1. I AM very much concerned when I see young gentlemen of fortune and quality so wholly set upon pleasure and diversions, that they neglect all those improvements in wisdom and knowledge which may make them easy to themselves and useful to the world. The greatest part of our British youth lose their figure, and grow out of fashion, by that time they are five and twenty.

2. As soon as the natural gaiety and amiableness of the young man wears off, they have nothing left to recommend them, but lie by the rest of their lives, among the lumber and refuse of the species.

It sometimes happens indeed, that for want of [...]plying themselves in due time to the pursuits of knowledge, they take up a book in their declining years, and grow very hopeful scholars by that time they are threescore. I must therefore earnestly press my readers, who are in the flower of their youth, to labour at those accomplishments which may set off their persons when their bloom is gone, and to lay in timely provisions for manhood and old age. In short, I would advise the youth of fifteen to be dressing up [Page 2] every day the man of fifty; or to consider how to make himself venerable at threescore.

3. Young men, who are naturally ambitious, would do well to observe how the greatest men of antiquity made it their ambition to excel all their cotempora­ries in knowledge. Julius Caesar and Alexander, the most celebrated instances of human greatness, took a particular care to distinguish themselves by their skill in the arts and sciences. We have still extant, several remains of the former, which justify the charac­ter given of him by the learned men of his own age.

4. As for the latter, it is a known saying of his, that he was more obliged to Aristotle, who had in­structed him, than to Philip, who had given him life and empire. There is a letter of his recorded by Plutarch and Aulus Gellius, which he wrote to Aristotle, upon hearing that he had published those lectures he had given him in private. This letter was written in the following words, at a time when he was in the height of his Persian conquests:

5. Alexander to Aristotle, Greeting.

‘YOU have not done well to publish your books of select knowledge; for what is there now in which I can surpass others, if those things which I have been instructed in are communicated to every body? For my own part I declare to you, I would rather excel others in knowledge than power. Farewel.’

6. We see by this letter, that the love of conquest was but the second ambition in Alexander's soul. Knowledge is indeed that, which, next to virtue, truly and essentially raises one man above another. It fini­shes one half of the human soul. It makes being plea­sant to us, fills the mind with entertaining views, and administers to it a perpetual series of gratifications.

It gives ease to solitude, and graceful [...]ess to re­tirement. It fills a public station with suitable abi­lities, and adds a lustre to those who are in the pos­ssession of them.

[Page 3]7. Learning, by which I mean all useful know­ledge, whether speculative or practical, is in popular and mixt governments the natural source of wealth and honour. If we look into most of the reigns from the conquest, we shall find, that the favourites of each reign have been those who have raised themselves. The greatest men are generally the growth of that particular age in which they flourish.

8. A superior capacity for business, and a more extensive knowledge, are the steps by which a new man often mounts to favour, and outshines the rest of his cotemporaries. But when men are actually born to titles, it is almost impossible that they should fail of receiving an additional greatness, if they take care to accomplish themselves for it.

9. The story of Solomon's choice, does not only in­struct us in that point of history, but furnishes out a very fine moral to us, namely, that he who applies his heart to wisdom, does at the same time take the most proper method for gaining long life, riches and reputation, which are very often not only the re­wards, but the effects of wisdom.

10. As it is very suitable to my present subject, I shall first of all quote this passage in the words of sa­cred writ, and afterwards mention an allegory, in which this whole passage is represented by a famous French Poet; not questioning but it will be very pleasing to such of my readers as have a taste of fine writing.

11. In Gibeon the Lord appeared to Solomon in a dream by night: and God said, "Ask what I shall give thee." And Solomon said, ‘Thou hast shewed unto thy servant David, my father, great mercy, according as he walked before thee in truth, and in righteousness, and in uprightness of heart with thee, and thou hast kept for him this great kind­ness, that thou hast given him a son to sit on his throne, as it is this day. And now, O Lord my God, thou hast made thy servant King instead of [Page 4] David my father; and I am but a little child: I know not how to go out or come in.’

12. ‘Give therefore thy servant an understanding heart to judge thy people, that I may discern be­tween good and bad: for who is able to judge this thy so great a people?’ And the speech pleased the Lord, that Solomon had asked this thing. And God said unto him, ‘because thou hast asked this thing, and hast not asked for thyself long life, nei­ther has asked riches for thyself, nor hast asked the life of thine enemies, but has asked for thyself un­derstanding to discern judgment: behold I have done according to thy words, so I have given thee a wise and understanding heart, so that there was none like thee before thee, neither after thee shall any arise like unto thee.’

13. ‘And I have also given thee that which thou hast not asked, both riches and honour, so that there shall not be any among the kings like unto thee all thy days. And if thou wilt walk in my ways, to keep my statutes and my commandments as thy father David did walk, then I will lengthen thy days.’ And Solomon awoke, and behold it was a dream.—

14. The French poet has shadowed this story in an allegory, of which he seems to have taken the hint from the fable of the three goddesses appearing to Paris, or rather from the vision of Hercules, recorded by Xenophon, where Pleasure and Virtue are represent­ed as real persons making their court to the hero with all their several charms and allurements.

15. Health, wealth, victory and honour are intro­duced successively in their proper emblems and cha­racters, each of them spreading her temptations, and recommending herself to the young monarch's choice. Wisdom enters last, and so captivates him with her appearance, that he gives himself up to her. Upon which she informs him, that those who appeared be­fore her were nothing but her equipage, and that since [Page 5] he had placed his heart upon wisdom, health, wealth, victory and honour should always wait on her as her handmaids.

1. WE all of us complain of the shortness of time, saith Seneca, and yet have much more than we know what to do with. Our lives, says he, are spent either in doing nothing at all, or in doing no­thing to the purpose, or in doing nothing that we ought to do: we are always complaining our days are few, and acting as though there would be no end of them. That noble philosopher has described our inconsistency with ourselves in this particular, by all those various turns of expression and thought which are peculiar to his writings.

2. I often consider mankind as wholly inconsistent with itself in a point that bears some affinity to the former. Though we seem grieved at the shortness of life in general, we are wishing every period of it at an end. The minor longs to be at age, then to be a man of business, then to make up an estate, then to arrive at honours, then to retire. Thus, although the whole of life is allowed by every one to be short, the several divisions of it appear long and tedious.

3. We are for lengthening our span in general, but would fain contract the parts of which it is com­posed. The usurer would be very well satisfied to have all the time annihilated that lies between the present moment and next quarter day. The politi­cian would be contented to lose three years in his life, could he place things in the posture which he fancies they will stand in after such a revolution of time.

4. The lover would be glad to strike out of his ex­istence all the moments that are to pass away before the happy meeting. Thus, as far as our time runs, [Page 6] we should be very glad in most parts of our lives, that it ran much faster than it does. Several hours of the day hang upon our hands, nay, we wish away whole years; and travel through time as through a country filled with many wild and empty wastes, which we would fain hurry over, that we may arrive at those several little settlements or imaginary points of rest, which are dispersed up and down in it.

5. If we may divide the life of most men into twenty parts, we shall find, that at least nineteen of them are mere gaps and chasms, which are neither filled with pleasure nor business. I do not however include in this calculation the life of those men who are in a perpetual hurry of affairs, but of those only who are not always engaged in scenes of action; and I hope I shall not do an unacceptable piece of service to these persons, if I point out to them certain methods for the filling up their empty spaces of life. The methods I shall propose to them are as follow:

6. The first is the exercise of virtue, in the most general acceptation of the word. That particular scheme which comprehends the social virtues, may give employment to the most industrious temper, and find a man in business more than the most active sta­tion of life. To advise the ignorant, relieve the nee­dy, comfort the afflicted, are duties that fall in our way almost every day of our lives.

7. A man has frequent opportunities of mitigating the fierceness of a party; of doing justice to the cha­racter of a deserving man; of softening the envious, quieting the angry, and rectifying the prejudiced; which are all of them employments suited to a rea­sonable nature, and bring great satisfaction to the person who can busy himself in them with discretion.

8. There is another kind of virtue that may find employment for those retired hours in which we are altogether left to ourselves and destitute of company and conversation; I mean that intercourse and com­munication which every reasonable creature ought to maintain with the great Author of his being.

[Page 7]9. The man who lives under an habitual sense of the divine presence, keeps up a perpetual chearful­ness of temper, and enjoys every moment the satisfac­tion of thinking himself in company with his dear­est and best of friends. The time never lies heavy upon him; it is impossible for him to be alone.

10. His thoughts and passions are the most busied at such hours when those of other men are the most unactive: he no sooner steps out of the world but his heart burns with devotion, swells with hope, and triumphs in the consciousness of that presence which every where surrounds him; or, on the contrary, pours out its fears, its sorrows, its apprehensions, to the great supporter of its existence.

11. I have here only considered the necessity of a man's being virtuous, that he may have something to do; but if we consider further, that the exercise of virtue is not only an amusement for the time it lasts, but that its influence extends to those parts of our ex­istence which lie beyond the grave, and that our whole eternity is to take its colour from those hours which we here employ in virtue or in vice, the argument re­doubles upon us, for putting in practice this method of passing away our time.

12. When a man has but a little stock to improve, and has opportunities of turning it all to good account, what shall we think of him if he suffers nineteen parts of it to lie dead, and perhaps employs even the twentieth to his ruin or disadvantage? But because the mind cannot be always in its fervour nor strained up to a pitch of virtue, it is necessary to find out pro­per employments for it in its relaxations.

13. The next method therefore that I would propose to fill up our time, should be useful and innocent di­version. I must confess I think it is below reasonable creatures to be altogether conversant in such diversi­ons as are merely innocent, and having nothing else to recommend them but that there is no hurt in them.

14. Whether any kind of gaming has even thus [Page 8] much to say for itself, I shall not determine; but I think it is very wonderful to see persons of the best sense, passing away a dozen hours together in shuffling and dividing a pack of cards, with no other conversa­tion but what is made up of a few game phrases, and no other ideas but those of black or red spots ranged together in different figures. Would not a man laugh to hear any one of his species complaining that life is short?

15. The stage might be made a perpetual source of the most noble and useful entertainments, were it under proper regulations.

But the mind never unbends itself so agreeably as in the conversation of a well-chosen friend. There is indeed no blessing of life that is any way comparable to the enjoyment of a discreet and virtuous friend. It eases and unloads the mind, clears and improves the understanding, engenders thoughts and know­ledge, animates virtue and good resolution, sooths and allays the passions, and finds employment for most of the vacant hours of life.

16. Next to such an intimacy with a particular person, one would endeavour after a more general conversation with such as are able to entertain and improve those with whom they converse, which are qualifications that seldom go asunder.

There are many other useful amusements of life, which one would endeavour to multiply, that one might on all occasions have recourse to something rather than suffer the mind to lie idle, or run adrift with any passion that chances to rise in it.

17. A man that has a taste in music, painting, or architecture, is like one that has another sense when compared with such as have no relish of those arts. The florist, the planter, the gardener, the husband­man, when they are only as accomplishments to the man of fortune, are great reliefs to a country life, and many ways useful to those who are possessed of them.

[Page 9]18. I WAS yesterday busy in comparing together the industry of man with that of other crea­tures; in which I could not but observe, that not­withstanding we are obliged by duty to keep our­selves in constant employ, after the same manner as inferior animals are prompted to it by instinct, we fall very short of them in this particular.

19. We are here the more inexcusable, because there is a greater variety of business to which we may apply ourselves. Reason opens to us a large field of affairs, which other creatures are not capable of. Beasts of prey, and I believe all other kinds, in their natural state of being, divide their time between action and rest. They are always at work or asleep. In short, their awaking hours are wholly taken up in seeking after their food, or in consuming it.

20. The human species only, to the great reproach of our natures, are filled with complaints, That the day hangs heavy on them, that they do not know what to do with themselves, that they are at a loss how to pass away their time, with many of the like shameful murmurs, which we often find in the mouth of those who are stiled reasonable beings.

21. How monstrous are such expressions among creatures, who have the labours of the mind, as well as those of the body, to furnish them with proper employ­ments; who, besides the business of their proper callings and professions, can apply themselves to the duties of religion, to meditation, to the reading of useful books, to discourse; in a word, who may exer­cise themselves in the unbounded pursuits of know­ledge and virtue, and every hour of their lives make themselves wiser or better than they were before.

22. After having been taken up for some time in this course of thought, I diverted myself with a book, according to my usual custom, in order to unbend my mind before I went to sleep. The book I made use of on this occasion was Lucian, where I amused my thoughts for about an hour among the dialogues of [Page 10] the dead, which in all probability produced the fol­lowing dream.

23. I was conveyed, methought, into the entrance of the infernal regions, where I saw Rhadamanthus, one of the judges of the dead, seated in his tribunal. On his left hand stood the keeper of Erebus, on his right the keeper of Elysium. I was told he sat upon women that day, there being several of the sex lately arrived, who had not yet their mansions assigned them.

24. I was surprised to hear him ask every one of them the same question, namely, What they had been doing? Upon this question being proposed to the whole assembly, they stared upon one another, as no [...] knowing what to answer. He then interrogated each of them separately. Madam, says he, to the first of them, you have been upon the earth about fifty years: What have you been doing there all this while? Doing, says she, really I do not know what I have been doing: I desire I may have time given me to recollect.

25. After about half an hour's pause, she told him, that she had been playing at crimp; upon which Rhadamanthus beckoned to the keeper on his left hand, to take her into custody. And you, Madam, says the judge, that look with such a soft and languishing air; I think you set out for this place in your nine and twentieth year; what have you been doing all this while? I had a great deal of business on my hands, says she, being taken up the first twelve years of my life, in dressing a jointed baby, and all the remain­ing part of it in reading plays and romances.

26. Very well, says he, you have employed your time to good purpose. Away with her. The next was a plain country woman: Well, mistress, says Rhadamanthus, and what have you been doing? An't please your worship, says she, I did not live quite forty years; and in that time brought my husband seven daughters, made him nine thousand cheeses, [Page 11] and left my eldest girl with him, to look after his house in my absence, and who, I may venture to say, is as pretty a housewife as any in the country.

27. Rhadamanthus smiled at the simplicity of the good woman, and ordered the keeper of Elysium to take her into his care. And you, fair lady, says he, what have you been doing these five and thirty years? I have been doing no hurt, I assure you, sir, said she. That is well, says he, but what good have you been doing? The lady was in great confusion at this question, and not knowing what to answer, the two keepers leaped out to seize her at the same time; the one took her by the hand to convey her to Elysium, the other caught hold of her to carry her away to Erebus.

28. But Rhadamanthus observing an ingenuous modesty in her countenance and behaviour, bid them both let her loose, and set her aside for a re-examina­tion when he was more at leisure. An old woman, of a proud and sour look, presented herself next at the bar, and being asked what she had been doing? Truly, says she, I lived three score and ten years in a very wicked world, and was so angry at the beha­viour of a parcel of young flirts, that I past most of my last years in condemning the follies of the times.

29. I was every day blaming the silly conduct of people about me, in order to deter those I conversed with from falling into the like errors and miscarriages. Very well, says Rhadamanthus, but did you keep the same watchful eye over your own actions? Why tru­ly, says she, I was so taken up with publishing the faults of others, that I had no time to consider my own.

30. Madam, says Rhadamanthus, be pleased to file off to the left, and make room for the venerable ma­tron that stands behind you. Old gentlewoman, says he, I think you are four score? You have heard the question, what have you been doing so long in the world? Ah! sir, says she, I have been doing what I should not have done, but I had made a firm resolu­tion to have changed my life, if I had not been snatch­ed off by an untimely end.

[Page 12]31. Madam, says he, you will please to follow your leader; and spying another of the same age, interro­gated her in the same form. To which the matron replied, I have been the wife of a husband who was as dear to me in his old age as in his youth. I have been a mother, and very happy in my children, whom I endeavoured to bring up in every thing that is good.

32. My eldest son is blest by the poor, and beloved by every one that knows him. I lived within my own family, and left it much more wealthy than I found it. Rhadamanthus, who knew the value of the old lady, smiled upon her in such a manner, that the keeper of Elysium, who knew his office, reached out his hand to her. He no sooner touched her but her wrinkles vanished, her eyes sparkled, her cheeks glow­ed with blushes, and she appeared in full bloom and beauty.

33. A young woman observing that this officer, who conducted the happy to Elysium, was so great a beautifier, longed to be in his hands, so that pressing through the croud, she was the next that appeared at the bar. And being asked what she had been doing the five and twenty years that she had passed in the world, I have endeavoured, says she, ever since I came to years of discretion, to make myself lovely, and gain admirers.

34. In order to it I pass my time in bottling up May-dew, inventing white-washes, mixing colours, cutting out patches, consulting my glass, suiting my complexion, tearing off my tucker, sinking my stays. —Rhadamanthus, without hearing her out, gave the sign to take her off. Upon the approach of the keeper of Erebus her colour faded, her face was puckered up with wrinkles, and her whole person lost in deformity.

35. I was then surprised with a distant sound of a whole troop of females that came forward laughing, singing, and dancing. I was very desirous to know the reception they would meet with, and withal was [Page 13] very apprehensive, that Rhadamanthus would spoil their mirth: but at their nearer approach the noise grew so very great that it awakened me.

36. Employment of time is a subject that, from its importance, deserves your best attention. Most young gentlemen have a great deal of time before them, and one hour well employed, in the early part of life, is more valuable and will be of greater use to you, than perhaps four and twenty, some years to come.

37. Whatever time you can steal from company and from the study of the world (I say company, for a knowledge of life is best learned in various compa­nies) employ it in serious reading. Take up some valuable book, and continue the reading of that book till you have got through it; never burden your mind with more than one thing at a time: and in reading this book don't run it over superficially, but read every passage twice over, at least do not pass on to a second till you thoroughly understand the first, nor quit the book till you are master of the subject; for unless you do this, you may read it through, and not remember the contents of it for a week.

38. The books I would particularly recommend, are Cardinal Retz's maxims, Rochefoucault's moral re­flections, Bruyere's characters, Fontenelle's plurality of worlds, Sir Josiah Child on trade, Bolingbroke's works; for style, his Remarks on the History of England, under the name of Sir John Oldcastle; Puffendorff's Jus Gentium, and Grotius de Jure Belli et Pacis: the last two are well translated by Barbeyrac. For occa­sional half hours or less, read the best works of inven­tion, wit and humour; but never waste your minutes on trifling authors, either ancient or modern.

39. Any business you may have to transact, should be done the first opportunity, and finished, if possible, without interruption; for by deferring it, we may probably finish it too late, or execute it indifferently. Now, business of any kind should never be done by [Page 14] halves, but every part of it should be well attended to: for he that does business ill, had better not do it at all. And, in any point which discretion bids you pursue, and which has a manifest utility to recom­mend it, let not difficulties deter you; rather let them animate your industry. If one method fails, try a second and a third. Be active, persevere, and you will certainly conquer.

40. Never indulge a lazy disposition: there are few things but are attended with some difficulties, and if you are frightened at those difficulties, you will not complete any thing. Indolent minds prefer ig­norance to trouble; they look upon most things as impossible, because perhaps they are difficult Even an hour's attention is too laborious for them, and they would rather content themselves with the first view of things than take the trouble to look any farther into them. Thus, when they come to talk upon sub­jects to those who have studied them, they betray an unpardonable ignorance, and lay themselves open to answers that confuse them. Be careful then, that you do not get the appellation of indolent; and, if possible, avoid the character of frivolous. For,

41. The frivolous mind is busied always upon no­thing. It mistakes trifling objects for important ones, and spends that time upon little matters, that should only be bestowed upon great ones. Knick-knacks, butterflies, shells, and such like, engross the atten­tion of the frivolous man, and fill up all his time. He studies the dress and not the characters of men, and his subjects of conversation are no other than the weather, his own domestic affairs, his servants, his method of managing his family, the little anecdotes of the neighbourhood, and the fiddle-faddle stories of the day; void of information, void of improvement. These he relates with emphasis, as interesting mat­ters; in short he is a male gossip. I appeal to your own feelings now, whether such things do not lessen a man, in the opinion of his acquaintance, and in­stead of attracting esteem, create disgust?

MODESTY is the citadel of beauty and vir­tue. The first of all virtues is innocence; the second is modesty.

1. Modesty is both in its source, and in its conse­quence, a very great happiness to the fair possessor of it; it arises from a fear of dishonour, and a good con­science, and is followed immediately, upon its first appearance, with the reward of honour and esteem, paid by all those who discover it in any body living.

2. It is indeed, a virtue in a woman (that might otherwise be very disagreeable to one) so exquisitely delicate, that it excites in any beholder, of a gene­rous and manly disposition, almost all the passions, that he would be apt to conceive for the mistress of his heart, in variety of circumstances.

3. A woman that is modest creates in us an awe in her company, a wish for her welfare, a joy in her be­ing actually happy, a sore and painful sorrow if distress should come upon her, a ready and willing heart to give her consolation, and a compassionate temper to­wards her, in every little accident of life she under­goes; and, to sum up all in one word, it causes such a kind of angellical love, even to a stranger, as good-natured brothers and sisters usually bear towards one another.

4. It adds wonderfully to the make of a face: and I have seen a pretty well turned forehead, fine set eyes, and, what your poets call, a row of pearl set in coral, shewn by a pretty expansion of two velvet lips that covered them (that would have tempted any so­ber man living of my own age, to have been a little loose in his thoughts, and to have enjoyed a painful pleasure amidst his impotency) lose all their virtue, all their force and efficacy, by having an ugly cast of [Page 16] boldness very discernibly spread out at large over all those alluring features.

5. At the same time modesty will fill up the wrin­kles of old age with glory; make sixty blush itself into sixteen; and help a green-sick girl to defeat the satyr [...] of a false waggish lover, who might compare her colour, when she looked like a ghost, to the blow­ing of the rose-bud, by blushing herself into a bloom of beauty; and might make what he meant a reflec­tion, a real compliment, at any hour of the day, in spite of his teeth. It has a prevailing power with me, whenever I find it in the sex.

6. I, who have the common fault of old men, to be very sour and humoursome, when I drink my wa­ter gruel in a morning, fell into a more than ordina­ry pet with a maid, whom I call my nurse, from a constant tenderness, that I have observed her to exer­cise towards me beyond all my other servants; I per­ceived her flush and glow in the face, in a manner which I could plainly discern proceeded not from an­ger or resentment of my correction, but from a good-natured regret, upon a fear that she had offended her grave old master.

7. I was so heartily pleased, that I eased her of the honest trouble she underwent inwardly for my sake; and, giving her half a crown, I told her it was a for­feit due to her because I was out of humour with her without any reason at all. And as she is so gentle­hearted, I have diligently avoided giving her one harsh word ever since; and I find my own reward in it; for not being so testy as I used, has made me much haler and stronger than I was before.

8. The pretty, and witty, and virtuous Simplicia, was, the other day, visiting with an old aunt of her's, that I verily believed has read the Atalantis: she took a story out there, and dressed up an old honest neighbour in the second-hand cloaths of scandal. The young creature hid her face with her fan at every burst and peal of laughter, and blushed for her guilty [Page 17] parent; by which she atoned, methought, for every scandal that ran round the beautiful circle.

9. As I was going home to bed that evening, I could not help thinking of her all the way I went. I represented her to myself as shedding holy blood eve­ry time she blushed, and as being a martyr in the cause of virtue. And afterwards, when I was putting on my night-cap, I could not drive the thought out of my head, but that I was young enough to have a child by her; and that it would be an addition to the reputation I have in the study of wisdom to marry to so much youth and modesty, even in my old age.

10. I know there have not been wanting many wicked objections against this virtue; one is grown insufferably common, The fellow blushes, he is guilty. I should say rather, He blushes, therefore he is in­nocent. I believe the same man, that first had that wicked imagination of a blush being the sign of guilt, represented good-nature to be folly; and that he himself, was the most inhuman and impudent wretch alive.

11. The author of Cato, who is known to be one of the most modest, and most ingenious persons of the age we now live in, has given this virtue a de­licate name, in the tragedy of Cato, where the cha­racter of Marcia is first opened to us. I would have all ladies who have a mind to be thought well-bred, to think seriously on this virtue, which he so beauti­fully calls the sanctity of manners.

12. Modesty is a polite accomplishment, and ge­nerally an attendant upon merit. It is engaging to the highest degree, and wins the hearts of all our acquaintance. On the contrary, none are more dis­gustful in company than the impudent and presuming.

The man who is, on all occasions, commending and speaking well of himself, we naturally dislike. On the other hand, he who studies to conceal his own deserts, who does justice to the merit of others, who talks but little of himself, and that with modesty [Page 18] makes a favourable impression on the persons he is conversing with, captivates their minds, and gains their esteem.

13. Modesty, however, widely differs from an aukward bashfulness, which is as much to be con­demned as the other is to be applauded. To appear simple is as ill-bred as to be impudent. A young man ought to be able to come into a room and ad­dress the company without the least embarrassment. To be out of countenance when spoken to, and not to have an answer ready, is ridiculous to the last degree.

14. An aukward country fellow, when he comes into company better than himself, is exceedingly dis­concerted. He knows not what to do with his hands or his hat, but either puts one of them in his pocket, and dangles the other by his side; or perhaps twirls his hat on his fingers, or fumbles with the button. If spoken to he is in a much worse situation, he an­swers with the utmost difficulty, and nearly stammers; whereas a gentleman, who is acquainted with life, enters a room with gracefulness and a modest assurance addresses even persons he does not know, in an easy and natural manner, and without the least embarrassment.

15. This is the characteristic of good-breeding, a very necessary knowledge in our intercourse with men: for one of inferior parts, with the behaviour of a gentleman, is frequently better received than a man of sense, with the address and manners of a clown. Ignorance and vice are the only things we need be ashamed of; steer clear of these, and you may go into any company you will: not that I would have a young man throw off all dread of appearing abroad, as a fear of offending, or being disesteemed, will make him preserve a proper decorum.

16. Some persons, from experiencing of false mo­desty, have run into the other extreme, and acquired the character of impudent. This is as great a fault as the other. A well-bred man keeps himself with­in [Page 19] in the two, and steers the middle way. He is easy and firm in every company; is modest, but not bash­ful; steady, but not impudent. He copies the man­ners of the better people, and conforms to their cus­toms with ease and attention.

17. Till we can present ourselves in all companies with coolness and unconcern, we can never present ourselves well: nor will a man ever be supposed to have kept good company, or ever be acceptable in such Company, if he cannot appear there easy and unembarrassed. A modest assurance, in every part of life, is the most advantageous qualification we can possibly acquire.

18. Instead of becoming insolent, a man of sense, under a consciousness of merit, is more modest. He behaves himself indeed with firmness, but without the least presumption. The man who is ignorant of his own merit, is no less a fool than he who is con­stantly displaying it. A man of understanding avails himself of his abilities, but never boasts of them; whereas the timid and bashful can never push himself in life, be his merit as great as it will; he will be always kept behind by the forward and the bustling.

19. A man of abilities, and acquainted with life, will stand as firm in defence of his own rights, and pursue his plans as steadily and unmoved as the most impudent man alive; but then he does it with a seem­ing modesty. Thus, manner is every thing; what is impudence in one is proper assurance only in ano­ther; for firmness is commendable, but an overbear­ing conduct is disgustful.

20. Forwardness being the very reverse of modesty, follow rather than lead the company; that is, join in discourse upon their subjects rather than start one of your own; if you have parts, you will have opportu­nities enough of shewing them on every topic of con­versation, and if you have none, it is better to expose yourself upon a subject of other people's, than on one of your own.

[Page 20]21. But be particularly careful not to speak of yourself, if you can help it. An impudent fellow lugs in himself abruptly upon all occasions, and is ever the hero of his own story. Others will colour their arrogance with, ‘It may seem strange indeed, that I should talk in this manner of myself; it is what I by no means like, and should never do, if I had not been cruelly and unjustly accused; but when my character is attacked, it is a justice I owe to myself to defend it.’ This veil is too thin not to be seen through on the first inspection.

22. Others again, with more art, will modestly boast of all the principal virtues, by calling these virtues weaknesses, and saying, they are so unfortu­nate as to fall into those weaknesses. "I cannot see persons suffer," says one of this cast, "without relie­ving them; though my circumstances are very unable to afford it."— ‘I cannot avoid speaking truth; though it is often very imprudent;’ and so on.

23. this angling for praise is so prevailing a prin­ciple, that it frequently stoops to the lowest objects. Men will often boast of doing that which, if true, would be rather a disgrace to them than otherwise. One man affirms that he rode twenty miles within the hour: 'tis probably a lie; but suppose he did, what then? He had a good horse under him, and is a good jockey. Another swears he has often at a sitting, drank five or six bottles to his own share. Out of respect to him, I will believe him a liar; for I would not wish to think him a beast.

24. These and many more are the follies of idle people, which, while they think they procure them esteem, in reality make them despised.

To avoid this contempt, therefore, never speak of yourself at all, unless necessity obliges you; and even then, take care to do it in such a manner, that it may not be construed into fishing for applause. Whatever perfections you may have, be assured, people will find them out; but whether they do or [Page 21] not, nobody will take them upon your own word. The less you say of yourself, the more the world will give you credit for; and the more you say the less they will believe you.

1. A LATE conversation which I fell into, gave me an opportunity of observing a great deal of beauty in a very handsome woman, and as much wit in an ingenious man, turned into deformity in the one, and absurdity in the other, by the mere force of affectation. The fair one had something in her person upon which her thoughts were fixed, that she attempted to shew to advantage in every look, word, and gesture.

2. The gentleman was as diligent to do justice to his fine parts, as the lady to her beauteous form: you might see his imagination on the stretch to find out something uncommon, and what they call bright, to entertain her; while she writhed herself into as many different postures to engage him. When she laughed, her lips were to sever at a greater distance than ordi­nary to shew her teeth.

3. Her fan was to point to somewhat at a distance, that in the reach she may discover the roundness of her arm; then she is utterly mistaken in what she saw, falls back, smiles at her own folly, and is so wholly discomposed, that her tucker is to be adjusted, her bosom exposed, and the whole woman put into new airs and graces.

4. While she was doing all this, the gallant had time to think of something very pleasant to say next to her, or make some unkind observation on some other lady to feed her vanity These unhappy ef­fects of affectation naturally led me to look into that strange state of mind, which [...]o generally discolours the behaviour of most people we met with.

[Page 22]5. The learned Dr. Burnet, in his Theory of the Earth, takes occasion to observe, That every thought is attended with consciousness and representativeness; the mind has nothing presented to it, but what is immediately followed by a reflection of conscience, which tells you whether that which was so presented is graceful or unbecoming.

6. This act of the mind discovers itself in the ges­ture, by a proper behaviour in those whose conscious­ness goes no farther than to direct them in the just progress of their present thought or action; but be­trays an interruption in every second thought, when the consciousness is employed in too fondly approving a man's own conceptions; which sort of consciousness is what we call affectation.

7. As the love of praise is implanted in our bosoms as a strong incentive to worthy actions, it is a very difficult task to get above a desire of it for things that should be wholly indifferent. Women, whose hearts are fixed upon the pleasure they have in the consci­ousness that they are the objects of love and admiration, are ever changing the air of their countenances, and altering the attitude of their bodies, to strike the hearts of their beholders with a new sense of their beauty.

8. The dressing part of our sex, whose minds are the same with the sillier part of the other, are exactly in the like uneasy condition to be regarded for a well-tied cravat, an hat cocked with an unusual briskness, a very well-chosen coat, or other instances of merit, which they are impatient to see unobserved.

9. But this apparent affectation, arising from an ill governed consciousness, is not so much to be won­dered at in such loose and trivial minds as these. But when you see it reign in characters of worth and dis­tinction, it is what you cannot but lament, not with­out some indigna [...]ion. It creeps into the heart of the wise man, as well as that of the coxcomb.

[Page 23]10. When you see a man of sense look about for applause, and discover an itching inclination to be commended; lay traps for a little incense, even from those whose opinion he values in nothing but his own favour; who is safe against this weakness? or who knows whether he is guilty of it or not? The best way to get clear of such a light fondness for applause, is, to take all possible care to throw off the love of it upon occasions that are not in themselves laudable; but, as it appears, we hope for no praise from them.

11. Of this nature are all graces in mens persons, dress, and bodily deportment; which will naturally be winning and attractive if we think not of them, but lose their force in proportion to our endeavour to make them such.

When our consciousness turns upon the main design of life, and our thoughts are employed upon the chief purpose either in business or pleasure, we should never betray an affectation, for we cannot be guilty of it: but when we give the passion for praise an un­bridled liberty, our pleasure in little perfections robs us of what is due to us for great virtues and worthy qualities.

12. How many excellent speeches and honest ac­tions are lost, for want of being indifferent where we ought! Men are oppressed with regard to their way of speaking and acting, instead of having their thoughts bent upon what they should do or say; and by that means b [...]ry a capacity for great things, by their fear of sailing in indifferent things. This, perhaps, cannot be called affectation; but it has some tincture of it, at least so far, as that their fear of erring in a thing of no consequence argues they would be too much pleased in performing it.

13. It is only from a thorough disregard to himself in such particulars, that a man can act with a lauda­ble sufficiency; his heart is fixed upon one point in view; and he commits no errors, because he thinks nothing an error but what deviates from that intention.

[Page 24]The wild havock affectation makes in that part of the world which should be most polite, is visible wherever we turn our eyes: it pushes men not only into impertinences in conversation, but also in their premeditated speeches.

14. At the bar it torments the bench, whose busi­ness it is to cut off all superfluities in what is spoken before it by the practitioner; as well as several little pieces of injustice which arise from the law itself. I have seen it make a man run from the purpose before a judge, who was, when at the bar himself, so close and logical a pleader, that with all the pomp of elo­quence in his power, he never spoke a word too much.

15. It might be born even here, but it often as­cends the pulpit itself; and the declaimer, in that sacred place, is frequently so impertinently witty, speaks of the last day itself with so many quaint phrases, that there is no man who understands raillery, but must resolve to sin no more: nay, you may behold him sometimes in prayer, for a proper delivery of the great truths he is to utter, humble himself with so very well turned phrase, and mention his own unwor­thiness in a way so very becoming, that the air of the pretty gentleman is preserved, under the lowliness of the preacher.

16. I shall end this with a short letter I wrote the other day to a very witty man, over-run with the fault I am speaking of.

19. NATURE does nothing in vain; the Creator of the universe has appointed every thing to a certain use and purpose, and determined it to a settled course and sphere of action, from which, if it in the least deviates, it becomes unfit to answer those ends for which it was designed.

20. In like manner it is in the dispositions of soci­ety: the civil oeconomy is formed in a chain as well as the natural; and in either case the breach but of one link puts the whole in some disorder. It is, I think, pretty plain, that most of the absurdity and ridicule we meet with in the world, is generally owing to the impertinent affectation of excelling in characters men are not fit for, and for which nature never designed them.

21. Every man has one or more qualities which may make him useful both to himself and others: Nature never fails of pointing them out, and while the infant continues under her guardianship, she brings him on in his way, and then offers herself for a guide [...] what remains of the journey; if he pro­ceeds in that course, he can hardly miscarry: Nature [Page 26] makes good her engagements; for as she never pro­mises what she is not able to perform, so she never fails of performing what she promises.

22. But the misfortune is, men despise what they may be masters of, and affect what they are not fit for; they reckon themselves already possessed of what their genius inclines them to, and so bend all their ambition to excel in what is out of their reach: thus they destroy the use of their natural talents, in the same manner as covetous men do their quiet and re­pose; they can enjoy no satisfaction in what they have, because of the absurd inclination they are pos­sessed with for what they have not.

23. Cleanthes had good sense, a great memory, and a constitution capable of the closest application: in a word, there was no profession in which Cleanthes might not have made a very good figure; but this won't sa­tisfy him; he takes up an unaccountable fondness for the character of a fine gentleman; all his thoughts are bent upon this, instead of attending a dissection, frequenting the courts of justice, or studying the fa­thers.

24. Cleanthes reads plays, dances, dresses, and spends his time in drawing-rooms, instead of being a good lawyer, divine, or physician; Cleanthes is a down-right coxcomb, and will remain to all that knew him a contemptible example of talents misap­plied. It is to this affectation the world owes its whole race of coxcombs: Nature in her whole drama never drew such a part: she has sometimes made a fool, but a coxcomb is always of a man's own making, by applying his talents otherwise than nature design­ed, who ever bears an high resentment for being put out of her course, and never fails of taking revenge on those that do so.

25. Opposing her tendency in the application of a man's parts, has the same success as declining from her course in the production of vegetables [...] the as­sistance of art and an hot bed, we may possibly extort [Page 27] an unwilling plant, or an untimely sallad; but how weak, how tasteless, and insipid? Just as insipid as the poetry of Valerio.

26. Valerio had an universal character, was gen­teel, had learning, thought justly, spoke correctly; 'twas believed there was nothing in which Valerio did not excel; and 'twas so far true, that there was but one; Valerio had no genius for poetry, yet he was re­solved to be a poet: he writes verses, and takes great pains to convince the town, that Valerio is not that extraordinary person he was taken for.

27. If men would be content to graft upon nature, and assist her operations, what mighty effects might we expect? Tully would not stand so much alone in oratory, Virgil in poetry, or Caesar in war. To build upon nature, is laying the foundation upon a rock; every thing disposes itself into order as it were of course, and the whole work is half done as soon as undertaken. Cicero's genius inclined him to oratory, Virgil's to follow the train of the Muses; they piously obeyed the admonition, and were rewarded.

28. Had Virgil attended the bar, his modest and ingenuous virtue would surely have made but a very indifferent figure; and Tully's declamatory inclina­tion would have been as useless in poetry. Nature, if left to herself, leads us on in the best course, but will do nothing by compulsion and constraint; and if we are not satisfied to go her way, we are always the greatest sufferers by it.

29. Wherever nature designs a production, she al­ways disposes seeds proper for it, which are as abso­lutely necessary to the formation of any moral or in­tellectual existence, as they are to the being and growth of plants; and I know not by what fate and folly it is, that men are taught not to reckon him equally absurd that will write verses in spite of na­ture, with that gardener that should undertake to raise a jonq [...]il or tulip, without the help of their re­spective seeds.

[Page 28]30. As there is no good or bad quality that does not affect both sexes, so it is not to be imagined but the fair sex must have suffered by an affectation of this nature, at least as much as the other: the ill effect of it is in none so conspicuous as in the two opposite cha­racters of Caelia and Iras; Caelia has all the charms of person, together with an abundant sweetness of na­ture, but wants wit, and has a very ill voice; Iras is ugly and ungenteel, but has wit and good sense.

31. If Caelia would be silent, her beholders would adore her; if Iras would talk, her hearers would ad­mire her; but Caelia's tongue runs incessantly, while Iras gives herself silent airs and soft langours; so that 'tis difficult to persuade one's self that Caelia has beauty, and Iras wit; each neglects her own excel­lence, and is ambitious of the other's character; Iras would be thought to have as much beauty as Caelia, and Caelia as much wit as Iras.

32. The great misfortune of this affectation is, that men not only lose a good quality, but also con­tract a bad one: they not only are unfit for what they were designed, but they assign themselves to what they are not fit for; and instead of making a very good figure one way, make a very ridiculous one another.

33. If Semanthe would have been satisfied with her natural complexion, she might still have been cele­brated by the name of the olive beauty; but Semanthe has taken up an affectation to white and red, and is now distinguished by the character of the lady that paints so well.

34. In a word, could the world be reformed to the obedience of that famed dictate, Follow nature, which the oracle of Delphos pronounced to Ci [...]ero when he consulted what course of studies he should pursue, we should see almost every man as eminent in his proper sphere as Tully was in his, and should in a very short time find impertinence and affectation banished from among the women, and coxcombs and false characters from among the men.

[Page 29]35. For my part, I could never consider this pre­posterous repugnancy to nature any otherwise, than not only as the greatest folly, but also one of the most heinous crimes, since it is a direct opposition to the disposition of Providence, and (as Tully expresses it) like the sin of the giants, an actual rebellion against heaven.

1. A MAN advanced in years that thinks fit to look back upon his former life, and calls that only life which was passed with satisfaction and en­joyment, excluding all parts which were not pleasant to him, will find himself very young, if not in his infancy. Sickness, ill-humour, and idleness, will have robbed him of a great share of that space we ordinarily call our life.

2. It is therefore the duty of every man that would be true to himself, to obtain, if possible, a disposition to be pleased, and place himself in a constant apti­tude for the satisfactions of his being. Instead of this, you hardly see a man who is not uneasy in proportion to his advancement in the arts of life.

3. An affected delicacy is the common improve­ment we meet with in those who pretend to be refined above others: they do not aim at true pleasure them­selves, but turn their thoughts upon observing the false pleasures of other men. Such people are vale­tudinarians in society, and they should no more come into company than a sick man should come into the air.

4. If a man is too weak to bear what is a refresh­ment to men in health, he must still keep his chamber. When any one in Sir Roger's company complains he is out of order, he immediately calls for some posset drink for him; for which reason that sort of people, [Page 30] who are ever bewailing their constitutions in other places, are the chearfulest imaginable when he is present.

5. It is a wonderful thing that so many, and they not reckoned absurd, shall entertain those with whom they converse, by giving them the history of their pains and aches; and imagine such narrations their quota of the conversation. This is of all other the meanest help to discourse, and a man must not think at all, or think himself very insignificant, when he finds an account of his head ach answered by another asking what news in the last mail?

6. Mutual good humour is a dress we ought to ap­pear in wherever we meet, and we should make no mention of what concerns ourselves, without it be of matters wherein our friends ought to rejoice: but in­deed there are crowds of people who put themselves in no method of pleasing themselves or others; such are those whom we usually call indolent persons.

7. Indolence is, methinks, an intermediate state between pleasure and pain, and very much unbeco­ming any part of our life after we are out of the nurse's arms. Such an aversion to labour creates a constant weariness, and one would think should make existence itself a burden.

8. The indolent man descends from the dignity of his nature, and makes that being which was ra­tional, merely vegetative; his life consists only in the mere increase and decay of a body, which with relation to the rest of the world, might as well have been uninformed, as the habitation of a reasonable mind.

9. Of this kind is the life of that extraordinary couple Harry Ter [...]ett and his lady. Harry was in the days of his celibacy one of those pert creatures who have much vivacity and little understanding; Mrs. Rebecca Quickly, whom he married, had all that the fire of youth and a lively manner could do to­wards making an agreeable woman.

[Page 31]10. These two people of seeming merit fell into each other's arms; and passion being sated, and no reason or good sense in either to succeed it, their life is now at a stand; their meals are insipid, and time tedious; their fortune has placed them above care, and their loss of taste reduced them below diversion.

11. When we talk of these as instances of inexist­ence, we do not mean, that in order to live it is ne­cessary we should always be in jovial crews, or crown­ed with chaplets of roses, as the merry fellows among the ancients are described; but it is intended by considering these contraries to pleasure, indolence and too much delicacy, to shew that it is prudence to preserve a disposition in ourselves to receive a certain delight in all we hear and see.

12. This portable quality of good-humour seasons all the parts and occurrences we meet with, in such a manner, that there are no moments lost; but they all pass with so much satisfaction, that the heaviest of loads (when it is a load) that of time, is never felt by us.

13. Varilas has this quality to the highest perfecti­on, and communicates it wherever he appears: the sad, the merry, the severe, the melancholy, shew a new chearfulness when he comes amongst them. At the same time no one can repeat any thing that Vari­las has ever said that deserves repetition; but the man has that innate goodness of temper, that he is welcome to every body, because every man thinks he is so to him.

14. He does not seem to contribute any thing to the mirth of the company; and yet upon reflection you find it all happened by his being there. I thought it was whimsically said of a gentleman, That if Varilas had wit, it would be the best wit in the world. It is certain, when a well corrected lively imagina­tion and good-breeding are added to a sweet disposi­tion, they qualify it to be one of the greatest blessings, as well as pleasures of life.

[Page 32]15. Men would come into company with ten times the pleasure they do, if they were sure of hearing nothing which should shock them, as well as expect­ed what would please them. When we know every person that is spoken of is represented by one who has no ill-will, and every thing that is mentioned descri­bed by one that is apt to set it in the best light, the entertainment must be delicate, because the cook has nothing bought to his hand, but what is the most excellent in its kind.

16. Beautiful pictures are the entertainments of pure minds, and deformities of the corrupted. It is a degree towards the life of angels, when we enjoy conversation wherein there is nothing present but in its excellence; and a degree towards that of daemons, wherein nothing is shewn but in its degeneracy.

1. ONE would think that the larger the company is in which we are engaged, the greater vari­ety of thoughts and subjects would be started in dis­course; but instead of this, we find that conversation is never so much straitned and confined as in numerous assemblies.

2. When a multitude meet together upon any sub­ject of discourse their debates are taken up chiefly with forms and general positions; nay, if we come into a more contracted assembly of men and women, the talk generally runs upon the weather, fashions, news, and the like public topics.

3. In proportion as conversation gets into clubs and knots of friends, it descends into particulars, and grows more free and communicative, but the most open, instructive, and unreserved discourse, is that [Page 33] which passes between two persons who are familiar and intimate friends.

4. On these occasions, a man gives a loose to every passion, and every thought that is uppermost discovers his most retired opinions of persons and things, tries the beauty and strength of his sentiments, and exposes his whole soul to the examination of his friend.

5. Tully was the first who observed, that friendship improves happiness and abates misery, by the doub­ling of our joy ond dividing of our grief; a thought in which he hath been followed by all the essayers upon friendship, that have written since his time. Sir Francis Bacon has finely described other advantages, or, as he calls them, fruits of friendship; and indeed there is no subject of morality which has been better handled and more exhausted than this.

6. Among the several fine things which have been spoken of, I shall beg leave to quote some out of a very ancient author, whose book would be regarded by our modern wits as one of the most shining tracts of morality that is extant, if it appeared under the name of a Confucius, or of any celebrated Grecian philoso­pher: I mean the little Apocryphal Treatise, enti­tled, The Wisdom of the Son of Sirach.

7. How finely has he described the art of making friends, by an obliging and affable behaviour? And laid down that precept which a late exellent author has delivered as his own, 'That we should have many 'well-wishers, but few friends.' Sweet language will multiply friends; and a fair-speaking tongue will increase kind greetings. Be in peace with many, nevertheless have but one counsellor of a thousand.

8. With what prudence does he caution us in the choice of our friends? And with what strokes of na­ture (I could almost say of humour) has he described the behaviour of a treacherous and self-interested friend? ‘If thou wouldest get a friend, prove him first, and be not hasty to credit him: for some man is a friend for his own occasion, and will not abide in the day of thy trouble.’

[Page 34]9. ‘And there is a friend, who being turned to [...]enmity and strife, will discover thy reproach.’ Again, ‘Some friend is a companion at the table, and will not continue in the day of thy affliction: but in thy prosperity he will be as thyself, and will be bold over thy servants. If thou be brought low he will be against thee, and hide himself from thy face.’

10. What can be more strong and pointed than the following verse? 'Separate thyself from thine ene­mies, and take heed of thy friends.' In the next words [...]e particularizes one of those fruits of frend­ship which is described at length by the two famous authors above mentioned, and falls into a general elogium of friendship, which is very just as well as ve­ry sublime.

11. ‘A faithful friend is a strong defence: and he that hath found such a one, hath found a treasure▪ Nothing doth countervail a faithful friend, and his excellency is unvaluable. A faithful friend is the medicine of life; and they that fear the Lord shall find him. Whoso feareth the Lord shall direct his friendship aright; for as he is, so shall his neigh­bour (that is, his friend) be also.’

12. I do not remember to have met with any say­ing that has pleased me more than that of a friend's being the medecine of life, to express the efficacy of friendship in healing the pains and anguish which na­turally cleave to our existence in this world; and am wonderfully pleased with the turn in the last sentence, That a virtuous man shall as a blessing meet with a friend who is as virtuous as himself.

13. There is another say; in the same author, which would have been very much admired in an heathen writer: ‘Forsake not an old friend, for the new is not comparable to him: a new friend is as new wine; when it is old thou [...] drink it with pleasure.’

[Page 35]14. With what strength of allusion, and force of thought, has he described the breaches and violations of friendship? ‘Whoso casteth a stone at the birds frayeth them away; and he that upbraideth his friend, breaketh friendship. Tho' thou drawest a sword at a friend, yet despair not, for there may be a returning to favour: if thou hast opened thy mouth against thy friend, fear not, for there may be a reconciliation; except for upbraiding, or pride, or disclosing of secrets, or a treacherous wound; for, for these things, every friend will depart.’

15. We may observe in this and several other pre­cepts in this author, those little familiar instances and illustrations which are so much admired in the moral writings of Horace and Epictetus. There are very beautiful instances of this nature in the following pa­ges, which are likewise written upon the same subject:

16. ‘Whoso discovereth secrets, loseth his credit, and shall never find a friend to his mind. Love thy friend, and be faithful unto him; but if thou be­wrayest his secrets, follow no more after him: for as a man hath destroyed his enemy, so hast thou lost the love of thy friend; as one that letteth a bird go out of his hand, so hast thou let thy friend go, and shall not get him again: follow after him no more, for he is too far off; he is as a roe escaped out of the snare. As for a wound, it may be bound up, and after reviling, there may be reconciliation; but he that bewrayeth secrets, is without hope.’

17. Among [...]he several qualifications of a good friend, this wise man has very justly singled out con­stancy and faithfulness as the principal: to these, others have added virtue, knowledge, discretion, equality in age and fortune, and as Cicero calls it, morum comitas, a pleasantness of temper.

18. If I were to give my opinion upon such an ex­hausted subject, I should join to these other qualifica­tions a certain aequibility or evenness of behaviour. A man often contracts a friendship with one whom per­haps [Page 36] he does not find out till after a year's conversa­tion; when on a sudden some latent ill hum [...] breaks on upon him, which he never discovered or [...]u [...]pected at his first entering into an intimacy with him.

19. There are several persons who in some certain periods of their lives are inexpressibly agreeable, and in others as odious▪ and detestable. Martial has gi­ven us a very pretty picture of one of these species in the following epigram:

20. It is very unlucky for a man to be entangled in a friendship with one, who by these changes and vicissitudes of humour is sometimes amiable, and sometimes odious▪ and as most men are at some times in an admirable frame and disposition of mind, it should be one of the greatest tasks of wisdom to keep ourselves well when we are so, and never to go out of that which is the agreeable part of our character.

21. ‘Friendship is a strong and habitual inclina­tion in two persons to promote the good and happi­ness of one another.’ Though the pleasures and advantages of friendship have been largely celebrat­ed by the best moral writers, and are considered by all as great ingredients of human happiness, we very rarely meet with the practice of this virtue in the world.

22. Every man is ready to give a long catalogue of those virtues and good qualities he expects to find in the person of a friend, but very few of us are care­ful to cultivate them in ourselves.

[Page 37]Love and esteem are the first principles of friend­ship, which always is imperfect where either of these two is wanting.

23. As, on the one hand, we are soon ashamed of loving a man whom we cannot esteem; so on the o­ther, though we are truly sensible of a man's abilities, we can never raise ourselves to the warmths of friend­ship, without an affectionate good-will towards his person.

24. Friendship immediately banishes envy under all its disguises. A man who can once doubt whether he should rejoice in his friend's being happier than himself, may depend upon it, that he is an utter stran­ger to this virtue.

25. There is something in friendship so very great and noble, that in those fictitious stories which are invented to the honour of any particular person, the authors have thought it as necessary to make their hero a friend as a lover. Achilles has his Patroclus, and, Aeneas his Achates.

26. In the first of these instances we may observe, for the reputation of the subject I am treating of, that Greece was almost ruined by the hero's love, but was preserved by his friendship.

27 The character of Achates suggests to us an ob­servation we may often make on the intimacies of great men, who frequently choose their companions rather for the qualities of the heart, than those of the head: and prefer fidelity, in an easy inoffensive com­plying temper, to those endowments which make a much greater figure among mankind.

28. I do not remember that Achates, who is repre­sented as the first favourite, either gives his advice, or strikes a blow through the whole Aeneid.

A friendship, which makes the least noise, is very often most useful; for which reason I should prefer a prudent friend to a zealous one.

29. Atticus, one of the best men of ancient Rome, was a very remarkable instance of what I am here [Page 38] speaking. This extraordinary person, amidst the civil wars of his country, when he saw the designs of all parties equally tended to the subversion of liber­ty, by constantly preserving the esteem and affection of both the competitors, found means to serve his friends on either side: and while he sent money to young Marius, whose father was declared an enemy of the common-wealth, he was himself one of Sylla's chief favourites, and always near that general.

30. During the war between Caesar and Pompey, he still maintained the same conduct. After the death of Caesar, he sent money to Brutus in his troubles, and did a thousand good offices to Antony's wife and friends, when the party seemed ruined. Lastly, even in that bloody war between Antony and Augustus, Atticus, still kept his place in both their friendships; insomuch, that the first, says Cornelius Nepos, when­ever he was absent from Rome in any part of the em­pire, writ punctually to him what he was doing, what he read, and whither he intended to go; and the latter gave him constantly an exact account of all his affairs.

31. A likeness of inclinations in every particular is so far from being requisite to form a benevolence in two minds towards each other, as it is generally imagined, that I believe we shall find some of the firmest friendships to have been contracted between persons of different humours; the mind being often pleased with those perfections which are new to it, and which it does not find among its own accom­plishments.

32. Besides that a man in some measure supplies his own defects, and fancies himself at second-hand possessed of those good qualities and endowments, which are in the possession of him who in the eye of the world is looked on as his other self.

33. The most difficult province in friendship is the letting a man see his faults and errors, which should, if possible, be so contrived, that he may per­ceive [Page 39] our advice is given him not so much to please ourselves, as for his own advantage. The reproaches, therefore, of a friend should always be strictly just, and not too frequent.

34. The violent desire of pleasing in the person reproved may otherwise change into a despair of do­ing it, while he finds himself censured for faults he is not conscious of. A mind that is softened and huma­nized by friendship, cannot bear frequent reproaches: either it must quite sink under the oppression, or abate considerably of the value and esteem it had for him who bestows them.

35. The proper business of friendship is to inspire life and courage; and a soul, thus supported, out-does itself; whereas if it be unexpectedly deprived of those succours, it droops and languishes.

36. We are in some measure more inexcusable if we violate our duties to a friend, than to a relation; since the former arise from a voluntary choice, the latter from a necessity, to which we could not give our own consent.

37. As it has been said on one side, that a man ought not to break with a faulty friend, that he may not expose the weakness of his choice; it will doubt­less hold much stronger with respect to a worthy one, that he may never be upbraided for having lost so valuable a treasure which was once in his possession.

1. I Have not seen you lately at any of the places where I visit, so that I am afraid you are whol­ly unacquainted with what passes among my part of the world, who are, though I say it, without contro­versy, the most accomplished and best bred of the town.

[Page 40]2. Give me leave to tell you, that I am extreme­ly discomposed when I hear scandal, and am an utter enemy to all manner of detraction, and think it the greatest meanness that people of distinction can be guilty of; however it is hardly possible to come into company, where you do not find them pulling one another to pieces, and that from no other provocation but that of hearing any one commended.

3. Merit, both as to wit and beauty, is become no other than the possession of a few trifling people's fa­vour, which you cannot possibly arrive at. If you have really any thing in you that is deserving.

4. What they would bring to pass is, to make all good and evil consist in report, and with whispers, calumnies, and impertinences, to have the conduct of those reports.

5. By this means innocents are blasted upon their first appearance in town; and there is nothing more required to make a young woman the object of envy and hatred, than to deserve love and admiration.

6. This abominable endeavour to suppress or lesse [...] every thing that is praise-worthy, is as frequent a­mong the men as women. If I can remember what passed at a visit last night, it will serve as an instance that the sexes are equally inclined to defamation, with equal malice, with equal impotence.

7. Jack Triplett came into my Lady Airy's about eight of the clock. You know the manner we sit at a visit, and I need not describe the circle; but Mr. Triplett came in, introduced by two tapers supported by a spruce servant, whose hair is under a cap till my lady's candles are all lighted up, and the hour o [...] ceremony begins.

8. I say Ja [...]k Triplett came in, and singing (for he is really good company) 'Every feature, charming creature'—he went on. It is a most unreasonable thing that people cannot go peaceably to see their friends, but these murderers are [...]et loo [...]e.

[Page 41]9. Such a shape! such an air! what a glance was that as her chariot passed by mine—My lady herself interrupted him; pray, who is this fine thing—I warrant, says another, 'tis the creature I was telling your ladyship of just now.

10. You were telling of? says Jack; I wish I had been so happy as to have come in and heard you, for I have not words to say what she is: but if an agree­able height, a modest air, a virgin shame, and im­patience of being beheld, amidst a blaze of ten thousand charms—The whole room flew out— Oh Mr. Triplett!—When Mrs. Lofty, a known prude said she believed she knew whom the gentleman meant; but she was, indeed, as he civilly represented her, impatient of being beheld. Then turning to the lady next her—The most unbred creature you ever saw.

11. Another pursued the discourse: As unbred, Madam, as you may think her, she is extremely be­ly'd if she is the novice she appears; she was last week at a ball till two in the morning: Mr. Triplett knows whether he was the happy man that took care of her home; but—This was followed by some particular exception that each woman in the room made to some peculiar grace or advantage; so that Mr. Triplett was beaten from one limb and feature to another, till he was forced to resign the whole woman.

12. In the end, I took notice Triplett recorded all this malice in his heart; and saw in his countenance, and a certain waggish shrug, that he designed to repeat the conversation: I therefore let the discourse die, and soon after took an occasion to commend a certain gentleman of my acquaintance for a person of singular modesty, courage, integrity, and withal, as a man of an entertaining conversation, to which advantages he had a shape and manner peculiarly graceful.

[Page 42]13. Mr. Triplett, who is a woman's man, seemed to hear me, with patience enough, commend the qualities of his mind; he never heard, indeed, but that he was a very honest man, and no fool; but for a fine gentleman, he must ask pardon. Upon no other foundation than this, Mr. Triplett took occasion to give the gentleman's pedigree, by what methods some part of the estate was acquired, how much it was beholden to a marriage for the present circum­stances of it: after all he could see nothing but a com­mon man in his person, his breeding, or understand­ing.

14. Thus, Mr. Spectator, this impertinent hu­mour of diminishing every one who is produced in conversation to their advantage, runs through the world; and I am, I confess, so fearful of the force of ill tongue [...], that I have begged of all those who are my well-wishers, never to commend me, for it will but bring my frailties into examination, and I [...]ad rather be unobserved, than conspicuous for dis­puted perfections.

15. I am confident a thousand young people, who would have been ornaments to society, have, from fear of scandal, never dared to exert themselves in the polite arts of life. Their lives have passed away in an odious rusticity, in spite of great advantages of person, genius, and fortune.

16. There is a vicious terror of being blamed in some well-inclined people, and a wicked pleasure in suppressing them in others; both which I recommend to your spectatorial wisdom to animadvert upon; and if you can be [...]uccessful in it, I need not say how much you will deserve of the town; but new toasts will owe to you their beauty, and new wits their fame.

17. Truth and reality have all the advantages of appearance, and many more. If the shew of any thing be good for any thing, I am sure sincerity is better: for why does any man dissemble, or seem to [Page 43] be that which he is not, but because he thinks it good to have such a quality as he pretends to? for to counterfeit and dissemble, is to put on the appear­ance of some real excellency.

18. Now the best way in the world for a man to seem to be any thing, is really to be what he would seem to be. Besides that, it is many times as trou­blesome to make good the pretence of a good quali­ty, as to have it; and if a man have it not, it is ten to one but he is discovered to want it, and then all his pains and labour to seem to have it is lost. There is something unn [...]tural in pai [...]ing, which a skilful eye will easily discern from native beauty and com­plexion.

19. It is hard to personate and act a part long; for where truth is not at the bottom, nature will al­ways be endeavouring to return, and will peep out and betray herself one time or other. Therefore, if any man think it convenient to seem good, let him be so indeed, and then his goodness will appear to every body's satisfaction; so that, upon all accounts sincerity is true wisdom.

20. Particularly as to the affairs of this world, integrity hath many advantages over all the fine and artificial ways of dissimulation and deceit; it is much the plainer and easier, much the safer and more se­cure way of dealing in the world; it has less of trou­ble and difficulty, of entanglement and perplexity, of danger and [...] in i [...]: it is the shortest and nearest way to our end▪ carrying us thither in a straight line, and will hold out and last longest.

21. The arts o [...] [...]ec [...]it and cunning do continual­ly grow weaker [...]nd less effectual and serviceable to them that use them▪ whereas integrity gains strength by use, and the more and longer any man practiseth it, the greate [...] service it does him, by confirming his reputation [...] and encouraging those with whom he hath to do, to repose the greatest trust and confi­dence [Page 44] in him, which is an unspeakable advantage in the business and affairs of life.

22. Truth is always consistent with itself, and needs nothing to help it out; it is always near at hand, and sits upon our lips, and is ready to drop out before we are aware; whereas a lye is trouble­some, and sets a man's invention upon the rack, and one trick needs a great many more to make it good.

23. It is like building upon a false foundation, which continually stands in need of props to shoar it up, and proves at last more chargeable, than to have raised a substantial building at first upon a true and solid foundation; for sincerity is firm and substantial, and there is nothing hollow and unsound in it, and because it is plain and open, fears no discovery:

24. Of which the crafty man is always in danger, and when he thinks he walks in the dark, all his pre­tences are so transparent, that he who runs may read them; he is the last man that finds himself to be found out, and whilst he takes it for granted that he makes fools of others, he renders himself ridiculous.

25. Add to all this, that sincerity is the most com­pendious wisdom, and an excellent instrument for the speedy dispatch of business; it creates confidence in those we have to deal with, saves the labour of many enquiries, and brings things to an issue in a few words:

26. It is like travelling in a plain beaten road, which commonly brings a man sooner to his journey's end than by-ways, in which men often lose themselves. In a word, whatsoever convenience may be thought to be in falshood and dissimulation, it is soon over; but the inconvenience of it is perpetual, because it brings a man under an everlasting jealousy and suspi­cion, so that he is not believed when he speaks truth, nor trusted when perhaps he means honestly; when a man hath once forfeited the reputation of his inte­grity, he is set fast, and nothing will then serve his turn, neither truth nor falshood.

[Page 45]27. And I have often thought, that God hath, in his great wisdom, hid from men of false and dishones [...] minds, the wonderful advantages of truth and inte­grity to the prosperity even of our worldly affairs; these men are so blinded by their covetousness an [...] ambition, that they cannot look beyond a present advantage, nor forbear to seize upon it, though by ways never so indirect; they cannot see so far, as to the remote consequences of a steady integrity, and the vast benefit and advantages which it will bring a man at last.

28. Were but this sort of men wise and clear sighted enough to discern this, they would be honest out of very knavery; not out of any love to honesty and vir­tue, but with a crafty design to promote and advance more effectually their own interests; and therefore the justice of the Divine Providence hath hid this tru­est point of wisdom from their eyes, that bad men might not be upon equal terms with the just and up­right, and serve their own wicked designs by honest and lawful means.

29. Indeed if a man were only to deal in the world for a day, and should never have occasion to converse more with mankind, never more need their good opi­nion or good word, it were then no great matter (speaking as to the concernments of this world) if a man spent his reputation all at once, and ventured it at one throw.

30. But if he be to continue in the world, and would have the advantage of conversation whilst he is in it, let him make use of truth and sincerity in all his words and actions; for nothing but this will last and hold out to the end; all other arts will fail, but truth and integrity will carry a man through, and bear him out to the last.

31. When Aristotle was once asked, what a man could gain by uttering falshoods? he replied, ‘not to be credited when he shall tell the truth.’

[Page 46]The character of a lyar is at once so hateful and contemptible, that even of those who have lost their virtue it might be expected, that from the violation of truth they should be restrained by their pride. Almost every other vice that disgraces human nature, may be kept in countenance by applause and associa­tion.

32. The corrupter of virgin innocence sees himself envied by the men, and at least not detested by the women: the drunkard may easily unite with beings, devoted like himself to noisy merriment or silent in­sensibility, who will celebrate his victories over the novices of intemperance, boast themselves the compa­nions of his prowess, and tell with rapture of the multitudes whom unsuccessful emulation has hurried to the grave: even the robber and the cut-throat have their followers, who admire their address and intre­pidity, their stratagems of rapine, and their fidelity to the gang.

33. The lyar, and only the lyar, is invariably and universally despised, abandoned and disowned: he has no domestic consolations, which he can oppose to the censure of mankind; he can retire to no frater­nity where his crimes may stand in the place of vir­tues, but is given up to the hisses of the multitude, without friend and without apologist. It is the pecu­liar condition of falshood, to be equally detested by the good and bad: "The devils,' says Sir Thomas Brown, ‘do not tell lyes to one another; for truth is necessary to all societies; nor can the society of hell subsist without it.’

34. It is natural to expect, that a crime thus ge­nerally detested should be generally avoided; at least that none should expose himself to unabated and unpi­tied infamy, w [...]hout an adequate temptation; and that to guilt so eas [...]y detec [...], and so severely punished, an adequate temptation would not readily be found.

35. Yet so it is, that in defiance of censure and contempt, truth is frequently violated; and scarcely [Page 47] the most vigilant and unremitted circumspection will secure him that mixes with mankind, from being hourly deceived by men of whom it can scarcely be imagined, that they mean an injury to him or profit to themselves; even where the subject of conversation could not have been expected to put the passions in motion, or to have excited either hope or fear, or zeal or malignity, sufficient to induce any man to put his reputation in hazard, however little he might value it, or to overpower the love of truth, however weak might be its influence.

36. The casuists have very diligently distinguished lyes into their several classes, according to their va­rious degrees of malignity: but they have, I think, generally omitted that which is most common, and perhaps, not less mischievous; which, since the mo­ralists have not given it a name, I shall distinguish as the lye of vanity.

To vanity may justly be imputed most of the fals­hoods, which every man perceives hourly playing upon his [...]r, and, perhaps, most of those that are propagated with success.

37. To the lye of commerce, and the lye of malice, the motive is so apparent, that they are seldom neg­ligently or implicitly received: suspicion is always watchful over the practices of interest; and whatever the hope of gain, or desire of mischief, can prompt one man to assert, another is by reasons equally co­gent incited to refu [...]e. But vanity pleases herself with such slight gratifications, and looks forward to pleasure so remotely consequential, that her practi­ces raise no alarm, and her stratagems are not easily discovered.

38. Vanity is, indeed, often suffered to pass un­pursued by suspicion; because he that would watch her motions, can never be at rest; fraud and malice are bounded in their influence; some opportunity of time and place is necessary to their agency; but scarce any man is abstracted one moment from his [Page 48] vanity; and he, to whom truth affords no gratifica­tions, is generally inclined to seek them in falshoods.

39. It is remarked by Sir Kenelm Digby, ‘that every man has a desire to appear superior to others, though it were only in having seen what they have not seen.’

Such an accidental advantage, since it neither im­plies merit, nor confers dignity, one would think should not be desired so much as to be counterfeited: yet even this vanity, trifling as it is, produces in­numerable narratives, all equally false, but more or less credible, in proportion to the skill or confidence of the relater.

40. How many may a man of diffusive conversa­tion count among his acquaintances, whose lives have been signalized by numberless escapes; who never cross the river but in a storm, or take a jour­ney into the country without more adventures than befell the knight-errants of antient times in pathless forests or enchanted castles! How many must he know, to whom portents and prodigies are of daily occurrence; and for whom nature is hourly working wonders invisible to every other eye, only to supply them with subjects of conversation!

41. Others there are who amuse themselves with the dissemination of falshood, at greater hazard of detection and disgrace: men marked out by some lucky planet for universal confidence and friendship, who have been consulted in every difficulty, entrust­ed with every secret, and summoned to every trans­action: it is the supreme felicity of these men, to stun all companies with noisy information; to still doubt, and overbear opposition, with certain know­ledge or authentic intelligence.

42. A lyar of this kind, with a strong memory or brisk imagination, is often the oracle of an obscure club, and, till time discovers his impostures, dic­tates to his hearers with uncontrouled authority; for if a public question be started, he was present at the [Page 49] debate; if a new fashion be mentioned, he was at court the first day of its appearance; if a new perfor­mance of literature draws the attention of the public, he has patronized the author, and seen his work in manuscript; if a criminal of eminence be condemned to die, he often predicted his fate, and endeavoured his reformation: and who that lives at a distance from the scene of action, will dare to contradict a man, who reports from his own eyes and ears, and to whom all persons and affairs are thus intimately known?

43. This kind of falshood is generally successful for a time, because it is practised at first with timi­dity and caution; but the prosperity of the lyar is of short duration; the reception of one story is always an incitement to the forgery of another less probable; and he goes on to triumph over tacit credulity, till pride or reason rises up against him, and his com­panions will no longer endure to see him wiser than themselves.

44. It is apparent, that the inventors of all these fictions intend some exaltation of themselves, and are led off by the pursuit of honour from their atten­dance upon truth: their narratives always imply some consequence in favour of their courage, their fagacity, or their activity, their familiarity with the learned, or their reception among the great; they are always bribed by the present pleasure of seeing themselves superior to those that surround them, and receiving the homage of silent attention and envious admiration▪

45. But vanity is sometimes excited to fiction by less visible gratifications: the present age abounds with a race of lyars who are con [...]ent with the consci­ousness of falshood, and whose pride is to deceive others without any gain or glory to themselves. Of this tribe it is the supreme pleasure to remark a lady in the playhouse or the park, and to publish, under the character of a man suddenly enamoured, an ad­vertisement [Page 50] in the news of the next day, containing a minute description of her person and her dress.

46. From this artifice, however, no other effect can be expected, than perturbations which the writer can never see, and conjectures of which he can never be informed: some mischief, however, he hopes he has done; and to have done mischief, is of some im­portance. He sets his invention to work again, and produces a narrative of a robbery, or a murder, with all the circumstances of time and place accurately adjusted. This is a jest of greater effect and longer duration: if he fixes his scene at a proper distance, he may for several days keep a wife in terror for her husband, or a mother for her son; and please him­self with reflecting, that by his abilities and address some addition is made to the miseries of life.

47 There is, I think, an antient law in Scotland by which Leasing-making was capitally punished. I am, indeed, far from desiring to increase in this kingdom the number of executions; yet I cannot but think, that they who destroy the confidence of society weaken the credit of intelligence, and interrupt the security of life; harrass the delicate with shame, and perplex the timorous with alarms; might very pro­perly be awakened to a sense of their crimes, by de­nunciations of a whipping post or pillory: since many are so in sensible of right and wrong, that they have no standard of action but the law; nor feel guilt, but as they dread punishment.

1. IT is observed in the writings of Boyle, that the excellency of manufactures and facility of la­bour would be much promoted, if the various expe­dients and contrivances which lie concealed in pri­vate hands were by reciprocal communications made [Page 51] generally known; for there are few operations that are not performed by one or other with some peculiar advantages, which, though singly of little impor­tance, would by conjunction and concurrence open new inlets to knowledge, and give new powers to diligence.

2. There are in like manner several moral excel­lencies distributed among the various classes of man­kind, which he that converses in the world should endeavour to assemble in himself. It was said by the learned Cujacius, that he never read more than one book, by which he was not instructed, and he that shall enquire after virtue with ardour and attention, will seldom find a man by whose example or senti­ments he may not be improved.

3. Every profession has some essential and appro­priate virtue, without which there can be no hope of honour or success, and which, as it is more or less cultivated, confers within its sphere of activity differ­ent degrees of merit and reputation. As the astrolo­gers range the subdivisions of mankind under the planets which they suppose to influence their lives, the moralist may distribute them according to the virtues which they necessarily practise, and con [...]ides them as distinguished by prudence or fortitude, di­ligence or patience.

4. So much are the modes of excellence settled by time and place, that men may be heard boasting in one street of that which they would anxiously co [...] in another. The grounds of scorn and esteem, [...] topics of praise and satire are varied according [...] several virtues or vices which the course of our lives has disposed us to admire or abhor; but he who is solicitous for his own improvement, must not suffer his affairs to be limited by local reputation, but select from every tribe of mortals their characteristical vir­tues, and constellate in himself the scattered graces which shine single in other men.

[Page 52]5. The chief praise to which a trader generally aspires is that of punctuality, or an exact and rigor­ous observance of commercial promises and engage­ments; nor is there any vice of which he so much dreads the imputation, as of negligence and instabi­lity. This is a quality which the interest of mankind requires to be diffused through all the ranks of life, but which, however useful and valuable, many seem content to want; it is considered as a vulgar and ig­noble virtue, below the ambition of greatness or at­tention of wit, scarcely requisite among men of gaiety and spirit, and sold at its highest rate when it is sa­crificed to a frolie or a jest.

6. Every man has daily occasion to remark what vexations and inconveniences arise from this privilege of deceiving one another. The active and vivacious have so long disdained the restraints of truth, that promises and appointments have lost their cogency, and both parties neglect their stipulations, becaus [...] each concludes that they will be broken by the other.

7. Negligence is first admitted in trivial affairs, and strengthened by petty indulgencies. He that is not yet hardened by custom, ventures not on the viola­tion of important engagements, but thinks himself bound by his word in cases of property or danger, though he allows himself to forget at what time he is to meet ladies in the park, or at what tavern his friends are expecting him.

8. This laxity of honour would be more tolerable, if it could be restrained to the play-house, the ball-room, or the card-table; yet even there it is sufficiently troublesome, and darkens those moments with expec­tation, suspence, uncertainty and resentment, which are set aside for the softer pleasures of life, and from which we naturally hope for unmingled enjoyment, and total relaxation. But he that suffers the slightest breach in his morality, can seldom tell what shall en­ter it, or how wide it shall be made; when a passage is opened, the influx of corruption is every moment [Page 53] wearing down opposition, and by slow degrees de­luges the heart.

9. Aliger entered the world a youth of lively ima­gination, extensive views, and untainted principles. His curiosity incited him to range from place to place, and try all the varieties of conversation; his ele­gance of address and fertility of ideas gained him friends wherever he appeared; or at least he found the general kindness of reception always shewn to a young man whose birth and fortune gave him a claim to notice, and who has neither by vice or folly de­stroyed his privileges.

10. Aliger was pleased with this general smile of mankind, and being naturally gentle and flexible, was industrious to preserve it by compliance and of­ficiousness, but did not suffer his desire of pleasing to vitiate his integrity. It was his established maxim, that a promise is never to be broken; nor was it with­out long reluctance that he once suffered himself to be drawn away from a festal engagement by the im­portunity of another company.

11. He spent the evening, as is usual in the rudi­ments of vice, with perturbation and imperfect en­joyment, and met his disappointed friends in the morning with confusion and excuses. His compa­nions, not accustomed to such scrupulous anxiety, laughed at his uneasiness, compounded the offence for a bottle, gave him courage to break his word again, and again levied the penalty.

12. He ventured the same experiment upon another society, and found them equally ready to consider it as a venial fault, always incident to a man of quick­ness and gaiety; till by degrees he began to think himself at liberty to follow [...]he last invitation, and was no longer shocked at the turpitude of falshood. He made no difficulty to promise his presence at dis­tant places, and if listlessness happened to creep upon him, would sit at home with great tranquillity, and [Page 54] has often, while he sunk to sleep in a chair, held ten tables in continual expectation of his entrance.

13. He found it so pleasant to live in perpetual va­cancy, that he soon dismissed his attention as an use­less incumbrance, and resigned himself to carelessness and dissipation, without any regard to the future or the past, or any other motive of action than the im­pulse of a sudden desire, or the attraction of imme­diate pleasure. The absent were immediately for­gotten, and the hopes or fears of others had no in­fluence upon his conduct. He was in speculation completely just, but never kept his promise to a cre­ditor; he was benevolent, but always deceived those friends whom he undertook to patronize or assist; he was prudent, but suffered his affairs to be embarrassed for want of settling his accounts at stated times.

14. He courted a young lady, and when the set­tlements were drawn, took a ramble into the coun­try on the day appointed to sign them. He resolved to travel▪ and sent his chests on ship board, but de­layed to follow them till he lost his passage. He was summoned as an evidence in a cause of great import­ance, and loitered in the way till the trial was past. It is said, that when he had with great expence form­ed an interest in a borough, his opponent contrived by some agents, who knew his temper, to lure him away on the day of election.

15. His benevolence draws him into the commis­sion of a thousand crimes, which others, less kind or civil, would escape. His courtesy invites applica­tion, his promises produce dependence; he has his pockets filled with petitions, which he intends some time to deliver and enforce, and his table covered with letters of request, with which he purposes to comply; but time slips imperceptibly away, while he is either idle or busy: his friends lose their op­portunities, and charge upon him their miscarriages and calamities.

This character, however contemptible, is not pe­culiar to Aliger.

[Page 55]16. They whose activity of imagination is often shifting the scenes of expectation, are frequently sub­ject to such sallies of caprice as make all their actions fortuitous, destroy the value of their friendship, ob­struct the efficacy of their virtues, and set them be­low the meanest of those that persist in their resoluti­ons, execute what they design, and perform what they have promised.

1. BODILY labour is of two kinds, either that which a man submits to for his livelihood, or that which he undergoes for his pleasure. The latter of them generally changes the name of labour for that of exercise, but differs only from ordinary la­bour as it rises from another motive.

A country life abounds in both these kinds of la­bour, and for that reason gives a man a greater stock of health, and consequently a more perfect enjoyment of himself, than any other way of life.

2. I consider the body as a system of tubes and glands, or to use a more rustic phrase, a bundle of pipes and strainers, fitted to one another after so wonderful a manner, as to make a proper engine for the soul to work with. This description does not on­ly comprehend the bowels, bones, tendons, veins, nerves, and arteries, but every muscle and every li­gature, which is a composition of fibres, that are so many imperceptible tubes or pipes interwoven on all sides with invisible glands or strainers

3. This general idea of a human body, without considering it in its niceties of anatomy, lets us see how absolutely necessary labour is for the right pre­servation of it. There must be frequent motions and [Page 56] agitations, to mix, digest, and separate the juices contained in it, as well as to clear and cleanse that infinitude of pipes and strainers of which it is com­posed, and to give their solid parts a more firm and lasting tone. Labour or exercise ferments the hu­mours, casts them into their proper channels, throws off redundancies, and helps nature in those secret distributions, without which the body cannot subsist in its vigour, nor the soul act with chearfulness.

4. I might here mention the effects which this has upon all the faculties of the mind, by keeping the understanding clear, the imagination untroubled, and refining those spirits that are necessary for the proper exertion of our intellectual faculties, during the present laws of union between soul and body. It is to a neglect in this particular that we must ascribe the spleen, which is so frequent in men of studious and sedentary tempers, as well as the vapours to which those of the other sex are so often subject.

5. Had not exercise been absolutely necessary for our well-being, nature would not have made the bo­dy so proper for it, by giving such an activity to the limbs, and such a pliancy to every part, as necessa­rily produce those compressions, extensions, contor­tions, dilatations, and all other kinds of motions that are necessary for the preservation of such a system of tubes and glands as has been before-mentioned. And that we might not want inducements to engage us in such an exercise of the body as is proper for its wel­fare, it is so ordered, that nothing valuable can be procured without it.—Not to mention riches and ho­nour, even food and raiment are not to be come at without the toil of the hands and sweat of the brows.

6. Providence furnishes materials, but expects that we should work them up ourselves. The earth must be laboured before it gives his increase, and when it is forced into its several products, how many hands must they pass through before they are fit for use? Manufactures, trade, and agriculture, naturally em­ploy [Page 57] more than nineteen parts of the species in twen­ty; and as for those who are not obliged to labour, by the condition in which they are born, they are more miserable than the rest of mankind, unless they [...]lge themselves in that voluntary labour which goes by the name of exercise.

7. My friend Sir Roger hath been an indefatigable man in business of this kind, and has hung several parts of his house with the trophies of his former la­bours. The walls of his great hall are covered with the horns of several kinds of deer that he has killed in the chace, which he thinks the most valuable fur­niture of his house, as they afford him frequent topics of discourse, and shew that he has not been idle.

8. At the lower end of the hall is a large otter's skin stuffed with hay, which his mother ordered to be hung up in that manner, and the knight looks upon it with great satisfaction, because it seems he was but nine years old when his dog killed him. A little room adjoining to the hall is a kind of arsenal filled with guns of several sizes and inventions, with which the knight has made great havock in the woods, and destroyed many thousands of pheasants, partridges and woodcocks. His stable doors are patched with noses that belonged to foxes of the knight's own hunting down.

9. Sir Roger shewed me one of them that, for dis­tinction sake, has a brass nail struck through it, which cost him about fifteen hours riding, carried him through half a dozen counties, killed him a brace of geldings, and lost about half his dogs. This the knight looks upon as one of the greatest exploits of his life.

10. The perverse widow, whom I have given some account of was the death of several foxes; for Sir Roger has told me, that in the course of his amours he patched the western door of his stable. Whenever the widow was cruel, the foxes were sure to pay for t. In proportion as his passion for the widow abated [Page 58] and old age came on, he left off fox-hunting; but a hare is not yet safe that sits within ten miles of his house.

11. There is no kind of exercise which I would so recommend to my readers of both sexes as this of riding, as there is none which so much conduces to health, and is every way accommodated to the body, according to the idea which I have given of it. Dr. Sydenham is very lavish in its praises; and if the English reader will see the mechanical effects of it described at length, he may find them in a book published not many years since, under the title of Medicina Gymnastica.

12. For my own part when I am in town, for want of these opportunities, I exercise myself an hour e­very morning upon a dumb bell that is placed in a corner of my room, and pleases me the more because it does every thing I require in the most profound si­lence. My landlady and her daughters are so well acquainted with my hours of exercise, that they ne­ver come into my room to disturb me whilst I am ringing.

13. When I was some years younger than I am at present, I used to employ myself in a more laborious diversion, which I learned from a Latin treatise of exercise, that is written with great erudition: It is there called the [...], or the fighting with a man's own shadow, and consists in the brandishing of two short sticks grasped in each hand, and loaded with plugs of lead at either end. This opens the chest, exercises the limbs, and gives a man all the pleasure of boxing, without the blows.

14. I could wish that several learned men would lay out that time which they employ in controversies and disputes about nothing, in this method of fighting with their own shadows. It might conduce very much to evaporate the spleen, which makes them uneasy to the public as well as to themselves.

As I am a compound of soul and body, I consider [Page 59] myself as obliged to a double scheme of duties; and think I have not fulfilled the business of the day, when I do not thus employ the one in labour and ex­ercise, as well as the other in study and contemplation▪

15. There is a story in the Arabian Nights Tales, of a king who had long languished under an ill habit of body, and had taken abundance of remedies to no purpose. At length, sa [...]s the fable, a physician cured him by the following method: he took an hol­low ball of wood, and filled it with several drugs; after which he closed it up so artificially that nothing appeared. He likewise took a mall, and after hav­ing hollowed the handle, and that part which strikes the ball, inclosed in them several drugs after the same manner as in the ball itself.

16. He then ordered the sultan who was his pa­tient, to exercise himself early in the morning with these rightly prepared instruments, till such time as he should sweat: when, as the story goes, the virtue of the medicaments perspiring through the wood, had so good an influence on the sultan's constitution, that they cured him of an indisposition which all the com­positions he had taken inwardly had not been able to remove.

17. This eastern allegory is finely contrived to shew us how beneficial bodily labour is to health, [...]nd that exercise is the most effectual physic. I have de­scribed in my hundred and fifteenth paper, from the general structure and mechanism of an human body, how absolutely necessary exercise is for its preserva­tion; I shall in this place recommend another great preservative of health, which in many cases produces the same effects as exercise, and may, in some mea­sure, supply its place, where opportunities of exer­cise are wanting.

18. The preservative I am speaking of is tempe­rance, which has those particular advantages above all other means of health, that it may be practised by all ranks and conditions, at any season, or in any [Page 60] place. It is a kind of regimen into which every man may put himself, without interruption to business, ex­pence of money, or loss of time. If exercise throws off all superfluities, temperance prevents them: if exercise clears the vessels, temperance neither sati­ates nor over-strains them: if exercise raises proper ferments in the humours, and promotes the circula­tion of the blood, temperance gives nature her full play, and enables her to exert herself in all her force and vigour: if exercise dissipates a growing distem­per, temperance starves it.

19. Physic, for the most part, is nothing else but the substitute of exercise or temperance. Medicines are indeed absolutely necessary in acute distempers, that cannot wait the slow operations of these two great instruments of health; but did men live in an habitual course of exercise and temperance, there would be but little occasion for them. Accordingly we find that those parts of the world are the most healthy, where they subsist by the chace; and that men lived longest when their lives were employed in hunting, and when they had little food besides what they caught.

20. Blistering, cupping, bleeding, are seldom of use to any but to the idle and intemperate; as all those inward applications, which are so much in prac­tice among us, are, for the most part, nothing else but expedients to make luxury consistent with health. The apothecary is perpetually employed in counter­mining the cook and the vintner. It is said of Dio­genes, that meeting a young man who was going to a feast, he took him up in the street, and carried him home to his friends, as one who was running into im­minent danger, had he not prevented him.

21. What would that philosopher have said, had he been present at the gluttony of a modern meal? would not he have thought the master of a family mad, and have begged his servant to tie down his hands, had he seen him devour fowl, fish, and flesh; [Page 61] swallow oil and vinegar, wines and spices; throw down salads of twenty different herbs, sauces of an hundred ingredients, confections and fruits of num­berless sweets and flavours? What unnatural mo­tions and counter-ferments must such a medley of in­temperance produce in the body? For my part, when I behold a fashionable table set out in all its magnificence, I fancy, that I see gouts and dropsies, fevers and lethargies, with other innumerable distem­pers, lying in ambuscade among the dishes.

22. Nature delights in the most plain and simple diet. Every animal, but man, keeps to one dish. Herbs are the food of this species, fish of that, and flesh of a third. Man falls upon every thing that comes in his way; not the smallest fruit or excre­scence of the earth, scarce a berry, or a mushroom, can escape him.

It is impossible to lay down any determinate rule for temperance, because what is luxury in one may be temperance in another; but there are few that have lived any time in the world, who are not judges of their own constitutions, so far as to know what kinds and what proportions of food do best agree with them.

23. Were I to consider my readers as my patients, and to prescribe such a kind of temperance as is ac­commodated to all persons, and such as is particu­larly suitable to our climate and way of living, I would copy the following rules of a very eminent physician. Make your whole repast out of one dish. If you indulge in a second, avoid drinking any thing strong till you have finished your meal: at the same time abstain from all sauces, or at least such as are not the most plain and simple.

24. A man could not be well-guilty of gluttony, if he stuck to these few obvious and easy rules. In the first case, there would be no variety of tastes to solicit his palate, and occasion excess; nor in the se­cond any artificial provocatives to relieve satiety, [Page 62] and create a false appetite. Were I to prescribe a rule for drinking, it should be formed upon a saying quoted by Sir William Temple; The first glass for my­self, the second for my friends, the third for good hu­mour, and the fourth for my enemies. But because it is impossible for one who lives in the world to diet himself always in so philosophical a manner, I think every man should have his days of abstinence, accord­ing as his constitution will permit.

25. These are great reliefs to nature, as they qua­lify her for struggling with hunger and thirst, when­ever any distemper or duty of life may put her upon such difficulties; and at the same time give her an opportunity of extricating herself from her oppres­sions, and recovering the several tones and springs of her distended vessels. Besides that, abstinence well-timed often kills a sickness in embryo, and destroys the first seeds of an indisposition.

26. It is observed by two or three ancient authors, that Socrates, notwithstanding he lived in Athens dur­ing that great plague, which has made so much noise through all ages, and has been celebrated at different times by such eminent hands; I say, notwithstanding that he lived in the time of this devouring pestilence, he never caught the least infection, which those wri­ters unanimously ascribe to that uninterrupted tem­perance which he always observed.

27. And here I cannot but mention an observation which I have often made, upon reading the lives of the philosophers, and comparing them with any se­ries of kings or great men of the same number. If we consider these ancient sages, a great part of whose philosophy consisted in a temperate and abstemious course of life, one would think the life of a philoso­pher and the life of a man were of two different dates. For we find, that the generality of these wise men were nearer a hundred than sixty years of age at the time of their respective deaths.

[Page 63]28. But the most remarkable instance of the effi­cacy of temperance towards the procuring of long life, is what we meet with in a little book published by Lewis Cornaro the Venetian; which I the rather mention, because it is of undoubted credit, as the late Venetian ambassador, who was of the same fami­ly, attested more than once in conversation, when he resided in England. Cornaro, who was the author of the little treatise I am mentioning, was of an in­firm constitution, till about forty, when by obstinate­ly persisting in an exact course of temperance, he re­covered a perfect state of health; insomuch that at fourscore he published his book, which has been translated into English, under the title of Sure and certain methods of attaining a long and healthy life.

29 He lived to give a third or fourth edition of it, and after having passed his hundredth year, died without pain or agony, and like one who falls asleep. The treatise I mention has been taken notice of by several eminent authors, and is written with such a spirit of chearfulness, religion and good sense, as are the natural concomitants of temperance and sobriety. The mixture of the old man in it is rather a recom­mendation than a discredit to it.

1. IT is related by Quintus Curtius, that the Per­sians always conceived a lasting and invincible contempt of a man who had violated the laws of se­crecy: for they thought, that, however he might be deficient in the qualities requisite to actual excellence, the negative virtues at least were always in his power, and though he perhaps could not speak well [...]he was to try, it was still easy for him not to speak.

2. In this opinion of the easiness of secrecy, they seem to have considered it as opposed, not to trea­chery, [Page 64] but loquacity, and to have conceived the man, whom they thus censured, not frighted by menaces to reveal, or bribed by promises to betray, but incited by the mere pleasure of talking, or some other mo­tive equally trivial, to lay open his heart without re­flection, and to let whatever he knew slip from him, only for want of power to retain it.

3. Whether, by their settled and avowed scorn of thoughtless talkers, the Persians were able to diffuse to any great extent, the virtue of taciturnity, we are hindered by the distances of those times from being able to discover, there being very few memoirs re­maining of the court of Persepolis, nor any distinct accounts handed down to us of their office-clerks, their ladies of the bed-chamber, their attorneys, their chamber-maids, or their footmen.

4. In these latter ages, though the old animosity against a prattler is still retained, it appears wholly to have lost its effects upon the conduct of mankind; for secrets are so seldom kept, that it may with some reason be doubted, whether the ancients were not mistaken in their first postulate, whether the quality of retention be so generally bestowed, and whether a secret has not some subtile volatility, by which it es­capes almost imperceptibly at the smallest vent; or some power of fermentation, by which it expands it­self so as to burst the heart that will not give it way.

5. Those that study either the body or the mind of man, very often find the most specious and pleasing theory falling under the weight of contrary experi­ence; and instead of gratifying their vanity by in­ferring effects from causes, they are always reduced at last to conjecture causes from effects. That it is easy to be secret the speculatist can demonstrate in his retreat, and therefore thinks himself justified in placing confidence; the man of the world knows, that, whether difficult or not, it is uncommon, and therefore finds himself rather inclined to search after the reason of this universal failure in one of the most important duties of society.

[Page 65]6. The vanity of being known to be trusted with a secret is generally one of the chief motives to disclose it; for however absurd it may be thought to boast an honour, by an act that shews that it was conferred without merit, yet most men seem rather inclined to confess the want of virtue than of importance, and more willingly shew their influence and their power though at the expence of their probity, than glide through life with no other pleasure than the private consciousness of fidelity: which, while it is preserved must be without praise, except from the single person who tries and knows it.

7. There are many ways of telling a secret, by which a man exempts himself from the reproaches of his conscience, and gratifies his pride without suffer­ing himself to believe that he impairs his virtue. He tells the private affairs of his patron, or his friend only to those from whom he would not conceal his own; he tells them to those, who have no temptati­on to betray their trust, or with a denunciation of a certain forfeiture of his friendship, if he discovers that they become public.

8. Secrets are very frequently told in the first ar­dour of kindness, or of love, for the sake of proving by so important a sacrifice, the sincerity of professi­ons, or the warmth of tenderness; but with this mo­tive, though it be sometimes strong in itself, vanity generally concurs, since every man naturally desires to be most esteemed by those whom he loves, or with whom he converses, with whom he passes his hours of pleasure, and to whom he retires from business and from care.

9. When the discovery of secrets is under conside­ration, there is always a distinction carefully to be made between our own and those of another, those of which we are fully masters as they effect only our own interest, and those which are reposited with us in trust, and involve the happiness or convenience of such as we have no right to expose to hazard by ex­periments [Page 66] upon their lives, without their consent. To tell our own secrets is generally folly, but that fol­ly is without guilt; to communicate those with which we are entrusted is always treachery, and treachery for the most part combined with folly.

10. There have, indeed, been some enthusiastic and irrational zealots for friendship, who have main­tained, and perhaps believed, that one friend has a right to all that is in possession of another; and that therefore it is a violation of kindness to exempt any secret from this boundless confidence: accordingly a late female minister of state has been shameless enough to inform the world, that she used, when she wanted to extract any thing from her sovereign, to remind her of Montaigne's reasoning, who has determined, that to tell a secret to a friend is no breach of fidelity, because the number of persons trusted is not multipli­ed, a man and his friend being virtually the same.

11. That such a fallacy could be imposed upon any human understanding, or that an author could have been imagined to advance a position so remote from truth and reason, any otherwise than as a declaimer, to shew to what extent he could stretch his imagina­tion, and with what strength he could press his prin­ciple, would scarcely have been credible, had not this lady kindly shewn us how far weakness may be deluded, or indolence amused.

12. But since it appears, that even this sophistry has been able, with the help of a strong desire to re­pose in quiet upon the understanding of another, to mislead honest intentions, and an understanding not contemptible, it may not be superfluous to remark, that those things which are common among friends are only such as either possesses in his own right, and can alienate or destroy without injury to any other person. Without this limitation, confidence must run on without end, the second person may tell the secret to the third upon the same principle as he re­ceived it from the first, and the third may hand it [Page 67] forward to a fourth, till at last it is told in the round of friendship to them from whom it was the first in­tention chiefly to conceal it.

13. The confidence which Caius has of the faith­fulness of Titius is nothing more than an opinion which himself cannot know to be true, and which Claudius, who first tells his secret to Caius, may know, at least may suspect to be false; and therefore the trust is transferred by Caius, if he reveal what has been told him, to one from whom the person ori­ginally concerned would probably have withheld it; and whatever may be the event, Caius has hazarded the happiness of his friend, without necessity and without permission, and has put that trust in the hand of fortune which was given only to virtue.

14. All the arguments upon which a man who is telling the private affairs of another may ground his confidence in security, he must upon reflection know to be uncertain, because he finds them without effect upon himself. When he is imagining that Titius will be cautious from a regard to his interest, his re­putation, or his duty, he ought to reflect that he is himself at that instant acting in opposition to all these reasons, and revealing what interest, reputation and duty direct him to conceal.

15. Every one feels that he should consider the man incapable of trust, who believed himself at li­berty to tell whatever he knew to the first whom he should conclude deserving of his confidence: there­fore Caius, in admitting Titius to the affairs imparted only to himself, violates his faith, since he acts con­trary to the intention of Claudius, to whom that faith was given. For promises of friendship are, like all others, useless and vain, unless they are made in some known sense, adjusted and acknowledged by both parties.

16. I am not ignorant that many questions may be started relating to the duty of secrecy, where the af­fairs are of public concern; where subsequent reasons [Page 68] may arise to alter the appearance and nature of the trust; that the manner in which the secret was told may change the degree of obligation; and that the principles upon which a man is chosen for a confident may not always equally constrain him.

17. But these scruples, if not too intricate, are of too extensive consideration for my present purpose, nor are they such as generally occur in common life; and though casuistical knowledge be useful in proper hands, yet it ought by no means to be carelessly ex­posed, since most will use it rather to lull than awaken their own consciences; and the threads of reasoning, on which truth is suspended, are frequently drawn to such subtilty, that common eyes cannot perceive, and common sensibility cannot feel them.

18. The whole doctrine as well as practice of se­crecy is so perplexing and dangerous, that, next to him who is compelled to trust, I think him unhappy who is chosen to be trusted; for he is often involved in scruples without the liberty of calling in the help of any other understanding; he is frequently drawn into guilt, under the appearance of friendship and honesty; and sometimes subjected to suspicion by the treachery of others, who are engaged without his knowledge in the same schemes; for he that has one confident has generally more, and when he is at last betrayed, is in doubt on whom he shall fix the crime.

19. The rules therefore that I shall propose con­cerning secrecy, and from which I think it not safe to deviate, without long and exact deliberation, are— Never to solicit the knowledge of a secret. Not wil­lingly, nor without many limitations, to accept such confidence when it is offered. When a secret is once admitted, to consider the trust as of a very high na­ture, important to society, and sacred as truth, and therefore not to be violated for any incidental con­venience, or slight appearance of contrary fitness.

1. I Have always preferred chearfulness to mirth. The latter I consider as an act, the former as a habit of the mind. Mirth is short and transsient, chearfulness fixed and permanent. Those are often raised into the greatest transports of mirth, who are subject to the greatest depressions of melancholy: on the contrary, chearfulness, though it does not give the mind such an exquisite gladness, prevents us from falling into any depths of sorrow. Mirth is like a flash of lightning that breaks through a gloom of clouds, and glitters for a moment; chearfulness keeps up a kind of day-light in the mind, and fills it with a study and perpetual serenity.

2. Men of austere principles look upon mirth as too wanton and dissolute for a state of probation, and as filled with a certain triumph and insolence of heart that is inconsistent with a life which is every moment obnoxious to the greatest dangers. Writers of this complexion have observed, that the sacred person who was the great pattern of perfection, was never seen to laugh.

3. Chearfulness of mind is not liable to any of these exceptions; it is of a serious and composed na­ture; it does not throw the mind into a condition im­proper for the present state of humanity, and is very conspicuous in the characters of those who are looked upon as the greatest philosophers among the heathens, as well as among those who have been deservedly esteemed as saints and holy men among Christians.

4. If we consider chearfulness in three lights, with regard to ourselves, to those we converse with, and to the great Author of our being, it will not a little recommend itself on each of these accounts. The man who is possessed of this excellent frame of mind, is not only easy in his thoughts, but a perfect master of all the powers and faculties of the soul: his ima­gination [Page 70] is always clear, and his judgment undis­turbed: his temper is even and unruffled, whether in action or solitude. He comes with a relish to all those goods which nature has provided for him, tastes all the pleasures of the creation which are poured a­bout him, and does not feel the full weight of those accidental evils which may befal him.

5. If we consider him in relation to the persons whom he converses with, it naturally produces love and good will towards him▪ A chearful mind is not only disposed to be affable and obliging, but raises the same good humour in those who come within its influence. A man finds himself pleased, he does not know why, with the chearfulness of his companion: it is like a sudden sun-shine that awakens a secret de­light in the mind, without her attending to it. The heart rejoices of its own accord, and naturally flows out into friendship and benevolence towards the per­son who has so kindly an effect upon it.

6. When I consider this chearful state of mind in its third relation, I cannot but look upon it as a con­stant habitual gratitude to the great Author of na­ture. An inward chearfulness is an implicit praise and thanksgiving to Providence under all its dispen­sations. It is a kind of acquiescence in the state wherein we are placed, and a secret approbation of the Divine will in his conduct towards man.

7. There are but two things, which, in my opini­on, can reasonably deprive us of this chearfulness of heart. The first of these is the sense of guilt. A man who lives in a state of vice and impenitence can have no title to that evenness and tranquillity of mind which is the health of the soul, and the natural effect of virtue and innocence. Chearfulness in an ill man deserves a harder name than language can furnish us with, and is many degrees beyond what we commonly call folly o [...] madness.

8. Atheism, by which I mean a disbelief of a Su­preme Being, and consequently of a future state, [Page 71] under whatsoever title it shelters itself, may likewise very reasonably deprive a man of this chearfulness of temper. There is something so particularly gloomy and offensive to human nature in the prospect of non-existence, that I cannot but wonder, with many ex­cellent writers, how it is possible for a man to outlive the expectation of it. For my own part, I think the being of a God is so little to be doubted, that it is almost the only truth we are sure of, and such a truth as we meet with in every object, in every occurrence, and in every thought.

9. If we look into the characters of this tribe of infidels, we generally find they are made up of pride, spleen, and cavil: it is indeed no wonder, that men, who are uneasy to themselves, should be so to the rest of the world; and how is it possible for a man to be otherwise than uneasy in himself, who is in danger every moment of losing his entire existence, and dropping into nothing?

10. The vicious man and Atheist have therefore no pretence to chearfulness, and would act very un­reasonably, should they endeavour after it. It is im­possible for any one to live in good humour, and en­joy his present existence, who is apprehensive either of torment or of annihilation; of being miserable, or of not being at all.

After having mentioned these two great principles, which are destructive of chearfulness in their own na­ture, as well as in right reason, I cannot think of any other that ought to banish this happy temper from a virtuous mind. Pain and sickness, shame and reproach, poverty and old age, nay death itself, con­sidering the shortness of their duration, and the ad­vantage we may reap from them, do not deserve the name of evils.

11. A good mind may bear up under them with for­titude, with indolence, and with chearfulness of heart. —The tossing of a tempest does not discompose him, which he is sure will bring him to a joyful harbour.

[Page 72]A man who uses his best endeavours to live accord­ing to the dictates of virtue and right reason, has two perpetual sources of chearfulness, in the consi­deration of his own nature, and of that Being on whom he has a dependence.

12. If he looks into himself, he cannot but rejoice in that existence, which is so lately bestowed upon him, and which, after millions of ages, will be still new, and still in its beginning. How many self-congratulations naturally arise in the mind, when it reflects on this its entrance into eternity, when it takes a view of those improveable faculties, which in a few years, and even at its first setting out, have made so considerable a progress, and which will be still receiving an increase of perfection, and conse­quently an increase of happiness?

13. The consciousness of such a being spreads a perpetual diffusion of joy through the soul of a virtuous man, and makes him look upon himself every moment as more happy than he knows how to conceive.

The second source of chearfulness to a good mind is, its consideration of that Being on whom we have our dependence, and in whom, though we behold him as yet but in the first faint discoveries of his per­fections, we see every thing that we can imagine as great, glorious, or amiable. We find ourselves every where upheld by his goodness, and surrounded by an immensity of love and mercy.

14. In short, we depend upon a Being, whose power qualifies him to make us happy by an infinity of means, whose goodness and truth engage him to make those happy who desire it of him, and whose unchangeable­ness will secure us in this happiness to all eternity.

Such considerations, which every one should per­petually cherish in his thoughts, will banish from us all that secret heaviness of heart which unthinking men are subject to when they lie under no real afflic­tion, all that anguish which we may feel from any evil that actually oppresses us, to which I may like­wise [Page 73] add those little cracklings of mirth and folly, that are apter to betray virtue than support it; and establish in us such an even and chearful temper, as makes us pleasing to ourselves, to those with whom we converse, and to him whom we are made to please.

1. CHEARFULNESS is, in the first place, the best promoter of health. Repining and secret murmurs of heart give imperceptible strokes to those delicate fibres of which the vital parts are composed, and wear out the machine insensibly; not to mention those violent ferments which they stir up in the blood, and those irregular disturbed motions, which they raise in the animal spirits.

2. I scarce remember, in my own observation, to have met with many old men, or with such, who (to use our English phrase) wear well, that had not at least a certain indolence in their humour, if not a more than ordinary gaiety and chearfulness of heart. The truth of it is, health and chearfulness mutually beget each other; with this difference, that we sel­dom meet with a great degree of health which is not attended with a certain chearfulness, but very often see chearfulness where there is no great degree of health.

3. Chearfulness bears the same friendly regard to the mind as to the body: it banishes all anxious care and discontent, sooths and composes the passions, and keeps the soul in a perpetual calm. But, having al­ready touched on this last consideration, I shall here take notice, that the world, in which we are placed, is filled with innumerable objects that are proper to raise and keep alive this happy temper of mind.

4. If we consider the world in its subserviency to man, one would think it was made for our use; but [Page 74] if we consider it in its natural beauty and harmony, one would be apt to conclude it was made for our pleasure. The sun, which is as the great soul of the universe, and produces all the necessaries of life, has a particular influence in chearing the mind of man, and making the heart glad.

5. Those several living creatures which are made for our service or sustenance, at the same time either fill the woods with their music, furnish us with game, or raise pleasing ideas in us by the delightfulness of their appearance. Fountains, lakes, and rivers, are as refreshing to the imagination, as to the soil through which they pass.

6. There are writers of great distinction, who have made it an argument for Providence, that the whole earth is covered with green, rather than with any other colour, as being such a right mixture of light and shade, that it comforts and strengthens the eye instead of weakening or grieving it. For this reason, several painters have a green cloth hanging near them, to ease the eye upon, after too great an application to their colouring.

7. A famous modern philosopher accounts for it in the following manner; all colours that are more lumi­nous, overpower and dissipate the animal spirits which are employed in sight: on the contrary, those that are more obscure do not give the animal spirits a sufficient exercise; whereas the rays that produce in us the idea of green, fall upon the eye in such a due proportion, that they give the animal spirits their proper play, and, by keeping up the struggle in a just balance, excite a very pleasing and agreeable sensation. Let the cause be what it will, the effect is certain; for which reason, the poets ascribe to this particular colour the epithet of chearful.

8. To consider further this double end in the works of nature, and how they are, at the same time, both useful and entertaining, we find that the most impor­tant parts in the vegetable world are those which are [Page 75] the most beautiful. These are the seeds by which the several races of plants are propagated and conti­nued, and which are always lodged in flowers or blos­soms. Nature seems to hide her principal design, and to be industrious in making the earth gay and delightful, while she is carrying on her great work, and intent upon her own preservation. The husband­man, after the same manner, is employed in laying out the whole country into a kind of garden or land­skip, and making every thing smile about him, whilst, in reality, he thinks of nothing but of the harvest and increase which is to arise from it.

9. We may further observe how Providence has taken care to keep up this chearfulness in the mind of man, by having formed it after such a manner, as to make it capable of conceiving delight from seve­ral objects which seem to have very little use in them; as from the wildness of rocks and desarts, and the like grotesque parts of nature. Those who are versed in philosophy may still carry this consideration high­er by observing, that, if matter had appeared to us endowed only with those real qualities which it actual­ly possesses, it would have made but a very joyless and uncomfortable figure; and why has Providence given it a power of producing in us such imaginary quali­ties, as tastes and colours, sounds and smells, heat and cold, but that man, while he is conversant in the lower stations of nature, might have his mind cheared and delighted with agreeable sensations? In short, the whole universe is a kind of theatre filled with objects that either raise in us pleasure, amuse­ment, or admiration.

10. The reader's own thoughts will suggest to him the vi [...]issitude of day and night, the change of seasons, with all that variety of scenes which diversify the face of nature, and fill the mind with a perpetual successi­on of beautiful and pleasing images.

I shall not here mention the several entertainments of art, with the pleasures of friendship, books, con­versation, [Page 76] and other accidental diversions of life, because I would only take notice of such incitements to a chearful temper, as offer themselves to persons of all ranks and conditions, and which may sufficiently shew us, that Providence did not design this world should be filled with murmurs and repinings, or that the heart of man should be involved in gloom and me­lancholy.

11. I the more inculcate this chearfulness of tem­per, as it is a virtue in which our countrymen are observed to be more deficient than any other nation. Melancholy is a kind of demon that haunts our island, and often conveys herself to us in an easterly wind. A celebrated French novelist, in opposition to those who begin their romances with a flowery season of the year, enters on his story thus: In the gloomy month of November, when the people of England hang and drown themselves, a disconsolate lover walked out into the fields, &c.

12. Every one ought to fence against the temper of his climate or constitution, and frequently to in­dulge in himself those considerations which may give him a serenity of mind, and enable him to bear up chearfully against those little evils and misfortunes which are common to human nature, and which, by a right improvement of them, will produce a satiety of joy, and an uninterrupted happiness.

13. At the same time that I would engage my rea­der to consider the world in its most agreeable lights, I must own there are many evils which naturally spring up amidst the entertainments that are provi­ded for us; but these, if rightly considered, should be far from overcasting the mind with sorrow, or destroying that chearfulness of temper which I have been recommending.

14. This interspersion of evil with good, and pain with [...], in the works of nature, is very truly ascribed by Mr. Locke in his Essay upon Human Un­derstanding, to a moral reason, in the following words:

[Page 77] Beyond all this, we may find another reason why God hath scattered up and down several degrees of pleasure and pain, in all the things that environ and affect us, and blended them together, in almost all that our thoughts and senses have to do with: that we find­ing imperfection, dissatisfaction, and want of complete happiness in all the enjoyments which the creatures can afford us, might be led to seek it in the enjoyment of him, with whom there is fulness of joy, and at whose right hand are pleasures for evermore.

1. I HAVE often thought if the minds of men were laid open, we should see but little difference between that of the wise man and that of the fool. There are infinite reveries, numberless extravagan­cies, and a perpetual train of vanities, which pass through both. The great difference is, that the first knows how to pick and cull his thoughts for conver­sation, by suppressing some, and communicating o­thers; whereas the other lets them all indifferently fly out in words. This sort of discretion, however, has no place in private conversation between inti­mate friends. On such occasions the wisest men very often talk like the weakest; for indeed the talking with a friend is nothing else but thinking aloud.

2. Tully has therefore very justly exposed a precept delivered by some ancient writers, that a man should live with his enemy in such a manner, as might leave him room to become his friend; and with his friend in such a manner, that if he became his enemy, it should not be in his power to hurt him. The first part of this rule, which regards our behaviour to­wards an enemy, is indeed very reasonable, as well as prudential; but the latter part of it, which re­gards [Page 78] our behaviour towards a friend, savours more of cunning than of discretion, and would cut a man off from the greatest pleasures of life, which are the [...]eedoms of conversation with a bosom friend. Be­sides, that when a friend is turned into an enemy, and (as the son of Sirach calls him) a betrayer of secrets, the world is just enough to accuse the perfi­diousness of the friend, rather than the indiscretion of the person who confided in him.

3. Discretion does not only shew itself in words, but in all the circumstances of action; and is like an under-agent of Providence, to guide and direct us in the ordinary concerns of life.

There are many more shining qualities in the mind of man, but there is none so useful as discretion; it is this indeed which gives a value to all the rest, which sets them at work in their proper times and places, and turns them to the advantage of the per­son▪ who is possessed of them. Without it, learning is pedantry, and wit impertinence; virtue itself looks like weakness; the best parts only qualify a man to be more sprightly in errors, and active to his own prejudice.

4. Nor does discretion only make a man the mas­ter of his own parts, but of other men's. The dis­creet man finds out the talents of those he converses with, and knows how to apply them to proper uses. Accordingly, if we look into particular communities and divisions of men, we may observe, that it is the discreet man, not the witty, nor the learned, nor the brave, who guides the conversation, and gives mea­sures to the society. A man with great talents, but void of discretion, is like Polyphemus in the fable, strong and blind, endued with an irresistible force, which, for want of sight, is of no use to him.

5. Though a man has all other perfections, and wants discretion, he will be of no great consequence in the world; but if he has this single talent in per­fection, and but a common share of others, he may do what he pleases in his station of life.

[Page 79]At the same time that I think discretion the most useful talent a man can be master of, I look upon cunning to be the accomplishment of little, mean, ungenerous minds. Discretion points out the noblest ends to us, and pursues the most proper and laudable methods of attaining them: cunning has only pri­vate selfish aims, and sticks at nothing which may make them succeed.

6. Discretion has large and extended views, and, like a well-formed eye, commands a whole horizon: cunning is a kind of short-sightedness, that discovers the minutest objects which are near at hand, but is not able to discern things at a distance. Discretion, the more it is discovered, gives a greater authority to the person who possesses it: cunning, when it is once detected, loses its force, and makes a man in­capable of bringing about even those events which he might have done, had he passed only for a plain man. Discretion is the perfection of reason, and a guide to us in all the duties of life: cunning is a kind of instinct, that only looks out after our imme­diate interest and welfare.

7. Discretion is only found in men of strong sense and good understandings: cunning is often to be met with in brutes themselves, and in persons who are but the fewest removes from them. In short, cunning is only the mimic of discretion, and may pass upon weak men, in the same manner as vivacity is often mistaken for wit, and gravity for wisdom.

The cast of mind which is natural to a discreet man, makes him look forward into futurity, and consider what will be his condition millions of ages hence, as well as what it is at present.

8. He knows, that the misery or happiness which are reserved for him in another world, lose nothing of their reality by being placed at so great a distance from him. The objects do not appear little to him because they are remote. He considers that those pleasures and pains which lie hid in eternity, ap­proach [Page 80] nearer to him every moment, and will be present with him in their full weight and measure, as much as those pains and pleasures which he feels at this very instant. For this reason he is careful to secure to himself that which is the proper happiness of his nature, and the ultimate design of his being.

9. He carries his thoughts to the end of every ac­tion, and considers the most distant as well as the most immediate effects of it. He supersedes every little prospect of gain and advantage which offers it­self here, if he does not find it consistent with his views of an hereafter. In a word, his hopes are full of immortality, his schemes are large and glo­rious, and his conduct suitable to one who knows his true interest, and how to pursue it by proper methods.

10. I have, in this essay upon discretion, considered it both as an accomplishment and as a virtue, and have therefore described it in its full extent; not on­ly as it is conversant about worldly affairs, but as it regards our whole existence; not only as it is the guide of a mortal creature, but as it is in general the director of a reasonable being. It is in this light that discretion is represented by the wise man, who sometimes mentions it under the name of dis­cretion, and sometimes under that of wisdom.

11. It is indeed (as described in the latter part of this paper) the greatest wisdom, but at the same time in the power of every one to attain. Its advantages are infinite, but its acquisition easy; or, to speak of her in the words of the apocryphal writer, ‘Wisdom is glorious, and never fadeth away, yet she is easi­ly seen of them that love her, and found of such as seek her.’

12. ‘She preventeth them that desire her, in making herself first known unto them. He that seeketh her early shall have no great travel: for he shall find her sitting at his doors. To think therefore upon her is perfection of wisdom, and whoso watcheth for her, shall quickly be without [Page 81] care. For she goeth about seeking such as are worthy of her, sheweth herself favourably unto them in the ways, and meeteth them in every thought.’

1. THERE is no passion which steals into the heart more imperceptibly, and covers itself under more disguises, than pride. For my own part, I think if there is any passion or vice which I am wholly a stranger to, it is this; though at the same time, perhaps this very judgment which I form of myself, proceeds, in some measure, from this corrupt principle.

2. I have been always wonderfully delighted with that sentence in holy writ, Pride was not made for man. There is not indeed any single view of human nature under its present condition, which is not sufficient to extinguish in us all the secret seeds of pride; and, on the contrary, to sink the soul into the lowest state of humility, and what the school-men call self-anni­hilation. Pride was not made for man, as he is,

• 1. A sinful,
• 2. An ignorant,
• 3. A miserable being.

There is nothing in his understanding, in his will, or in his present condition, that can tempt any con­siderate creature to pride or vanity.

3. These three very reasons why he should not be proud, are notwithstanding the reasons why he is so. Were not he a sinful creature, he would not be sub­ject to a passion which rises from the depravity of his nature; were he not an ignorant creature, he would see that he has nothing to be proud of; and were not the whole species miserable, he would not have those wretched objects before his eyes, which are the oc­casions [Page 82] of this passion▪ and which make one man va­lue himself more than another.

4. A wise man will be contented that his glory be deferred till such time as he shall be truly glorified; when his understanding shall be cleared, his will rectified, and his happiness assured; or in other words, when he shall be neither sinful, nor ignorant, nor miserable.

5. If there be any thing which makes human na­ture appear ridiculous to beings of superior faculties, it must be pride. They know so well the vanity of those imaginary perfections that swell the heart of man, and of those little supernumerary advantages, whether in birth, fortune, or title, which one man enjoys above another, that it must certainly very much astonish, if it does not very much divert them, when they see a mortal puffed up, and valuing him­self above his neighbours on any of these accounts, at the same time that he is obnoxious to all the com­mon calamities of the species.

6. To set this thought in its true light, we will fancy, if you please, that yonder mole-hill is inha­bited by reasonable creatures, and that every pismire (his shape and way of life only excepted) is endowed with human passions. How should we smile to hear one give us an account of the pedigrees, distinctions, and titles that reign among them!

7. Observe how the whole swarm divide and make way for the pismire that passes through them! You must understand he is an emmet of quality, and has better blood in his veins than any pismire in the mole-hill.—Don't you see how sensible he is of it, how slow he marches forward, how the whole rabble of ants keep their distance?

8. Here you may observe one placed upon a little eminence, and looking down on a long row of la­bourers. He is the richest insect on this side the hil­lock, he has a walk of half a yard in length, and a quarter of an inch in breadth, he keeps a hundred [Page 83] menial servants, and has at least fifteen barley-corns in his granary. He is now chiding, and beslaving the emmet that stands before him, and who, for all that [...] [...]an discover, is as good an emmet as himself.

9. [...] here comes an insect of figure! don't you take notice of a little white straw that he carries in his mouth? That straw, you must understand, he would not part with for the longest tract about the mole-hill: did you but know what he has undergone to purchase it! See how the ants of all qualities and conditions swarm about him! Should this straw drop out of his mouth, you would see all this numerous circle of attendants follow the next that took it up, and leave the discarded insect, or run over his back to come at his successor.

10. If now you have a mind to see all the ladies of the mole-hill, observe first the pismire that listens to the emmet on her left-hand, at the same time that she seems to turn away her head from him. He tells this poor insect that she is a goddess, that her eyes are brighter than the sun, that life and death are at her disposal. She believes him, and gives herself a thousand little airs upon it.

11. Mark the vanity of the pismire on your left-hand. She can scarce crawl with age; but you must know she values herself upon her birth; and if you mind, spurns at every one that comes within her reach. The little nimble coquette that is running along by the side of her, is a wit. She has broke many a pismire's heart. Do but observe what a drove of lovers are running after her.

12. We will here finish this imaginary scene; but first of all to draw the parallel closer, will suppose, if you please, that death comes down upon the mole-hill, in the shape of a cock-sparrow, who picks up, without distinction, the pismire of quality and his flatterers, the pismire of substance and his day la­bourers, the white straw officer and his sycophants, with all the goddesses, wits, and beauties of the mole-hill.

[Page 84]13. May we not imagine that beings of superior natures and perfections regard all the instances of pride and vanity, among our own species, in the same kind of view, when they take a survey of those who inhabit the earth, or, in the language of an ingenious French poet, of those pismires that people this heap of dirt, which human vanity has divided into climates and regions.

1. NO vices are so incurable as those which men are apt to glory in. One would wonder how drunkenness should have the good luck to be of this number. Anarcharsis, being invited to a match of drinking at Corinth, demanded the prize very humourously, because he was drunk before any of the rest of the company; for, says he, when we run a race, he who arrives at the gaol first, is entitled to the reward:

2. On the contrary, in this thirsty generation, the honour falls upon him who carries off the greatest quantity of liquor, and knocks down the rest of the company. I was the other day with honest Will Funnell, the West-Saxon, who was reckoning up how much liquor had past through him in the last twenty years of his life, which, according to his computa­tion, amounted to twenty-three hogsheads o [...] october, four ton of port, h [...] a kilderkin of small-beer, nine­teen barrels of cyder, and three glasses of champagne; besides which he had assisted at four hundred bowls of punch, not to mention sips, drams, and whe [...]s with­out number.

3. I question not but every reader's memory will suggest to him several ambitious young men, who are as vain in this particular as Will Funnell, and can boast of a glorious exploits.

[Page 85]Our modern philosophers observe, that there is a general decay of moisture in the globe of the earth. This they chiefly ascribe to the growth of vegetables, which incorporate into their own substance many fluid bodies that never return again to their former nature:

4. But with submission, they ought to throw into their account, those innumerable rational beings which fetch their nourishment chiefly out of liquids; especially when we consider that men, compared with their fellow-creatures, drink much more than comes to their share.

5. But however highly this tribe of people may think of themselves, a drunken man is a greater monster than any that is to be found among all the creatures which God has made; as indeed there is no character which appears more despicable and de­formed, in the eyes of all reasonable persons, than that of a drunkard.

6. Bonosus one of our own countrymen, who was addicted to this vice, having set up for a share in the Roman empire, and being defeated in a great battle, hanged himself. When he was seen by the army in this melancholy situation, notwithstanding he had behaved himself very bravely, the common jest was, that the thing they saw hanging upon the tree before them, was not a man, but a bottle.

7. This vice has very fatal effects on the mind, the body, and fortune of the person who is devoted to it.

In regard to the mind, it first of all discovers every flaw in it. The sober man, by the strength of reason, may keep under and subdue every vice or folly to which he is most inclined; but wine makes every la­tent seed sprout up in the soul, and shew itself: it gives fury to the passions, and force to those objects which are apt to produce them.

8. When a young fellow complained to an old phi­losopher that his wife was not handsome, Put less water in your wine, says the philosopher, and you'll quickly make her so. Wine heightens indifference [Page 86] into love, love into jealousy, and jealousy into mad­ness. It often turns the good-natured man into an idiot, and the choleric into an assassin. It gives bit­terness to resentment, it makes vanity insupportable, and displays every little spot of the soul in its utmost deformity.

9. Nor does this vice only betray the hidden fault [...] of a man, and shew them in the most odious colours, but often occasions faults to which he is not naturally subject. There is more of turn than of truth in a saying of Seneca, that drunkenness does not produce, but discover faults. Common experience teaches the contrary.

10. Wine throws a man out of himself, and infu­ses qualities into the mind, which she is a stranger to in her sober moments. The person you converse with, after the third bottle, is not the same man who at first sat down at the table with you. Upon this max­im is founded one of the prettiest sayings I ever met with, which is inscribed to Publius Syrus, He who jests upon a man that is drunk, injures the absent.

11. Thus does drunkenness act in direct contradic­tion to reason, whose business it is to clear the mind of every vice which is crept into it, and to guard it against all the approaches of any that endeavour to make its entrance. But besides these ill effects which this vice produces in the per [...]on who is actually under its dominion, it has also a bad influence on the mind, even in its sober moments, as it insensibly weakens the understanding, impaires the memory, and makes those faults habitual which are produced by frequent excesses: it wastes the estate, banishes reputation, consumes the body, and renders a man of the bright­est parts the common jest of an insignificant clown.

12. A method of spending one's time agreeably is a thing so little studied, that the common amusement of our young gentlemen (especially of such as are at a distance from those of the first breeding) is drinking. This way o [...] entertainment has custom on its side; but [Page 87] as much as it has prevailed, I believe there have been very few companies that have been guilty of excess this way, where there have not happened more accidents which make against, than for the continuance of it.

13. It is very common that events arise from a de­bauch, which are fatal, and always such as are disa­greeable. With all a man's reason and good sense about him, his tongue is apt to utter things out of a mere gaiety of heart, which may displease his best friends. Who then would trust himself to the power of wine, without saying more against it, than that it raises the imagination and depresses the judgment?

14. Were there only this single consideration, that we are less masters of ourselves when we drink in the least proportion above the exigences of thirst; I say, were this all that could be objected, it were sufficient to make us abhor this vice. But we may go on to say, that as he who drinks but a little is not master of himself, so he who drinks much is a slave to himself.

15. As for my part, I ever esteemed a drunkard of all vicious persons the most vicious: for if our actions are to be weighed and considered according to the in­tention of them, what can we think of him who puts himself into a circumstance wherein he can have no intention at all, but incapacitates himself for the du­ties and offices of life, by a suspension of all his facul­ties.

16. If a man considers that he cannot, under the oppression of drink, be a friend, a gentleman, a master, or a subject; that he has so long banished himself from all that is dear, and given up all that is sacred to him, he would even then think of a debauch with horror: but when he looks still further, and acknowledges that he is not only expelled out of all the relations of life, but also liable to offend against them all, what words can express the terror and de­testation he would have of such a condition? And yet he owns all this of himself who says he was drunk last night.

[Page 88]17. As I have all along persisted in it, that all the vicious in general are in a state of death, so I think I may add to the non-existence of drunkards, that they died by their own hands. He is certainly as guilty of suicide who perishes by a slow, as he that is dispatched by an immediate poison.

18. In my last lucubration I proposed the general use of water-gruel, and hinted that it might not be amiss at this very season: but as there are some, whose cases, in regard to their families, will not admit of delay, I have used my interest in several wards of the city, that the wholesome restorative above-mentioned may be given in tavern-kitchens to all the mornings draught men within the walls when they call for wine before noon.

19. For a further restraint and mark upon such persons, I have given orders, that in all the offices where policies are drawn upon lives, it shall be ad­ded to the article which prohibits that the nominee should cross the see, the words, Provided also, That the abovementioned, A. B. shall not drink before dinner during the term mentioned in this indenture.

20. I am not without hopes that by this method I shall bring some unsizeable friends of mine into shape and breadth, as well as others who are languid and consumptive, into health and vigour. Most of the self-murderers whom I yet hinted at, are such as preserve a certain regularity in taking their poison, and make it mix pretty well with their food:

21. But the most conspicuous of those who destroy themselves, are such as in their youth fall into this sort of debauchery, and contract a certain uneasiness of spirit, which is not to be diverted but by tippling as often as they can fall into company in the day, and conclude with downright drunkenness at night. These gentlemen never know the satisfaction of youth, but skip the years of manhood, and are decrepit soon after they are of age.

[Page 89]22. I was godfather to one of these old fellows. He is now three and thirty, which is the grand cli­macteric of a young drunkard. I went to visit the crazy wretch this morning, with no other purpose, but to rally him, under the pain and uneasiness of being sober.

But as our faults are double when they affect others besides ourselves, so this vice is still more odious in a married than a single man.

23. He that is the husband of a woman of honour, and comes home overloaded with wine, is still more contemptible, in proportion to the regard we have to the unhappy consort of his bestiality. The ima­gination cannot shape to itself any thing more mon­strous and unnatural, than the familiarities between drunkenness and chastity. The wretched Astraea, who is the perfection of beauty and innocence, has long been thus condemned for life. The romantic tales of virgins devoted to the jaws of monsters, have nothing in them so terrible, as the gift of Astraea to that bacchanal.

24. The reflection of such a match as spotless inno­cence with abandoned lewdness, is what puts this vice in the worst figure it can bear with regard to others; but when it is looked upon with respect only to the drunkard himself, it has deformities enough to make it disagreeable, which may be summed up in a word, by allowing, that he who resigns his reason, is actu­ally guilty of all that he is liable to from the want of reason.

3. I should ill deserve the name of Guardian, did I not caution all my fair wards against a practice, which, when it runs to excess, is the most shameful, but one, that the female world can fall into. The ill consequences of it are more than can be contained in this paper. However, that I may proceed in me­thod, I shall consider them. First, as they relate to the mind. Secondly, as they relate to the body.

4. Could we look into the mind of a female game­ster, we should see it full of nothing but trumps and mattadores. Her slumbers are haunted with kings, queens, and knaves. The day lies heavy upon her 'till the play-season returns, when for half a dozen hours together, all her faculties are employed in shuffling, cutting, dealing and sorting out a pack of cards; and no ideas to be discovered in a soul which calls itself rational, excepting little square figures of painted and spotted paper.

5. Was the understanding, that divine part in our composition, given for such an use? Is it thus that [Page 91] we improve the greatest talent human nature is en­dued with? What would a superior being think, were he shown this intellectual faculty in a female game­ster, and at the same time told, that it was by this she was distinguished from brutes, and allied to angels?

6. When our women thus fill their imaginations with pips and counters, I cannot wonder at the story I have lately heard of a new-born child that was marked with the five of clubs.

Their passions suffer no less by this practice than their understandings and imaginations. What hope and fear, joy and anger, sorrow and discontent, break out all at once in a fair assembly upon so noble an occasion as that of turning up a card?

7. Who can consider, without a secret indignation, that all those affections of the mind which should be consecrated to their children, husbands, and parents, are thus vilely prostituted and thrown away upon a hand at loo? For my own part, I cannot but be grie­ved, when I see a fine woman fretting and bleeding inwardly from such trivial motives: when I behold the face of an angel, agitated and discomposed by the heart of a fury.

8. Our minds are of such a make, that they na­turally give themselves up to every diversion which they are much accustomed to, and we always find, that play, when followed with assiduity, engrosses the whole woman. She quickly grows uneasy in her own family, takes but little pleasure in all the do­mestic innocent endearments of life, and grows more fond of Pam than of her husband.

9. My friend Theophrastus, the best of husbands and of fathers, has often complained to me, with tears in his eyes, of the late hours he is forced to keep if he would enjoy his wife's conversation. When she returns to me with joy in her face, it does not arise, says he, from the sight of he [...] husband, but from the good luck she has had [...] cards.

10. On the contrary, says he, if she has been a loser, I am doubly a sufferer by it. She comes home [Page 92] out of humour, is angry with every body, displeased with all I can do or say, and in reality for no other reason but because she has been throwing away my estate. What charming bed-fellows and compani­ons for life are men likely to meet with, that chuse their wives out of such women of vogue and fashion? What a race of worthies, what patriots, what heroes must we expect from mothers of this make?

11. I come in the next place to consider the ill consequences which gaming has on the bodies of our female adventurers. It is so ordered, that almost e­very thing which corrupts the soul decays the body. The beauties of the face and mind are generally de­stroyed by the same means. This consideration should have a particular weight with the female world, who are designed to please the eye and attract the regards of the other half of the species.

12. Now there is nothing that wears out a fine face like the vigils of the card table, and those cutting passions which naturally attend them. Hollow eyes, haggard looks, and pa [...]e complexions, are the natu­ral indications of a female gamester. Her morning sleeps are not able to repair her midnight watchings.

13. I have known a woman carried off half dead from basset [...]e, and have many a time grieved, to see a person of quality gliding by me in her chair at two o'clock in the morning, and looking like a spectre amidst a glare of f [...]ambeaux: in short, I never knew a thorough-paced female gamester hold her beauty two winters together.

14. But there is still another case in which the bo­dy is more endangered than in the former. All play-debts must be paid in specie, or by an equivalent. The man that plays beyond his income pawns his estate; the woman must find out something else to mortgage when her pin-money is gone. The hus­band has his lands to dispose of, the wife her person. Now when the female body is once dipped, if the cre­ditor be very importunate, I leave my reader to con­sider the consequences.

[Page 93]15. It is needless here to mention the ill-conse­quences attending this passion among the men, who are often bubbled out of their money and estates by sharpers, and to make up their loss, have recourse to means productive of dire events, instances of which frequently occur; for, strictly speaking, those who set their minds upon gaming, can hardly be honest: a man's reflections, after losing, render him despe­rate, so as to commit violence either upon himself or some other person, and therefore gaming should be discouraged in all well-regulated communities.

1. AS the ladies are naturally become the imme­diate objects of your care, will you permit a complaint to be inserted in your paper, which is founded upon a matter of fact? They will pardon me, if by laying before you a particular instance I was lately witness to of their improper behaviour, I endeavour to expose a reigning evil, which subjects them to many shameful imputations.

2. I received last week a dinner card from a friend, with an intimation that I should meet some very a­greeable ladies. At my arrival, I found that the company consisted chiefly of females, who indeed did me the honour to ri [...]e, but quite disconcerted me in paying my respects, by their whispering each o­ther, and appearing to stifle a laugh. When I was seated, the ladies grouped themselves up in a corner, and entered into a private cabal, seemingly to dis­course upon points of great secrecy and importance, but of equal merriment and diversion.

3. The same conduct of keeping close to their ranks was observed at table, where the ladies seated themselves together. Their conversation was here [Page 94] also confined wholly to themselves, and seemed like the mysteries of the Bona Dea, in which men were forbidden to have any share. It was a continued laugh and a whisper from the beginning to the end of dinner. A whole sentence was scarce ever spoken aloud.

4. Single words, indeed, now and then broke forth; such as odious, horrible, detestable, shocking, HUMBUG. This last new-coined expression, which is only to be found in the nonsensical vocabulary, sounds absurd and disagreeable, whenever it is pro­nounced; but from the mouth of a lady it is "shock­ing, detestable, horrible and odious."

5. My friend seemed to be in an uneasy situation at his own table; but I was far more miserable. I was mute, and seldom da [...]d to lift up my eyes from my plate, or turn my head [...]o call for small beer, lest by some aukward posture I might draw upon me a whisper or a laugh. Sancho, when he was forbid to eat of a delicious banquet set before him, could sca [...]e appear more melancholy.

6. The rueful length of my face might possibly increase the mirth of my tormentors: at least their joy seemed to rise in exact proportion with my misery. At length, however, the time of my delivery ap­proached. Dinner ended, the ladies made their ex­it in pairs, and went off hand in hand whispering like the two kings of Brentford.

7. Modest men, Mr. Town, are deeply wounded, when they imagine themselves the objects of ridicule or contempt: and the pain is the greater, when it is given by those whom they admire, and from whom they are ambitious of receiving any marks of coun­tenance and favour. Yet we must allow, that af­fronts are pardonable from ladies, as they are often prognostics of future kindness.

8. If a lady strikes our cheek, we can very wil­lingly follow the precept of the Gospel, and turn the other cheek to be smitten: even a blow from a fair [Page 95] hand conveys pleasure. But this battery of whispers is against all legal rights of war; poisoned arrows, and stabs in the dark, are not more repugnant to the general laws of humanity.

9. Modern writers of comedy often introduce a pert witling into their pieces, who is very severe up­on the rest of the company; but all his waggery is spoken aside.—These gigglers and whisperers seem to be acting the same part in company, that this arch rogue does in the play. Every word or motion pro­duces a train of whispers; the dropping of a snuff-box, or spilling the tea, is sure to be accompanied with a titter; and upon the entrance of any one with something particular in his person or manner, I have seen a whole room in a buzz like a bee-hive.

10. This practice of whispering, if it is any where allowable, may perhaps be indulged the fair sex at church, where the conversation can only be carried on by the secret symbols of a curtsy, an ogle, or a nod. A whisper in this place is very often of great use, as it serves to convey the most secret intelligence, which a lady would be ready to burst with▪ if she could not find vent for it by this kind of auricular confession. A piece of scandal transpires in this man­ner from one pew to the other, then presently whiz­zes along the channel, from whence it crawls up to the galleries, till at last the whole church hums with it.

11. It were also to be wished, that the ladies would be pleased to confine themselves to whispering, in their tête-a-tête conferences at an opera or the play-house; which would be a proper deference to the rest of the audience. In France, we are told, it is common for the parterre to join with the perfor­mers in any favourite air: but we seem to have car­ried this custom still further, as the company in our boxes, without concerning themselves in the least with the play, are even louder than the players.

[Page 96]12. The wit and humour of a Vanbrugh, or a Con­gr [...]ve, is frequently interrupted by a brilliant dia­logue between two persons of fashion; and a love scene in the side-box has often been more attended to, than that on the stage. As to their loud bursts of laughter at the theatre, they may very well be excu­sed, when they are excited by any lively strokes in a comedy: but I have seen our ladies titter at the most distressful scenes in Romeo and Juliet, grin over the anguish of a Monimia or Belvidera, and fairly laugh king Lear off the stage.

13. Thus the whole behaviour of these ladies is in direct contradiction to good-manners. They laugh when they should cry, are loud when they should be silent, and are silent when their conversation is de­sirable. If a man in a select company was thus to laugh or whisper me out of countenance, I should be apt to construe it as an affront, and demand an explanation.

14. As to the ladies, I would desire them to reflect how much they would suffer, if their own weapons were turned against them, and the gentlemen should attack them with the same arts of laughing and whispering. But, however free they may be from our resentment, they are still open to ill-natured sus­picions. They do not consider, what strange con­structions may be put on these laughs and whispers.

15. It were, indeed, of little consequence, if we only imagined, that they were taking the reputation of their acquaintance to pieces, or abusing the com­pany round; but when they indulge themselves in this behaviour, some perhaps may be led to conclude, that they are discoursing upon topics, which they are ashamed to speak of in a less private manner.

16. If the misconduct, which I have described, had been only to be found, Mr. Town, at my friend's ta­ble, I should not have troubled you with this letter: but the same kind of ill breeding prevails too often, and in too many places. The gigglers and the whis­perers [Page 97] are innumerable; they beset us wherever we go; and it is observable, that after a short murmur of whispers, out comes the burst of laughter: like a gun-powder serpent, which, after hissing about for some time, goes off in a bounce.

17. Some excuse may perhaps be framed for this [...]ll-timed merriment in the fair sex. Venus, the god­dess of beauty, is frequently called the laughter-loving dame; and by laughing, our modern ladies may possi­bly imagine, that they render themselves like Venus. I have indeed remarked, that the ladies commonly adjust their laugh to their persons, and are merry in proportion as it sets off their particular charms.

18. One lady is never further moved than to a smile or a simper, because nothing else shews her dim­ples to so much advantage; another, who has a very fine set of teeth, runs into a broad grin; while a third, who is admired for a well turned neck and graceful chest, calls up all her beauties to view by breaking into violent and repeated peals of laughter.

19. I would not be understood to impose gravity or too great a reserve on the fair sex. Let them laugh at a feather; but let them declare openly, that it is a feather which occasions their mirth. I must confess, that laughter becomes the young, the gay, and the handsome: but a whisper is unbecoming at all ages, and in both sexes; nor ought it ever to be practised, except in the round gallery at St. Paul's, or in the famous whispering place in Gloucester cathedral, where two whisperers hear each other at the distance of five-and-twenty yards.

1. THOUGH the danger of disappointment is always in proportion to the height of ex­pectation, yet I this day claim the attention of the ladies, and profess to teach an art by which all may obtain what has hitherto been deemed the prerogative of a few: an art by which their predominant passion may be gratified, and their conquests not only extend­ed, but secured; "The art of being PRETTY."

2. But though my subject may interest the ladies, it may, perhaps, offend those profound moralists, who have long since determined, that beauty ought rather to be despised than desired; that, like strength, it is a mere natural excellence, the effect of causes wholly out of our power, and not intended either as the pledge of happiness or the distinction of merit.

3. To these gentlemen I shall remark, that beauty is among those qualities, which no effort of human wit could ever bring into contempt: it is therefore to be wished at least, that beauty was in some degree dependent upon sentiment and manners, that so high a privilege might not be possessed by the unworthy, and that human reason might no longer suffer the mortification of those who are compelled to adore an idol, which differs from a stone or a log only by the skill of the artificer: and if they cannot themselves behold beauty with indifference, they must, surely, ap­prove an attempt to shew that it merits their regard.

4. I shall, however, principally consider that spe­cies of beauty which is expressed in the countenance; for this alone is peculiar to human beings, and is not less complicated than their nature. In the counte­nance there are but two requisites to perfect beauty, which are wholly produced by external causes, co­lour and proportion: and it will appear, that even in common estimation these are not the chief; but that though there may be beauty without them, yet there cannot be beauty without something more.

[Page 99]5. The finest features, ranged in the most exact symmetry, and heightened by the most blooming complexion, must be animated before they can strike; and when they are animated, will generally excite the same passions which they express. If they are fixed in the dead calm of insensibility, they will be examined without emotion; and if they do not ex­press kindness, they will be beheld without love.

6. Looks of contempt, disdain, or malevolence, will be reflected, as from a mirror, by every coun­tenance on which they are turned; and if a wanton aspect excites desire, it is but like that of a savage for his prey, which cannot be gratified without the destruction of its object.

7. Among particular graces the dimple has always been allowed the pre-eminence, and the reason is evident; dimples are produced by a smile, and a smile is an expression of complacency: so the contrac­tion of the brows into a frown, as it is an indication of a contrary temper, has always been deemed a capital defect.

8. The lover is generally at a loss to define the beauty, by which his passion was suddenly and irre­sistibly determined to a particular object; but this could never happen, if it depended upon any known rule of proportion, upon the shape or disposition of the features, or the colour of the skin: he tells you that it is something which he cannot fully express, something not fixed in any part, but disfused over the whole; he calls it a sweetness, a softness, a pla­cid sensibility, or gives it some other appeliation which connects beauty with sentiment, and expresses a charm which is not peculiar to any set o [...] features, but is perhaps possible to all.

9. This beauty, however, does not always consist in smiles, but varies as expressio [...]s of meekness and kindness vary with their objects: it is extremely for­cible in the silent complaint of patient sufferance, the tender solicitude of friendship, and the glow of [Page 100] filial obedience; and in tears, whether of joy, of pity, or of grief, it is almost irresistible.

10. This is the charm which captivates without the aid of nature, and without which her utmost bounty is ineffectual. But it cannot be assumed as a mask to conceal insensibility or malevolence; it must be the genuine effect of corresponding sentiments, or it will impress upon the countenance a new and more disgusting deformity, affectation: it will produce the grin, the simper, the stare, the languish, the pout, and innumerable other grimaces, that render folly ridiculous, and change pity to contempt.

11. By some, indeed, this species of hypocrisy has been practised with such skill as to deceive super­ficial observers, though it can deceive even these but for a moment. Looks which do not correspond with the heart, cannot be assumed without labour, nor continued without pain; the motive to relinquish them must, therefore, soon preponderate, and the aspect and apparel of the visit will be laid by toge­ther; the smiles and languishments of art will vanish, and the fierceness of rage, or the gloom of discontent will either obscure or destroy all the elegance of sym­metry and complexion.

12. The artificial aspect is, indeed, as wretched a substitute for the expression of sentiment, as the smear of paint for the blushes of health: it is not on­ly equally transient, and equally liable to detection; but as paint leaves the countenance yet more wither­ed and ghastly, the passions burst out with more vio­lence after restraint, the features become more dis­torted, and excite more determined aversion.

13. Beauty, therefore, depends principally upon the mind, and consequently may be influenced by education. It has been remarked, that the predo­minant passion may generally be discovered in the countenance; because the muscles by which it is ex­pressed, being almost perpetually contracted, lose their tone, and never totally relax; so that the ex­pression [Page 101] remains when the passion is suspended: thus an angry, a disdainful, a subtil, and a suspicious temper, is displayed in characters that are almost universally understood.

14. It is equally true of the pleasing and the softer passions, that they leave their signatures upon the countenance when they cease to act: the prevalence of these passions therefore produces a mechanical ef­fect upon the aspect, and gives a turn and cast to the features which makes a more favourable and forcible impression upon the mind of others, than any charm produced by mere external causes.

15. Neither does the beauty which depends upon temper and sentiment, equally endanger the possess­or; "It is," to use an eastern metaphor, ‘like the towers of a city, not only an ornament but a de­fence:’ if it excites desire, it at once controuls and refines it; it represses with awe, it softens with delicacy, and it wins to imitation. The love of rea­son and virtue is mingled with the love of beauty; because this beauty is little more than the emanation of intellectual excellence, which is not an object of corporeal appetite.

16. As it excites a purer passion, it also more sor­cibly engages to fidelity: every man finds himself more powerfully restrained from giving pain to good­ness than to bea [...]ty; and every look of a countenance in which they are blended▪ in which beauty is the expression of goodness, is a silent reproach of the first irregular wish: and the purpose immediately appears to be disi [...]gen [...]ous and cruel, by which the tender hope of ineffable affection would be disappointed, the placid confidence of unsuspected simplicity abus­ed, and the peace even of virtue endangered by the most sordid infidelity, and the breach of the strong­est obligations.

17. But the hope of the hypocrite must perish. When the fictitious beauty has laid by her smiles, when the lustre of her eyes and the bloom of her cheeks have [Page 102] lost their influence with their novelty; what remains but a tyrant divested of power, who will never be seen without a mixture of indignation and disdain? The only desire which this object could gratify, will be transferred to another, not only without reluctance, but with triumph.

18. As resentment will succeed to disappointment, a desire to mortify will succeed to a desire to please: and the husband may be urged to solicit a mistress, merely by a remembrance of the beauty of his wife, which lasted only till she was known.

Let it, therefore, be remembred, that none can be disciples of the Graces, but in the school of Virtue; and that those who wish to be lovely must learn early to be good.

19. A Friend of mine has two daughters, whom I will call Laetitia and Daphn [...]. The former is one of the greatest beauties of the age in which she lives, the latter no way remarkable for any charms in her person. Upon this one circumstance of their outward form, the good and ill of their life seem to turn. Laetitia has not from her very childhood heard any thing else but commendations of her features and complexion, by which means she is no other than na­ture made her, a very beautiful outside.

20. The consciousness of her charms has rendered her insupportably vain and insolent, towards all who have to do with her. Daphne, who was almost twen­ty before one civil thing had ever been said to her, found herself obliged to acquire some accomplish­ments to make up for the want of those attractions which she saw in her sister.

21. Poor Daphne was seldom submitted to in a debate wherein she was concerned; her discourse had nothing to recommend it but the good sense of it, and she was always under a necessity to have very well considered what she was to say before she uttered it; [Page 103] while Laetitia was listened to with partiality, and approbation sat in the countenances of those she con­versed with, before she communicated what she had to say.

22. These causes have produced suitable effects, and Laetitia is as insipid a companion, as Daphne is an agreeable one. Laetitia, confident of favour, has studied no arts to please; Daphne, despairing of any inclination towards her person, has depended only on her merit. Laetitia has always something in her air that is sullen, grave, and disconsolate.

23. Daphne has a countenance that appears chear­ful, open and unconcerned. A young gentleman saw Laetitia this winter at a play, and became her captive. His fortune was such, that he wanted very little introduction to speak his sentiments to her fa­ther. The lover was admitted with the utmost free­dom into the family, where a constrained behaviour, severe looks, and distant civilities, were the highest favours he could obtain of Laetitia; while Daphne used him with the good humour, familiarity, and innocence of [...]ter:

24. Insomuch that he would often say to her, Dear Daphne, wert thou but as handsome as Laetitia!—She received such language with that ingenuous and plea­sing mirth, which is natural to a woman without de­sign. He still sighed in vain for Laetitia, but found certain relief in the agreeable conversation of Daphne. At length, heartily tired with the haughty imperti­nence of Laetitia, and charmed with repeated instan­ces of good humour he had observed in Daphne, he one day told the latter, that he had something to say to her he hoped she would be pleased with.

25.—Faith, Daphne, continued he, I am in love with thee, and despise thy sister sincerely. The manner of his declaring himself gave his mistress oc­casion for a very hearty laughter.—Nay, says he, I knew you would laugh at me, but I'll ask your father. He did so; the father received his intelligence with [Page 104] no less joy than surprise, and was very glad he had now no care left but for his beauty, which he thought he would carry to market at his leisure.

26. I do not know any thing that has pleased me so much a great while, as this conquest of my friend Daphne's. All her acquaintance congratulate her upon her chance medley, and laugh at that premedi­tating murderer, her sister. As it is an argument of a light mind, to think the worse of ourselves for the imperfections of our persons, it is equally below us to value ourselves upon the advantages of them.

27. The female world seem to be almost incorrigi­bly gone astray in this particular; for which reason, I shall recommend the following extract out of a friend's letter to the profess'd beauties, who are a people almost as insufferable as the profess'd wits.

1. EVERY principle that is a motive to good acti­ons, ought to be encouraged, since men are of so different a make, that the same principle does not work equally upon all minds. What some men are prompted to by conscience, duty, or religion, which are only different names for the same thing, others are prompted to by Honour.

2. The sense of honour is of so fine and delicate a nature, that it is only to be met with in minds which are naturally noble, or in such as have been cultiva­ted by great examples, or a refined education. This paper therefore is chiefly designed for those who, by means of any of these advantages, are, or ought to be, actuated by this glorious principle.

3. But as nothing is more pernicious than a prin­ciple of action, when it is misunderstood, I shall con­sider honour with respect to three sorts of men. First of all, with regard to those who have a right notion of it. Secondly, with regard to those who have a mistaken notion of it. And thirdly, with regard to those who treat it as chimerical, and turn it into ridi­cule.

4. In the first place, true honour, though it be a different principle from religion, is that which pro­duces the same effects. The lines of action, though [Page 108] drawn from different parts, terminate in the same point. Religion embraces virtue, as it is enjoined by the laws of God; Honour, as it is graceful and or­namental to human nature.

5. The religious man a fears, the man of honour scorns to do an ill action. The former considers vice as something that is beneath him, the other as something that is offensive to the Divine Being. The one as what is unbecoming, the other as what is forbidden. Thus Seneca speaks in the natural and genuine language of a man of honour, when he declares that were there no God to see or punish vice, he would not commit it, be­cause it is of so mean, so base, and so vile a nature.

6. I shall conclude this head with the description of honour in the part of young Juba.

7. In the second place we are to consider those who have mistaken notions of honour, and these are such as establish any thing to themselves for a point of ho­nour which is contrary either to the laws of God, or of their country; who think it more honourable to revenge than to forgive an injury; who make no scruple of telling a lie, but would put any man to death who ac­cuses them of it; who are more careful to guard their reputation by their courage than by their virtue.

8. True fortitude is indeed so becoming in human nature, That he who wants it scarce deserves the name of a man; but we find several who so much a­buse this notion, that they place the whole idea of honour in a kind of brutal courage; by which means we have had many among us who have called them­selves men of honour, that would have been a disgrace to a gibbet.

9. In a word, the man who sacrifices any duty of a reasonable creature to a prevailing mode of fashion, [Page 109] who looks upon any thing as honourable that is dis­pleasing to his Maker, or distructive to society, who thinks himself obliged by this principle to the prac­tice of some virtues and not of others, is by no means to be reckoned among true men of honour.

10. Timogenes was a lively instance of one actuated by false honour. Timogenes would smile at a man's jest who ridiculed his Maker, and at the same time run a man through the body that spoke ill of his friend. Timogenes would have scorned to have be­trayed a secret, that was intrusted with him, though the fate of his country depended upon the discovery of it.

11. Timogenes took away the life of a young fel­low in a duel, for having spoken ill of Belinda, a la­dy whom he himself had seduced in her youth, and betrayed into want and ignominy. To close his cha­racter, Timogenes, after having ruined several poor tradesmen's families, who had trusted him, sold his estate to satisfy his creditors; but like a man of ho­nour disposed of all the money he could make of it, in paying off his play-debts, or to speak in his own language, his debts of honour.

12. In the third place, we are to consider those persons, who treat this principle as chimerical, and turn it into ridicule. Men who are professedly of no honour, are of a more profligate and abandoned na­ture, than even those who are actuated by false no­tions of it, as there is more hope of a heretic than of an atheist, These sons of infamy consider honour with old Syphax, in the play before mentioned, as a fine imaginary notion, that leads astray young unex­perienced men, and draws them into real mischiefs, while they are engaged in the pursuits of a shadow▪

13. These are generally persons, who, in Shakes­pear's phrase, are worn and huckney'd in the ways of men: whose imaginations are grown callous, a [...]d have lost all those delicate sentiments which are na­tural to minds that are innocent and undepraved. [Page 110] Such old battered miscreants ridicule every thing as romantic, that comes in competition with their pre­sent interest, and treat those persons as visionaries who dare stand up in a corrupt age, for what has not its immediate reward joined to it.

14. The talents, interest, or experience of such men, make them very often useful in all parties, and at all times. But whatever wealth and dignities they may arrive at, they ought to consider, that e­very one stands as a blot in the annals of his country, who arrives at the temple of honour by any other way than through that of virtue.

1 I HAVE always been a very great lover of your speculations, as well in regard to the subject, as to your manner of treating it. Human nature I always thought the most useful object of human reason, and to make the consideration of it pleasant and entertaining, I always thought the best employment of human wit: other parts of phi­losophy may perhaps make us wiser, but this not only answers that end, but makes us better too.

2. Hence it was that the oracle pronounced So­crates the wisest of all men living, because he ju­diciously made choice of human nature for the ob­ject of his thoughts; an enquiry into which as much exceeds all other learning, as it is of more conse­quence to adjust the true nature and measures of right and wrong, than to settle the distance of the planets, and compute the times of their circumvo­lutions.

3. One good effect that will immediately arise from a near observation of human nature, is, that [Page 111] we shall cease to wonder at those actions which men are used to reckon wholly unaccountable; for as nothing is produced without a cause, so by observ­ing the nature and course of the passions, we shall be able to trace every action from its first concep­tion to its death.

4. We shall no more admire at the proceedings of Catiline and Tiberius, when we know the one was actuated by a cruel jealousy, the other by a fu­rious ambition; for the actions of men follow their passions as naturally as light does heat, or as any other effect flows from its cause; reason must be employed in adjusting the passions, but they must ever remain the principles of action.

5. The strange and absurd variety that is so ap­parent in men's actions, shows plainly they can ne­ver proceed immediately from reason; so pure a fountain emits no such troubled waters: they must necessarily arise from the passions, which are to the mind as the winds to a ship; they only can move it, and they too often destroy it; if fair and gentle, they guide it into the harbour; if contrary and fu­rious, they overset it in the waves.

6. In the same manner is the mind assisted or endangered by the passions; reason must then take the place of pilot, and can never fail of securing her charge if she be not wanting to herself; the strength of the passions will never be accepted as an excuse for complying with them: they were de­signed for subjection; and if a man suffers them to get the upper hand, he then betrays the liberty of his own soul.

7. As nature has framed the several species of beings as it were in a chain, so man seems to be placed as the middle link between angels and brutes: hence he participates both of flesh and spirit by an admirable tye, which in him occasions perpetual war of passions; and as a man inclines to the angelic or brute part of his constitution, he [Page 112] is then denominated good or bad, virtuous or wick­ed: if love, mercy, and good-nature prevail, they speak him of the angel; if hatred, cruelty, and envy predominate, they declare his kindred to the brute.

8. Hence it was that some ancients imagined, that as men in this life inclined more to the angel or the brute, so after their death they should trans­migrate into the one or the other: and it would be no unpleasant notion to consider the several species of brutes, into which we may imagine that tyrants, misers, the proud, malicious, and ill-natured, might be changed.

9. As a consequence of this original, all passions are in all men, but appear not in all: constitution, education, custom of the country, reason, and the like causes may improve or abate the strength of them, but still the seeds remain, which are ever ready to sprout forth upon the least encouragement.

10. I have heard a story of a good religious man, who having been bred with the milk of a goat, was very modest in public, by a careful reflection he made on his actions, but he frequently had an hour in secret, wherein he had his frisks and capers: and if we had an opportunity of examining the re­tirement of the strictest philosophers, no doubt but we should find perpetual returns of those passions they so artfully conceal from the public.

11. I remember Machiavel observes, that every state should entertain a perpetual jealousy of its neighbours, that so it should never be unprovided when an emergency happens; in like manner should reason be perpetually on its guard against the passions, and never suffer them to carry on any design that may be destructive of its security; yet at the same time it must be careful, that it don't so far break their strength as to render them con­temptible, and consequently itself unguarded.

[Page 113]12. The understanding being of itself too slow and lazy to exert itself into action, it is necessary it should be put in motion by the gentle gales of passions, which may preserve it from stagnating and corruption; for they are necessary to the health of the mind, as the circulation of the animal spirits is to the health of the body; they keep it in life, and strength, and vigour; nor is it possible for the mind to perform its offices without their assistance; these motions are given us with our being; they are little spirits, that are born and die with us; to some they are mild, easy and gentle; to others way­ward and unruly; yet never too strong for the reins of reason, and the guidance of judgment.

13. We may generally observe a pretty nice pro­portion between the strength of reason and passion; the greatest geniuses have commonly the strongest affections, as, on the other hand, the weaker un­derstandings have generally the weaker passions: and 'tis fit the fury of the coursers should not be too great for the strength of the charioteer.

14. Young men, whose passions are not a little unruly, give small hopes of their ever being con­siderable; the fire of youth will of course abate, and is a fault, if it be a fault, that mends every day; but surely, unless a man has fire in youth, he can hardly have warmth in old age.

15. We must therefore be very cautious, lest while we think to regulate the passions, we should quite extinguish them; which is putting out the light of the soul; for to be without passion, or to be hurried away with it, makes a man equally blind. The extraordinary severity used in most of our schools has this fatal effect; it breaks the spring of the mind, and most certainly destroys more good geniuses than it can possibly improve.

16. And surely 'tis a mighty mistake that the passions should be so entirely subdued; for little ir­regularities are sometimes not only to be bore with, [Page 114] but to be cultivated too, since they are frequently attended with the greatest perfections. All great geniuses have faults mixed with their virtues, and resemble the flaming bush which has thorns a­mongst lights.

17. Since therefore the passions are the princi­ples of human actions, we must endeavour to ma­nage them so as to retain their vigour, yet keep them under strict command; we must govern them rather like free subjects than slaves, left, while we intend to make them obedient, they become abject, and unfit for those great purposes to which they were designed.

18. For my part, I must confess, I could never have any regard to that sect of philosophers, who so much insisted upon an absolute indifference and vacancy from all passion; for it seems to me a thing very inconsistent for a man to divest himself of hu­manity, in order to acquire tranquillity of mind, and to eradicate the very principles of action, be­cause it is possible they may produce ill effects.

IT is not to be imagined, how great an effect well-disposed lights, with proper forms and orders in assemblies, have upon some tempers. I am sure I feel it in so extraordinary a manner, that I cannot in a day or two get out of my imagination any very beautiful or disagreeable impression which I receive [Page 115] on such occasions. For this reason I frequently look in at the play-house, in order to enlarge my thoughts, and warm my mind with some new ideas, that may be serviceable to me in my lucubrations.

1. In this disposition I entered the theatre the other day, and placed myself in a corner of it, very convenient for seeing, without being myself observed. I found the audience hushed in a very deep attention, and did not question but some noble tragedy was just then in its crisis, or that an incident was to be unra­velled which would determine the fate of an hero. While I was in this suspense, expecting every mo­ment to see my old friend Mr. Betterton appear in all the majesty of distress, to my unspeakable amaze­ment, there came up a monster with a face between his feet; and as I was looking on, he raised himself on one leg in such a perpendicular posture, that the other grew in a direct line above his head.

2. It afterwards twisted itself into the motions and wreathings of several different animals, and after great variety of shapes and transformations went off the stage in the figure of an human creature. The admiration, the applause, the satisfaction of the au­dience, during this strange entertainment, is not to be expressed. I was very much out of countenance for my dear countrymen, and looked about with some apprehension, for fear any foreigner should be present.

3. Is it possible (thought I) that human nature can rejoice in its disgrace, and take pleasure in seeing its own figure turned to ridicule, and distorted into forms that raise horror and aversion? There is some­thing disingenuous and immoral in the being able to bear such a sight. Men of elegant and noble minds are shocked at the seeing characters of persons who de­serve esteem for their virtue, knowledge, or services to their country, placed in wrong lights, and by misrepresentation made the subject of buffoonery.

4. Such a nice abhorrence is not indeed to be found among the vulgar; but methinks it is wonderful, [Page 116] that those, who have nothing but the outward figure to distinguish them as men, should delight in seeing it abused, vilified and disgraced.

I must confess, there is nothing that more pleases me, in all that I read in books, or see among man­kind, than such passages as represent human nature in its proper dignity.

5. As man is a creature made up of different ex­tremes, he has something in him very great and ve­ry mean: a skilful artist may draw an excellent pic­ture of him in either of these views. The finest authors of antiquity have taken him on the more ad­vantageous side. They cultivate the natural gran­deur of the soul, raise in her a generous ambition, feed her with hopes of immortality and perfection, and do all they can to widen the partition between the virtuous and the vicious, by making the diffe­rence betwixt them as great as between gods and brutes.

6. In short, it is impossible to read a page in Plato, Tully, and a thousand other antient moralists, with­out being a greater and a better man for it. On the contrary, I could never read any of our modish French authors, or those of our own country, who are the imitators and admirers of that trifling nation, with­out being for some time out of humour with myself, and at every thing about me.

7. Their business is, to depreciate human nature, and consider it under its worst appearances. They give mean interpretations and base motives to the worthiest actions: they resolve virtue and vice into constitution. In short, they endeavour to make no distinction between man and man, or between the species of men and that of brutes. As an instance of this kind of authors, among many others; let a­ny one examine the celebrated Rochefoucault, who is the great philosopher for administering of consola­tion to the idle, the envious, and worthless part of mankind.

[Page 117]8. I remember a young gentleman of moderate understanding, but great vivacity, who, by dipping into many authors of this nature, had got a little smattering of knowledge, just enough to make an atheist or a free-thinker, but not a philosopher or a man of sense. With these accomplishments, he went to visit his father in the country, who was a plain, rough, honest man, and wise though not learned. The son, who took all opportunities to shew his learn­ing, began to establish a new religion in the family, and to enlarge the narrowness of their country no­tions; in which he succeeded so well, that he had seduced the butler by his table-talk, and staggered his eldest sister.

9. The old gentleman began to be alarmed at the schisms that arose among his children, but did not yet believe his son's doctrine to be so pernicious as it real [...]y was, till one day talking of his setting-dog, the son said, he did not question but Trey was as im­mortal as any one of the family; and in the heat of the argument told his father, that for his own part he expected to die like a dog. Upon which, the old man starting up in a very great passion, cried out, Then, sirrah, you shall live like one; and taking his cane in his hand, cudgelled him out of his sys­tem. This had so good an effect upon him, that he took up from that day, fell to reading good books, and is now a bencher in the Middle Temple.

10. I do not mention this cudgelling part of the story with a design to engage the secular arm in mat­ters of this nature; but certainly, if it ever exerts itself in affairs of opinion and speculation, it ought to do it on such shallow and despicable pretenders to knowledge, who endeavour to give man dark and un­comfortable prospects of his being, and destroy those principles which are the support, happiness and glory of all public societies, as well as private persons.

11. I think it is one of Pythagoras's golden say­ings, that a man should take care above all things to [Page 118] have a due respect for himself: and it is certain, that this licentious sort of authors, who are for deprecia­ting mankind, endeavour to disappoint and undo what the most refined spirits have been labouring to advance since the beginning of the world. The ve­ry design of dress, good breeding, outward orna­ments and ceremony, were to lift up human nature, and set it off to advantage. Architecture, painting and statuary, were invented with the same design; as indeed every art and science that contributes to the embellishment of life, and to the wearing off and throwing into shades the mean and low parts of our nature.

12. Poetry carries on this great end more than all the rest, as may be seen in the following passages ta­ken out of Sir Francis Bacon's advancement of learning, which gives a true and better account of this art than all the volumes that were ever written upon it.

‘Poetry, especially heroical, seems to be raised altogether from a noble foundation, which makes much for the di [...]nity of man's nature. For seeing this sensible world is in dignity inferior to the soul of man, poesy seems to endow human nature with that which history denies; and to give satisfaction to the mind, with at least the shadow of things, where the substance cannot be had.’

13. ‘For if the matter be thoroughly considered, a strong argument may be drawn from poesy, that a more stately greatness of things, a more perfect or­der and a more beautiful variety, delights the soul of man than any way can be found in nature since the fall. Wherefore seeing the acts and events, which are the subjects of true history, are not of that amplitude as to content the mind of man, poe­sy is ready at hand to feign acts more heroical.’

14. ‘Because true history reports the successes of business not proportionable to the merit of virtues and vices, poesy corrects it, and presents events and fortunes according to desert, and according [Page 119] to the law of Providence: because true history, through the frequent satiety and similitude of things, works a distaste and misprison in the mind of man; poesy cheareth and refresheth the soul, chanting things rare and various, and full of vicissitudes.’

15. ‘So as poesy serveth and conferreth to delect­ation, magnanimity and morality; and therefore it may seem deservedly to have some participation of divineness, because it doth raise the mind, and exalt the spirit with high raptures, proportioning the shews of things to the desires of the mind, and not submitting the mind to things as reason and history do. And by these allurements and congru­ities, whereby it cherisheth the soul of man, joined also with consort of music, whereby it may more sweetly insinuate itself; it hath won such access, that it hath been in estimation even in rude times, and barbarous nations, when our learning stood excluded’

16. But there is nothing which favours and falls in with this natural greatness and dignity of human nature so much as religion, which does not only pro­mise the entire refinement of the mind, but the glo­rifying of the body, and the immortality of both.

1. THERE is not a common saying which has a better turn of sense in it than what we of­ten hear in the mouths of the vulgar, that Custom is a second Nature. It is indeed able to form the man anew, and give him inclinations and capacities alto­gether different from those he was born with.

2. Dr. Plot, in his history of Staffordshire, tells of an idiot, that chancing to live within the sound of a clock, and always amusing himself with count­ing the hour of the day whenever the clock struck; [Page 120] the clock being spoiled by some accident, the idiot continued to strike and count the hour without the help of it, in the same manner as he had done when it was entire.

3. Though I dare not vouch for the truth of this story, it is very certain that custom has a mechanical effect upon the body, at the same time that it has a very extraordinary influence upon the mind.

4. I shall in this paper consider one very remark­able effect which custom has upon human nature; and which, if rightly observed, may lead us into very useful rules of life. What I shall here take no­tice of in custom, is its wonderful efficacy in making every thing pleasant to us.

5. A person who is addicted to play or gaming, though he took but little delight in it at first, by de­grees contracts so strong an inclination towards it, and gives himself up so entirely to it, that it seems the only end of his being. The love of a retired or busy life will grow upon a man insensibly, as he is conversant in the one or the other, till he is utterly unqualified for relishing that to which he has been for some time disused.

6. Nay, a man may smoke or drink, or take snuff, till he is unable to pass away his time without it; not to mention how our delight in any particular study, art, or science, rises and improves in proportion to the application which we bestow upon it. Thus what was at first an exercise, becomes at length an enter­tainment. Our employments are changed into di­versions. The mind grows fond of those actions it is accustomed to, and is drawn with reluctancy from those paths in which it has been used to walk.

7. Not only such actions as were at first indifferent to us, but even such as were painful, will by custom and practice become pleasant.

8. Sir Francis Bacon observes in his natural philo­sophy, that our taste is never better pleased than with those things which at first created a disgust in it. He [Page 121] gives particular instances of claret, coffee, and other liquors, which the palate seldom approves upon the first taste; but when it has once got a relish of them, generally retains it for life. The mind is constituted after the same manner, and after having habituated itself to any particular exercise or employment, not only loses its first aversion towards it, but conceives a certain fondness and affection for it.

9. I have heard one of the greatest geniuses this age has produced, who had been trained up in all the polite studies of antiquity, assure me, upon his being obliged to search into several rolls and records, that notwithstanding such an employment was at first very dry and irksome to him, he at last took an incredible pleasure in it, and preferred it even to the reading of Virgil or Cicero.

10. The reader will observe, that I have not here considered custom as it makes things easy, but as it renders them delightful; and though others have of­ten made the same reflection, it is possible they may not have drawn those uses from it, with which I in­tend to fill the remaining part of this paper.

11. If we consider attentively this property of hu­man nature, it may instruct us in very fine moralities. In the first place, I would have no man discouraged with that kind of life or series of actions, in which the choice of others, or his own necessities may have engaged him. It may perhaps be very disagreeable to him at first; but use and application will certain­ly render it not only less painful, but pleasing and satisfactory.

12. In the second place, I would recommend to every one the admirable precept which Pythagoras is said to have given to his disciples, and which that philosopher must have drawn from the observation I have enlarged upon: Optimum vitae genus eligito, nam consuetudo faciet jucundissimum, pitch upon that course of life which is the most excellent, and custom will render it the most delightful.

[Page 122]13. Men, whose circumstances will permit them to chuse their own way of life, are inexcusable if they do not pursue that which their judgment tells them is the most laudable. The voice of reason is more to be regarded than the bent of any present inclination, since by the rule above-mentioned, inclination will at length come over to reason, though we can never force reason to comply with inclination.

14. In the third place, this observation may teach the most sensual and irreligious man to overlook those hardships and difficulties, which are apt to discourage him from the prosecution of a virtuous life. The Gods, said Hesiod, have placed labour before virtue; the way to her is at first rough and difficult, but grows more smooth and easy the farther you advance in it. The man who proceeds in it, with steadiness and re­solution, will in a little time find that her ways are ways of pleasantness, and that all her paths are peace.

15. To enforce this consideration, we may further observe, that the practice of religion will not only be attended with that pleasure, which naturally accom­panies those actions to which we are habituated, but with those supernumerary joys of heart, that rise from the consciousness of such a pleasure, from the satisfaction of acting up to the dictates of reason, and from the prospect of an happy immortality.

16. In the fourth place, we may learn from this observation which we have made on the mind of man, to take particular care, when we are once settled in a regular course of life, how we too frequently in­dulge ourselves in any of the most innocent diversi­ons and entertainments, since the mind may insensi­bly fall off from the relish of virtuous actions, and, by degrees, exchange that pleasure which it takes in the performance of its duty, for delights of a much more inferior and unprofitable nature.

17. The last use which I shall make of this remark­able property in human nature, of being delighted [Page 123] with those actions to which it is accustomed, is to shew how absolutely necessary it is for us to gain habits of virtue in this life, if we would enjoy the pleasures of the next.

18. The state of bliss we call heaven, will not be capable of affecting those minds, which are not thus qualified for it; we must in this world gain a relish of truth and virtue, if we would be able to taste that knowledge and perfection which are to make us hap­py in the next. The seeds of those spiritual joys and raptures, which are to ri [...]e up and flourish in the soul to all eternity, must be planted in it, during this its present state of probation. In short, heaven is not to be looked upon only as the reward, but as the na­tural effect of a religious life.

19. On the other hand, those evil spirits, who, by long custom, have contracted in the body, habits of lust, sensuality, malice and revenge, an aversion to every thing that is good, just, or laudable, are na­turally seasoned and prepared for pain and misery. Their torments have already taken root in them; they cannot be happy when divested of the body, un­less we may suppose, that Providence will in a man­ner create them anew, and work a miracle in the rec­tification of their faculties.

20. They may, indeed, taste a kind of malignant pleasure in those actions to which they are accustom­ed whilst in this life; but when they are removed from all those objects which are here apt to gratify them, they will naturally become their own [...]ormen­tors, and cherish in themselves those painful habits of mind which are called in scripture phrase, the worm which never dies.

21. This notion of heaven and hell is so very con­formable to the light of nature, that it was discovered by several of the most exalted heathens. It has been finely improved by many eminent divines of the last age, as in particular by Archbishop Tillotson and Dr. Sherlock; but there is none who has raised such [Page 124] noble speculations upon it as Dr. Scott, in the first book of his Christian Life, which is one of the finest and most rational schemes of divinity, that is written in our tongue, or any other. That excellent author has shewn how every particular custom and habit of virtue will, in its own nature, produce the heaven, or a state of happiness, in him who shall hereafter practise it: as on the contrary, how every custom or habit of vice will be the natural hell of him in whom it subsists.

1. I HAD occasion to go a few miles out of town, some days since, in a stage-coach, where I had for my fellow travellers a dirty beau, and a pretty young Quaker woman. Having no inclination to talk much at that time, I placed myself backward, with a design to survey them, and pick a speculation out of my two companions. Their different figures were sufficient of themselves to draw my attention.

2. The gentleman was dressed in a suit, the ground whereof had been black, as I perceived from some few spaces that had escaped the powder, which was incorporated with the greatest part of his coat: his perriwig, which cost no small sum, was after so slo­venly a manner cast over his shoulders, that it seem­ed not to have been combed since the year 1712; his linen, which was not much concealed, was daubed with plain Spanish from the chin to the lowest button, and the diamond upon his finger (which naturally dreaded the water) put me in mind how it sparkled amidst the rubbish of the mine, where it was first discovered.

3. On the other hand, the pretty Quaker appear­ed in all the elegance of cleanliness. Not a speck [Page 125] was to be found on her. A clear clean oval face, just edged about with little thin plaits of the purest cam­brick, received great advantages from the shade of her black hood; as did the whiteness of her arms from that sober coloured stuff, in which she had cloathed herself. The plainness of her dress was very well suited to the simplicity of her phrases, all which put together, though they could not give me a great opinion of her religion, they did of her in­nocence.

4. This adventure occasioned my throwing toge­ther a few hints upon cleanliness, which I shall consi­der as one of the half virtues, as Aristotle calls them, and shall recommend it under the three following heads: As it is a mark of politeness: as it produces love; and as it bears analogy to purity of mind.

5. First, it is a mark of politeness. It is univer­sally agreed upon, that no one, unadorned with this virtue, can go into company without giving a mani­fest offence. The easier or higher any one's fortune is, this duty rises proportionably. The different na­tions of the world are as much distinguished by their cleanliness, as by their arts and sciences. The more any country is civilized, the more they consult this part of politeness. We need but compare our ideas of a female Hottentot with an English beauty to be satisfied of the truth of what hath been advanced.

6. In the next place, cleanliness may be said to be the foster-mother of love. Beauty indeed most com­monly produces that passion in the mind, but clean­liness preserves it. An indifferent face and person, kept in perpetual neatness, hath won many a heart from a pretty slattern. Age itself is not unamiable, while it is preserved clean and unsullied: like a piece of metal constantly kept smooth and bright, we look on it with more pleasure than on a new ves­sel that is cankered with rust.

7. I might observe further, that as cleanliness renders us agreeable to others, so it makes us easy to [Page 126] ourselves; that it is an excellent preservative of health: and that several vices, destructive both to mind and body, are inconsistent with the habit of it. But these reflections I shall leave to the leisure of my readers, and shall observe in the third place, that it bears a great analogy with purity of mind, and naturally inspires refined sentiments and passions.

8. We find, from experience, that through the prevalence of custom, the most vicious actions lose their horror, by being made familiar to us. On the contrary, those who live in the neighbourhood of good examples, fly from the first appearances of what is shocking. It fares with us much after the same manner as our ideas. Our senses, which are the inlets to all the images conveyed to the mind, can only transmit the impression of such things as u­sually surround them. So that pure and unsullied thoughts are naturally suggested to the mind, by those objects that perpetually encompass us, when they are beautiful and elegant in their kind.

9. In the East, where the warmth of the climate makes cleanliness more immediately necessary than in colder countries, it is made one part of their reli­gion: the Jewish law (and the Mahometan, which in some things copies after it) is filled with bathings, purifications and other rites of the like nature. Though there is the above-named convenient reason to be assigned for these ceremonies, the chief inten­tion undoubtedly was to typify inward purity and cleanliness of heart by those outward washings.

10. We read several injunctions of this kind in the book of Deuteronomy, which confirm this truth; and which are but ill accounted for by saying as some do, that they were only instituted for convenience in the desert, which otherways could not have been habit­able for so many years.

11. I shall conclude this essay, with a story which I have somewhere read in an account of Mahometan superstition. A Dervise of great sanctity one morn­ing [Page 127] had the misfortune as he took up a crystal cup, which was consecrated to the prophet, to let it fall upon the ground and dash it in pieces. His son com­ing in some time after, he stretched out his hand to bless him, as his manner was every morning; but the youth going out stumbled over the threshold and broke his arm. As the old man wondered at these events, a caravan passed by in its way from Mecca. The Dervise approached it to beg a blessing; but as he stroked one of the holy camels, he received a kick from the beast, that sorely bruised him. His sorrow and amazement increased upon him, till he recollect­ed that through hurry and inadvertency he had that morning come abroad without washing his hands.

1. I Consider a human soul without education like marble in the quarry, which shews none of its inherent beauties, until the skill of the polisher fetch­es out the colours, makes the surface shine, and dis­covers every ornamental cloud, spot, and vein, that runs through the body of it. Education, after the same manner, when it works upon a noble mind, draws out to view every latent virtue and perfection, which, without such helps, are never able to make their appearance.

2. If my reader will give me leave to change the allusion so soon upon him, I shall make use of the same instance to illustrate the force of education, which Aristotle has brought to explain his doctrine of substantial forms, when he tells us that a statue lies hid in a block of marble; and that the art of the statuary only clears away the superfluous matter, and removes the rubbish. The figure is in the stone, the sculptor only finds it. What sculpture is to a block of marble, education is to an human soul.

[Page 128]3. The philosopher, the saint, or the hero, the wise, the good, or the great man, very often lie hid and concealed in a plebeian, which a proper educati­on might have disinterred, and have brought to light. I am therefore much delighted with reading the accounts of savage nations, and with contemplating those virtues which are wild and uncultivated; to see courage exerting itself in fierceness, resolution in obstinacy, wisdom in cunning, patience in sullen­ness and despair.

4. Mens passions operate variously, and appear in different kinds of actions, according as they are more or less rectified and swayed by reason. When one hears of negroes, who upon the death of their masters, or upon changing their service, hang them­selves upon the next tree, as it frequently happens in our American plantations, who can forbear ad­miring their fidelity, though it expresses itself in so dreadful a manner?

5. What might not that savage greatness of soul which appears in these poor wretches on many occa­sions, be raised to, were it rightly cultivated? and what colour of excuse can there be for the contempt with which we treat this part of our species? that we should not put them upon the common foot of huma­nity; that we should only set an insignificant fine upon the man who murders them; nay, that we should, as much as in us lies, cut them off from the prospects of happiness in another world, as well as in this, and deny them that which we look upon as the pro­per means for attaining it.

6. It is therefore an unspeakable blessing to be born in those parts of the world where wisdom and knowledge flourish; though it must be confessed there are, even in these parts, several poor uninstructed persons, who are but little above the inhabitants of those nations of which I have been here speaking; as those who have had the advantages of a more libe­ral education, rise above one another by several dif­ferent degrees of perfection.

[Page 129]7. For to return to our statue in the block of mar­ble, we see it sometimes only begun to be chipped, sometimes rough-hewn, and but just sketched into an human figure; sometimes we see the man appearing distinctly in all his limbs and features, sometimes we find the figure wrought up to a great elegancy, but seldom meet with any to which the hand of a Phidias or Praxiteles could not give several nice touches and finishings.

1. I HAVE often wondered that learning is not thought a proper ingredient in the education of a woman of quality or fortune. Since they have the same improveable minds as the male part of the species, why should they not be cultivated by the same method? why should reason be left to itself in one of the sexes, and be disciplined with so much care in the other?

2. There are some reasons why learning seems more adapted to the female world than to the male. As in the first place, because they have more spare time upon their hands, and lead a more sedentary life. Their employments are of a domestic nature, and not like those of the other sex, which are often inconsistent with study and contemplation.

3. The excellent lady, the lady Lizard, in the space of one summer furnished a gallery with chairs and couches of her own and her daughters working; and at the same time heard all Dr. Tillotson's ser­mons twice over. It is always the custom for one of the young ladies to read, while the others are at work; so that the learning of the family is not at all prejudicial to its manufacturers.

[Page 130]4. I was mightily pleased the other day to find them all busy in preserving several fruits of the season, with the Sparkler in the midst of them, reading over 'The plurality of worlds.' It was very enter­taining to me to see them dividing their speculations between jellies and stars, and making a sudden tran­sition from the sun to an apricot, or from the Coper­nican system to the figure of a cheese cake.

5. A second reason why women should apply them­selves to useful knowledge rather than men, is be­cause they have that natural gift of speech in greater perfection. Since they have so excellent a talent, such a Copia Verborum, or plenty of words, it is pity they should not put it to some use. If the female tongue will be in motion, why should it not be set to go right? Could they discourse about the spots in the sun, it might divert them from publishing the faults of their neighbours: could they talk of the different aspects and conjunctions of the planets, they need not be at the pains to comment upon oglings and clandestine marriages. In short, were they fur­nished with matters of fact, out of arts and sciences, it would now and then be of great ease to their in­vention.

6. There is another reason why those, especially who are women of quality, should apply themselves to letters, namely, because their husbands are gene­rally strangers to them. It is great pity there should be no knowledge in a family. For my own part, I am concerned when I go into a great house, where perhaps there is not a single person that can spell, unless it be by chance the butler, or one of the foot­men. What a figure is the young heir likely to make, who is a dunce both by father and mother's side?

7. If we look into the histories of famous women, we find many eminent philosophers of this sex. Nay, we find that several females have distinguished them­selves in those sects of philosophy which seem almost [Page 131] repugnant to their natures. There have been fa­mous female Pythagoreans, notwithstanding most of that philosophy consisted in keeping a secret, and that the disciple was to hold her tongue five years together.

8. Learning and knowledge are perfections in us, not as we are men, but as we are reasonable creatures, in which order of beings the female world is upon the same level with the male. We ought to consider in this particular, not what is the sex, but what is the species to which they belong. At least, I believe every one will allow me, that a female philosopher is not so absurd a character and so opposite to the sex, as a female gamester; and that it is more irrational for a woman to pass away half a dozen hours at cards or dice, than in getting up stores of useful learning.

9. This therefore is another reason why I would recommend the studies of knowledge to the female world, that they may not be at a loss how to employ those hours that lie upon their hands.

10. I might also add this motive to my fair rea­ders, that several of their sex, who have improved their minds by books and literature, have raised themselves to the highest posts of honour and fortune. A neighbouring nation may at this time furnish us with a very remarkable instance of this kind; but I shall conclude this head with the history of Athenais, which is a very signal example to my present purpose.

11. The emperor Theodosius being about the age of one and twenty, and designing to take a wise, de­sired his sister Pulcheria and his friend Paulinus to search his whole empire for a woman of the most ex­quisite beauty and highest accomplishments. In the midst of this search, Athenais, a Grecian virgin, accidentally offered herself. Her father, who was an eminent philosopher of Athens, and had bred her up in all the learning of that place, at his death left her but a very small portion, in which also she suffer­ed great hardships from the injustice of her two brothers.

[Page 132]12. This forced her upon a journey to Constanti­nople, where she had a relation who represented her case to Pulcheria, in order to obtain some redress from the emperor. By this means that religious princess became acquainted with Athenais, whom she found the most beautiful woman of her age, and educated under a long course of philosophy in the strictest virtue, and most unspotted innocence.

13. Pulcheria was charmed with her conversation, and immediately made her report to the emperor her brother Theodosius. The character she gave made such an impression on him, that he desired his sister to bring her away immediately to the lodgings of his friend Paulinus, where he found her beauty and her conversation beyond the highest idea he had framed of them.

14. His friend Paulinus converted her to Christi­anity, and gave her the name of Eudosia; after which the emperor publicly espoused her, and enjoyed all the happiness in his marriage which he promised himself from such a virtuous and learned bride. She not only forgave the injuries which her two brothers had done her, but raised them to great honours; and by several works of learning, as well as by an exem­plary life, made herself so dear to the whole empire, that she had many statues erected to her memory, and is celebrated by the fathers of the church as an ornament of her sex.

1. GOING yesterday to dine with an old ac­quaintance, I had the misfortune to find the whole family very much dejected. Upon asking him the occasion of it, he told me that his wife had dreamt a very strange dream the night before, which they [Page 133] were afraid portended some misfortune to themselves or to their children. At her coming into the room, I observed a settled melancholy in her countenance, which I should have been troubled for, had I not heard from whence it proceeded.

2. We were no sooner sat down, but, after having looked upon me a little while, 'My dear,' says she, turning to her husband, 'you may now see the stran­ger that was in the candle last night.' Soon after this, as they began to talk of family affairs, a little boy at the lower end of the table told her, that he was to go into joining hand on Thursday: 'Thurs­day!' says she, 'no child, if it please God, you shall not begin upon Childermas day: tell your wri­ting-master that Friday will be soon enough.'

3. I was reflecting with myself on the oddness of her fancy, and wondering that any body would esta­blish it as a [...] to lose a day in every week. In the midst of these my musings, she desired me to reach her a little salt upon the point of my knife, which I did in such a trepidation and hurry of obedience, that I let it drop by the way; at which she immedi­ately startled, and said it fell towards her. Upon this I looked very blank; and, observing the con­cern of the whole table, began to consider myself, with some confusion, a [...] person that had brought a disaster upon the family.

4. The lady, however, recovering herself, after a little space said to her husband with a sigh, 'My dear, misfortunes never come single.' My friend, I found, acted but an under part at his table, and being a man of more good nature than understand­ing, thinks himself obliged to fall in with all the passions and humours of his yoke-fellow: 'Do you remember, child,' says she, 'that the pigeon-house fell the very afternoon that our careless wench spilt the salt upon the table? Yes, says he, my dear, and the next post brought us an account of the battle of Almanza.'

[Page 134]5. The reader may guess at the figure I made, af­ter having done all this mischief. I dispatched my dinner, as soon as I could, with my usual taciturni­ty: when, to my utter confusion, the lady seeing me quitting my knife and fork, and lying across one an­other upon my plate, desired me that I would humour her so far as to take them out of that figure, and place them side by side.

6. What the absurdity was which I had committed I did not know, but I suppose there was some tradi­tionary superstition in it; and therefore in obedience to the lady of the house, I disposed of my knife and fork in two parallel lines, which is a figure I shall always lay them in for the future, though I do not know any reason for it.

7. It is not difficult to a man to see that a person has conceived an aversion to him. For my own part, I quickly found, by the lady's looks, that she regard­ed me as a very odd kind of fellow, with an unfor­tunate aspect: for which reason I took my leave im­mediately after dinner, and withdrew to my own lodgings.

8. Upon my return home, I fell into a profound contemplation on the evils that attend these supersti­tious follies of mankind; how they subject us to ima­ginary afflictions, and [...]itional sorrows, that do not properly come within our lot. [...] if the natural calamities of life were not sufficient for it, we turn the most indifferent circumstances into misfortunes, and suffer as much from trifling accidents, as from real evils.

9. I have known the shooting of a star spoil a night's rest; and have seen a man in love grow pale and lose his appetite, upon the plucking of a merry thought. A screech owl at midnight has alarmed a family more than a band of robbers; nay, the voice of a cricket hath struck more terror than the roaring of a lion

10. There is nothing so inconsiderable, which [Page 135] may not appear dreadful to an imagination that is filled with on [...]ens and prognosties. A rusty nail, or crooked pin, shoot up into prodigies.

11. I remember I was once in a mixt assembly, that was full of noise and mirth, when on a sudden an old woman unluckily observed there were thirteen of us in company. This remark struck a pani [...] ter­ror into several who were present, insomuch that one or two of the ladies were going to leave the room; but a friend of mine taking [...]otice that one of our fe­male companions was big with child, affirmed there were fourteen in the room, and that, instead of por­tending one of the company should die, it plainly fore [...]old one of them should be born. Had not my friend found out this expedient to break the omen, I question not but half the women in the company would have fallen sick that very night.

12. An old maid, that is troubled with the va­pours, produces infinite disturbances of this kind a­mong her friends and neighbours. I know a maiden aunt, of a great family, who is one of these anti­quated Sibyl [...], that forbodes and prophesies from one end of the year to the other. She is always seeing apparitions, and hearing death-watches; and was the other day almost frighted out of her wits by the great house dog, that howled in the stable at a time when she lay ill of the tooth-ach.

13. Such an extravagant cast of mind engages multitudes of people not only in impertinent terrors, but in supernumerary duties of life; and arises from that fear and ignorance which are natural to the soul of man.

14. The horror with which we entertain the thoughts of death (or indeed of any future evil) and the uncertainty of its approach, fill a melancholy mind with innumerable apprehensions and suspicions, and consequently dispose it to the observation of such groundless prodigies and predictions. For as it is the chief concern of wise men, to retrench the evils [Page 136] of life by the reasonings of philosophy; it is the employment of fools to multiply them by the senti­ments of superstition.

15. For my own part, I should be very much trou­bled were I endowed with this divining quality, though it should inform me truly of every thing that can befal me. I would not anticipate the relish of any happiness, nor feel the weight of any misery, before it actually arrives.

16. I know but one way of fortifying my soul a­gainst these gloomy presages and terrors of mind; and that is, by securing to myself the friendship and protection of that Being, who disposes of events and governs futurity. He sees, at one view, the whole thread of my existence, not only that part of it which I have already passed through, but that which runs forward into all the depths of eternity.

17. When I lay me down to sleep, I recommend myself to his care; when I awake, I give myself up to his direction. Amidst all the evils that threaten me, I will look up to him for help, and question not but he will either avert them, or turn them to my advantage. Though I know neither the time nor the manner of the death I am to die, I am not at all solicitous about it; because I am sure that he knows them both, and that he will not fail to comfort and support me under them.

1. A GOOD conscience is to the soul what health is to the body; it preserves a constant ease and serenity within us, and more than countervails all the calamities and afflictions which can possibly befal us. I know nothing so hard for a generous [Page 137] mind to get over as calumny and reproach, and can­not find any method of quieting the soul under them, besides this single one, of our being conscious to our­selves that we do not deserve them.

2. I have been always mightily pleased with that passage in Don Quixote, where the fantastical knight is represented as loading a gentleman of good sense with praises and elogiums. Upon which the gentle­man makes this reflection to himself: how grateful is praise to human nature!

3. I cannot forbear being secretly pleased with the commendations I receive, though I am sensible it is a madman that bestows them on me. In the same manner, though we are often sure that the censures which are passed upon us are uttered by those who know nothing of us, and have neither means nor abi­lities to form a right judgment of us, we cannot for­bear being grieved at what they say.

4. In order to heal this infirmity, which is so na­tural to the best and wisest of men, I have taken a particular pleasure in observing the conduct of the old philosophers, how they bore themselves up against the malice and detraction of their enemies.

5. The way to silence calumny, says Bias, is to be always exercised in such things as are praise-worthy. Socrates, after having received sentence, told his friends that he had always accustomed himself to re­gard truth and not censure, and that he was not trou­bled at his condemnation, because he knew himself free from guilt. It was in the same spirit that he heard the accusations of his two great adversaries, who had uttered against him the most virulent re­proaches.

6. Anytus and Melitus, says he, may procure sen­tence against me, but they cannot hurt me. This divine philosopher was so well fortified in his own in­nocence, that he neglected all the impotence of evil tongues which were engaged in his destruction. This was properly the support of a good conscience, that [Page 138] contradicted the reports which had been raised against him, and cleared him to himself.

7. Others of the philosophers rather chose to re­tort the injury of a smart reply, than thus to disarm it with respect to themselves. They show that it stung them, though at the same time they had the address to make their aggressors suffer with them. Of this kind is Aristotle's reply to one who pursued him with long and bitter invectives. You, says he, who are used to suffer reproaches, utter them with delight; I who have not been used to utter them, take no plea­sure in hearing them.

8. Diogenes was still more severe on one who spoke ill of him: no body will believe you when you speak ill of me, any more than they would believe me should I speak well of you.

In these and many other instances I could produce, the bitterness of the answer sufficiently testifies the uneasiness of mind the person was under who made it.

9. I would rather advise my reader, if he has not in this case the secret consolation, that he deserves no such reproaches as are cast upon him, to follow the advice of Epictetus: If any one speaks ill of thee, consider whether he has truth on his side; and if so, reform thyself, that his censures may not affect thee.

10. When Anaximander was told that the very boys laughed at his singing: Ay, says he, then I must learn to sing better. But of all the sayings of philosophers which I have gathered together for my own use on this occasion, there are none which carry in them more candour and good sense than the two following ones of Plato.

11. Being told that he had many enemies who spoke ill of him: it is no matter, said he, I will live so that none shall believe them. Hearing at another time, that an intimate friend of his had spoken de­tractingly of him: I am sure he would not do it, says he, if he had not some reason for it.

[Page 139]12. This is the surest as well as the noblest way of drawing the sting out of a reproach, and a true me­thod of preparing a man for that great and only relief against the pains of calumny, 'a good conscience.'

13. I designed, in this essay, to show, that there is no happiness wanting to him who is possessed of this excellent frame of mind, and that no person can be miserable who is in the enjoyment of it; but I find this subject so well treated in one of Dr. South's ser­mons, that I shall fill this Saturday's paper with a passage of it, which cannot but make the man's heart burn within him, who reads it with due attention.

14. That admirable author, having shewn the vir­tue of a good conscience, in supporting a man under the greatest trials and difficulties of life, concludes with representing its force and efficacy in the hour of death.

15. The third and last instance, in which above all others this confidence towards God does most emi­nently show and exert itself, is at the time of death; which surely gives the grand opportunity of trying both the strength and worth of every principle.

16. When a man shall be just about to quit the stage of this world, to put off his mortality, and to deliver up his last accounts to God; at which sad time his memory shall serve him for little else, but to ter­rify him with a frightful review of his past life, and his former extravagancies stripped of all their plea­sure, but retaining their guilt: what is it then that can promise him a fair passage into the other world, or a comfortable appearance before his dreadful judge when he is there?

17. Not all the friends and interests, all the riches and honours under heaven can speak so much as a word for him, or one word of comfort to him in that condition; they may possibly reproach, but they can­not relieve him.

18. No, at this disconsolate time, when the busy tempter shall be more than usually apt to vex and [Page 140] trouble him, and the pains of a dying body to hinder and discompose him, and the settlement of worldly affairs to disturb and confound him; and in a word, all things conspire to make his sick-bed grievous and uneasy: nothing can then stand up against all these ruins, and speak life in the midst of death, but a clear conscience.

19. And the testimony of that shall make the com­forts of heaven descend upon his weary head, like a refreshing dew, or shower upon a parched ground. It shall give him some lively earnests, and secret anti­cipations of his approaching joy. It shall bid his soul go out of the body undauntedly, and lift up his head with confidence before saints and angels. Surely the comfort, which it conveys at this season, is some­thing bigger than the capacities of mortality, mighty and unspeakable, and not to be understood until it comes to be felt.

20. And now who would not quit all the pleasures, and trash, and trifles, which are apt to captivate the heart of man, and pursue the great rigours of piety, and austerities of a good life, to purchase to himself such a conscience, as at the hour of death, when all the friendship in the world shall bid him adieu, and the whole creation turns its back upon him, shall dis­miss the soul and close his eyes with that blessed sen­tence, 'Well done thou good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.'

1. I Was once engaged in discourse with a Rosicruci­an about the great secret. As this kind of men (I mean those of them who are not professed cheats) are over-run with enthusiasm and philosophy, it was very amusing to hear this religious adept descanting [Page 141] on his pretended discovery. He talked of the secret as of a spirit which lived within an emerald, and converted every thing that was near it to the highest perfection it is capable of.

2. It gives a lustre, says he, to the sun, and water to the diamond. It irradiates every metal, and en­riches lead with all the properties of gold. It height­ens smoke into flame, flame into light, and light into glory. He further added, that a single ray of it dissipates pain, and care, and melancholy, from the person on whom it falls. In short, says he, its presence naturally changes every place into a kind of heaven.

3. After he had gone on for some time in this un­intelligible cant, I found that he jumbled natural and moral ideas together in the same discourse, and that his great secret was nothing else but content.

4. This virtue does indeed produce, in some mea­sure, all those effects which the alchymist usually as­cribes to what he calls the philosopher's stone; and if it does not bring riches, it does the same thing, by banishing the desire of them. If it cannot remove the disquietudes arising out of a man's mind, body, or fortune, it makes him easy under them. It has indeed a kindly influence on the soul of man, in res­pect of every being to whom he stands related. It extinguishes all murmur, repining and ingratitude towards that Being who has allotted him his part to act in this world. It destroys all inordinate ambition, and every tendency to corruption, with regard to the community wherein he is placed. It gives sweet­ness to his conversation, and a perpetual serenity to all his thoughts.

5. Among the many methods which might be made use of for the acquiring of this virtue, I shall only mention the two following. First of all, a man should always consider how much he has more than he wants: and secondly, how much more unhappy he might be than he really is.

[Page 142]6. First of all, a man should always consider how much more he has than he wan [...]. I am wonderfully pleased with the reply which Aristippus made to one who condoled him upon the loss of a farm: 'Why, said he, I have three farms still, and you have but one; so that I ought rather to be afflicted for you than you for me.' On the contrary, foolish men are more apt to consider what they have lost than what they possess; and to fix their eyes upon those who are richer than themselves, rather than on those who are under greater difficulties.

7. All the real pleasures and conveniences of life lie in a narrow compass; but it is the humour of man­kind to be always looking forward, and straining after one who has got the start of them in wealth and honour. For this reason, as there are none can be properly called rich, who have not more than they want: there are few rich men in any of the politer na­tions but among the middle sort of people, who keep their wishes within their fortunes, and have more wealth than they know how to enjoy.

8. Persons of a higher rank live in a kind of splen­did poverty, and are perpetually wanting, because, instead of acquiescing in the solid pleasures of life, they endeavour to outvy one another in shadows and appearances. Men of sense have at all times beheld with a great deal of mirth this silly game that is play­ing over their heads, and by contracting their desires enjoy all that secret satisfaction which others are al­ways in quest of.

9. The truth is, this ridiculous chase after imagina­ry pleasures cannot be sufficiently exposed, as it is the great source of those evils which generally undo a na­tion. Let a man's estate be what it will, he is a poor man, if he does not live within it, and naturally sets himself to sale to any one that can give him his price.

10. When Pitticus, after the death of his brother, who had left him a good estate, was offered a greater sum of money by the king of Lydia, he thanked [Page 143] him for his kindness, but told him he had already more by half than he knew what to do with. In short, content is equivalent to wealth, and luxury to poverty; or to give the thought a more agreeable turn, 'Content is natural wealth,' says Socrates; to which I shall add, 'Luxury is artificial poverty.'

11. I shall therefore recommend to the considera­tion of those who are always aiming after superfluous and imaginary enjoyments, and will not be at the trouble of contracting their desires, an excellent say­ing of Bion the philosopher; namely, 'That no man has so much care, as he who endeavours after the most happiness.'

12. In the second place, every one ought to reflect how much more unhappy he might be than he really is. The former consideration took in all those who are sufficiently provided with the means to make themselves easy; this regards such as actually lie un­der some pressure or misfortune.

13. These may receive a great alleviation from such a comparison as the unhappy person may make between himself and others, or between the misfor­tunes which he suffers, and greater misfortunes which might have befallen him.

14. I like the story of the honest Dutchman, who, upon breaking his leg by a fall from the main-mast, told the standers-by, it was a great mercy that it was not his neck. To which, since I am got into quota­tions, give me leave to add the saying of an old phi­losopher, who, after having invited some of his friends to dine with him, was ruffled b [...] his wife that came into the room in a passion, and threw down the table that stood before them; 'Every one, says he, has his calamity, and he is a happy man that has no greater than this.'

15. We find an instance to the same purpose in the life of Doctor Hammond, written by Bishop Fell. As this good man was troubled with a com [...]cation of distempers, when he had the gout upon [...], he [Page 144] used to thank God that it was not the stone; and when he had the stone, that he had not both these distempers on him at the same time.

16. I cannot conclude this essay without observing, that there was never any system besides that of Chris­tianity, which could effectually produce in the mind of man the virtue I have been hitherto speaking of. In order to make us content with our present condi­tion, many of the present philosophers tell us that our discontent only hurts ourselves, without being a­ble to make an alteration in our circumstances; others, that whatever evil befals us is derived to us by a fatal necessity, to which the Gods themselves are subject; while others very gravely tell the man who is miserable, that it is necessary he should be so to keep up the harmony of the universe, and that the scheme of Providence would be troubled and pervert­ed were he otherwise.

17. These, and the like considerations, rather si­lence than satisfy a man. They may shew him that his discontent is unreasonable, but are by no means sufficient to relieve it. They rather give despair than consolation. In a word, a man might reply to one of these comforters, as Augustus did to his friend who advised him not to grieve for the death of a per­son whom he loved, because his grief could not fetch him again: 'It is for that very reason, said the em­peror, that I grieve.'

18. On the contrary, religion bears a more tender regard to human nature. It prescribes to a very mi­serable man the means of bettering his condition; nay, it shews him that the bearing of his afflictions as he ought to do, will naturally end in the removal of them: it makes him easy here, because it can make him happy hereafter.

19. Upon the whole, a contented mind is the great­est blessing a man can enjoy in this world; and if in the present life his happiness arises from the subduing his desires, it will arise in the next from the gratifi­cation of them.

1. IT is a celebrated thought of Socrates, that if all the misfortunes of mankind were cast into a public stock, in order to be equally distributed a­mong the whole species, those who now think them­selves the most unhappy, would prefer the share they are already possessed of, before that which would fall to them by such a division. Horace has carried this thought a great deal further, who says, that the hard­ships or misfortunes we lie under, are more easy to us than those of any other person wou [...] be, in case we should change conditions with him.

2. As I was ruminating on these two remarks, and seated in my elbow chair, I insensibly fell asleep; when, on a sudden, methought there was a procla­mation made by Jupiter, that every mortal should bring in his griefs and calamities, and throw them together in a heap. There was a large plain ap­pointed for this purpose. I took my stand in the cen­tre of it, and saw with a great deal of pleasure, the whole human species marching one after another, and throwing down their several loads, which immediate­ly grew up into a prodigious mountain, that seemed to rise above the clouds.

3. There was a certain lady, of a thin airy shape, who was very active in this solemnity. She carried a magnifying-glass in one of her hands, and was cloathed in a loose flowing robe, embroidered with several figures of fiends and spectres, that discovered themselves in a thousand chimerical shapes, as her garment hovered in the wind. There was something wild and distracted in her looks.

4. Her name was Fancy. She led up every mortal to the appointed place, after having very officiously assisted him in making up his pack, and laying it up­on his shoulders. My heart melted within me to see my fellow-creatures groaning under their respective [Page 146] burthens, and to consider that prodigious bulk of hu­man calamities which lay before me.

5. There were however several persons who gave me great diversion upon this occasion. I observed one bringing in a fardel very carefully concealed under an old embroidered cloak, which, upon his throw­ing it into the heap, I discovered to be poverty. Another, after a great deal of puffing, threw down his luggage; which, upon examining, I found to be his wife.

6. There were multitudes of lovers saddled with very whimsical burthens, composed of darts and flames; but what was very odd, though they sighed as if their hearts would break under these bundles of calamities, they could not persuade themselves to cast them into the heap, when they came up to it; but, after a few faint efforts, shook their heads and marched away, as heavy laden as they came.

7. I saw multitudes of old women throw down their wrinkles, and several young ones who stripped them­selves of a tawny skin. There were very great heaps of red noses, large lips, and rusty teeth. The truth of it is, I was surprised to see the greatest part of the mountain made up of bodily deformities. Observing one advancing towards the heap with a larger cargo than ordinary upon his back, I found upon his near approach, that it was only a natural hump, which he disposed of with great joy of heart, among this col­lection of human miseries.

8. There were likewise distempers of all sorts, though I could not but observe, that there were ma­ny more imaginary than real. One little packet I could not but take notice of, which was a complica­tion of the diseases incident to human nature, and was in the hands of a great many fine people: this was called the spleen. But what most of all surprised me, was a remark I made, that there was not a single vice or folly thrown into the whole heap: at which I was very much astonished, having concluded within [Page 147] myself, that every one would take this opportunity of getting rid of his passions, prejudices and frailties.

9. I took notice in particular of a very profligate fellow, who I did not question came laden with his crimes, but upon searching into his bundle, I found, that instead of throwing his guilt from him, he had only laid down his memory. He was followed by another worthless rogue, who slung away his modesty instead of his ignorance.

10. When the whole race of mankind had thus cast their burdens, the phantom which had been so busy on this occasion, seeing me an idle spectator of what passed, approached towards me. I grew uneasy at her presence, when on a sudden she laid her magni­fying glass full before my eyes. I no sooner saw my face in it but was startled at the shortness of it, which now appeared to me in its utmost aggravation.

11. The immoderate breadth of my features made me very much out of humour with my own counte­nance, upon which I threw it from me like a mask. It happened very luckily, that one who stood by me had just before thrown down his visage, which, it seems, was too long for him. It was indeed extended to a most shameful length; I believe the very chin was modestly speaking, as long as my whole face.

12. We had both of us an opportunity of mend­ing ourselves, and all the contributions being now brought in, every man was at liberty to exchange his misfortune for those of another person. But as there arose many new incidents in the sequel of my vision, I shall pursue this subject further, as the mo­ral which may be drawn from it is applicable to persons of all degrees and stations in life.

13. I Gave my reader a sight of that mountain of miseries, which was made up of those several calamities that afflict the minds of men. I saw with unspeakable pleasure, the whole species th [...]s delivered from its sorrows: though, at the same time, as we [Page 148] stood round the heap, and surveyed the several ma­terials of which it was composed, there was scarce a mortal, in this vast multitude, who did not discover what he thought pleasures and blessings of life; and wondered how the owners of them ever came to look upon them as burthens and grievances.

14. As we were regarding very attentively this confusion of miseries, this chaos of calamity, Jupi­ter issued out a second proclamation, that every one was now at liberty to exchange his affliction, and to return to his habitation with any such other bundle as should be delivered to him.

15. Upon this, [...]ancy began a [...]in to bestir herself, and parcelling out the whole heap, with incredible activity, recommended to every one his particular packet. The hurry and confusion [...] this time was not to be expressed. Some observations, which I made upon the occasion, I shall communicate to the reader. A venerable grey-headed man, who had laid down the colic, and who I found wanted an heir to his estate, snatched up an undutiful son, that had been thrown into the heap by his angry father.

16. The graceless youth, in less than a quarter of an hour, pulled the old gentleman by the beard, and had like to have knocked his brains out; so that meeting the true father, who came towards him in a fit of the gripes, he begged him to take his son again, and give him back his colic; but they were incapa­ble either of them to recede from the choice they had made.

17. A poor galley-slave, who had thrown down his chains, took up the gout in their stead, but made such wry faces, that one might easily perceive he was no great gainer by the bargain. It was pleasant e­nough to see the several exchanges that were made, for sickness against poverty, hunger against want of appetite, and care against pain.

18. The female world were very busy among them­selves in bartering for features; one was trucking a [Page 149] lock of grey hairs for [...] carbuncle, another was mak­ing over a short waist for a pair of round shoulders, and a third cheapening a bad face for a lost reputa­tion: but on all these occasions, there was not one of them who did not think the new blemish, as soon as she had got it into her possession, much more disa­greeable than the old one.

19. I made the same observation on every other misfortune or calamity, which every one in the as­sembly brought upon himself, in lieu of what he had parted with; whether it be that all the evils which befall us are in some measure suited and proportion­ed to our strength, or that every evil b [...]omes more supportable by our being accustomed to it, I shall not determine.

20. I could [...]ot, for my heart, forbear pitying the poor hump-backed gentleman mentioned in the for­mer paper, who went off a very well-shaped person with a stone in his bladder; nor the fine gentleman who had struck up this bargain with him, that limped through a whole assembly of ladies who used to ad­mire him, with a pair shoulders peeping over his head.

21. I must not omit my own paticular adventure. My friend with the long visage had no sooner taken upon him my short face, but he made such a grotesque figure in it, that, as I looked upon him, I could not forbear laughing at my self, insomuch that I put my own face out of countenance. The poor gentleman was so sensible of the ridicule, that I found he was ashamed of what he had done: on the other side I found that I myself had no great reason to triumph, for as I went to touch my forehead, I missed the place, and clapped my finger upon my upper lip.

22. Besides, as my nose was exceeding prominent, I gave it two or three unlucky knocks as I was play­ing my hand about my face, and aiming at some other part of it. I saw two other gentlemen by me, who were in the same ridiculous circumstances: these had made a foolish swap between a couple of thick [Page 150] bandy legs, and two long trapsticks that had no calfs to them.

23. One of these looked like a man walking upon stilts, and was so lifted up into the air above his or­dinary height, that his head turned round with it, while the other made such aukward circles, as he at­tempted to walk, that he scarce knew how to move forward upon his new supporters: observing him to be a pleasant kind of fellow, I stuck my cane in the ground, and told him I would lay him a bottle of wine, that he did not march up to it on a line that I drew for him, in a quarter of an hour.

24. The heap was at last distributed among the two sexes, who made a most pitious sight, as they wan­dered up and down under the pressure of their several burthens. The whole plain was filled with murmurs and complaints, groans and lamentations. Jupiter at length, taking compassion on the poor mortals, or­dered them a second time to lay down their loads, with a design to give every one his own again.

25. They discharged themselves with a great deal of pleasure, after which, the phantom, who had led them into such gross delusions, was commanded to dis­appear. There was sent in her stead a goddess of [...] quite different figure; her motions were steady and composed, and her aspect serious, but chearful. She every now and then cast her eyes towards heaven, and fixed them upon Jupiter.

26. Her name was Patience. She had no sooner placed herself by the mount of sorrow, but what I thought very remarkable, the whole heap sunk to such a degree, that it did not appear a third part so big as it was before. She afterwards returned every man his own proper calamity, and teaching him how to bear it in the most commodious manner, he marched off with it contentedly, being very well pleased that he had not been left to his own choice, as to the kind of evils which fell to his lot.

[Page 151]27. Besides the several pieces of morality to be drawn out of this vision, I learnt from it, never to re­pine at my own misfortunes, or to envy the happiness of another, since it is impossible for any man to form a right judgment of his neighbour's sufferings; for which reason also I have determined never to think too lightly of another's complaints, but to regard the sorrows of my fellow-creatures with sentiments of hu­manity and compassion.

1. WHEN Hercules, says the divine Prodicus, was in that part of his youth, in which it was natural for him to consider what course of life he ought to pursue, he one day retired into a desert, where the silence and solitude of the place very much favoured his meditations.

2. As he was musing on his present condition, and very much perplexed in himself on the state of life he should chuse, he saw two women of a larger stature than ordinary approaching towards him. One of them had a very noble air and graceful deportment; her beauty was natural and easy; her person clean and unspotted; her eyes cast towards the ground, with an agreeable reserve; her motion and behaviour full of modesty; and her raiment as white as snow.

3. The other had a great deal of health and flo­ridness in her countenance, which she had helped with an artificial white and red, and endeavoured to appear more graceful than ordinary in her mein, by a mixture of affectation in all her gestures. She had a wonderful confidence and assurance in her looks, and all the variety of colours in her dress that she [Page 152] thought were the most proper to shew her complexion to an advantage. She cast her eyes upon herself, then turned them on those that were present to see how they liked her, and often looked on the figure she made in her own shadow.

4. Upon her nearer approach to Hercules, she step­ped before the other lady, who came forward with a regular composed carriage, and running up to him, accosted him after the following manner.

5. My dear Hercules, says she, I find you are very much divided in your own thoughts upon the way of life that you ought to chuse: be my friend, and fol­low me; I will lead you into the possession of plea­sure and out of the reach of pain, and remove you from all the noise and disquietude of business. The affairs of either war or peace shall have no power to disturb you. Your whole employment shall be to make your life easy, and to entertain every sense with its proper gratifications. Sumptuous tables, beds of roses, clouds of perfumes, concerts of music, crowds of beauties, are all in readiness to receive you. Come along with me into this region of delights, this world of pleasure, and bid farewell for ever to care, to pain, and to business.

6. Hercules, hearing the lady talk after this man­ner, desired to know her name; to which she answer­ed, my friends, and those who are well acquainted with me, call me Happiness; but my enemies, and those who would injure my reputation, have given me the name of Pleasure.

7. By this time the other lady was come up, who addressed herself to the young hero in a very different manner.

Hercules, says she, I offer myself to you, because I know you are descended from the Gods, and give proofs of that descent by your love to virtue, and ap­plication to the studies proper to your age. This makes me hope you will gain both for yourself and me an immortal reputation. But before I invite you [Page 153] into my society and friendship, I will be open and sincere with you, and must lay down this as an esta­blished truth, that there is nothing truly valuable which can be purchased without pains and labour.

8. The Gods have set a price upon every real and noble pleasure. If you would gain the favour of the Deity, you must be at the pains of worshipping him; if the friendship of good men, you must study to o­blige them; if you would be honoured by your coun­try, you must take care to serve it. In short, if you would be eminent in war or peace, you must become master of all the qualifications that can make you so. These are the only terms and conditions upon which I can propose happiness. The goddess of Pleasure here broke in upon her discourse:

9. You see, said she, Hercules, by her own con­fession, the way to her pleasure is long and difficult, whereas that which I propose is short and easy. Alas! said the other lady, whose visage glowed with a pas­sion made up of scorn and pity, what are the pleasures you propose? To eat before you are hungry, drink before you are thirsty, sleep before you are tired, to gratify appetites before they are raised, and raise such appetites as nature never planted.

10. You never heard the most delicious music, which is the praise of one's self; nor saw the most beautiful object, which is the work of one's own hands. Your votaries pass away their youth in a dream of mistaken pleasures, while they are hoarding up anguish, torment, and remorse, for old age.

11. As for me, I am a friend of the gods and o [...] good men, an agreeable companion to the artisan, a houshold guardian to the fathers of families, a patron and protector of servants, an associate in all true and generous friendships. The banquets of my votaries are never costly, but always delicious; for none eat or drink at them who are not invited by hunger and thirst. Their slumbers are sound, and their waking [...] chearful.

[Page 154]12. My young men have the pleasure of hearing themselves praised by those who are in years, and those who are in years, of being honoured by those who are young. In a word, my followers are favour­ed by the gods, beloved by their acquaintance, esteemed by their country, and, after the close of their labours, honoured by posterity.

13. We know by the life of this memorable hero, to which of these two ladies he gave up his heart; and I believe, every one who reads this, will do him the justice to approve his choice.

14. I very much admire the speeches of these la­dies, as containing in them the chief arguments for a life of virtue, or a life of pleasure, that could en­ter into the thoughts of an heathen: but am parti­cularly pleased with the different figures he gives the two goddesses. Our modern authors have represent­ed pleasure or vice with an alluring face, but ending in snakes and monsters: here she appears in all the charms of beauty, though they are all false and bor­rowed; and by that means composes a vision entirely natural and pleasing.

15. I have translated this allegory for the benefit of the youth in general; and particularly of those who are still in the deplorable state of non-ex­istence, and whom I most earnestly intreat to come into the world. Let my embryos shew the least in­clination to any single virtue, and I shall allow it to be a struggling towards birth.

16. I do not expect of them that, like the hero in the foregoing story, they should go about as soon as they are born, with a club in their hands, and a lion's skin on their shoulders, to root out monsters and de­stroy tyrants; but as the finest author of all antiqui­ty has said upon this very occasion, though a man has not the abilities to distinguish himself in the most shining parts of a great character, he has certainly the capacity of being just, faithful, modest, and temperate.

1. I HAVE more than once had occasion to mention a noble saying of Seneca the philosopher, that a virtuous person struggling with misfortunes, and rising above them, is an object on which the gods themselves may look down with delight. I shall therefore set before my reader a scene of this kind of distress in private life, for the speculation of this day.

2. An eminent citizen, who had lived in good fa­shion and credit, was by a train of accidents, and by an unavoidable perplexity in his affairs, reduced to a low condition. There is a modesty usually attending faultless poverty, which made him rather chuse to reduce his manner of living to his present circum­stances, than solicit his friends, in order to support the shew of an estate, when the substance was gone.

3. His wife, who was a woman of sense and virtue, behaved herself on this occasion with uncommon de­cency, and never appeared so amiable in his eyes as now. Instead of upbraiding him with the ample for­tune she had brought, or the many great offers she had refused for his sake, she redoubled all the instan­ces of her affection, while her husband was continu­ally pouring out his heart to her in complaints, that he had ruined the best woman in the world,

4. He sometimes came home at a time when she did not expect him, and surprised her in tears; which she indeavoured to conceal, and always put on an air of chearfulness to receive him. To lessen their ex­pence, their eldest daughter (whom I shall call Aman­da) was sent into the country, to the house of an ho­nest farmer, who had married a servant of the family: This young woman was apprehensive of the ruin which was approaching, and had privately engaged a friend in the neighbourhood to give her an account of what passed from time to time in her father's affairs.

[Page 156]5. Amanda was in the bloom of her youth and beauty, when the lord of the manor, who often called in at the farmer's house as he followed his country sports, fell passionately in love with her. He was a man of great generosity, but from a loose education had contracted a hearty aversion to marriage. He therefore entertained a design upon Amanda's virtue, which at present he thought fit to keep private [...] he innocent creature, who never suspected his i [...]entions, was pleased with his person; and, having observed his growing passion for her, hoped, by so advantage­ous a match, she might quickly be in a capacity of supporting her impoverished relations.

6. One day as he called to see her, he found her in tears over a letter she had just received from her friend, which gave an account that her father had been lately stript of every thing by an execution. The lover, who with some difficulty [...]ound out the cause of her grief, took this occasion to make her a proposal. It is impossible to express Amanda's con­fusion when she found his pretensions were not ho­nourable.

7. She was now deserted of all hopes, and had no power to speak; but rushing from him in the utmost disturbance, locked herself up in her chamber. He immediately dispatched a messenger to her father with the following letter.

8.

[Page 157]9. This letter came to the hands of Amanda's mother: she opened and read it with great surprize and concern. She did not think it proper to explain herself to the messenger; but desiring him to call again the next morning, she wrote to her daughter as follows.

10.

11. The messenger, notwithstanding he promised to deliver this letter to Amanda, carried it first to his master, who he imagined would be glad to have an opportunity of giving it into her hands himself. His master was impatient to know the success of his proposal, and therefore broke open the letter pri­vately, to see the contents.

12. He was not a little moved at so true a picture of virtue in distress: but at the same time was infi­nitely surprized to find his offers rejected. However, he resolved not to suppress the letter, but carefully sealed it up again, and carried it to Amanda. All his endeavours to see her were in vain, till she was assured he brought a letter from her mother. He would not part with it but upon condition that she should read it without leaving the room.

13. While she was perusing it, he fixed his eyes on her face with the deepest attention; her concern gave a new softness to her beauty, and when she burst into tears, he could no longer refrain from bearing a part in her sorrow, and telling her, that he too had read the letter, and was resolved to make repa­ration for having been the occasion of it. My read­er will not be displeased to see the second epistle which he now wrote to Amanda's mother.

14. This letter he sent by his steward, and soon after went up to town himself to complete the gene­rous act he had now resolved on. By his friendship and assistance, Amanda's father was quickly in a condition of retrieving his perplexed affairs. To conclude, he married Amanda, and enjoyed the double satisfaction of having restored a worthy fami­ly to their former prosperity, and of making himself happy by an alliance to their virtues.

1. THE following story is lately translated out of an Arabian manuscript, which I think has very much the turn of an oriental tale; and as it has never before been printed, I question not but it will be highly acceptable to my reader.

2. The name of Helim is still famous through all the eastern parts of the world. He is called among the Persians, even to this day, Helim, the great physician. He was acquainted with all the powers of simples, understood all the influences of the stars, and knew the secrets that were engraved on the seal of Solomon the son of David. Helim was also go­vernor of the Black Palace, and chief of the physici­ans to Alnareschin the great king of Persia.

3. Alnareschin was the most dreadful tyrant that ever reigned in this country. He was of a fearful, [Page 160] suspicious, and cruel nature, having put to death upon very slight jealousies and surmises five and thir­ty of his queens, and above twenty sons whom he suspected to have conspired against his life. Being at length wearied with the exercise of so many cruel­ties in his own family, and fearing lest the whole race of Caliphs should be entirely lost, he one day sent for Helim, and spoke to him after this manner.

4. 'Helim,' said he, 'I have long admired thy great wisdom, and retired way of living. I shall now shew thee the entire confidence which I place in thee. I have only two sons remaining, who are as yet but infants. It is my design that thou take them home with thee, and educate them as thy own. Train them up in the humble unambitious pursuits of knowledge. By this means shall the line of Caliphs be preserved, and my children succeed after me, with­out aspiring to my throne whilst I am yet alive.'

5. The words of my lord the king shall be obeyed, said Helim. After which he bowed, and went out of the king's presence. He then received the chil­dren into his own house, and from that time bred them up with him in the studies of knowledge and virtue. The young princes loved and respected Helim as their father, and made such improvements under him, that by the age of one and twenty they were instructed in all the learning of the east.

6. The name of the eldest was Ibrahim, and of the youngest Abdallah. They lived together in such a perfect friendship, that to this day it is said of in­timate friends that they live together like Ibrahim and Abdallah. Helim had an only child, who was a girl of a fine soul, and a most beautiful person. Her father omitted nothing in her education, that might make her the most accomplished woman of her age.

7. As the young princes were in a manner exclu­ded from the rest of the world, they frequently con­versed with this lovely virgin, who had been brought [Page 161] up by her father in the same course of knowledge and of virtue.

8. Abdallah, whose mind was of a softer turn than that of his brother, grew by degrees so enamoured of her conversation, that he did not think he lived, when he was not in company with his beloved Balsora, for that was the name of the maid. The fame of her beauty was so great, that at length it came to the ears of the king, who, pretending to visit the young princes his sons, demanded of Helim the sight of Balsora his fair daughter.

9. The king was so inflamed with her beauty and behaviour, that he sent for Helim the next morning, and told him it was now his design to recompense him for all his faithful services; and that in order to it, he intended to make his daughter queen of Persia.

10. Helim, who knew very well the fate of all those unhappy women who had been thus advanced, and could not but be privy to the secret love which Abdallah bore his daughter, 'Far be it,' says he, 'from the king of Persia to contaminate the blood of the Caliphs, and join himself in marriage with the daughter of his physician.'

11. The king, however, was so impatient for such a bride, that without hearing any excuses, he imme­diately ordered Balsora to be sent for into his pre­sence, keeping the father with him in order to make her sensible of the honour which he designed. Balsora, who was too modest and humble to think her beauty had made such an impression on the king, was a few moments after brought into his presence as he had commanded.

12. She appeared in the king's eye as one of the virgins of Paradise. But upon hearing the honour which he intended her, she fainted away, and fell down as dead at his feet. Helim wept, and after having recovered her out of the trance into which she was fallen, represented to the king, that so unex­pected an honour was too great to have been commu­nicated [Page 162] to her all at once; but that, if he pleased, he would himself prepare her for it. The king bid him take his own way, and dismissed him.

13. Balsora was conveyed again to her father's house, where the thoughts of Abdallah renewed her affliction every moment; insomuch that at length she fell into a raging fever. The king was informed of her condition by those that saw her. Helim finding no other means of extricating her from the difficul­ties she was in, after having composed her mind, and made her acquainted with his intentions, gave her a certain potion, which he knew would lay her asleep for many hours; and afterward, in all the seeming distress of a disconsolate father, informed the king she was dead.

14. The king, who never let any sentiments of humanity come too near his heart, did not much trouble himself about the matter; however, for his own reputation, he told the father, that since it was known through the empire that Balsora died at a time when he designed her for his bride, it was his inten­tion that she should be honoured as such after her death, that her body should be laid in the black pa­lace, among those of his deceased queens.

15. In the mean time Abdallah, who had heard of the king's design, was not less afflicted than his be­loved Balsora. As for the several circumstances of his distress, as also how the king was informed of an irrecoverable distemper into which he was fallen, they are to be found at length in the History of Helim.

16. It shall suffice to acquaint the reader, that He­lim, some days after the supposed death of his daugh­ter, gave the prince a potion of the same nature with which he had laid asleep Belsora.

17. It is the custom among the Persians, to convey in a private manner the bodies of all the royal fami­ly a little after their death, into the black palace; which is the repository of all who are descended from the Caliphs, or any way allied to them. The chief [Page 163] physician is always governor of the black palace; it being his office to embalm and preserve the holy fa­mily after they are dead, as well as to take care of them while they are yet living.

18. The black palace is so called from the colour of the building, which is all of the finest polished black marble. There are always burning in it five thousand everlasting lamps. It has also a hundred folding doors of ebony, which are each of them watched day and night by a hundred negroes, who are to take care that nobody enters besides the go­vernor.

19. Helim, after having conveyed the body of his daughter into this repository, and at the appointed time received her out of the sleep into which she was fallen, took care some time after to bring that of Ab­dallah into the same place. Balsora watched over him till such time as the doze he had taken lost its effect. Abdallah was not acquainted with Helim's design when he gave him this sleepy potion.

20. It is impossible to describe the surprise, the joy, the transport he was in at his first awaking. He fan­cied himself in the retirement of the blest, and that the spirit of his dear Balsora, who he thought was just gone before him, was the first who came to con­gratulate his arrival. She soon informed him of the place he was in, which, notwithstanding all its hor­rors, appeared to him more sweet than the bower of Mahomet, in the company of his Balsora.

21 Helim, who was supposed to be taken up in the e [...]balming of the bodies, visited the place very frequently. His greatest perplexity was how to get the lovers out of it, the gates being watched in such a manner as I have before related. This considera­tion did not a little disturb the two interred lovers.

22. At length Helim bethought himself, that the first day of the full moon of the month Tizpa was near at hand. Now it is a received tradition among the Persians, that the souls of those of the Royal family, [Page 164] who are in a state of bliss, do, on the first full moon after their decease, pass through the eastern gate of the black palace, which is therefore called the gate of Paradise, in order to take their flight for that happy place.

23. Helim, therefore, having made due prepara­tion for this night, dressed each of the lovers in a robe of azure silk, wrought in the finest looms of Persia, with a long train of linen whiter than snow, that floated on the ground behind them. Upon Ab­dallah's head he fixed a wreath of the greenest myr­tle, and on Balsora's a garland of the freshest roses. Their garments were scented with the richest per­fumes of Arabia.

24. Having thus prepared every thing, the full moon was no sooner up, and shining in all its bright­ness, but he privately opened the gate of Paradise, and shut it after the same manner, as soon as they had passed through it.

25. The band of negroes who were posted at a lit­tle distance from the gate, seeing two such beautiful apparitions, that shewed themselves to advantage by the light of the full moon, and being ravished with the odour that flowed from their garments, immedi­ately concluded them to be the ghosts of the two per­sons lately deceased.

26. They fell upon their faces as they passed through the midst of them, and continued prostrate on the earth until such time as they were out of sight. They reported the next day what they had seen▪ but this was looked upon by the king himself, an [...] most others, as the compliment that was usually paid to any of the deceased of his family.

27. Helim had placed two of his own mules at a­bout a mile's distance from the black temple, on the spot which they had agreed upon for their rendezvous. Here he met them, and conducted them to one of his own houses, which was situated on mount Khacan.

[Page 165]28. The air of this mountain was so very health­ful, that Helim had formerly transported the king thither, in order to recover him out of a long fit of sickness, which succeeded so well, that the king made him a present of the whole mountain, with a beauti­ful house and garden that were on the top of it.

29. In this retirement lived Abdallah and Balsora. They were both so fraught with all kinds of know­ledge, and possest with so constant and mutual a pas­sion for each other, that their solitude never lay hea­vy on them.

30. Abdallah applied himself to those arts which were agreeable to his manner of living, and the si­tuation of the place; insomuch that in a few years he converted the whole mountain into a kind of gar­den, and covered every part of it with plantations or spots of flowers. Helim was too good a father to let him want any thing that might conduce to make his retirement pleasant.

31. In about ten years after their abode in this place, the old king died, and was succeeded by his son Ibrahim, who, upon the supposed death of his brother, had been called to court, and entertained there as heir to the Persian empire. Though he was some years inconsolable for the death of his brother, Helim durst not trust him with the secret, which he knew would have fatal consequences, should it by any means come to the knowledge of the old king.

32. Ibrahim was no sooner mounted to the throne, but Helim sought after a proper opportunity of mak­ing a discovery to him, which he knew would be very agreeable to so good natured and generous a prince. It so happened, that before Helim found such an op­portunity as he desired, the new king Ibrahim, hav­ing been separated from his company in a chace, and almost fainting with heat and thirst, saw himself at the foot of mount Khacan. He immediately ascend­ed the hill, and coming to Helim's house, demanded some refreshments.

[Page 166]33. Helim was very luckily there at that time; and after having set before the king the choicest of wines and fruits, finding him wonderfully pleased with so seasonable a treat, told him that the best part of his entertainment was to come. Upon which he opened to him the whole history of what had passed. The king was at once astonished and transported at so strange a relation, and seeing his brother enter the room with Balsora in his hand, he leaped off from the sofa on which he sat, and cried out, 'It is he! it is my Abdallah!' Having said this, he fell upon his neck, and wept.

34. The whole company, for some time, remained silent, and shedding tears of joy. The king at length having kindly reproached Helim for depriving him so long of such a brother, embraced Balsora with the greatest tenderness, and told her that she should now be a queen indeed, for that he would immediately make his brother king of all the conquered nations on the other side the Tigris.

35. He easily discovered in the eyes of our two lo­vers, that instead of being transported with the offer, they preferred their present retirement to empire. At their request, therefore, he changed his intenti­ons, and made them a present of all the open coun­try as far as they could see from the top of mount Khacan.

36. Abdallah continuing to extend his former im­provements, beautified this whole prospect with groves and fountains, gardens and seats of pleasure, until it became the most delicious spot of ground with [...] the empire, and is therefore called the Garden of Persia.

37. This Caliph, Ibrahim, after a long and happy reign, died without children, and was succeeded by Abdallah, a son of Abdallah and Balsora. This was that king Abdallah, who afterwards fixed the Impe­rial residence upon mou [...]t Khacan, which continues at this time to be the favourite palace of the Persian empire.

1. THERE are some vices and errors which, though often fatal to those in whom they are found, have yet, by the universal consent of man­kind, been considered as entitled to some degree of respect, or have, at least, been exempted from con­temptuous infamy, and condemned by the severest moralists with pity rather than detestation.

2. A constant and invariable example of this ge­neral partiality will be found in the different regard which has always been shewn to rashness and cowar­dice; two vices, of which, though they may be con­ceived equally distant from the middle point, where true fortitude is placed, and may equally injure any public or private interest, yet the one is never men­tioned without some kind of veneration, and the other always considered as a topic of unlimited and licen­tious censure, on which all the virulence of reproach may be lawfully exerted.

3. The same distinction is made, by the common suffrage, between profusion and avarice, and perhaps between many other opposite vices; and, as I have found reason to pay great regard to the voice of the people, in cases where knowledge has been forced upon them by experience, without long deductions or deep researches, I am inclined to believe that this distribution of respect is not without some agreement with the nature of things; and that in the faults, which are thus invested with extraordinary privile­ges, there are generally some latent principles of merit, some possibilities of future virtue, which may, by degrees, break from obstruction, and by time and opportunity be brought into act.

4. It may be laid down as an a [...]iom, that it is more easy to take away superfluities than to supply defects; and therefore, he that is culpable, because he has pas­sed [Page 168] the middle point of virtue, is always accounted a fairer object of hope, than he who fails by falling short. The one has all that perfection requires, and more, but the excess may be easily retrenched; the other wants the qualities requisite to excellence, and who can tell how he shall obtain them?

5. We are certain that the horse may be taught to keep pace with his fellows, whose fault is that he leaves them behind. We know that a few strokes of the axe will lop a cedar; but what arts of cultivation can elevate a shrub?

6. To walk with circumspection and steadiness in the right path, at an equal distance between the ex­tremes of error, ought to be the constant endeavour of every reasonable being; nor can I think those teachers of moral wisdom much to be honoured as benefactors to mankind, who are always enlarging upon the difficulty of our duties, and providing ra­ther excuses for vice, than incentives to virtue.

7. But, since to most it will happen often, and to all sometimes, that there will be a deviation towards one side or the other, we ought always to employ our vigilance, with most attention, on that enemy, from which there is the greatest danger, and to stray, if we must stray, towards those parts from whence we may quickly and easily return.

8. Among other opposite qualities of the mind, which may become dangerous, though in different degrees, I have often had occasion to consider the contrary effects of presumption and despondency; of heady confidence, which promises a victory without contest, and heartless pusillanimity, which shrinks back from the thought of great undertakings, con­founds difficulty with impossibility, and considers all advancement towards any new attainment as irrever­sibly prohibited.

9. Presumption will be easily corrected. Every experiment will teach caution, and miscarriages will hourly shew, that attempts are not always rewarded [Page 169] with success. The most precipitate ardour will, in time, be taught the necessity of methodical grada­tion, and preparatory measures; and the most dar­ing confidence be convinced that neither merit, nor abilities can command events.

10. It is the advantage of vehemence and activity, that they are always hastening to their own reforma­tion; because they incite us to try whether our ex­pectations are well grounded; and therefore detect the deceits which they are apt to occasion. But timi­dity is a disease of the mind more obstinate and fatal; for a man once persuaded, that any impediment is in­superable, has given it, with respect to himself, that strength and weight which it had not before.

11. He can scarcely strive with vigour and perseve­rance, when he has no hope of gaining the victory; and since he will never try his strength, can never discover the unreasonableness of his fears.

12. There is often to be found in men devoted to literature, a kind of intellectual cowardice, which whoever converses much among them, may observe frequently to depress the alacrity of enterprize, and, by consequence, to retard the improvement of science.

13. They have annexed to every species of know­ledge, some chimerical character of terror and inhi­bition, which they transmit, without much reflection, from one to another; they first fright themselves, and then propagate the panic to their scholars and ac­quaintance.

14. One study is inconsistent with a lively imagin­ation, another with a solid judgment; one is impro­per in the early parts of life, another requires so much time, that it is not to be attempted at an advanced age; one is dry and contracts the sentiments, another is diffuse and over-burdens the memory; one is insuf­ferable to taste and delicacy, and another wears out life in the study of words, and is useless to a wise man, who desires only the knowledge of things.

[Page 170]15. But of all the bugbears by which the infant [...]s barbati, boys both young and old, have been hither­to frighted from degres [...]ing into new tracts of lear­ning, none has been more mischievously efficacious than an opinion that every kind of knowledge re­quires a peculiar genius, or mental constitution, fra­med for the reception of some ideas and the exclusion of others; and that to him whose genius is not adap­ted to the study which he prosecutes, all labour shall be vain and fruitless, vain as an endeavour to mingle oil and water, or, in the language of chimestry, to amalgamate bodies of heterogeneous principles.

16. This opinion we may reasonably suspect to have been propagated, by vanity, beyond the truth. It is natural for those who have raised a reputation by any science, to exalt themselves as endowed by heaven with peculiar powers, or marked out by an extraor­dinary designation for their profession: and to fright competitors away by representing the difficulties with which they must contend, and the necessity of quali­ties which are supposed to be not generally conferred, and which no man can know, but by experience, whether he enjoys.

17. To this discouragement it may be possibly an­swered, that since a genius, whatever it be, is like fire in the flint, only to be produced by collision with a proper subject, it is the business of every man to try whether his faculties may not happily co-ope­rate with his desires; and since they whose proficiency he admires, knew their own force only by the event, he needs but engage in the same undertaking, with e­qual spirit, and may reasonably hope for equal success.

18. There is another species of false intelligence, given by those who profess to shew the way to the summit of knowledge, of equal tendency to depress the mind with false distrust of itself, and weaken it by needless solicitude and dejection. When a scholar whom they desire to animate, consults them at his en­trance on some new study. It is common to make flat­tering representations of its pleasantness and facility.

[Page 171]19. Thus they generally attain one of the two ends almost equally desirable; they either incite his industry by elevating his hopes, or produce a high opinion of their own abilities, since they are supposed to relate only what they have found, and to have proceeded with no less ease than they have promised to their followers.

20. The student, inflamed by this encouragement, sets forward in the new path, and proceeds a few steps with great alacrity; but he soon finds asperities and intricacies of which he has not been forewarned, and imagining that none ever were so entangled or fatigued before him, sinks suddenly into despair, and desists as from an expedition in which fate opposes him. Thus his terrors are multiplied by his hopes, and he is defeated without resistance, because he had no expectation of an enemy.

21. Of these treacherous instructors, the one de­stroys industry, by declaring that industry is vain, the other by representing it as needless; the one cuts away the root of hope, the other raises it only to be blasted. The one confines his pupil to the shore, by telling him that his wreck is certain; the other sends him to sea, without preparing him for tempests.

22. False hopes and false terrors are equally to be avoided. Every man who proposes to grow eminent by learning, should carry in his mind, at once, the difficulty of excellence, and the force of industry; and remember that fame is not conferred but as the recompence of labour, and that labour, vigorously continued, has not often failed of its reward.

1. LOOKING over the late edition of Monsieur Boileau's works, I was very much pleased with the article which he has added to his notes on [Page 172] the translation of Longinus. He there tells us, that the sublime in writing rises either from the nobleness of the thought, the magnificence of the words, or the harmonious and lively turn of the phrase, and that the perfect sublime rises from all these three in conjunction together. He produces an instance of this perfect sublime in four verses from the Athalia of Monsieur Racine.

2. When Abner, one of the chief officers of the court, represents to Joad the high-priest, that the queen was incensed against him, the high-priest, not in the least terrified at the news, returns this answer:

3. 'He who ruleth the raging of the sea, knows also how to check the designs of the ungodly. I sub­mit myself with reverence to his holy will. O Abner! I fear my God, and I fear none but him.' Such a thought gives no less a solemnity to human nature, than it does to good writing.

4. This religious fear, when it is produced by just apprehensions of a divine power, naturally overlooks all human greatness that stands in competition with it, and extinguishes every other terror that can settle itself in the heart of a man; it lessens and contracts the figure of the most exalted person: it disarms the tyrant and executioner, and represents to our minds the most enraged and the most powerful as altogether harmless and impotent.

5. There is no true fortitude which is not founded upon this fear, as there is no other principle of so settled and fixed a nature. Courage that grows from constitution very often forsakes a man when he has occasion for it; and when it is only a kind of instinct [Page 173] in the soul, breaks out on all occasions without judg­ment or discretion. That courage which proceeds from the sense of our duty, and from the fear of of­fending him that made us, acts always in an uniform manner, and according to the dictates of right reason.

6. What can the man fear, who takes care in all his actions to please a Being that is omnipotent? A Being who is able to crush all his adversaries? A Being that can divert any misfortune from befalling him, or turn any such misfortune to his advantage? The person who lives with this constant and habitual regard to the great superintendant of the world, is indeed sure that no real evil can come into his lot.

7. Blessings may appear under the shape of pains, losses, and disappointments, but let him have pa­tience, and he will see them in their proper figures. Dangers may threaten him, but he may rest satisfied that they will either not reach him, or that, if they do, they will be the instruments of good to him. In short, he may look upon all crosses and accidents, sufferings and afflictions, as means which are made use of to bring him to happiness.

8. This is even the worst of that man's condition whose mind is possessed with the habitual fear of which I am now speaking. But it very often hap­pens, that those which appear evils in our own eyes, appear also as such to him who has human nature un­der his care, in which case they are certainly averted from the person who has made himself, by this virtue, an object of divine favour.

9. Histories are full of instances of this nature, where men of virtue have had extraordinary escapes out of such dangers as have enclosed them, and which have seemed inevitable.

10. There is no example of this kind in pagan history which more pleases me than that which is re­corded in the life of Timoleon. This extraordinary man was famous for referring all his successes to Pro­vidence. Cornelius Nepos acquaints us that he had [Page 174] in his house a private chapel in which he used to pay his devotions to the goddess who represented Provi­dence among the heathens. I think no man was ever more distinguished by the Deity, whom he blindly worshipped, than the great person I am speaking of, in several occurrences of his life, but particularly in the following one, which I shall relate out of Plutarch.

11. Three persons had entered into a conspiracy to assassinate Timoleon as he was offering up his de­votions in a certain temple. In order to it they took their several stands in the most convenient places for their purpose. As they were waiting for an oppor­tunity to put their design in execution, a stranger having observed one of the conspirators, fell upon him and slew him. Upon which the other two, thinking their plot had been discovered, threw themselves at Timoleon's feet, and confessed the whole matter.

12. This stranger, upon examination, was found to have understood nothing of the intended assassination, but having several years before had a brother killed by the conspirator, whom he here put to death, and having till now sought in vain for an opportunity of revenge, he chanced to meet the murderer in the temple, who had planted himself there for the above­mentioned purpose.

13. Plutarch cannot forbear, on this occasion, speaking with a kind of rapture on the schemes of Providence, which, in this particular, had so con­trived it, that the stranger should, for so great space of time, be debarred the means of doing justice to his brother, till, by the same blow that revenged the death of one innocent man, he preserved the life of another.

14. For my own part, I cannot wonder that a man of Timoleon's religion should have this intrepidity and firmness of mind, or that he should be distin­guished by such a deliverance as I have here related.

1. IT is usual for men, engaged in the same pur­suits, to be inquisitive after the conduct and fortune of each other; and, therefore, I suppose it will not be unpleasing to you, to read an account of the various changes which have appeared in part of a life devoted to literature. My narrative will not exhibit any great variety of events, or extraordinary revolutions; but may perhaps be not less useful, be­cause I shall relate nothing which is not likely to happen to a thousand others.

2. I was born heir to a very small fortune, and left by my father, whom I cannot remember, to the care of an uncle. He having no children, always treated me as his son, and finding in me those qualities which old men easily discover in sprightly children when they happen to love them, declared that a ge­nius like mine should never be lost for want of cul­tivation.

3. He therefore placed me for the usual time at a great school, and then sent me to the university, with a larger allowance than my own patrimony would have afforded, that I might not keep mean company, but learn to become my dignity when I should be made Lord Chancellor, which he often lamented that the increase of his infirmities was very likely to preclude him from seeing.

4. This exuberance of money displayed itself in gaiety of appearance, and wantonness of expence, and introduced me to the acquaintance of those whom the same superfluity of fortune betrayed to the same licence and ostentation: young heirs, who pleased themselves with a remark very frequently in their mouths, that though they were sent by their fathers to the university, they were not under the necessity of living by their learning.

[Page 176]5. Among men of this class I easily obtained the reputation of a great genius, and was persuaded that, with such liveliness of imagination, and delicacy of sentiment, I should never be able to submit to the drudgery of the law.

6. I therefore gave myself wholly to the more airy and elegant parts of learning, and was often so much elated with my superiority to the youths with whom I conversed, that I began to listen, with great atten­tion, to those who recommended to me a wider and more conspicuous theatre; and was particularly touched with an observation made by one of my friends, that it was not by lingering in the universi­ty that Prior became ambassador, or Addison secre­tary of state.

7. This desire was hourly increased by the solicita­tion of my companions, who, removing one by one to London, as the caprice of their relations allowed them, or the legal dismission from the hands of their guardians put it in their power, never failed to send an account of the beauty and felicity of the new world, and to remonstrate how much was lost by eve­ry hour's continuance in a place of retirement and constraint.

8. My uncle in the mean time frequently harrassed me with monitory letters, which I sometimes neg­lected to open for a week after I received them, and generally read in a tavern with such comments as might shew how much I was superior to instruction or advice. I could not but wonder, how a man confin­ed to the country, and unacquainted with the present system of things, should imagine himself qualified to instruct a rising genius, born to give laws to the age, refine its taste, and multiply its pleasures.

9. The postman, however, still continued to bring me new remonstrances; for my uncle was very little depressed by the ridicule and reproach which he never heard. But men of parts have quick resentments; it was impossible to bear his usurpations for ever; and [Page 177] I resolved, once for all, to make him an example to those who imagine themselves wise because they are old, and to teach young men, who are too tame un­der representation, in what manner grey-bearded insolence ought to be treated.

10. I therefore one evening took my pen in hand, and after having animated myself with a catch, wrote a general answer to all his precepts, with such viva­city of turn, such elegance of irony, and such aspe­rity of sarcasm, that I convulsed a large company with universal laughter, disturbed the neighbourhood with vociferations of applause, and five days after­wards was answered, that I must be content to live upon my own estate.

11. This contraction of my income gave me no disturbance▪ for a genius like mine was out of the reach of [...]t. I had friends that would be proud to open the [...] purses at my call, and prospects of such advanc [...] [...]t as would soon reconcile my uncle, whom, [...] mature deliberation, I resolved to re­ceive i [...] favour, without insisting on any acknow­ledgment of his offence, when the splendor of my condition should induce him to wish for my counte­nance.

12. I therefore went up to London, before I had shewn the alteration of my condition, by any abate­ment of my way of living, and was received by all my academical acquaintance with triumph and con­gratulation. I was immediately introduced among the wits and men of spirit; and, in a short time, had divested myself of all my scholar's gravity, and ob­tained the reputation of a pretty fellow.

13. You will easily believe that I had no great knowledge of the world; yet I had been hindered, by the general disinclination every man feels to con­fess poverty, from telling to any one the resolution of my uncle, and some time subsisted upon the stock of money which I had brought with me, and contri­buted my share as before to all our entertainments. [Page 178] But my pocket was soon emptied, and I was obliged to ask my friends for a small sum.

14. This was a favour, which we had often reci­procally received from one another; they supposed my wants only accidental, and therefore willingly supplied them. In a short time, I found a necessity of asking again, and was again treated with the same civility; but the third time they began to wonder what that old rogue my uncle could mean by sending a gentleman to town without money; and when they gave me what I asked for, advised me to stipulate for more regular remittances.

15. This somewhat disturbed my dream of constant affluence, but I was three days after completely a­waked; for entering the tavern, where we met every evening, I found the waiters remitted their com­plaisance, and instead of contending to light me up stairs, suffered me to wait for some minutes by the bar.

16. When I came to my company, I found them unusually grave and formal, and one of them took a hint to turn the conversation upon the misconduct of young men, and enlarged upon the folly of frequent­ing the company of men of fortune, without being able to support the expence; an observation which the rest contributed either to enforce by repetition, or to illustrate by examples. Only one of them tried to divert the discourse, and endeavoured to direct my attention to remote questions, and common topics.

17. A man guilty of poverty easily believes him­self suspected. I went, however, next morning to breakfast with him who appeared ignorant of the drift of the conversation, and by a series of enqui­ries, drawing still nearer to the point, prevailed on him, not, perhaps, much against his will, to inform me, that Mr. Dash, whose father was a wealthy at­torney near my native place, had the morning be­fore received an account of my uncle's resentment, and communicated his intelligence with the utmost industry of groveling insolence.

[Page 179]18. It was now no longer practicable to consort with my former friends, unless I would be content to be used as an inferior guest, who was to pay for his wine by mirth and flattery; a character, which, if I could not escape it, I resolved to endure only a­mong those who had never known me in the pride of plenty.

19. I changed my lodgings, and frequented the coffee-houses in a different region of the town; where I was very quickly distinguished by several young gentlemen of high birth, and large estates, and be­gan again to amuse my imagination with hopes of preferment, though not quite so confidently as when I had less experience.

20. The first great conquest which this new scene enabled me to gain over myself was, when I submit­ted to confess to a party, who invited me to an ex­pensive diversion, that my revenues were not equal to such golden pleasures; they would not suffer me, however, to stay behind, and with great reluctance I yielded to be treated. I took that opportunity of re­commending myself to some office, or employment, which they unanimously promised to procure me by their joint interest.

21. I had now entered into a state of dependence, and had hopes, or fears, from almost every man I saw. If it be unhappy to have one patron, what is his misery who has so many? I was obliged to com­ply with a thousand caprices, to concur in a thousand follies, and to countenance a thousand errors. I en­dured innumerable mortifications, if not from cruelty, at least from negligence, which will creep in upon the kindest and most delicate minds, when they converse without the mutual awe of equal condition.

22. I found the spirit and vigour of liberty every moment sinking in me, and a servile fear of displea­sing, stealing by degrees upon all my behavior, till no word, or look, or action, was my own. As the solicitude to please increased, the power of pleasing [Page 180] grew less, and I was always clouded with diffidence where it was most my interest and wish to shine.

23. My patrons, considering me as belonging to the community, and, therefore, not the charge of any particular person, made no scruple of neglecting any opportunity of promoting me, which every one thought more properly the business of another. An account of my expectations and disappointments, and the succeeding vicissitudes of my life, I shall give you in my following letter, which will be, I hope, of use to shew how ill he forms his schemes, who expects happiness without freedom.

1. AS it is natural for every man to think himself of importance, your knowledge of the world will incline you to forgive me, if I imagine your cu­riosity so much excited by the former part of my nar­ration, as to make you desire that I should proceed without any unnecessary arts of connection. I shall, therefore, not keep you longer in such suspence, as perhaps my performance may not compensate.

2. In the gay company with which I was now uni­ted, I found those allurements and delights, which the friendship of young men always affords; there was that openness which naturally produced confidence, that affability which, in some measure, softened depend­ence, and that ardour of profession which incited hope.

3. When our hearts were dilated with merriment, promises were poured out with unlimited profusion, and life and fortune were but a scanty sacrifice to friendship; but when the hour came, at which any effort was to be made, I had generally the vexation to find that my interest weighed nothing against the [Page 181] slightest amusement, and that every petty avocation was found a sufficient plea for continuing me in un­certainty and want.

4. Their kindness was indeed sincere, when they promised they had no intention to deceive; but the same juvenile warmth which kindled their benevo­lence, gave force in the same proportion to every other passion, and I was forgotten as soon as any new pleasure seized on their attention.

5. Vagrio told me one evening, that all my per­plexities should be soon at an end, and desired me from that instant to throw upon him all care of my fortune, for a post of considerable value was that day become vacant, and he knew his interest sufficient to procure it in the morning. He desired me to call on him early, that he might be dressed soon enough to wait on the minister before any other application should be made.

6. I came as he appointed, with all the flame of gratitude, and was told by his servant, that having found at his lodgings, when he came home, an ac­quaintance who was going to travel, he had been persuaded to accompany him to Dover, and that they had taken post horses two hours before day.

7. I was once very near to preferment, by the kindness of Charinus, who, at my request, went to beg a place, which he thought me likely to fill with great reputation, and in which I should have many opportunities of promoting his interest in return; and he pleased himself with imagining the mutual benefits that we should confer, and the advances that we should make by our united strength.

8. Away, therefore, he went, equally warm with friendship and ambition, and left me to prepare ac­knowledgments against his return. At length he came back, and told me that he had met in his way a party going to breakfast in the country, that the ladies importuned him too much to be refused, and that having passed the morning with them, he was [Page 182] come back to dress himself for a ball, to which he was invited for the evening.

9. I have suffered several disappointments from taylors and perriwig-makers, who, by neglecting to perform their work, withh [...]ld my patrons from court; and once failed of an establishment for life by the delay of a servant, sent to a neighbouring shop to replenish a snuff-box.

10. At last I thought my solitude at an end, for an office fell into the gift of Hippodamus's father, who being then in the country, could not very speedily fill it, and whose fondness would not have suffered him to refuse his son a less reasonable request. Hip­podamus therefore set forward with great expedition, and I expected every hour an account of his success.

11. A long time I waited without any intelligence, but at last received a letter from Newmarket, by which I was informed, that the races were begun, and I knew the vehemence of his passions too well to imagine that he could refuse himself his favourite a­musement.

12. You will not wonder that I was at last weary of the patronage of young men, especially as I found them not generally to promise much greater fidelity as they advanced in life; for I observed that what they gained in steadiness they lost in benevolence, and grew colder to my interest as they became more diligent to promote their own.

13. I was convinced that their liberality was only profuseness, that, as chance directed, they were e­qually generous to vice and virtue, that they were warm, but because they were thoughtless, and count­ed the support of a friend only amongst other gratifi­cations of passion.

14. My resolution was now to ingratiate myself with men whose reputation was established, whose high stations enabled them to prefer me, and whose age exempted them from sudden changes of inclina­tion. I was considered as a man of parts, and there­fore [Page 183] easily found admission to the table of Hilarius, the celebrated orator, renowned equally for the ex­tent of his knowledge, the elegance of his diction, and the acuteness of his wit.

15. Hilarius received me with an appearance of great satisfaction, produced to me all his friends, and directed to me that part of his discourse in which he most endeavoured to display his imagination. I had now learned my own interest enough to supply him with opportunities for smart remarks and gay sallies, which I never failed to echo and applaud.

16. Thus I was gaining every hour on his affecti­ons, till unfortunately, when the assembly was more splendid than usual, his desire of admiration prompt­ed him to turn his raillery upon me. I bore it for some time with great submission, and success encou­raged him to redouble his attacks; at last my vani­ty prevailed over my prudence; I retorted his irony with such spirit, that Hilarius, unaccustomed to re­sistance, was disconcerted, and soon found means of convincing me, that his purpose was not to encourage a rival, but to foster a parasite.

17. I was then taken into the familiarity of Argu­tio, a nobleman eminent for judgment and criticism. He had contributed to my reputation, by the praises which he had often bestowed upon my writings, in which he owned that there were proofs of a genius that might rise to high degrees of excellence, when time, or information, had reduced its exuberance.

18. He therefore required me to consult him be­fore the publication of any new performance, and commonly proposed innumerable alterations, with­out sufficient attention to the general design, or re­gard to my form of style, and mode of imagination.

19. But these corrections he never failed to press as indispensably necessary, and thought the least de­lay of compliance an act of rebellion. The pride of an author made this treatment insufferable, and I [Page 184] thought any tyranny easier to be borne than that which took from me the use of my understanding.

20. My next patron was Eutyches the statesman, who was wholly engaged in public affairs, and seem­ed to have no ambition but to be powerful and rich. I found his favour more permanent than that of the others, for there was a certain price at which it might be bought; he allowed nothing to humour or to affection, but was always ready to pay liberally for the service he required.

21. His demands were, indeed, very often such as virtue could not easily consent to gratify; but vir­tue is not to be consulted when men are to raise their fortunes by the favour of the great. His measures were censured; I wrote in his defence, and was re­compensed with a place, of which the profits were never received by me without the pangs of remem­bering that they were the reward of wickedness; a reward which nothing but that necessity, which the consumption of my little estate in these wild pursuits had brought upon me, hindered me from throwing back in the face of my corruptor.

22. At this time my uncle died without a will, and I became heir to a small fortune. I had resolu­tion to throw off the splendor which reproached me to myself, and retire to an humbler state, in which I am now endeavouring to recover the dignity of virtue, and hope to make some reparation for my crimes and follies, by informing others, who may be led after the same pageants, that they are about to engage in a course of life, in which they are to purchase, by a thousand miseries, the privilege of repentance.

1. THE diligence with which you endeavour to cultivate the knowledge of nature, manners, and life, will perhaps incline you to pay some regard to the observations of one who has been taught to know mankind by unwelcome information, and whose opinions are the result, not of solitary conjectures, but of practice and experience.

2. I was born to a large fortune, and bred to the knowledge of those arts which are supposed to accom­plish the mind, and adorn the person of a woman. To these attainments, which custom and education almost forced upon me, I added some voluntary ac­quisitions by the use of books, and the conversation of that species of men whom the ladies generally mention with terror and aversion under the name of scholars, but whom I have found a harmless and in­offensive order of beings, not so much wiser than ourselves, but that they may receive as well as com­municate knowledge, and more inclined to degrade their own character by cowardly submission, than to overbear or oppress us with their learning or their wit.

3. From these men, however, if they are by kind treatment encouraged to talk, something may be gained, which embellished with elegancy, and soft­ened by modesty, will always add dignity and value to female conversation; and from my acquaintance with the bookish part of the world, I derived many principles of judgment and maxims of prudence, by which I was enabled to draw upon myself the general regard in every place of concourse or pleasure.

4. My opinion was the great rule of approbation, my remarks were remembered by those who desired the second degree of fame, my mein was studied, my dress was imitated, my letters were handed from one [Page 186] family to another, and read by those who copied them as sent to themselves, my visits were sollicited as honours, and multitudes boasted of an intimacy with Melissa, who had only seen me by accident, whose familiarity had never proceeded beyond the exchange of a compliment, or return of a courtesy.

5. I shall make no scruple of confessing that I was pleased with this universal veneration, because I al­ways considered it as paid to my intrinsic qualities and inseparable merit, and very easy persuaded my­self, that fortune had no part in my superiority.

6. When I looked upon my glass I saw youth and beauty, with health that might give me reason to hope their continuance: when I examined my mind, I found some strength of judgment, and fertility of fancy; and was told that every action was grace, and that every accent was persuasion.

7. In this manner my life passed like a continual triumph amidst acclamations, and envy, and court­ship, and caresses: to please Melissa was the general ambition, and every stratagem of artful flattery was practised upon me. To be flattered is grateful, e­ven when we know that our praises are not believed by those who pronounce them; for they prove, at least, our power, and shew that our favour is valued since it is purchased by the meanness of falshood.

8. But, perhaps, the flatterer is not often detect­ed, for an honest mind is not apt to suspect, and no one exerts the powers of discernment with much vi­gour when self love favours the deceit.

9. The number of adorers, and the perpetual dis­traction of my thoughts by new schemes of pleasures, prevented me from listening to any of those who croud in multitudes to give girls advice, and kept me un­married and unengaged to my twenty-seventh year, when as I was towering in all the pride of uncontest­ed excellency, with a face yet little impaired, and a mind hourly improving, the failure of a fund, in which my money was placed, reduced me to a frugal [Page 187] competency, which allowed a little beyond neatness and independence.

10. I bore the diminution of my riches without any outrages of sorrow, or pusillanimity of dejection. Indeed I did not know how much I had lost, for ha­ving always heard and thought more of my wit and beauty, than of my fortune, it did not suddenly en­ter my imagination, that Melissa could sink beneath her established rank, while her form and her mind continued the same; that she should cease to raise ad­miration but by ceasing to deserve it, or feel any stroke but from the hand of time.

11. It was in my power to have concealed the loss, and to have married, by continuing the same appear­ance, with all the credit of my original fortune; but I was not so far sunk in my esteem, as to submit to the baseness of fraud, or to desire any other recom­mendation than sense and virtue.

12. I therefore dismissed my equipage, sold those ornaments which were become unsuitable to my new condition, and appeared among those with whom I used to converse with less glitter, but with equal spirit.

13. I found myself received at every visit, with sor­row beyond what is naturally felt for calamities in which we have no part, and was entertained with condolence and consolation, so frequently repeated, that my friends plainly consulted rather their own gratification, than my relief.

14. Some from that time refused my acquaintance, and forebore, without any provocation, to repay my visits; some visited me, but after a longer interval than usual, and every return was still with more de­lay; nor did any of my female acquaintances fail to introduce the mention of my misfortunes, to compare my present and former condition, to tell me how much it must trouble me to want the splendor which I became so well; to look at pleasures, which I had formerly enjoyed, and to sink to a level with those by [Page 188] whom I had been considered as moving in a higher sphere, and who had hitherto approached me with reverence and submission, which I was now no longer to expect.

15. Observations like these are commonly nothing better than covert insults, which serve to give vent to the flatulence of pride, but they are now and then imprudently uttered by honesty and benevolence, and inflict pain where kindness is intended; I will, there­fore, so far maintain my antiquated claim to polite­ness, as to venture the establishment of this rule, that no one ought to remind another of misfortunes of which the sufferer does not complain, and which there are no means proposed of alleviating.

16. You have no right to excite thoughts which necessarily give pain whenever they return, and which perhaps might not have revived but by absurd and unseasonable compassion.

17. My endless train of lovers immediately with­drew, without raising any emotions. The greater part had indeed always professed to court, as it is termed, upon the square, had enquired my fortune, and offered settlements; these undoubtedly had a right to retire without censure, since they had openly treated for money, as necessary to their happiness, and who can tell how little they wanted any other portion?

18. I have always thought the clamours of women unreasonable, who imagine themselves injured be­cause the men who followed them upon the supposition of a greater fortune, reject them when they are dis­covered to have less. I have never known any lady, who did not think wealth a title to some stipulations in her favour; and surely what is claimed by the pos­session of money, is justly forfeited by its loss.

19. She that has once demanded a settlement has allowed the importance of fortune; and when she cannot shew pecuniary merit, why should she think her cheapner obliged to purchase?

[Page 189]20. My lovers were not all contented with silent desertion. Some of them revenged the neglect which they had formerly endured by wanton and superfluous insults, and endeavoured to mortify me by paying in my presence those civilities to other ladies, which were once devoted only to me.

21. But as it had been my rule to treat men ac­cording to the rank of their intellect, I had never suffered any one to waste is life in suspence who could have employed it to better purpose, and had there­fore no enemies but coxcombs, whose resentment and respect were equally below my consideration.

22. The only pain which I have felt from degra­dation, is the loss of that influence which I have al­ways exerted on the side of virtue, in the defence of innocence, and the assertion of truth. I now find my opinions slighted, my sentiments criticised, and my arguments opposed by those that used to listen to me without reply, and struggle to be first in expres­sing their conviction.

23. The female disputants have wholly thrown off my authority, and if I endeavour to enforce my rea­sons by an appeal to the scholars that happen to be present, the wretches are certain to pay their court by sacrificing me and my system to a finer gown, and I am every hour insulted with contradiction by cow­ards, who could never find till lately that Melissa was liable to error.

24. There are two persons only whom I cannot charge with having changed their conduct with my change of fortune. One is an old curate, that has passed his life in the duties of his profession, with great reputation for his knowledge and piety: the other is a lieutenant of dragoons. The parson made no difficulty in the heighth of my elevation to check me when I was pert, and instruct me when I blunder­ed; and if there is any alteration, he is now more timorous, lest his freedom should be thought rude­ness.

[Page 190]25. The soldier never paid me any particular ad­dresses, but very rigidly observed all the rules of po­liteness, which he is now so far from relaxing, that whenever he serves the tea, he obstinately carries me the first dish, in defiance of the frowns and whispers of the table.

26. This, Mr. Rambler, is to see the world. It is impossible for those that have only known affluence and prosperity, to judge rightly of themselves or o­thers. The rich and the powerful live in a perpetual masquerade, in which all about them wear borrowed characters; and we only discover in what estimation we are held, when we can no longer give hopes or fears.—I am, &c.

1. I WAS yesterday about sun-set walking in the open fields, till the night insensibly fell upon me. I at first amused myself with all the richness and variety of colours, which appeared in the west­ern parts of heaven: in proportion as they faded a­way and went out, several stars and planets appeared one after another, till the whole firmament was in a glow. The blueness of the aether was exceedingly heightened and enlivened by the season of the year, and by the rays of all those luminaries that passed through it.

2. The Galaxy appeared in its most beautiful white. To complete the scene, the full moon rose at length in that clouded majesty, which Milton takes notice of, and opened to the eye a new picture of nature, which was more finely shaded, and disposed among softer lights, than that which the sun had before dis­covered to us.

[Page 191]3. As I was surveying the moon walking in her brightness, and taking her progress among the con­stellations, a thought rose in me which I believe very often perplexes and disturbs men of serious and con­templative natures. David himself fell into it in that reflection, When I consider the heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and stars which thou hast or­dained; what is man that thou art mindful of him, and the son of man that thou regardest him!

4. In the same manner when I considered that in­finite host of stars, or, to speak more philosophically, of suns, who were then shining upon me, with those innumerable sets of planets or worlds, which were moving round their respective suns; when I still en­larged the idea, and supposed another heaven of suns and worlds rising still above this which he had disco­vered, and these still enlightened by a superior fir­mament of luminaries, which are planted at so great a distance, that they may appear to the inhabitants of the former as the stars do to us; in short, while I pursued this thought, I could not but reflect on that little insignificant figure which I myself bore amidst the immensity of God's works.

5. Were the sun, which enlightens this part of the creation, with all the host of planetary worlds that move about him, utterly extinguished and annihilat­ed, they would not be missed, more than a grain of sand upon the sea-shore. The space they possess is so exceedingly little in comparison of the whole, that it would scarce make a blank in the creation. The chasm would be imperceptible to an eye, that could take in the whole compass of nature, and pass from one end of the creation to the other; as it is possible there may be such a sense in ourselves hereafter, or in creatures which are at present more exalted than ourselves.

6. We see many stars by the help of glasses, which we do not discover with our naked eyes; and the finer our telescopes are, the more still are our discoveries. [Page 192] Huygenius carries his thought so far, that he does not think it impossible there may be stars whose light is not yet travelled down to us, since their first creation. There is no question but the universe has certain bounds set to it; but when we consider that it is the work of infinite power, prompted by infinite good­ness, with an infinite space to exert itself in, how can our imagination set any bounds to it?

7. To return, therefore, to my first thought, I could not but look apon myself with secret horror, as a being that was not worth the smallest regard of one who had so great a work under his care and superin­tendency. I was afraid of being overlooked amidst the immensity of nature, and lost among that infinite variety of creatures, which in all probability swarm through all these immeasurable regions of matter.

In order to recover myself from this mortifying thought, I considered that it took its rise from those narrow conceptions, which we are apt to maintain of the divine nature. We our selves cannot attend to many different objects at the same time. If we are careful to inspect some things, we must of course neg­lect others.

8. This imperfection which we observe in ourselves is an imperfection that cleaves in some degree to crea­tures of the highest capacities, as they are creatures, that is, beings of finite and limited natures. The presence of every created being is confined to a cer­tain measure of space, and consequently his observa­tion is stinted to a certain number of objects. The sphere in which we move, and act, and understand, is of a wider circumference to one creature than ano­ther, according as we rise one above another in the scale of existence.

9. But the widest of these our spheres has its cir­cumference. When therefore we reflect on the di­vine nature, we are so used and accustomed to this imperfection in ourselves, that we cannot forbear in some measure ascribing it to him in whom there is [Page 193] no shadow of imperfection.—Our reason indeed as­sures that his attributes are infinite, but the poorness of our conceptions is such that it cannot forbear set­ting bounds to every thing it contemplates, till our reason comes again to our succour, and throws down all those little prejudices which rise in us unawares, and are natural to the mind of man.

10. We shall therefore utterly extinguish this me­lancholy thought, of our being overlooked by our Maker in the multiplicity of his works, and the in­finity of those objects among which he seems to be incessantly employed, if we consider, in the first place, that he is omnipresent; and in the second, that he is omniscient.

If we consider him in his omnipresence: his being passes through, actuates and supports the whole frame of nature. His creation and every part of it, is full of him.

11. There is nothing he has made, that is either so distant, so little, or so inconsiderable, which he does not essentially inhabit. His substance is within the substance of every being, whether material or immaterial, and as intimately present to it, as that being is to itself▪ It would be an imperfection in him, were he able to remove o [...]t of one place into another, or to withdraw himself from any thing he has created, or from any part of that space which is diffused and spread abroad to infinity. In short, to speak of him in the language of the old philosophers, he is a being whose centre is every-where, and his circumference no-where.

12. In the second place, he is omniscient as well as omnipresent. His omniscience indeed necessarily and naturally flows from his omnipresence. He can­not but be conscious of every motion that arises in the whole material world, which he thus essentially pervades; and of every thought that is stirring in the intellectual world, to every part of which he is thus intimately united. Several moralists have con­sidered [Page 194] the creation as the temple of God, which he has built with his own hands, and which is filled with his presence.

13. Others have considered infinite space as the receptacle, or rather the habitation of the Almighty: but the noblest and most exalted way of considering this infinite space is that of Sir Isaac Newton, who calls it the sensorium of the Godhead. Brutes and men have their sensoriola, or little sensoriums, by which they apprehend the presence and perceive the actions of a few objects that lie contiguous to them. Their knowledge and apprehension turn within a very nar­row circle. But as God Almighty cannot but per­ceive and know every thing in which he resides, in­finite space gives room to infinite knowledge, and is, as it were, an organ to omniscience.

14. Were the soul seperate from the body, and with one glance of thought should start beyond the bounds of the creation; should it for millions of years continue its progress through infinite space with the same activity, it would still find itself within the em­braces of its Creator, and encompassed round with the immensity of the God-head. While we are in the body he is not less present with us, because he is concealed from us. Oh that I knew where I might find him! says Job. Behold I go forward, but he is not there; and backward, but I cannot perceive him: on the left hand, where he does work, but I cannot be­hold him: he hideth himself on the right hand that I cannot see him. In short, reason as well as revelation assures us, that he cannot be absent from us, not­withstanding he is undiscovered by us.

15. In this consideration of God Almighty's om­nipresence and omniscience, every uncomfortable thought vanishes. He cannot but regard every thing that has being, especially such of his creatures who fear they are not regarded by him. He is privy to all their thoughts, and to that anxiety of heart in particular, which is apt to trouble them on this oc­casion; [Page 195] for, as it is impossible he should overlook any of his creatures, so we may be confident that he re­gards, with an eye of mercy, those who endeavour to recommend themselves to his notice, and in un­feigned humility of heart think themselves unworthy that he should be mindful of them.

1. IN your paper of Friday the 9th instant, you had occasion to consider the ubiquity of the God­head, and at the same time to shew, that as he is present to every thing, he cannot but be attentive to every thing, and privy to all the modes and parts of its existence; or, in other words, that his omnisci­ence and omnipresence are coexistent, and run toge­ther through the whole infinitude of space.

2. This consideration might furnish us with many incentive [...] to devotion, and motives to morality; but as this subject has been handled by several excellent writers I shall consider it in a light wherein I have not seen it placed by others.

First, How disconsolate is the condition of an in­tellectual being who is thus present with his Maker, but at the same time receives no extraordinary benefit or advantage from this his presence!

3. Secondly, How deplorable is the condition of an intellectual being, who feels no other effects from this his presence, but such as proceed from divine wrath and indignation!

Thirdly, How happy is the condition of that intel­lectual being, who is sensible of his Maker's presence from the secret effects of his mercy and loving-kind­ness!

[Page 196]4. First, How disconsolate is the condition of an intellectual being, who is thus present with his Ma­ker, but at the same time receives no extraordinary benefit or advantage from this his presence! Every particle of matter is actuated by this Almighty Being which passes through it. The heavens and the earth, the stars and planets, move and gravitate by virtue of this great principle within them. All the dead parts of nature are invigorated by the presence of their Creator, and made capable of exerting their respective qualities.

5. The several instincts in the brute creation do likewise operate and work towards the several ends which are agreeable to them, by this divine energy. Man only, who does not co-operate with his ho­ly spirit, and is unattentive to his presence, re­ceives none of these advantages from it, which are perfective of his nature, and necessary to his well-being. The divinity is with him, and in him, and every where about him, but of no advantage to him.

6. It is the same thing to a man without religion, as if there were no God in the world. It is indeed im­possible for an infinite Being to remove himself from any of his creatures; but though he cannot withdraw his essence from us, which would argue an imperfecti­on in him, he can withdraw from us all the joys and consolations of it. His presence may perhaps be ne­cessary to support us in our existence; but he may leave this our existence to itself, with regard to our happiness or misery.

7. For, in this sense, he may cast us away from his presence, and take his holy spirit from us. This single consideration one would think sufficient to make us open our hearts to all those infusions of joy and gladness which are so near at hand, and ready to be poured in upon us; especially when we consi­der, secondly, the deplorable condition of an intellec­tual being who feels no other effects from his Maker's presence, but such as proceed from divine wrath and [...]!

[Page 197]8. We may assure ourselves, that the great Author of Nature will not always be as one, who is indiffer­ent to any of his creatures. Those who will not feel him in his love will be sure at length to feel him in his displeasure. And how dreadful is the condition of that creature, who is only sensible of the being of his Creator by what he suffers from him! He is as essentially present in hell as in heaven; but the inha­bitants of those accursed places behold him only in his wrath, and shrink within the flames to conceal themselves from him. It is not in the power of ima­gination to conceive the fearful effects of Omnipo­tence incensed.

9. But I shall only consider the wretchedness of an intellectual being, who, in this life, lies under the displeasure of him, that at all times, and in all pla­ces, is intimately united with him. He is able to disquiet the soul, and vex it in all its faculties. He can hinder any of the greatest comforts of life from refreshing us, and give an edge to every one of its slightest calamities.

10. Who then can bear the thought of being an outcast from his presence, that is, from the comforts of it, or of feeling it only in its terrors? how pathetic is that expostulation of Job, when for the real trial of his patience, he was made to look upon himself in this deplorable condition! Why hast thou set me as a mark against thee, so that I am become a burthen to myself? But thirdly, how happy is the condition of that intellectual being, who is sensible of his Maker's presence from the secret effects of his mercy and lo­ving-kindness!

11. The blessed in heaven behold him face to face, that is, are as sensible of his presence as we are of the presence of any person whom we look upon with our eyes. There is doubtless a faculty in spirits, by which they apprehend one another, as our senses do material objects; and there is no question but our souls, when they are disembodied, or placed in glo­rified [Page 198] bodies, will by this faculty, in what ever space they reside, be always sensible of the divine presence.

12. We who have this veil of flesh standing be­tween us and the world of spirits, must be content to know the spirit of God is present with us, by the ef­fects which he produceth in us. Our outward senses are too gross to apprehend him; we may however taste and see how gracious he is, by his influence upon our minds, by those virtuous thoughts which he awa­kens in us, by those secret comforts and refreshments which he conveys into our souls, and by those ravish­ing joys and inward satisfactions which are perpetu­ally springing up, and diffusing themselves among all the thoughts of good men.

13. He is lodged in our very essence, and is as a soul within the soul to irradiate its understanding, rectify its will, purify its passions, and enliven all the powers of man. How happy therefore is an intel­lectual being, who by prayer and meditation, by virtue and good works, opens this communication be­tween God and his own soul! Though the whole creation frowns upon him, and all nature looks black about him, he has his light and support within him, that are able to chear his mind, and bear him up in the midst of all those horrors which encompass him.

14. He knows that his helper is at hand, and is always nearer to him than any thing else can be, which is capable of annoying or terrifying him. In the midst of calumny or contempt, he attends to that Being who whispers better things within his soul, and whom he looks upon as his defender, his glory, and the lifter up of his head. In his deepest solitude and retirement, he knows that he is in company with the greatest of beings; and perceives within himself such real sensations of his presence, as are more de­lightful than any thing that can be met with in the conversations of his creatures.

15. Even in the hour of death, he considers the pains of his dissolution to be nothing else but the [Page 199] breaking down of that partition, which stands be­twixt his soul and the sight of that Being who is al­ways present with him, and is about to manifest itself to him in fullness of joy.

16. If we would be thus happy and thus sensible of our Maker's presence, from the secret effects of his mercy and goodness, we must keep such a watch over all our thoughts, that, in the language of the scrip­ture, his soul may have pleasure in us. We must take care not to grieve his holy spirit, and endeavour to make the meditations of our hearts always ac­ceptable in his sight, that he may delight thus to reside and dwell in us.

17. The light of nature could direct Seneca to this doctrine, in a very remarkable passage among his epistles; Sacer inest in nobis spiritus, bonorum malo­rumque custos et observator; et quemadmodum nos illum tractamus, ita et ille nos. ‘There is a holy spirit re­siding in us, who watches and observes both good and evil men, and will treat us after the same man­ner that we treat him.’ But I shall conclude this discourse with those more emphatical words in divine revelation. If a man love me, he will keep my words; and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him.

1. I Considered in my two last letters, that awful and tremendous subject, the ubiquity or omni­presence of the Divine Being. I have shewn that he is equally present in all places throughout the whole extent of infinite space. This doctrine is so agree­able to reason, that we meet with it in the writings of the enlightened heathens, as I might shew at large, were it not already done by other hands. But [Page 200] though the Deity be thus essentially present through all the immensity of space, there is one part of it in which he discovers himself in a most transcendent and visible glory.

2. This is that place which is marked out in scrip­ture under the different appellations of Paradise, the third heaven, the throne of God and the habitation of his glory. It is here where the glorified body of our Saviour resides, and where all the celestial hierar­chies, and the innumerable hosts of angels, are re­presented as perpetually surrounding the seat of God with hallelujahs and hymns of praise. This is that presence of God which some of the divines call his glorious, and others his majestic presence.

3. He is indeed as essentially present in all other places as in this; but it is here where he resides in a sensible magnificence, and in the midst of all those splendors which can affect the imagination of created beings.

It is very remarkable that this opinion of God Almighty's presence in heaven, whether discovered by the light of nature, or by a general tradition from our first parents, prevails among all the nations of the world, whatsoever different notions they enter­tain of the Godhead.

4. If you look into Homer, that is, the most antient of the Greek writers, you see the supreme power seat­ed in the heavens, and encompassed with inferior deities, among whom the muses are represented as singing incessantly about his throne. Who does not here see the main strokes and outlines of this great truth we are speaking of?

5. The same doctrine is shadowed out in many o­ther heathen authors, though at the same time, like several other revealed truths, dashed and adulterated with a mixture of fables and human inventions. But to pass over the notions of the Greeks and Romans, those more enlightened parts of the pagan world, we find there is scarce a people among the late discover­ed [Page 201] nations who are not trained up in an opinion that heaven is the habitation of the divinity whom they worship.

6. As in Solomon's temple there was the Sanctum Sanctorum, in which a visible glory appeared among the figures of the cherubims, and into which none but the high-priest himself was permitted to enter, after having made an atonement for the sins of the peo­ple; so if we consider this whole creation as one great temple, there is in it the Holy of Holies, into which the high-priest of our salvation entered, and took his place among angels and archangels, after having made a propitiation for the sins of mankind.

7. With how much skill must the throne of God be erected? With what glorious designs is that habita­tion beautified, which is contrived and built by him who inspired Hiram with wisdom? How great must be the majesty of that place, where the whole art of creation has been employed, and where God has cho­sen to shew himself in the most magnificent manner? What must be the architecture of infinite power un­der the direction of divine wisdom? A spirit cannot but be transported after an ineffable manner with the sight of those objects, which were made to affect him by that Being who knows the inward frame of a soul, and how to please and ravish it in all its most secret powers and faculties.

8. It is to this majestic presence of God, we may apply those beautiful expressions in holy writ: Behold even to the moon, and it shineth not; yea the stars are not pure in his sight. The light of the sun, and all the glories of the world in which we live, are but as weak and sickly glimmerings, or rather darkness it­self, in comparison of those splendors which encom­pass the throne of God.

9. As the glory of this place is transcendent be­yond imagination, so probably is the extent of it. There is light behind light, and glory within glory. How far that space may reach, in which God thus [Page 202] appears in perfect majesty, we cannot possibly con­ceive. Though it is not infinite, it may be indefi­nite; and though not immeasurable in itself, it may be so with regard to any created eye or imagination. If he has made these lower regions of matter so in­conceivably wide and magnificent for the habitation of mortal and perishable beings, how great may we suppose the courts of his house to be, where he makes his residence in a more especial manner, and displays himself in the fulness of his glory, among an innu­merable company of angels, and spirits of just men made perfect!

10. This is certain that our imaginations cannot be raised too high, when we think on a place where omnipotence and omniscience have so signally exerted themselves, because that they are able to produce a scene infinitely more great and glorious than what we are able to imagine.

11. It is not impossible but at the consummation of all things, these outward apartments of nature, which are now suited to those beings who inhabit them, may be taken in and added to that glorious place of which I am here speaking; and by that means made a proper habitation for beings who are exempt from mortality, and cleared of their imper­fections: for so the scripture seems to intimate when it speaks of new heavens and of a new earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness.

12. I have only considered this glorious place with regard to the sight and imagination, though it is highly probable that our other senses may here like­wise enjoy their highest gratifications. There is no­thing which more ravishes and transports the soul, than harmony; and we have great reason to believe, from the description of this place in holy scripture, that this is one of the entertainments of it.

13. And if the soul of man can be so wonderfully affected with those strains of music, which human art is capable of producing, how much more will it be [Page 203] raised and elevated by those, in which is exerted the whole power of harmony! The senses are faculties of the human soul, though they cannot be employed, during this our vital union, without proper instru­ments in the body.

14. Why therefore should we exclude the satisfac­tion of these faculties, which we find by experience are inlets of great pleasure to the soul, from among those entertainments which are to make our happi­ness hereafter? Why should we suppose that our hear­ing and seeing will not be gratified by those objects which are most agreeable to them, and which they cannot meet with in these lower regions of nature; objects, which neither eye hath seen, nor ear heard, nor can it enter into the heart of man to conceive!

15. I knew a man in Christ (says St. Paul, speaking of himself) above fourteen years ago, (whether in the body, I cannot tell; or whether out of the body I cannot tell: God knoweth) such a one caught up to the third heaven. And I knew such a man (whether in the body or out of the body, I cannot tell: God knoweth) how that he was caught up into paradise, and heard unspeakable words, which it is not possible for a man to utter.

16. By this is meant that what he heard was so infinitely different from any thing which he had heard in this world, that it was impossible to express it in such words as might convey a notion of it to his hear­ers.

It is very natural for us to take delight in inqui­ries concerning any foreign country, where we are some time or other to make our abode; and as we all hope to be admitted into this glorious place, it is both laudable and useful curiosity, to get what infor­mation we can of it, while we make use of revelation for our guide.

17. When these everlasting doors shall be opened to us, we may be sure that the pleasures and beauties of this place will infinitely transcend our present hopes and expectations, and that the glorious appearance [Page 204] of the throne of God will rise infinitely beyond what­ever we are able to conceive of it. We might here entertain ourselves with many other speculations on this subject, from those several hints which we find of it in the holy scriptures; as whether they may not be different mansions and apartments of glory, to beings of different natures; whether, as there excel one another in perfection, they are not admitted nearer to the throne of the Almighty, and enjoy greater manifestations of his presence.

18. Whether there are not solemn times and occa­sions, when all the multitude of heaven celebrate the presence of their Maker, in more extraordinary forms of praise and adoration; as Adam, though he had continued in a state of innocence, would, in the opinion of our divines, have kept holy the Sabbath-day, in a more particular manner than any other of the seven. These, and the like speculations, we may very innocently indulge, so long as we make use of them to inspire us with a desire of becoming inha­bitants of this delightful place.

19. I have in this, and in two foregoing letters, treated on the most serious subject that can employ the mind of man, the omnipresence of the Deity; a subject which, if possible, should never depart from our meditations. We have considered the Divine Being, as he inhabits infinitude, as he dwells among his works, as he is present to the mind of man, and as he discovers himself in a more glorious manner among the regions of the blest. Such a consideration should be kept awake in us at all times, and in all places, and possess our minds with a perpetual awe and reverence.

20. It should be interwoven with all our thoughts and perceptions, and become one with the conscious­ness of our own being. It is not to be reflected on in the coldness of philosophy, but ought to sink us into the lowest prostration before him, who is so astonish­ingly great, wonderful, and holy.

1. A Lewd young fellow seeing an aged hermit go by him barefoot, Father, says he, you are in a very miserable condition, if there is not another world. True, son, said the hermit; but what is thy condition if there is? Man is a creature designed for two different states of being, or rather, for two dif­ferent lives. His first life is short and transient; his second permanent and lasting.

2. The question we are all concerned in is this, in which of these two lives is our chief interest to make ourselves happy? or in other words, whether we should endeavour to secure to ourselves the plea­sures and gratifications of a life which is uncertain and precarious, and at its utmost length of a very inconsiderable duration; or to secure to ourselves the pleasures of a life that is fixed and settled, and will never end? Every man, upon the first hearing of this question, knows very well which side of it he ought to close with.

3. But however right we are in theory, it is plain that in practice we adhere to the wrong side of the question. We make provisions for this life as though it were never to have an end, and for the other life as though it were never to have a beginning.

Should a spirit of superior rank, who is a stranger to human nature, accidentally alight upon the earth, and take a survey of its inhabitants, what would his notions of us be?

4. Would not he think that we were a species of beings made for quite different ends and purposes than what we really are? Must not he imagine that we were placed in this world to get riches and ho­nours? Would not he think that it was our duty to [Page 206] toil after wealth, and station, and title? Nay, would not he believe we were forbidden poverty, by threats of eternal punishment, and enjoined to pursue our pleasures under pain of damnation? He would certainly imagine that we were influenced by a scheme of duties quite opposite to those which are indeed prescribed to us.

5. And truly, according to such an imagination, he must conclude that we are a species of the most o­bedient creatures in the universe; that we are con­stant to our duty; and that we keep a steady eye on the end for which we were sent hither.

But how great would be his astonishment, when he learnt that we were beings not designed to exist in this world above threescore and ten years; and that the greatest part of this busy species fall short even of that age?

6. How would he be lost in horror and admiration, when he should know that this set of creatures, who lay out all their endeavours for this life, which scarce deserves the name of existence, when I say, he should know that this set of creatures are to exist to all eter­nity in another life, for which they make no prepa­rations?

7. Nothing can be a greater disgrace to reason than that men, who are persuaded of these two dif­ferent states of being, should be perpetually employ­ed in providing for a life of threescore and ten years, and neglecting to make provision for that, which, after many myriads of years, will be still new, and still beginning; especially when we consider that our endeavours for making ourselves great, or rich, or honourable, or whatever else we place our happiness in, may, after all, prove unsuccessful; whereas, if we constantly and sincerely endeavour to make our­selves happy in the other life, we are sure that our endeavours will succeed, and that we shall not be dis­appointed of our hope.

[Page 207]8. The following question is started by one of the schoolmen. Supposing the whole body of the earth were a great ball or mass of the finest sand, and that a single grain or particle of this sand should be anni­hilated every thousand years. Supposing then that you had it in your choice to be happy all the while this prodigious mass of sand was consuming by this slow method till there was not a grain of it left, on condition you were to be miserable for ever after; or supposing that you might be happy for ever after, on condition you would be miserable till the whole mass of sand were thus annihilated at the rate of one sand in a thousand years: which of these two cases would you make your choice?

9. It must be confessed in this case, so many thou­sands of years are to the imagination as a kind of eternity, though in reality they do not bear so great a proportion to that duration which is to follow them, as an unit does to the greatest number which you can put together in figures, or as one of those sands to the supposed heap. Reason therefore tells us, without any manner of hesitation, which would be the better part in this choice.

10. However, as I have before intimated, our reason might in such a case be so overset by the ima­gination, as to dispose some persons to sink under the consideration of the great length of the first part of this duration, and of the great distance of that se­cond duration, which is to succeed it. The mind, I say, might give itself up to that happiness which is at hand, considering that it is so very near and that it would last so very long.

11. But when the choice we actually have before us, is this, whether we will chuse to be happy for the space of only threescore and ten, nay, perhaps of only twenty or ten years; I might say of only a day or an hour, and miserable to all eternity; or, on the contrary, miserable for this short term of years, and happy for a whole eternity; what words are suffici­ent [Page 208] to express that folly and want of consideration which in such a case makes a wrong choice?

12. I hear put the case even at the worst, by sup­posing (what seldom happens) that a course of virtue makes us miserable in this life: but if we suppose (as it generally happens) that virtue will make us more happy even in this life than a contrary course of vice; how can we sufficiently admire the stupidity or madness of those persons who are capable of ma­king so absurd a choice?

13. Every wise man, therefore, will consider this life only as it may conduce to the happiness of the other, and chearfully sacrifice the pleasures of a few years to those of an eternity.

1. I WAS yesterday walking alone in one of my friend's woods, and lost myself in it very agree­ably, as I was running over in my mind the several arguments that establish this great point, which is the basis of morality, and the source of all the plea­sing hopes and secret joys that can arise in the heart of a reasonable creature.

2. I considered those several proofs drawn, First, from the nature of the soul itself, and particularly its immateriality; which, though not absolutely ne­cessary to the eternity of its duration, has, I think, been evinced to almost a demonstration.

Secondly, from its passions and sentiments, as par­ticularly from its love of existence, its horror of an­nihilation, and its hopes of immortality, with that secret satisfaction which it finds in the practice of virtue, and that uneasiness which follows in it upon the commission of vice.

[Page 209]3. Thirdly, from the nature of the Supreme Being, whose justice, goodness, wisdom and veracity, are all concerned in this point.

But among these and other excellent arguments for the immortality of the soul, there is one drawn from the perpetual progress of the soul to its perfecti­on, without a possibility of ever arriving at it; which is a hint that I do not remember to have seen opened and improved by others who have written on this subject, though it seems to me to carry a very great weight with it.

4. How can it enter into the thoughts of man, that the soul which is capable of such immense per­fections, and of receiving new improvements to all eternity, shall fall away into nothing almost as soon as it is created? are such abilities made for no pur­pose? A brute arrives at a point of perfection that he can never pass: in a few years he has all the endow­ments he is capable of; and were he to live ten thou­sand more, would be the same thing he is at present.

5. Were a human soul thus at a stand in her ac­complishments, were her faculties to be full blown, and incapable of farther enlargements, I could ima­gine it might fall away insensibly, and drop at once into a state of annihilation.

6. But can we believe a thinking being that is in a perpetual progress of improvements, and travelling on from perfection to perfection, after having just looked abroad into the works of its Creator, and made a few discoveries of his infinite goodness, wis­dom, and power, must perish at her first setting out, and in the very beginning of her enquiries?

A man considered in his present state seems only sent into the world to propagate his kind. He pro­vides himself with a successor, and immediately quits his post to make room for him.

7. He does not seem born to enjoy life, but to de­liver it down to others. This is not surprising to consider in animals, which are formed for our use, and can finish their business in a short life. The silk­worm, after having spun her task, lays her eggs, and dies. But a man can never have taken in his full measure of knowledge, has not time to subdue his passions, establish his soul in virtue, and come up to the perfection of his nature, before he is hurried off the stage.

8. Would an infinitely wise Being make such glo­rious creatures for so mean a purpose? can he delight in the production of such abortive intelligences, such short-lived reasonable beings? would he give us ta­lents that are not to be exerted? capacities that are never to be gratified? How can we find that wis­dom which shines through all his works, in the form­ation of man, without looking on this world as only a nursery for the next, and believing that the several generations of rational creatures, which rise up and disappear in such quick successions, ar [...] only to re­ceive their first rudiments of existence here, and af­terwards to be transplanted into a more friendly climate, where they may spread and flourish to all eternity?

9. There is not, in my opinion, a more pleasing and triumphant consideration in religion than this of the perpetual progress which the soul makes towards the perfection of its nature, without ever arriving at a period in it. To look upon the soul as going on from strength to strength, to consider that she is to shine forever with new accessions of glory, and bright­en to all eternity; that she will be still adding vir­tue to virtue, and knowledge to knowledge; carries in it something wonderfully agreeable to that ambi­tion which is natural to the mind of man. Nay, it must be a prospect pleasing to God himself, to see his [Page 211] creation forever beautifying his eyes, and drawing nearer to him, by greater degrees of resemblance.

10. Methinks this single consideration, of the pro­gress of a finite spirit to perfection, will be sufficient to extinguish all envy in inferior natures, and all contempt in superior. That cherubim, which now appears as a God to a human soul, knows very well that the period will come about in eternity, when the human soul shall be as perfect as he himself now is: nay, when she shall look down upon that degree of perfection as much as she now falls short of it. It is true, the higher nature still advances, and by that means preserves his distance and superiority in the scale of being; but he knows that, how high soever the station is of which he stands possessed at present, the inferior nature will at length mount up to it, and shine forth in the same degree of glory.

11. With what astonishment and veneration may we look into our own soul, where there are such hid­den stores of virtue and knowledge, such inexhausted sources of perfection! We know not yet what we shall be, nor will it ever enter into the heart of man to con­ceive the glory that will be always in reserve for him. The soul considered with its Creator, is like one of those mathematical lines that may draw nearer to another for all eternity, without a possibility of touching it: and can there be a thought so transport­ing, as to consider ourselves in these perpetual ap­proaches to him, who is not only the standard of per­fection, but of happiness!

1. THOUGH there is a great deal of pleasure in contemplating the material world, by which I mean that system of bodies into which nature has so [Page 212] curiously wrought the mass of dead matter, with the several relations which those bodies bear to one ano­ther; there is still, methinks, something more won­derful and surprising in contemplations on the world of life, by which I mean all those animals with which every part of the universe is furnished. The materi­al world is only the shell of the universe: the world of life are its inhabitants.

2. If we consider those parts of the material world which lie the nearest to us, and are therefore subject to our observations and enquiries, it is amazing to consider the infinity of animals with which it is stock­ed. Every part of matter is peopled: every green leaf swarms with inhabitants. There is scarce a sin­gle humour in the body of a man, or of any other animal, in which our glasses do not discover myriads of living creatures.

3. The surface of animals is also covered with o­ther animals, which are in the same manner the basis of other animals that live upon it; nay, we find in the most solid bodies, as in marble itself, innumer­able cells and cavities, that are crowded with such imperceptible inhabitants, as are too little for the naked eye to discover. On the other hand, if we look into the more bulky parts of nature, we see the seas, lakes, and rivers, teeming with numberless kinds of living creatures; we find every mountain and marsh, wilderness and wood, plentifully stocked with birds and beasts, and every part of matter af­fording proper necessaries and conveniencies for the livelihood of multitudes which inhabit it.

4. The author of the Plurality of Worlds draws a very good argument from this consideration, for the peopling of every planet; as indeed it seems very probable from the analogy of reason, that if no part of matter, which we are acquainted with, lies waste and useless, those great bodies, which are at such a distance from us, should not be desert and unpeo­pled, [Page 213] but rather that they should be furnished with beings adapted to their respective situation.

5. Existence is a blessing to those beings only which are endowed with perception, and is in a manner thrown away upon dead matter, any farther than as it is subservient to beings which are conscious of their existence. Accordingly we find, from the bodies which lie under our observation, that matter is only made as the basis and support of animals, and that there is no more of the one, than what is necessary for the existence of the other.

6. Infinite goodness is of so communicative a na­ture, that it seems to delight in the conferring of existence upon every degree of perceptive being. As this is a speculation, which I have often pursued with great pleasure to myself, I shall enlarge further up­on it, by considering that part of the scale of beings which comes within our knowledge.

7. There are some living creatures which are rais­ed but just above dead matter. To mention only that species of shell-fish, which are formed in the fashion of a cone, that grow to the surface of several rocks, and immediately die upon their being severed from the place where they grow; there are many other creatures but one remove from these, which have no other sense besides that of feeling and taste. Others have still an additional one of hearing; others of smell; and others of sight.

8. It is wonderful to observe, by what a gradual progress the world of life advances through a prodi­gious variety of species, before a creature is formed that is complete in all its senses; and even among these there is such a different degree of perfection in the sense which one animal enjoys beyond what ap­pears in another, though the sense in different ani­mals be distinguished by the same common denomi­nation, it seems almost of a different nature.

9. If after this we look into the several perfections of cunning and sagacity, or what we generally call [Page 214] instinct, we find them rising after the same manner imperceptibly one above another, and receiving ad­ditional improvements, according to the species in which they are implanted. This progress in nature is so very gradual, that the most perfect of an infe­rior species comes very near to the most imperfect of that which is immediately above it.

10. The exuberant and overflowing goodness of the Supreme Being, whose mercy extends to all his works, is plainly seen, as I have before hinted, from his having made so very little matter, at least what falls within our knowledge, that does not swarm with life: nor is his goodness less seen in the diversity, than in the multitude of living creatures. Had he only made one species of animals, none of the rest would have enjoyed the happiness of existence; he has therefore specified in his creation every degree of life, every capacity of being.

11. The whole chasm of nature, from a plant to a man, is filled up with divers kinds of creatures, ri­sing one over another, by such a gentle and easy as­cent, that the little transitions and deviations from one species to another are almost insensible. This intermediate space is so well husbanded and managed, that there is scarce a degree of perception which does not appear in some one part of the world of life. Is the goodness, or wisdom of the Divine Being, more manifested in this his proceeding?

12. There is a consequence, besides those I have already mentioned, which se [...] very naturally de­ducible from the foregoing [...]iderations. If the scale of being rises by such a [...]gular progress, so high as man, we may by a parity of reason suppose that it still proceeds gradually through those beings which are of a superior nature to him; since there is an infinitely greater space and room for different de­grees of perfection between the Supreme Being and man, than between man and the most despicable insect.

[Page 215]13. The consequence of so great a variety of be­ings which are superior to us, from that variety which is inferior to us, is made by Mr. Locke, in a passage which I shall here set down, after having premised that notwithstanding there is such infinite room be­tween man and his Maker for the creative power to exert itself in, it is impossible that it should ever be filled up, since there will be still an infinite gap or distance between the highest created being, and the power which produced him.

14. That there should be more species of intelligent creatures above us, than there are of sensible and mate­rial below u [...], is probable to me from hence; that in all the visible corporeal world, we see no chasms, or no gaps. All quite down from us, the descent is by easy steps, and a continued series of things, that in each remove differ very little one from the other. There are fishes that have wings, and are not strangers to the airy region: and there are some birds, that are inhabitants of the water; whose blood is cold as fishes, and their flesh so like in iuste, that the scrupulous are allowed them on fish days.

15. There are animals so near of kin both to birds and beasts, that they are in the middle between both; amphibious animals link the terrestrial and acquatic to­gether; seals live at land and at sea, and porpoises have the warm blood and entrails of a hog; not to mention what is confidently reported of mermaids or seamen. There are some brutes, that seem to have as much know­ledge and reason, as some that are called men; and the animal and vegetable kingdoms are so nearly joined, that if you will take the lowest of one, and the highest of the other, there will s [...]arce be perceived any great differ­ence between them: and so on till we come to the lowest and the most inorganical parts of matter, we shall find every where that the several species are linked together, and differ but in almost insensible degrees.

16. And when we consider the infinite power and wisdom of the Maker, we have reason to think that it is suitable to the magnificent harmony of the universe, [Page 216] and the great design and infinite goodness of the architect, that the species of creatures should also, by gentle de­grees, ascend upward from us toward his infinite perfec­tion, as we see they gradually descend from us down­ward: which if it be probable, we have reason then to be persuaded, that there are far more species of crea­tures above us, than there are beneath; we being in de­grees of perfection much more remote from the infinite Be­ing of God, than we are from the lowest state of being, and that which approaches nearest to nothing. And yet of all those distinct species, we have no clear distinct ideas.

17. In this system of being, there is no creature so wonderful in its nature, and which so much de­serves our particular attention, as man, who fills up the middle space between the animal and intellectual nature, the visible and invisible world, and is that link in the chain of beings which has been often termed the Nexus utriusque mundi. So that he who in one res­pect is associated with angels and archangels, may look upon a Being of infinite perfection as his father, and the highest order of spirits as his brethren; may in another respect say to corruption, thou art my father, and to the worm, thou art my mother and my sister.

1. I MUST confess I am infinitely delighted with those speculations of nature which are to be made in a country-life; and as my reading has very much lain among books of natural history, I cannot forbear recollecting, upon this occasion, the several remarks which I have met with in authors, and comparing them with what falls under my own observation; the arguments for Providence drawn from the natural hi­story of animals being, in my opinion, demonstra­tive.

[Page 217]2. The make of every kind of animal is different from that of every other kind; and there is not the least turn in the muscles or twist in the fibres of any one, which does not render them more proper for that particular animal's way of life than any other cast or texture of them would have been.

The most violent appetites in all creatures are lust and hunger: the first is a perpetual call upon them to propagate their kind; the latter to preserve them­selves.

3. It is astonishing to consider the different degrees of care that descend from the parent to the young, so far as is absolutely necessary for the leaving a poste­rity. Some creatures cast their eggs as chance di­rects them, and think of them no farther, as insects and several kinds of fish; others, of a nicer frame, find out proper beds to deposit them in, and there leave them; as the serpent, the crocodile, and ostrich; others hatch their eggs and tend the birth, till it is able to shift for itself.

What can we call the principle which directs every different kind of bird to observe a particular plan in the structure of its nest, and directs all of the same species to work after the same model? It cannot be imitation; for though you hatch a crow under a hen, and never let it see any of the works of its own kind, the nest it makes shall be the same, to the laying of a stick, with all the other nests of the same species. It cannot be reason; for were animals endued with it to as great a degree as man, their buildings would be as different as ours, according to the different conve­niencies that they would propose to themselves.

5. Is it not remarkable, that the same temper of weather, which raises this general warmth in ani­mals, should cover the trees with leaves, and the fields with grass, for their security and concealment, and produce such infinite swarms of insects for the support and sustenance of their respective broods?

[Page 218]Is it not wonderful that the love of the parent should be so violent while it lasts, and that it should last no longer than is necessary for the preservation of the young?

6. With what caution does the hen provide herself a nest in places unfrequented, and free from noise and disturbance? When she has laid her eggs in such a manner that she can cover them, what care does she take in turning them frequently, that all parts may partake of the vital warmth? When she leaves them, to provide for her necessary sustenance, how punctu­ally does she return before they have time to cool, and become incapable of producing an animal? In the summer, you see her giving herself greater free­doms, and quitting her care for above two hours to­gether; but in winter, when the rigour of the season would chill the principles of life, and destroy the young one, she grows more assiduous in her atten­dance, and stays away but half the time.

7. When the birth approaches, with how much nicety and attention does she help the chick to break its prison? Not to take notice of her covering it from the injuries of the weather, providing it proper nou­rishment, and teaching it to help itself; nor to men­tion her forsaking the nest, if after the usual time of reckoning the young one does not make its appear­ance. A chymical operation could not be followed with greater art or diligence, than is seen in the hatching of a chick; though there are many other birds that shew an infinitely greater sagacity in all the fore-mentioned particulars.

8. But at the same time the hen, that has all this seeming ingenuity (which is indeed absolutely neces­sary for the propagation of the species) considered in other respects, is without the least glimmerings of thought or common sense. She mistakes a piece of chalk for an egg, and sits upon it in the same man­ner: she is insensible of any increase or diminution in the number of those she lays: she does not distinguish [Page 219] between her own and those of another species; and when the birth appears of ever so different a bird, will cherish it for her own. In all these circumstan­ces, which do not carry an immediate regard to the subsistence of herself or her species, she is a very idiot.

9. There is not, in my opinion, any thing more mysterious in nature than this instinct in animals, which thus rises above reason, and falls infinitely short of it. It cannot be accounted for by any pro­perties in matter, and at the same time works after so odd a manner, that one cannot think it the faculty of an intellectual being. For my own part, I look upon it as upon the principle of gravitation in bo­dies, which is not to be explained by any known qua­lities inherent in the bodies themselves, nor from any laws of mechanism; but, according to the best no­tions of the greatest philosophers, is an immediate impression from the first mover, and the divine ener­gy acting in the creature.

1. COmplaisance renders a superior amiable, an equal agreeable, and an inferior acceptable. It smooths distinction, sweetens conversation, and makes every one in the company pleased with him­self. It produces good nature and mutual benevo­lence, encourages the timorous, soothes the turbu­lent, humanizes the fierce, and distinguishes a soci­ety of civilized persons from a confusion of savages. In a word, complaisance is a virtue that blends all orders of men together in a friendly intercourse of words and actions, and is suited to that equality in human nature which every one ought to consider, so far as is consistent with the order and oeconomy of the world.

[Page 220]2. If we could look into the secret anguish and af­fliction of every man's heart, we should often find, that more of it arises from little imaginary distresses, such as checks, frowns, contradictions, expressions of contempt, and (what Shakespeare reckons among other evils under the sun)

than from the more real pains and calamities of life. The only method to remove these imaginary distresses as much as possible out of human life, would be the universal practice of such an ingenious complaisance as I have been here describing, which, as it is a vir­tue, may be defined to be a ‘constant endeavour to please those whom we converse with, so far as we may do it innocently.’

3. Good-breeding necessarily implies civility; but civility does not reciprocally imply good-breed­ing. The former has its intrinsic weight and value, which the latter always adorns, and often doubles by its workmanship.

To sacrifice one's own self-love to other people's, is a short, but I believe, a true definition of civi­lity: to do it with ease, propriety and grace, is good-breeding. The one is the result of good-nature; the other of good sense, joined to experience, ob­servation, and attention.

4. A ploughman will be civil, if he is good natur­ed, but cannot be well bred. A courtier will be well-bred, though perhaps without good-nature, if he has but good sense. Flattery is the disgrace of good-breeding, as brutality often is of truth and sincerity. Good-breeding is the middle point between those two odious extremes. Ceremony is the superstition of good-breeding, as well as of religion: but yet, being an out-work to both, should not be absolutely demo­lished. It is always, to a certain degree, to be com­plied [Page 221] with, though despised by those who think, be­cause admired and respected by those who do not.

5. The most perfect degree of good-breeding, as I have already hinted, is only to be acquired by great knowledge of the world, and keeping the best com­pany. It is not the object of mere speculation, and cannot be exactly defined, as it consists in a fitness, a propriety of words, actions, and even looks, adapt­ed to the infinite variety and combinations of persons, places, and things. It is a mode, not a substance; for what is good-breeding at St. James's would pass for foppery or banter in a remote village; and the homespun civility of that village would be considered as brutality at court.

6. A cloistered pedant may form true notions of civility; but if amidst the cobwebs of his cell he pre­tends to spin a speculative system of good-breeding, he will not be less absurd than his predecessor, who judiciously undertook to instruct Hannibal in the art of war. The most ridiculous and most aukward of men are, therefore, the speculatively well-bred monks of all religions and all professions.

7. Good-breeding, like charity, not only covers a multitude of faults, but, to a certain degree, supplies the want of some virtues. In the common intercourse of life, it acts good-nature, and often does what good-nature will not always do; it keeps both wits and fools within those bounds of decency, which the former are too apt to transgress, and which the latter never know. Courts are unquestionably the seats of good-breeding, and must necessarily be so; otherwise they would be the seats of violence and desolation. There all the passions are in their highest state of fer­mentation.

8. All pursue what but few can obtain, and many seek what but one can enjoy. Good-breeding alone restrains their excesses. There, if enemies did not embrace they would stab. There, smiles are often put on to conceal tears. There, mutual services are [Page 222] professed, while mutual injuries are intended; and there, the guile of the serpent simulates the gentle­ness of the dove: all this, it is true, at the expence of sincerity; but upon the whole, to the advantage of social intercourse in general.

9. I would not be misapprehended, and supposed to recommend good-breeding, thus prophaned and prostituted to the purposes of guilt and perfidy; but I think I may justly infer from it, to what a degree the accomplishment of good-breeding must adorn and inforce virtue and truth, when it can thus soften the outrages and deformity of vice and falshood. I am sorry to be obliged to confess, that my native coun­try is not perhaps the seat of the most perfect good-breeding, though I really believe, that it yields to none in hearty and sincere civility, as far as civility is (and to a certain degree it is) an inferior moral duty of doing as one would be done by.

10. If France exceeds us in that particular, the incomparable author of L' Esprit des Loix accounts for it very impartially, and I believe very truly. ‘If my countrymen, says he, are the best bred people in the world, it is only because they are the vain­est.’ It is certain that their good-breeding and attention, by flattering the vanity and self-love of others, repay their own with interest. It is a gene­ral commerce, usefully carried on by a barter of at­tentions, and often without one grain of solid merit, by way of medium, to make up the balance.

11. It were to be wished that good-breeding were in general thought a more essential part of the edu­cation of our youth, especially of distinction, than at present it seems to be. It might even be substituted in the room of some academical studies, that take up a great deal of time to very little purpose; or, at least, it might usefully share some of those many hours, that are so frequently employed upon a coach-box, or in stables. Surely those, who by their rank and fortune are called to adorn courts, ought at least not to disgrace them by their manners.

[Page 223]12. But I observe with concern, that it is the fa­shion for our youth of both sexes to brand good-breeding with the name of ceremony and formality. As such, they ridicule and explode it, and adopt i [...] its stead, an offensive carelessness and inattention, to the diminution, I will venture to say, even of their own pleasures, if they know what true pleasures are. Love and friendship necessarily produce▪ and justly authorize familiarity; but then good-breeding must mark out its bounds, and say, thus far shalt thou go, and no farther: for I have known many a passion and many a friendship, degraded, weakened, and at last (if I may use the expression) wholly flattened away, by an unguarded and illiberal familiarity.

13. Nor is good-breeding less the ornament and cement of common social life: it connects, it en­dears, and at the same time that it indulges the just liberty, restrains that indecent licentiousness of con­versation, which alienates and provokes. Great ta­lents make a man famous, great merit makes him respected, and great learning makes him esteemed; but good-breeding alone can make him beloved.

14. I recommend it in a more particular manner to my country-women, as the greatest ornament to such of them as have beauty, and the safest refuge for those who have not. It facilitates the victories, de­corates the triumphs, and secures the conquests of beauty; or in some degree atones for the want of it. It almost deifies a fine woman, and procures respect at least to those who have not charms enough to be admired. Upon the whole, though good-breeding cannot, strictly speaking, be called a virtue, yet it is productive of so many good effects, that in my opi­nion it may be justly reckoned more than a mere ac­complishment.

15. GOOD-Breeding has been very justly defined to be ‘the result of much good sense, some good-nature, and a little self-denial for the sake of others, and with a view to obtain the same in­dulgence from them.’

Good-breeding alone can prepossess people in our favour at first sight; more time being necessary to discover greater talents. Good-breeding, however, does not consist in low bows, and formal ceremony; but in an easy, civil, and respectful behaviour.

16. Indeed, good-sense, in many cases, must de­termine good-breeding; for what would be civil at one time, and to one person, would be rude at ano­ther time, and to another person: there are, howe­ver, some general rules of good-breeding. As for example: to answer only yes, or no, to any person, without adding sir, my lord, or madam, (as it may happen) is always extremely rude; and it is equally so not to give proper attention and a civil answer, when spoken to: such behaviour convinces the person who is speaking to us, that we despise him, and do not think him worthy of our attention, or answer.

17. A well-bred person will take care to answer with complaisance when he is spoken to; will place himself at the lower end of the table, unless bid to go higher; will first drink to the lady of the house, and then to the master; he will not eat aukwardly or dirtily, nor sit when others stand; and he will do all this with an air of complaisance, and not with a grave ill-natured look, as if he did it all unwillingly.

18. There is nothing more difficult to attain, or so necessary to possess, as perfect good-breeding; which is equally inconsistent with a stiff formality, an im­pertinent forwardness, and an aukward bashfulness. A little ceremony is sometime [...] necessary; a certain [Page 225] degree of firmness is absolutely so; and an outward modesty is extremely becoming.

19. Virtue and learning, like gold, have their in­trinsic value; but, if they are not polished, they cer­tainly lose a great deal of their lustre: and even po­lished brass will pass upon more people than rough gold. What a number of sins does the chearful, easy, good-breeding of the French frequently cover!

My Lord Bacon says, ‘that a pleasing figure is a perpetual letter of recommendation.’ It is cer­tainly an agreeable fore-runner of merit, and smooths the way for it.

20. A man of good-breeding should be acquainted with the forms and particular customs of courts. At Vienna, men always make courtesies, instead of bows, to the Emperor; in France, nobody bows to the King, or kisses his hand; but in Spain and Eng­land, bows are made, and hands are kissed. Thus every court has some peculiarity, which those who visit them ought previously to inform themselves of, to avoid blunders and aukwardnesses.

21. Very few, scarcely any, are wanting in the respect which they should shew to those whom they acknowledge to be infinitely their superiors. The man of fashion, and of the world, expresses it in its fullest extent; but naturally, easily, and without concern: whereas a man, who is not used to keep good company, expresses it aukwardly; one sees that he is not used to it, and that it costs him a great deal: but I never saw the worst-bred man living, guilty of lolling, whistling, scratching his head, and such like indecencies, in company that he respected. In such companies, therefore, the only point to be at­tended to is, to shew that respect, which every body means to shew, in an easy, unembarrassed, and grace­ful manner.

22. In mixed companies, whoever is admitted to make part of them, is, for the time at least, supposed to be upon a footing of equality with the rest; and [Page 226] consequently, every one claims, and very justly, eve­ry mark of civility and good-breeding. Ease is al­lowed, but carelessness and negligence are strictly forbidden. If a man accosts you, and talks to you ever so dully or frivolously; it is worse than rudeness, it is brutality, to shew him, by a manifest inatten­tion to what he says, that you think him a fool or a blockhead, and not worth hearing.

23. It is much more so with regard to women; who, of whatever rank they are, are intitled, in con­sideration of their sex, not only to an attentive, but an officious good-breeding from men. Their little wants, likings, dislikes, preferences, antipathies, fancies, whims, and even impertinences, must be officiously attended to, flattered, and, if possible, guessed at and anticipated, by a well-bred man. You must never usurp to yourself those conveniencies and agrémens which are of common right; such as the best places, the best dishes, &c. but, on the con­trary, always decline them yourself, and offer them to others; who, in their turns, will offer them to you: so that, upon the whole, you will, in your turn, enjoy your share of common right.

24. The third sort of good-breeding is local, and is variously modified, in not only different countries, but in different towns of the same country. But it must be sounded upon the two former sorts; they are the matter; to which, in this case, fashion and cus­tom only give the different shapes and impressions. Whoever has the two first sorts, will easily acquire this third sort of good-breeding, which depends sing­ly upon attention and observation. It is properly the polish, the lustre, the last finishing strokes of good-breeding. A man of sense, therefore, carefully at­tends to the local manners of the respective places where he is, and takes for his models those persons whom he observes to be at the head of the fashion and good-breeding.

25. He watches how they address themselves to their superiors, how they accost their equals, and how [Page 227] they treat their inferiors; and lets none of those lit­tle niceties escape him; which are to good-breeding, what the last delicate and masterly touches are to a good picture; and which the vulgar have no notion of, but by which good judges distinguish the master. He attends even to their airs, dress, and motions, and imitates them liberally, and not servilely; he copies, but does not mimic. These personal graces are of very great consequence. They anticipate the sentiments, before merit can engage the understand­ing; they captivate the heart, and give rise, I be­lieve, to the extravagant notions of charms and phil­tres. Their effects were so surprising, that they were reckoned supernatural.

26. In short, as it is necessary to possess learning, honour, and virtue, to gain the esteem and admira­tion of mankind, so politeness and good-breeding are equally necessary to render us agreeable in conversa­tion and common life. Great talents are above the generality of the world; who neither possess them themselves, no [...] are competent judges of them in o­thers: but all are judges of the lesser talents, such as civility, affability, and an agreeable address and manner; because they feel the good effects of them, as making society easy and agreeable.

To conclude: be assured that the profoundest learn­ing, without good-breeding, is unwelcome and tire­some pedantry; that a man who is not perfectly well-bred, is unfit for company, and unwelcome in it; and that a man, who is not well-bred, is full as unfit for business as for company.

Make, then, good-breeding the great object of your thoughts and actions. Observe carefully the behaviour and manners of those who are distinguish­ed by their good-breeding; imitate, nay, endeavour to excel, that you may at least reach them; and be convinced that good-breeding is to all worldly qua­lifications, what charity is to all christian virtues. Observe how it adorns merit, and how often it covers the want of it.

1. NEXT to good-breeding is a genteel manner and carriage, wholly free from those ill ha­bits and aukward actions, which many very worthy persons are addicted to.

2. A genteel manner of behaviour, how trifling soever it may seem, is of the utmost consequence in private life. Men of very inferior parts have been esteemed, merely for their genteel carriage and good-breeding, while sensible men have given disgust for want of it. There is something or other that pre­possesses us at first sight in favour of a well bred man, and makes us wish to like him.

3. When an aukward fellow first comes into a room, he attempts to bow, and his sword, if he wears one, gets between his legs, and nearly throws him down. Confused and ashamed, he stumbles to the upper end of the room and seats himself in the very chair he should not. He there begins playing with his hat, which he presently drops; and recover­ing his hat, he lets fall his cane; and in picking up his cane, down goes hat again: thus 'tis a consider­able time before he is adjusted.

4. When his tea or coffee is handed to him, he spreads his handkerchief upon his knee, scalds his mouth, drops either the cup or the saucer, and spills the tea or coffee in his lap. At dinner he is more un­commonly aukward: there he tucks his napkin through a button-hole, which tickles his chin, and occasions him to make a variety of wry faces; he seats himself upon the edge of the chair, at so great a di­stance from the table, that he frequently drops his meat between his plate and his mouth; he holds his knife, fork and spoon different from other people; eats with his knife, to the manifest danger of his mouth; picks his teeth with his fork, rakes his mouth with his finger, and puts his spoon which has been in his throat a dozen times into the dish again.

[Page 229]5. If he is to carve he cannot hit the joint, but in labouring to cut through the bone, splashes the sauce over every body's cloaths. He generally daubs him­self all over, his elbows are in the next person's plate, and he is up to the knuckles in soup and grease. If he drinks, it is with his mouth full, interrupting the whole company with "to your good health, Sir," and "my service to you;" perhaps coughs in his glass, and besprinkles the whole table. Further, he has perhaps a number of disagreeable tricks, he snuffs up his nose, picks it with his fingers, blows it, and looks in his handkerchief, crams his hands first in his bosom, and next in his breeches.

6. In short, he neither dresses nor acts like any other person, but is particularly aukward in every thing he does. All this, I own, has nothing in it cri­minal; but it is such an offence to good manners and good-breeding, that it is universally despised; it makes a man ridiculous in every company, and, of course, ought carefully to be avoided by every one who would wish to please.

7. From this picture of the ill-bred man, you will easily discover that of the well-bred; for you may readily judge what you ought to do, when you are told what you ought not to do; a little attention to the manners of those who have seen the world, will make a proper behaviour habitual and familiar to you.

8. Actions, that would otherwise be pleasing, fre­quently become ridiculous by your manner of doing them. If a lady drops her fan in company, the worst bred man would immediately pick it up, and give it to her; the best-bred man can do no more; but then he does it in a graceful manner, which is sure to please, whereas the other would do it so aukward­ly as to be laughed at.

9. You may also know a well-bred person by his manner of sitting. Ashamed and confused, the auk­ward man sits in his chair stiff and bolt upright, [Page 230] whereas the man of fashion is easy in every position; instead of lolling or lounging as he sits, he leans with elegance, and by varying his attitudes, shews that he has been used to good company. Let it be one part of your study, then, to learn to set gente [...]lly in different companies, to loll gracefully, where you are authorized to take that liberty, and to sit up res­pectfully, where that freedom is not allowable.

10. In short, you cannot conceive how advantage­ous a graceful carriage and a pleasing address are, upon all occasions; they ensnare the affections, steal a prepossession in our favour, and play about the heart till they engage it.

Now to acquire a graceful air, you must attend to your dancing; no one can either sit, stand, or walk well unless he dances well. And in learning to dance be particularly attentive to the motion of your arms, for a stiffness in the wrist will make any man look aukward. If a man walks well, presents himself well in company, wears his hat well, moves his head properly and his arms gracefully, it is almost all that is necessary.

11. There is also an aukwardness in speech, that naturally falls under this head, and ought to, and may be guarded against; such as forgetting names, and mistaking one name for another; to speak of Mr. What-d'ye-call him, or You-know-who, Mrs. Thingum, What's-her-name, or How-d'ye-call her, is exceedingly aukward and vulgar. 'Tis the same to address people by improper titles, as sir for my lord; to begin a story without being able to finish it, and break off in the middle, with ‘I have forgot the rest.’

12. Our voice and manner of speaking, too, should likewise be attended to. Some will mumble over their words, so as not to be intelligible, and others will speak so fast as not to be understood, and in do­ing this, will sputter and spit in your face; some will bawl as if they were speaking to the deaf: others [Page 231] will speak so low as scarcely to be heard; and many will put their face so close to yours as to offend you with their breath.

13. All these habits are horrid and disgustful, but may easily be got the better of with care. They are the vulgar characteristics of a low-bred man, or are proofs that very little pains have been bestowed in his education. In short, an attention to these little matters is of greater importance than you are aware of; many a sensible man having lost ground for want of these little graces, and many a one, possessed of these perfections alone, having made his way through life, that otherwise would not have been noticed.

14. BUT, as no one can please in company, how­ever graceful his air, unless he be clean and neat in his person, this qualification comes next to be considered.

15. Negligence of one's person not only implies an unsufferable indolence, but an indifference whe­ther we please or not. In others, it betrays an in­solence and affectation, arising from a presumption that they are sure of pleasing, without having re­course to those means which many are obliged to use.

16. He who is not thoroughly clean in his person, will be offensive to all he converses with. A parti­cular regard to the cleanness of your mouth, teeth, hands and nails, is but common decency. A foul mouth and unclean hands are certain marks of vul­garity; the first is the cause of an offensive breath, which nobody can bear, and the last is declaratory of dirty work; one may always know a gentleman by the state of his hands and nails. The flesh at the roots should be kept back, so as to shew the semicir­cles at the bottom of the nails; the edges of the nails should never be cut down below the ends of the fin­gers; nor should they be suffered to grow longer than the fingers.

[Page 232]17. When the nails are cut down to the quick, it is a shrewd sign that the man is a mechanic, to whom long nails would be troublesome, or that he gets his bread by fiddling; and if they are longer than his finger's ends, and encircled with a black rim, it foretells he has been laboriously and meanly employ­ed, and too fatigued to clean himself: a good apo­logy for want of cleanliness in a mechanic, but the greatest disgrace that can attend a gentleman.

18. These things may appear too insigificant to be mentioned; but when it is considered that a thou­sand little nameless things, which every one feels but no one can describe, conspire to form that whole of pleasing, I hope you will not call them trifling. Besides a clean shirt and a clean person are as neces­sary to health, as not to offend other people. It is a maxim with me, which I have lived to see verified, that he who is negligent at twenty years of age, will be a sloven at forty, and intolerable at fifty.

19. NEATNESS of person, I observed, was as necessary as cleanliness; of course some at­tention must be paid to your dress.

Such is the absurdity of the times, that to pass well with the world, we must adopt some of its cus­toms, be they ridiculous or not.

20. In the first place, to neglect one's dress is to affront all the female part of our acquaintance. The women in particular pay an attention to their dress; to neglect therefore your's will displease them, as it would be tacitly taxing them with vanity, and de­claring that you thought them not worth that respect which every body else does. And, as I have men­tioned before, as it is the women who stamp a young man's credit in the fashionable world, if you do not make yourself agreeable to the women, you will as­suredly lose ground among the men.

[Page 233]21. Dress, as trifling▪ as it may appear to a man of understanding, prepossesses on the first appearance, which is frequently decisive. And indeed we may form some opinion of a man's sense and character from his dress. Any exceeding of the fashion, or any affectation in dress whatever, argues a weakness of understanding, and nine times out of ten it will be found so.

22. There are few young fellows but what display some character or other in this shape. Some would be thought fearless and brave: these wear a black cravat, a short coat and waistcoat, an uncommon long sword hanging to their knees, a large hat fierce­ly cocked, and are flash all over.—Others affect to be country squires: these will go about in buck-skin breeches, brown frocks, and great oaken cudgels in their hands, slouched hats, with their hair undressed and tucked up behind them to an enormous size, and imitate grooms and country boobies so well external­ly, that there is not the least doubt of their resemb­ling them as well internally.

23. Others, again, paint and powder themselves so much, and dress so finically, as leads us to suppose they are only women in boys cloaths. Now a sensi­ble man carefully avoids all this, or any other affec­tation. He dresses as fashionable and well as persons of the best families and best sense: if he exceeds them he is a coxcomb; if he dresses worse he is unpar­donable.

24. Dress yourself fine, then, if possible, or plain, agreeable to the company you are in; that is, con­form to the dress of others, and avoid the appearance of being tumbled. Imitate those reasonable people of your own age, whose dress is neither remarked as too neglected or too much studied. Take care to have your cloaths well made, in the fashion, and to fit you, or you will, after all, appear aukward. When once dressed, think no more of it; shew no fear of discomposing your dress, but let all your mo­tions [Page 234] be as easy and unembarrassed, as if you was at home in your dishabille.

25. HAVING mentioned elegance of person, I will proceed to elegance of expression.

It is not one or two qualifications alone that will compleat the gentleman: it must be an union of ma­ny; and graceful speaking is as essential as graceful­ness of person. Every man cannot be an harmonious speaker; a roughness or coa [...]seness of voice may pre­vent it; but if there are no natural imperfections, if a man does not stammer or lisp, or has not lost his teeth, he may speak gracefully; nor will all these defects, if he has a mind to it, prevent him from speaking correctly.

26. Nobody can attend with pleasure to a bad speaker. One who tells his story ill, be it ever so important, will tire even the most patient. If you have been present at the performance of a good tra­gedy, you have doubtless been sensible of the good effects of a speech well [...]vered; how much it has interested and affected you; and on the contrary, how much an ill-spoken one has disgusted you.

27. 'Tis the same in common conversation; he who speaks deliberately, distinctly and correctly; he who makes use of the best words to express himself, and varies his voice according to the nature of the subject, will always please, while the thick or hasty speak [...], he who mumbles out a set of ill chosen words, utters them ungrammatically, or with a dull monotony, will tire and disgust. Be assured then, the air, the gesture, the looks of a speaker, a proper accent, a just emphasis, and tuneful cadence, are full as necessary to please and to be attended to, as the subject matter itself.

28. People may talk what they will of solid rea­soning and sound sense; without the graces and or­naments [Page 235] of language, they will neither please nor persuade. In common discourse, even trifles elegant­ly expressed will be better received than the best of arguments, home-spun and unadorned.

29. A good way to acquire a graceful utterance, is to read aloud to some friend every day, and beg of him to set you right, in case you read too fast, do not observe the proper [...]tops, lay wrong emphasis, or utter your words indistinctly. You may even read aloud to yourself, where such a friend is not at hand, and you will find your own ear a good corrector. Take care to open your teeth when you read or speak, and articulate every word distinctly; which last cannot be done but by sounding the final letter. But above all endeavour to vary your voice, accord­ing to the matter, and avoid a monotony. By a daily attention to this, it will in a little time become easy and habitual to you.

30. Pay an attention also to your looks and your gesture, when talking even on the most trifling sub­jects: things appear very different according as they are expressed, looked and delivered.

Now, if it is necessary to attend so particularly to our manner of speaking, it is much more so with re­spect to the matter. Fine turns of expression, a gen­teel and correct style, are ornaments as requisite to common sense, as polite behaviour and an elegant address are to common good-manners; they are great assistants in the point of pleasing. A gentleman, 'tis true, may be known in the meanest garb, but it admits not of a doubt, that he would be better re­ceived into good company genteelly and fashionably dressed, than was he to appear in dirt and tatters.

31. Be careful then of your style upon all occasions; whether you write or speak, study for the best words and best expressions, even in common conversation or the most familiar letters. This will prevent your speaking in a hurry, than which nothing is more vul­gar; though you may be a little embarrassed at first, [Page 236] time and use will render it easy. It is no such diffi­cult thing to express ourselves well on subjects we are thoroughly acquainted with, if we think before we speak; and no one should presume to do otherwise.

32. When you have said a thing, if you did not reflect before, be sure to do it afterwards; consider with yourself whether you could not have expressed yourself better; and if you are in doubt of the pro­priety or elegancy of any word, search for it in some dictionary, or some good author, while you remem­ber it; never be sparing of your trouble while you wish to improve, and my word for it, a very little time will make this matter habitual.

33. In order to speak grammatically, and to ex­press yourself pleasingly, I would recommend it to you to translate often any language you are acquaint­ed with into English, and to correct such translation till the words, their order, and the periods, are a­greeable to your own ear.

Vulgarism in language is another distinguishing mark of bad company and education. Expressions may be correct in themselves and yet be vulgar, ow­ing to their not being fashionable; for language as manners are both established for the usage of people of fashion.

34. The conversation of a low-bred man is filled up with proverbs and hackneyed sayings. Instead of observing that tastes are different, and that most men have one peculiar to themselves, he will give you, "What is one man's meat is another man's poison:" or, "Every one to their liking, as the old woman said, when she kissed her cow." He has over some favourite word, which he lugs in upon all occasions, right or wrong; such as vastly angry, vastly kind; devilish ugly, devilish handsome; immensely great, immensely little.

35. Even his pronunciation carries the mark of vulgarity along with it; he calls the earth yearth ▪ finan [...]ces, fin [...]nances; he goes towards and no [...] towards [Page 237] such a place. He affects to use hard words, to give him the appearance of a man of learning, but fre­quently mistakes their meaning, and seldom, if ever, pronounces them properly.

All this must be avoided, if you would not be sup­posed to have kept company with footmen and house­maids. Never have recourse to proverbial or vulgar sayings; use neither favourite nor hard words, but seek for the most elegant; be careful in the manage­ment of them, and depend on it your labour will not be lost; for nothing is more engaging than a fashion­able and polite address.

36. IN all good company, we meet with a certain manner phraseology and general conversati­on, that distinguishes the man of fashion. This can only be acquired by frequenting good company, and being particularly attentive to all that passes there.

37. When invited to dine or sup at the house of any well-bred man, observe how he does the honours of his table, and mark his manner of treating his company.

Attend to the compliments of congratulation or condolence that he pays: and take notice of his ad­dress to his superiors, his equals, and his inferiors: nay, his very looks and tone of voice are worth your attention, for we cannot please without an union of them all.

38. There is a certain distinguishing diction that marks the man of fashion, a certain language of con­versation that every gentleman should be master of. Saying to a man just married, "I wish you joy," or to one who has lost his wife, "I am sorry for your loss," and both perhaps with an unmeaning counte­nance, may be civil, but it is nevertheless vulgar. A man of fashion will express the same thing more elegantly, and with a look of sincerity, that shall [Page 238] attract the esteem of the person he speaks to. He will advance to the one, with warmth and chearful­ness, and perhaps squeezing him by the hand, will say, "Believe me, my dear sir, I have scarce words to express the joy I feel, upon your happy alliance with such or such a family, &c." To the other in affliction he will advance flower, and with a peculiar composure of voice and countenance, begin his com­pliments of condolence with, "I hope, sir, you will do me the justice to be persuaded, that I am not in­sensible of your unhappiness, that I take part in your distress, and shall ever be affected where you are so."

39. Your first address to, and indeed all your con­versation with, your superiors, should be open, chear­ful, and respectful; with your equals, warm and a­nimated; with your inferiors, hearty, free, and un­reserved.

40. There is a fashionable kind of small-talk, which, however trifling it may be thought, has its use in mixed companies; of course you should endea­vour to acquire it. By small-talk, I mean a good deal to say on unimportant matters: for example, foods, the flavour and growth of wines, and the chit-chat of the day. Such conversation will serve to keep off serious subjects, that might sometimes create dis­putes. This chit-chat is c [...]iefly to be learned by frequenting the company of the ladies.

1. AS the art of pleasing is to be learnt only by frequenting the best companies, we must en­deavour to pick it up in such companies, by observa­tion; for, it is not sense and knowledge alone that will acquire esteem; these certainly are the first and necessary foundations for pleasing, but they will by [Page 239] no means do, unless attended with manners and at­tention.

There have been people who have frequented the first companies all their life-time, and yet have ne­ver got rid of their natural stiffness and aukwardness; but have continued as vulgar as if they were never out of a servant's hall: this has been owing to care­lessness, and a want of attention to the manners and behaviour of others.

2. There are a great many people likewise who busy themselves the whole day, and who in fact do nothing. They have possibly taken up a book for two or three hours, but from a certain inattention that grows upon them the more it is indulged, know no more of the contents than if they had not looked into it; nay, it is impossible for any one to retain what he reads, unless he reflects and reasons upon it as he goes on. When they have thus lounged away an hour or two, they will saunter into compa­ny, without attending to any thing that passes there; but, if they think at all, are thinking of some tri­fling matter that ought not to occupy their attention; thence perhaps they go to the play, where they stare at the company and the lights, without attending to the piece, the very thing they went to see.

3. In this manner they wear away their hours, that might otherwise be employed to their improve­ment and advantage. This silly suspension of thought they would have pass for absence of mind—Ridiculous! —Wherever you are, let me recommend it to you to pay an attention to all that passes; observe the cha­racters of the persons you are with, and the subjects of their conversation; listen to every thing that is said, see every thing that is done, and (according to the vulgar saying) have your eyes and your ears about you.

4. A continual inattention to matters that occur is the characteristic of a weak mind; the man who gives way to it is little else than a trider, a blank in [Page 240] society, which every sensible person overlooks; sure­ly what is worth doing is worth doing well, and no­thing can be well done if not properly attended to. When I hear a man say, on being asked about any thing that was said or done in his presence, "that truly he did not mind it," I am ready to knock the fool down. Why did he not mind it?—What had he else to do?—A man of sense and fashion never makes use of this paltry plea; he never complains of a treacherous memory, but attends to and remem­bers every thing that is either said or done.

5. Whenever, then, you go into good company, that is, the company of people of fashion, observe carefully their behaviour, their address, and their manner; imitate it as far as in your power. Your attention, if possible, should be so ready as to observe every person in the room at once, their motions, their looks, and their turns of expression, and that without staring or seeming to be an observer. This kind of observation may be acquired by care and practice, and will be found of the utmost advantage to you, in the course of life.

1. HAVING mentioned absence of mind, let me be more particular concerning it.

What the world calls an absent man is generally either a very affected one or a very weak one; but whether weak or affected, he is, in company, a ve­ry disagreeable man. Lost in thought, or possibly in no thought at all, he is a stranger to every one present, and to every thing that passes; he knows not his best friends, is deficient in every act of good manners, unobservant of the actions of the compa­ny, and insensible to his own.

2. His answers are quite the reverse of what they ought to be; talk to him of one thing, he replies, [Page 241] as of another. He forgets what he said last, leaves his hat in one room, his cane in another, and his sword in a third; nay, if it was not for his buckles, he would even leave his shoes behind him. Neither his arms nor his legs seem to be a part of his body, and his head is never in a right position. He joins not in the general conversation, except it be by fits and starts, as if awaking from a dream: I attribute this either to weakness or affectation.

3. His shallow mind is possibly not able to attend to more than one thing at a time; or he would be supposed wrapt up in the investigation of some very important matter. Such men as Sir Isaac Newton or Mr. Locke might occasionally have some excuse for absence of mind; it might proceed from that in­tenseness of thought that was necessary at all times for the scientific subjects they were studying; but, for a young man, and a man of the world, who has no such plea to make, absence of mind is a rudeness to the company, and deserves the severest censure.

4. However insignificant a company may be; however trifling their conversation; while you are with them, do not shew them by any inattention that you think them trifling: that can never be the way to please, but rather fall in with their weakness than otherwise, for to mortify, or shew the least contempt to those we are in company with, is the greatest rudeness we can be guilty of, and what few can forgive.

5. I never yet found a man inattentive to the per­son he feared, or the woman he loved; which con­vinces me, that absence of mind is to be got the better of, if we think proper to make the trial; and believe me, it is always worth the attempt.

Absence of mind is a tacit declaration that those we are in company with are not worth attending to; and what can be a greater affront?—Besides, can an absent man improve by what is said or done in his presence?—No; he may frequent the best companies [Page 242] for years together, and all to no purpose. In short, a man is neither fit for business nor conversation, un­less he can attend to the object before him, be that object what it will.

1. A Knowledge of the world, by our own experi­ence and observation, is so necessary, that without it, we shall act very absurdly, and frequent­ly give offence, when we do not mean it. All the learning and parts in the world will not secure us from it. Without an acquaintance with life, a man may say very good things, but time them so ill, and address them so improperly, that he had much better be silent. Full of himself and his own business, and inattentive to the circumstances and situations of those he converses with, he vents it without the least discretion, says things that he ought not to say, con­fuses some, shocks others, and puts the whole com­pany in pain, lest what he utters next should prove worse than the last. The best direction I can give you in this matter, is rather to fall in with the con­versation of others, than start a subject of your own: rather strive to put them more in conceit with them­selves, than to draw their attention to you.

2. A novice in life, he who knows little of man­kind, but what he collects from books, lays it down as a maxim, that most men love flattery; in order therefore to please, he will flatter: but, how? With­out regard either to circumstances or occasion. In­stead of those delicate touches, those soft tints, that serve to heighten the piece, he lays on his colours with a heavy hand, and daubs where he means to adorn; in other words, he will flatter so un­seasonably, and, at the same time, so grossly, that while he wishes to please, he puts out of countenance [Page 243] and is sure to offend. On the contrary, a man of the world, one who has made life his study, knows the power of flattery as well as he; but, then, he knows how to apply it; he watches the opportunity, and does it indirectly, by inference, comparison and hint.

3. Man is made up of such a variety of matter, that, to search him thoroughly, requires time and attention; for, though we are all made of the same materials, and have all the same passions, yet, from a difference in their proportion and combination, we vary in our dispositions; what is agreeable to one is disagreeable to another, and what one shall ap­prove, another shall condemn. Reason is given us to controul these passions, but seldom does it. Ap­plication therefore to the reason of any man will fre­quently prove ineffectual, unless we endeavour at the same time to gain his heart.

4. Wherever then you are, search into the cha­racters of men; find out, if possible, their foible, their governing passion, or their particular merit; take them on their weak side, and you will generally succeed; their prevailing vanity you may readily discover, by observing their favourite topic of con­versation, for every one talks most of what he would be thought most to excel in.

5. The time should also be judiciously made choice of. Every man has his particular times when he may be applied to with success, the mollia tempora fandi: but these times are not all the day long; they must be found out, watched, and taken advan­tage of. You could not hope for success in applying to a man about one business, when he was taken up with another, or when his mind was affected with excess of grief, anger, or the like.

6. You cannot judge of other men's minds better than by studying your own; for, though some men have one foible, and another [...]as another, yet men, in general, are very much alike Whatever plea­ses [Page 244] or offends you, will, in similar circumstances, please or offend others; if you find yourself hurt when another makes you feel his superiority, you will cer­tainly, upon the common rule of right, do as you would be done by, take care not to let another feel your superiority, if you have it; especially if you wish to gain his interest or esteem.

7. If disagreeable insinuations, open contradicti­ons, or oblique sneers vex and anger you, would you use them where you [...]ished to please? Certainly not. Observe then, with care, the operations of your own mind, and you may, in a great measure, read all mankind.

I will allow that one b [...]ed up in a cloister or col­lege, may reason well on the structure of the human mind; he may investigate the nature of man, and give a tolerable account of his head, his heart, his passions, and his sentiments: but at the same time he may know nothing of him; he has not lived with him, and of course can know but little how those sen­timents or those passions will work; he must be igno­rant of the various prejudices, propensities and antipathies that always bias him and frequently de­termine him.

8. His knowledge is acquired only from theory, which differs widely from practice; and if he forms his judgment from that alone, he must be often de­ceived; whereas a man of the world, one who col­lects his knowledge from his own experience and observation, is seldom wrong; he is well acquainted with the operations of the human mind, prys into the heart of man; reads his words, before they are ut­tered; sees his actions, before they are performed; knows what will please and what will displease, and foresees the event of most things.

9. Labour then to acquire this intuitive know­ledge; attend carefully to the address, the arts and manners of those acquainted with life, and endeavour to imitate them. Observe the means they take, to [Page 245] gain the favour and conciliate the affections of those they associate with; pursue those means, and you will soon gain the esteem of all that know you.

How often have we seen men governed by persons very much their inferiors in point of understanding, and even without their knowing it? A proof that some men have more worldly dexterity than others: they find out the weak and unguarded part, make their attack the [...]e, and the man surrenders.

10. Now from a knowledge of mank [...]d we shall learn the advantage of two things, the command of our temper and our countenance: a trifling, disa­greeable incident shall perhaps anger one unacquain­ted with life, or confound him with shame; shall make him rave like a madman, or look like a fool: but a man of the world will never understand what he cannot or ought not to resent. If he should chance to make a slip himself, he will stifle his confusion, and turn it off with a jest; recovering it with coolness.

11. Many people have sense enough to keep their own secrets; but from being unused to a variety of company, have unfortunately such a tell-tale coun­tenance, as involuntarily declares what they would wish to conceal. This is a great unhappiness, and should, as soon as possible, be got the better of.

That coolness of mind and evenness of countenance, which prevents a discovery of our sentiments, by our words, our actions, or our looks, is too necessary to pass unnoticed.

12. A man who cannot hear displeasing things, without visible marks of anger or uneasiness; or pleasing ones, without a sudden burst of joy, a chear­ful eye, or an expanded face, is at the mercy of eve­ry knave; for either they will designedly please or provoke you themselves, to catch your unguarded looks; or they will seize the opportunity thus to read your very heart, when any other shall do it. You may possibly tell me, that this coolness must be natu­ral, for if not, you can never acquire it.

[Page 246]13. I will admit the force of constitution, but peo­ple are very apt to blame that for many things they might readily avoid. Care, with a little reflection, will soon give you this mastery of your temper and your countenance. If you find yourself subject to sudden starts of passion, determine with yourself not to utter a single word till your reason has recovered itself; and resolve to keep your countenance as un­moved as possible.

14. As a man who at a card-table can preserve a serenity in his looks, under good or bad luck, has considerably the advantage of one who appears elat­ed with success, or cast down with ill fortune, from our being able to read his cards in his face; so the man of the world, having to deal with one of these babbling countenances, will take care to profit by the circumstance, let the consequence, to him with whom he deals, be as injurious as it may.

15. In the course of life, we shall find it necessary very often to put on a pleasing countenance when we are exceedingly displeased; we must frequently seem friendly when we are quite otherwise. I am sensible it is difficult to accost a man with smiles whom we know to be our enemy; but what is to be done? On receiving an affront, if you cannot be justified in knocking the offender down, you must not notice the offence; for, in the eye of the wo [...], taking an of­front calmly is considered as coward [...].

16. If fools should attempt at any time to be witty upon you, the best way is not to know their witticisms are levelled at you, but to conceal [...] uneasiness it may give you: but, should they be [...] plain that you cannot be thought ignorant of t [...]e [...] meaning, I would recommend, rather than quarrel w [...] the company, joining even in the laugh against yourself: allow the jest to be a good one, and take it in seeming good humour. Never attempt to retaliate the same way, as that would imply you were hurt. Should what is said wound your honour or your moral character, [Page 247] there is but one proper reply, which I hope you will never be obliged to have recourse to.

17. Remember there are but two alternatives for a gentleman; extreme politeness, or the sword. If a man openly and designedly affronts you, call him out; but, if it does not amount to an open insult, be outwardly civil; if this does not make him ashamed of his behaviour, it will prejudice every by-stander in your favour, and instead of being disgraced, you will come off with honour. Politeness to those we do not respect, is no more a breach of faith than your humble servant at the bottom of a challenge; they are universally understood to be things of course.

18. Wrangling and quarreling are characteristic of a weak mind: leave that to the women, be you always above it. Enter into no sharp contest, and pride yourself in shewing, if possible, more civi [...]ity to your antagonist than to any other in the company; this will infallibly bring over all the laughter to your side, and the person you are contending with will be very likely to confess you have behaved very handsomely throughout the whole affair.

19. Experience will teach us that though all men consist principally of the same materials, as I before took notice, yet from a difference in their propor­tion, no two men are uniformly the same: we differ from one another, and we often differ from ourselves, that is, we sometimes do things utterly inconsistent with the general tenor of our characters. The wisest man will occasionally do a weak thing; the most ho­nest man, a wrong thing; the proudest man, a mean thing; and the worst of men will sometimes do a good thing.

20. On this account, our study of mankind should not be general; we should take a frequent view of individuals, and though we may upon the whole form a judgment of the man from his prevailing passion or his general character, yet it will be prudent not to determine, till we have waited to see the opera­tion [...] of his subordinate appetites and humours.

[Page 248]21. For example; a man's general character may be that of strictly honest; I would not dispute it, be­cause I would not be thought envious or malevolent; but I would not rely upon this general character, so as to entrust him with my fortune or my life. Should this honest man, as is not uncommon, be my rival in power, interest, or love, he may possibly do things that in other circumstances he would abhor; and power, interest, and love, let me tell you, will often put honesty to the severest trial, and frequently over­power it. I would then ransack this honest man to the bottom, if I wished to trust him, and as I found him, would place my confidence accordingly.

22. One of the great compositions in our nature is vanity, to which, all men, more or less, give way. Women have an intolerable share of it. No flattery, no adulation is too gross for them; those who flatter them most please them best, and they are most in love with him who pretends to be most in love with them: and the least slight or contempt of them is never for­gotten. It is in some measure the same with men; they will sooner pardon an injury than an insult, and are more hurt by contempt than by ill-usage. Though all men do not boast of superior talents, though they pretend not to the abilities of a Pope, a Newton, or a Bolingbroke, every one pretends to have common sense, and to discharge his office in life with common decency; to arraign therefore, in any shape, his abi­lities or integrity in the department he holds, is an insult he will not readily forgive.

23. As I would not have you trust too implicitly to a man, because the world gives him a good character; so I must particularly caution you against those who speak well of themselves. In general, suspect those who boast of or affect to have any one virtue above all others, for they are commonly impostors. There are exceptions, however, to this rule, for we hear of prudes that have been chaste, bullies that have been brave, and saints that have been religious. Confide [Page 249] only where your own observation shall direct you; observe not only what is said, but how it is said, and if you have penetration, you may find out the truth better by your eyes than your ears; in short, never take a character upon common report, but enquire into it yourself; for common report, though it is right in general, may be wrong in particulars.

24. Beware of those who, on a slight acquaint­ance, make a tender of their friendship, and seem to place a confidence in you; 'tis ten to one but they deceive and betray you; however do not rudely reject them upon such a supposition; you may be civil to them, though you do not entrust them. Silly men are apt to solicit your friendship, and unbosom them­selves upon the first acquaintance; such friends can­not be worth hearing, their friendship being as slen­der as their understanding; and if they proffer their friendship with a design to make a property of you, they are dangerous acquaintance indeed.

25. Not but the little friendships of the weak may be of some use to you, if you do not return the compli­ment; and it may not be amiss to seem to accept those of designing men, keeping them, as it were, in play, that they may not be openly your enemies; for their enmity is the next dangerous thing to their friend­ship. We may certainly hold their vices in abhor­rence, without being marked out as their personal enemy. The general rule is to have a real reserve with almost every one, and a seeming reserve with almost no one; for it is very disgusting to seem re­served, and very dangerous not to be so. Few ob­serve the true medium. Many are ridiculously mys­terious upon trifles, and many indiscreetly commu­nicative of all they know.

26. There is a kind of short-lived friendship that takes place among young men, from a connection in their pleasures only; a friendship too often attended with bad consequences. This companion of your pleasures, young and unexperienced, will probably, [Page 250] in the heat of convivial mirth, vow a perpetual friendship, and unfold himself to you without the least reserve; but new associations, change of fortune, or change of place, may soon break this ill timed connection, and an improper use may be made of it.

27. Be one, if you will, in young companies, and bear your part like others in the social festivity of youth; nay, trust them with your innocent frolics, but keep your serious matters to yourself; and if you must at any time make them known, let it be to some tried friend of great experience; and that nothing may tempt him to become your rival, let that friend be in a different walk of life from yourself.

Were I to hear a man making strong protestations, and swearing to the truth of a thing, that is in itself probable and very likely to be, I should doubt his veracity; for when he takes such pains to make me believe it, it cannot be with a good design.

28. There is a certain easiness or false modesty in most young people, that either makes them unwil­ling, or ashamed to refuse any thing that is asked of them. There is also an unguarded openness about them that makes them the ready prey of the artful and designing. They are easily led away by the feigned friendships of a knave or a fool, and too rash­ly place a confidence in them, that terminates in their loss, and frequently in their ruin. Beware, therefore, as I said before, of these proffered friend­ships; repay them with compliments, but not with confidence. Never let your vanity make you suppose that people become your friends upon a slight ac­quaintance: for good offices must be shewn on both sides to create a friendship: it will not thrive, unless its love be mutual; and it requires time to ripen it.

29. There is still among young people another kind of friendship merely nominal, warm indeed for the time, but fortunately of no [...]ong continuance. This friendship takes its rise from their pursuing the same course of riot and debauchery; their purses are [Page 251] open to each other, they tell one another all they know, they embark in the same quarrels, and stand by each other on all occasions. I should rather call this a confederacy against good morals and good manners, and think it deserves the severest lash of the law; but they have the impudence to call it friendship. However, it is often as suddenly dissolv­ed as it is hastily contracted; some accident disperses them, and they presently forget each other, except it is to betray and laugh at their own egregious folly.

In short, the sum of the whole is, to make a wide difference between companions and friends; for a very agreeable companion has often proved a very dangerous friend.

1. THE next thing to the choice of friends is the choice of your company.

Endeavour as much as you ca [...] to keep good com­pany, and the company of your superiors: for you will be held in estimation according to the company you keep▪ By superiors, I do not mean so much with regard to birth, as merit, and the light in which they are considered by the world.

2. There are two sorts of good company; the one consists of persons of birth, rank, and fashion; the other of those who are distinguished by some peculiar merit, in any liberal art of science; as men of let­ters, &c. and a mixture of these is what I would have understood by good company; for it is not what particular sets of people shall call themselves, but what the people in general acknowledge to be so, and are the accredited good company of the place.

3. Now and then, persons without either birth, rank, or character, will creep into good company, under the protection of some considerable pe [...]onage; [Page 252] but, in general, none are admitted of mean degree, or infamous moral character.

In this fashionable good company alone, can you learn the best manners and the best language: for, as there is no legal standard to form them by, 'tis here they are established.

It may possibly be questioned, whether a man has it always in his power to get into good company: undoubtedly, by deserving it, he has; provided he is in circumstances which enable him to live and ap­pear in the style of a gentleman. Knowledge, mo­desty, and good breeding, will endear him to all that see him; for without politeness, the scholar is no better than a pedant, the philosopher than a cynic, the soldier than a brute, nor any man than a clown.

4. Though the company of men of learning and genius is highly to be valued, and occasionally cove­ [...]ed, I would by no means have you always found in such company. As they do not live in the world, they cannot have that easy manner and address which I would wish you to acquire If you can bear a part in such company, it is certainly adviseable to be in it sometimes, and you will be the more esteemed in other company by being so; but let it not engross you, lest you be considered as one of the literati, which, however respectable in name, is not the way to rise or shine in the fashionable world.

5. But the company which, of all others, you should carefully avoid, is that, which, in every sense of the word, may be called low; low in birth, low in rank, low in parts, and low in manners; that company, who, insignificant and contemptible in themselves, think it an honour to be seen with you, and who will flatter your follies, nay, your very vices, to [...]eep you with them.

6. Though you may think such a caution unnecessary, I do not; for many a young gentleman of sense and rank has been led by his vanity to keep such company, till he has been degraded, villified and undone.

[Page 253]The vanity I mean, is that of being the first of the company. This pride, though too common, is idle to the last degree. Nothing in the world lets a man down so much. For the sake of dictating, being ap­plauded and admired by this low company, he is disgraced and disqualified for better. Depend upon it, in the estimation of mankind, you will sink or rise to the level of the company you keep.

7. Be it then your ambition to get into the best company; and, when there, imitate their virtues, but not their vices. You have, no doubt, often heard of genteel and fashionable vices. These are whoring, drinking, and gaming. It has happened that some men, even with these vices, have been admired and esteemed. Understand this matter rightly: it is not their vices for which they are ad­mired; but for some accomplishments they at the same time possess; for their parts, their learning, or their good-breeding. Be assured, were they free from their vices, they would be much more esteemed. In these mixed characters, the bad part is overlooked, for the sake of the good.

8. Should you be unfortunate enough to have any vices of your own, add not to their number by adopt­ing the vices of others. Vices of adoption are of all others the most unpardonable, for they have not in­advertency to plead. If people had no vices but their own, few would have so many as they have.

Imitate, then, only the imperfections you meet with; copy the politeness, the address, the easy manners of well-bred people▪ and remember, let them shine ever so bright, if they have any vices, they are so many blemishes, which it would be as ridiculous to imitate, as it would to make an artifi­cial wart upon one's face, because some very hand­some man had the misfortune to have a natural one upon his.

1. LET us now descend to minuter matters, which tho' not so important as those we have men­tioned, are still far from inconsiderable. Of these laughter is one.

Frequent and loud laughter is a sure sign of a weak mind, and no less characteristic of a low education. It is the manner in which low-bred men express their silly joy, at silly things, and they call it being merry.

2. I do not recommend upon all occasions a so­lemn countenance. A man may smile; but if he would be thought a gentleman and a man of sense, he should by no means laugh. True wit never yet made a man of fashion laugh▪ he is above it. It may create a smile, but as loud laughter shews, that a man has not the command of himself, every one who would wish to appear sensible, must abhor it.

A man's going to sit down, on a supposition that he has a chair behind him, and fa [...]ing for want of one, occasions a general laugh, when the best piece of wit would not do it▪ a sufficient proof how low and unbecoming laughter is.

3. Besides, could the immoderate laugher hear his own noise, or [...]e the [...]ace [...] he makes, he would despi [...]e himself for his folly. Laughter being gene­rally supposed to be the effect of ga [...]ety, its absurdity is not properly attended to▪ but a little reflection will easily restrain it, and when you are told, it is a mark of low-breeding, I persuade myself you will endeavour to avoid it.

4. Some people have a silly trick of laughing, whenever they speak; so that they are always on the gri [...], and their faces are ever distorted. This and a thousand other tricks, such as scratching their heads, twirling their hats, f [...]bling with their button, play­ing with their fingers, &c. are acquired from a false [Page 255] modesty at their first outset in life. Being shame-faced in company, they try a variety of ways to keep them­selves in countenance; thus, they fall into those auk­ward habits I have mentioned, which grow upon them, and in time become habitual.

Nothing is more repugnant likewise to good-breed­ing than horse-play of any sort, romping, throwing things at one another's heads, and so on. They may pass well enough with the mob, but they lessen, and degrade the gentleman.

1. I HAVE had reason to observe before, that vari­ous little matters, apparently trifling in them­selves, conspire to form the whole of pleasing, as in a well-finished portrait, a variety of colours combine to complete the piece. It not being necessary to dwell much upon them, I shall content myself with just mentioning them as they occur.

2. To do the honours of a table gracefully, is one of the outlines of a well-bred man; and to carve well, is an article, little as it may seem, that is use­ful twice every day, and the doing of which ill is not only troublesome to one's self, but renders us dis­agreeable and ridiculous to others. We are always in pain for a man, who, instead of cutting up a fowl genteelly, is hacking for half an hour across the bone, greasing himself, and bespattering the company with the sauce. Use, with a little attention, is all that is requisite to acquit yourself well in this particular.

3. To be well received, you must also pay some attention to your behaviour at table, where it is ex­ceedingly rude to scratch any part of your body, to spit, or blow your nose, if you can possibly avoid it, to eat greedily, to lean your elbows on the table, to pick your teeth before the dishes are removed, or to leave the table before grace is said.

[Page 256]4. Drinking of healths is now growing out of fashion, and is very unpolite in good company. Custom once had made it universal, but the improved manners of the age now render it vulgar. What can be more rude or ridiculous than to interrupt persons at their meals, with an unnecessary compliment? Abstain then from this silly custom, where you find it out of use; and use it only at those tables where it continues general.

5. A polite manner of refusing to comply with the solicitations of a company, is also very necessary to be learnt; for a young man who seems to have no will of his own, but does every thing that is asked of him, may be a very good natured fellow, but he is a very silly one. If you are invited to drink, at any man's house, more than you think is whole­some, you may say, "you wish you could, but that so little makes you both drunk and sick, that you shall only be bad company by doing it: of course, beg to be excused."

6. If desired to play at cards deeper than you would, refuse it ludicrously; tell them, ‘If you were sure to lose, you might possibly sit down; but that as fortune may be favourable, you dread the thought of having too much money, ever since you found what an incumbrance it was to poor Harlequin, and therefore you are resolved never to put yourself in the way of winning more than such and such a sum a day.’ This light way of declining invitations to vice and folly, is more be­coming a young man than philosophical or sententi­ous refusals, which would only be laughed at.

7. Now I am on the subject of cards, must not omit mentioning the necessity of playing them well and genteelly, if you would be thought to have kept good company. I would by no means recommend playing at cards, as a part of your study, lest you should grow too fond of it, and the consequences prove bad. It were better not to know a diamond [Page 257] from a club, than to become a gambler; but, as custom has introduced innocent card-playing at most friendly meetings, it marks the gentleman to handle them genteelly, and play them well; and as I hope you will play only for small sums, should you lose your money, pray lose it with temper; or win, receive your winnings without either elation or greediness.

8. To write well and correct, and in a pleasing style, is another part of polite education. Every man who has the use of his eyes and his right-hand, can write whatever hand he pleases. Nothing is so illi­beral as a school-boy's scrawl. I would not have you learn a stiff formal hand-writing, like that of a school-master, but a genteel, legible, and liberal hand, and to be able to write quick. As to the cor­rectness and elegancy of your writing, attention to grammer does the one, and to the best authors, the other. Epistolary correspondence should not be car­ried on in a studied or affected style, but the language should flow from the pen, as naturally and as easily as it would from the mouth. In short, a letter should be penned in the same style as you would talk to your friend, if he was present.

9. If writing well shews the gentleman, much more so does spelling well. It is so essentially neces­sary for a gentleman, or a man of letters, that one false spelling may fix a ridicule on him for the re­mainder of his life. Words in books are generally well spelled, according to the orthography of the age; reading therefore with attention will teach every one to spell right. It sometimes happens that words shall be spelled differently by different authors; but, if you spell them upon the authority of one in estimati­on of the public, you will escape ridicule. Where there is but one way of spelling a word, by your spel­ling it wrong, you will be sure to be laughed at. For a woman of a tolerable education would laugh at and despise her lover, if he wrote to her, and the [Page 258] words were ill spelled. Be particularly attentive then to your spelling.

10. There is nothing that a man at his first ap­pearance in life ought more to dread than having any ridicule fixed on him. In the estimation even of the most rational men, it will lessen him, but ruin him with all the rest. Many a man has been undone by a ridiculous nick-name. The causes of nick-names among well-bred men, are generally the little defects in manner, air, or address. To have the appella­tion of ill-bred, aukward, muttering, left-legged, or any other tacked always to your name, would in­jure you more than you are aware of; avoid then these little defects (and they are easily avoided) and you need never fear a nick-name.

11. Some young men are apt to think, that they cannot be complete gentlemen, without becoming men of pleasure. A rake is made up of the meanest and most disgraceful vices. They all combine to degrade his character, and ruin his health and for­tune. A man of pleasure will refine upon the enjoy­ments of the age, attend them with decency, and partake of them becomingly.

12. Indeed, he is too often less scrupulous than he should be, and frequently has cause to repent it. A man of pleasure, at best, is but a dissipated being, and what the rational part of mankind must abhor; I mention it, however, lest, in taking up the man of pleasure, you should fall into the rake; for of two evils, always chuse the least. A dissolute, flagiti­ous footman may make as good a rake as a man of the first quality. Few men can be men of pleasure; every man may be a rake.

13. There is a certain dignity that should be pre­served in all our pleasures; in love, a man may lose his heart, without losing his nose; at table, a man may have a distinguished palate, without being a glutton; he may love wine, without being a drunk­ard; he may game without being a gambler, and so on.

[Page 259]14. Every virtue has its kindred vice, and every pleasure its neighbouring disgrace. Temperance and moderation mark the gentleman; but excess, the blackguard. Attend carefully, then, to the line that divides them; and remember, stop rather a yard short, then step an inch beyond it. Weigh the present enjoyment of your pleasures against the ne­cessary consequences of them, and I will leave you to your own determiation.

15. A gentleman has ever some regard also to the choice, of his amusements. If at cards, he will not be seen at cribbage, all-fours, or putt; or, in sports of excercise, at skittles, foot-ball, leap-frog, cricket, driving of coaches, &c. but will preserve a propriety in every part of his conduct; knowing that any imita­tion of the manners of the mob, will unavoidably stamp him with vulgarity. There is another amuse­ment too, which I cannot help calling illiberal, that is, playing upon any musical instrument.

16. Music is commonly reckoned one of the libe­ral arts, and undoubtedly is so: but to be piping or fiddling at a concert is degrading to a man of fashion. If you love music, hear it; pay fiddlers to play to you, but never fiddle yourself. It makes a gentleman ap­pear frivolous and contemptible, leads him frequent­ly into bad company, and wastes that time which might otherwise be well employed.

17. Secrecy is another characteristic of good-breed­ing. Be careful not to tell in one company what you see or hear in another; much less to divert the pre­sent company at the expence of the last. Things apparently indifferent may, when often repeated and told abroad, have much more serious consequences than imagined. In conversation there is generally a tacit reliance, that what is said will not be repeat­ed; and a man, though not enjoined to secrecy, will be excluded company, if found to be a tatler; be­sides, he will draw himself into a thousand scrapes, and every one will be afraid to speak before him.

[Page 260]18. Pulling out your watch in company unasked, either at home or abroad, is a mark of ill-breeding; if at home, it appears as if you were tired of your company, and wished them to be gone; if abroad, as if the hours drag heavily, and you wished to be gone yourself. If you want to know the time, with­draw; besides, as the taking what is called a French leave was introduced, that on one person's leaving the company the rest might not be disturbed, look­ing at your watch does what that piece of politeness was designed to prevent; it is a kind of dictating to all present, and telling them it is time, or almost time, to break up.

19. Among other things, let me caution you a­gainst ever being in a hurry; a man of sense may be in haste, but he is never in a hurry; convinced that hurry is the surest way to make him do, what he un­dertakes, ill. To be in a hurry, is a proof that the business we embark in is too great for us; of course, it is the mark of little minds, that are puzzled and perplexed, when they should be cool and deliberate; they wish to do every thing at once, and are thus able to do nothing. Be steady then in all your en­gagements; look round you before you begin; and remember that you had better do half of them well, and leave the rest undone, than to do the whole in­differently.

20. From a kind of false modesty, most young men are apt to consider familiarity as unbecoming. For­wardness I allow is so; but there is a decent famili­arity that is necessary in the course of life. Mere formal visits, upon formal invitations, are not the thing; they create no connection, nor will they prove of service to you; it is the careless and easy ingress and egress, at all hours, that secures an acquaintance to our interest, and this is acquired by a respectful familiarity entered into, without forfeiting your con­sequence.

[Page 261]21. In acquiring new acquaintance, be careful not to neglect your old, for a slight of this kind is seldom forgiven. If you cannot be with your former ac­quaintance so often as you used to be, while you had no others, take care not to give them cause to think you neglect them; call upon them frequently, though you cannot stay long with them; tell them you are sorry to leave them so soon, and nothing should take you away but certain engagements which good-man­ners oblige you to attend to; for it will be your in­terest to make all the friends you can, and as few enemies as possible.

22. By friends, I would not be understood to mean confidential ones; but persons who speak of you res­pectfully, and who, consistent with their own interest would wish to be of service to you, and would rather do you good than harm.

Another thing I must recommend to you, as cha­racteristic of a polite education, and of having kept good company, is a graceful manner of conferring favours. The most obliging things may be done so aukwardly as to offend, while the most disagreeable things may be done so agreeably as to please.

23. A few more articles of general advice, and I have done; the first is on the subject of vanity. It is the common failing of youth, and as such ought to be carefully guarded against. The vanity I mean, is that which, if given way to, stamps a man a cox­comb, a character he will find a difficulty to get rid of, perhaps as long he lives. Now this vanity shews itself in a variety of shapes; one man shall pride himself in taking the lead in all conversations, and peremptorily deciding upon every subject; another, desirous of appearing successful among the women, shall insinuate the encouragement he has met with, the conquests he makes, and perhaps boasts of fa­vours he never received; if he speaks the truth, he is ungenerous; if false, he is a villain; but whether true or false, he defeats his own purposes, over­throws [Page 262] the reputation he wishes to erect, and draws upon himself contempt in the room of respect.

24. Some men are vain enough to think [...]hey ac­quire consequence by alliance, or by an acquaintance with persons of distinguished character or abilities: hence they are eternally talking of their grand-fa­ther, Lord such-a-one; their kinsman, Sir William such-a-one; or their intimate friend, Dr. such-a-one, with whom, perhaps, they are scarce acquainted. If they are ever found out (and that they are sure to be, one time or other) they become ridiculous and con­temptible; but even admitting what they say to be true, what then? A man's intrinsic merit does not rise from an ennobled alliance, or a reputable ac­quaintance.

25. A rich man never borrows. When angling for praise, modesty is the surest bait. If we would wish to shine in any particular character, we must never affect that character. An affectation of courage will make a man pass for a bully; an affectation of wit for a coxcomb; and an affectation of sense, for a fool. Not that I would recommend bashfulness or timidity; no; I would have every one know his own value, yet not discover that he knows it, but leave his merit to be found out by others.

26. Another thing worth your attention is, if in company with an inferior, not to let him feel his in­feriority; if he discovers it himself without your en­deavours, the fault is not yours, and he will not blame you; but if you take pains to mortify him, or to make him feel himself inferior to you in abili­ties, fortune, or rank, it is an insult that will not readily be forgiven. In point of abilities, it would be unjust, as they are out of his power; in point of rank or fortune, it is ill-natured and ill-bred.

27. This rule is never more necessary than at ta­ble, where there cannot be a greater insult than to help an inferior to a part he dislikes, or a part that may be worse than ordinary, and to take the best to [Page 263] yourself. If you at any time invite an inferior to your table, you put him, during the time he is there, upon an equality with you, and it is an act of the highest rudeness to treat him in any respect slighting­ly. I would rather double my attention to such a person, and treat him with additional respect, lest he should even suppose himself neglected.

28. There cannot be a greater savageness, or cruel­ty, or any thing more degrading to a man of fashion, than to put upon or take unbecoming liberties with him, whose modesty, humility, or respect, will not suffer him to retaliate. True politeness consists in making every body happy about you; and as to mor­tify is to render unhappy, it can be nothing but the worst of breeding. Make it a rule, rather to flatter a person's vanity than otherwise; make him, if pos­sible, more in love with himself, and you will be cer­tain to gain his esteem; never tell him any thing he may not like to hear, nor say things that will put him out of countenance, but let it be your study on all oc­casions to please: this will be making friends instead of enemies, and be a means of serving yourself in the end.

29. Never be witty at the expence of any one pre­sent, nor gratify that idle inclination which is too strong in most young men, I mean, laughing at, or ridiculing the weaknesses or infirmities of others, by way of diverting the company, or displaying your own superiority. Most people have their weaknesses, their peculiar likings and aversions. Some cannot bear the sight of a cat; others the smell of cheese, and so on; was you to laugh at these men for their antipathies, or by design or inattention to bring them in their way, you could not insult them more.

30. You may possibly thus gain the laugh on your side for the present, but it will make the person, per­haps, at whose expence you are merry, your enemy for ever after; and even those who laugh with you, will, on a little reflection, fear you, and probably [Page 264] despise you: whereas to procure what one likes, and to remove what the other hates, would shew them that they were objects of your attention, and possibly make them more your friends than much greater services would have done.

31. If you have wit, use it to please, but not to hurt. You may shine, but take care not to scorch. In short, never seem to see the faults of others. Though among the mass of men there are, doubtless, num­bers of fools and knaves, yet were we to tell every one of these we meet with, that we know them to be so, we should be in perpetual war. I would detest the knave and pity the fool, wherever I found him, but I would let neither of them know unnecessarily that I did so; as I would not be industrious to make my­self enemies. As one must please others then, in or­der to be pleased one's-self; consider what is agree­able to you must be agreeable to them, and conduct yourself accordingly.

32. Whispering in company is another act of ill-breeding; it seems to insinuate either that the persons whom we would not wish should hear, are unworthy of our confidence, or it may lead them to suppose we are speaking improperly of them; on both accounts, therefore, abstain from it.

So pulling out one letter after another, and reading them in company, or cutting or paring one's nails, is unpolite and rude. It seems to say, we are weary of the conversation, and are in want of some amuse­ment to pass away the time.

33. Humming a tune to ourselves, drumming with our fingers on the table, making a noise with our feet, and such like, are all breaches of good manners, and indications of our contempt for the persons pre­sent; therefore they should not be indulged.

Walking fast in the streets is a mark of vulgarity, implying hurry of business; it may appear well in a mechanic or tradesman, but suits ill with the charac­ter of a gentleman or a man of fashion.

[Page 265]Staring any person you meet, full in the face, is an act also of ill-breeding; it looks as if you saw something wonderful in his appearance, and is there­fore a tacit reprehension.

34. Eating quick, or very slow, at meals, is cha­racteristic of the vulgar; the first infers poverty, that you have not had a good meal for some time; the last, if abroad, that you dislike your entertainment: if at home, that you are rude enough to set before your friends what you cannot eat yourself. So again, eat­ing your soups with your nose in the plate is vulgar; it has the appearance of being used to hard work, and of course an unsteady hand.

1. A Certain dignity of manners is absolutely ne­cessary, to make even the most valuable cha­racter either respected or respectable in the world.

Horse-play, romping, frequent and loud fits of laughter, jokes, waggery, and indiscriminate fami­liarity, will sink both merit and knowledge into a degree of contempt. They compose at most a merry fellow, and a merry fellow was never yet a respecta­ble man. Indiscriminate familiarity either offends your superiors, or else dubs you their dependent and led captain. It gives your inferiors just, but trou­blesome and improper, claims of equality. A joker is near a-kin to a buffoon; and neither of them is the least related to wit.

2. Mimicry, the favourite amusement of little minds, has been ever the contempt of great ones. Never give way to it yourself, nor ever encourage it in others; it is the most illiberal of all buffoonery; it is an insult on the person you mimic; and insults, I have often told you, are seldom forgiven.

[Page 266]As to a mimic or a wag, he is little else than a buffoon, who will distort his mouth and his eyes to make people laugh. Be assured, no one person ever demeaned himself to please the rest, unless he wished to be thought the Merry-Andrew of the company, and whether this character is respectable, I will leave you to judge.

3. If a man's company is coveted on any other ac­count than his knowledge, his good sense, or his man­ners, he is seldom respected by those who invite him, but made use of only to entertain. "Let's have such a one, for he sings a good song, or he is always jok­ing or laughing;" or, "let's fend for such a one, for he is a good bottle companion:" these are de­grading distinctions, that preclude all respect and esteem. Whoever is had (as the phrase is) for the sake of any qualification, singly, is merely that thing he is had for, is never considered in any other light, and, of course, never properly respected, let his in­trinsic merits be what they will.

4. You may possibly suppose this dignity of man­ners to border upon pride; but it differs as much from pride, as true courage from blustering.

To flatter a person right or wrong, is abject flatte­ry, and to consent readily to every thing proposed by a company, be it silly or criminal, is full as degrad­ing, as to dispute warmly upon every subject, and to contradict upon all occasions. To preserve dignity, we should modestly assert our own sentiments, though we politely acquiesce in those of others.

So again, to support dignity of character, we should neither be frivolously curious about trifles, nor be la­boriously intent on little objects that deserve not a moment's attention; for this implies an incapacity in matters of greater importance.

A great deal likewise depends upon our air, ad­dress, and expressions; an aukward address and vul­gar expressions infer either a low turn of mind, or a low education.

[Page 267]5. Insolent contempt, or low envy, is incompati­ble also with dignity of manners. Low-bred persons, fortunately lifted in the world, in fine cloaths and fine equipages, will insolently look down on all those who cannot afford to make as good an appearance; and they openly envy those who perhaps make a bet­ter. They also dread the being slighted; of course are suspicious, and captious; are uneasy themselves, and make every body else so about them.

6. A certain degree of outward seriousness in looks and actions gives dignity, while a constant smirk up­on the face (with that insipid silly smile, fools have when they would be civil) and whiffling motions, are strong marks of futility.

But above all, a dignity of character is to be ac­quired best by a certain firmness in all our actions. A mean, timid, and passive complaisance, lets a man down more than he is aware of: but still his firmness or resolution should not extend to brutality, but be accompanied with a peculiar and engaging softness, or mildness.

7. If you discover any hastiness in your temper, and find it apt to break out into rough and unguard­ed expressions, watch it narrowly, and endeavour to curb it; but let no complaisance, no weak desire of pleasing, no wheedling, urge you to do that which discretion forbids; but persist and persevere in all that is right. In your connections and friendships, you will find this rule of use to you. Invite and pre­serve attachments, by your firmness; but labour to keep clear of enemies, by a mildness of behaviour. Disarm those enemies you may unfortunately have, (and few are without them) by a gentleness of man­ner, but make them feel the steadiness of your just resentment; for there is a wide difference between bearing malice and a determined self-defence; the one is imperious, but the other is prudent and justi­fiable.

[Page 268]8. In directing your servants, or any person you have a right to command; if you deliver your orders mildly, and in that engaging manner which every gentleman should study to do, you will be chearfully, and consequently, well obeyed: but if tyrannically, you would be very unwillingly served, if served at all. A cool, steady determination should shew that you will be obeyed, but a gentleness in the manner of enforcing that obedience should make service a chearful one. Thus will you be loved without being despised, and feared without being hated.

9. I hope I need not mention vices. A man who has patiently been kicked out of company, may have as good a pretence to courage, as one rendered in­famous by his vices, may to dignity of any kind; however, of such consequence are appearances, that an outward decency, and an affected dignity of man­ners, will even keep such a man the longer from sink­ing. If therefore you should unfortunately have no intrinsic merit of your own, keep up, if possible, the appearance of it; and the world will possibly give you credit for the rest. A versatility of manner is as necessary in social life, as a versatility of parts in political. This is no way blameable, if not used with an ill design. We must, like the cameleon, then, put on the hue of the persons we wish to be well with; and it surely can never be blameable, to endeavour to gain the good-will or affection of any one, if, when obtained, we do not mean to abuse it.

1. JACK LIZARD was about fifteen when he was first entered in the university, and being a youth of a great deal of fire, and a more than ordi­nary application to his studies, it gave his conver­sation a very particular turn. He had too much spi­rit [Page 269] to hold his tongue in company; but at the same time so little acquaintance with the world, that he did not know how to talk like other people.

2. After a year and a half's stay at the university, he came down among us to pass away a month or two in the country. The first night after his arrival, as we were at supper, we were all of us very much im­proved by Jack's table-talk. He told us, upon the appearance of a dish of wild-fowl, that according to the opinion of some natural philosophers, they might be lately come from the moon.

3. Upon which the Sparkler bursting out into a laugh, he insulted her with several questions, rela­ting to the bigness and distance of the moon and stars; and after every interrogatory would be winking upon me, and smiling at his sister's ignorance. Jack gained his point; for the mother was pleased, and all the servants stared at the learning of their young master. Jack was so encouraged at this success, that for the first week he dealt wholly in paradoxes. It was a common jest with him to pinch one of his sister's lap-dogs, and afterwards prove he could not feel it.

4. When the girls were sorting a set of knots, he would demonstrate to them that all the ribbons were of the same colour; or rather, says Jack, of no co­lour at all. My Lady Lizard herself, though she was not a little pleased with her son's improvements, was one day almost angry with him; for having ac­cidentally burnt her fingers as she was lighting her lamp for her tea-pot, in the midst of her anguish, Jack laid hold of the opportunity to instruct her that there was no such thing as heat in fire. In short, no day passed over our heads, in which Jack did not imagine he made the whole family wiser than they were before.

5. That part of his conversation which gave me the most pain, was what passed among those country gentlemen that came to visit us. On such occasions Jack usually took upon him to be the mouth of the [Page 270] company; and thinking himself obliged to be very merry, would entertain us with a great many odd sayings and absurdities of their college cook. I found this fellow had made a very strong impression upon Jack's imagination which he never considered was not the case of the rest of the company, till after many repeated trials he found that his stories seldom made any body laugh but himself.

6. I all this while looked upon Jack as a young tree shooting out into blossoms before its time; the redundancy of which, though it was a little unsea­sonable, seemed to foretell an uncommon fruitfulness.

In order to wear out the vein of pedantry which ran through his conversation, I took him out with me one evening, and first of all insinuated to him this rule, which I had myself learned from a very great author, ‘To think with the wise, but talk with the vulgar.’ Jack's good sense soon made him reflect that he had exposed himself to the laughter of the ig­norant by a contrary behaviour; upon which he told me, that he would take care for the future to keep his notions to himself, and converse in the common received sentiments of mankind.

7. He at the same time desired me to give him any other rules of conversation, which I thought might be for his improvement. I told him I would think of it; and accordingly, as I have a particular affec­tion for the young man, I gave him the next morning the following rules in writing, which may, perhaps, have contributed to make him the agreeable man he now is▪

8. The faculty of interchanging our thoughts with one another, or what we express by the word conver­sation, has always been represented by moral writers, as one of the noblest privileges of reason, and which more particularly sets mankind above the brute part of the creation

Though nothing so much gains upon the affections [...] this extempore eloquence, which we have constant­ly [Page 271] occasion for, and are obliged to practice every day, we very rarely meet with any who excel in it.

9. The conversation of most men is disagreeable, not so much for want of wit and learning, as of good-breeding and discretion.

It is not in every man's power, perhaps, to have fine parts, say witty things, or tell a story agreeably; but every man may be polite if he pleases, at least to a certain degree. Politeness has infinitely more power to make us esteemed, and our company sought after, than the most extraordinary parts or attain­ments we can be master of. These seldom fail to cre­ate envy, and envy has always some ill-will in it.

10. If you resolve to please, never speak to gratify any particular vanity or passion of your own, but al­ways with a design either to divert or inform the com­pany. A man who only aims at one of these, is al­ways easy in his discourse. He is never out of hu­mour at being interrupted, because he considers that those who hear him are the best judges whether what he was saying could either divert or inform them.

A modest person seldom fails to gain the good will of those he converses with, because nobody envies a a man who does not appear to be pleased with himself.

11. We should talk extremely little of ourselves. Indeed what can we say? It would be as imprudent to discover faults, as ridiculous to count over our fancied virtues. Our private and domestic affairs are no less improper to be introduced in conversation. What does it concern the company how many horses you keep in your stables? or whether your servant is most knave or fool?

12. A man may equally affront the company he is in, by engrossing all the talk, or observing a con­temptuous silence.

Conform yourself to the taste, character, and pre­sent humours of the persons you converse with; not but a person must follow his talent in conversation. Do not force nature; no one ever did it with success.

[Page 272]If you have not a talent for humour, or raillery, or story-telling, never attempt them.

13. Contain yourself also within the bounds of what you know; and never talk upon things you are ignorant of, unless it be with a view to inform your­self. A person cannot fail in the observance of this rule, without making himself ridiculous; and yet how often do we see it transgressed! Some, who on war or politics could talk very well, will be perpe­tually haranguing on works of genius, and the belles-lettres; others who are capable of reasoning, and would make a figure in grave discourse, will yet con­stantly aim at humour and pleasantry, though with the worst grace imaginable. Hence it is, that we see a man of merit sometimes appear like a coxcomb, and hear a man of genius talk like a fool.

14. Before you tell a story, it may be generally not amiss to draw a short character, and give the company a true idea of the principal persons concer­ned in it; the beauty of most things consisting not so much in their being said or done, as in their being said or done by such a particular person, or on such a particular occasion.

15. Notwithstanding all the advantages of youth, few young people please in conversation; the reason is, that want of experience makes them positive, and what they say, is rather with a design to please themselves, than any one else.

It is certain that age itself shall make many things pass well enough, which would have been laughed at in the mouth of one much younger.

16. Nothing, however, is more insupportable to men of sense, than an empty formal man who speaks in proverbs, and decides all controversies with a short sentence. This piece of stupidity is the more insufferable, as it puts on the air of wisdom.

Great talents for conversation requires to be ac­companied with great politeness. He who eclipses others, owes them great civilities; and whatever a [Page 273] mistaken vanity may tell us, it is better to please in conversation, than to shine in it.

17. A prudent man will avoid talking much of any particular science, for which he is remarkably fa­mous. There is not, methinks, an handsomer thing said of Mr. Cowley in his whole life, than, that none but his intimate friends ever discovered he was a great poet by his discourse. Besides the decency of this rule, it is certainly founded in good policy. A man who talks of any thing he is already famous for, has little to get, but a great deal to lose.

18. I might add, that he who is sometimes silent on a subject where every one is satisfied he would speak well, will often be thought no less knowing in any other matters, where, perhaps, he is wholly ignorant.

Women are frightened at the name of argument, and are sooner convinced by an happy turn, or wit­ty expression, than by demonstration.

19. Whenever you commend, add your reasons for so doing; it is this which distinguishes the appro­bation of a man of sense, from the flattery of syco­phants, and admiration of fools.

Raillery is no longer agreeable than while the whole company is pleased with it. I would least of all be understood to except the person raillied.

20. Though good-humour, sense, and discretion can seldom fail to make a man agreeable, it may be no ill-policy sometimes to prepare yourself in a par­ticular manner for conversation, by looking a little farther than your neighbours into whatever is be­come a reigning subject. If our armies are besieging a place of importance abroad, or our House of Com­mons debating a bill of consequence at home, you can hardly fail of being heard with pleasure, if you have nicely informed yourself of the stength, situati­on, and history of the first, or of the reasons for and against the latter.

[Page 274]21. It will have the same effect if when any single person begins to make a noise in the world, you can [...]arn some of the smallest accidents in his life or con­versation, which, though they are too fine for the observation of the vulgar, give more satisfaction to men of sense, (as they are the best openings to a real character) than the recital of his most glaring actions. I know but one ill consequence to be feared from this method, namely, that coming full charged into com­pany, you should resolve to unload, whether an hand­some opportunity offers itself or no.

22. The liberal arts, though they may possibly have less effect on our external mien and behaviour, make so deep an impression on the mind, as is very apt to bend it wholly one way.

The mathematician will take little less than de­monstration in the most common discourse, and the schoolman is as great a friend to definitions and syl­logisms. The physician and divine are often heard to dictate in private companies with the same autho­rity which they exercise over their patients and dis­ciples; while the lawyer is putting cases, and raising matter for disputation, out of every thing that oc­curs.

23. Though the asking of questions may plead for itself the specious name of modesty, and a desire of information, it affords little pleasure to the rest of the company, who are not troubled with the same doubts; besides which, he who asks a question would do well to consider that he lies wholly at the mercy of another before he receives an answer.

24. Nothing is more silly than the pleasure some people take in what they call speaking their minds. A man of this make will say a rude thing for the mere pleasure of saying it, when an opposite behaviour, full as innocent, might have preserved his friend, or made his fortune.

It is not impossible for a man to form to himself as exquisite a pleasure in complying with the humour [Page 275] and sentiments of others, as of bringing others over to his own; since 'tis the certain sign of a superior genius, that can take and become whatever dress it pleases.

25. Avoid disputes as much as possible, in order to appear easy and well-bred in conversation. You may assure yourself, that it requires more wit, as well as more good-humour, to improve than to contradict the notions of another; but if you are [...] any time obliged to enter on an argument, give your reasons with the utmost coolness and modesty, two things which scarce ever fail of making an impression on the hearers. Besides, if you are neither dogmatical, nor shew either by your actions or words, that you are full of yourself, all will the more heartily rejoice at your victory; nay, should you be pinched in your ar­gument, you may make your retreat with a very good grace: you were never positive, and are now glad to be better informed.

26. This hath made some approve the Socratical way of reasoning, where, while you scarce affirm a­ny thing, you can hardly be caught in an absurdity; and though possibly you are endeavouring to bring over another to your opinion, which is firmly fixed, you seem only to desire information from him.

27. In order to keep that temper, which is so dif­ficult, and yet so necessary to preserve, you may please to consider, that nothing can be more unjust or ridiculous, than to be angry with another because he is not of your opinion. The interests, education, and means by which men attain their knowledge, are so very different, that it is impossible they should all think alike; and he has at least as much reason to be angry with you, as you with him.

28. Sometimes to keep yourself cool, it may be of service to ask yourself fairly, what might have been your opinion, had you all the biasses of education and interest your adversary may possibly have? But if you contend for the honour of victory alone, you may [Page 276] lay down this as an infallible maxim, That you can­not make a more false step, or give your antagonists a greater advantage over you, than by falling into a passion.

29. When an argument is over, how many weigh­ty reasons does a man recollect, which his heat and violence made him utterly forget?

It is yet more absurd to be angry with a man, be­cause he does not apprehend the force of your reasons, or give weak ones of his own. If you argue for re­putation; this makes your victory the easier; he is certainly in all respects an object of your pity, rather than anger; and if he cannot comprehend what you do, you ought to thank nature for her favours, who has given you so much the clearer understanding.

30. You may please to add this consideration, That among your equals no one values your anger, which only preys upon its master; and perhaps you may find it not very consistent either with prudence or your ease, to punish yourself whenever you meet with a fool or a knave.

31. Lastly, if you propose to yourself the true end of argument, which is information, it may be a sea­sonable check to your passion; for if you search pure­ly after truth, it will be almost indifferent to you where you find it. I cannot in this place omit an observation which I have often made, namely, that nothing procures a man more esteem and less envy from the whole company, than if he chooses the part of moderator, without engaging directly on either side in a dispute.

32. This gives him the character of impartial, furnishes him an opportunity of sitting things to the bottom, shewing his judgment, and of sometimes making handsome compliments to each of the con­tending parties.

When you have gained a victory, do not push it too far; it is sufficient to let the company and your [Page 277] adversary see it is in your power, but that you are too generous to make use of it.

33. I shall only add, that besides what I have here said, there is something which can never be learnt but in the company of the polite. The virtues of men are catching as well as their vices, and your own observations added to these, will soon discover what it is that commands attention in one man, and makes you tired and displeased with the discourse of another.

34. HAVING now given you full and sufficient instructions for making you well-received in the best of companies; nothing remains but that I lay before you some few rules for your conduct in such company. Many things on this subject I have mentioned before; but some few matters remain to be mentioned now.

Talk, then, frequently, but not long together, lest you tire the persons you are speaking to; for few persons talk so well upon a subject, as to keep up the attention of their hearers for any length of time.

35. Avoid telling stories in company, unless they are very short indeed, and very applicable to the subject you are upon; in this case relate them in as few words as possible, without the least digression, and with some apology: as that you hate the telling of stories, but the shortness of it induced you. And, if your story has any wit in it, be particularly care­ful not to laugh at it yourself. Nothing is more tire­some and disagreeable than a long tedious narrative; it betrays a gossiping disposition, and great want of imagination; and nothing is more ridiculous than to express an approbation of your own story by a laugh.

[Page 278]36. In relating any thing, keep clear of repetiti­ons, or very hackneyed expressions, such as, says he, or says she. Some people will use these so often, as to take off the hearers attention from the story; as, in an organ out of tune, one pipe shall perhaps sound the whole time we are playing, and confuse the piece, so as not to be understood.

37. Digressions, likewise, should be guarded a­gainst. A story is always more agreeable without them. Of this kind are, "the gentleman I am telling you of, is the son of Sir Thomas—, who lives in Har­ley-street;—you must know him — his brother had a horse that won the sweepstakes at the last Newmarket meeting. —Zounds! if you don't know him, you know nothing." Or, "He was an upright tall old gentleman, who wore his own long hair; don't you recollect him?"—All this is unnecessary; is very tiresome and provoking, and would be an excuse for a man's behaviour, if he was to leave us in the midst of our narrative.

38. Some people have a trick of holding the per­sons they are speaking to by the button, or the hand, in order to be heard out: conscious, I suppose, that their tale is tiresome. Pray, never do this; If the person you speak to is not as willing to hear your story, as you are to tell it, you had much better break off in the middle: for if you tire them once they will be afraid to listen to you a second time.

39. Others have a way of punching the person they are talking to, in the si [...]e, and at the end of every sentence, asking him some questions as the following: "Wasn't I right in that?"—"You know, I told you so?—What's your opinion?" and the like; or perhaps, they will be thrusting him, or jogging him with their elbow. For mercy's sake, never give way to this: it will make your company dreaded.

40. Long talkers are frequently apt to single out some unfortunate man present; generally the most silent one of the company, or probably him who sits [Page 279] next them. To this man, in a kind of half-whisper, will they run on, for half an hour together. No­thing can be more ill-bred. But, if one of these unmerciful talkers should attack you, if you wish to oblige him, I would recommend the hearing with patience: seem to do so at least, for you could not hurt him more than to leave him in the middle of his story, or discover any impatience in the course of it.

41. Incessant talkers are very disagreeable com­panions. Nothing can be more rude than to engross the conversation to yourself, or to take the words, as it were, out of another man's mouth. Every man in company has an equal claim to bear his part in the conversation, and to deprive him of it, is not only unjust, but a tacit declaration that he cannot speak so well upon the subject as yourself; you will therefore take it up. And, what can be more rude? I would as soon forgive a man that should stop my mouth when I was gaping, as take my words from me while I was speaking them. Now, if this be unpardonable, it cannot be less so.

42. To help out or forestall the slow speaker, as if you alone were rich in expressions and he were poor. You may take it for granted, every one is vain enough to think he can talk well, though he may modestly deny it; helping a person out there­fore in his expressions, is a correction that will stamp the corrector with impudence and ill-manners.

43. Those who contradict others upon all occasi­ons, and make every assertion a matter of dispute, betray by this behaviour an unacquaintance with good-breeding. He therefore who wishes to appear amiable, with those he converses with, will be cau­tious of such expressions as these, "That can't be true, sir." "The affair is as I say." "That must be false, sir." "If what you say is true, &c." You may as well tell a man he lies at once, as thus indi­rectly impeach his veracity. It is equally as rude to [Page 280] be proving every trifling assertion with a bet or a wager. "I'll bet you fifty of it, and so on." Make it then a constant rule, in matters of no great impor­tance, complaisantly to submit your opinion to that of others; for a victory of this kind often costs a man the loss of a friend.

44. Giving advice unasked is another piece of rudeness; it is, in effect, declaring ourselves wiser than those to whom we give it; reproaching them with ignorance and inexperience. It is a freedom that ought not to be taken with any common ac­quaintance, and yet there are those who will be of­fended, if their advice is not taken. "Such-a-one," say they, "is above being advised." ‘He scorns to listen to my advice;’ as if it were not a mark of greater arrogance to expect every one to submit to their opinion than for a man sometimes to follow his own.

45. There is nothing so unpardonably rude, as a seeming inattention to the person who is speaking to you; though you may meet with it in others, by all means, avoid it yourself. Some ill-bred people, while others are speaking to them, will, instead of looking at or attending to them, perhaps fix their eyes on the cieling, or some picture in the room, look out of the window, play with a dog, their watch chain, or their cane, or probably pick their nails or their noses. Nothing betrays a more trifling mind than this; nor can any thing be a greater af­front to the person speaking; it being a tacit decla­ration, that what he is saying is not worth your at­tention. Consider with yourself how you would like such treatment, and, I am persuaded, you will never shew it to others.

46. Surliness or moroseness is incompatible also with politeness. Such as, should any one say ‘he was desired to present Mr. Such-a-one's respects to you,’ to reply, ‘What the devil have I to do with his respects?’ —My Lord enquired after you [Page 281] "lately, and asked how you did," to answer, ‘if he wishes to know, let him come and feel my pulse,’ and the like. A good deal of this often is affected; but whether affected or natural, it is al­ways offensive. A man of this stamp will occasional­ly be laughed at as an oddity; but in the end, will be despised.

47. I should suppose it unnecessary to advise you to adapt your conversation to the company you are in. You would not surely start the same subject, and dis­course of it in the same manner, with the old and with the young, with an officer, a clergyman, a phi­losopher, and a woman? no; your good sense will undoubtedly teach you to be serious with the serious, gay with the gay, and to trifle with the triflers.

48. There are certain expressions which are excee­dingly rude, and yet there are people of liberal edu­cation that sometimes use them; as ‘you don't un­derstand me sir.’ "It is not so." ‘You mis­take.’ "You know nothing of the matter, &c." Is it not better to say? ‘I believe I do not express myself so as to be understood.’ ‘Let us consi­der it again, whether we take it right or not.’ It is much more polite and amiable to make some ex­cuse for another, even in cases where he might justly be blamed, and to represent the mistake as common to both, rather than charge him with insensibility or incomprehension.

49. If any one should have promised you any thing and not have fulfilled that promise, it would be very unpolite to tell him, he has forfeited his word; or if the same person should have disappointed you, upon any occasion, would it not be better to say, ‘you were probably so much engaged, that you forgot my affair,’ or "perhaps it slipped your memory;" rather than, "you thought no more about it," or "you pay very little regard to your word." For, expressions of this kind leave a sting behind them. They are a kind of provocation and affront, and very often bring on lasting quarrels.

[Page 282]50. Be careful not to appear dark and mysterious, lest you should be thought suspicious; than which there cannot be a more unamiable character. If you appear mysterious and reserved, others will be truly so with you; and in this case, there is an end to im­provement, for you will gather no information. Be reserved, but never seem so.

51. There is a fault extremely common with some people, which I would have you avoid. When their opinion is asked upon any subject, they will give it with so apparent a diffidence and timidity, that one cannot, without the utmost pain, listen to them; es­pecially if they are known to be men of universal knowledge. "Your lordship will pardon me," says one of this stamp, ‘if I should not be able to speak to the case in hand, so well as it might be wish­ed.’—‘I'll venture to speak of this matter, to the best of my poor abilities and dullness of appre­hension.’—‘I fear I shall expose myself, but in obedience to your lordship's commands’—and while they are making these apologies, they inter­rupt the business and tire the company.

52. Always look people in the face, when you speak to them, otherwise you will be thought con­scious of some guilt; besides, you lose the opportuni­ty of reading their countenances; from which you will much better learn the impression your discourse makes upon them, than you can possibly do from their words; for words are at the will of every one, but the countenance is frequently involuntary.

53. If in speaking to a person, you are not heard, and should be desired to repeat what you said, do not raise your voice in the repetition, lest you should be thought angry, on being obliged to repeat what you had said before; it was probably owing to the hear­er's inattention.

54. One word only, as to swearing. Those who addict themselves to it, and interlard their discourse with oaths, can never be considered as gentlemen; [Page 283] they are generally people of low education, and are unwelcome in what is called good company. It is a vice that has no temptation to plead, but is, in every respect, as vulgar as it is wicked.

55. Never accustom yourself to scandal, nor listen to it; for though it may gratify the malevolence of some people, nine times out of ten it is attended with great disadvantages. The very person you tell it to will, on reflection, entertain a mean opinion of you, and it will often bring you into a very disagree­able situation. And as there would be no evil speak­ers, if there were no evil hearers, it is in scandal a [...] in robbery; the receiver is as bad as the thief. Be­sides, it will lead people to shun your company, sup­posing that you will speak ill of them to the next ac­quaintance you meet.

56. Carefully avoid talking either of your own or other people's domestic concerns. By doing the one, you will be thought vain; by entering into the other, you will be considered as officious. Talking of your­self is an impertinence to the company; your affairs are nothing to them; besides, they cannot be kept too secret. And as to the affairs of others, what are they to you? In talking of matters that no way con­cern you, you are liable to commit blunders, and should you touch any one in a sore part, you may pos­sibly lose his esteem. Let your conversation then in mixed companies always be general.

57. Jokes, bon-mots, or the little pleasantries of one company, will not often bear to be told in ano­ther; they are frequently local, and take their rise from certain circumstances; a second company may not be acquainted with these circumstances, and of course your story may not be understood, or want ex­plaining; and if after you have prefaced it with, "I will tell you a good thing," the sting should not be immediately perceived, you will appear exceed­ingly ridiculous, and wish you had not told it. Never then repeat in one place, what you hear in another.

[Page 284]58. In most debates, take up the favourable side of the question; however, let me caution you against being clamorous, that is, never maintain an argu­ment with heat, though you know yourself right; but offer your sentiments modestly and coolly, and if this does not prevail, give it up, and try to change the subject by saying something to this effect; ‘I find we shall hardly convince one another, neither is there any necessity to attempt it; so let us talk of something else.’

59. Not that I would have you give up your opi­nion always; no, assert your own sentiments, and oppose those of others when wrong, but let your man­ner and voice be gentle and engaging, and yet no ways affected. If you contradict, do it with, I may be wrong, but—I won't be positive, but I really think— I should rather suppose—if I may be permitted to say— and close your dispute with good humour, to shew you are neither displeased yourself, nor meant to displease the person you dispute with.

60. Acquaint yourself with the character and situa­tions of the company you go into, before you give a loose to your tongue; for should you enlarge on some virtue, which any one present may notoriously want; or should you condemn some vice, which any of the company may be particularly addicted to, they will be apt to think your reflections pointed and per­sonal, and you will be sure to give offence. This consideration will naturally lead you, not to suppose things said in general, to be levelled at you.

61. Low-bred people, when they happen occasion­ally to be in good company, imagine themselves to be the subject of every separate conversation. If any part of the company whispers, it is about them; if they laugh, it is at them; and if any thing is said which they do not comprehend, they immediately suppose it is meant of them. This mistake is admir­ably ridiculed in o [...] [...]f our celebrated comedies. "I am sure, says Scrub, they were talking of me, for they laughed consumedly."

[Page 285]62. Now, a well-bred person never thinks himself disesteemed by the company, or laughed at, unless their reflections are so gross, that he cannot be sup­posed to mistake them, and his honour obliges him to resent it in a proper manner; however, be assured, gentlemen never laugh at or ridicule one another, unless they are in joke, or on a footing of the great­est intimacy. If such a thing should happen once in an age, from some pert coxcomb, or some flippant woman, it is better not to seem to know it, than make the least reply.

63. It is a piece of politeness not to interrupt a person in a story, whether you have heard it before or not. Nay, if a well-bred man is asked whether he has heard it, he will answer no, and let the per­son go on, though he knows it already. Some are fond of telling a story, because they think they tell it well, others pride themselves in being the first tel­ler of it, and others are pleased at being thought en­trusted with it. Now, all these persons you would disappoint by answering yes: and, as I have told you before, as the greatest proof of politeness is to make every body happy about you, I would never de­prive a person of any secret satisfaction of this sort, when I could gratify him by a minute's attention.

64. Be not ashamed of asking questions, if such questions lead to information; always accompany them with some excuse, and you never will be reckon­ed impertinent. But, abrupt questions, without some apology, by all means avoid, as they imply design. There is a way of fishing for facts, which, if done judiciously, will answer every purpose, such as tak­ing things you wish to know for granted; this will perhaps lead some officious person to set you right. So again, by saying, you have heard so and so, and sometimes seeming to know more than you do, you will often get at information, which you would lose by direct questions, as these would put people upon their guard, and frequently defeat the very end you aim at.

[Page 286]65. Make it a rule never to reflect on any body of people, for by this means you will create a number of enemies. There are good and bad of all profes­sions, lawyers, soldiers, parsons or citizens. They are all men, subject to the same passions, differing only in their manner, according to the way they have been bred up in. For this reason, it is unjust as well as indiscreet to attack them as a corps collectively. Many a young man has thought himself extremely clever in abusing the clergy. What are the clergy more than other men? Can you suppose a black gown can make any alteration in his nature? Fie, fie; think seriously, and I am convinced you will never do it.

66. But above all, let no example, no fashion, no witticism, no foolish desire of arising above what knaves call prejudices, tempt you to excuse, exte­nuate or ridicule the least breach of morality, but upon every occasion shew th [...] greatest abhorrence of such proceedings, and hold virtue and religion in the highest veneration.

It is a great piece of ill-manners to interrupt any one while speaking, by speaking yourself, or calling off the attention of the company to any foreign mat­ter. But this every child knows.

67. The last thing I shall mention is that of con­cealing your learning, except on particular occasions. Reserve this for learned men, and let them rather extort it from you, than you be too willing to display it. Hence you will be thought modest, and to have more knowledge than you really have. Never seem wise or more learned than the company you are in. He who affects to shew his learning will be frequently questioned; and if found superficial, will be sneered at; if otherwise, he will be deemed a pedant. Real merit will always shew itself, and nothing can lessen it in the opinion of the world, but a man's exhibit­ing it himself.

[Page 287]For God's sake, revolve all these things seriously in your mind, before you go abroad into life. Re­collect the observations you have yourself occasionally made upon men and things, compare them with my instructions, and act wisely and consequentially, as they shall teach you.

ON the fifth day of the moon, which, according to the custom of my forefathers, I always keep holy, after having washed myself, and offered up my morning devotions, I ascended the high hills of Bag­dat, in order to pass the rest of the day in meditation and prayer. As I was here airing myself on the tops of the mountains, I fell into a profound contempla­tion on the vanity of human life; and passing from one thought to another, Surely, said I, man is but a shadow, and life a dream.

2. Whilst I was thus musing, I cast my eyes to­wards the summit of a rock that was not far from me, where I discovered one in the habit of a shepherd, with a little musical instrument in his hand. As I looked upon him he applied it to his lips, and began to play upon it. The sound of it was exceeding sweet, and wrought into a variety of tunes that were inexpressibly melodious, and altogether different from any thing I had ever heard: they put me in mind of those heavenly airs that are played to the departed souls of good men upon their first arrival in Paradise, to wear out the impressions of the last ago­nies, and qualify them for the pleasures of that hap­py place. My heart melted away in secret raptures.

[Page 288]3. I had been often told that the rock before me was the haunt of a genius; and that several had been entertained with that music, who had passed by it, but never heard that the musician had before made himself visible. When he had raised my thoughts by those transporting airs which he played, to taste the pleasures of his conversation, as I looked upon him like one astonished, he beckoned to me, and by the waving of his hand directed me to approach the place where he sat.

4. I drew near with that reverence which is due to a superior nature; and as my heart was entirely subdued by the captivating strains I had heard, I fell down at his feet and wept. The genius smiled up­on me with a look of compassion and affability that familiarized him to my imagination, and at once dispelled all the fears and apprehensions with which I approached him. He lifted me from the ground, and taking me by the hand, Mirza, said he, I have heard thee in thy soliloquies: follow me.

5. He then led me to the highest pinnacle of the rock, and placing me on the top of it, cast thy eyes eastward, said he, and tell me what thou seest. I see, said I, a huge valley, and a prodigious tide of water rolling through it. The valley that thou se­est, said he, is the vale of misery, and the tide of water that thou seest is part of the great tide of eter­nity.

6. What is the reason, said I, that the tide I see rises out of a thick mist at one end, and again loses itself in a thick mist at the other? What thou seest, said he, is that portion of eternity which is called time, measured out by the sun, and reaching from the beginning of the world to its consummation. Ex­amine now, said he, this sea that is bounded with darkness at both ends, and tell me what thou disco­verest in it. I see a bridge, said I, standing in the midst of the tide. The bridge thou seest, said he, is human life; consider it attentively.

[Page 289]7. Upon a more leisurely survey of it, I found that it consisted of threescore and ten entire arches, with several broken arches, which, added to those that were entire, made up the number about an hundred. As I was counting the arches, the genius told me that this bridge consisted at first of a thou­sand arches; but that a great flood swept away the test, and left the bridge in the ruinous condition I now beheld it: but tell me further, said he, what thou discoverest on it. I see multitudes of people passing over it, said I, and a black cloud hanging on each end of it.

8. As I looked more attentively, I saw several of the passengers dropping through the bridge, into the great tide that flowed underneath it; and upon fur­ther examination, perceived there were innumerable trap-doors that lay concealed in the bridge, which the passengers no sooner trod upon, but they fell through them into the tide, and immediately dis­appeared. These hidden pit-falls were set very thick at the entrance of the bridge, so that throngs of people no sooner broke through the cloud, but many of them fell into them. They grew thinner, towards the middle, but multiplied and lay closer together towards the end of the arches that were entire.

9. There were indeed some persons, but their num­ber was very small, that continued a kind of hob­bling march on the broken arches, but fell through one after another, being quite tired and spent with so long a walk.

10. I passed some time in the contemplation of this wonderful structure, and the great variety of ob­jects which it presented. My heart was filled with a deep melancholy to see several dropping unexpected­ly in the midst of mirth and jollity, and catching at every thing that stood by them to save themselves. Some were looking up towards the heavens in a thoughtful posture, and in the midst of a speculation [Page 290] stumbled and fell out of sight. Multitudes were very busy in the pursuit of bubbles, that glittered in their eyes and danced before them; but often when they thought themselves within the reach of them, their footing failed and down they sunk.

11. In this confusion of objects, I observed some with scimitars in their hands, and others with urinals, who ran to and fro upon the bridge, thrusting several persons on trap-doors which did not seem to lie in their way, and which they might have escaped had they not been thus forced upon them.

12. The genius seeing me indulge myself in this melancholy prospect, told me I had dwelt long e­nough upon it: take thine eyes off the bridge, says he, and tell me if thou seest any thing thou dost not comprehend. Upon looking up, what mean, said I, those great flights of birds that are perpetually ho­vering about the bridge, and settling upon it from time to time? I see vultures, harpies, ravens, cor­morants, and among many other feathered creatures several little winged boys, that perch in great num­bers upon the middle arches. These, said the genius, are envy, avarice, superstition, despair, love, with the like cares and passions that infest human life.

13. I here fetched a deep sigh: Alas, said I, man was made in vain! how is he given away to misery and mortality! tortured in life, and swallowed up in death! The genius being moved with compassion towards me, bid me quit so uncomfortable a prospect. Look no more, said he, on man in the first stage of his existence, in his setting out for eternity; but cast thine eye on that thick mist into which the tide bears the several generations of mortals that fall into it.

14. I directed my sight as I was ordered, and (whether or no the good genius strengthened it with any supernatural force, or dissipated part of the mist that was before too thick for the eye to penetrate) I saw the valley opening at the farther end, and spread­ing forth into an immense ocean, that had a huge [Page 291] rock of adamant running through the midst of it, and dividing it into two equal parts. The clouds still rest­ed on one half of it, insomuch that I could discover nothing in it; but the other appeared to me a vast ocean planted with innumerable islands, that were covered with fruits and flowers, and interwoven with a thousand little shining seas that ran among them.

15. I could see persons dressed in glorious habits with garlands upon their heads, passing among the trees, lying down by the sides of fountains, or rest­ing on beds of flowers: and could hear a confused harmony of singing birds, falling waters, human voices, and musical instruments. Gladness grew in me at the discovery of so delightful a scene. I wished for the wings of an eagle, that I might fly away to those happy seats; but the genius told me, there was no passage to them, except through the gates of death that I saw opening every moment upon the bridge.

16. The islands, said he, that lie so fresh and green before thee, and with which the whole face of the ocean appears spotted as far as thou canst see, are more in number than the sand on the sea shore; there are myriads of islands behind those which thou here discoverest, reaching further than thine eye, or even thine imagination can extend itself. These are the mansions of good men after death, who, according to the degree and kinds of virtue in which they ex­celled, are distributed among these several islands, which abound with pleasures of different kinds, and degrees, suitable to the relishes and perfections of those who are settled in them; every island is a para­dise accommodated to its respective inhabitants.

17. Are not these, O Mirza, habitations worth contending for? Does life appear miserable, that gives thee opportunities of earning such a reward? Is death to be feared that will convey thee to so hap­py an existence? Think not man was made in vain, who has such an eternity reserved for him. I gazed with inexpressible pleasure on these happy islands. [Page 292] At length, said I, shew me now, I beseech thee, the secrets that lie hid under those dark clouds, which cover the ocean on the other side of the rock of adamant.

18. The genius making me no answer, I turned about to address myself to him a second time, but I found that he had left me; I then turned again to the vision which I had been so long contemplating: but instead of the rolling tide, the arched bridge, and the happy islands, I saw nothing but the long hollow valley of Bagdat, with oxen, sheep and camels grazing upon the sides of it.

1. AS Ortogrul of Basra was one day wandering along the streets of Bagdat, musing on the varieties of merchandize which the shops offered to his view, and observing the different occupations which busied the multitudes on every side, he was awakened from the tranquility of meditation by a croud that obstructed his passage. He raised his eyes and saw the chief Visier, who, having returned from the Divan, was entering his palace.

2. Ortogrul mingled with the attendants, and being supposed to have some petition for the Visier, was permitted to enter. He surveyed the spacious­ness of the apartments, admired the walls hung with golden tapestry, and the floors covered with silken carpets, and despised the simple neatness of his own little habitation.

3. Surely, said he to himself, this palace is the seat of happiness, where pleasure succeeds to pleasure, and discontent and sorrow can have no admission. Whatever nature has provided for the delight of [Page 293] sense, is here spread forth to be enjoyed. What can mortals hope or imagine which the master of this palace has not obtained? The dishes of luxury cover his table, the voice of harmony lulls him in his bow­ers; he breathes the fragrance of the groves of Java, and sleeps upon the down of the cygnets of Ganges. He speaks and his mandate is obeyed; he wishes, and his wish is gratified! all whom he sees obey him, and all whom he hears flatter him.

4. How different, Ortogrul, is thy condition, who art doomed to the perpetual torments of unsatisfied desire, and who hast no amusement in thy power that can withhold thee from thy own reflections! They tell thee that thou art wise, but what does wisdom avail with poverty? None will flatter the poor, and the wise have very little power of flattering them­selves. That man is surely the most wretched of the sons of wretchedness who lives with his own faults and follies always before him, and who has none to re­concile him to himself by praise and veneration. I have long sought content and have not found it; I will from this moment endeavour to be rich.

5. Full of his new resolution, he shut himself in his chamber for six months, to deliberate how he should grow rich; he sometimes proposed to offer himself as a counsellor to one of the kings of India, and sometimes resolved [...]o dig for diamonds in the mines of Golconda. One day, after some hours passed in violent fluctuation of opinion, sleep insen­sibly seized him in his chair; he dreamed that he was ranging a desart country in search of some one that might teach him to grow rich; and as he stood on the top of a hill shaded with sypress, in doubt whi­ther to direct his steps, his father appeared on a sud­den standing before him.

6. Ortogrul, said the old man, I know thy per­plexity; listen to thy father; turn thine eye on the opposite mountain. Ortogrul looked, and saw a tor­rent tumbling down the rocks, roaring with the noise [Page 294] of thunder, and scattering its foam on the impending woods. Now, said his father, behold the valley that lies between the hills.

7. Ortogrul looked and espied a little well, out of which issued a small rivulet. Tell me now, said his father, dost thou wish for sudden affluence, that may pour upon thee like the mountain torrent, or for a slow and gradual encrease, resembling the rill gliding from the well? Let me be quickly rich, said Orto­grul; let the golden stream be quick and violent.

8. Look round thee, said his father, once again. Ortogrul looked, and perceived the channel of the torrent dry and dusty; but following the rivulet from the well, he traced it to a wide lake, which the sup­ply, slow and constant, kept always full. He waked, and determined to grow rich by silent profit and per­severing industry.

9. Having sold his patrimony, he engaged in mer­chandize, and in twenty years purchased lands on which he raised a house, equal in sumptuousness to that of the Visier, to which he invited all the mini­sters of pleasure, expecting to enjoy all the felicity which he had imagined riches able to afford. Lei­sure soon made him weary of himself, and he longed to be persuaded that he was great and happy. He was courteous and liberal; he gave all that approach­ed him hopes of pleasing him, and all who should please him hopes of being rewarded. Every art of praise was tried, and every source of adulatory fiction was exhausted.

10. Ortogrul heard his flatterers without delight, because he found himself unable to believe them. His own heart told him its frailties, his own under­standing reproached him with his faults. How long, said he, with a deep sigh, have I been labouring in vain to amass wealth which at last is useless! Let no man hereafter wish to be rich, who is already too wise to be flattered.