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THE HEART. monly ends in the mortgage of another estate; or inevitable ruin, which sometimes impels them headlong into the abyss of Suicide!

It must be very gratifying to the moralist, to behold the coaches of the great vulgar drawn up in a line before the front of a place, where the baby minds of the owners are contented to pass an hour in beholding the dexterity of a modern Katterfelto. An observer might long ramble through London before he could find the opulent or the fashionable spending their time in morning visits to a workhouse-No, no; let the parish-officers attend to those vulgar matters. Persons of refined manners would rather encourage the most frivolous or absurd species of imposition; or, like the victims of St. Vitus's Dance, caper themselves into a fever at a malked ball,



[From the same.] THE

HE heart is the thread upon which commonly de

pend those finer traits that mark our characters, and generally form an excuse for the good or evil actions of our lives. What is the reason that Lesbia, a virgin once blooming in innocence, has eloped from her family and friends, and sacrificed her fair fame at the thrine of illicit love? The wanderings of her heart were the cause; but furely we ought to pardon faults instigated by a heart tou tender and susceptible. Why is Melfort, the spendthrift, precipitated from the pinnacle of fortune and respectability into the gulf of poverty and misery?. His liberal heart has caused his ruin; pretended friends, taking advantage of his open unsuspicious temper, have deceived him; and as he has invariably consulted his heart in preference to his reason, he has dissipated the inherit


ance of his ancestors, and is now reduced to the most abject state of dependance. How unfortunate the possession of a heart too incautious!—What can excuse the imprudence of Flavia, a young widow,, who counts in her train feveral favoured lovers? Her grateful heart! Her admirers have done all in their power to console her for the loss of her husband; and her heart, so susceptible, has granted them, in return, the last favour as a proof of gratitude.---What can possibly induce Gripewell, the usurer, to proffer fo eagerly his fervices and his purse? He will tell you, his liberal heart instigates him to lend money at exorbitant interest ; that his tender heart cannot resist your solicitations; and that his benevolent heart, in order to rescue you from distress, swallows up and devours the whole of your fortune ! - What produces so many jealous quarrels in the happy state of wedlock?' The affectionate hearts of both parties, who are mutually jealous of a reciprocity of attention. What conducts young Melicourt fo rapidly to preferment? The heart of his wife, who, in return for the powerful support he experiences, thews her gratitude to his patrons, in the only way they expect or request: -Can any thing be urged in extenuation of the criminality of 'Julia, a young wife, who, though adoring and adored by her husband, yet encourages the addresses of Mercator, an old man of immense riches, and whose person she detests? Yes! the tenderness of her maternal heart, She will tell you, that the generosity of this antiquated admirer enables her to educate her children, and that the attachment which her heart nourishes for her husband compels her to neglect nothing which may tend to extricate him from his difficulties. Oh! what an inexhaustible source of riches to the husband is a wife, whó, to the attractions of youth and beauty, joins the poffeffion of a tender, susceptible, and, above all, a grateful heart!

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[From the same.] MR. EDITOR, AMONG other amiable traits of humanity for which

the people of this vast capital are celebrated, their skarity is the most prominent and remarkable. Were a demonftration of this truth required, we need only mention the numerous and capacious asylunis for the fack, the aged, the unfortunate, and the vicious who wish to be reclaimed; but the best criterion of the public fentiments may be obtained from the most universal topic; and that in London, next to money, is the miseries of the poor!

What pathetic orations are daily delivered on this subject in the coffeehouses, tap-rooms, nay, and the workshop of the artisan! The gormandizing cit, while be feasts in the tavern, and at once regales his palatę with food, and his nostrils with the rich effuvia of roast beef, venison, and turtle, at intervals lays down his knife and fork, and, with a most dejected look, expatiates on the farving condition of the poor. When he bas, vented bis spleen by this evacuation of bumanity, he again grasps his blade, like a hero who hasle paused to take breath, and with a heavy figh, interrupted by a belch, resumes his hard talk of de yaftation.

The powdered concomb, who has fubfifted for years on his credit, and wishes to appear at once charitable and a man of consequence, rails at monopolists, fatelmen, war, and other evils, 'which have been productive of misery to the poor. Yet this contemptible reptile must feel conscious that the retailer of matches or ballads is much richer than himself.'

In short, every body seems disposed to fympathize with those beings who are denominated the poor, a class of the community proverbially wretched; but

which it would puzele a philofopher to discover. Alk a vender of fruit, as a green-grocer's wife, who are the poor? and she will tell you with a mild look of felf-complacency, that she believes there are a vast number of that defcription in the parish of St. Gilęs; but, thank Heaven, though taxes are high, she believes there is nobody in her genteel neighbourhood who can be considered as poor.

Go to St. Giles's, and you will fee a number of people ragged enough: indeed; but if poverty be accompanied with misery, there are none of them poor, for, perhaps, a merrier class does not exift in this variegated community. Nay, it is very questionable whether the gaming-tables of the fashionable world, or their mafked balls, are productive of more odious depravity than the halfpenny card-parties and fixpenny hops of the lame and blind, who assemble nightly in St. Giles's, to cat, drink, and be merry.

Perhaps this exceflive charity, this feeming fympathy for the miserable, which daily affails our eyes and our ears in every public :company, is in reality a kind of intellectual medicine, or detergent of the spleen, which enables men to vent their inutual difcontents without any pernicious effect.

AffeEted charity may be called the conductor which conveys the lightning of the fulminating orator's eloquence to that grand repofitory of duluefs, the cicumambient fumes of tobacco and porter. This happy expedient to relieve the labouring breast of the patriot, and “ purge his bosóm of the perilous fuff that weighs upon the heart," is in reality a preventive of innumerable bickerings between individuals who universally fympathize with the miseries of the poor ! Thus, as the kings of Europe formerly kept a fool to be the general butt of ridicule, so the word poor is bandied about in London, disowned by every individual, and rendered the butt of public sympathy.



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[From the same.) WITH a benefice blest, 1 refolv'd to enjoy

The various pleasures of life, .
And in harmless amusements my moments employ

With my true.hearted friends and my wife.
:I don't like to chide my dear flock for their faults,

'T is so unpolite, day uncivil; My larder and cellar engage most my thoughts,

'Tis better than scolding the Devil.
At Christmas and Easter, indeed, I appear,

Exhorting my charge to repent;
Then I fealt on the farmer's nice ham and strong beer,
.« To prove my abhorrence of Lent.
Like a bird on the wing, thence to Brighton away

I haste, to be lost in the throng;
And his ears must be good that shall hear me once pray,

Must be deaf that can't hear my loud song.
To London, in winter, rejoicing I hie,

To share the delights of the town ;-)
And you'd swear, from the spirit that beams in my eye,

That I never yet wore a black gown.
With a taste fo refin'd, pray how could I endure

To live in the country secluded;
Among my parishioners, vulgar and poor,

While incessantly clod-pates intruded ?
Faith, I know life too well e'er to vegetate thus;

I'll live in the world while I may;
Let me ask some reformers who make such a fuss,
*How they'd like both to watch and to pray?



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