POVERTY.
Owen Feltham says—"The poverty of a poor man is the least part of his misery. In all the storms of fortune, he is the first that must stand the shock of extremity. Poor men are perpetual sentinels, watching in the depth of night against the incessant assaults of want; while the rich lie strowd in secure reposes, and compassed with a large abundance. If the land be ruffetted with a bloodless famine, are not the poor the first that sacrifice their lives to hunger? If war thunders in the trembling country's lap, are not the poor those that are exposed to the enemy's sword and outrage? If the plague, like a loaded sponge, flies, sprinkling poison through a populous kingdom, the poor are the fruit that are shaken from the burdened tree; while the rich, furnished with the helps of fortune, have means to wind out themselves, and turn these sad indurances on the poor, that cannot avoid them. Like salt-marshes, that lie low, they are sure, whenever the sea of this world rages, to be first under, and embarrened with a fretting care. Who like the poor are harrowed with oppression, ever subject to the imperious taxes, and the gripes of mightiness? Continual care checks the spirit; continual labour checks the body; and continual insultation both. He is like one rolled in a vessel full of pikes—which way soever he turns, he something finds that pricks him. Yet, besides all these, there is another transcendent misery—and this is, that maketh men contemptible. As if the poor man were but fortune's dwarf, made lower than the rest of men, to be laughed at. The philosopher (though he were the same mind and the same man), in his squalid rags, could not find admission, when better robes procured both an open door and reverence. Though outward things can add nothing to our essential worth, yet, when we are judged on, by the help of others' outward senses, they much conduce to our value or disesteem. A diamond set in brass would be taken for a crystal, though it be not so; whereas a crystal set in gold will by many be thought a diamond. A poor man wise shall be thought a fool, though he have nothing to condemn him but his being poor. Poverty is a gulf, wherein all good parts are swallowed;—it is a reproach, which clouds the lustre of the purest virtue. Certainly, extreme poverty is worse than abundance. We may be good in plenty, if we will; in biting penury we cannot, though we would. In one, the danger is casual; in the other, it is necessitating. The best is that which partakes of both, and consists of neither. He that hath too little wants feathers to fly withal; he that hath too much, is but cumbered with too large a tail. If a flood of wealth could profit us, it would be good to swim in such a sea; but it can neither lengthen our lives, nor inrich us after the end. There is not in the world such another object of pity as the pinched state; which no man being secured from, I wonder at the tyrant's braves and contempt. Questionless, I will rather with charity help him that is miserable, as I may be, than despise him that is poor, as I would not be. They have flinty and steeled hearts that can add calamities to him that is already but one entire mass."
W.G.C.
ACCOUNT OF THE IRISH MANTLE.
Edmund Spencer (the English poet) in his View of the State of Ireland, says—"First the outlaw, being for his many crimes and villanies banished from the towns and houses of honest men, and wandering in waste places, far from danger of law, maketh his mantle his house, and under it covereth himself from the wrath of heaven, from the offence of the earth, and from the sight of men. When it raineth, it is his pent-house; when it bloweth, it is his tent; when it freezeth, it is his tabernacle. In summer he can wear it loose; in winter he can wrap it close; at all times he can use it—never heavy, never cumbersome. Likewise for a rebel it is as serviceable; for in his warre that he maketh, (if at least it deserve the name of warre), when he still flyeth from his foe, and lurketh in the thick woods and strait passages, waiting for advantages, it is his bed, yea, and almost his household stuff; for the wood is his house against all weathers, and his mantle is his couch to sleep in. Therein he wrappeth himselfe round, and coucheth himself strongly against the gnats, which in that country doe more annoye the naked rebells, whilst they keepe the woods, and doe more sharply wound them than all their enemies' swords, or spears, which can seldome come nigh them; yea, and oftentimes their mantle serveth them, when they are neare driven, being wrapped about their left arme, instead of a target, for it is hard to cut through with a sword; besides, it is light to bear, light to throw away, and being (as they commonly are) naked, it is to them all in all. Lastly, for a thiefe it is so handsome, as it may seem it was first invented for him; for under it he may cleanly convey any fit pillage that cometh handsomely in his way, and when he goeth abroad in the night free-booting, it is his best and surest friend; for lying, as they often doe, two or three nights together abroad, to watch for their booty, with that they can prettily shroud themselves under a bush, or bankside, till they may conveniently do their errand; and when all is over, he can, in his mantle, passe through any town or company, being close hooded over his head, as he useth, from knowledge of any to whom he is endangered. Besides this, he, or any man els that is disposed to mischiefe or villany, may under his mantle goe privily armed, without suspicion of any, carry his head-piece, his skean, or pistol, if he please, to be always in readinesse."
Spencer traces these mantles from the Scythians. He says—"The Irish have from the Scythians mantles and long glibs, which is a thick curled bush of hair, hanging down over their eyes, and monstrously disguising theme."
This curious View of the State of Ireland remained in manuscript till it was printed, in 1633, by Sir James Ware, denominated "the Camden of Ireland."