Sentimental beauties, and moral delineations, from the writings of the celebrated Dr. Blair, and other much admired authors; selected with a view to refine the taste, rectify the judgment, and mould the heart to virtue.

Sentimental beauties, and moral delineations, from the writings of the celebrated Dr. Blair, and other much admired authors; selected with a view to refine the taste, rectify the judgment, and mould the heart to virtue.

Table of contents

Title page

PREFATORY DEDICATION. TO LORD HAWKE, BARON TOWTON.

CONTENTS.

SENTIMENTAL BEAUTIES AND MORAL DELINEATIONS.

ACUTENESS IN REPLICATION.

AFFABILITY.

ANXIETY, THE VICE OF AGE.

INDISCRIMINATE APPLAUSE.

METHOD IN THE ARRANGEMENT OF IDEAS.

AVARICE.

AWE.

BEHAVIOUR.

MAN OF BUSINESS.

MIXED COMPANY.

COMPASSION.

CONFIDANTS.

CONSCIENCE.

CONSTANCY AND FIRMNESS OF ACTION.

CONTENT.

CONVERSATION.

ARTIFICIAL COURTESY.

COQUETRY.

COURTSHIP.

MAN'S DANGER AND SECURITY IN YOUTH.

DECEIT.

DEVOTION,

MORALITY AND DEVOTION SEPARATELY INSUFFICIENT.

MODERN SENTIMENTAL DEVOTEES.

DISCONTENT.

DISSIPATION.

DUTY OF OLD AGE.

FEMALE EDUCATION.

EFFECTS OF RELIGION.

SUPERSTITION AND ENTHUSIASM.

ANGER AND ENVY CONTRASTED.

EVENTS UNCERTAIN.

FAITH, PIETY, AND ACTIVE VIRTUE.

FALSE SENTIMENT.

FELICITY EQUALLY DISTRIBUTED.

FELICITY TEMPORAL.

SPIRITUAL FELICITY.

WANT OF FORESIGHT RESPECTING OUR SPIRITUAL STATE.

FRIENDSHIP.

GALLANTRY.

GOD WITH RESPECT TO MAN.

IGNORANCE OF GOOD AND EVIL. ITS UTILITY.

GOOD MAN.

EFFECT OF LOOSE GRATIFICATIONS.

GRATITUDE.

WORDLY GREATNESS AND HONOURS,

HAPPINESS—HOW JUDGED OF.

HAPPINESS NOT INDEPENDENT.

HEALTH.

HISTORY.

TRUE VIRTUE AND HONOUR.

HOPE.

HUMANITY.

HUMILITY IN COMPANY.

HUMOUR.

INDUSTRY.

INTENT OF RELIGION.

LOVE OF JUSTICE.

SELF-KNOWLEDGE.

CHEERFULNESS OF OLD AGE, AND LEVITY OF YOUTH, CONTRASTED.

PUBLIC LIFE, ITS INCONVENIENCIES.

LOVE.

ARTFUL SENTIMENTAL LOVER.

EFFECTS OF HONOURABLE LOVE.

MALE COQUETRY.

MAN OF THE WORLD.

MAN'S REAL DEPENDENCE.

DEVOUT MAN.

MEN AND WOMEN, HOW DIFFERENT IN POINT OF UNDERSTANDING.

MARRIAGE.

TRUE MEEKNESS.

MIDDLE AGE.

THE UNION OF PIETY AND MORALITY.

NEGLECT OF RELIGION.

OLD MAID.

OLD AGE.

PASSIONATE WOMAN.

APPEARANCES OF PIETY.

MEN OF TRUE PLEASURE.

MAN OF PLEASURE.

PLEASURE, SENSUAL AND SPIRITUAL.

PLEASURES OF OLD AGE.

PRESUMPTION.

DISAPPOINTED PRIDE.

PRINCIPLE AND SENTIMENT CONTRASTED.

PROSPERITY.

NECESSITY OF PRUDENCE IN EVERY STAGE OF LIFE.

REDEMPTION.

REFORMATION.

RELIGION.

RELIGIOUS REFLECTION.

RESIGNATION.

RIDICULE.

SELF-COMMUNION,

SILENCE.

SINCERITY.

SLOTH.

SOBRIETY OF MIND. ITS NECESSITY.

SOLITUDE.

THE STUDY OF MAN.

READING AND STUDY.

PASSIVE TAMENESS OF SPIRIT, AND UNLIMITED COMPLIANCE.

TEMPERANCE.

TRUE GENUINE SENTIMENT.

GOVERNMENT OF TEMPER.

GOOD TEMPER, ITS EFFECTS AND UTILITY.

EFFECTS OF VICE.

VILLAIN.

VIRTUE AND PROSPERITY CONTRASTED.

VIRTUE,

VOLUPTUARY.

WIT.

WOMAN.

WORLD.

RELIGIOUS WORSHIP.

YOUTH.

DETACHED SENTIMENTS AND MORAL MAXIMS.

§

§

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SENTIMENTAL BEAUTIES, AND MORAL DELINEATIONS, FROM THE WRITINGS OF THE CELEBRATED DR. BLAIR, AND OTHER MUCH ADMIRED AUTHORS; SELECTED WITH A VIEW TO REFINE THE TASTE, RECTIFY THE JUDGMENT, AND MOULD THE HEART TO VIRTUE.

THE FOURTH EDITION.

—The men whom moral duty guides,

And pure Religion charms, with GOD himself

Hold converse; grow familiar, day by day,

With his conceptions, act upon his plan,

And form to his, the relish of their souls.

PHILADELPHIA: PRINTED BY F. BAILEY, No 116, M. CAREY, 118, MARKET-STREET, AND T. LANG, No 21, CHURCH-ALLEY.—[—1792.—]

PREFATORY DEDICATION. TO LORD HAWKE, BARON TOWTON.

[Page]

MY LORD,

IN an aera when ambition—dissipation—and hypocritic gentleness of manners are professedly the pursuits of the most distinguished characters;—when the external graces are more coveted, and more assiduously cultivated, than the virtues of the heart:—In an aera, my Lord, when many authors, and some the [Page] most eminent, labour to promote the first—increase the second—heighten the polish of the third—and prostitute their pens, as if determined to extinguish the last, by every art of false reasoning, by every invention of imagination; it may appear singular, that this little volume, directly militating against these accomplishments of the great world, and attempting to supply their places by qualities built on the more solid basis of religion and morality, should ask for patronage from one whom fate has ordained to move in that elevated sphere: but, my Lord, even in courts the most notorious for profligacy of manners, virtue has ever found some votaries.

The corruptions of vice become consequential in proportion as they become fashionable; and folly assumes the air of ornamental grace, and diffuses itself almost universally, [Page] only when cherished and supported by those whom the little world look up to in the superior walks of life, and consider as an example of imitation.

From hence we find the advocates for error perpetually multiplying, and the clear fountain of true happiness exchanged for the turbid stream of unprofitable pleasure.— For it is certain, real felicity cannot be obtained but by a firm adherence to virtue, and a determined conformity to its dictates.—The glare of vice may, for a while, dazzle the sight; but it cheers not the soul, or makes glad the heart from the purity of its lustre: like an ignis fatuus, it leads us into perplexities— doubts— and misfortunes, and there leaves us to struggle with the calamities it has enticed us to pursue.

The intent, therefore, of the following sheets, is, to give a relish for [Page] the religious and moral duties; that the veil under which vice approaches the young and inexperienced may be thrown aside; and its allurements, too often fatally successful, be exposed and evidently discovered as the harpies of mischief, and the harbingers of destruction.

The intent is, by gentle means to lead the negligent and incautious into the path of rectitude,—implant in their bosoms the love of truth,— and from the richness of the manure and fertility of the soil make the young plant shoot up with vigour, and bring forth the pleasant fruit of goodness in abundance and perfection.

The intent is, I will not say to make every man the builder of his own fortune, but I will say more, the establisher of his own peace;—a blessing infinitely more valuable than fame—riches—or power. For, if he [Page] inculcates the maxims herein contained, he will pass through the bustle of the busy world, though surrounded with the snares of villainy, and machinations of treachery, in safety and without reproach:—and, when he retires into the sequestered and solitary scene, he will provide for himself a rich repast, where reflection will feed on the consolatory comfort of self-approbation, and his hours pass away in the sweetness of content:—He will view the misfortunes of mankind with an eye of pity, and afford them relief:—He will behold the pleasures of his neighbours with a smile of sympathy, and enjoy them as his own:—He will pay every tribute due to his Creator with gratitude and joy, and will hold converse with the God of his worship, from the incorruptibility of his heart, and the purity of his actions.

From your Lordship's well-known [Page] love of the social virtues,—from that philanthropy with which your bosom is replete,—from the rising progeny of little innocents with which Heaven has blessed you, it cannot be doubted but every effort intended to produce these effects will meet with your countenance and protection.— On these considerations, therefore, I have ventured to dedicate this selection to your Lordship, flattering myself the liberty will not be offensive, as the motive originated from an honest and laudable zeal, and the desire of shewing the gratitude and defeference with which I am,

My LORD,

Your Lordship's most devoted, most obedient, and very humble Servant, THE EDITOR.

CONTENTS.

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A.

ACUTENESS in Replication, Page 13

Affability, 14

Anxiety, the Vice of Age, 15

Applause, Indiscriminate 16

Arrangement of Ideas, its Utility, 17

Avarice, 18

Awe, 20

B.

Behaviour, 21

Business, Man of 24

C.

Company, Mixed 24

Compassion, 25

Confidants, 26

Conscience, 27

Constancy and Firmness, 29

Content, ib.

[Page]Conversation, 30

Courtesy, Artificial 32

Coquetry, 34

Courtship, 37

D.

Danger and Security of Man in Youth, 38

Deceit, 39

Devotion, 41

Devotion and Morality separately insufficient 43

Devotees, Sentimental ib.

Discontent, 46

Dissipation, 47

Duties of Old Age, 48

E.

Education, Female 50

Effects of Religion, 57

Enthusiasm and Superstition, 58

Envy and Anger contrasted, 59

Events uncertain, 60

F.

Faith, Piety, and active Virtue, 62

False Sentiment, ib.

Felicity equally distributed, 65

Felicity, Temporal 66

Felicity, Spiritual 67

Foresight, want of, respecting our spiritual State, 68

Friendship, 69

G.

Gallantry 71

[Page]God with respect to Man, 73

Good and Evil, Ignorance of, its Utility, 74

Good Man, 75

Gratifications, loose, their Effect, 76

Gratitude, 77

Greatness and Honours, worldly ib.

H.

Happiness, [...]dged of, 78

Happiness [...] [...]pendent, ib.

Health, 79

History, 80

Honour, True ib.

Hope, 81

Humanity, 82

Humility in Company, 85

Hum [...]ur, 86

I.

Industry, 86

In [...]ent of Religion, 87

Justice, Love of 88

K.

Knowledge, Self 89

L.

Levity in Youth and cheerfulness of Age contrasted 91

Life, Public, its inconveniences 92

Love, 93

Love, Artful and Sentimental 95

Love, Honourable, its effects, 96

M.

[Page]Male Coquetry, 97

Man of the World, 99

Man's real Dependence, 100

Man, Devout 101

Man and Woman, a comparative view of, how differing in point of Understanding, 103

Marriage, 104

Maxims, moral 177

Meekness, true 109

Middle age, 111

Morality and Piety, their Union 112

N.

Neglect of Religion, 113

O.

Old Maid, 114

Old Age, 115

P.

Passionate Woman, 117

Piety, the Appearance of 118

Pleasure, true Men of 119

Pleasure, Man of 120

Pleasure, Sensual and Spiritual 121

Pleasures of old Age, 122

Presumption, 123

Pride, Disappointed 124

Principle and Sentiment contrasted, 126

Prosperity, 127

Prudence, its Necessity in every Stage of Life 128

R.

[Page]Redemption, 129

Reformation, 130

Religion, ib.

Religious Reflection, 132

Resignation, 133

Ridicule, 134

S.

Self-communion, 135

Sentiments detached, 177

Silence, 136

Sincerity, 138

Sloth, 139

Sobriety of mind, its necessity, 140

Solitude, 142

Study of Man, 145

Study and Reading, 146

T.

Tameness passive of Spirit and unlimited Compliance, 147

Temperance, 148

True genuine Sentiment, 150

Temper, Government of 152

Temper, Good, its Effects and Utility, 161

U.

Vice, its Effects, 164

Villain, 165

Virtue and Prosperity contrasted, 166

Virtue, 167

Voluptuary, 168

W.

[Page]Wit, 169

Woman, 171

World, 172

Worship, Religious 173

Y.

Youth, 174

SENTIMENTAL BEAUTIES AND MORAL DELINEATIONS.

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ACUTENESS IN REPLICATION.

THIS has ever been allowed a happiness peculiar to the female sex, particularly on subjects wherein they are in some degree conversant; for their imaginations generally keep pace with the narration, that they anticipate its end, and are ready to deliver their sentiments on it as soon as it is finished, while some of the male hearers, whose minds were buried in settling the propriety, comparing the circumstances, and examining the consistencies of what was said, are obliged to pause and discriminate before they think of answering.

Indeed, a man of reflection, if he does not keep an intimate commerce with the world, will be sometimes so entangled in the intricacies of intense thought, that he will have the appearance [Page] of a confused and perplexed expression, while a sprightly woman will extricate herself with that lively and rash dexterity which will almost always please, though it is very far from being always right.

It is easier to confound than to convince an opponent; the former may be effected by a turn that has more happiness than truth in it. But, a young lady's vanity should not be too much elated with this false applause, which is given, not to her merit, but her sex: she has not perhaps gained a victory, though she may be allowed a triumph; and it should humble her to reflect, that the tribute is paid, not to her strength, but her weakness. It is worth while to discriminate between the applause, which is given from the complaisance of others, and that which is paid to our own merit.

AFFABILITY.

IN order to render ourselves amiable in society, we should correct every appearance of harshness in our behaviour. That courtesy should distinguish our demeanor, which springs, not so much from studied politeness, as from a mild and gentle heart. We should follow the c [...]s of the world in matters indifferent; but stop when they become sinful. Our manners [Page] ought to be simple and natural, and of course they will be engaging. Affectation is certain deformity—By forming themselves on fantastic models, and vying with one another in every reigning folly, the young begin with being ridiculous, and end in being vicious and immoral.

ANXIETY, THE VICE OF AGE.

IGNORANCE of what is good or evil should correct Anxiety about worldly success. As rashness is the vice of youth, the opposite extreme of immoderate care is the vice of advancing years; but, since attention is so often frustrated, it should never be allowed to deprive us of tranquillity; that degree of uncertainty, therefore, ought to render us temperate in pursuit, calm the perturbation of hope and fear, and cure the pain of anxiety.

Anxiety is the poison of human life. It is the parent of many sins, and of more miseries. In a world where every thing is so doubtful— where we may succeed in our wish, and be miserable—where we may be disappointed, and be bless'd in the disappointment; what means a restless stir and commotion of the mind? Solicitude cannot alter the course, or unravel the intricacy of human events—Curiosity cannot [Page] pierce through the cloud which the Supreme Being hath made impenetrable to the human eye—Wisdom commands man to retire after he has done all that was incumbent on him, and to possess his mind in peace. By going beyond this point, by giving himself up to immoderate concern about unknown events, he can do nothing to advance this success, and does much to ruin his peace;—he plants within his breast the thorn which is long to gall him—To the vanity of life he adds vexation of spirit, which is wholly of his own creation, not of divine appointment.

For the dubious goods of this world were never designed by God to raise such eager attachment. They were given to man for his occasional refreshment, not for his chief felicity: by setting an excessive value upon objects which were intended only for his secondary regard, he changes their nature. Seeking more satisfaction from them than they are able to afford, he receives less than they might give; from a mistaken care to secure his happiness, he brings upon himself certain misery.

INDISCRIMINATE APPLAUSE.

IT is the fault of many that they do not always carefully distinguish between running into the error of detraction, and its opposite extreme of [Page] undeserved praise—This proceeds from the false idea they entertain, that the direct contrary to what is wrong, must be right. Thus the dread of only being suspected of one fault, makes them actually guilty of another.

The desire of avoiding the imputation of envy, impels them to be insincere; and to establish a reputation for sweetness of temper and generosity, they affect to speak sometimes of very indifferent characters with the most extravagant applause. But this habit of exaggeration greatly weakens their credit, and destroys the weight of their opinion on other occasions; for people very soon discover what degree of faith is to be given both to their judgment and their veracity.

METHOD IN THE ARRANGEMENT OF IDEAS.

IN delivering our sentiments on particular subjects, there is nothing which is attended with better effect, and makes us appear to more advantage than offering our opinions with clearness and precision; and this can only be done by arranging them in proper order, so that they may appear regularly to arise one from the o [...]her: this is stiled method, and prevents conf [...]s [...]n; hinders us from indulging in the luxuriance of [Page] fancy, running into desultory digressions, and makes us appear superior to our subject.

Where great sprightliness is the natural bent of the temper, girls should endeavour to habituate themselves to a custom of observing, thinking, and reasoning. It is not necessary that they should devote themselves to abstruse speculation, or the study of logic; but she who is accustomed to give a due arrangement to her thoughts, to reason justly and pertinently on common affairs, and judiciously to deduce effects from their causes, will be a better logician than some of those who claim the name, because they have studied the art. That species of knowledge, which appears to be the result of reflection rather than of science, sits peculiarly well on women.

It is not uncommon to find a lady, who, though she does not know a rule of syntax, scarcely ever violates one; and who constructs every sentence she utters with more propriety than many a learned dunce, who has every rule of Aristotle by heart, and who can lace his own thread-bare discourse with the golden shreds of Cicero and Virgil.

AVARICE.

ONE of the vices of old age, which appears the most unaccountable, is that covetous attachment to worldly interest with which it is [Page] often charged. But this too can naturally be deduced from the sense of its feebleness and decay.

In proportion as the vigour both of body and mind declines, timidity may be expected to increase. With anxious and fearful eye, the aged look forward to the evils which threaten them, and to the changes which may befal. Hence, are they apt to overvalue riches, as the instruments of their defence against these dangers, and as the most certain means of securing them against solitude and disrespect.

But, though this cautious frugality may be justified, sordid avarice can by no means be excused. They should be charitable and do good. They should mix beneficence to their friends, with a cheerful enjoyment of the comforts which befit their state. They will then receive the returns of real respect and love. Otherways, by their riches, they procure no more than pretended demonstrations of regard; while their ill judged parsimony occasions many secret wishes for their death.

Chilled by the hand of time the heart loses that tender sensibility, with which it once entered into the concerns and sorrows of others. However, as in every period of life, humanity and friendship contribute to happiness, it is both our duty and interest to cherish the remains of the kind affections, nor suffer them to be blunted [Page] or destroyed by sordid avarice. We should not, from having suffered much in the course of our long pilgrimage, become callous to the sufferings of others. But, remembering we still are men, study to keep our heart open to the sense of human woe

Practised in the ways of men, we are apt to be suspicious of design and fraud; for the knowledge and distrust of mankind too often go together. We should not however suffer that wary caution, which is the fruit of experience, to dwindle into craft; for amidst the falsehoods of men, integrity is the best defence—he who continueth to the end to walk uprightly, shall continue to walk surely.

AWE.

AWE is the first sentiment which arises in the soul at the view of greatness. But in the heart of a devout man, it is a solemn and elevating, not a dejected emotion; for he glows, rather than trembles, in the divine presence. It is not the superstitious dread of unknown power, but the homage yielded by the heart to him, who is at once the greatest and best of beings.

Omnipotence, viewed alone, would be a formidable object. But, considered in conjunction [Page] with the moral perfections of the divine nature, it serves to heighten devotion.

BEHAVIOUR.

ONE of the chief beauties in a female character is that modest reserve, that retiring delicacy which avoids the public eye, and is disconcerted even at the gaze of admiration. For when a girl ceases to blush, she has lost the most powerful charm of beauty. That extreme sensibility, which it indicates, is peculiarly engaging.

Silence in company, particularly a large one, is never mistaken by the judicious and discerning for dulness, but bespeaks a modesty essential in the female sex. Dignity of behaviour is necessary at public places, but care must be taken not to mistake that for that confident ease, that unabashed countenance which seems to set the company at defiance.

Women should be cautious even in displaying their good sense. It is often thought assuming a superiority over the rest of the company; but their learning should be kept a profound secret, especially from men, who generally look with a jealous and malign eye on a woman of great parts, and a cultivated understanding.

The great art of pleasing in conversation consists [Page] in making the company pleased with themselves. Detraction should be avoided, especially amongst women where their own sex is concerned; it would be more noble for them to shew a compassionate sympathy to the unfortunate, especially to those who are rendered so by the villainy of men. It is a laudable pride, as well as secret pleasure, which ought to be indulged, in being the friend and refuge of the unhappy, but without the vanity of shewing it.

Every species of indelicacy in conversation should be considered as shameful and highly disgusting. A sacred regard should ever be had to truth, for lying is a mean and despicable vice; though a lively embellishment of a humorous story, which is only intended to promote innocent mirth, cannot be understood to fall under that head.

Gentleness of spirit and manners is extremely engaging; but not that indiscriminate attention, that unmeaning simper, which smiles on all alike. For this arises either from affectation of softness, or from perfect insipidity.

A fine woman, like other fine things in nature, has her proper point of view, from which she may be seen to most advantage. To fix this point requires great judgment, and an intimate knowledge of the human heart. By the present mode of female manners, the ladies seem to expect that they shall regain their ascendency over [Page] men, by the fullest display of their personal charms, by being always in their eyes at public places, by conversing with them with the same unreserved freedom as they do with one another; in short, by resemblin [...] men as near as they can. The folly of this expectation and conduct will soon be shown. For the power of a fine woman over the hear [...] of men, of men of the finest parts, is even beyond what she conceives. They are sensible of the pleasing illusion, but they cannot, nor do they wish, to dissolve it. But if she is determined to dispel the charm, it certainly is in her power, she may soon reduce the angel to a very ordinary girl.

There is a native dignity in ingenuous modesty to be expected in the gentler sex, which is their natural protection from the familiarity of men. The sentiment that a woman may allow all innocent freedoms, provided her virtue is secure, is both grosly indelicate and dangerous, and has proved fatal to many who have confided too much in this fallacious doctrine.

In fine, to form a complete lady, she should possess the most perfect simplicity of heart and manners; dignity without pride, affability without meanness, and simple elegance without affectation.

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MAN OF BUSINESS.

AN uninterrupted intercourse with the world oppresses the man o [...] [...]usiness and ambition. The strongest spirit must at length fail and sink under it. The happiest temper must be soured by incessant returns of the opposition, the inconstancy and treachery of men. For he who lives always in the bustle of the world, lives in a perpetual warfare: here, an enemy encounters; there, a rival supplants him. The ingratitude of a friend stings him this hour, and the pride of a superior wounds him the next. In vain he flies for relief to trifling amusements. These may afford a temporary opiate to care; but they communicate no strength to the mind. On the contrary, they leave it more soft and defenceless, when molestations and injuries renew the attack.

MIXED COMPANY.

THE mind of each sex has some natural kind of bias, which constitutes a distinction of character, and the happiness of both depends, in a great measure, on the preservation and observance of this distinction. For where would be the superior pleasure and s [...]tisfaction resul [...] ing [Page] from mixed conversation, if this difference was abolished?

If the qualities of both were invariably and exactly the same, no benefit or entertainment would arise from the tedious and insipid uniformity of such an intercourse; whereas considerable are the advantages reaped from a select society of both sexes.

The rough angles and asperities of male manners are imperceptibly filed and gradually worn smooth, by the polishing of female conversation, and the refining of female taste: while the ideas of women acquire strength and solidity by their associating with sensible, intelligent, and judicious men.

COMPASSION.

COMPASSION is an emotion of which we ought never to be ashamed. Graceful, particularly in youth, is the tear of sympathy, and the heart that melts at the tale of woe. We should not permit case and indulgence to contract our affections, and wrap us up in selfish enjoyment. But we should accustom ourselves to think of the distresses of human life, of the solitary cottage, the dying parent, and the weeping orph [...]n. Nor ought we ever to sport with pain and distress in any of our amusements; [Page] nor treat even the meanest insect with wanton cruelty.

It has been objected, and it is to be feared with some reason, that female conversation is too frequently tinctured with a censorious spirit, and that ladies are seldom apt to discover much tenderness for the errors of a fallen sister. No arguments can justify, no pleas extenuate it.

To insult over the miseries of an unhappy creature is inhuman, not to compassionate them is unchristian. The worthy part of the sex always express themselves humanely on the failings of others, in proportion to their own undeviating goodness, and by that gentle virtue are prompted to alleviate the distresses of the unfortunate and wretched; it prevents us from retaliating injuries; and restrains our severe judgments and angry passions.

CONFIDANTS.

AMONGST women these appear to be necessary associates, without whom few pass through life. If, therefore, they must have a friend of this sort to pour out their heart to, they should be sure of their honor and secrecy. She should not be a married woman, especially if she lives happily with her husband.

There are certain unguarded moments, in [Page] which such a woman, though the best and worthiest of her sex, may let hints escape, which, at other times, or to any other person than her husband, she would be incapable of; nor will a husband in this case feel himself under the same obligation of secrecy and honour, as if confidence had originally been put in himself, especially on subjects which the world is apt to treat lightly.

Making confidants of servants should be carefully avoided. Dignity, not properly understood, very readily degenerates into pride, which enters into no friendships, because it cannot bear an equal, and is so fond of flattery as to grasp at it even from servants and dependants.

The most intimate confidants, therefore, of proud people are val [...]ts-de-chambres, and waiting women. The utmost humanity should be shewn to servants; their situation made to them as comfortable as possible; but if made confidants, we spoil them and debase ourselves.

CONSCIENCE.

DURING the gay and active periods of life, sinners elude, in some measure, its force. Carried round in the whirl of affairs and pleasures; intent on contrivance, eager in pursuit, amused by hope, or elated by enjoyment, they [Page] are sheltered by that croud of trifles which surrounds them from serious thought. But conscience is too great a power to remain always suppressed.

In the dark and solitary hour of distress, the recollection of the past becomes dreadful. It exhibits a life thrown away in vanities and follies, or consumed in flagitiousness and sin: crimes rise in their native deformity. How miserable the state of that man condemned to endure at once the pangs of guilt, and the vexations of calamity!

But a clear conscience enjoys, in the worst conjunction of human life, a peace, a dignity, an elevation of mind peculiar to virtue, not a presumptuous boast of innocence. The better a man is, he will be more humble and sensible of his failings. Of his piety and virtue, he reaps the fruits in the season of adversity: the improvements he makes; the temperate spirit with which he enjoys those advantages; the beneficent actions which he performed, and the good example which he set to others, remain behind.

By the memory of these, he enjoys his prosperity a second time in reflection. His mind has no load; futurity no terrors. For reflection cheers the lonely house of poverty, and attends the conscientious sufferer into prison and exile.

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CONSTANCY AND FIRMNESS OF ACTION.

THE great motives which produce these, must be of a palpable and striking kind. A divine legislator uttering his voice from heaven;—an omniscient witness beholding us in all our retreats;—an Almighty governor stretching forth his arm to punish or reward, disclosing the secrets of the invisible world, informing us of perpetual rest prepared hereafter for the righteous, and of indignation and wrath awaiting the wicked.

These considerations overawe the world, support integrity, and check guilt; they add to virtue that solemnity which should ever characterise it—to the admonitions of conscience they give the authority of law.

CONTENT.

DURING the whole progress of the human course and events, the principal materials of our comforts, or uneasiness, lie within ourselves. Every age will prove burdensome to those who have no fund of happiness in their own breasts. Could they be preserved from all infirmities of frame; could they have bestowed [Page] upon them, if it were possible, perpetual youth; still they would be restless and miserable, through the influence of ill-governed passions—It is not surprizing that such people are peevish, and querulous when old. Unjustly they impute to their time of life that misery, with which their vices and follies embitter every age.

Whereas, to good men, no period of life is insupportable, because they draw their chief happiness from sources which are independent of age or time; Wisdom, Piety, and Virtue grow not old with our bodies; they suffer no decay from length of days; to them belongs only unalterable and unfading youth.

CONVERSATION.

IN conversing with a fellow-creature on earth, it is not with his body we converse, though it is his body only which we see. From his words and actions we conceive his mind; with his mind, though invisible, we hold correspondence, and direct towards this spiritual essence our affection and regard.

It has been laid down as a rule, that in conversation, women should carefully conceal any knowledge or learning they happen to possess; but there seems neither to be necessity or propriety in this advice; let discretion and modesty, [Page] without which all knowledge is little worth, govern a lady's understanding, she will never make an ostentatious parade of it, because she will rather be intent on acquiring more, than on displaying what she has.

For why should she exhibit her skill in music, dancing, singing, taste in dress, those ornamental graces, and her acquaintance with the most fashionable arts and amusements; while her piety is to be anxiously concealed, and her knowledge affectedly disavowed, lest the former should draw on her the appellation of an enthusiast, or the latter that of a pedant.

It would, without doubt, be, to the last degree, presumptuous and absurd for a young woman to pretend to give the Ton to the company; to interrupt the pleasure of others, and her own opportunity of improvement, by talking when she ought to listen;—or to introduce subjects out of the common road, in order to shew her own wit, or expose the want of it in others; but were the sex to be totally silent when any topic of literature happens to be discussed in their presence, conversation would lose much of its vivacity, and society would be robbed of one of its most interesting charms.

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ARTIFICIAL COURTESY.

THIS is that studied smoothness of manners, which is learned in the school of the world. Such accomplishments, the most frivolous may possess. Too often they are employed by the artful, as a snare; too often affected by the hard and unfeeling, as a cover to the baseness of their minds.

The imitation of virtue has been reduced into art, and, in the commerce of life, the first study of all who would either gain the esteem, or win the hearts of others, is to learn the speech, and to adopt the manners of candour, gentleness, and humanity; but nothing, except what flows from the heart, can render even external manners truly and permanently pleasing; for no assumed behaviour can at all times hide the real character.

A low voice and a soft address are the common indications of a well-bred woman, and should seem to be the natural effect of a meek and quiet spirit, but they are only the outward and visible signs of it; for they are no more meekness itself, than a red coat is courage, or a black one devotion. To regulate the features, while the soul is in tumult, or to command the voice while the passions are without restraint, is as idle as throwing odours into a stream when the source is polluted.

[Page]It is not difficult to distinguish the true from the artificial meekness. The former is universal and habitual; the latter, local and temporary; and this we may be assured of, that if we are not as gentle to our servants, as to our visitors, the spirit of gentleness is not in us.

Must we not be shocked and disappointed when we behold a well-bred young lady soft and engaging as the doves of Venus, displaying a thousand graces and attractions to win the hearts of a large company, and the instant they are gone, to see her look mad as the Pythian maid, and all the frightened graces driven from her furious countenance, only because her gown was brought home a quarter of an hour later than she expected, or her ribband sent half a shade lighter or darker than she ordered.

Amongst women of breeding, the exterior of gentleness is so uniformly assumed, and the whole manner is so perfectly level and uni, that it is next to impossible for a stranger to know any thing of their true dispositions by conversing with them; and even the very features are so exactly regulated, that physiog [...]omy, which may sometimes be trusted among the vulgar, is with the polite, a most lying science. That gentleness is ever liable to be suspected for the counterfeited, which is so excessive as to deprive people of the proper use of speech and motion, or which, as Hamlet says, "makes them lisp [Page] and amble, and nick-name God's creatures."

Among the various artifices of factitious meekness, one of the most frequent and the most plausible, is that of affecting to be always equally delighted with all persons and characters. The society of these languid beings is without confidence, their friendship without attachment, and their love without affection, or even preference. This insipid mode of conduct may be safe, but is endowed with neither taste, sense, or principle.

COQUETRY.

THERE is no character more truly disgusting than that of a coquette; it originates from folly, is supported by vanity, and terminates in contempt. It is the certain mark of a narrow mind, the illiberal slave of fulsome adulation, and has all its enjoyments increased by self-adoration.

Yet there is a case where a woman may coquet justifiably to the utmost verge which her conscience will allow. It is where a gentleman purposes and declines to make his addresses, till such time as he thinks himself perfectly sure of her consent. This at bottom is intended to force a woman to give up the undoubted privilege of her sex, the privilege of refusing; it is intended [Page] to force her to explain herself, in effect before the gentleman deigns to do it, and, by this means, to oblige her to violate the modesty and delicacy of her sex, and to invert the clearest order of nature.

All this sacrifice is proposed to be made merely to gratify a most despicable vanity in a man, who would degrade the very woman, whom he wishes to make his wife.

But it should be distinguished whether from this motive he delays to speak explicitly, or from a diffidence inseparable from true attachment. In the one case he can scarce be used too ill; in the other, he ought to be treated with the greatest kindness.

Women endeavour to justify themselves to the world, and to their own consciences, by a variety of excuses, when they act otherwise. Sometimes they plead ignorance, or at least uncertainty of the gentleman's real sentiments. Sometimes they plead the decorum of the sex, which enjoins an equal behaviour to all men, and forbids them to consider any man as a lover, till he has directly told them so. But they are not entitled to plead the obligation of their virtue in opposition to the superior ones of gratitude, justice and humanity.

The man is entitled to all these, who prefers one woman to the rest of her sex, and perhaps whose greatest weakness is this very preference. [Page] The truth of the matter is, vanity and the love of admiration is so prevailing a passion amongst the sex, that they can be fond of the love, when they are indifferent to, or, even, when they despise the lover.

But the deepest, and most artful coquetry is employed by women of superior taste and sense, to engage and fix the heart of a man whom the world, and whom they themselves esteem, although they are determined never to marry him. His conversation amuses them, and his attachment is the highest gratification to their vanity; nay, they can sometimes be gratified with the utter ruin of his fortune, fame and happiness.

How odious must characters of this kind appear, especially when contrasted with those who have principles, have generosity and dignity of soul, that elevates them above the worthless vanity recited!

Such a woman may always convert a lover, if she cannot give him her affections, into a warm and steady friend, provided he is a man of sense, resolution and candour. If she explains herself to him with a generous openness and freedom, he must feel the stroke as a man; but he will likewise bear it as a man: what he suffers he will suffer in silence.

Every sentiment of esteem will remain; but love, though it requires very little food, and is easily surseited with too much, yet it requires [Page] some. He will view her in the light of a married woman; and though passion subsides, yet a man of a candid and generous heart always retains a tenderness for a woman he has once loved, and who has used him well, beyond what he feels for any other of her sex.

COURTSHIP.

IF the attachment of a lover is agreeable to the object of his wishes, a woman should permit nature, good-sense and delicacy to direct her. If she loves him she should not discover to him the full extent of her love; no, not although she marries him. That sufficiently shews her preference, which is all he is entitled to know. If he has delicacy he will ask for no stronger proof of her affection, for her sake: if he has sense, he will not ask it for his own.

Violent love cannot subsist, at least cannot be expressed, for any time together on both sides; otherwise the certain consequence, however concealed, is satiety and disgust: nature in this case has laid the reserve on woman.

If she sees evident proofs of a gentleman's attachment, and is determined to shut her heart against him, she should treat him honourably and humanely. She should not let him linger in a mise [...]ble suspense, but be anxious to let him [Page] know her sentiments with regard to him; and this may be done by a variety of ways,—from a certain species of easy familiarity in behaviour he may be satisfied, if he has any discernment, he has nothing to hope for,—from solicitously avoiding his company,—from the interposition of a common friend to explain matters to him. But, if these methods are ineligible, opportunities of letting him explain himself, should not be avoided; it is acting barbarously and unjustly. If he forces an explanation, the answer should be polite, resolute, and decisive.

MAN'S DANGER AND SECURITY IN YOUTH.

IN that period of life too often characterized by forward presumption and headlong pursuit, self-conceit is the great source of those dangers to which men are exposed; and it is peculiarly unfortunate, that the age which stands most in need of the counsel of the wise, should be the most prone to contemn it. Confident in the opinions which they adopt, and in the measures which they pursue, the bliss which youth aim at, is, in their opinion, fully apparent. It is not the danger of mistake, but the failure of success, which they dread. Activity to seize, not sagacity to discern, is the only requisite which they value.

[Page]The whole state of nature is now become a scene of delusion to the sensual mind. Hardly any thing is what it appears to be: and what flatters most is always farthest from reality. There are voices which sing around us, but whose strains allure to ruin. There is a banquet spread where poison is in every dish. There is a couch which invites us to repose, but to slumber upon it is death. Sobriety should temper unwary ardour; Modesty check rash presumption; Wisdom be the offspring of reflection now, rather than the bitter fruit of experience hereafter.

DECEIT.

THAT darkness of character, where we can see no heart,—those foldings of art, through which no native affection is allowed to penetrate, present an object unamiable in every season of life, but particularly odious in youth. If at an age when the heart is warm, when the emotions are strong, and when nature is expected to shew itself free and open, we can already smile and deceive, what is to be expected, wh [...] we shall be longer hackneyed in the ways of men, when interest shall have compleated the obdula [...] of our hearts, and [...]peri [...]nce shall have improved us [...] of guile?

[Page]Dissimulation in youth is the forerunner of perfidy in old age: its first appearance is the fatal omen of growing depravity and future shame. It degrades parts and learning, obscures the lustre of every accomplishment, and sinks us into contempt with God and man. The path of falsehood is a perplexing maze. After the first departure from sincerity, it is not in our power to stop. One artifice unavoidably leads on to another; till, as the intricacy of the labyrinth increases, we are left entangled in our own snare.

Deceit discovers a little mind, which stops at temporary expedients, without rising to comprehensive views of conduct. It betrays a dastardly spirit. It is the resource of one who wants courage to avow his designs, or to rest upon himself. To set out in the world with no other principle than a crafty attention to interest, betokens one who is destined for creeping through the inferior walks of life. He may be fortunate, he cannot be happy; the eye of a good man will weep at his error: he cannot taste the sweets of confidential friendship, and his evening of life will be embittered by universal contempt.

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DEVOTION,

IS the lively exercise of those affections, which we owe to the supreme Being. It comprehends several emotions of the heart which terminate in the same object. The chief of them are veneration, gratitude, desire, and resignation.

It implies first, profound veneration for God, that is, affection compounded of awe and love; —secondly, sincere gratitude for all his benefits: this is a warmer emotion than veneration; veneration looks up to the Deity as he is himself; gratitude regards what he is towards us; —thirdly, the desire of the soul after the favour of the supreme Being, as its chief good and final rest;—and fourthly, it advances to an entire resignation of the soul to God. It is the consummation of truth and hope. It banishes anxious cares and murmuring thoughts. It reconciles us to every appointment of divine providence; and resolves every wish into the desire of pleasing him, whom our hearts adore.

It is one of the noblest acts of which the human mind is capable. It is a powerful principle which penetrates the soul, which purifies the affections from debasing attachments; and, by a fixed and steady regard to God, subdues every sinful passion, and forms the inclinations to piety and virtue.

[Page]It expresses the spirit which must animate all religious duties. It stands opposed not merely to downright vice; but to a heart which is cold and insensible to sacred things, and obeys the divine commands without ardour, love and joy. It is rational and well-founded. It is of the highest importance to every other part of religion and virtue; and, in fine, is the most conducive to our happiness. It diffuses an auspicious influence over the whole of virtue. It is often found a powerful instrument in humanizing the manners of men, and taming their unruly passions. It smooths what is rough, and softens what is fierce in our nature. It is the great purifier of the affections. It inspires contempt of the low gratifications belonging to animal life. It promotes a humble and cheerful contentment with our lot, and subdues the eager desire of riches and of power, which has filled this unhappy world with crimes and misery. The spirit of devotion is the gift of God. From his inspiration it proceeds; towards him it tends; and in his presence hereafter, it shall attain its full perfection.

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MORALITY AND DEVOTION SEPARATELY INSUFFICIENT.

THE man of mere morality is a stranger to all the delicate and refined pleasures of devotion. In works of beneficence and mercy he may enjoy satisfaction; but it will be destitute of that glow of affection, which enlivens the feelings of one, who lifts his heart at the same time to the Father of the universe, and considers himself as imitating God.

The man again who rests solely on devotion, if that devotion opens not his heart to humanity, not only remains a stranger to the pleasures of beneficence, but must often undergo the pain arising from bad passions.

MODERN SENTIMENTAL DEVOTEES.

IF we trace the history of sentiment from its beginning, we shall find that girls (for amongst this class it runs to its greatest excess,) of this cast have had their heads originally turned by pernicious reading, and the insanity confirmed by imprudent friendships. They never fail to select beloved con [...]idants of their own turn and humour, though, if they can help it, [Page] not so ha [...]dsome as themselves. Violent intimacies en [...]e, or an intimate union of souls immediately takes place.

They represent romantic love as the great important business of human life, and describe all the other concerns of it as too low and paltry to merit the attention of such elevated beings, and fit only to employ the daughters of the plodding vulgar.

Another favourite topic, is the groveling spirit and sordid temper of their parents, who will be sure to find no quarter at the hands of their daughters, should they presume to direct their course of reading, interfere in their choice of friends, or interrupt their very important correspondence. For a prohibited correspondence is one of the great incidents of sentimental life, and a letter clandestinely received, the supreme felicity of a sentimental lady. Hence, such prohibition with them carries a certain a [...] of tyranny and persecution which is very delig [...]ful.

They consider the aged and experienced, wh [...] endeavour to destroy this ignis fatuus, as wretches utterly ignorant of the sublime pleasures of a delicate and exalted passion, as tyrants whose authority is to be condemned, and as spies whose vigilance is to be eluded. The prudence of these worthy friends they term suspicion, and their experience dotage.

[Page]But, young people never shew their folly and ignorance more conspicuously, than by this over-confidence in their own judgment, and this haughty disdain of the opinion of those who have known more days. Youth has a quickness of apprehension, which it is very apt to mistake for an acuteness of penetration. But youth, like cunning, though very conceited, is very short sighted; and never more so, than when it disregards the instructions of the wise, and the admonitions of the aged.

These daughters of vanity imagine that none but the young and beautiful have any right to the pleasures of society, or even to the common benefits and blessings of life.—Ladies of this turn also affect the most lofty disregard for useful qualities and domestic virtues; they principally value themselves on the enlargement of their notions, and their liberal way of thinking. This superiority of soul chiefly manifests itself in the contempt of those minute delicacies, and little decorums, which, trifling as they may be thought, tend at once to dignify the character, restrain the levity of the younger part of the sex, and to eradicate this sort of sentiment, which is only a weed of idleness; for they, who are constantly and usefully employed, have neither leisure nor propensity to cultivate this delightful folly.

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DISCONTENT.

IN the humble and seemingly-quiet shade of private life, as well as among the great and mighty, discontent broods over its imaginary sorrows; preys upon the citizen no less than the courtier, and often nourishes passions equally malignant in the cottage and in the palace. Having once seized the mind, it spreads its own gloom over every surrounding object; it everywhere searches out materials for itself; and in no direction more frequently employs its unhappy activity, than in creating divisions among mankind, and in magnifying slight provocations into mortal injuries.

In situations where much comfort might be enjoyed, this man's superiority and that man's neglect, our jealousy of a friend, our hatred of a rival, an imagined affront, or a mistaken point of honour, allow us no repose. Hence discord in families, animosities among friends, and wars among nations! Look around us! every-where we find a busy multitude. Restless and uneasy in their present situation, they are incessantly employed in accomplishing a change of it; and as soon as their wish is fulfilled, we discern, by their behaviour, that they are as dissatisfied as they w [...]re before. Where they expected to have found a paradise, they find a desert.

[Page]The man of business pines for leisure; the leisure for which he had longed proves an irksome gloom, and, through want of employment, he languishes, sickens, and dies.

The man of retirement fancies no state so happy as that of active life; but he has not engaged long in the tumults and contests of the world, until he finds cause to look back with regret on the calm hours of his former privacy and retreat.

Beauty, wit, eloquence, and fame, are eagerly desired by persons in every rank of life. They are the parent's fondest wish for his child; the ambition of the young, and the admiration of the old; and yet in what numberless instances have they proved, to those who possessed them, no other than shining snares, seductions to vice, instigations to folly, and, in the end, sources of misery.

DISSIPATION.

THE love of dissipation is allowed to be the reigning evil of the present day. It is an evil which many content themselves with regretting, without seeking to redress.

It is too often cultivated as the readiest relief to domestic in [...]l [...]ity; it d [...]ws the mind awhile from the subject of its distress, and suffers it to [Page] enjoy an interval of ease; but this resource is as treacherous as it is momentary, and plunges the mind into more real distress than that from which it promised to relieve it.

Every one seems convinced that the evil so much complained of does really exist somewhere, though all are inwardly persuaded that it is not with themselves. All desire a general reformation, but few will listen to proposals of particular amendment.

Dissipation not only indisposes its votaries, by relaxing the tone of the mind, and rendering it incapable of application, study or virtue, to every thing useful and excellent, but disqualifies them for the enjoyment of pleasure itself. It softens the soul so much, that the most superficial employment becomes a labour, and the slightest inconvenience an agony. The roses of pleasure seldom last long enough to adorn the brow of him who plucks them; for they are the only roses which do not retain their sweetness after they have lost their beauty.

DUTY OF OLD AGE.

A MATERIAL part of the duty of the aged consists in studying to be useful to the [...]ace who are to succeed them. Here opens to them an extensive field, in which they may so [Page] employ themselves as considerably to advance the happiness of mankind. To them it belongs to impart to the young the fruit of their long experience; to instruct them in the proper conduct, and to warn them of the various dangers of life; by wise counsel to temper their precipitate ardour, and both by precept and example to form them to piety and virtue.

It never appears with greater dignity, than when tempered with mildness and enlivened with good-humour; it then acts as a guide and a patron of youth.

Religion, displayed in such a character, strikes the beholders, as at once amiable and venerable. They revere its power, when they see it adding so much grace to the decays of nature, and shedding so pleasing a lustre over the evening of life. The young wish to tread in the same steps, and to arrive at the close of their days with equal honour.

They listen with attention to counsels which are mingled with tenderness, and rendered respectable by grey hairs.

Aged wisdom, when joined with acknowledged virtue, exerts an authority over the human mind, greater even than that which arises from power and station. It can check the most forward, abash the most pr [...]igate, and strike with awe the most giddy and unthinking.

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FEMALE EDUCATION.

NOTWITHSTANDING the great and real improvements which have been made in the affair of female education, and the more enlarged and generous views of it, which prevail in the present day, there is still a material defect, which is not in general the object of attention to remove. The defect seems to consist in this, that too little regard is paid to the dispositions of the mind, that the indications of the temper are not properly cherished, nor the affections of the heart sufficiently regulated.

The exterior should be made a considerable object of attention, but not the principal, not the only one. The graces should be industriously cultivated, but they should not be cultivated at the expense of the virtues. The arms, the head, the whole person should be carefully polished, but the heart should not be the only portion of the human anatomy, which should be totally overlooked.

Music, dancing, and languages gratify those who teach them, by imperceptible and almost immediate effects; and every observer can, in some measure, judge of the progress. The effects of these accomplishments address themselves to the senses; and there are more who [Page] can hear and see, than there are who can judge and reflect.

Personal perfection is not only more obvious, it is also more useful, it is also more rapid, and, even in very accomplished characters, elegance usually precedes principle.

But the heart, that natural seat of evil propensities, that little troublesome empire of the passions, is led to what is right by slow [...] and imperceptible degrees. It must b [...] [...]dmonished by reproof, and allured by kindness. Its liveliest advances are frequently impe [...]ed by the obstinacy of prejudice, and its brightest promises often obscured by the tempests of passion. It is slow in its acquisition of virtue, and reluctant in it approaches to piety.

The labours of a good and wise mother, who is anxious for her daughter's most important interests, will seem to be at variance with those of her instructors. Humility and piety form the solid and durable basis on which she wishes to raise the superstructure of the accomplishments, while the accomplishments themselves are frequently of that unsteady nature, that if the foundation is not secured, in proportion as the [...]uilding is enlarged, it will be overloaded and destroyed by those very ornaments, which were intended to embellish what they have contributed to [...].

[Page]The more ostensible qualifications should be carefully regulated, or they will be in danger of putting to flight the modest train of retreating virtues, which cannot safely subsist before the bold eye of public observation, nor bear the bolder tongue of impudent and audacious flattery.

Merely-ornamental accomplishments will but indifferently qualify a woman to perform the duties of life, though it is highly proper she should possess them, in order to furnish the amusements of it. Yet, though the well bred woman should learn to dance, sing, recite, and draw; the end of a good education, is not that they may become singers, dancers, players or pa [...]; its [...]eal object is, to make them good daughters, good wives, good mistresses, good members of society, and good christians.

To an injudicious and superficial eye, the best educated girl may make the least brilliant figure, as she will probably have less flippancy in her manner, and less repartee in her expression, and her acquirements will be rather enamelled than emb [...]ss [...]d. But her merit will be known by all who come near enough to discern, and have taste enough to distinguish.

A truly good and well-educated young lady w [...]ll be found in the bosom of retirement, in the practice of every domestic virtue, in the performance of every amiable accomplishment, [Page] exerted in the shade, to enliven retirement,— to heighten the endearing pleasures of social intercourse,—and to embellish the narrow, but charming circle of family delights; and to this amiable purpose dedicating her most elegant accomplishments, instead of exhibiting them to attract admiration, or depress inferiority.

One great art of education consists in not suffering the feelings to become too acute by unnecessary awakening, nor too obtuse by the want of exertion. The former renders them the source of calamity, and totally ruins the temper; while the latter blunts and debases them, and produces a dull, cold, and selfish spirit. The precious sensibility of an open temper; the amiable glow of an ingenuous soul; the bright flame of a noble and generous spirit, are of higher worth than all the documents of learning, of dearer price than all the advantages which can be derived from the most refined and artificial mode of education.

Sensibility, delicacy, and an ingenuous temper are of more esteem than language or music, for they are the language of the heart, and the music of the [...]ording passions. Every appearance of am [...]ble simplicity, or of honest sha [...], will be dear to sensible hea [...]ts; they should carefully cherish every such indication in a young female; for they will perceive th [...] it is this temper, wisely cultivated, which will one day make her [Page] enamoured of the loveliness of virtue, and the beauty of holiness; from which she will acquire a taste for the doctrines of religion, and a spirit to perform the duties of it.

Prudence is not natural to children; however, they can substitute art in its stead. But there is something more becoming in the very errors of nature, where they are undisguised, than in the affectation of virtue itself, where the reality is wanting. The precise and premature wisdom which some girls have cunning enough to assume, is of a more dangerous tendency than any of their natural failings can be, as it effectually covers those secret bad dispositions, which, if they displayed themselves, might be rectified. The hypocrisy of assuming virtues which are not inherent in the heart, proves the growth and disclosure of those real ones, which it is the great end of education to cultivate.

This cunning, which, of all the different dispositions girls discover, is most to be dreaded, is increased by nothing so much as fear. The indiscreet transports of rage, which many betray on every slight occasion; and the little distinctions they make between venial errors and premeditated crimes, naturally dispose a child to conceal, what she does not however care to suppress; anger in one, will not remedy the faults of another.

Notwithstanding girls should not be treated [Page] with unkindness, nor the first openings of the passions blighted by cold severity; yet they should be accustomed very early in life to a certain degree of restraint. The natural cast of character, and the moral [...] of the sexes, should not be disregarded, even in childhood.

That bold, independent, enterprizing spirit, which is so much admired in boys, should not, when it happens to discover itself in the other sex, be encouraged, but suppressed. Girls should be taught to give up their opinions betimes, and not pertinaciously carry on a dispute, even if they know themselves to be in the right. Yet they should not be robbed of the liberty of private judgment, but by no means encouraged to contract a contentious or contradictory turn. It is of the greatest importance to their future happiness, that they should acquire a submissive temper, and a forbearing spirit: for it is a lesson the world will not fail to make them frequently practise, when they come abroad into it▪ and they will not practise it the worse for having learnt it the sooner.

There is more piety, as well as more sense, in labouring to improve the talents which children actually have, than in lamenting that they do not possess supernatural endowments or angelic perfections. A girl who has docility, will seldom be found to want understanding enough [Page] for all the purposes of a social, a happy, and an useful life, and those who hope to do a great deal, must not expect to do every thing. If they know any thing of the malignity of sin, the blindness of prejudice, or the corruption of the human heart; they will also know, that the heart will always remain, after the very best possible education, full of infirmity and imperfection.—They should consider that they are not educated cherubims and seraphims, but men and women; creatures, who at their best estate, are altogether vanity: how little can be expected from them in the weakness and imbecility of infancy!

Our passions themselves, by proper management, may be made subservient to some good end, for there is scarcely a single one which may not be turned to profitable account, if prudently rectified, and skilfully directed into the road of some neighbouring virtue. Envy and lying must be always excepted, they must be radically cured before any good can be expected from the heart which has been infected with them. For envy, though passed through all the moral strainers, cannot be refined into virtuous emulation, or lying improved into an agreeable turn for innocent invention.

To win the passions, therefore, over to the cause of virtue, answers a much nobler [...]nd than their extinction would possibly do, even if that [Page] could be effected; for they resemble fires, which are friendly and beneficial when under proper direction; but if suffered to blaze without restraint they carry devastations along with them; and, if totally extinguished, leave the benighted mind in a state of cold and comfortless inanity.

EFFECTS OF RELIGION.

RELIGION prepares the mind of man for all the events of this inconstant state, instructs him in the nature of true happiness; early weans him from an undue love of the world: afflictions do not attack him by surprise, and therefore do not overwhelm him; he is equipped for the storm, as well as the calm, in this dubious navigation of life. He is not overcome by disappointment, when that which is mortal dies; when that which is mutable begins to change; and when that which he knew to be transient passes away.

Religion not only purifies, but also fortifies the heart, so that the devout man is neither lifted up by success, nor enervated by sensuality; he meets the changes in his lot without unmanly dejection.—He is inured to temperance and restraint.—He has learned firmness, and self-command.—He is accustomed to look up to supreme Providence, not with reverence only, but with trust and hope.

[Page]In prosperity he cultivates his mind, stores it with useful knowledge, with good principles, and virtuous dispositions. The resources remain entire when the day of trouble comes. His chief pleasures are always of the calm, innocent and temperate kind, and over those, the changes of the world have the least power. His mind is a kingdom to him, and he can ever enjoy it.

SUPERSTITION AND ENTHUSIASM.

SUPERSTITION and enthusiasm are two capital sources of delusion. Superstition, on the one hand, attaching men, with immoderate zeal, to the ritual and external part of religion. Enthusiasm, on the other, directing their whole attention to internal emotions, and mystical communications with the spiritual world; while neither the one, nor the other, has paid sufficient regard to the great moral duties of the Christian life. Indeed the horror of superstition has sometimes reached so far, as to produce contempt for all external institutions; whilst persons of a devout turn being carried by warm affections at times into unjustifiable excesses, have thence made many conclude that all devotion is a [...]in to enthusiasm.

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ANGER AND ENVY CONTRASTED.

ANGER is less reasonable and more sincere than envy. Anger breaks out abruptly; envy is a great prefacer: anger wishes to be understood at once: envy is fond of remote hints and ambiguities; but obscure as its oracles are, it never ceases to deliver them till they are perfectly comprehended: anger repeats the same circumstances over again; envy invents new ones at every fresh recital: anger gives a broken, vehement, and interrupted narrative; envy tells a more consistent, and more probable, though a falser tale: anger is excessively imprudent, for it is impatient to disclose every thing it knows; envy is discreet, for it has a great deal to hide: anger never consults times or seasons; envy waits for the lucky moment when the wound it meditates may be made the most exquisitely painful, and the most incurably deep: anger uses more invective; envy does more mischief.

Simple anger soon runs itself out of breath, and is exhausted at the end of its tale, but it is for that chosen period that envy has treasured up the most barbed arrow in its whole quiver: anger puts a man out of himself; but the truly malicious generally preserve the appearance of self-possession, or they could not so effectually [Page] injure: anger talks loudly of its own wrongs; envy of its adversary's injustice: anger is a violent act; envy a constant habit: no one can be always angry, but he may be always envious.

An angry man's enmity (if he be generous) will subside when the object of his resentment becomes unfortunate; but the envious man can extract food for his malice out of calamity itself, if he finds his adversary bears it with dignity, or is pitied or assisted in it. The rage of the passionate man is totally extinguished by the death of his enemy; but the hatred of the malicious is not buried even in the grave of his rival; he will envy the good name he has left behind him; he will envy him the tears of his widow, the prosperity of his children, the esteem of his friends, the praises of his epitaph; nay, the very magnificence of his funeral.

EVENTS UNCERTAIN.

MAN walketh in a vain show. His fears are often as vain as his wishes. As what flattered him in expectation, frequently wounds him in possession; so the event to which he looked forward with an anxious and fearful eye, has often, when it arrived, laid its terrors aside; nay, has brought in its train unexpected blessings.

[Page]Both good and evil are beheld at a distance, through a perspective which deceives. The colours of objects when nigh, are entirely different from what they appeared, when they appeared in futurity. It is common for men to be deceived in their prospects of happiness. They judge by the sensations of the present moment, and in the fervour of desire pronounce confidently concerning the desired object. But reflect not that their minds, like their bodies, undergo great alteration from the situation into which they are thrown, and the progressive stages of life through which they pass.

Hence, concerning any condition which is yet untried, they conjecture with much uncertainty. In imagination they carry their present wants, inclinations, and sentiments into the state of life to which they aspire. But no sooner have they entered into it than their sentiments and inclinations change. New wants and desires arise, new objects are required to gratify them; and by consequence their old dissatisfaction returns, and the void which was to have been silled remains as great as it was before.

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FAITH, PIETY, AND ACTIVE VIRTUE.

LIFE passed under the influence of such dispositions naturally leads to a happy end. It is not enough to say, faith and piety joined with active virtue constitute the requisite preparation for heaven. They in truth begin the enjoyment of heaven. In every state of our existence they form the chief ingredients of felicity.

FALSE SENTIMENT.

THERE is a refined jargon, which has infested letters, and tainted morals, unknown to our plain ancestors, called sentiment, which is the varnish of virtue to conceal the deformity of vice: and it is not uncommon for the same persons to make a jest of religion, to break through the most solemn ties and engagements, to practise every art of latent fraud and open seduction, and yet to value themselves on speaking and writing sentimentally.

Error is never likely to do so much mischief as when it disguises its real tendency, and puts on an engaging and attractive appearance. Many a young woman who would be shocked [Page] at the imputation of an intrigue, is extremely flattered at the idea of a sentimental connection, though perhaps with a dangerous and designing man. Such an engagement will be infinitely dearer to her vanity, than an avowed and authorised attachment.

In order to maintain the sentimental character with dignity and propriety, a woman entertains the most elevated ideas of disproportionate alliances, and disinterested love; and considers fortune, rank, and reputation as mere chimerical distinctions and vulgar prejudices. And among the many smooth mischiefs of sentiment, it is one of its sure and successful frauds to affect the most frigid indifference to those external and pecuniary advantages, which it is its great and real object to obtain.

A sentimental girl very rarely entertains any doubt of her personal beauty; for she has been daily accustomed to contemplate it herself, and to hear it from others. She will not, therefore, be very solicitous for the confirmation of a truth so self-evident; but she suspects her pretensions to understanding are more likely to be disputed; and, for that reason, greedily devours every compliment offered to those perfections which are less obvious, and more refined. She is persuaded that men need only open their eyes to decide on her beauty; while it will be the most convincing proof of the taste, sense, and elegance [Page] of her admirer, that he can discern, and flatter those qualities in her.

This latent but leading foible forms a clue to the heart; directed by this the lover affects to overlook that beauty which attracts common eyes; while he bestows the most delicate praises on the beauties of the mind; and finishes the climax of adulation by hinting she is superior to it.

These sublime attachments, if they end not in seduction, seldom conclude delightfully, even though they should terminate in the vulgar catastrophe of marriage. The visionary heaven soon fleets away, and the deluded goddess is shocked to find herself stripped of all her celestial attributes. She now beholds herself of less importance in the esteem of the man she has chosen, than any other mere mortal woman.

No longer she is gratified with the tear of counterfeited passion, the sigh of dissembled rapture, or the language of premeditated adoration. No longer is the altar of her vanity loaded with the oblations of fictitious fondness, the incense of falsehood, or the sacrifice of flattery. Her apotheosis is ended!—She feels herself degraded from the dignities and privileges of a goddess, to all the imperfections, vanities, and weaknesses of a slighted woman, and a neglected wife. Her faults, which were so lately overlooked, or mistaken for virtues, are now [Page] set in a note book. The passion, which was vowed eternal, lasted only a few short weeks; and the indifference which was so far from being included in the bargain, that it was not so much as suspected, follows them through the whole tiresome journey of their insipid, vacant, and joyless existence.

FELICITY EQUALLY DISTRIBUTED.

AMONG the different conditions and ranks of men, the balance of happiness is preserved in a great measure equal; and the high and low, the rich and the poor, approach in point of real enjoyment much nearer to each other than is commonly imagined. Providence never intended that any state here should either be completely happy, or entirely miserable.

If the feelings of pleasure are more numerous and more lively, in the higher departments of life, such also are those of pain.—If greatness flatters our vanity, it multiplies our dangers.— If opulence increases our gratifications, it increases in the same proportion our desires and demands.—If the poor are confined to a more narrow circle, yet within that circle lie most of those natural satisfactions, which, after all the re [...]inements of art, are found to be the most [Page] genuine and true. For the happiness of every man depends more upon the state of his own mind than upon any one external circumstance; nay, more than upon all external things put together.

Inordinate passions are the great disturbers of life; and unless we possess a good conscience, and a well governed mind, discontent will blast every enjoyment, and the highest prosperity will only prove disgusted misery. This conclusion then should be fixed in the mind: The destruction of virtue is the destruction of peace. In no station—in no period are we secure from the dangers which spring from our passions. Every age, and every station they beset, from youth to grey hairs, and from the peasant to the prince.

FELICITY TEMPORAL.

OUR imperfect knowledge of what is good or evil should attach us the more to those few things, concerning which, there can be no doubt of their being truly good.

Of temporal things which belong to this class, the catalogue, it must be confessed, is small. Perhaps the chief wordly good we should wish to enjoy, is a sound mind in a sound body. Health and peace, a moderate fortune, and a [Page] few friends, sum up all the undoubted articles of temporal felicity.

He, whose wishes, respecting this world, are the most reasonable and bounded, is likely to lead the safest, and, for that reason, the most desirable life. By aspiring too high we frequently miss the happiness, which, by a less ambitious aim, we might have gained. High happiness on earth is rather a picture which the imagination forms, than a reality which man is allowed to possess.

SPIRITUAL FELICITY.

WITH regard to spiritual felicity, we are not confined to humble views. Clear and determinate objects are proposed to our pursuits, and full scope is given to our most ardent desires. The forgiveness of our sins, and God's holy grace to guide our life; the protection and favour of the great Father of all, of the blessed Redeemer of mankind, and of the Spirit of sanctification and comfort; these are objects, in the pursuit of which there is no room for hesitation and distrust.

Had Providence spread an equal obscurity over happiness of every kind, we might have had some reason to complain of the vanity of our condition. But we are not left to so hard [Page] a fate. The Son of God hath removed that veil which covered true bliss from the search of wandering mortals, and hath taught them the way which leads to eternal life.

WANT OF FORESIGHT RESPECTING OUR SPIRITUAL STATE.

WE foresee the dangers of our spiritual still less than we do those of our natural state; because we are less attentive to trace them. We are still more exposed to vice than misery. We cannot esteem him prosperous who is raised to a situation which flatters his passions, but which corrupts his principles, disorders his temper, and, finally, oversets his virtue.

In the ardour of pursuit these effects are not foreseen; and yet how often are they accomplished by the change of condition. Latent corruptions are called forth;—seeds of guilt are quickened into life;—a growth of crimes arises, which, had it not been for the fatal culture of prosperity, would never have seen the light.

Man, boastful as he is of reason, is merely the creature of his fortune, formed and moulded by the incidents of his life; incapable of pronouncing with certainty concerning his own good or evil; of futurity he discerns little, and [Page] even that little he sees through a cloud.—Ignorant of the alteration which his sentiments and desires will undergo from new situations in life;—ignorant of the consequences which will follow from the combination of his circumstances with those of others around him;—ignorant of the influence which the present may have on the future events of life;—ignorant of the effect which a change of condition may produce on his moral character and his eternal interests; how can he know what is good for him all the d [...] of his vain life, which spendeth as a shadow [...]nstead therefore of lamenting this ignorance only, he should consider how it ought to be improved; what duties it suggests; and what wise ends it was intended by providence to promote.

FRIENDSHIP.

IN young minds there is commonly a strong propensity to particular intimacies and friendships. Youth, indeed, is the season when friendships are sometimes formed, which not only continue through succeeding life, but which glow to the last, with a tenderness unknown to the connections begun in cooler years. The propensity therefore is not to be discouraged; though, at the same time, it must be regulated with much circumspection and care.

[Page]Too many of the pretended friendships of youth, are mere combinations in pleasure. They are often founded on capricious l [...]kings, suddenly contracted, and as suddenly dissolved. Sometimes they are the effect of interested complaisance and flattery on the one side, and of credulous fondness on the other. Such rash and dangerous connections should be avoided, lest they afterwards load us with dishonour.

We should ever have it fixed in our memories, that by the character of those whom we choose for our friends our own is likely to be formed, and will certainly be judged of by the world. We ought, therefore, to be slow and cautious in contracting intimacy; but when a virtuous friendship is once established, we must ever consider it as a sacred engagement.

We should not expose ourselves to the reproach of lightness and inconstancy; which always bespeak either a trifling or a base mind. We should not reveal any secrets of our friends; but be faithful to his interests. Forsake him not in danger; and abhor the thought of acquiring any advantage by his prejudice or hurt.

In the choice of friends principal regard should be had to goodness of heart and fidelity. I [...] they possess taste and genius, that will make them more agreeable and useful companions. To those who deserve the name of friends we should always unbosom ourselves with the most [Page] unsuspicious confidence. An open temper, if restrained but by tolerable prudence, will make us, upon the whole, much happier than a suspicious one, although by it we may sometimes suffer.

Coldness and distrust are but the too-certain consequences of age and experience; but they are unpleasant feelings, and need not be anticipated before their time. We should never disclose the secrets of one friend to another. They are sacred deposits which do not belong to us, nor have we any right to make use of them.

GALLANTRY.

THOUSANDS of women of the best hearts and finest parts have been ruined by men who approach them under the specious name of friendship. But supposing a man to have the most undoubted honour, yet his friendship to woman is often so near a kin to love, that if she be very agreeable in her person, she will probably very soon find a lover, where she wished only to meet a friend. Yet women should be warned against that weakness so common among the vain, the imagination that every man who takes particular notice of them is a lover. Nothing can expose them more to ridicule, than taking up a man on the suspicion of being their [Page] lover, when perhaps he never once thought of them in that view; and giving themselves those airs so common to silly women on such occasions.

For there is a kind of unmeaning gallantry much practised by some men, which, by those who have any discernment, will readily be found harmless. The little observances, attentions and compliments of such men should be regarded as things of course, which they repeat to every agreeable woman of their acquaintance. There is a familiarity they are apt to assume, which a proper dignity of behaviour will be easily able to check.

But there are people, whose sentiments, and particularly whose tastes, correspond naturally, like to associate together, although neither of them have the most distant view of any further connection. As this similarity of minds often gives rise to tenderness superior to what friendship demands, it will be prudent in this case to keep a watchful eye over ourselves, lest our hearts become too far engaged before we are aware of that something more than friendly partiality; and experience the unsuspected power of a too-interested attachment.

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GOD WITH RESPECT TO MAN.

IN the midst of his glory, the Almighty is not inattentive to the meanest of his subjects. Neither obscurity of station, nor imperfection of knowledge, sinks those below his regard who worship and obey him. Every prayer which they send up from their secret retirement is listened to by him; and every work of charity which they perform, how unknown soever to the world, attracts his notice.

He is the patron of the distressed. Compassion is that attribute of his nature which he has chosen to place in the greatest variety of lights, on purpose that he might accommodate his majesty to our weakness, and provide a cordial for human griefs.

All his creatures he governs with justice and wisdom—an afflicted state he commiserates—he is the refuge of the virtuous and pious, and invites them, amidst all their troubles, to pour out their hearts before him. The neglect, or scorn of the world, exposes them not to any contempt in his sight. No obscurity conceals them from his notice, and though they should be forgotten by every friend on earth, they are remembered by the God of heaven.

That sigh heaved from the afflicted bosom, which is heard by no human ear, is listened to [Page] by him; and that tear is remarked which falls unnoticed, or despised by the world. These present his administration under an aspect so mild and benign as in a great measure to disperse the gloom which hangs over human life.

IGNORANCE OF GOOD AND EVIL. ITS UTILITY.

IT serves to check presumption and r [...]shness, and to enforce a diligent exertion of our rational powers, joined with an humble dependence on d [...]ine aid. It moderates eager passions respecting worldly success. It inculcates resignation to the disposal of a providence which is much wiser than man. It restrains us from employing unlawful means, in order to compass our most favou [...]te designs. It tends to attach us more closely to th [...]se things which are unquestionably good. It is therefore such a degree of ignorance as suits the present circumstances of man better than more complete information concerning good and evil. At the same time the causes which render this obscurity necessary, too plainly indicate a broken and corrupted state of human nature. They sh [...]w this life to be a short trial. They suggest the ideas of a land of pilgrimage, [...]ot of a house of rest.

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GOOD MAN.

HE is devout and benevolent, and according to his measure of religious knowledge studies to perform his duty, prays to God always, and gives much alms to the people; joining piety with charity; faith with good works; devotion with morality, consistent with the connexion ordained by God between them: for alms without prayers, or prayers without alms, morality without devotion, or devotion without morality, are extremely defective.

A good man acts with vigou [...], and suffers with a patience more than human, when he believes himself countenanced by the Almighty. Injured or oppressed by the world, he looks up to a judge who will vindicate his cause; he appeals to a witness who knows his integrity; he commits himself to a friend who will never forsake him. When tired with the vexations of life, devotion opens to him its quiet retreat, where the tumults of the world are hus [...]d, and its cares are lost in happy oblivion.

There his mind regains its serenity; the agitation of passion is calmed; and a softening balm is infused into the wounds of the spirit; his heart is lightened; he does not feel himself solitary or forsaken; he believes God to be present with him, and as he hears a voice which [Page] speaks to none but the pure in heart, so he beholds a hand which sinners cannot see.

Those afflictions which appear to others the messengers of the wrath of heaven, appear to him the ministers of sanctification and justice. Where they discern nothing but the horrors of the tempest which surrounds them, his more enlightened eye beholds the angel who rides in the whirlwind and directs the storm.

EFFECT OF LOOSE GRATIFICATIONS.

BY a continued series of loose, though apparently trivial gratifications, the heart is often as thoroughly corrupted, as by the commission of any one of those enormous crimes which spring from great ambition, or great revenge. Habit gives the passions strength, while the absence of glaring guilt seemingly justifies them; and, unawakened by remorse, the sinner proceeds in his course, till he waxes bold in guilt, and becomes ripe for ruin; for by gradual and latent steps the destruction of our virtue advances. We are imperceptibly betrayed; and from one licentious attachment, are, by a train of consequences, drawn on to another, till the government of our minds is irrecoverably lost.

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GRATITUDE.

GRATITUDE is a pleasing emotion. The sense of being distinguished by the kindness of another, gladdens the heart, warms it with reciprocal affection, and gives to any profession, which is agreeable in itself, a double relish, from its being the gift of a friend. Favours, though conferred by men, may become burdensome; but nothing of this kind can affect the intercourse of gratitude with heaven. Its favours are wholly disinterested. The Almighty aims at no end but the happiness of those whom he blesses, and who desires no return from them but a devout and thankful heart.

WORDLY GREATNESS AND HONOURS,

WHEN enjoyed with temperance and wisdom, both enlarge our utility, and contribute to our comfort. But we should not overrate them; for, unless we add to them the necessary correctives of piety and virtue, besides corrupting the mind, and ingendering in [...]ernal misery, they lend us among precipices, and betray us into ruin.

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HAPPINESS—HOW JUDGED OF.

IMPERFECTLY [...]an we judge of [...]eal happiness or misery from external appearance.— We are seduced and deceived by that false glare which prosperity throws around bad men;—we are tempted to imitate their crimes, in order to partake of their imagined felicity.

The pageant of grandeur displayed to public view, is not the ensign of certain happiness. We must follow the great man into the retired apartment, where he lays aside his disguise, in order to form any just conclusion. We must have a faculty by which we can look into the inside of hearts; then should we behold good men in proportion to their goodness, satisfied and easy; atrocious sinners always restless and unhappy.

HAPPINESS NOT INDEPENDENT.

NO individual can be happy unless the circumstances of those around him be so adjusted as to conspire with his interest. For in human society, no happiness or misery stands unconnected and independent. Our fortunes are interwoven by threads innumerable: one man's success or misfortune, his wisdom or folly [Page] often, by its consequences, reaches through multitudes.

Such a system is too far complicated for our arrangement.—It requires adjustments beyond our skill and power.—It is a chaos of events into which our eye cannot pierce; and is capable of regulation only by him who perceives at one glance the relation of each to all. We are ignorant of the influence which the present transactions of our life may have upon those which are future.

The important question is not what will yield to man a few scattered pleasures, but what will render his life happy on the whole amount. There is not any present moment that is unconnected with some future one.—The life of every man is a continued chain of incidents, each link of which hangs upon the former. The transition from cause to effect, from event to event, is often carried on by secret steps, which our foresight cannot divine, [...]d our saga [...]ty is unable to trace. Evil may at [...]ome future period bring forth good; and good may bring forth evil, both equally unexpected.

HEALTH.

THOUGH good health be one of the greatest blessings of life, it is thought necessary prudently to caution women against making a [Page] boast of it, and exhort them to enjoy it in grateful silence. For men so naturally associate the idea of female softness and delicacy with a correspondent delicacy of constitution, that when a woman speaks of her great strength, her extraordinary appetite, her ability to bear excessive fatigue, we recoil at the description in a way she is little aware of.

HISTORY.

HISTORY is a mirror which holds up mankind to their own view: in the circle of worldly affairs the same characters and situations are perpetually returning, and in the follies and passions, the vices and crimes of the generations that are past, we read those of the present.

The history of mankind has ever been a continued tragedy—the world a great theatre, exhibiting the same repeated scene of the follies of of men shooting forth into guilt, and of their passions fermenting by a quick process into misey.

TRUE VIRTUE AND HONOUR.

MEN possessed of these, value not themselves upon any regard to inferior obligations, and yet violate that which is the most sacred and ancient of all,—religion.

[Page]They should consider such violation as a severe reproach in the most enlightened state of human nature; and under the purest dispensation of religion, it appears to have extinguished the sense of gratitude to Heaven, and to slight all acknowledgement of the great and true God. Such conduct implies either an entire want, or a wilful suppression of some of the best and most generous affections belonging to human nature.

HOPE.

HOPE to the soul, when distracted by the confusions of the world, is as an anchor to a ship in a dark night, on an unknown coast, and amidst a boisterous ocean. In danger it gives security;—amidst general fluctuation it affords one fixed point of rest.—It is the most eminent of all the advantages which religion confers.—It is the universal comforter;—it is the spring of all human activity.

Upon futurity, men are constantly suspended; animated by the prospect of some distant good, they toil and suffer through the whole course of life; and it is not so much what they are at present, as what they hope to be in some after time, that enlivens their motions, fixes their attention, and stimulates industry.

[Page]Was this hope entertained with that full persuasion which Christian faith demands, it would in truth totally annihilate all human miseries; it would banish discontent, extinguish grief, and suspend the very feeling of pain.

HUMANITY.

GENTLENESS, which belongs to virtue, is to be carefully distinguished from the mean spirit of cowards, and the fawning assent of sycophants.—It renounces no just [...]ight from fear:—it gives up no important truth from flattery:—it is indeed not only consistent with a firm mind, but it necessarily requires a manly spirit and a fixed principle in order to give it any real value.

It stands opposed to harshness and severity,— to pride and arrogance,—to violence and oppression:—it is, properly, that part of the real virtue charity, which makes us unwilling to give pain to any of our brethren.— It corrects whatever is offensive in our manners, and, by a constant train of humane attentions, studies to alleviate the burden of common misery.—Its office is therefore extensive;—it is continually in action, when we are engaged in intercourse with men.—It ought to form our address, to regulate our speech, and to diffuse itself over our whole behaviour.

[Page]That gentleness which is a characteristic of a good man, has, like every other virtue, its seat in the heart.—In that unaffected civility which springs from a gentle mind, there is a charm infinitely more powerful than in all the studied manners of the most finished courtier.

It is founded on a sense of what we owe to him who made us, and to the common nature of which we all share.—It arises from reflection on our own failings and wants; and from just views of the condition and duty of man.—It is native feeling heightened and improved by principle. It is the heart which easily relents; which feels for every thing that is human; and is backward and slow to inflict the least wound. It is affable in its address, and mild in its demeanour; ever ready to oblige, and be obliged by others; breathing habitual kindness towards friends, courtesy to strangers, long suffering to enemies.

It exercises authority with moderation;—administers reproof with tenderness;—confers favours with care and modesty.—It is unassuming in opinion, and temperate in zeal.—It contends not eagerly about trifles; slow to contradict, and still slower to blame; but prompt to allay dissention and restore peace.—It neither intermeddles unnecessarily with the affairs, nor pries inquisitively into the secrets of others.—It delights above all things to alleviate distress; and, [Page] if it cannot dry up the falling tear, to soothe at least the grieving heart.

Where it has not the power of being useful, it is never burdensome.—It seeks to please rather than shine and dazzle, and conceals with care that superiority, either of talents or of rank, which are oppressive to those who are beneath it.—It is a great avenue to mutual enjoyment: amidst the strife of interfering interests, it tempers the violence of contention, and keeps alive the seeds of harmony.—It softens animosities, renews endearments, and renders the countenance of a man a refreshment to man.—It prepossesses and wins every heart.—It persuades when every other argument fails; often disarms the fierce, and melts the stubborn.

To the man of humanity the world is generally disposed to ascribe every other good quality; of its influence all in some degree partake, therefore all love it.

The man of this character rises in the world without struggle, and flourishes without envy; his misfortunes are universally lamented, and his failings are easily forgiven. The inward tranquillity which it promotes is the first requisite of every pleasurable feeling. It is the calm and clear atmosphere, the serenity and sunshine of the mind.

Attacked by great injuries, the man of mild and gentle spirit will feel what human nature [Page] feels; and will defend and resent as his duty allows him: but to slight provocations he is happily superior. Inspired with noble sentiments, taught to regard, with an indulgent eye, the frailties of men, the omissions of the careless, the follies of the imprudent, and the levity of the fickle; he retreats into the calmness of his spirit, as into an undisturbed sanctuary, and quietly allows the usual current of life to hold its course.

HUMILITY IN COMPANY.

OF all the qualifications for conversation, humility, if not the most brilliant, is the safest, the most amiable, and the most feminine. The affectation of introducing subjects with which others are unacquainted, and of displaying talents superior to the rest of the company, is as dangerous as it is foolish.

There are many who never can forgive another for being more agreeable and more accomplished than themselves, and who can pardon any offence rather than an eclipsing merit. The fable of the nightingale should be ever had in remembrance, as it conveys a most useful lesson replete with valuable instructions. Had the silly warbler conquered his vanity, and resisted the temptation of shewing a fine voice, he might [Page] have escaped the talons of the hawk. The melody of his singing was the cause of his destruction; his merit brought him into danger, and his vanity cost him his life.

HUMOUR.

HUMOUR, though often mistaken for wit, is a very different quality. It makes our company much solicited, but we should be cautious in indulging it. It is often a great enemy to d [...]l [...]cacy, and [...] still greater one to dignity of character. It [...] sometimes gain applause, but will never p [...]e respect.

INDUSTRY.

DILIGENCE, and proper improvement of time, are material duties of the young. To no purpose are they endued with the best abilities, if they want activity for exerting them. In youth the habits of industry are most easily acqui [...]ed.—In youth the incentives to it are the strongest; from ambition and from duty, from co [...]lation and hope, all the prospects which the beginning of life affords.

Industry is not only the instrument of improvement, but the foundation of pleasure. He [Page] who is a stranger to it may possess, but cannot enjoy; for it is labour only which gives relish to pleasure.—It is the indispensible condition of our possessing a sound mind in a sound body.

We should seek to fill our time with employments which may be reviewed with satisfaction. The acquisition of knowledge is one of the most honourable occupations of youth. The desire of it discovers a liberal mind, and is connected with many accomplishments, and many virtues. But though our train of life should not lead us to study, the course of education always furnishes proper employments to a well disposed mind. Whatever we pursue, we should be emulous to excel.

Generous ambition and sensibility to praise, are, especially at the youthful period, among the marks of virtue. We never ought to think that any affluence of fortune, or any elevation of rank, exempts us from the duties of application and industry: industry is the law of our being; it is the demand of nature, of reason, and of God.

INTENT OF RELIGION.

IF there be any principle fully ascertained by religion, it is, that this life was intended for a state of trial and improvement to man. His preparation for a better world required a [Page] gradual purification, carried on by steps of progressive discipline. The situation here assigned him was such as to answer this design, by calling forth all his active powers, by giving full scope to his moral dispositions, and bringing to light his whole character. Hence it became proper, that difficulty and temptation should arise in the course of his duty; ample rewards were promised to virtue; but these rewards were left, as yet, in obscurity and distant prospect.

The impressions of sense were so balanced against immortality, as to allow a conflict between faith and sense,—between conscience and desire,—between present pleasure and future good. In this conflict the souls of good men are tried, improved and strengthened:—in this field their honours are reaped;—here are formed the capital virtues of fortitude, temperance, and self-denial;—moderation in prosperity, patience in adversity, submission to the will of God, charity and forgiveness to men amidst the various competitions of worldly interest.

LOVE OF JUSTICE.

A SENSE of justice should be the foundation of all our social qualities. In our most early intercourse with the world, and even in our most youthful amusements, no unfairness should [Page] be found. That sacred rule of doing all things to others, according as we wish they would do unto us, should be engraven on our minds. For this end, we should impress ourselves with a deep sense of the original, and natural equality of men.

Whatever advantage of birth or fortune we possess, we ought never to display them with an ostentatious superiority. We should leave the subordinations of rank to regulate the intercourse of more advanced years.—In youth it becomes us to act among our companions, as man with man. We should remember how unknown to us are the vicissitudes of the world; and how often they, on whom ignorant and contemptuous young men once looked down with scorn, have risen to be their superiors in future years.

SELF-KNOWLEDGE.

TO acquire a thorough knowledge of ourselves, is an attainment no less difficult than important. For men are generally unwilling to see their own imperfections; and when they are willing to enquire into them, their self-love imposes upon their judgment. Their intercourse with one another assists their d [...]lusion, to which, of themselves, they are prone.

[Page]For the ordinary commerce of the world is a commerce of flattery and falsehood; where reciprocally they deceive and are deceived, where every one appears under an assumed form, professes esteem which he does not feel, and bestows praise in order to receive it.

There are three characters which every man sustains; and these often extremely different from one another. One which he possesses is his own opinion;—another, which he carries in estimation of the world;—and a third, which he bears in the judgment of God:—it is only the last which ascertains what he really is. Whether the character which the world forms of him, be above or below truth, it imports not much to know. But it is of eternal consequence, that the character which a man possesses in his own eyes, be formed upon that which he bears in the sight of God.

He should enquire, after laying aside all partiality for himself, and exploring the heart with such accurate scrutiny, as may bring all hidden defects to light, whether he be not conscious, that the fair opinion which the world entertains of him, is founded on their partial knowledge, both of his abilities and virtues.—He should be [...]lling that all his actions should be publicly c [...]nvassed.—He should bear to have his thoughts [...]d open.

When he has kept from vice, [...] should be [Page] known whether his innocence proceeded from purity of principle, or from worldly motives; —whether any malignity or envy rises within him, when he compares his own condition with that of others. He should enquire whether he has been as solicitous to regulate his heart, as to preserve his manners from reproach;—professing himself a Christian, whether the spirit of Christ has appeared in his conduct;—declaring that he hopes for immortality, whether that hope surmounted undue attachment to the present life.

Such investigation, seriously pursued, may produce to every man many discoveries of himself; discoveries, not pleasing, perhaps, to vanity, but salutary and useful. For he can only be a flatterer, but no true friend to himself, who aims not at knowing his own defects, as well as virtues.

CHEERFULNESS OF OLD AGE, AND LEVITY OF YOUTH, CONTRASTED.

CHEERFULNESS, in old age, is graceful. It is the natural concomitant of virtue. But this is widely different from the levity of youth. Many things are allowable in that early period, which, in maturer years, would [Page] deserve censure; but which, in old age, become both ridiculous and criminal.—By awkwardly affecting to imitate the manners, and to mingle in the vanities of the young; as the aged depart from the dignity, so they forfeit the privileges of grey hairs. But if by follies of this kind they are degraded, they are exposed to much deeper blame, by descending to vicious pleasure, and continuing to hover round those sinful gratifications to which they were once addicted.

Amusement and relaxation the aged require, and may enjoy; but they should consider well by every intemperate indulgence they accelerate decay; instead of enlivening, they oppress and precipitate their declining state.

PUBLIC LIFE, ITS INCONVENIENCIES.

HE who lives always in public cannot live to his own soul. Conversation and intercourse with the world is, in several respects, an education for vice. From earliest youth we are accustomed to hear riches and honour extolled as the chief possessions of man, and proposed to us as the principal aim of our future pursuits. We are trained up to look with admiration on [Page] the flattering marks of distinction which they bestow. In quest of those fancied blessings, we see the multitude around us eager and fervent. Principles of duty we may, perhaps, hear sometimes inculcated; but we seldom behold them brought in competition with worldly profit.

The soft names and plausible colours under which deceit, sensuality, and revenge are presented to us in common discourse, weaken, by degrees, our natural sense of the distinction between good and evil. We often meet with crimes authorized by high examples, and rewarded with the caresses and smiles of the world. We discover, perhaps, at last, that those whom we are taught to reverence and to regard as our patterns of conduct, act upon principles no purer than those of others.

LOVE.

WHAT is commonly called love amongst the women, is rather gratitude, and a partiality to the man who prefers any individual to the rest of the sex; such a man she often marries with little of either personal esteem or affection. Indeed, without an unusual share of natural sensibility, and very peculiar good fortune, a woman in this country has very little probability of marrying for love.

[Page]F [...]r love is not to begin on the part of the female, but entirely to be the consequence of a man's attachment to her. Nature has therefore wisely and ben [...]volently assigned to the tender sex, a greater flexibility of taste on this subject.

Some agreeable qualities recommend a gentleman to common good liking, and friendship. In the course of acquaintance, he contracts an attachment. When a woman perceives it, it excites her gratitude; this rises into preference; and this preference, perhaps, at last advances to some degree of attachment, especially if it meets with crosses and difficulties; for these, and a state of suspense, are very great incitements to attachment, and are the food of love in both sexes.

The effects of love among men are diversified by their d [...]ffer [...]nt tempers. An artful man may counterfeit every one of them so, as easily to impose on a young girl of an open, generous, and feeling heart, if she is not extremely on her guard. The finest parts of such a girl may not always prove sufficient for her security. The dark and crooked paths of cunning are unsearchable, and inconceivable to an honourable and elevated mind.

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ARTFUL SENTIMENTAL LOVER.

THE man versed in the wiles of deceit puts on the mask of plausibility and virtue, and, by these means, disarms the object of his attention and apparent love of the usual administration of her prudence, lays her apprehensions asleep, and involves her in misery: misery the more inevitable, because unsuspected. For she who apprehends no danger, will not think it necessary to be always upon her guard; but will rather invite than avoid the ruin which comes under so specious and so fair a form.

One of these sentimental lovers will not scruple very seriously to assure a credulous girl, that her unparalelled merit entitles her to the adoration of the whole world; and that the universal homage of mankind is nothing more than the unavoidable tribute extorted by her charms.

But she should reflect, that he who endeavours to intoxicate her with adulation, intends one day most effectually to humble her. For an artful man has always a secret design to pay himself in future for any present sacrifice. If he has address and conduct, and the object of his pursuit much vanity, and some sensibility, he seldom fails of success; for so powerful will be his ascendency over her mind, that she will soon adopt his notions and opinions.

[Page]The lover, de [...]pl [...] versed in all the obliquities of fraud, and ski [...]led to wind himself into every ave [...]ue of the heart which indiscretion has left unguarded, soon discovers on which side it is most accessible.—He avails himself of this weakness by addressing her in a language exactly consonant to her own ideas.—He attacks her with her own weapons, and opposes, if a sentimental girl, rhapsody to sentiment.—He professes so sovereign a contempt for the paltry concerns of money, that she thinks it her duty to reward him for so generous a renunciation.— Every plea he artfully advances of his own unworthiness, is considered by her as a fresh demand, that her gratitude must answer.—And she makes it a point of honour to sacrifice to him that fortune which he is too noble to regard.

These professions of humility are the common artifices of the vain, and these protestations of generosity the refuge of the rapacious.

EFFECTS OF HONOURABLE LOVE.

A MAN of delicacy oft betrays his passion by his too great anxiety to conceal it: especially if he has little hopes of success. True love, in all its stages, seeks concealment, and never expects success—It renders a man not [Page] only respectful, but timid, to the highest degree, in his behaviour to the woman he loves.

To conceal the awe he stands in of her, he may sometimes affect pleasantry, but it sits awkwardly on him; and he quickly relapses into seriousness, if not dullness.—He magnifies all her real perfections in his imagination, and is either blind to her failings, or converts them into beauties.—Like a person conscious of guilt, he is jealous that every eye observes him; and to avoid this, he shuns all the little observances of common gallantry.

His heart and his character will be improved in every respect by his attachment.—His manners will become more gentle, and his conversation more agreeable; but diffidence and embarrassment will always make him appear to disadvantage in the company of his mistress. If the fascination continues long, it will depress his spirit, and extinguish every vigorous and manly principle of his mind.

MALE COQUETRY.

MALE coquetry is much more inexcusable than female, as well as more pernicious; but it is rare in this country. Very few men will give themselves the trouble to gain, or retain any woman's affections, unless they have [Page] views on them either of an honourable or dishonourable kind.

Men employed in the pursuits of business, ambition or pleasure, will not give themselves the trouble to engage a woman's affections, merely from the vanity of conquest, and of triumphing over the heart of an innocent and defenceless girl.

A man of parts, sentiment, and address, if he lays aside all regard to truth and humanity, may engage the heart of fifty women at the same time; and may likewise conduct his coquetry with so much art, as to put it out of the power of any of them to specify a single expression that could be said to be directly expressive of love.

This ambiguity of behaviour, this art of keeping one in suspence, is the great surety of coquetry of both sexes.—It is the more cruel in men, because they can carry it what length they please, and continue it as long as they please, without the women being so much as at liberty to complain or expostulate; whereas men can break the chain, and force women to explain whenever they become impatient of their situation.

But as a woman in this country may easily prevent the first impressions of love, every motive of prudence and delicacy should make her guard her heart against them, till such time as [Page] she has received the most convincing proofs of the attachment of a man of such merit as will justify a reciprocal regard. She should studiously labour to possess such high principles of honour and generosity, as will render her incapable of deceiving, and, at the same time, to possess that acute discernment which may secure her against being deceived.

MAN OF THE WORLD.

HE pretends that virtue is, at least, a respectable and honoured name, while piety sounds meanly in his ears—and claims to be a man of honour. He rests upon humanity— public spirit—probity—and truth. He arrogates to himself, all the manly and active virtues:—but devout affections and religious duties he treats with contempt, as founded on shadowy speculation, and fit to employ the attention only of weak and superstitious minds. Hence this neglect of piety argues depravity of soul—infers an irregular discharge of the duties of morality, and discovers a cold and hard heart.

He who acts from worldly wisdom lays principle aside, and trusts his defence to his art and ability. He avails himself of every advantage which his knowledge of the world suggests—he [Page] attends to nothing but what he considers as his interest; and unconfined by conscience, pursues it by every course which promises him success.

Persons of this character condemn themselves to live a most unquiet life; they pass their days in perpetual anxiety,—listening to every motion,—startled by every alarm,—changing their measures on every new occurrence—and when distress breaks in over all their defences, they are left under it hopeless and disconsolate.

MAN'S REAL DEPENDENCE.

MAN should proceed with caution and circumspection through a world, where evil so frequently lurks under the form of good. To be humble and modest in opinion,—to be vigilant and attentive in conduct,—to distrust fair appearances, and to restrain rash desires— are instructions which the darkness of his present state should strongly inculcate.

God hath appointed his situation to be so ambiguous, in order both to call forth the exertion of those intelligent powers which he hath given him, and to enforce his dependence on his gracious aid.—Surrounded by so many bewildering paths, among which the wisest are ready to stray, he should earnestly implore, and thankfully receive that divine illumination which is promised to the pious and humble.

[Page]What must be the fate of him who looks not up to Heaven for direction, nor properly exerts the reason which God hath given him?—who brings neither patience nor attention to the search of true happiness?—who applies to no other counsellor than present pleasure, and with a rash and credulous mind delivers himself up to every suggestion of desire?

DEVOUT MAN.

HIS veneration is not confined to acts of immediate worship. It is the habitual temper of his soul. No place and no object appear to him void of God. When he surveys this vast universe, where beauty and goodness are every where predominant;—when he reflects on the numberless multitudes of creatures, who, in their different stations, enjoy the blessings of existence;—and when, at the same time, he looks up to an universal Father, who hath thus filled creation with life and happiness; his heart glows within him.—He looks forward to immortality, and discovers the highest subjects of gratitude. He views himself as a guilty creature, whom divine benignity has received in [...] gra [...]e, whose forfeited hopes it has restored, and to whom it has opened the most glorious pr [...]ct of future felicity.—He contemplates [Page] with astonishment the labours of the son of God, in accomplishing redemption for men, and his soul overflows with thankfulness to him.

To inferior enjoyments, he allots inferior and secondary attachments.—He disclaims not every earthly affection.—He pretends not to renounce all pleasure in the comforts of this present state. —Such an unnatural renunciation humanity forbids, and religion cannot require.—But from these he expects not supreme bliss.—He discerns the vanity which belongs to them all; and beyond the circle of mutable objects, which surround him, he aspires after some principles of more perfect felicity, which shall not be subject to change or decay.

But where is this complete and permanent good to be found? Ambition pursues it in courts and palaces, and returns from the pursuit loaded with sorrows.—Pleasure seeks it among sensual joys, and retires with the confession of disappointment.

After exploring heaven and earth for happiness, to the devout man they seem a mighty void, a wilderness of shadows, where all would be empty and unsubstantial without God.—True happiness dwells only with God.

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MEN AND WOMEN, HOW DIFFERENT IN POINT OF UNDERSTANDING.

WOMEN generally have quicker perceptions; men have juster sen [...]ents.— Women consider how things may be prettily said; men how they may be properly said.—In women (young ones at least) speaking accompanies, and sometimes precedes reflection; in men reflection is the antecedent.

Women speak to shine or please; men to convince or confute.—Women admire what is brilliant; men what is solid.—Women prefer an extemporaneous sally of wit, or a sparkling effusion of fancy, before the most accurate reasoning, or the most laborious investigation of facts.

In literary composition women are pleased with point, turn, and antethesis; men with observation, and a just deduction of effects from their causes.—Women are fond of incidents; men of argument.—Women admire passionately; men cautiously.—One sex will think it betrays a want of feeling to be moderate in their appl [...]se; the other will be afraid of exposing a want of [...]dgment by being in raptures with any thing.—Men refuse to give way to the emotions [Page] they actually feel; while women sometimes affect to be transported beyond what the occasion will justify.

The women of this country were not sent into the world to shun society but embellish it;— they were not designed for wilds and solitudes, but for the amiable and endearing offices of social life.—They have useful stations to fill, and important characters to sustain.—They are of a religion which does not impose penances, but enjoins duties; a religion of perfect purity, but of perfect benevolence also,—a religion which does not condemn its followers to indolent seclusion from the world, but assigns them the more dangerous, though more honourable province of living uncorrupted in it. In fine, a religion, which does not direct them to fly from the multitude, that they may do nothing, but which positively forbids them to follow a multitude to do evil.

MARRIAGE.

THERE is nothing which renders a woman more despicable than her thinking it essential to happiness to be married. Besides the gross indelicacy of the sentiment, it is a false one, as thousands of women have experienced. But a married state, if entered into from proper [Page] motives of esteem and affection, is the happiest, makes women the most respectable in the eyes of the world, and the most useful members of society. Care should be taken not to relinquish the ease and independence of a single life, to become the slaves of a fool, or a tyrant's caprice.

Love is very seldom produced at first sight; at least, in that case, it must have a very unjustifiable foundation. True love is founded on esteem, in a correspondence of tastes and sentiments, and steals on the heart imperceptibly. Therefore, before the affections come to be in the least engaged to any man, women should examine their tempers, their tastes, and their hearts very severely; and settle in their own minds, what are the requisites to their happiness in a married state; and, as it is almost impossible that they should get every thing they wish, they should come to a steady determination what they are to consider as essential, and what may be sacrificed.

Should they have hearts disposed by nature for love and friendship, and possess those feelings which enable them to enter into all the refinements and delicacies of these attachments, matters should be well considered before they give them any indulgence.

Should they have the misfortune to have such tempers, and such sentiments deeply rooted in [Page] them; should they have spirit and resolution to resist the solicitations of vanity, the persecution of friends; and can they support the prospect of the many inconveniences attending the state of an old maid, then they may indulge themselves in that kind of sentimental reading and conversation, which is most correspondent to their feelings.

But if it is found, on a strict self-examination, that marriage is absolutely essential to their happiners, the secret should be kept inviolable in their own bosoms;—but they should shun, as they would do the most fatal poison, all that species of reading and conversation, which warms the imagination, which engages and softens the heart, and raises the taste above the level of common life. If they do otherwise, let them consider the terrible conflict of passions this may afterwards raise in their breasts.

If this refinement once takes deep root in their minds, and they do not mean to obey its dictates, but marry from vulgar and mercenary views, they may never be able to eradicate it entirely, and then it will embitter all their married days. Instead of meeting with sense,— tenderness,—delicacy,—a lover,—a friend,— an equal companion in an husband, they may be tried with insipidity and dulness;—shocked with indelicacy;—and mortified by indifference.

To avoid these complicated evils, joined to [Page] others which may arise from the opinion of the world relative to the infelicity thence arising; women who are determined, at all events, to marry, should have all their reading and amusements of such a kind, as do not affect the heart nor the imagination, except in the way of wit and humour.

Whatever are a woman's views in marrying, she should take every possible precaution to prevent being disappointed. If fortune, and the pleasure it brings be her aims, the principal security she can have for this will depend on her marrying a good-natured, generous man; who despises money, and who will let her live where she can best enjoy that pleasure, that pomp, and parade of life for which she married him.

In order to ensure felicity, it is difficult to point out in the married state the most effectual method; nor can we advise whom a woman should marry, but we may with great confidence advise whom she should not marry.

A companion that may entail any hereditary disease on posterity, particularly madness, should be avoided. S [...]risque is the height of imprudence, and highly criminal.

A woman should not marry a fool; he is the most intractable of all animals; he is led by his passions and caprices, and is incapable of hearing the voice of reason. Besides it may probably too hurt a woman's vanity to have a husband, [Page] for whom she has reason to blush and tremble every time he opens his lips in company.

But the worst circumstance that attends a fool, is his constant jealousy of his wife's being thought to govern him. This renders it impossible to lead him; and he is continually doing absurd and disagreeable things, for no other reason but to shew he dare do them.

A rake is always a suspicious husband, because he h [...]s only known the most worthless of the sex.

Women, who have a sense of religion, should not think of husbands who have none. If husbands have tolerable understandings, though not actuated by religious principles themselves, they will be glad that their wives have religion, for their own sakes, and for the sake of their families.

If they are weak men, they will be continually shocking and teasing them about their principles.

A sudden sally of passion should never be given way to, and dignified with the name of love. —Genuine love is not founded on caprice; it is founded in nature, or honourable views; —on virtue—on similarity of tastes—and sympathy of soul.

In point of fortune, which is necessary to the happiness of both, a competency is requisite. But what that competency may be, can only be [Page] determined by their own tastes. If they have enough between them, as will satisfy all demands, it is sufficient.

Marriage will at once dispel the enchantment raised by external beauty; but the virtues and graces that first warmed the heart, that reserve, and delicacy which always left the lover something further to wish, and often made him doubtful of his mistress's sensibility and attachment, may and ought ever to remain.

The tumult of passion will naturally subside; but it will be succeeded by an endearment that affects the heart in a more equal, more sensible, and more tender manner.

TRUE MEEKNESS.

MEEKNESS, like most other virtues, has certain limits, which it no sooner exceeds than it becomes criminal. She who hears innocence maligned without vindicating it,—falsehood asserted without contradicting it,—or religion p [...]ofaned without resenting it, is not gentle, but wicked.

Meekness is imperfect, if it be not both active and passive; if it will not enable us to subdue our own passions and resentments, as well as qualify us to bear patiently the passions and resentments of others. If it were only for mere [Page] human reasons, it would turn to a profitable account to be patient; nothing defeats the malice of an enemy like the spirit of forbearance; the return of rage for rage cannot be so effectually provoking.

True gentleness, like an impenetrable armour, repels the most pointed shafts of malice: they cannot pierce through this invulnerable shield, but either fall hurtless to the ground, or return to wound the hand that shot them.

A meek spirit will not look out of itself for happiness, because it finds a constant banquet at home; yet, by a sort of divine alchemy, it will convert all external events to its own profit; and be able to deduce some good, even from the most unpromising; it will extract comfort and satisfaction, from the most barren circumstances; ‘it will suck honey out of the rock, and oil out of the flinty rock.’

Meekness may be called the pioneer of all the other virtues, which levels every obstruction, and smooths every difficulty that might impede their entrance, or retard their progress. Honours and dignities are transient;—beauty and riches frail and fugacious;—but this amiable virtue is permanent. And surely the truly wise would wish to have some one possession, which they might call their own in the severest exigencies. This can only be accomplished by acquiring and maintaining that calm and absolute [Page] self-possession, which, as the world had no hand in giving, so it cannot, by the most malicious exertion of its power, take away.

MIDDLE AGE.

AS we advance from youth to middle age, a new field of action opens, and a different character is required.—The flow of gay and impetuous spirits begins to subside.—Life gradually assumes a graver cast; the mind a more sedate and thoughtful turn.—The attention is now transferred from pleasure to interest; that is, to pleasure, diffused over a wider extent, and measured by a larger scale.

Formerly the enjoyment of the present moment occupied the whole attention. Now, no action terminates alternately in itself, but refers to some more distant aim. Wealth and power, the instruments of lasting gratification, are now coveted more than any single pleasure;—prudence and foresight lay their plan; industry carries on its patient efforts;—activity pushes forward;—address winds around;—here, an enemy is to be overcome;—there, a rival to be displaced;—competitions warm;—and the strife of the world thickens on every side.

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THE UNION OF PIETY AND MORALITY.

THIS forms the consistent, the graceful, the respectable character of the real christian, the man of true worth. Either of them left out, one side of the character is only fair; the other side will be always open to much reproach. Hence we dishonour ourselves, and do great injustice to religion: as by division it is exposed to the censure of the world.

The unbeliever will scoff at such piety, where he sees a neglect of moral duties. The bigot will decry all morality, where he sees a pretence of virtue, though a contempt of God. Whereas he who fears God, and is at the same time just and beneficent to men, exhibits religion to the world with full propriety.—His character is above reproach.—It is at once amiable and venerable.—Malice itself is afraid to attack him; and even the worst men respect and honour him in their hearts. He who fails materially either in piety, or virtue, is always obnoxious to the anguish of remorse.

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NEGLECT OF RELIGION.

WHERE Religion is neglected there can be no regular or steady practice of the duties of morality. The character will be often inconsistent; and virtue, placed on a basis too narrow to support it, will be always loose and tottering. For such is the propensity of our nature to vice, so numerous are the temptations to a relaxed and immoral conduct, that stronger restraints than those of mere reason, are necessary to be imposed on man.

The sense of right and wrong, the principle of honour, or the instinct of benevolence, are barriers too feeble to withstand the strength of passion. For the heart wounded by sore distress, or agitated by violent emotions, soon discovers that virtue without religion is inadequate to the government of life. It is destitute of its proper guard—of its firmest support—of its chief encouragement,—It will sink under the weight of misfortune, or will yield to the solicitations of guilt.

Humanity, seconded by piety, renders the spring from whence it flows of course more regular and constant. In short, withdraw religion and you shake all the pillars of morality. In every heart you weaken the influence of virtue; and among the multitude, the bulk of mankind, you overthrow its power.

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OLD MAID.

IT is to be lamented that so universal a stigma should fall upon that state, called antiquated virginity; and that those whose unhappy lot it is, should experience such general derision. It is a mistaken notion, though, to conclude that it always arises in consequence of the situation of such individuals; it often originates from their own peculiar conduct.

Being unable to bear with becoming fortitude their forlorn and unprotected allotment in life, chagrin and peevishness are apt to infect their tempers; and they too severely feel the great difficulty of making a transition, with dignity and cheerfulness, from the period of youth, beauty, admiration, and respect, into the calm, silent, unnoticed retreat of declining years.

For we see some unmarried women of active vigorous minds and great vivacity of spirits degrading themselves; sometimes by entering into a dissipated course of life, unsuitable to their years, and exposing themselves to the ridicule of girls, who might have been their grand-children;—sometimes by oppressing their acquaintances by inpertinent intrusions into their private affairs;—and sometimes by being the propagators of scandal and defamation.

All this is owing to an exuberant activity of [Page] spirit; which, if it had found employment at home, would have rendered them respectable and useful members of society.

We see other women, in the same situation, gentle, modest, blest with sense, taste, delicacy, and every milder feminine virtue of the heart, but of weak spirits, bashful and timid. Them we see sinking into obscurity and insignificance, and gradually losing every elegant accomplishment; for thi [...] evident reason, that they are not united to a partner who has sense and worth and taste to know their value;—one who is able to draw forth their concealed qualities, and shew them to advantage;—who can give that support to their feeble spirits which they stand so much in need of,—and who, by his affection and tenderness, might make such a woman happy in exerting every talent, and accomplishing herself in every elegant art that could contribute to his amusement.

OLD AGE.

OLD Age is a stage of the human course, which every one hopes to reach; it is a period justly entitled to general respect. Even its failings ought to be touched with a gentle hand. For though in every part of life vexations occur; yet, in former years, either business, [Page] or pl [...]a [...]ur [...], served to obliterate their impr [...]i [...]n, by supplying occupation to the mind.

Old age begins its advances by disqualifying m [...]n either from relishing the one, or for taking an active part in the other; while it withdraws their accustomed supports, it imposes, at the same time, the additional burden of growing infirmities.

In the former stages of their journey, hope continued to flatter them with many a fair and enticing prospect; but as old age increases these illusions vanish.—Life is contracted within a narrow and barren circle.—Year after year steals somewhat away from their store of comfort,—deprives them of some of their ancient friends,—blunts some of their powers of sensation,—and incapacitates them for some function of life.

The querulous temper, to them imputed, is to be considered as a natural infirmity, rather than a vice: the same apology cannot be made for that peevish disgust at the manners, and that mal [...]gnant censure of the enjoyments of the young, which is sometimes found to accompany declining years.

It is too common to find the aged at declared emnity with the whole system of present customs and mann [...]rs; perpetually complaining of th [...] [...]wing d [...]pravity of the world, and of the as [...]onishing vices and follies of the rising generation. [Page] All things, according to them, are rushing fast into ruin. Decency and good order have become extinct, ever since that happy discipline, under which they spent their youth, has passed away.

Former follies vanish, and are forgotten. Those which are present, strike observation and sharpen censure. Had the depravation of the world continued to increase in proportion to those gloomy calculations, which, so many centuries past, have estimated each race as worse than the preceding; by this time, not one ray of good sense, nor one spark of piety and virtue, must have remained unextinguished among mankind.

PASSIONATE WOMAN.

A PASSIONATE woman's happiness is never in her own keeping;—it is the sport of accident and the slave of events.—It is in the power of her acquaintance,—her servants,— but chiefly her enemies;—and all her comforts lie at the mercy of others. So far from being willing to learn of Him who was meek and lowly, she considers meekness as the want of a becoming spirit, and lowliness as a despicable and vulgar meanness.

An imperious woman will so little covet the [Page] ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, that it is the only ornament she will not be solicitous to wear. But resentment is a very expensive vice. How dearly has it cost its votaries, even from the sin of Cain, the first offender of this kind? "It is cheaper (says a pious writer) to forgive and save the charges."

APPEARANCES OF PIETY.

THESE are often substituted in the place of the great duties of humanity and mercy.— Too many flatter themselves with the hope of obtaining the friendship of their Creator, though they neglect to do justice to their fellow-creatures.

But supposed piety is an invention of their own, unknown to reason—unknown in the word o [...] [...]od.—For piety is a principle which regenerates [...]e heart, and forms it to goodness.—If, the [...], while piety seems ardent, morality [...] decline; or if ever the regard to it should totally fall—if, whilst making prayers no alms are give [...]—if, whi [...]t we appear zealous for God, we [...] or unjust to men —if we are hard o [...] con [...]ac [...]d in h [...]art, severe in our censures, and oppre [...]sive in our conduct, [...] conclude what we ha [...] termed piety, was no more than an empty name, resolving itself either into an [Page] hypocritical form of godliness—a transient impression of seriousness—and accidental melting of the heart—or the deliberate refuge of a deluded and superstitious, but, at the same time, a corrupted mind. For all men, even the most depraved, are subject, more or less, to compunctions of conscience.

MEN OF TRUE PLEASURE.

THE seat of enjoyment is the soul.—None but the temperate, the regular, and the virtuous know how to enjoy prosperity.—They bring to its comforts the manly relish of a sound uncorrupted mind.—They stop at the proper point, before enjoyment degenerates into disgust, and pleasure is converted into pain.—They are strangers to those complaints which flow from spleen, caprice, and all the fantastical distresses of a vitiated mind.—Purity and virtue heighten all the powers of human fruition.—Moderate and simple pleasures relish high with the temperate.

Innocence confers ease and freedom on the mind; leaves it open to every pleasing sensation; gives a lightness to the spirits, similar to the native gaiety of youth and health;—for prosperity is redoubled to a good man by his generous use of it; it is reflected back upon him from every one whom he makes happy.

[Page]In the intercourse of domestic affection,—in the attachment of friends,—the gratitude of dependents,—the esteem and good-will of all who know him,—he sees blessings multiplied around him on every side; like a tree in the midst of an inhabited country, affording to some friendly shelter, to others fruit, which is not only admired by all for its beauty, but blessed by the traveller for the shade, and by the hungry for the sustenance it has given.

MAN OF PLEASURE.

TO a man of pleasure every moment appears to be lost, which partakes not of the vivacity of amusement.—To connect one plan of gaiety with another is his sole study, till in a very short time nothing remains but to tread the same beaten round,—to enjoy what they have already enjoyed,—and to see what they have often seen.

Pleasures thus drawn to the dregs become vapid and tasteless. What mght have pleased long, if enjoyed with temperance and mingled with retirement, being devoured with such eager haste, speedily surfeits and disgusts. Hence, having run through a rapid course of pleasure, after having glittered for a few years in the foremost line of public amusements, such men [Page] are the most apt to fly at last to a melancholy retreat; not led by religion or reason, but driven by disappointed hopes and exhausted spirits to the pensive conclusion, that all is vanity.

PLEASURE, SENSUAL AND SPIRITUAL.

THE refined pleasures of a pious mind, are, in many respects, superior to the coarse gratifications of sense;—they are pleasures which belong to the highest powers and best affections of the soul; whereas the gratifications of sense reside in the lowest region of our nature. To the one the soul stoops below its native dignity; the other raises it above itself.—The one leaves always a comfortless, often a mortifying remembrance behind it; the other is reviewed with applause and delight. The pleasures of some resemble a foaming torrent; which, after a disorderly course, speedily runs out, and leaves an empty and offensive channel: but the pleasures of devotion resemble the equable current of a pure river, which enlivens the fields through which it passes, and diffuses verdure and fertility along its banks.

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PLEASURES OF OLD AGE.

THOUGH, in old age, the circle of pleasure is contracted, yet within its limits many of those enjoyments remain which are most grateful to human nature.

Temperate m [...]t [...] is not extinguished by advanc [...]d years:—the mild pleasures of domestic li [...] [...] the heart.—The entertainments of conv [...]ation and social intercourse continue uni [...]ired.—The desire of knowledge is not abated b [...] the f [...]ilty of the b [...]dy, and the leisure of old age affords many opportunities for gratifying that desire.—The sphere of observatio [...] and reflection is so much enlarged by long acquaintance with the world, as to supply, within itself, a wide range of improving thought. Whilst the aged are engaged in such employments as best [...]uit the infi [...]mities of their nature, they are surrounded, perhaps, with families, who treat them with attention and respect; they are honoured by their friends; their characters are established, and are placed beyond the reach of clamour and the strife of tongues; and, free from distracting cares, can calmly attend to their eternal interests.

No age is doomed to total infelicity, provided that we attempt not to do violence to nature, by seeking to extort from one age the [Page] pleasures of another, and to gather in the winter of [...]ife those flowers which were destined to blossom only in its summer or its spring.

PRESUMPTION.

THE constant concomitant of presumption is self-conceit and obstinacy; and of all the follies incident to youth particularly, there are none which either deform its present appearance, or blast the prospect of its future prosperity more than these. By checking its natural progress in improvement, they fix it in long immaturity, and frequently produce mischiefs, which can never be repaired.

Th [...]se are the vices too commonly found among the young.—Big with enterprise, and elated by hope, they resolve to trust for success to none but themselves.—Full of their own abiliti [...]s, they deride the admonitions which are given them by their friends, as the ti [...]or [...]us suggestions of age.—Too wise to [...],— [...]o impatient to deliberate,—too f [...]ard to b [...] [...]estr [...]ned, they plunge with precipitate indisc [...]etion into the midst of all the dangers with which life abounds.—Positive in opinion, and confident in their assertions, as they are at this period, the time will arrive when both men and things will appear in a different light. Many [Page] characters now admired, will sink, by and by, in esteem;—and many opinions, of which they a [...] at present most tenacious, will alter as they advance in years.

The glare of youthful presumption which dazzles our eyes should always be distrusted; we should not abound in our own sense, nor put ourselves forward with too much eagerness; nor imagine that by the impetuosity of juvenile ardour, systems can be overturned which have been long established, or that the face of the world can be changed; but by patient and gradual progression in improvement, we may in due time command lasting esteem. By assuming, at pres [...], a tone of superiority to which we have no title, we shall disgust those w [...]se approban [...] [...]t is most important to gain. Forward vivacity may fit us to be the compani [...] as of an idle hour. More solid qualities must recommend us to the wise, and mark us out for importance and consideration in subsequent life.

DISAPPOINTED PRIDE.

WHEN a man's sufferings arise from the bad dispositions of his own heart; when in the height of prosperity he is rendered miserable solely by disappointed pride, every ordinary [Page] motive for communication ceases. The violence of anguish drives him to confess a passion which renders him odious, and a weakness which renders him despicable.

In the eye of his family, every man wishes to appear respectable, and to cover from their knowledge whatever may vilify, or degrade him. Attacked or reproached abroad, he consoles himself with his importance at home; and in domestic attachment and respect, seeks for some compensation for the injustice of the world. But the torments this folly occasions force him to break through all restraints, and publish his shame before those from whom all men seek most to hide it.

All the evils which poverty, disease, or violence can inflict, will be found by far less pungent than those which such guilty passions dart into the heart. Those evils, by seizing directly on the mind, attack human nature in its strong hold, and cut off its last resource. They penetrate to the very seat of sensation, and convert all the powers of thought into instruments of torture.

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PRINCIPLE AND SENTIMENT CONTRASTED.

SENTIMENT and principle are often mistaken for each other; tho' in fact they widely differ.—Sentiment is the virtue of ideas, and principle the virtue of action.—Sentiment has its seat in the head; principle in the heart.— Sentiment suggests fine harangues, and subtle distinctions; principle conceives just notions, and performs good actions in consequence of them.—Sentiment refines away the simplicity of truth, and the plainness of piety; and, as Voltaire, that celebrated wit, has remarked of his no less celebrated cotemporary Rousseau, "gives us virtue in words and vice in deeds."— Sentiment may be called the Athenian who knew what was right; and principle the Lacedemonian who practised it.

These qualities may be exemplified from considering two characters beautifully drawn by the admirable pen of Milton.—Belial, who may be called, and not improperly, the Demon of sentiment; and Abdiel, the Angel of principle.

BELIAL.

A fairer person lost not heaven; he seemed

[...] dignity co [...]posed, and high exploit,

But all was fal [...] and hollow, tho' his tongue

[Page]Dropt manna, and could make the worse appear

The better reason, to perplex and dash

Maturest counsels; for his thoughts were low,

To vice industrious, but to nobler deeds

Tim'rous and slothful; yet he pleas'd the ear.

ABDIEL.

— Faithful found

Among the faithless, faithful only he

Among innumerable false, unmoved,

Unshaken, unseduced, unterrified;

His loyalty he kept, his love, his zeal.

Nor number, nor example with him wrought

To swerve from truth, or change his constant mind,

Tho' single.—

PROSPERITY.

A SINGLE disappointment is sufficient to embitter all the pleasures of worldly prosperity. Though it might be expected, one in possession of high power and station should disregard slight injuries. But prosperity debilitates instead of strengthening the mind.—Its common effect is, to create an extreme sensibillity to the slightest wound.—It fo [...]ents impatient desires; and raises expectations which no success can satisfy.—It fosters a false delicacy, which sickens [Page] in the midst of indulgence; by repeated gratification, it blunts the feelings of men to what is pleasing; and leaves them unhappily acute to whatever is uneasy.

NECESSITY OF PRUDENCE IN EVERY STAGE OF LIFE.

AT the first setting out in life, especially when yet unacquainted with the world and its snares, when every pleasure enchants with its smile, and every object shines with the gloss of novelty, youth should beware of the seducing appearances which surround them; and recollect what others have suffered from the power of head strong desire. If any [...]ssion be allowed, even though it should be esteemed innocent, to acquire an absolute ascendant, their inward peace will be impaired. But if any, which has the taint of guilt, they may date from that moment the ruin of their tranquillity.

Nor with the season of youth does the peril end. To the impetuosity of youthful desire, succeed the more sober, but no less dangerous attachments of advancing years; when the passions which are connected with interest and ambition begin their reign, and too frequently extend their influence, even over those periods of life which ought to be the most tranquil.

[Page]From the first to the l [...]st of man's abode on earth, the discipline must never be relaxed of guarding the heart from the dominion of passion. Eager passions and violent desires were not made for man.—They exceed his sphere. —They find no adeq [...]te object on earth;— and, of course, can be productive of nothing but misery.

The certain consequence of indulging them, is, that there shall come [...] [...]v [...]l day, when the anguish of disappointment shall acknowledge that all which we enjoy availeth us nothing.

REDEMPTION.

THIS is one of the most glorious works of the Almighty— [...]llustri [...] is the [...]ur of the restoration of the world—the [...]our when, from condemnation and misery, is [...]merged into happiness and peace.

In this hour, the long series of prophecies, [...]isions, types, and figures was accomplished. This was the center in which they all met;— this the point to which they tended and verged, throughout the course of so many generations. —We behold the law and the prophets standing at the foot of the cross, and doing homage.— We behold Moses and Aaron bearing the ark of the covenant;—David and Elijah presenting [Page] the oracle of testimony;—we behold all the priests and sacrifices,—all the rights and ordinances,—all the types and symbols, assembled together to receive their consummation.— In this hour every rite assumed [...] significancy; —every prediction met [...]s event;—every symbol displayed its correspondence.

REFORMATION.

THE rage for reformation commonly shews itself in a violent zeal for suppressing what is wrong, rather than in a p [...]t attention to es [...] what is right; but we shall never obtain a [...]ir garden me [...] by roo [...]ng up weeds; we [...]t also plant flowers; for the natural ri [...]s of the soil we have been clea [...]ing will n [...] [...]r it to lie barren: and whether it shall be vainly or beneficially proli [...]ic, depends on the culture.

RELIGION.

THE spirit of true religion breathes gentleness and [...]lity.—It gives a native unaffected [...] to the behaviour.—It is social, kind, and chee [...]l [...] ▪— [...] removed from that gloomy and [...]lliber [...] superstition which clouds the brow, [Page] sharpens the temper, dejects the spirit, and teaches men to fit themselves for another world, by neglecting the concerns of this.

On the contrary, religion connects our preparation for Heaven, with an honourable discharge of the duties of active life.—It is associated in the imagination with all that is lovely and useful,—with whatsoever things are true, are just, are pure, are lovely, are of good report, —w [...]rever there is any virtue,—and wherever there is any praise.

Religion is rather a matter of sentiment than reasoning. The important and interesting articles of faith are sufficiently plain. Our attention should be fixed on these, and not suffered to meddle with controversy. For there we are plunged into a cha [...], from which we never shall be able to extricate ourselves. It spoils the temper, and has no good effect on the heart.

All books, and all conversation that tend to shake our faith, on those great points of religion which should serve to regulate our conduct, and on which our hopes of future and eternal happiness depend, should be avoided.

We should never indulge ourselves in ridicule on religious subjects, nor give countenance to it in others, by seeming diverted with what they say. This, to people of good breeding, will be a sufficient check. It is not necessary to [Page] go farther than scripture for our religious opinions.

We should embrace those we find clearly revealed, and never perplex ourselves about such as we do not understand, but treat them with silence and becoming reverence.

RELIGIOUS REFLECTION.

IF there be any impression which man is formed by nature to receive, it is religion.—As soon as his mind opens to observation, he discerns innumerable marks of his dependent state; —he finds himself placed, by some superior power, in a vast world, where the wisdom and goodness of the Creator are conspicuous on every side.

The magnificence, the beauty, the order of nature, excite him to admire and adore. When he looks up to the omnipotent hand which operates throughout the universe, he is impressed with reverence! When he receives blessings which he cannot avoid ascribing to divine goodness, he is prompted to gratitude.

Tribes of men, without policy, or laws, or cities, or any of the arts of life, [...]e discovered; but no where without some form of religion. In every region we behold the prostrate worshipper, the temple, the altar, and the of [...]ering.

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RESIGNATION.

IGNORANCE of good or evil should determine man to follow providence, and resign himself to God. Resignation to his Maker is one of the most important lessons which can be given to man. He knows not what is good for himself in the future periods of life; but God perfectly knows it; and if he faithfully serves him, he has reason to believe that God will always consult it. Before him lies the whole succession of events, which are to fill up man's existence. It is in his power to arrange, and model them at his pleasure.

Amidst the agitations of desire, and the perplexities of doubt, there is one fixed point of rest. By this let man abide; and dismiss his a [...]xiety about things uncertain and unknown. He should acquire an interest in divine favour; and he may safely surrender himself to the divine administration. When tempted to repine at his condition, he should reflect whether he would have been happier in any other station.

He should not be too particular in his petitions to heaven concerning his temporal interest, but suffer God to govern the world according to his own plan; and only pray, that he would bestow what his unerring wisdom sees to be best for him. On the whole, he should follow [Page] wherever his providence leads; comply with whatever he requires, and leave all the rest to him.

RIDICULE.

THE fatal fondress for indulging a spirit of rid [...]l [...], and the injurious and irreparable consequences which sometimes attend the too sev [...]y, can never be condemned with more [...] than it deserves. Not to offend is the first step towards pleasing. To give pain is [...]s much an offence against humanity as against good-breeding; and surely it is as well to absta [...] from an action because it is sinful, as because it is impolite.

A man of sense and breeding will sometimes join in the laugh, which has been raised at his expence by an ill-natured repartee; but if it was very cutting, and one of those shocking sorts of truths, which, as they scarcely can be pardoned even in private, ought never to be uttered i [...] public, he does not laugh because he is pleased, but because he wishes to conceal how much he is hurt; and will remember it, as a treat of malice, when the whole company should have forgotten it as a stroke of r [...]icule.—Even women are so far from being privileged by their sex to say unhandsome or cruel things, that it is this very circumstance which renders them [Page] intolerable. When the arrow is lodged in the heart, it is no relief to him who is wounded to reflect, that the hand which shot it was a fair one.

SELF-COMMUNION,

AS recommended by men of virtue and true piety, is religious recollection. It is to commune with ourselves, under the character of spiritual and immortal beings; and to po [...]der those paths of our feet which are leading us to eternity.—It is to bring home to our souls the internal, authoritative sense of God, as of a [...]ereign and a father; to contemplate what is displayed of his perfections.—It is to realize [...]he presence of the supreme B [...]ing, so as to [...]oduce the most profound veneration,—and to [...]w [...]n the earnest desire of as nea [...] [...]n approach, as our nature will permit, to that great fountain of happiness and life.

By this the pious man walks among the various scenes of nature as w [...]in the [...]cinc [...] of a great temple, in the habitual exerci [...] [...] [...]otion. And from hence, when his [...] been thus employed, he returns to the world like a superior being. He carries into active life, those pure and elevating sentiments to which the giddy crowd are strangers. A certain [Page] odour of sanctity remains upon his mind, which, for a while at least, will repel the contagion of the world.

As he views the world with the eye of a christian, he will see, that however men appear to move and act after their own pleasure, they are nevertheless retained in secret bonds by the Almighty, and all their operations rendered subservient to the ends of his moral government.—He will behold him punishing the sinner by means of his own iniquities; from the trials of the righteous bringing forth their reward, and from a state of seeming universal confusion preparing the wisest and most equitable issue.— While the fashion of this world is passing fast away, he will discern the glory of another arising fast to succeed it.—He will behold all human events; our griefs and our joys,—our love and hatred,—our character and our memory, absorbed in the ocean of eternity; and no traces of our present existence left, except its being forever well with the righteous, and ill with the wicked.

SILENCE.

SILENCE is one of the great arts of conversation, as allowed by Cicero himself, who says "there is not only an art but an eloquence in [Page] it," and this opinion is confirmed by a great modern, Lord Bacon. For a well bred woman may easily and effectually promote the most useful and elegant conversation, without speaking a word. The modes of speech are scarcely more variable than the modes of silence.

The silence of listless ignorance, and the silence of sparkling intelligence, are perhaps as separately marked, and as distinctly expressed, as the same feelings could have been by the most unequivocal language. A woman, in a company where she has the least influence, may promote any subject by a profound and invariable attention, which shews that she is pleased with it; and by an illuminated countenance, which proves she understands it.

Attention is the most flattering encouragement in the world, to men of sense and letters, to continue any topic of instruction, or entertainment, they happen to be engaged [...]n. It owed its introduction perhaps to [...], the best introduction for a subject of [...]uity, which, though it could not have [...] [...]ly proposed without pedantry, may [...] continued with ease and good humour; [...] which will be frequently and effectually st [...]d by the [...], inattention, or whispering of [...]ly g [...]rls: [...] weakness betrays the [...] ignorance, [...] whose [...] expo [...]s their ill breeding.

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SINCERITY.

SINCERITY is the basis of every virtue. The love of truth, as we value the approbation of heaven, or the esteem of the world, should be cultivated.—In all our proceedings it will make us direct and consistent.—Ingenuity and candour possess the most powerful charm; they bespeak universal favour, and carry an apology for almost every failing.

The path of truth is a plain and safe path.— It supplies us with an openness of character which displays a generous boldness, necessary to distinguish youth.—To give an early preference to honour above gain when they stand in competition;—to despise every advantage, which cannot be attained without dishonest arts;—to brook no meanness,—and st [...]p to no dissimulation, are the indications of a great mind, the presages of future eminence and distinction in life.

At the same time, this virtu [...]s sincerity is perfectly consistent with the most prudent vigilance and caution.—It is opposed to cunning, not to true wisdom.—It is [...] the simplicity of the weak and improvident, [...] candour of [...] min [...]; [...] who scorns deceit, bec [...] [...] accounts it [...] and unprofitable; [Page] and who seeks no disguise, because he needs none to hide him.

SLOTH.

NOTHING is so opposite to the true enjoyment of life, as the relaxed and seeble state of an indolent mind. Sloth is to [...]nsistent with both soundness of mind and body, that it is harder to determine whether it be a greater foe to virtue, or to health and happiness.—Inactive as it is in itself, its effects are fatally powerful.—Though it appear a slowly-flowing stream, yet it undermines all that is stable and flourishing.—It not only saps the foundation of every virtue, but pou [...]s upon us a deluge of crimes and evils.—It is like water, which first putrifies by stagnation; and then sends up noxious vapours, and fills the atmosphere with death.

Idleness is the certain parent both of guilt and ruin, which should be avoided.—Under this are included, not mere inaction only, but all that circle of trifling occupations, in which too many [...]ter away their youth; perpetually engaged in [...] thus society, or public amusements;—in t [...] [...], or the o [...]tentation of their [...].

[...] re [...]lies. It were vain [Page] —it were cruel, to prohibit them. But, though allowable as the relaxation, they are most culpable as the business, of the young. For they then become the gulph of time, and the poison of the mind.—They foment bad passions—they weaken the manly powers—they sink the native vigour of youth into contemptible effeminacy.

SOBRIETY OF MIND. ITS NECESSITY.

SOBRIETY of mind is one of those virtues, which the present condition of human life strongly inculcates. The uncertainty of its enjoyments, checks presumption; the multiplicity of its dangers, demands perpetual caution.

Moderation,—vigilance,—and self-government, are duties incumbent on all; but especially on such as are beginning the journey of life. For the whole state of youthful views and passions, is adverse to sobriety of mind.— The scenes which present themselves at our entering upon the world, are commonly flattering. —Whatever they be in themselves, the lively spirits of the young gild every opening prospect. —The field of hope appears to stretch wide before them. Pleasure seems to put forth its blossoms on every side.—Impelled by desire, [Page] forward they rush with inconsiderate ardour:— prompt to decide and to chuse;—averse to hesitate or to enquire;—credulous, because untaught by experience;—rash, because unacquainted with danger;—headstrong, because unsubdued by disappointment.

In human actions there is a right and wrong. —Those who are born with the same advantages of fortune, are not all equally prosperous in the course of life.—Some of them, by w [...]se and steady conduct, attain distinction in the world, and pass their days with comfort and honour;—others, of the same rank, by mean and vicious behaviour, forfeit the advantages of their birth,—involve themselves in much misery, and end in being a disgrace to their friends, and a burden on society. Early, then, we may learn, that it is not on the external condition in which we find ourselves placed; but on that part on which we are to act, that our welfare or unhappiness,—our honour or infamy depend.

When beginning to act that part, it is of the greatest moment to regulate our plan of conduct with the most serious attention, before we have yet committed any fatal or irretrievable errors.—If, instead of exerting reflection for this valuable purpose, we deliver ourselves up, at so critical a time, to sloth and pleasure;— if we refuse to listen to any counsellor but humour, or to attend to any pursuit except that [Page] of amusement;—if we allow ourselves to float loose and careless on the tide of life, ready to receive any direction which the current of fashion may chance to give us— the sad consequences of such indiscretion will extend to us: —we cannot attain success without preparation, nor escape dangers without precaution.—Happiness will not grow up to us of its own accord, and solicit our acceptance, when, to the rest of mankind, it is the fruit of long cultivation, and the acquisition of labour and care.— We should not deceive ourselves with such arrogant hopes.

Whatever be our rank, Providence will not, for our sakes, reverse its established order. But, by tempering the vivacity of youth with a proper mixture of serious thought, we may ensure chearfulness for the rest of life; whilst by delivering ourselves up at present to giddiness and levity, we lay the foundation of lasting heaviness of heart.

SOLITUDE.

SOLITUDE is the hallowed ground which religion hath, in every age, chosen for her own.—There her inspiration is felt, and her secret mysteries elevate the soul.— There, falls the tear of contrition;—there, rises towards [Page] heaven the sigh of the heart;—there, melts the soul with all the tenderness of devotion, and pours itself forth before him who made, and redeemed it.

The great and the worthy,—the pious and the virtuous, have ever been addicted to serious retirement. Refined and enlarged minds leave the world behind them,—feel a call for higher pleasures,—and seek them in retreat.

But a total seclusion from the world, is so far from being the perfection of religion, that it is no other than the abuse of it.—Yet there will be neither consistency in the conduct, nor dignity in the character, of one who sets apart no share of time for meditation and reflection.

If we wish that reason should exert her native power, we must step aside from the crowd into the cool and silent shade.—It is there, that, with sober and steady eye, she examines what is good and evil, what is wise or foolish, in human conduct;—she looks back on the past, and forms plans, not for the present moment only, but for the whole of life.

Man cannot discharge any part of his duty aright, who never suffers his passions to cool— and his passions cannot cool, who is engaged without interruption in the tumult of the world. This incessant stir may be called the perpetual drunkenness of life. It raises that eager fermentation [Page] of spirit which will ever be sending forth the dangerous [...]mes of rashness and folly.

Whereas, he who mingles religious retreat with worldly affairs, remains calm and master of himself —he is not whirled round, and rendered giddy by the agitation of the world, but comes forth with manly tranquillity, fortified by principles which he has formed, and prepared for whatever may befal.—For he who wishes for an effectual cure of the wounds which the world can inflict, should retire from intercourse with men, to intercourse with God.— When he enters into his closet, and shuts the door, let him shut out at the same time all intrusion of worldly care, and dwell among objects divine and immortal: for celestial inhabitants quarrel not.—Amongst them there is neither ingratitude, nor envy, nor tumult; concord and tranquillity reign for ever.— From such objects, upon the mind of the pious man, there [...]ms a pure and enlivening light; there is diffused [...]ver his heart a holy calm.—His agitated spirit reassumes its firmness, and [...]egains its peace.—The world sinks in its importance, and the load of mortality and misery [...] almost all its weight. The disturb [...]n [...] and alarms, so formidable to those [...] engaged in the tumults of the world, s [...] to him like thunder only rolling afar off.

Besides, it is also necessary to [...] us for [Page] a life to come. For breathing habitually a contagious air, how certain is our ruin, unless we sometimes retreat from the pestilential region, and seek for proper correctives of the disorders which are contracted there?— Religious retirement both abates the disease, and furnishes the remedy.—It lessens the corrupting influence of the world; and it gives opportunity for better principles to exert their power.

THE STUDY OF MAN.

THE life of man is a mixed state, full of uncertainty and vicissitude, of anxieties and fears.—For no man's prosperity on earth is stable and assured—hence no study, to a thoughtful mind, can appear more important than how to be suitably prepared for the misfortunes of life, so as to contemplate them in prospect without dismay; and, if they must befal, to bear them without dejection.

Throughout every age, power has endeavoured to remove adversity to a distance.—Philosophy has studied, when it drew nigh, to conquer it by patience,—and wealth has sought out every pleasure that can compensate or alleviate pain.

But religion has been no less attentive to the same important object.—The defence which it [Page] provides is altogether of an internal kind.—It is the heart, not the outward state, which it professes to guard, by affording the distressed that security and peace, which arise from a belief of divine protection.—It opens to them sources of consolation which are hidden from others.— By that strength of mind with which it endows them, it sets them upon a rock, against which the tempest may violently beat, but cannot shake; for it prepares the mind for encountering, with fortitude, the most severe shocks of adversity.

READING AND STUDY.

READING, unless perverted, as the best things may be, answers many excellent purposes beside the great le [...]ding one; and is, perhaps, the safest remedy for dissipation.

The woman who dedicates a portion of her leisure to us [...]ful reading, feels her mind in a constant progressive state of improvement, whilst the mind of a d [...]p [...]ted [...] is continually losing ground. An ac [...] spirit rejoiceth, like t [...] fun, to [...]un [...]s [...]sily course: while indolence, [...] deal of [...] [...]ckwards.

As for [...], we may [...] to assert, that, next to [...] in [...]nces, it is the most probable preservative of the virtue of young persons.

[Page]Those who cultivate letters, have rarely a strong passion for promi [...]uous visiting, or dissipated society: study therefore induces a relish for domestic life, the most desirable temper in the world for women.

Study, as it [...]s [...]es the mind from an inordinate fondness for gaming, dress, and public amusements, is an oeconomical propensity; for a lady may read at a much less expense than she can play at c [...]r [...]s.—As it requires some application, it gives the mind a [...] [...]it of industry; as it is a relief against that mental disease, which the French emphatically call ennui, it c [...] o [...] fa [...]l of being beneficial to the temper and spirits: in that moderate degree, it is to be understood, in which ladies use it;—as an enemy to indolence, it becomes a social virtue;— as it demands the full exertion of our talents, it grows a rational duty; and when directed to the knowledge of the supreme Being, and his laws, it rises into an act of religion.

PASSIVE TAMENESS OF SPIRIT, AND UNLIMITED COMPLIANCE.

PASSIVE tameness which submits, without struggle, to every encroachment of the violent and assuming, form [...] no part of Christian duty, but is destructive of general happiness and order.

[Page]Unlimited complaisance which, on every occasion, falls in with the opinions and manners of others, is so far from being a virtue, that it is itself a vice, and the parent of many vices.— It overthrows all steadiness of principle, and produces that sinful conformity with the world, which taints the whole character.

In the present corrupted state of human manners, always to assent and to comply, is the very worst maxim which can be adopted. It is impossible to support the purity and dignity of Christian morals, without opposing the world on various occasions, even though we should stand alone.

TEMPERANCE.

TEMPERANCE in pleasure is essentially necessary to be observed, particularly by youth, that they may beware of that rock on which thousands, from race to race, continue to split. The love of pleasure, natural to man in every period of his life, glows at this age with excessive ardour. — Novelty adds fresh charms, as yet, to every gratification.—The world appears to spread a continual feast;—and health, vigour, and high spirits invite them to partake of it without restraint. In vain are they warned of the latent danger.—The old, [Page] when they offer their admonitions, are upbraided with having forget that they once were young. And yet, to what do the counsels of age, with respect to pleasure, amount? They may all be comprized in few words, not to hurt ourselves and not to hurt others by our pursuit of pleasure, and these will be fully effected by temperance. Within these bounds, pleasure is lawful, beyond them it becomes criminal, because it is ruinous.

Hence by this virtue we are not called to renounce pleasure, but to enjoy it in safety.— Instead of ab [...]dging it, we are exhorted to pursue it on an extensive plan; we have measures proposed for securing its possession, and for prolonging its duration.—As we consider ourselves not only as sensitive, but as rational beings;— not only as rational but social;— not only as social but immortal; whatever violates our nature in any of these respects cannot afford true pleasure.

Have we not found that in the course of criminal excess, pleasure was more than compensated by succeeding pain? Have we not from every habit, at least, of unlawful gratificatio [...] found some th [...]rn spring up to wound us; some consequence to make us repe [...]t of [...]t in the issue? We should therefore avoid temptations, for which we have found ourselves unequal, with as much care as we would [...]un pestilential infection.

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TRUE GENUINE SENTIMENT.

TRUE genuine sentiment may be so connected with the virtue of action, as to bestow on it its brightest lustre, and its most captivating graces. And enthusiasm under these circumstances is so far from being disagreeable, that a portion is indispensibly necessary in an engaging woman; but it must be of the heart, not of the senses.—It must grow up with the feeling mind, and be cherished by a virtuous education, not compounded of irregular passions and artificially refined by books of unnatural fiction, and improbable adventure.

But this dangerous merit cannot be too rigidly watched, as it is very apt to lead those who possess it into inconveniencies from which less interesting characters are happily exempt. Strong sensibility may carry a very amiable temper into the most alarming extremes.—The taste of those so actuated are passions.—They love and hate with all their hearts, and scarcely suffer themselves to feel a reasonable preference, before it strengthens into a violent attachment.

When an innocent girl of this open, trusting, tender heart, happen [...] to mee [...] with one of her own sex and age, whose address and manners are engaging, she is instantly seized with an ardent desire to commence a friendship with her. [Page] —She feels the most lively impatience at the restraint of company and the decorums of ceremony.—She longs to be alone with her,—longs to assure her of the warmth of her tenderness, —and generally ascribes to the fair stranger all the good qualities she feels in her own heart, or rather all those which she has met with in her reading, dispersed in a variety of heroines.— She is persuaded that her new friend unites them all in herself, because she carries in her prepossessing countenance the promise of them all.

If hints of her defects are given, she mistakes the voice of discretion for the insinuation of an uncharitable disposition. At first she listens to them with a generous impatience, and afterwards with a cold and silent disdain, and despises them as the effect of prejudice, misrepresentation, or ignorance.

Yet this trusting confidence, this honest indiscretion, is, at this early period of life, as amiable as it is natural; and will, if wisely cultivated, produce, at its proper season, fruits infinitely more valuable than all the guarded circumspection of premature, and therefore artificial prudence. Nay, if the younger part of the sex are sometimes deceived in the choice of a friend, they enjoy even then [...]n higher degree of satisfaction the [...] if they never trusted— For to be always clad [...]n the burthensome armour of suspicion is more painful and inconvenient, [Page] than to run the hazard of suffering, now and then, a transient injury.

These observations chiefly respect the inexperienced; for it is a certainty that women are capable of as faithful and as durable friendship as any of the other sex. They can enter not only into all the enthusiastic tenderness, but into all the solid fidelity of attachment.

GOVERNMENT OF TEMPER.

EVERY human creature is sensible of the propensities to some infirmity of temper, which it should be his care to correct and subdue, particularly in the early period of life; else, when arrived at a state of maturity, he may relapse into those faults which were originally in his nature, and which will require to be diligently watched, and kept under, through the whole course of life;—for the cultivation of an amiable disposition is a great part of religious duty; since nothing l [...]ads more directly to the br [...]ch of charity, and to the injury and molestation of our fellow-creatures, than the indulgence of an ill temper.

With respect to a woman, the principal virtues and vices [...]ust be of a dom [...]st [...] kind.— [...] own family and de [...] [...] of action the scene [Page] of almost all those tasks and trials, which must determine her character and her fate, here and hereafter.—The happiness of her husband, children, and servants, must depend on her temper; and it will appear, that the greatest good or evil which she may ever have in her power to do, may arise from her correcting or indulging its infirmities.

The greatest outward blessings cannot afford enjoyment to a mind uneasy and ruffled within. —A sit of ill humour will spoil the finest entertainment, and is as real a torment as the most painful disease.—Another unavoidable consequence of ill temper, is the dislike and aversion of all who are witnesses to it; and, perhaps, the deep and lasting resentments of those who suffer from its effects.

We all, from social and self-love, earnestly desire the esteem and affection of our fellow-creatures; and indeed our condition renders them so necessary to us, that the wretch, who has forfeited them, must feel desolate and undone—deprived of all the best enjoyments and comforts the world can afford—and given up to his inward misery, unpitied and scorned.

Every temper is inclined, in some degree, to passion, peevishness, or obstinacy: we should therefore always watch the bent of our nature, and apply remedies proper for the infirmities to which we are most liable.—The first is so injurious [Page] to society, and so odious in itself, that men who give way to it render themselves, not only disgusting, but dangerous:—hurried on by the violence of rage, they break through the bounds of decorum — destroy the order of civil society— disregard truth— sacrifice justice —and disgrace, as well as offend, the dignity of their Creator.

In a female character, one should think that shame alone would be sufficient to preserve a young woman from becoming a slave to it; for it is as unbecoming her character to be betrayed into ill behaviour by passion, as by into [...]cation; and she ought to be ashamed of the one, as much [...] the other.—Gentleness, — meekness,— and [...]nce, are her peculiar distinctions, and an en [...]ged woman is one of the most disgusting sights in [...]ture.

The placid countenance—the mild deportment— and smooth address, are strong incentives to just admiration, and to honest praise.— But the [...] perfections all fall victims to that monst [...], a [...].—It beloves us therefore to retire from such an occasion of sin, — and wait till we are cool, before we presume to judge of what has passed.

By accustoming ourselves thus to conquer and disap [...]t our anger, we shall, by degrees, find it grow weak and [...]ageable, [...] as to leave our reason at liberty.—We shall be able to restrain [Page] our tongue from evil, and our looks and gestures from all expressions of violence and ill-will.

Pride, which produces so many evils in the human mind, is the great source of passion.— Whoever cultivates in himself a proper, humility,— a due sense of his own faults and insufficiencies,— and a due respect for others, will find but small temptation to violent or unreasonable anger.

Whenever, therefore, we feel ourselves highly enraged, we should suspect ourselves to be in the wrong, and resolve to stand the deliberate decision of our own conscience, before we cast upon another the punishment which is perhaps due to ourselves.—This self-examination will, at least, give us time to cool, and, if we are just, as it should be our chief aim to be so, will dispose us to balance our own wrong with that of our antagonist, and to settle the account with him on equal terms.

There are many who acquire the character of ill-temper, when in reality they merit not the severity of the accusation; and this arises merely from their mode of replication, or their manner of interrogating—as they are generally and unfortunately attended with a species of tartness on every trivial occasion.—This indicates to common observers a degree of petulance, and seems to take its origin from a jealousy, [Page] or rather fear of their own consequence being degraded or injured in some respect.— This should be carefully avoided, for the very appearance of peevishness, is ungrateful and painful.

The fretful man, though he injures us less, disgusts us more than him who is passionate;— because he betrays a low and little mind,—intent on trifles,—and engrossed by a paltry self-love which knows not how to bear the apprehension of any inconvenience. It is self-love, then, which we must combat, when we find ourselves assaulted by this infirmity; and by voluntarily enduring inconveniencies, we shall habituate ourselves to bear them with ease, and good humour, when occasioned by others.

We should endeavour, by denying ourselves now and then innocent indulgencies, to acquire a habit of command over our passions and inclinations, particularly such as are likely to lead us into evil; and abstract our minds from that attention to trifling circumstances, which usually creates this uneasiness.— Our minds should, therefore, have always some objects in pursuit worthy of them, that they may not be engrossed by such, as are in themselves scarce worth a moment's anxiety; yet from too minute and anxious attention seldom fail to produce a teazing,—mean— and fretful disposition.

We should substitute in their room the pursuit [Page] of glory and happiness in another life.—Reading—reflection—rational conversation—and above all, conversing with God, by prayer and meditation, would preserve us from taking that interest in the little comforts and conveniences of our remaining days, which usually gives birth to so much fretfulness in old people.

Notwithstanding this is generally attributed to age, still we often see the young—the healthy —and those who enjoy the most outward blessings, inexcusably guilty of it.—The smallest disappointment in pleasure, or difficulty in the most trifling employment, will put wilful young people out of temper, and their very amusements become sources of vexation and peevishness.— There is a degree of resignation necessary even in the enjoyment of pleasure,—we must be ready and willing to give up some part of what we could wish for, before we can enjoy that which is indulged to us.—The craving of restless vanity, the too-constant companion of youthful bosoms, will endure a thousand mortifications, which, in the midst of seeming pleasure, will secretly corrode the heart; whilst the meek and humble generally find more gratification than they expected, and return home pleased and enlivened from every scene of amusement, tho' they could have staid away from it with perfect ease and contentment.

Sullenness and obstinacy is, perhaps, a worse [Page] fault of temper than either of the former—and, if indulged, may end in the most fatal extremes of stubborn melancholy—malice—and revenge. —The resentment which, instead of being expressed, is passed in secret, and continually aggravated by the imagination, will in time become the ruling passion; and then, how horrible must be his case, whose kind and pleasurable affections are all swallowed up by the tormenting, as well as detestable sentiments of hatred and revenge!

We should not brood over resentment, but speak calmly—reasonably—and kindly—then expostulate with our adversary; and either reconcile ourselves to him or quiet our minds under the injury we have supposed he has done us, by the principle of Christian charity.—But if it appears we ourselves have been the aggressors, we should acknowledge our error fairly and handsomely;—a generous confession oftentimes more than atones for the fault which requires it.

Truth and justice demand that we should acknowledge conviction, as soon as we feel it and not maintain an erroneous opinion, or justify a wrong conduct, merely from the false shame of confessing our past ignorance.—With a disposition strongly inclined to sullenness or obstinacy, this may appear perhaps impracticable;—but by constant use the mind will gain [Page] strength from the contest, and this internal enemy will by degrees be forced to give ground.

The love of truth and a real desire of improvement, ought to be the only motives of argumentation; and where these are sincere, no difficulty can be made of embracing the truth, as soon as it is perceived—To receive advice— reproof—and instruction properly, is the surest sign of a sincere and humble heart,—and shews a greatness of mind, which commands our respect and reverence, while it appears so willingly to yield to us in superiority.

We should consider, that those who tell us of our faults, if they do it from motives of kindness, and not of malice, exert their friendship in a painful office; which must have cost them as great an effort, as it can be to us to acknowledge the service;—and if we refuse this encouragement, we cannot expect that any one, who is not absolutely obliged to it by duty, will a second time undertake such an ill-requited trouble.

Excessive and ill-judged indulgence, seldom [...] [...]duce a woman to the miserable condition of a humoured child, always unhappy from having nobody's will to study but its own. —The insolence of such demands for herself, and such disregard to the choice and inclinations of others, can seldom fail to make as many enemies as there are persons obliged to bear [Page] with those humours; whilst a compliant—reasonable—and contented disposition, would [...] der her happy in herself, and beloved by all her companions;—particularly by those who live constantly with her.

Family friendships are the friendships made for us by an all-wise Providence—hence ought we to employ every faculty of entertainment— every engaging qualification which we possess to the best advantage for those, whose love is of the most importance to us;—for those who live under the same roof, and with whom we are connected in life, either by the ties of blood —or by the still more sacred obligation of voluntary engagement.—The sincere and genuine smiles of complacency and love should adorn our countenance.—That ready compliance— that alertness to assist and oblige, which demonstrate true affection, must animate our behaviour, and endear our most common actions.— Politeness must accompany our greatest familiarities, and restrain us from every thing that is really offensive, or which can give a moment's unnecessary pain.—Conversation, which is so apt to grow dull and insipid in families, nay, in some to be almost wholly laid aside, must be cultivated with the frankness and openness of friendship, and by the mutual communication of whatever may conduce to the improvement or innocent entertainment of each other.

[Page]All these qualifications, which cannot fail to render its pleasing, will be the natural result of a well-governed temper, as it will derive pleasure to itself, in proportion as it has the power of communicating it to others.—This disposition of mind should therefore be cultivated with the utmost care and diligence—the symptoms of that humour, against which all our artillery should be levied, should be minutely watched, and with a firm resolution conquered as they rise;—for a sweet disposition is its own reward, and is in itself essential to happiness.

GOOD TEMPER, ITS EFFECTS AND UTILITY.

A GOOD-NATURED man, whatever faults he may have, they will for the most part be treated with lenity;—he will generally find an advocate in every human heart;—his errors will be lamented, rather than abhorred; —and his virtues will be viewed in the fairest point of light;—his good-humour, without the help of great talents or acquirements, will make his company preferable to that of the most brilliant genius, in whom this quality is wanting—but with it, such a brightness will be added to their lustre, that all the world will [Page] envy and admire, whilst his associates will almost adore, and labour to imitate him.—In short, it is almost impossible that we can be sincerely beloved by any body, without this engaging property, whatever other excellencies we may possess;—but with it, we shall scarcely fail of finding some friends and favourers, even though we should be destitute of almost every other advantage.

It is true, we are not all equally happy in our dispositions; but human virtue consists in cherishing and cultivating every good inclination, and in checking and subduing every propensity to evil.—If a man had been born with a bad temper, it might have been made a good one, at least with regard to its outward effects, by education, reason, and principle: and though he is so happy as to have a good one while young, he must not suppose it will always continue so, if he neglects to maintain a proper command over it.—Power—sickness—disappointments—or worldly cares may corrupt, or embitter the finest disposition, if they are not counteracted by reason and religion.—Hence these should be ever exerted in the exigencies of life—they will teach us a becoming submission under all the accidents of our mortal state, with which it is so variously chequered;—divest calamity of its severest sting—make our enemies ashamed of their persecuting spirit— [Page] and cause us to smile even in the midst of misfortune.

By good temper is not meant an insensible indifference to injuries—and a total forbearance from manly resentment.—There is a noble and generous kind of anger, a proper and necessary part of our nature which has nothing in it sinful or degrading—we are not to be dead to this —for the person, who feels not an injury, must be incapable of being properly affected by benefits.—With those who treat us ill without provocation, we ought to maintain our own dignity—but whilst we shew a sense of their improper behaviour, we must preserve calmness, and even good breeding,—and thereby convince them of the impotence, as well as injustice of their malice.

Generous anger does not preclude esteem for whatever is really estimable, nor does it destroy good-will to the person of its object—or authorize any impeachment to rest on the goodness of our disposition:—It even inspires the desire of overcoming our enemy by benefits,—and wishes to inflict no other punishment than the regret of having injured one who deserved his kindness:—It is always placable, and ready to be reconciled, as soon as the offender is convinced of his error; nor can any subsequent injury provoke it to recur to past disobligations, which had been once forgiven.—The consciousness [Page] of injured innocence naturally produces dignity, and usually prevents anger;—but if tempered with the calmness of a quiet spirit, it ever rises superior to the oppressive hand of insolence and cruelty.

EFFECTS OF VICE.

VICE by its natural influence on the temper tends to produce dejection under the slightest trials, and weakens that which only can support mankind when those vicissitudes come. —For it is their mind which must then support them; and their mind, by their sensual attachments, is corrupted and enfeebled—so that they have neither principles nor temper which can stand the assault of trouble.

They have no principles which lead them to look beyond the ordinary rotation of events— and therefore, when misfortunes involve them, the prospect must be comfortless on every side. —Strangers to all the temperate satisfactions of a good and pure mind—strangers to every pleasure except what was seasoned by vice or vanity, their adversity is to the last degree disconsolate—From hence we may deduce the causes to which we must ascribe the broken spirits— the peevish temper,—and impatient passions that so often attend the declining age, or falling fortunes, of vicious men.

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VILLAIN.

HE climbs the steep rock, and treads on the edge of a precipice, in order to catch a shadow—He has cause to dread not only the uncertainty of the event which he wishes to accomplish, but the nature also of that event when accomplished—He is not only liable to that disappointment of success, which so often frustrates all designs of men; but liable to a disappointment still more cruel, that of being successful and miserable at once.

Riches and pleasure are the chief temptations to criminal deeds.—Yet those riches, when obtained, may very possibly overwhelm him with unforeseen miseries—those pleasures may cut short his health and life—And is it for such doubtful and fallacious rewards, that the deceiver fills his mouth with lies, the friend betrays his benefactor, the apostate renounces his faith, and the assassin covers himself with blood!

Whoever commits a crime, incurs a certain evil for a most uncertain good—What will turn to his advantage in the course of this life, he cannot with any assurance know;—but this he may know, with full certainty, that he will draw upon his head that displeasure of the Almighty, which shall crush him for ever.

The advantages of this world, when obtained [Page] by criminal means, carry a curse in their bosom, nay, even when innocently gained, are uncertain blessings.—To the virtuous, they are often no more than chaff—to the guilty, they are always poison.

VIRTUE AND PROSPERITY CONTRASTED.

THOSE situations which favour pleasure are too generally adverse to virtue.—Virtue requires internal government and discipline; prosperity relaxes the mind, and inflames the passions:—virtue is supported by a regard to what is future—prosperity attaches us wholly to what is present:—virtue checks our pursuits, which are the result of intemperance—refrains our desires, and makes them flow in the calm tide of moderation—prosperity increases our evil propensities—enflames our passions—and plunges us deep in the stream of riot and excess:—virtue is the sovereign pilot which steers us into the harbour of true lasting pleasure— prosperity is too apt to turn the helm to the port of sensual enjoyment—unites us too closely to the things of this world—and makes us eye the moment of our dissolution with regret and horror.—The characteristics of virtue are modesty and humility—the most common attendants [Page] upon prosperity are pride and presumption; and often proves the motive of impiety.

VIRTUE,

IS the universal charm: even its shadow is courted, when the substance is wanting.— It must be formed and supported, not by unfrequent acts, but by daily and repeated exertions, in order to its becoming vigorous and useful.— Great events give scope for great virtues; but the main tenor of human life is composed of small occurrences—Within the round of these, lie the materials of the happiness of most men; the subjects of their duty, and the trials of their virtue.

Whatever is to be our profession, no education is more necessary to success, than the acquirement of virtuous dispositions and habits.— This is the universal preparation for every character, and every station in life—Bad as the world is, respect is always paid to virtue.—In the usual course of human affairs, it will be found that a plain understanding, joined with acknowledged worth, contributes more to prosperity than the brightest parts without probity or honour.

Whether science, or business, or public life, be our aim, virtue still enters, for a principal share, into all those great departments of society.

[Page]It is connected with eminence, in every liberal art;—with reputation, in every branch of fair and useful business;—with distinction, in every public station. The vigour which it gives to the mind, and the weight which it adds to the character;—the generous sentiment which it breathes;—the undaunted spirit which it inspires;—the ardour of diligence which it quickens;—the freedom which it procures from pernicious and dishonourable avocations, are the foundation of all that is high in fame, or great in success among men.

Whatever ornamental or engaging endowments we possess, virtue is a necessary requisite in order to their shining with proper lustre— By whatever arts we may at first attract the attention, we can hold the esteem, and secure the hearts of others, only by amiable dispositions, and the accomplishments of the mind—These are the qualities whose influence will last, when the lustre of all that once sparkled and dazzled has passed away.

VOLUPTUARY.

THE corrupted temper, and the guilty passions of the bad, frustrate the effect of every advantage which the world confers on them— The world may call them men of pleasure; but [Page] of all men they are the greatest foes to pleasure: from their eagerness to grasp, they strangle and destroy it—riotous indulgence enervates both the body and the mind: so that in the midst of his studied refinement the voluptuary languishes.

Wherever guilt mingles with prosperity, a certain gloom and heaviness enter along with it. Vicious intrigues never fail to entangle, and embarrass those who engage in them;—besides, the selfish gratifications of the bad are both narrow in their circle, and short in their duration.

WIT.

WIT is the most dangerous talent we can possess.—It must be guarded with great discretion and good nature, otherwise it will create many enemies.

Wit is perfectly consistent with softness and delicacy; yet they are seldom found united.— Wit is so flattering to vanity, that they who possess it become intoxicated, and lose all self-command.

Though it is the most captivating, yet it is the most dreaded of all talents: the most dangerous to those who have it, and the most feared by those who have it not. He who is grown rich without it, in safe and sober dulness, shuns [Page] as a disease, and looks upon poverty as its invariable concomitant.

The moralist declaims against it as the source of irregularity; and the frugal citizen dreads it more than bankruptcy itself: for he considers it as the parent of extravagance and beggary. —The Cynic will ask of what use is it? Of very little perhaps: no more is a flower-garden, and yet it is allowed, as an object of innocent amusement, and delightful recreation.

A woman who possesses this quality has received a most dangerous present, perhaps not less so than beauty itself; especially if it be not sheathed in a temper peculiarly inoffensive,— chastised by a most correct judgment,—and restrained by more prudence than falls to the common lot.

This talent is more likely to make a woman vain than knowledge; for there is much more danger that folly should arise from the consideration of what is our own, than of what we borrow.—But wit, like learning, is not near so common a thing as is imagined.—For flippancy, pertness, and impudence are often mistaken for this brilliant quality; and people often imagine they are witty, only because they are indiscreet; and this makes the name of wit so cheap, while its real existence is so rare.

But those who happily possess this talent, cannot be too abstinent in the use of it.—It [Page] often makes admirers, but never makes friends; and she, who does not desire friends, has a sordid and insensible soul; but she, who is ambitious of making every man her admi [...] has an invincible vanity and a cold heart.

WOMAN.

THE prevailing manners of an age depend more than we are aware, or are willing to allow, on the conduct of the women; this is one of the principal things on which the great machine of human society turns. Those who allow the influence which female graces have, in contributing to polish the manners of men, would do well to reflect how great an influence female morals must also have on their conduct. How much then is it to be regretted, that women should ever sit down contented to polish, when they are able to reform; to entertain, when they might instruct; and to dazzle for an hour, when they are candidates for eternity!

In this land of civil and religious liberty, where there is as little despotism exercised over the minds, as over the persons of women, they have every liberty of choice, and every opportunity of improvement; and how greatly does this increase their obligation to be exemplary [Page] in their general conduct, attentive to the government of their families, and instrumental to the good order of society.

The woman who is at a loss to find amusement at home, cannot apologize for her dissipation abroad, by saying she is deprived of the benefit and pleasure of books; and she who regrets being doomed to a state of dark and gloomy ignorance, by the injustice and tyranny of the men, complains of an evil which does not exist.

It is a certain truth, that women the most accomplished are sure to acquire the universal admiration and esteem of the world, if the improvement of the heart accompanies their thirst of other knowledge,—and vanity, that idol of the sex, be supplanted by modest humility.

Nothing delights men more than the strength of understanding, when true gentleness of manners is its associate:—United, they become irresistible orators—blessed with the power of persuasion—fraught with the sweetness of instruction—making women the highest ornament of human nature.

WORLD.

THE world is the great deceiver, whose fallacious arts it highly imports us to detect. But, in the midst of its pleasures and pursuits, [Page] the detection is impossible. We tread as within an enchanted circle, where nothing appears as it truly is.—We live in delusion, forming plans of imaginary bliss.—We wander forever in the paradise of fools—meditating in secret on the means of attaining worldly success;—which acquired, has seldom, in one instance, fulfilled our expectation;—but where we have reckoned most upon enjoyment, there have we generally found the least.

It is too often considered as the only field of pleasure; and beat over and over in quest of joys unsubstantial and transitory:—Pleased with the visionary trifles which it affords, we forget the probationary state of our existence,—madly pursue what at best we cannot retain—barter our eternal welfare for vain shadows and empty shew;—and, as if careless of the justice of God, seem to regard not his threatened vengeance, but depend solely on the extent of his mercy; and divest ourselves of the smallest right to demand our promised felicity.

RELIGIOUS WORSHIP.

THE expressions of those affections, under its various forms, are no other than native effusions of the human heart. Ignorance may mislead, and superstition may corrupt them, but [Page] their origin are derived from sentiments that are essential to man.

Wherever men have existed, they have been sensible that some acknowledgment was due, on their part, to the Sovereign of the world; which Christian revelation has placed in such a light, as one should think were sufficient to overawe the most thoughtless, and to melt the most obdurate mind.

But religious worship, disjoined from justice and virtue, can on no account whatever find acceptance with the supreme Being.—Because it is for the sake of man that worship and prayers are required, that he may be rendered better, and acquire those pious and virtuous dispositions, in which his highest improvement consists.

YOUTH.

YOUTH is the season of warm and generous emotions;—the heart should then spontaneously rise into the admiration of what is great, glow with the love of what is fair and excellent, and melt at the discovery of tenderness and goodness.—In this season we should endeavour, upon rational and sober enquiry, to have our principles established, nor suffer them to be shaken by the scoffs of the licentious, or the cavils of the sceptical.—No wantonness of youthful [Page] spirits, no compliance with the intemperate mirth of others, should ever betray us into profane sallies.

It should not be barren of improvements, so essential to future felicity and honour.

This is the seed-time of life.—The character is now, under divine assistance, of our own forming; our fate is, in some measure, put into our own hands.—Nature is as yet pliant and soft—habits have not established their domi [...]ion —prejudices have not pre-occupied our understanding—the world has not had time to contract and debase our affections.—All our powers are more vigorous, disembarrassed and free, than they will be at any future period. Whatever impulse we now give to our desires and passions, the direction is likely to continue.—It will form the channel in which our life is to run; nay, it may determine its everlasting issue.

Virtuous youth gradually brings forward accomplished and flourishing manhood; and such manhood passes of itself, without uneasiness, into [...]espectable and tranquil old age.—But if youth [...]e trifled away without improvement, manhood [...]ill be contemptible, and old age miserable.— [...]f the beginning of life has been vanity, its latter [...]d can be no other than vexation of spirit.

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DETACHED SENTIMENTS AND MORAL MAXIMS.

THE things in our own power, are in their own nature free, not capable of being countermanded or hindered; but those that are not in our power are feeble, servile, liable to opposition, and not ours, but another's.

When any frightful and discouraging imagination assaults us, we should harden ourselves, and meet it boldly, with this reflection, that it is only our apprehension of things, and not the real nature of the things themselves.

We should on all occasions, reflect with ourselves, of what nature and condition those things are that minister delight, or are useful and beneficial to us, and that we have a natural tendency for; and that these reflections may answer their end, we should make them familiar, by beginning at the slightest and most inconsiderable things, and so rise to the higher and more valuable.

In every action we undertake, we should consider first with ourselves, and weigh well the [Page] nature and circumstances of the thing; nay, though it be a slight one, represent to ourselves what accident we may probably meet with, and determine to preserve our minds and reason undisturbed—by which means we shall be guarded against their disagreeable effects; which never can be done, if we suffer every one to discompose us.

That which gives men disquiet, and makes their lives miserable, is not the nature of things as they really are, but the notions and opinions which they form to themselves concerning them. —wherever therefore we meet with obstructions and perplexities—and fall into them, let us be just, and not lay the blame where it is not due; but impute it all to ourselves, and our prejudicate opinions.

We should never be exalted with any excellence that is not properly our own.—We should content ourselves with making a right use of our own ideas, and when we manage these as we ought, we may be allowed to please ourselves; for this is being exalted with some excellence that is properly ours.

Let us not trouble ourselves with wishing that things may be just as we would have them; but be well pleased that they should be just as they are, then we shall live easy.

Upon every f [...]esh accident we ought to turn our eyes inward, and examine how we are qualified [Page] to encounter it,—and prepare ourselves to meet it with patience and resolution—If we use ourselves to these, by degrees no accident whatever will be able to surprise or subdue us.

Our constant care should be to behave ourselves in all the affairs of human life, with the same decency as at a public entertainment—If any thing be offered us, we should receive it with modesty; if it pass by us, and be sent to another, let us not withhold it from him, or keep what was not intended us; if it be not come down to us, let us not shew ourselves eager nor snatch at it greedily, but wait patiently till it comes to our turn.—In case of riches, honour, power or preferment, we should manage ourselves in the same manner: it will render us pleasing to man, and acceptable to God.

The world we should consider as a theatre, that our part in this play of life is determined by the poet; upon him it must depend whether we shall act a long or a short one; whether our characters shall be high or low:—if therefore he assigns us that of a beggar, we must be careful to humour it well;—if a cripple—or a prince —or a private obscure man, and whatever it be, we must make the best of it.—The playing of the parts commendably depends on ourselves —the giving them out, and choosing the actors, is not ours, but another person's.

It is always in our power to come off conquerors, [Page] provided we will never engage in any combats but such whose successes will be determined by our own choice.

If we see any person advanced to an eminent station of honour and power, or any other kind of prosperity, we should avoid being presently surprized with a false idea of his condition, nor rashly pronounce him happy;—for if all the happiness and tranquillity of our minds depend upon things within our own power, there can be no room for envy or emulation.

When any man reviles or strikes us, we should consider that it is not [...] tongue that gives us the opprobrious language▪ or the hand that deals the blow that injures or affronts us; but it is our own resentment of it, as an injury or affront, that makes it such to us; the provocation is entirely owing to our own apprehension which swell us into revenge.

It is necessary to keep all those calamities, of which mankind are most afraid, constantly before our eyes, and let them be familiar to our minds; but above all, death should be ever present there;—it is an excellent remedy against base and mean thoughts, and a powerful restraint to all immoderate desires.

If we resolve to make wisdom and virtue the study and business of our lives, we must be sure to arm ourselves beforehand against all the inconveniencies and discouragements that are like [Page] to attend this resolution.—We shall meet with many scoffs and much derision—but let us not be affected, or supercilious; only stick close to whatever we are in our judgment convinced is virtuous and becoming—and consider this as our proper station assigned by God, which we must not quit upon any terms; and remember, that if we persevere in goodness, those very men who derided us at first, will afterwards tu [...] our admirers;—but if we give way to their [...] proaches, and are vanquished by them, we shall render ourselves doubly, and most deservedly ridiculous.

If we ever happen to accommodate ourselves to the humour of the world, for the sake of reputation and applause,—we should take notice that it is below a philosopher:—and therefore content ourselves upon all occasions with really being what we would be thought—but if we will needs be thought so too, we should deserve our own good opinion: that will be sufficient.

If we observe some other person more caressed than ourselves;—invited to entertainments when we are left out;—saluted before we are taken notice of;—thought more proper to advise with, and his counsel followed rather than ours;—we should consider whether these respects paid to him are good things, or evil;—if they deserve to be esteemed good, this ought to be matter of joy to us;—but if they be evil, [Page] how unreasonable is it to be troubled because they have not fallen to our share.

We should consider with ourselves [...]eriously, what figure is most fit for us to make in the world; and then fix upon a method and rule in order hereunto: which we should be sure to observe nicely, both at home alone, and abroad in company.

One of our principal rules should be silence; —and when we discourse, confine ourselves to such subjects as are necessary, and express our sense in as few words as possible Loquacity is a most impertinent intruder on society; and many useless words, though the pride of the speake [...] the destruction of his consequence,—an unpardonable infringement on the laws of good-breeding,—and a fatigue to his auditors.

Whenever we happen into company, where we have authority, and influence enough to do it, we should try to change the discourse if uninstructive, unentertaining, or offensive, and bring it to becoming subjects:—but if we are among people of another temper, such as will not endure restraint or reproof, then it behoves us to hold our own tongues.

Loud laughing is a mark of ill-breeding— laughing at our own jokes, too oft the effect of ignorance:—we should not indulge even in laughing at all but upon few occasions, and then it should not be much.

[Page]If possible we should avoid swearing altogether, it is vulgar and impious—but if we cannot do that absolutely, we should be sure to decline it as much as is in our power.

All public entertainments and mixed companies, without they are calculated to produce innocent amusement, improve the understanding, or polish the manners, should be declined:— but if any extraordinary occasion calls us to them, we should keep a strict guard upon ourselves, lest we should be infected with rude and vulgar conversation; for though a man be never so clear himself, yet, by frequenting company that are tainted, he will of necessity contract some pollution from them.

Use and necessity should be the rule of all the provisions we make for the body—we should choose meat and drink—apparel—house—and retinue of such kinds, and in such proportions as will most conduce to these purposes—but, as for all beyond this, which ministers to vanity and luxury, let us retrench and despise.

To render us truly amiable, in the sight of the just and virtuous, nothing, however it may be laughed at by the dissolute, contributes so much to that end as chastity,—but how perfect soever ours may be, the conceit of this should not make us troublesome to others, that are more frail; nor should we be too lavish in either [Page] reproving their failings, nor in commendation of our own virtue.

If we happen to be told at any time, that another person has spoken ill of us, we should never trouble ourselves to confute the report, or excuse the thing without being publicly called forth, and the preservation of character makes it necessary;—but rather put all up with this reply,—that we have several faults besides that, and if he had known us more, he would have spoken worse.

In familiar conversations with our friends and acquaintance, we should never make it our business to entertain the company with tedious narratives of ourselves, or our own affairs.— The exploits by which we have signalized ourselves,—the successes we have obtained,—the dangers we have encountered—or the afflictions we have undergone, may be very agreeable stories for us to tell; yet they will not be equally so for others to hear.

It will not become us to render ourselves the common buffoon, and be always trying to make a company laugh; for this is a nice and very tickling thing, exceeding apt to degenerate into vice and folly—and he that only studies men's diversion, shall be sure at the same time to lose their respect.

Of all kinds of discourse, none is more unsafe, —none more despicable than that which breaks [Page] in upon modesty and good manners.—Wherever therefore any person flies out into obscenity, if such a liberty dare be taken, we should reprove him publicly, and put a stop to his lewd conversation;—but if that cannot conveniently be done, yet at least we may do ourselves the justice to disapprove it; and by forbearing to join with him—by blushing for him—and by chiding looks, let all the company see plainly, that we detest his filthy ribbaldry.

When the idea of any pleasure strikes our imagination, as we must on other occasions, so should we in this, especially stand upon our guard, and not suffer ourselves to be hurried away with the impetuous torrent;—we should not run eagerly upon enjoyment, nor improve the thought into action;—but take time to consider, and let that time be employed in making a just computation between the duration of the pleasure, and that of the repentance sure to follow it; and then we shall not fail to check our inclinations, and chide ourselves for indulging them in any degree at all.

When upon mature deliberation we are persuaded a thing is fit to be done—let us do it boldly, and not affect privacy in it, nor concern ourselves at all what impertinent censures or reflections the world may pass upon it; for if the thing be just and innocent, it is foolish to [Page] stand in fear of those, who will themselves do ill in censuring and condemning what we do well.

If we take upon us a character above our capacity, we fall into a twofold inconvenience; —first, to miscarry in what we have undertaken; and then to lose the opportunity of undertaking somewhat else, more proportionable to our abilities, in which we might have come off with honour.

In all the affairs of human life, we should take care not to hurt our mind, or offend our judgment; and this rule, if cautiously observed in all our deportment, will be a mighty security to us in all our undertakings, and prevent us from being injured by folly, or aggrieved by impetuosity.

At the age of fourteen women begin to be courted and caressed; then they think that the recommending themselves to the affections of the men is the only business they have to attend to; and so presently fall to tricking—to dressing—and practising all the little engaging arts peculiar to their sex; in these they place all their hopes, as they do all their happiness in the success of them:—But they should understand, that there are other attractives much more powerful than these; that the respect we pay them, is not due to their beauty, so much [Page] as to their modesty, and innocence, and unaffected virtue; and that these are the true, the irresistible charms, such as will make [...]he surest and most lasting conquests.

There is no surer sign of stupidity, and wa [...] of sense, than to trifle away a great deal of time in things relating to the body, as to be long at exercise, or at meals, or drinking, or in the other f [...]ctions of nature. For we ought to look upon all that is done to the body as things by the by, and the improvement of the soul as that which challenges our time, and is the true and main end and business of our lives.

We should never profess ourselves philosophers, nor talk much of rules and wise observations among the ignorant and vulgar—but let our rules be seen in our practice. Nor should we be solicitous in making a shew of our erudition, or boast of our learning [...] raises the envy of the illiterate—disgusts [...] modest— gives us the character of ostentatious, and loads us with general odium. Nay, if we happen in conversation with ignorant and common men, though they themselves start [...] discourse concerning some point in philosophy, we should forbear joining with them in it; for when men are forward to vent their notions, it is a shrewd sign they are not well digested. We should rather labour to approve the exce [...]lence of our [Page] doctrines to the world, not by disputes and [...] harrangues, but by digesting them into [...], and growing strong in virtue.

THE END.

Information about this book

Title statement

Sentimental beauties, and moral delineations, from the writings of the celebrated Dr. Blair, and other much admired authors; selected with a view to refine the taste, rectify the judgment, and mould the heart to virtue.

Blair, Hugh, 1718-1800.

Publication

Publisher

Text Creation Partnership,

Place of publication

Ann Arbor, MI :

Date

2008-09.

ID [DLPS]

N18587

ID [TCP]

N18587

ID [STC]

Evans 24121

ID [STC]

Evans 24122

ID [NOTIS]

APV7898

ID [IMAGE-SET]

24121

ID [EVANS-CITATION]

99003429

Availability

This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal. The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.

Series

Early American Imprints, 1639-1800 ; no. 24121.Early American Imprints, 1639-1800 ; no. 24122.

Notes

(Evans-TCP ; no. N18587)

Transcribed from: (Readex Archive of Americana ; Early American Imprints, series I ; image set 24121)

Images scanned from Readex microprint and microform: (Early American imprints. First series ; no. 24121; 24122)

Source

— Sentimental beauties, and moral delineations, from the writings of the celebrated Dr. Blair, and other much admired authors; selected with a view to refine the taste, rectify the judgment, and mould the heart to virtue., Blair, Hugh, 1718-1800., Hawke, Baron Towton, Lord, dedicatee.. The fourth edition. [Five lines of verse].

Extent

[2], xii, [1], 14-188 p. ; 14 cm. (18mo)

Printed by F. Bailey, no 116, M. Carey, 118' Market-Street, and T. Lang, no 21, Church-Alley.--,. Philadelphia: :: (--1792.--). (Dedicated to Lord Hawke, Baron Towton.) (Parentheses substituted for square brackets in imprint transcription.) (Evans, who saw no copy, surmised separate editions printed by Carey and by Bailey and Lang.)

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