LETTER XVIII. THE POOR AND THEIR DWELLINGS. Bene Paupertas Humili tecto contenta latet. Seneca. Omnes quibu' res sunt minu' secundæ, magi' sunt Suspiciosi: ad contumeliam omnia accipiunt magis; Terent. in Adelph. Act 4. Scen. 3. Show not to the Poor thy pride, Let their home a cottage be; Nor the feeble body hide In a palace fit for thee; 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 ag'd and sick are led; And the old and tatter'd bed, To quit of torpid sluggishness the cave, www. LETTER XVIII. THE POOR AND THEIR DWELLINGS. The Method of treating the Borough Paupers.—Many maintained at their own Dwellings.-Some Characters of the Poor.-The School-mistress, 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 Bye-Ways.-No Attention here paid to Convenience.-The Pools in the Path-Ways.Amusements of Sea-Port Children.-The Town-Flora. - Herbs on Walls and vacant Spaces. 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 'Our Poor, how feed we?'-To the most we give A social People whom they 've ever known, "Learning, my Child," said she, "shall Fame com"mand; "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 learn'd, and she is nobly 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 approv'd; Can I mine ancient Widow pass unmov'd? 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 sooth'd 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, their hopes in peace to die. With her a harmless Idiot we behold, Who hoards up Silver Shells for shining Gold; These he preserves, with unremitted care, Near these a Sailor, in that Hut of Thatch That hold his Stores, have room for twice as much: He shows the Shipping, he presents the Glass; Of noble Captains, Heroes every one,― You might as soon have made the Steeple run: And then his Mess-mates, if you're pleas'd to stay, He'll wind from Deed to Deed, from Friend to Friend; As Princes gen'rous and as Heroes bold; His Heart will break and he will fight no more. Here is the poor old Merchant: he declin'd, And, as they say, is not in perfect Mind; In his poor House, with one poor maiden Friend, Rich in his Youth, he traded and he fail'd; "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, Reliev'd 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, God help them! they "Could not deceive, nor flatter, nor betray; "But there's a happy Change, a Scene to come, Still none their Spirits nor their Speech restrain; That cause for grieving they shall seldom know. Have plac'd your Poor, your pitiable few; |