habitation, and to inspire the sublime sentiment of the poet: "Give what thou wilt, _without_ thee I am poor, And _with_ thee rich, take what thou wilt away." COWPER. Poverty has been the lot of the most distinguished of the human species; and if ever the vanity of riches, and the incurable emptiness of temporal splendour are felt, surely it must be when visiting the dwellings of the _pious_ poor. No riches can inspire their songs of praise, or purchase a title to their immortal inheritance. No rank or dignity can attract the eyes of those holy spirits that hover round the spot to which affliction has confined an outcast Lazarus, or kindle such rapturous sensations and holy congratulations, as they manifest at the repentance of a sinner. Piety hallows the dwelling which it inhabits, and felicitates as well as sanctifies the heart, the family, and the city which it pervades. In the primitive ages of Christianity, the disciples of our Lord could see the rapacious oppressor seize the last portion of their worldly goods, and "take it joyfully;" they could "most gladly glory in their infirmities, that the power of Christ might rest upon them;" they could hail the martyr's stake, while they anticipated the martyr's crown; and, in the days of Paul and Silas, if there were a spot on earth where celestial joy took up her residence, it was, at least for one happy night, in the very dungeon of persecution. To return to Dorcas. Her character is so described, as to imply that hers were _free_, and often _unsolicited charities_. She did not indolently wait for applications, or contrive a thousand delays, while misery was pining into the grave; but, like her Divine Master, "_went about_ doing good." She penetrated the obscurest retreats, not waiting to be pressed and urged to afford a trifling relief; but her benevolence resembled the course of the sun, which pours its beneficent radiance upon the earth with undistinguishing liberality. It ought not to be forgotten, that sometimes minds of the most delicate constitution are involved in all the miseries of poverty, and placed in a situation of all others the most painful, that of persons reduced from former competency and comfort. The privations of life are far more sensibly felt by those who have once known plenteousness. To them the wind of adversity blows with tenfold keenness, and the crust of want seems peculiarly unpalatable. They are reluctant, not to say "ashamed, to beg." The blushes of an instinctive sensibility suffuse their countenances, and petitions for assistance falter on their tongues. They have to contend not only with the afflictions of poverty, but with all the timidity which a consciousness of degradation superinduces. In many cases of this description, persons of eminent worth have been found, who could not overcome their scruples, till absolute want forced them abroad to suffer the rebuffs of an unfeeling world, or to gain