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• Thanks to the use of keys and locks,
• Well, Tom,' the anxious Parent cries,
Twelve school-days still my notches counted, "To twelve my Father's cakes amounted; som • So ev'ry day I took but one, • But never ate my Cake alone; • With ev'ry needy boy I shar'd, • And more than half. I always spar'd. * One ev'ry day, 'twixt self and friend, • Has brought my dozen to an end : • My last-remaining Cake, to-day; 'I would not touch, but gave away; . . "A boy was sick, and scarce could eat, • To him it prov'd a welcome treat:: • Jack call’d me spendthrift not to save; ? Will dubb’d me fool because I gave; • But, when our last day came, I smild ; • For Will's were gone, and Jack's were spoil'd : • Not hoarding much, nor eating fast,
I serv'd a needy friend at last.'
- These tales the Father's thoughts employ, . By these,' said he, ' I know each boy; • Yet Jack, who hoarded what he had, • The world will call a frugal lad ; * And selfish, gormandising Will • Will meet with friends and fav’rers still: . • While moderate Tom, so wise and cool, • The mad and vain will deem a fool : * But I, his sober plan approve, • And Tom has gain'd his Father's love.'
So, when our day of life is past, And all are fairly judg'd at last, . The miser and the sensual find How each misus'd the gifts assign'd:. While he, who wisely spends and gives, '. To the true ends of living lives; 'Tis self-denying moderation Gains the GREAT FATHER's approbation.
THE TWO WEAVERS ;
OR, TURN THE CARPET.,
By Mrs. Hannah More.
As at their work two Weavers sat,
What with my brats and sickly wife,'
How glorious is the rich man's state! • His house so fine! his wealth so great! • Heav'n is unjust you must agree, • Why all to him? why none to me? • In spite of all the Scripture teaches, • In spite of all the Parson preaches, * This world (indeed I've thought so long) • Is rul'd, methinks, extremely wrong. • Where'er I look, howe'er I range, • 'Tis all confus'd, and hard, and strange; • The good are troubled and oppress’d, And all the wicked are the blessd.'
Quoth John: 'Our ignorance is the cause «Why thus we blame our Maker's laws;
* Parts of his ways alone we know,
Seest thou that Carpet, not half done,
A stranger, ign'rant of the trade,
Quoth Dick, · My work is yet in bits,
Says John, Thou say'st the thing I mean,
But, when we reach that world of light,
• What now seem random 'strokes, will there
All order and design appear; . . in • Then shall we praise what here we spurnd, • For then the Carpet shall be turn'd. : . " 'Thou’rt right,' quoth Dick, ( no more PlI
grumble, .' That this sad world's so strange a jumble ; • My impious doubts are put to flight, * For my own Carpet sets me right.'
• THE PLAGUE AMONG THE BEASTS ;
OR, THE FOX MADE JUDGE.
· By Charles Dibdin, the Younger*..
• Prom his Beautiful Metrical Romance of Young Arthur.