BENBOW

Thou art the knight of the Burning Lamp if thou wert any way given to virtue, I would swear by thy face; my oath should be by this fire. Oh! thou art a perpetual triumph,. Ithou hast saved me a thousand marks links and torches, walking with thee in the night betwixt tavern and tavern. SHAKSPEARE, Henry IV, Part I, Act iii, Sc. 3.

Ebrietas tibi fida comes, tibi Luxus, et atris Circa te semper volitans Infamia pennis. Silius Italicus.

:

Benbow, an improper Companion for the Badgemen of the Alms-house-He resembles Bardolph-Left in Trade by his Father-Contracts useless Friendships His Friends drink with him, and employ others-Called worthy and honest! WhyEffect of Wine on the Mind of Man Benbow's common Subject-the Praise of departed Friends and Patrons-'Squire Asgill, at the Grange: his Manners, Servants, Friends-True to his Church ought therefore to be spared-His Son's different Conduct-Vexation of the Father's Spirit if admitted to see the Alteration-Captain Dowling, a boon Companion, ready to drink at all Times, and with any Company: famous in his Clubroom-His easy Departure-Dolly Murray, a Maiden advanced in Years abides by Ratafia and CardsHer free Manners-Her Skill in the Game -Her Preparation and Death-Benbow, how interrupted: his Submission.

SEE! yonder badgeman, with that glowing face,
A meteor shining in this sober place;
Vast sums were paid, and many years were
past,

Ere gems so rich around their radiance cast!
Such was the fiery front that Bardolph wore,
Guiding his master to the tavern-door;
There first that meteor rose, and there alone,
In its due place, the rich effulgence shone :
But this strange fire the seat of peace invades,
And shines portentous in these solemn shades.

Benbow, a boon companion, long approved By jovial sets, and (as he thought) beloved, Was judged as one to joy and friendship prone, And deem'd injurious to himself alone;

Gen'rous and free, he paid but small regard To trade, and fail'd; and some declared ''twas hard :'

These were his friends-his foes conceived the case

of common kind; he sought and found disgrace:

The reasoning few, who neither scorn'd nor loved,

His feelings pitied and his faults reproved.
Benbow, the father, left possessions fair,
A worthy name and business to his heir;
Benbow, the son, those fair possessions sold,
And lost his credit, while he spent the gold :
He was a jovial trader: men enjoy'd
The night with him; his day was unemploy'd;
So when his credit and his cash were spent,
Here, by mistaken pity, he was sent;

Of late he came, with passions unsubdued,
And shared and cursed the hated solitude,
Where gloomy thoughts arise, where grievous
cares intrude.

Known but in drink-he found an easy

He made his friend the partner of his soul, And any man his friend :-then thus in glee, 'I speak my mind, I love the truth,' quoth he; Till 'twas his fate that useful truth to find, 'Tis sometimes prudent not to speak the mind.

With wine inflated, man is all upblown, And feels a power which he believes his own; With fancy soaring to the skies, he thinks His all the virtues all the while he drinks ; But when the gas from the balloon is gone, When sober thoughts and serious cares come

inflate,

Poor as he is,'tis pleasant to relate The joys he once possess'd-it soothes his present state.

Seated with some grey beadsman, he regrets His former feasting, though it swell'd his debts;

Topers once famed, his friends in earlier days, Well he describes, and thinks description praise:

Each hero's worth with much delight he paints :

Martyrs they were, and he would make them saints.

'Alas! alas!' Old England now may say, My glory withers; it has had its day: We're fallen on evil times; men read and think;

Our bold forefathers loved to fight and drink. Then lived the good 'Squire Asgill-what a change

Has death and fashion shown us at the
Grange!

He bravely thought it best became his rank,
That all his tenants and his tradesmen drank;
He was delighted from his favourite room
To see them 'cross the park go daily home,
Praising aloud the liquor and the host,
And striving who should venerate him most.
No pride had he, and there was difference
small

.

Between the master's and the servants' hall;
And here or there the guests were welcome all.
Of Heaven's free gifts he took no special care,
He never quarrel'd for a simple hare ;
But sought, by giving sport, a sportsman's

name,

Himself a poacher, though at other game: He never planted nor inclosed-his trees Grew like himself, untroubled and at ease: Bounds of all kinds he hated, and had felt Choked and imprison'd in a modern belt, Which some rare genius now has twined about The good old house, to keep old neighbours out:

Along his valleys, in the evening-hours,
The borough-damsels stray'd to gather
flowers,

Or by the brakes and brushwood of the park,
To take their pleasant rambles in the dark.
'Some prudes, of rigid kind, forbore to call
On the kind females-favourites at the hall;

The different orders of mankind unite; 'Twas schooling pride to see the footman wait, Smile on his sister and receive her plate.

'His worship ever was a churchman true, He held in scorn the methodistic crew; May God defend the Church, and save the King, He'd pray devoutly and divinely sing. Admit that he the holy day would spend As priests approved not, still he was a friend: Much then I blame the preacher, as too nice, To call such trifles by the name of vice; Hinting, though gently and with cautious speech,

Of good example-'tis their trade to preach: But still 'twas pity, when the worthy 'squire Stuck to the church; what more could they

require ?

'Twas almost joining that fanatic crew,
To throw such morals at his honour's pew;
A weaker man, had he been so reviled,
Had left the place-he only swore and smiled.

'But think, ye rectors and ye curates, think, Who are your friends, and at their frailties wink ;

Conceive not-mounted on your Sunday

throne,

Your fire-brands fall upon your foes alone; They strike your patrons-and, should all withdraw,

In whom your wisdoms may discern a flaw, You would the flower of all your audience lose, And spend your crackers on their empty pews.

'The father dead, the son has found a wife, And lives a formal, proud, unsocial life ;The lands are now enclosed; the tenants all, Save at a rent-day, never see the hall : No lass is suffer'd o'er the walks to come, And if there's love, they have it all at home. Oh! could the ghost of our good 'squire

There would it see a pale old hag preside,
A thing made up of stinginess and pride;
Who carves the meat, as if the flesh could
feel,

Careless whose flesh must miss the plenteous meal :

Here would the ghost a small coal-fire behold,
Not fit to keep one body from the cold;
Then would it flit to higher rooms, and stay
To view a dull, dress'd company at play;
All the old comfort, all the genial fare
For ever gone! how sternly would it stare:
And though it might not to their view appear,
'Twould cause among them lassitude and fear;
Then wait to see-where he delight has seen-
The dire effect of fretfulness and spleen.

'Such were the worthies of these better days: We had their blessings-they shall have our praise.

He had indulged in all that man can have,
He did not drop a dotard to his grave;
Still to the last, his feet upon the chair,
With rattling lungs now gone beyond repair;
When on each feature death had fix'd his
stamp,

And not a doctor could the body vamp;
Still at the last, to his beloved bowl
He clung, and cheer'd the sadness of his soul;
For though a man may not have much to
fear,

Yet death looks ugly, when the view is near : -"I go," he said, "but till my friends shall say,

'Twas as a man-I did not sneak away; An honest life with worthy souls I've spent,Come, fill my glass; "he took it and he

went.

'Poor Dolly Murray!-I might live to see

I'd sit and sing his praises for a week:

He was a man, and man-like all his joy,— I'm led to question was he ever boy?

Easy by nature, in her humour gay,
She chose her comforts, ratafia and play:
She loved the social game, the decent glass;
And was a jovial, friendly, laughing lass;

salt,

It relish'd better with his wine of malt; Then, till he dined, if walking in or out, Whether the gravel teased him or the gout, Though short in wind and flannel'd every limb,

He drank with all who had concerns with him :

Whatever trader, agent, merchant, came, They found him ready, every hour the same; Whatever liquors might between them pass, He took them all, and never balk'd his glass: Nay, with the seamen working in the ship, At their request he'd share the grog and flip:

But in the club-room was his chief delight,
And punch the favourite liquor of the night;
Man after man they from the trial shrank,
And Dowling ever was the last who drank:
Arrived at home, he, ere he sought his bed,
With pipe and brandy would compose his
head;

Then half an hour was o'er the news beguiled,
When he retired as harmless as a child.
Set but aside the gravel and the gout,
And breathing short-his sand ran fairly out.
At fifty-five we lost him-after that
Life grows insipid and its pleasures flat;

But pass'd the pleasant hours at gay Quad

rille :

Lame in her side, we placed her in her seat, Her hands were free, she cared not for her feet;

As the game ended, came the glass around,
(So was the loser cheer'd, the winner crown'd.)
Mistress of secrets, both the young and old
In her confided-not a tale she told ;
Love never made impression on her mind,
She held him weak, and all his captives blind;
She suffer'd no man her free soul to vex,
Free from the weakness of her gentle sex ;
One with whom ours unmoved conversing
sate,

In cool discussion or in free debate.

'Once in her chair we'd placed the good old

And more she did-cards answer'd to her call,
She saw the mighty to her mightier fall:
"A vole! a vole!" she cried, "'tis fairly
won,

My game is ended and my work is done;
This said, she gently, with a single sigh,
Died as one taught and practised how to die.

'Such were the dead-departed; I survive, To breathe in pain among the dead-alive.' The bell then call'd these ancient men to

pray,

'Again!' said Benbow, tolls it every day? Where is the life I led ?'-He sigh'd and walk'd his way.

AN ardent spirit dwells with christian love,
The eagle's vigour in the pitying dove;
'Tis not enough that we with sorrow sigh,
That we the wants of pleading man supply;
That we in sympathy with sufferers feel,
Nor hear a grief without a wish to heal;
Not these suffice-to sickness, pain, and wo,
The christian spirit loves with aid to go;
Will not be sought, waits not for want to
plead,

But seeks the duty-nay, prevents the need;
Her utmost aid to every ill applies,
And plans relief for coming miseries.

Hence yonder building rose: on either side Far stretch'd the wards, all airy, warm, and wide;

And every ward has beds by comfort spread, And smooth'd for him who suffers on the bed:

There have all kindness, most relief,-for some Is cure complete,-it is the sufferer's home: Fevers and chronic ills, corroding pains, Each accidental mischief man sustains; Fractures and wounds, and wither'd limbs and lame,

With all that, slow or sudden, vex our frame, Have here attendance-here the sufferers lie, (Where love and science every aid apply), And heal'd with rapture live, or soothed by comfort die.

See! one relieved from anguish, and to-day Allow'd to walk and look an hour away.; Two months confined by fever, frenzy, pain, He comes abroad and is himself again : 'Twas in the spring, when carried to the place, The snow fell down and melted in his face.

'Tis summer now; all objects gay and new, Smiling alike the viewer and the view: He stops as one unwilling to advance, Without another and another glance; With what a pure and simple joy he sees Those sheep and cattle browzing at their ease; Easy himself, there's nothing breathes or

moves

But he would cherish-all that lives he loves:
Observing every ward as round he goes,
He thinks what pain, what danger they
enclose;

Warm in his wish for all who suffer there,
At every view he meditates a prayer :
No evil counsels in his breast abide,
There joy, and love, and gratitude reside.

The wish that Roman necks in one were

found,

That he who form'd the wish might deal the wound,

This man had never heard; but of the kind,
Is that desire which rises in his mind;
He'd have all English hands (for further he
Cannot conceive extends our charity),