To-day as every former day he fares,
And for the morrow has nor doubts nor cares;
Pious and cheerful, proud when he can please—
Judge if Joe Tompkin wants such things as these.
“Come, let us forward!” and she walk’d in haste
To a large room, itself a work of taste,
But chiefly valued for the works that drew 550
The eyes of Peter—this indeed was new,
Was most imposing—Books of every kind
Were there disposed, the food for every mind.