THE FARMER, THE CRANES, AND THE STORK, 161 Uplifted on the surge to heaven she flies,

Her shatter'd top half-buried in the skies;
Then headlong plunging, thunders on the ground;
Earth groans air trembles and the deeps resound.
Her giant bulk the dread concussion feels,
And, quivering with the wound, in torment reels.
Again she plunges; hark! a second shock
Tears her strong bottom on the marble rock.
Down on the vale of death, with dismal cries,
The fated victims shudd'ring roll their eyes
In wild despair; while yet another stroke,
With deep convulsion rends the solid oak;
Till, like the mine, in whose infernal cell
The lurking demons of destruction dwell,
At length asunder torn, her frame divides,
And, crashing, spreads in ruin o'er the tides.
As o'er the surge the stooping main-mast hung,
Still on the rigging thirty seamen clung.
Some, struggling, on a broken crag were cast,
And there by oozy tangles grappled fast.
Awhile they bore th' o'erwhelming billows' rage,
Unequal combat with their fate to wage;
Till all benumb'd and feeble, they forego
Their slipp'ry hold, and sink to shades below.
Some from the main yard-arm impetuous thrown
On marble ridges, die without a groan.
Three with Palemon on their skill depend,
And from the wreck on oars and shafts descend
Now on the mountain wave on high they ride,
Then downward plunge beneath th' involving tide :
Till one, who seems in agony to strive,
The whirling breakers heave on shore alive.
The rest a speedier end of anguish knew,
And press'd the stony beach a lifeless crew.

THE FARMER, THE CRANES, AND the stork.

A STORK was unfortunately drawn into company with some cranes, who were just setting out on a party of pleasure, as they called it; which in truth was to rob the fish-ponds of a neighbouring farmer.

162 GREAT VIRTUES. POOR BUT INDEPENDENT.

simple stork agreed to make one; and it so happened' that they were all taken in the fact. The cranes having been old offenders, had very little to say for themselves, and were presently dispatched. But the stork pleaded hard for his life. He urged that it was his first fault, that he was not naturally addicted to stealing fish, that he was distinguished for piety to his parents, and, in short, for many other virtues. Your piety and virtue, said the farmer, may, for any thing I know, be very exemplary, but your being in company with thieves is a circumstance of itself sufficiently suspicious; and, like all who unhappily connect themselves with bad company, you must be content to abide the consequences.

ADVANTAGE OF GREAT VIRTUES.

THOUGH it is confessed great and splendid actions. are not the ordinary employment of life, but must, from their nature, be reserved for high and eminent occasions, yet that system is essentially defective which leaves no room for their cultivation. They are important, both from their immediate advantage and their remoter influence. They often save, and always illustrate, the age and nation in which they appear. They raise the standard of morals; they arrest the progress of degeneracy; they diffuse a lustre over the path of life; monuments of the greatness of the human soul, they present to the world the august image of virtue in her sublimest form, from which streams of light and glory issue to remote times and ages; while their com memoration, by the pen of historians and poets, awakens in distant bosoms the sparks of kindred excellence.

POOR BUT INDEPENDENT.

POOR, yet industrious, modest, quiet, neat-
Such claim compassion in a night like this,
And have a friend in every feeling heart.
Warm'd, while it lasts, by labour, all day long

THE PLAGUE IN LONDON IN 1664.

They brave the season, and yet find at eve,
Ill clad, and fed but sparely, time to cool.
The frugal housewife trembles when she lights
Her scanty stock of brush-wood, blazing clear,
But dying soon, like all terrestrial joys.
The few small embers left she nurses well;
And, while her infant race, with outspread hands,
And crowded knees, sit cowering o'er the sparks,
Retires, content to quake, so they be warm'd.
The man feels least as more inur'd than she
To winter, and the current in his veins
More briskly moved by his severer toil;
Yet he too finds his own distress in theirs.
The taper soon extinguish'd, which I saw
Dangled along at the cold fingers' end
Just when the day declined, and the brown loaf
Lodged on the shelf, half eaten, without sauce
Of savoury cheese, or butter costlier still;
Sleep seems their only refuge, for, alas!
Where penury is felt, the thought is chain'd,
And sweet colloquial pleasures are but few.
With all this thrift they thrive not. All the care
Ingenious parsimony takes, but just

Saves the small inventory, bed and stool,
Skillet, and old carved chest, from public sale.
They live, and live without extorted alms

From grudging hands; but other boast have none
To soothe their honest pride, that scorns to beg,
Nor comfort else but in their mutual love.

I praise you much, ye meek, and patient pair,
For ye are worthy; choosing rather far
A dry but independent crust, hard earn'd
And eaten with a sigh, than to endure
To brook dependence upon parish aid.

163

THE PLAGUE IN LONDON IN THE YEAR 1664.

THE plague made its first appearance in London in November or December, 1664. The infection was sup

164

THE PLAGUE IN LONDON IN 1664.

t

posed to have come from Holland in some packages of silk. It abated somewhat during the winter after its first appearance, but it broke out again in the spring, and continued raging with great violence in the summer and autumn. It seems to have been at its height in the month of September, 1665. Soon after that the malignity of the distemper abated, multitudes who had been seized with it recovered, and the symptoms gradually disappeared in the course of the succeeding winter. It is remarkable, that one of those who were employed during the whole time in the dangerous office of burying the dead, never once caught the infection. His wife, who was employed as a sick-nurse, also escaped. When the plague began to spread, a very great multitude of people left the city; so that, for some time, the roads round London were crowded with families flying into the country. Almost all business was at a stand. Houses where persons were infected were shut up, and a red cross marked upon the door, with these words written over it, "The Lord have mercy upon us!" The streets were deserted, and grass was seen growing in many of those that were formerly the most frequented. London might well be said to be all in tears; the mourners did not go about the streets, indeed, for nobody put on black, or made a formal dress of mourning for their nearest friends, but the voice of mourning was heard in all the streets. Tears and lamentations were seen in every house, especially during the first part of the visitation; for afterwards death was so constantly before men's eyes, that they did not concern themselves so much for the loss of their friends, expecting that they themselves would be summoned the next hour. At first, the dead were buried with the usual forms; but at length the number became so great, that neither coffins nor graves could be provided for them; and they were carried during the night in dead-carts, and thrown into pits dug for the occasion. Many consciences were awakened; many hard hearts melted into tears; many a penitent confession of crimes long concealed. The people showed an extraordinary zeal in their religious exercises. Many of the clergy were dead, and others had

ACTING IN CHARACTER.

165

left the city; but such of the churches and meetinghouses as were still open, were crowded with people. Indeed, the zeal they showed in coming, and the earnestness and affection they showed in their attention to what they heard, made it manifest what a value we would put on the worship of God, if we thought every day we attended church would be the last. And it is worthy of notice, that differences in religion were now little regarded. A near view of death reconciled men to each other, and made them forget tnose sma.l matters about which they contend so eagerly, when their situation in life is easy. It is impossible to express the changes which appeared in every countenance when it was known that the plague had abated. Mutual congratulations and expressions of thankfulness to God were heard in the streets; and such was the joy of the people, that it was as it were life from the grave; though too many, it must be acknowledged, seemed to be but little sensible of their deliverance, or soon forgot it,

ACTING IN CHARACTER.

AFFECTATION is the spring of all ridicule, and selfignorance the true spring of affectation. A man that does not know his proper character, nor what becomes it, cannot act suitably to it. He will often affect a character that does not belong to him, and will either act above or beneath himself; which will make him equally contemptible in the eyes of them that know him. A man of superior rank and character, that knows himself, knows that he is but a man, subject to the same sicknesses, frailties, disappointments, pains, passions, and sorrows, as other men; that true honour lies in those things in which it is possible for the meanest peasant to excel him; and therefore he will not be vainly arrogant. He knows that they are only transitory and accidental things that set him above the rest of mankind, and that he will soon be upon a level with them; he therefore learns to condescend. And there is a dig