Of Academus-is this falfe or true?

Is Chrift the abler teacher, or the schools?

If Chrift, then why resort at ev'ry turn

To Athens or to Rome, for wisdom fhort

Of man's occafions, when in him refide

Grace, knowledge, comfort-an unfathom'd ftore?
How oft, when Paul has ferv'd us with a text,
Has Epictetus, Plato, Tully, preach'd!

Men that, if now alive, would fit content

And humble learners of a Saviour's worth,

Preach it who might. Such was their love of truth, Their thirst of knowledge, and their candour too!

And thus it is.-The paftor, either vain
By nature, or by flatt'ry made fo, taught
To gaze at his own fplendour, and t'exalt
Abfurdly, not his office, but himself;

Or unenlighten'd, and too proud to learn;
Or vicious, and not therefore apt to teach;
Perverting often, by the stress of lewd

And loose example, whom he should instruct;
Exposes, and holds up to broad disgrace,

The nobleft function, and difcredits much
The brightest truths that man has ever seen.
For ghoftly counfel; if it either fall

Below the exigence, or be not back'd

With show of love, at leaft with hopeful proof
Of fome fincerity on th' giver's part;

Or be dishonour'd, in th' exterior form
And mode of its conveyance, by fuch tricks
As move derifion, or by foppish airs
And hiftrionic mumm'ry, that let down
The pulpit to the level of the stage;

Drops from the lips a difregarded thing.

The weak perhaps are mov'd, but are not taught, While prejudice in men of stronger minds

Takes deeper root, confirm'd by what they fee. A relaxation of religion's hold

Upon the roving and untutor'd heart

Soon follows, and, the curb of conscience snapt,

The laity run wild.-But do they now?

Note their extravagance, and be convinc'd.

As nations, ignorant of God, contrive
A wooden one, fo we, no longer taught
By monitors that mother church fupplies,
Now make our own. Pofterity will ask
(If e'er posterity fee verfe of mine)

Some fifty or an hundred luftrums hence,
What was a monitor in George's days?
My very gentle reader, yet unborn,

Of whom I needs must augur

better things,

Since heav'n would fure grow weary of a world

Productive only of a race like our's,

A monitor is wood-plank shaven thin.

We wear it at our backs. There, closely brac'd

And neatly fitted, it compresses hard

The prominent and moft unfightly bones,

And binds the shoulders flat. We

We prove its use

Sov'reign and moft effectual to fecure

A form, not now gymnaftic as of yore,

From rickets and distortion, else our lot.
But, thus admonish'd, we can walk erect-
One proof at leaft of manhood! while the friend
Sticks clofe, a Mentor worthy of his charge.
Our habits, coftlier than Lucullus wore,

And by caprice as multiplied as his,

Juft please us while the fashion is at full,

But change with ev'ry moon. The fycophant,

Who waits to dress us, arbitrates their date;
Surveys his fair reversion with keen eye;

Finds one ill made, another obfolete,

This fits not nicely, that is ill conceiv'd;
And, making prize of all that he condemns,
With our expenditure defrays his own,

Variety's the very fpice of life,

That gives it all its flavour. We have run Through ev'ry change that fancy at the loom, Exhaufted, has had genius to fupply;

And, studious of mutation still, difcard

A real elegance, a little us'd,

For monftrous novelty and strange disguise.

We facrifice to drefs, till household joys

And comforts ceafe. Drefs drains our cellar dry, And keeps our larder lean; puts out our fires;

And introduces hunger, froft, and wo,

Where peace and hofpitality might reign.

What man that lives, and that knows how to live,
Would fail t' exhibit at the public fhows

A form as fplendid as the proudeft there,
Though appetite raife outcries at the coft?

A man o' th' town dines late, but foon enough,
With reasonable forecaft and dispatch,

T' insure a fide-box station at half price.

You think, perhaps, fo delicate his dress,

He picks clean teeth, and, bufy as he feems
With an old tavern quill, is hungry yet!
The rout is felly's circle, which fhe draws
With magic wand. So potent is the spell,