It is a&longs;toni&longs;hing to me how people can complain
for want of amu&longs;ement. I am never a moment
without &longs;omething to amu&longs;e, in&longs;truct, or interest
me—I never walk abroad but I am attentive
to every little incident that happens: a &longs;olitary, &longs;low
place, the folded arms, or down-ca&longs;t eye, will excite
my compa&longs;&longs;ion, and a joyous &longs;erene a&longs;pect will exhilirate
my &longs;pirits—even in a wilderne&longs;s where never
human &longs;tep marked the green turf, or &longs;wept the

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dew drops from the waving gra&longs;s, even there I would
find company, conver&longs;ation, and amu&longs;ement.

To a thinking mind, the book of nature is ever
open for our peru&longs;al; and a &longs;oul warmed by sensibility
and gratitude, reads the divine pages with pleasure,
and contemplates the great &longs;ource of all with
wonder, reverence, and love.

As I wandered along, encouraging the&longs;e plea&longs;ing
reflections, I &longs;aw an old man buying &longs;ome &longs;tale bread
and meat at the window of a mean eating-hou&longs;e; he
&longs;tood with his back towards me; his coat was dirty
and torn; his whole appearance was expre&longs;&longs;ive of
the mo&longs;t abject poverty.—Friend, &longs;aid I, going up
to him; perhaps this trifle may procure you a better
meal, putting half a guinea into his hand.

It always gives my heart a pang when I &longs;ee age
and di&longs;tre&longs;s combined—age of it&longs;elf always brings
angui&longs;h enough.—How very in&longs;upportable, then,
mu&longs;t it be, when there are no comforts, no little indulgencies,
to compen&longs;ate for tho&longs;e days of unavoidable
pain.

As I pre&longs;ented my little donation, I looked in the
old man's face—I thought I had &longs;een the features,
but could not recollect where.

Humanity is not entirely bani&longs;hed from the world,
&longs;aid he, turning part from me to conceal his emotion.

I immediately knew his voice—it was the old
lieutenant.—Good God! &longs;aid I, &longs;topping him as he
was going from me, what has reduced you to this
di&longs;tre&longs;&longs;ed &longs;ituation?

Misfortune, &longs;aid he.

And did not you know where I lived?

I was a&longs;hamed to beg, &longs;aid he—a &longs;udden glow
pa&longs;&longs;ing over his languid features—and I thought, Sir,
you would be a&longs;hamed to own an acquaintance with
poverty.

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You &longs;hall go home with me, &longs;aid I, calling an
hackney coach—let tho&longs;e take &longs;hame to them&longs;elves
who deny a part of their wealth to merit in di&longs;tre&longs;s.
I am proud to acknowledge my&longs;elf the friend of a
man of worth, though he &longs;hould be in the lowe&longs;t situation.
And why, &longs;aid I, as we drove towards
home, why &longs;hould a man be a&longs;hamed of his misfortunes?
why &longs;hould poverty call a blu&longs;h upon the cheek
of merit? we did not mark out our own fortunes.

But then the world, the world, Sir, will always
&longs;coff and &longs;purn the man humbled by the griping hand
of penury: nor is there an object than in general
meets with more contempt from the rich and powerful,
than tho&longs;e who have &longs;een better days, but are
reduced by unavoidable misfortunes to a dependence
on their &longs;miles.

Strange in&longs;atuation! to &longs;et them&longs;elves in the pride
of their hearts, above their fellow creatures; and for
what, truly? becau&longs;e a little more yellow dirt has
fallen to their &longs;hare. I believe there are but few
who know the true value of riches, and fewer &longs;till
reflect that they are only &longs;tewards of the wealth
which the bounty of their Creator has committed to
their care; and at la&longs;t, when we all come to give an
account of our &longs;teward&longs;hip, the man who from a
truly compa&longs;&longs;ionate nature has wiped the tear from
he eyes of orphans, &longs;oftened the &longs;etters of the
captive, or cheared the widow, will receive a greater
reward than the o&longs;tentatious wretch, who, having
&longs;pent his whole life in ama&longs;&longs;ing trea&longs;ure, on his
death bed, when he can no longer enjoy it, leaves it
for the endowment of an ho&longs;pital. Such a man is
not charitable from his feelings for others, but an
inordinate de&longs;ire he has to have his own memory
held in veneration.

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