and health proceed, He from that time with care and zeal began To seek and soothe the grievous ills of man; And as his hands their aid to grief apply, He learns to smile and he forgets to sigh.

Now he can drink his wine and taste his food, And feel the blessings Heav'n has dealt are good; And, since the suffering seek the rich man's door, He sleeps as soundly as when young and poor.

Here much he gives--is urgent more to gain; He begs--rich beggars seldom sue in vain: Preachers most famed he moves, the crowd to move, And never wearies in the work of love: He rules all business, settles all affairs; He makes collections, he directs repairs; And if he wrong'd one brother,--Heav'n forgive The man by whom so many brethren live.

Then, 'mid our Signatures, a name appears, Of one for wisdom famed above his years; And these were forty: he was from his youth A patient searcher after useful truth: To language little of his time he gave, To science less, nor was the Muse's slave; Sober and grave, his college sent him down, A fair example for his native town.

Slowly he speaks, and with such solemn air, You'd thing a Socrates or Solon there; For though a Christian, he's disposed to draw His rules from reason's and from nature's law.

"Know," he exclaims, "my fellow mortals, know, Virtue alone is happiness below; And what is virtue? prudence first to choose Life's real good,--the evil to refuse; Add justice then, the eager hand to hold, To curb the l.u.s.t of power and thirst of gold; Join temp'rance next, that cheerful health ensures.

And fort.i.tude unmoved, that conquers or endures."

He speaks, and lo!--the very man you see, Prudent and temperate, just and patient he, By prudence taught his worldly wealth to keep, No folly wastes, no avarice swells the heap: He no man's debtor, no man's patron lives; Save sound advice, he neither asks nor gives; By no vain thoughts or erring fancy sway'd, His words are weighty, or at least are weigh'd; Temp'rate in every place--abroad, at home, Thence will applause, and hence will profit come And health from either--he in time prepares For sickness, age, and their attendant cares, But not for fancy's ills;--he never grieves For love that wounds or friendship that deceives.

His patient soul endures what Heav'n ordains, But neither feels nor fears ideal pains.

"Is aught then wanted in a man so wise?" - Alas!--I think he wants infirmities; He wants the ties that knit us to our kind - The cheerful, tender, soft, complacent mind.

That would the feelings, which he dreads, excite, And make the virtues he approves delight; What dying martyrs, saints, and patriots feel, The strength of action and the warmth of zeal.

Again attend!--and see a man whose cares Are nicely placed on either world's affairs, - Merchant and saint; 'tis doubtful if he knows To which account he most regard bestows; Of both he keeps his ledger: --there he reads Of gainful ventures and of G.o.dly deeds; There all he gets or loses find a place, A lucky bargain and a lack of grace.

The joys above this prudent man invite To pay his tax--devotion!--day and night; The pains of h.e.l.l his timid bosom awe, And force obedience to the church's law: Hence that continual thought,--that solemn air, Those sad good works, and that laborious prayer.

All these (when conscience, waken'd and afraid, To think how avarice calls and is obey'd) He in his journal finds, and for his grief Obtains the transient opium of relief.

"Sink not, my soul!--my spirit, rise and look O'er the fair entries of this precious book: Here are the sins, our debts;--this fairer side Has what to carnal wish our strenetb denied; Has those religious duties every day Paid,--which so few upon the Sabbath pay; Here too are conquests over frail desires, Attendance due on all the church requires; Then alms I give--for I believe the word Of holy writ, and lend unto the Lord, And if not all th' importunate demand, The fear of want restrains my ready hand: - Behold! what sums I to the poor resign, Sums placed in Heaven's own book, as well as mine: Rest then, my spirit!--fastings, prayers, and alms, Will soon suppress these idly-raised alarms, And weigh'd against our frailties, set in view A n.o.ble balance in our favour due: Add that I yearly here affix my name, Pledge for large payment--not from love of fame, But to make peace within;--that peace to make, "What sums I lavish! and what gains forsake!

Cheer up, my heart! let's cast off every doubt, Pray without dread, and place our money out."

Such the religion of a mind that steers Its way to bliss, between its hopes and fears; Whose pa.s.sions in due bounds each other keep, And thus subdued, they murmur till they sleep; Whose virtues all their certain limits know, Like well-dried herbs that neither fade nor grow; Who for success and safety ever tries, And with both worlds alternately complies.

Such are the Guardians of this bless'd estate, Whate'er without, they're praised within the gate; That they are men, and have their faults, is true; But here their worth alone appears in view: The Muse indeed, who reads the very breast, Has something of the secrets there express'd, But yet in charity;--and when she sees Such means for joy or comfort, health or ease, And knows how much united minds effect, She almost dreads their failings to detect; But Truth commands: --in man's erroneous kind, Virtues and frailties mingle in the mind, Happy!--when fears to public spirit move, And even vices do the work of love. {8}

LETTER XVIII.

Bene paupertas Humili tecto contenta latet.

SENECA.

Omnes quibu' res sunt minu' secundae, magi' sunt, nescio quo modo, Suspiciosi; ad contumeliam omnia accipiunt magis; Propter suam impotentiam se semper credunt negligi.

TEPENT.

Show not to the poor thy pride, Let their home a cottage be; Nor the feeble body hide In a palace fit for thee; Let him not about him see Lofty ceilings, ample halls, Or a gate his boundary be, Where nor friend or kinsman calls.

Let him not one walk behold, That only one which he must tread, Nor a chamber large and cold, Where the aged and sick are led; Better far his humble shed, Humble sheds of neighbours by, And the old and tatter'd bed, Where he sleeps and hopes to die.

To quit of torpid sluggishness the cave, And from the pow'rful arms of sloth be free, 'Tis rising from the dead--Alas! it cannot be.

THOMSON.

THE POOR AND THEIR DWELLINGS. {9}

The Method of treating the Borough Paupers--Many maintained at their own Dwellings--Some Characters of the poor--The Schoolmistress, when aged--The Idiot--The poor Sailor--The declined Tradesman and his Companion--This contrasted with the Maintenance of the Poor in a common Mansion erected by the Hundred--The Objections to this Method: Not Want, nor Cruelty, but the necessary evils of this Mode--What they are--Instances of the Evil--A Return to the Borough Poor--The Dwellings of these--The Lanes and Byways--No Attention here paid to Convenience--The Pools in the Pathways-- Amus.e.m.e.nts of Sea-port Children--The Town Flora--Herbs on Walls and vacant s.p.a.ces- -A female Inhabitant of an Alley--A large Building let to several poor Inhabitants--Their Manners and Habits.

YES! we've our Borough-vices, and I know How far they spread, how rapidly they grow; Yet think not virtue quits the busy place, Nor charity, the virtues crown and grace.

"Our Poor, how feed we?"--To the most we give A weekly dole, and at their homes they live; - Others together dwell,--but when they come To the low roof, they see a kind of home, A social people whom they've ever known, With their own thoughts, and manners like their own.

At her old house, her dress, her air the same, I see mine ancient Letter-loving dame: "Learning, my child," said she "shall fame command; Learning is better worth than house or land - For houses perish, lands are gone and spent; In learning then excel, for that's most excellent."

"And what her learning?" 'Tis with awe to look In every verse throughout one sacred book; From this her joy, her hope, her peace is sought; This she has learned, and she is n.o.bly taught.

If aught of mine have gain'd the public ear; If RUTLAND deigns these humble Tales to hear; If critics pardon what my friends approved; Can I mine ancient Widow pa.s.s unmoved?

Shall I not think what pains the matron took, When first I trembled o'er the gilded book?

How she, all patient, both at eve and morn, Her needle pointed at the guarding horn; And how she soothed me, when, with study sad, I labour'd on to reach the final zad?

Shall I not grateful still the dame survey, And ask the Muse the poet's debt to pay?

Nor I alone, who hold a trifler's pen, But half our bench of wealthy, weighty men, Who rule our Borough, who enforce our laws; They own the matron as the leading cause, And feel the pleasing debt, and pay the just applause: To her own house is borne the week's supply; There she in credit lives, there hopes in peace to die.

With her a harmless Idiot we behold, Who h.o.a.rds up silver sh.e.l.ls for shining gold: These he preserves, with unremitted care, To buy a seat, and reign the Borough's mayor: Alas!--who could th' ambitious changeling tell, That what he sought our rulers dared to sell?

Near these a Sailor, in that hut of thatch (A fish-boat's cabin is its nearest match), Dwells, and the dungeon is to him a seat, Large as he wishes--in his view complete: A lockless coffer and a lidless hutch That hold his stores, have room for twice as much: His one spare shirt, long gla.s.s, and iron box, Lie all in view; no need has he for locks: Here he abides, and, as our strangers pa.s.s, He shows the shipping, he presents the gla.s.s; He makes (unask'd) their ports and business known, And (kindly heard) turns quickly to his own, Of n.o.ble captains, heroes every one, - You might as soon have made the steeple run; And then his messmates, if you're pleased to stay, He'll one by one the gallant souls display, And as the story verges to an end, He'll wind from deed to deed, from friend to friend; He'll speak of those long lost, the brave of old, As princes gen'rous and as heroes bold; Then will his feelings rise, till you may trace Gloom, like a cloud, frown o'er his manly face, - And then a tear or two, which sting his pride; These he will dash indignantly aside, And splice his tale;--now take him from his cot, And for some cleaner berth exchange his lot, How will he all that cruel aid deplore?

His heart will break, and he will fight no more.

Here is the poor old Merchant: he declined, And, as they say, is not in perfect mind; In his poor house, with one poor maiden friend, Quiet he paces to his journey's end.

Rich in his youth, he traded and he fail'd; Again he tried, again his fate prevail'd; His spirits low, and his exertions small, He fell perforce, he seem'd decreed to fall: Like the gay knight, unapt to rise was he, But downward sank with sad alacrity.

A borough-place we gain'd him--in disgrace For gross neglect, he quickly lost the place; But still he kept a kind of sullen pride, Striving his wants to hinder or to hide; At length, compell'd by very need, in grief He wrote a proud pet.i.tion for relief.

"He did suppose a fall, like his, would prove Of force to wake their sympathy and love; Would make them feel the changes all may know, And stir them up a due regard to show."

His suit was granted;--to an ancient maid, Relieved herself, relief for him was paid: Here they together (meet companions) dwell, And dismal tales of man's misfortunes tell: "'Twas not a world for them, G.o.d help them, they Could not deceive, nor flatter, nor betray; But there's a happy change, a scene to come, And they, G.o.d help them! shall be soon at home."

If these no pleasures nor enjoyments gain, Still none their spirits nor their speech restrain; They sigh at ease, 'mid comforts they complain, The poor will grieve, the poor will weep and sigh, Both when they know, and when they know not why; But we our bounty with such care bestow, That cause for grieving they shall seldom know.

Your Plan I love not; with a number you Have placed your poor, your pitiable few: There, in one house, throughout their lives to be, The pauper-palace which they hate to see: That giant-building, that high-bounding wall, Those bare-worn walks, that lofty thund'ring hall, That large loud clock, which tolls each dreaded hour, Those gates and locks, and all those signs of power; It is a prison, with a milder name, Which few inhabit without dread or shame.

Be it agreed--the Poor who hither come Partake of plenty, seldom found at home; That airy rooms and decent beds are meant To give the poor by day, by night, content; That none are frighten'd, once admitted here, By the stern looks of lordly Overseer: Grant that the Guardians of the place attend, And ready ear to each pet.i.tion lend; That they desire the grieving poor to show What ills they feel, what partial acts they know; Not without promise, nay desire to heal Each wrong they suffer, and each woe they feel.

Alas! their sorrows in their bosoms dwell; They've much to suffer, but have nought to tell; They have no evil in the place to state, And dare not say it is the house they hate: They own there's granted all such place can give, But live repining, for 'tis there they live.

Grandsires are there, who now no more must see, No more must nurse upon the trembling knee, The lost loved daughter's infant progeny: Like death's dread mansion, this allows not place For joyful meetings of a kindred race.

Is not the matron there, to whom the son Was wont at each declining day to run?

He (when his toil was over) gave delight, By lifting up the latch, and one "Good night."

Yes, she is here; but nightly to her door The son, still lab'ring, can return no more.