«¢ —————. Was every fauitering fongue of man, 
Atmicaty FaTner, silent in thy praise, 
Thy works themselves would raise a general voice, 
Ey’n in the depths of solitary woods, 
By human feot untrod; proclaim thy power, 
And to the choir celestial Ture resound, 
Th’ eternal Cause, Support, and End of all.” 
THomson.—Summer. 
C, Baldwin, Printer, 
Wew Brilge-street. London. 
