The destitute to clothe and feed,
Free bounty to bestow;

Supply the helpless orphan's need,
And soothe the widow's woe.

17. I want the seals of power and place,
The ensigns of command,

Charged by the people's unbought grace,
To rule my native land.
Nor crown, nor sceptre would I ask
But from my country's will,
By day, by night, to ply the task
Her cup of bliss to fill.

18. I want the voice of honest praise
To follow me behind,

And to be thought in future days
The friend of human kind;
That after ages, as they rise,
Exulting may proclaim,
In choral union to the skies,

Their blessings on my name.

19. These are the wants of mortal man;
I cannot want them long,

For life itself is but a span,
And earthly bliss a song.
My last great want, absorbing all,

Is, when beneath the sod,
And summoned to my final call,
The mercy of my God.

My soul, in humble hope unscar'd,

Forget not thou to pray,

That this thy WANT may be prepared
To meet the Judgment Day.

IS NOT A PALACE, BUT A CARAVANSARY-SPECTATOR. A DERVISE travelling through Tartary, being arrived at the town of Balk, went into the king's palace by mistake, as thinking it to be a public inn or caravansary. Having looked about him for some time, he entered into a long gallery, where he laid down his wallet, and spread his carpet, in order to repose himself upon it after the manner of eastern nations. He had not been long in this posture, before he was discovered by some of the guards, who asked him what was his business in that place? The Dervise told them that he intended to take up his night's lodging in that caravansary. The guards let him know, in a very angry manner, that the house he was in, was not a caravansary, but the king's palace. It happened that the king himself passed through the gallery during this debate, and, smiling at the mistake of the Dervise, asked him how he could possibly be so dull as not to distinguish a palace from a caravansary? "Sir," says the Dervise, "give me leave to ask your majesty a question or two. Who were the persons who lodged in this house when it was first built?" The King replied, "His ancestors.' "And who," says the Dervise," was the last person that lodged here?" The King replied, "His father." "And who is it," says the Dervise, "that lodges here at present?" The King told him "that it was he himself." "And who," says the Dervise," will be here after you?" The King answered, "The young prince, his son." Ah, sir," said the Dervise," a house that changes its inhabitants so often, and receives such a perpetual succession of guests, is not a palace, but a caravansary."

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THE THREE WARNINGS.-MRS. THRALE.

1. WHEN sports went round, and all were gay,
On neighbor Dobson's wedding-day,
Death called aside the jocund groom
With him into another room,

And, looking grave "You must," says he,
"Quit your sweet bride, and come with me."

2. "With you! and quit my Susan's side!
With you!" the hapless husband cried;
"Young as I am? 'tis monstrous hard!
Besides, in truth, I'm not prepared;
My thoughts on other matters go;
This is my wedding-night, you know."
What more he urged I have not heard;
His reasons could not well be stronger:
So Death the poor delinquent spared,
And left to live a little longer.

3. Yet calling up a serious look,

His hour-glass trembled while he spoke,-
"Neighbor," he said, "farewell! no more
Shall Death disturb your mirthful hour ;
And further, to avoid all blame
Of cruelty upon thy name,
To give you time for preparation,
And fit you for your future station,
Three several warnings you shall have
Before you're summoned to the grave.
Willing, for once, I'll quit my prey,
And grant a kind reprieve,

In hopes you'll have no more to say,
But, when I call again this way,

Well pleased, the world will leave."

To these conditions both consented,
And parted, perfectly contented.

4. What next the hero of our tale befell,

How long he lived, how wisely, and how well,-
How roundly he pursued his course,

And smoked his pipe and stroked his horse,—

The willing muse shall tell.

He chaffered then, he bought, he sold,
Nor once perceived his growing old,
Nor thought of Death as near;
His friends not false, his wife no shrew,
Many his gains, his children few,

He passed his hours in peace.

But, while he viewed his wealth increase.-
While thus along life's dusty road

The beaten track content he trode,—
Old Time, whose haste no mortal spares,
Uncalled, unheeded, unawares,

Brought on his eightieth year.

5. And now, one night, in musing mood,
When all alone he sate,

Th' unwelcome messenger of fate
Once more before him stood.
Half killed with anger and surprise—
"So soon returned!" old Dobson cries.
"So soon, d'ye call it ?" Death replies .
"Surely, my friend, you're but in jest!
Since I was here before

"Tis six-and-thirty years, at least,
And you are now fourscore."

6. "So much the worse!" the clown rejoined: "To spare the aged would be kind :

Besides, you promised me three warnings,
Which I have looked for nights and mornings."
"I know," cries Death, "that at the best,

I seldom am a welcome guest;
But don't be captious, friend, at least.
I little thought you'd still be able

Το

stump about your farm and stable.
Your years have run to a great length;
I wish you joy, though, of your strength."

7. "Hold!" says the farmer, "not so fast:
I have been lame these four years past."
"And no great wonder," death replies :
"However, you still keep your eyes;
And sure, to see one's loves and friends,
For legs and arms would make amends."
"Perhaps," says Dobson, "so it might;
But latterly I've lost my sight."

"This is a shocking story, faith!

Yet there's some comfort, still," says Death: "Each strives your sadness to amuse:

I warrant you hear all the news."

8. "There's none," cries he;

"and if there were,

I'm grown so deaf I could not hear.”

66

Nay, then," the spectre stern rejoined, "These are unwarrantable yearnings. If you are lame, and deaf, and blind,

You've had your three sufficient warnings.

So come along; no more we'll part!"
He said, and touched him with his dart;
And now old Dobson, turning pale,
Yields to his fate-so ends my tale.