Attempt > Volume 3

THE ATTEMPT. 39
The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay,
Sat by the fire, and talked the night away ;
Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done,
Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields were won.
Pleased with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow,
And quite forgot their vices in their woe ;
Careless their merits or their faults to scan.
His pity gave ere charity began."
Coming out of church, we see him surrounded by the little ones of his flock,
all eager " to share the good man's smile,"
" To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given,
But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven."
From the same pen we have that most sweet, interesting, and amusing work,
" The Vicar of Wakefield," in which the good simple vicar describes his life as a
country clergyman. " As we lived," says he, " near the road, we often had the
traveller or stranger visit us, to taste our gooseberry wine, for which we had great
reputation; and I profess, with the veracity of an historian, that I never knew one
of them find fault with it. Our cousins too, even to the fortieth remove, all re¬
membered their affinity, without any help from the herald's office, and came very
frequently to see us." And mark the innocent little ruse by which he managed
that his house should not be overrun by disreputable claimants. " When any one
of our relations was found to be a person of very bad character, a troublesome guest,
or one we desired to get rid of, upon his leaving my house, I ever took care to lend
him a riding-coat, or a pair of boots, or sometimes a horse of small value, and I
always had the satisfaction of finding he never came back to return them."
Thus much for the characters we can draw from Goldsmith with which to
people our rectories, vicarages, and manses.
Let us now see what Cowper says of the sacred order. All the satii-e wliich
lay hid in his usually soft and charitable nature seems to have been aroused by
the empty-headed vanity displayed by some of the preachers of his, as of every day.
He speaks of them as,
" The things that mount the rostrum with a skip,
And then skip down again—pronounce a text;
Cry—hem ! and reading what they never wrote.
Just fifteen minutes, huddle up their work
And with a well-bred whisper close the scene !"
Surely that sweet tidy-looking village, which we have rushed past on our journey.