‘I’ve now to tell you, that in all Directions ‘Dry Forage[98] is amassed in vast Collections, ‘That when by heat, or cold the Grass is dead, ‘’Tis from these Stores the Flocks & Droves are fed. ‘Warerooms of Medicine, kept with the intent ‘To cure those Sick, or hurt by accident. ‘In short, my Friend, without exaggeration, ‘The whole reflects much credit on the Nation. ‘A nobler Stock, more healthy and complete, ‘Travel where’er you will, you’ll scarcely meet. ‘No doubt Material has been well supplied; ‘But in your judgment you will soon decide, ‘That raw Materials, spoil without the aid ‘Of Workmen highly eminent in Trade,-- ‘So, the perfection of this Stock alone ‘Springs from the genius of our great Patron.’ N. B. ‘One word, or two I merely wish to say, ‘A trifling circumstance, about the Pay:[99] ‘If an Artificer a Work engages, ‘He contracts to receive a certain Wages; ‘If that’s withheld, he strikes--but here ’tis clear, ‘Our’s daily strike, tho’ paid but once a Year. ‘They only Strike, ’tis true; but when we need ’em, ‘Then not for Lucre, but their Country’s freedom. ‘Grumble they don’t, but yet it would be best, ‘To have, no doubt, some little in the Chest.’ John having thus transcrib’d all he’d Collected, The Letter sent, as honest Dad directed. The Summer Solstice did with strides advance-- The Chief jocosely said, ‘Prepare for France,’ The joke passed on, but yet it will appear, There was more meaning lurk’d than met the Ear. His wond’rous projects now might be effected, Success must crown where’er his power directed. Tho’ in Field-sports he join’d for recreation His Nobler pursuits kept in reservation. A Gallant Army, in the finest state, Panting for glory, did his nod await. The toils, and labours of the late Campaigns, His great exertions, all his cares, and Pains, Were well repaid--for now he could fulfil The boldest object of his Mighty Will. Now busy rumour of anticipation Whispers the general movement from each Station. And now the Staff, with air of consequence, A question cannot solve on no pretence-- ‘When do we move? you know; come, tell us, pray.’ You move him not--he gravely moves away; His chill reserve, his cold repulsive mien, But hides the mighty nothings of his brain. ‘Here, _Newcome_’s in the secret; he will tell us.’ ‘No, D--n me if I can, my honest Fellows. ‘I’ll tell you what, my Boys, ’tis my belief, ‘There’s no one in the secret but our Chief, ‘The advantages of secresy he knows, ‘No one can tell, what no one can disclose.’ As for John’s part, whether ’twere False, or True, He freely told the trifle that he knew; It was a littleness he did despise, The poor conceit of being suspected Wise; But with the World he saw, that was the rule, The resource, and refuge, of each Fool.