The Borough Part 2

Virtues like these at once delight and press On the fond father with a proud distress; On all around he looks with care and love, Grieved to behold, but happy to approve.

Then from his care, his love, his grief, he steals, And by himself an Author's pleasure feels: Each line detains him; he omits not one, And all the sorrows of his state are gone. - Alas! even then, in that delicious hour, He feels his fortune, and laments its power.

Some Tradesman's bill his wandering eyes engage, Some scrawl for payment thrust 'twixt page and page; Some bold, loud rapping at his humble door, Some surly message he has heard before, Awake, alarm, and tell him he is poor.

An angry Dealer, vulgar, rich, and proud, Thinks of his bill, and, pa.s.sing, raps aloud; The elder daughter meekly makes him way - "I want my money, and I cannot stay: My mill is stopp'd; what, Miss! I cannot grind; Go tell your father he must raise the wind:"

Still trembling, troubled, the dejected maid Says, "Sir! my father!"--and then stops afraid: E'en his hard heart is soften'd, and he hears Her voice with pity; he respects her tears; His stubborn features half admit a smile, And his tone softens--"Well! I'll wait awhile."

Pity! a man so good, so mild, so meek, At such an age, should have his bread to seek; And all those rude and fierce attacks to dread.

That are more harrowing than the want of bread; Ah! who shall whisper to that misery peace!

And say that want and insolence shall cease?

"But why not publish?"--those who know too well, Dealers in Greek, are fearful 'twill not sell; Then he himself is timid, troubled, slow, Nor likes his labours nor his griefs to show; The hope of fame may in his heart have place, But he has dread and horror of disgrace; Nor has he that confiding, easy way, That might his learning and himself display; But to his work he from the world retreats, And frets and glories o'er the favourite sheets.

But see! the Man himself; and sure I trace Signs of new joy exulting in that face O'er care that sleeps--we err, or we discern Life in thy looks--the reason may we learn?

"Yes," he replied, "I'm happy, I confess, To learn that some are pleased with happiness Which others feel--there are who now combine The worthiest natures in the best design, To aid the letter'd poor, and soothe such ills as mine.

We who more keenly feel the world's contempt, And from its miseries are the least exempt; Now Hope shall whisper to the wounded breast And Grief, in soothing expectation, rest.

"Yes, I am taught that men who think, who feel, Unite the pains of thoughtful men to heal; Not with disdainful pride, whose bounties make The needy curse the benefits they take; Not with the idle vanity that knows Only a selfish joy when it bestows; Not with o'erbearing wealth, that, in disdain, Hurls the superfluous bliss at groaning pain; But these are men who yield such blest relief, That with the grievance they destroy the grief; Their timely aid the needy sufferers find, Their generous manner soothes the suffering mind; There is a gracious bounty, form'd to raise Him whom it aids; their charity is praise; A common bounty may relieve distress, But whom the vulgar succour they oppress; This though a favour is an honour too, Though Mercy's duty, yet 'tis Merit's due; When our relief from such resources rise, All painful sense of obligation dies; And grateful feelings in the bosom wake, For 'tis their offerings, not their alms we take.

"Long may these founts of Charity remain, And never shrink, but to be fill'd again; True! to the Author they are now confined, To him who gave the treasure of his mind, His time, his health,--and thankless found mankind: But there is hope that from these founts may flow A side-way stream, and equal good bestow; Good that may reach us, whom the day's distress Keeps from the fame and perils of the Press; Whom Study beckons from the Ills of Life, And they from Study; melancholy strife!

Who then can say, but bounty now so free, And so diffused, may find its way to me?

"Yes! I may see my decent table yet Cheer'd with the meal that adds not to my debt; May talk of those to whom so much we owe, And guess their names whom yet we may not know; Blest, we shall say, are those who thus can give, And next who thus upon the bounty live; Then shall I close with thanks my humble meal.

And feel so well--Oh, G.o.d! how shall I feel!" {2}

LETTER IV.

. . . . . . . . . . . But cast your eyes again And view those errors which new sects maintain, Or which of old disturbed the Church's peaceful reign; And we can point each period of the time When they began and who begat the crime; Can calculate how long th' eclipse endured; Who interposed; what digits were obscured; Of all which are already pa.s.sed away We knew the rise, the progress, and decay.

DRYDEN, Hind and Panther

Oh, said the Hind, how many sons have you Who call you mother, whom you never knew!

But most of them who that relation plead Are such ungracious youths as wish you dead; They gape at rich revenues which you hold, And fain would nibble at your grandame gold.

ibid.

SECTS AND PROFESSIONS IN RELIGION.

Sects and Professions in Religion are numerous and successive-- General effect of false Zeal--Deists--Fanatical Idea of Church Reformers--The Church of Rome--Baptists--Swedenborgians-- Univerbalists--Jews--Methodists of two Kinds: Calvinistic and Arminian--The Preaching of a Calvinistic Enthusiast--His contempt of Learning--Dislike to sound Morality: why--His Ideas of Conversion-- His Success and Pretensions to Humility. The Arminian Teacher of the older Flock--Their Notions of the operations and power of Satan- -Description of his Devices--Their opinion of regular Ministers-- Comparison of these with the Preacher himself--A Rebuke to his Hearers; introduces a description of the powerful Effects of the Word in the early and awakening Days of Methodism.

"SECTS in Religion?"--Yes of every race We nurse some portion in our favour'd place; Not one warm preacher of one growing sect Can say our Borough treats him with neglect: Frequent as fashions they with us appear, And you might ask, "how think we for the year?"

They come to us as riders in a trade, And with much art exhibit and persuade.

Minds are for Sects of various kinds decreed, As diff'rent soils are formed for diff'rent seed; Some when converted sigh in sore amaze, And some are wrapt in joy's ecstatic blaze; Others again will change to each extreme, They know not why--as hurried in a dream; Unstable, they, like water, take all forms, Are quick and stagnant; have their calms and storms; High on the hills, they in the sunbeams glow, Then muddily they move debased and slow; Or cold and frozen rest, and neither rise nor flow.

Yet none the cool and prudent Teacher prize.

On him ther dote who wakes their ectasies; With pa.s.sions ready primed such guide they meet, And warm and kindle with th' imparted heat; 'Tis he who wakes the nameless strong desire, The melting rapture and the glowing fire; 'Tis he who pierces deep the tortured breast, And stirs the terrors never more to rest.

Opposed to these we have a prouder kind, Rash without heat, and without raptures blind; These our Glad Tidings unconcern'd peruse, Search without awe, and without fear refuse; The truths, the blessings found in Sacred Writ, Call forth their spleen, and exercise their wit; Respect from these nor saints nor martyrs gain, The zeal they scorn, and they deride the pain: And take their transient, cool, contemptuous view, Of that which must be tried, and doubtless may be true.

Friends of our Faith we have, whom doubts like these, And keen remarks, and bold objections please; They grant such doubts have weaker minds oppress'd, Till sound conviction gave the troubled rest.

"But still," they cry, "let none their censures spare.

They but confirm the glorious hopes we share; From doubt, disdain, derision, scorn, and lies, With five-fold triumph sacred Truth shall rise."

Yes! I allow, so Truth shall stand at last, And gain fresh glory by the conflict past: - As Solway-Moss (a barren ma.s.s and cold, Death to the seed, and poison to the fold), The smiling plain and fertile vale o'erlaid, Choked the green sod, and kill'd the springing blade; That, changed by culture, may in time be seen Enrich'd by golden grain and pasture green; And these fair acres rented and enjoy'd May those excel by Solway-Moss destroy'd.

Still must have mourn'd the tenant of the day, For hopes destroy'd, and harvests swept away; To him the gain of future years unknown, The instant grief and suffering were his own: So must I grieve for many a wounded heart, Chill'd by those doubts which bolder minds impart: Truth in the end shall shine divinely clear, But sad the darkness till those times appear; Contests for truth, as wars for freedom, yield Glory and joy to those who gain the field: But still the Christian must in pity sigh For all who suffer, and uncertain die.

Here are, who all the Church maintains approve, But yet the Church herself they will not love; In angry speech, they blame the carnal tie Which pure Religion lost her spirit by; What time from prisons, flames, and tortures led, She slumber'd careless in a royal bed; To make, they add, the Church's glory shine, Should Diocletian reign, not Constantine.

"In pomp," they cry, "is "England's Church array'd, Her cool Reformers wrought like men afraid; We would have pull'd her gorgeous temples down, And spurn'd her mitre, and defiled her gown: We would have trodden low both bench and stall, Nor left a t.i.the remaining, great or small."

Let us be serious--Should such trials come.

Are they themselves prepared for martyrdom?

It seems to us that our reformers knew Th' important work they undertook to do; An equal priesthood they were loth to try, Lest zeal and care should with ambition die; To them it seem'd that, take the tenth away, Yet priests must eat, and you must feed or pay: Would they indeed, who hold such pay in scorn, Put on the muzzle when they tread the corn?

Would they all, gratis, watch and tend the fold, Nor take one fleece to keep them from the cold?

Men are not equal, and 'tis meet and right That robes and t.i.tles our respect excite; Order requires it; 'tis by vulgar pride That such regard is censured and denied; Or by that false enthusiastic zeal, That thinks the Spirit will the priest reveal, And show to all men, by their powerful speech, Who are appointed and inspired to teach: Alas! could we the dangerous rule believe, Whom for their teacher should the crowd receive?

Since all the varying kinds demand respect, All press you on to join their chosen sect, Although but in this single point agreed, "Desert your churches and adopt our creed."

We know full well how much our forms offend The burthen'd Papist and the simple Friend: Him, who new robes for every service takes, And who in drab and beaver sighs and shakes; He on the priest, whom hood and band adorn, Looks with the sleepy eye of silent scorn; But him I would not for my friend and guide, Who views such things with spleen, or wears with pride.

See next our several Sects,--but first behold The Church of Rome, who here is poor and old: Use not triumphant raillery, or, at least, Let not thy mother be a wh.o.r.e and beast; Great was her pride indeed in ancient times, Yet shall we think of nothing but her crimes?

Exalted high above all earthly things, She placed her foot upon the neck of kings; But some have deeply since avenged the crown, And thrown her glory and her honours down; Nor neck nor ear can she of kings command, Nor place a foot upon her own fair land.

Among her sons, with us a quiet few, Obscure themselves, her ancient state review, And fond and melancholy glances cast On power insulted, and on triumph past: They look, they can but look, with many a sigh, On sacred buildings doom'd in dust to lie; "On seats," they tell, "where priests mid tapers dim Breathed the warm prayer, or tuned the midnight hymn; Where trembling penitents their guilt confessed, Where want had succour, and contrition rest; There weary men from trouble found relief, There men in sorrow found repose from grief.

To scenes like these the fainting soul retired; Revenge and anger in these cells expired; By Pity soothed, Remorse lost half her fears, And soften'd Pride dropp'd penitential tears.

"Then convent walls and nunnery spires arose, In pleasant spots which monk or abbot chose; When counts and barons saints devoted fed, And making cheap exchange, had pray'r for bread.

"Now all is lost, the earth where abbeys stood Is layman's land, the glebe, the stream, the wood: His oxen low where monks retired to eat, His cows repose upon the prior's seat: And wanton doves within the cloisters bill, Where the chaste votary warr'd with wanton will."

Such is the change they mourn, but they restrain The rage of grief, and pa.s.sively complain.

We've Baptists old and new; forbear to ask What the distinction--I decline the task; This I perceive, that when a sect grows old, Converts are few, and the converted cold: First comes the hotbed heat, and while it glows The plants spring up, and each with vigour grows: Then comes the cooler day, and though awhile The verdure prospers and the blossoms smile, Yet poor the fruit, and form'd by long delay, Nor will the profits for the culture pay; The skilful gard'ner then no longer stops, But turns to other beds for bearing crops.

Some Swedenborgians in our streets are found, Those wandering walkers on enchanted ground, Who in our world can other worlds survey, And speak with spirits though confin'd in clay: Of Bible-mysteries they the keys possess, a.s.sured themselves, where wiser men but guess: 'Tis theirs to see around, about, above, - How spirits mingle thoughts, and angels move; Those whom our grosser views from us exclude, To them appear--a heavenly mult.i.tude; While the dark sayings, seal'd to men like us, Their priests interpret, and their flocks discuss.

But while these gifted men, a favour'd fold, New powers exhibit and new worlds behold; Is there not danger lest their minds confound The pure above them with the gross around?

May not these Phaetons, who thus contrive 'Twixt heaven above and earth beneath to drive, When from their flaming chariots they descend, The worlds they visit in their fancies blend?

Alas! too sure on both they bring disgrace, Their earth is crazy, and their heaven is base.

We have, it seems, who treat, and doubtless well, Of a chastising not awarding h.e.l.l; Who are a.s.sured that an offended G.o.d Will cease to use the thunder and the rod; A soul on earth, by crime and folly stain'd, When here corrected has improvement gain'd; In other state still more improved to grow, And n.o.bler powers in happier world to know; New strength to use in each divine employ, And more enjoying, looking to more joy.

A pleasing vision! could we thus be sure Polluted souls would be at length so pure; The view is happy, we may think it just, It may be true-- but who shall add, it must?

To the plain words and sense of Sacred Writ, With all my heart I reverently submit; But where it leaves me doubtful, I'm afraid To call conjecture to my reason's aid; Thy thoughts, thy ways, great G.o.d! are not as mine, And to thy mercy I my soul resign.

Jews are with us, but far unlike to those, Who, led by David, warr'd with Israels foes; Unlike to those whom his imperial son Taught truths divine--the Preacher Solomon; Nor war nor wisdom yield our Jews delight; They will not study, and they dare not fight.

These are, with us, a slavish, knavish crew, Shame and dishonour to the name of Jew; The poorest masters of the meanest arts, With cunning heads, and cold and cautious hearts; They grope their dirty way to petty gains, While poorly paid for their nefarious pains.

Amazing race! deprived of land and laws, A general language and a public cause; With a religion none can now obey, With a reproach that none can take away: A people still, whose common ties are gone; Who, mix'd with every race, are lost in none.

What said their Prophet?--"Shouldst thou disobey, The Lord shall take thee from thy land away; Thou shalt a by-word and a proverb be, And all shall wonder at thy woes and thee; Daughter and son, shalt thou, while captive, have, And see them made the bond-maid and the slave; He, whom thou leav'st, the Lord thy G.o.d, shall bring War to thy country on an eagle-wing.

A people strong and dreadful to behold, Stern to the young, remorseless to the old; Masters whose speech thou canst not understand By cruel signs shall give the harsh command: Doubtful of life shalt thou by night, by day, For grief, and dread, and trouble pine away; Thy evening wish,--Would G.o.d I saw the sun Thy morning sigh,--Would G.o.d the day were done!

Thus shalt thou suffer, and to distant times Regret thy misery, and lament thy crimes."

A part there are, whom doubtless man might trust, Worthy as wealthy, pure, religious, just; They who with patience, yet with rapture, look On the strong promise of the Sacred Book: As unfulfill'd th' endearing words they view, And blind to truth, yet own their prophets true; Well pleased they look for Sion's coming state, Nor think of Julian's boast and Julian's fate.

More might I add: I might describe the flocks Made by Seceders from the ancient stocks; Those who will not to any guide submit, Nor find one creed to their conceptions fit - Each sect, they judge, in something goes astray, And every church has lost the certain way!

Then for themselves they carve out creed and laws, And weigh their atoms, and divide their straws.

A Sect remains, which, though divided long In hostile parties, both are fierce and strong, And into each enlists a warm and zealous throng.

Soon as they rose in fame, the strife arose, The Calvinistic these, th' Arminian those; With Wesley some remain'd, the remnant Whitfield chose.

Now various leaders both the parties take, And the divided hosts their new divisions make.

See yonder Preacher! to his people pa.s.s, Borne up and swell'd by tabernacle-gas: Much he discourses, and of various points, All unconnected, void of limbs and joints; He rails, persuades, explains, and moves the will By fierce bold words, and strong mechanic skill.

"That Gospel, Paul with zeal and love maintain'd, To others lost, to you is now explain'd; No worldly learning can these points discuss, Books teach them not as they are taught to us.

Illiterate call us!--let their wisest man Draw forth his thousands as your Teacher can: They give their moral precepts: so, they say, Did Epictetus once, and Seneca; One was a slave, and slaves we all must be, Until the Spirit comes and sets us free.

Yet hear you nothing from such man but works; They make the Christian service like the Turks.

"Hark to the Churchman: day by day he cries, 'Children of Men, be virtuous and be wise: Seek patience, justice, temp'rance, meekness, truth; In age be courteous, be sedate in youth.' - So they advise, and when such things be read, How can we wonder that their flocks are dead?

The Heathens wrote of Virtue: they could dwell On such light points: in them it might be well; They might for virtue strive; but I maintain, Our strife for virtue would be proud and vain.

When Samson carried Gaza's gates so far, Lack'd he a helping hand to bear the bar?

Thus the most virtuous must in bondage groan: Samson is grace, and carries all alone.

"Hear you not priests their feeble spirits spend, In bidding Sinners turn to G.o.d, and mend; To check their pa.s.sions and to walk aright, To run the Race, and fight the glorious Fight?

Nay more--to pray, to study, to improve, To grow in goodness, to advance in love?

"Oh! Babes and Sucklings, dull of heart and slow, Can Grace be gradual? Can Conversion grow?

The work is done by instantaneous call; Converts at once are made, or not at all; Nothing is left to grow, reform, amend, The first emotion is the Movement's end: If once forgiven, Debt can be no more; If once adopted, will the heir be poor?

The man who gains the twenty-thousand prize, Does he by little and by little rise?

There can no fortune for the Soul be made, By peddling cares and savings in her trade.

"Why are our sins forgiven?--Priests reply, - Because by Faith on Mercy we rely; 'Because, believing, we repent and pray.'

Is this their doctrine?--then they go astray; We're pardon'd neither for belief nor deed, For faith nor practice, principle nor creed; Nor for our sorrow for our former sin, Nor for our fears when better thoughts begin; Nor prayers nor penance in the cause avail, All strong remorse, all soft contrition fail: It is the Call! till that proclaims us free, In darkness, doubt, and bondage we must be; Till that a.s.sures us, we've in vain endured, And all is over when we're once a.s.sured.

"This is Conversion: --First there comes a cry Which utters, 'Sinner, thou'rt condemned to die;'