A TRAGICAL STORY.
On the unhappy Conſequences of an immoderate
Attachment to Riches.
The northern blaſt that chilling blows
Adown the mountain's ſnowy ſide,
The tendril bites, and blights the roſe,
And withers all the valties pride.
More fatal bites not through the grove,
The winter's ſharp and canker'd tooth,
Than doth the blight of hopeleſs love,
The tender bud of hopleſs youth.
RICHES, when poſſeſſed by the benevolent man, are, perhaps, one of the greateſt of human bleſſings. To ſupply the wants of the forlorn widow and fatherleſs, and thoſe, who from affluence, by ſome unforeſeen misfortune, are reduced to miſery and want, are actions that even angels would delight to perform; and of ſuch infinite importance are they to the perſons who practiſe them, that we are aſſured, from the very beſt authority, they will, in a particular manner, be taken notice of in that tremenduous day of accounts, by Him "who is then to wind up the grand œconomy of nature, and open the ſolemn ſcene."
That money, however, is the efficient cauſe of an innumerable train of human miſeries,
