good hireling, and serve a farmer for a pitiful reward: at least he is not so fit for it as a day labourer that has always been employed about the plough and dung-cart, and remembers not that he has ever lived otherwise!! MANDEVILLE. Essay on Charity Schools. THE slightest misfortunes of the great, the most imaginary uneasiness of the rich, are aggravated with all the power of eloquence, and held up to engage our attention and sympathetic sorrow. The miseries of the poor are entirely disregarded, though some undergo more real hardships in one day than the great in their whole lives. These may eat, drink, and sleep; have slaves to attend them, and are sure of subsistence for life; while many of their fellow creatures are obliged to wander, without a friend to comfort or assist them, find enmity in every law, and are too poor to obtain even justice. GOLDSMITH. Citizen of the World, Let. 117 and 119. THE dainties of the great are the tears of the The great put the little on the hook. poor. OLD ENGLISH PROVERBS. WOE unto him that heapeth up wealth in abundance, and rejoiceth alone in the possession there of; That grindeth the face of the poor, sidereth not the sweat of their brows; and con He He thriveth on oppression without feeling: the tuin of his brother disturbeth him not. The tears of the orphan he drinketh as milk, the cries of the widow are music to his ear. ; His heart is hardened with the love of wealth no grief nor distress can make impression upon it. Economy of Human Life, part v. sect. ii. Ir is as astonishing as it is melancholy to travel through a whole country, as one may through many in Europe, gasping under endless taxes, groaning under dragoons and poverty, and all to make a wanton and luxurious court, filled for the most part with the worst and vilest of all men. Good God! What hard-heartedness and barbarity, to starve perhaps half a province, to make a gay garden And yet sometimes this gross wickedness is called public spirit, because forsooth a few workmen and labourers are maintained out of the bread and blood of half a million. GORDON, Cato's Letters. ONE day [in the neighbourhood of Lyons] having purposely gone out of my way to take a nearer view of a spot that appeared delightful, I was so charmed with it, and wandered round it so often, that at length I compleatly lost myself, and after several hours useless walking, weary, fainting with hunger and thirst, I entered a peasant's hut, which had not indeed a very promising appearance, but was the only one I could discover near near me. I thought it was here as at Geneva, or in Switzerland, where the inhabitants, living at ease, have it in their power to exercise hospitality. I entreated the countryman to give me some dinner, offering to pay for it on which he presented me with some skimmed milk and coarse barley bread, saying it was all he had. I drank the milk with pleasure, and eat the bread, chaff and all; but it was little restorative to a man sinking with fatigue. The countryman, who watched me narrowly, judged the truth of my story by my appetite, and presently after (having said, that he plainly saw I was an honest, goodnatured young man, and did not come to betray him) opened a little trap door by the side of his kitchen, went down, and returned a moment after with a good brown loaf of pure wheat, the remains of a well-flavoured ham, and a bottle of wine, the sight of which rejoiced my heart more than all the rest: he then prepared a good thick omelette, and I made such a dinner as none but a walking traveller ever enjoyed. 4 When I again offered to pay, his inquietude and fears returned; he not only would have no money, but refused it with the most evident emotion; and what made this scene more amusing, I could not imagine the motive of his fear. At length he pronounced, trembling, these terrible words, Commissioners and Cellar-rats: which he explained, by giving me to understand, that he concealed his wine because of the excise, and his his bread on account of the tax imposed on it adding, he should be undone if it wa ssuspected he was not almost perishing with want.— What he said to me on this subject (of which I had not before the smallest idea) made an impression on my mind that can never be effaced, sowing those seeds of inextinguishable hatred, which have since grown up in my heart against the vexations these unhappy people suffer, and against their oppressors. This man, though in easy circumstances, dared not eat the bread gained by the sweat of his brow, and could only escape destruction, by exhibiting an outward appearance of misery!—I left his cottage with as much indignation as concern, deploring the fate of those beautiful countries, where Nature has been prodigal of her gifts, only that they may become the prey of barbarous exactors. ROUSSEAU. Confessions, vol. i, b. iv. SWEET smiling village, loveliest of the lawn, Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms with drawn ; Amidst thy bow'rs the tyrant's hand is seen, The hollow sounding bittern guards its nest; Amidst Amidst thy desart walks the lapwing flies, The sounds of population fail, No chearful murmurs fluctuate in the gale, That feebly bends besides the plashy spring; The sad historian of the pensive plain. Takes up a space that many poor supply'd; * Where then, ah, where shall poverty reside, If |