On the Necessity of improving Time.

HOW quick are the advances of time! The day is gone, almost as soon as dawned! The silent moments slip away insensibly! No thief steals more unperceived from the pillaged house. Wherever we are, however employed, time pursues his incessant course. Though we are listless and di­latory, the great measurer of our days passes on, in his unwearied career, and whirls our weeks, and months, and years away. Is it not then surprising­ly strange, to hear some complain of the tediousness of their time, and how heavy it hangs upon their hands? To see them contriving a variety of amu­sing artifices to accelerate its flight, and get rid of its burden. Why, thoughtless mortals! need you urge the headlong torrent? Your days are swifter than a post, which carrying dispatches of the utmost importance, with unremitted speed scours the road. They pass away like the nimble ships, which have wind in their wings, and skim along the watery [Page 56] plain. They hasten to their destined period with the rapidity of an eagle, which leaves the stormy blast behind her, while she cleaves the air, and darts upon her prey.

And, when it is gone, how short it appears! When the fond eye beheld in perspective, it seemed an extensive plain; but on the retrospective view, how wonderfully is the scene altered! The land­scape, large and spacious, which a warm fancy drew, brought to the test of cool experience, shrinks into a span; just as the shores vanish, and mountains dwindle to a spot, when the sailor, surrounded by skies and ocean, throws his last look on his native land.

Shall we, then, be industrious to shorten what is no longer than a span, or to quicken the pace of what is ever on the wing? Shall we squander away what is unutterably important, while it lasts; and when once departed, is altogether irrecoverable? Forbear the folly, forbear the desperate extrava­gance. Shall we chide, as a loiterer, the arrow that boundeth from the string; or sweep away dia­monds, as the refuse of our houses? How parsimo­nious should we be of our days; how carefully husband our precious hours! They go indissolubly connected with happiness or misery. Improved, they are a sure pledge of everlasting glory; wasted, they are a sad preface to never-ending confusion and anguish. On these, therefore, our eternal all de­pends. And will an affair of such unspeakable weight, admit of a moment's delay, or consist with the least remissness?—Especially since much of our [Page 57] appointed time is already elapsed, and the remainder is all uncertainty.

But, suppose we had made a covenant with the grave, and were assured of reaching the age of Me­thuselah, how soon would even such a lease expire! Let it be extended yet farther, and made co-existent with nature itself; yet, how speedily will the con­summation of all things commence! For, yet a lit­tle while, and the commissioned archangel will lift his hand to heaven, and swear by the Almighty name, "That time shall be no longer." The abu­sed opportunities will never return, and new oppor­tunities will never more be afforded. Then, should negligent mortals wish ever so passionately, for a few moments only to be thrown back from opening eternity, thousands of worlds would not be able to procure the grant.

What inexpressible consternation must overwhelm unthinking mortals, who have squandered their time in vice, when the general conflagration commences! That dreadful day will soon approach, "in which the heavens shall pass away with a great noise, and the elements shall melt with fervent heat; the earth also, and all the works that are therein, shall be burnt up." That mighty hand, which once opened the windows from on high, and broke up the fountains of the great deep, will then unlock all the magazines of fire, and pour out a second deluge upon the earth. The vengeful flames, kin­dled by the breath of the Almighty, will spread themselves from the center to the circumference; nothing will withstand their impetuosity, nothing [Page 58] escape their rage. Magnificent palaces and solemn temples will be laid in ashes: Spacious cities and impregnable towers buried in one smoaking mass. Not only the productions of human art, but the works of almighty power, will be fuel for the de­vouring element. The mountains will melt, like the snows which cover their summits; and even the vast oceans serve only to augment the inconceivable rapidity and fury of the blaze.

These are events, the greatness of which nothing finite can measure. Such, as will cause whatever is considerable, or momentous, in the annals of all generations, to sink into littleness and nothing. Events, big with the everlasting fates of all the liv­ing and all the dead. We must see the graves cleaving, the sea teeming, and swarms unsuspected, crowds unnumbered, yea, multitudes of thronging nations rising from both. We must see the world in flames; must stand at the dissolution of all ter­restrial things, and be attendants on the burial of nature. We must see the vast expanse of the sky wrapped up like a scroll, and the incarnate God issuing from light inaccessible, with ten thousand times ten thousand angels, to judge both men and devils. We must see the curtain of time dropt, see all eternity disclosed to view, and enter upon a state of being that will never have an end.

Ought we not, therefore, to husband well every moment of our time, and take heed to our ways? Is there an inquiry, is there a care of greater, of equal, of comparable importance? For, other­wise, [Page 59] how shall we stand with boldness, when the stars of heaven fall from their orbs? How shall we look up with joy, and see our salvation drawing nigh, when the hearts of millions fail for fear?

ON THE WORLD.

THIS World is like a Lottery, in which we must expect to meet with many unlucky chances.

It is fancy, not the reason of things, that makes life so uneasy to us as we find it. It is not the place, or the condition, but the mind alone, that can make any body happy or miserable.

When our estate in this world is perplexed and uncertain, we should be more than ordinarily con­cerned to make sure of something, that we may not be miserable in both worlds.

A man cannot be truly happy here, without a well-grounded hope of being happy hereafter.

A firm trust in the assistance of an Almighty Being, naturally produces patience, cheerfulness, and all other dispositions of mind, that alleviate those calamities which we are not able to remove.

None should despair, because God can help them; and none should presume, because God can cross them.

Excess of sorrow is as foolish as profuse laugh­ter. Loud mirth, or immoderate sorrow; inequa­lity of behaviour, either in prosperity or adversity, are alike disgraceful in a man that is born to die.

[Page 60] As there is no prosperous state of life, with­out its calamities; so there is no adversity without its benefits. Ask the great and powerful, if they do not feel the pangs of envy and ambition? En­quire of the poor and needy, if they have not tasted the sweets of quiet and contentment? Even under the pains of body, the infidelity of friends, or the misconstructions put upon our laudable ac­tions, our minds (when for some time accustomed to these pressures) are sensible of secret flowings of comfort, the present reward of a pious resig­nation. The evils of life appear like rocks and precipices, rugged and barren at a distance, but at our nearer approach, we find little fruitful spots, and refreshing springs, mixed with the harshness and deformity of nature.

It may boldly be affirmed, that good men gene­rally reap more substantial benefit from their afflic­tions, than bad men do from their prosperities; and what they lose in wealth, pleasure, or honor, they gain with vast advantage in wisdom, goodness, and tranquility of mind.

Afflicton is spiritual physic for the soul. It is compared to a furnace; for as gold is tried and purified therein, so men are proved, and either pu­rified from their dross, and fitted for good uses, or entirely burnt up and undone for ever.

Happy are they who, laboring under any kind of affliction, can say with Job, "When he hath tried me, I shall come forth as gold."

Let a man live but two or three years without affliction, and he is almost good for nothing: he [Page 61] cannot pray nor meditate, nor keep his heart fixed upon spiritual things; but let God smite him in his child, health, or estate, now he can find his tongue and affections again; now he awakes, and falls to his duty in earnest; now God has twice as much honor from him, as he had before. "Now, saith God, this amendment pleaseth me; this rod was well bestowed; I have disappointed him to his great benefit and advantage." And thus God is in friendship with his people again.

The Unhappiness consequent on the Neglect of early improving the Mind.

THERE is not a greater inlet to misery and vices of all kinds, than the not knowing how to pass our vacant hours. For what remains to be done, when the first part of their lives, who are not brought up to any manual employment, is slipt away without an acquired relish for reading, or taste for other rational satisfactions? That they should pursue their pleasures?—But, religion apart, common prudence will warn them to tie up the wheel as they begin to go down the hill of life. Shall they then apply themselves to their studies? Alas! the [...] time is already past: The enter­prizing and spirited ardor of youth being over, without having been applied to those valuable pur­poses for which it was given, all ambition of excel­ling upon [...] and laudable schemes, quite stagnates. If they have not some poor expedient [Page 62] to deceive the time, or, to speak more properly, to deceive themselves, the length of a day will seem tedious to them, who, perhaps, have the unreason­ableness to complain of the shortness of life in ge­neral. When the former part of our life has been nothing but vanity, the latter end of it can be no­thing but vexation. In short, we must be miserable, without some employment to fix, or some amuse­ment to dissipate our thoughts: The latter we can­not command in all places, nor relish at all times; and therefore there is an absolute necessity for the former. We may pursue this or that new pleasure; we may be fond for a while of a new acquisition; but when the graces of novelty are worn off, the briskness of our first desire is over, the transition is very quick and sudden, from an eager fondness to a cool indifference. Hence there is a restless agita­tion in our minds, still craving something new, still unsatisfied with it, when possessed; till melancholy increases, as we advance in years, like shadows lengthening towards the close of day.

Hence it is, that men of this stamp are continu­ally complaining that the times are altered for the worse: Because the sprightliness of their youth re­presented every thing in the most engaging light; and when men are in high good humour with themselves, they are apt to be so with all around: The face of nature brightens up, and the sun shines with a more agreeable lustre: But when old age has cut them off from the enjoyment of false pleasures, and habitual vice has given them a distaste for the only true and lasting delights; when a retrospect of [Page 63] their past lives presents nothing to view but one wide tract of uncultivated ground; a soul distem­pered with spleen, remorse, and an insensibility of each rational satisfaction, darkens and discolours every object; and the change is not in the times, but in them, who have been forsaken by those gra­tifications which they would not forsake.

How much otherwise is it with those, who have laid up an inexhaustible fund of knowledge! When a man has been laying out that time in the pursuit of some great and important truth, which others waste in a circle of gay follies, he is conscious of having acted up to the dignity of his nature; and from that consciousness there results that serene complacency, which, though not so violent, is much preferable to the pleasures of the animal life.

ADDRESS TO THE SEA.

HAIL! thou inexhaustible source of wonder and contemplation! Hail! thou multitu­dinous ocean! whose waves chace one another down, like the generations of men; and after a momentary space, are immerged for ever in obli­vion! Thy fluctuating waters wash the variated shores of the world; and while they disjoin nati­ons, whom a nearer connexion would involve in perpetual war, they circulate their arts and their labors, and give health and plenty to mankind.

How glorious—how awful the scenes thou dis­playest! [Page 64] Whether we view thee when every wind is hushed; when the morning sun, as now, silvers the level line of the horizon, or when its evening track is marked with flaming gold, and thy unrip­pled bosom reflects the radiance of the overarch­ing heavens! Or whether we behold thee in thy terrors!—when the blackest tempest sweeps the swelling billows, and the boiling surge mixes with the clouds—when death rides the storm, and hu­manity drops a fruitless tear for the toiling mari­ner, whose heart is sinking with dismay!

And yet, mighty deep! 'tis thy surface alone we view. Who can penetrate the secrets of thy wide domain? What eye can visit thy immense rocks and caverns, that teem with life and vegeta­tion? or search out the myriads of objects, whose beauties lie scattered over thy dread abimes?

The mind staggers with the immensity of its own conceptions!—and when she contemplates the flux and reflux of thy tides, which from the be­ginning of the world were never known to err, how does he shrink at the idea of that DIVINE POWER, which originally laid thy foundations so sure, and whose omnipotent voice hath fixed the limits where thy proud waves shall be stayed!

But from the spot where I am now sitting, I must address thee as that oblivious flood, into which we plunge to drown our infirmities. How many diseases, real or imaginary, are now washing off under yonder range of canvass machines, drawn up in rows on the water, like a flying camp!

The fine lady withdraws herself from the pleasur­able [Page 65] tolls of high life, to new brace those nerves which luxury hath relaxed.

The glutton, who has eat away his stomach, so­licits from thee a new appetite.

The antiquated virgin, who has shunned every warmer embrace, flies eager and unattired into thine.

The young and the healthy, court thee for plea­sure; the barren, to become fruitful; the debauche asks of thee a restorative; the corpulent, a scour­ing; the feeble, strength; the hypochondriac, spirits; and the numerous family of the rheumatic, a set of muscles more pliant than those they possess.

What a world of wants! and what claims, boun­tiful Ocean, for thee to answer!

Whether the diseases of life multiply, or that thy medicinal virtues have been but lately discover­ed, is a question which I leave to the decision of the college. Certain it is, that thy shores are daily more crowded with suppliants. Every little town thou washest, so swarms now with a species of in­habitants, unknown to it in former times, that the ancient tenants of the place are compelled to stretch out their homely dwellings, into more spacious houses, for the admission of the migrating stranger! This circumstance proves in one sense, a consider­able gain to them; but an evil that accrues from it is, that neither their manners, nor their mor­als, remain long what they were. The incursions of the opulent and the profligate, disturb their peaceful domains; while their examples excite de­sires [Page 66] unfelt before; and being felt, cannot always be gratified, but at the expence of integrity.

The old inhabitant possibly takes his revenge, by imposing on the stranger as much as he can; but alas! how greatly is he a loser on the whole!—Could he ever have reflexion enough to strike the balance, he would find the gain which arises from the exercise of low cunning, is but a poor ex­change for that calm plainness, which is the mode­rator of the heart, and that simplicity, which is the guardian of virtue.

MONITOR.

THE miseries to which human nature is liable, have often been the subject of contemplation. Viewing the gloomy side of the question, the feel­ings [Page 67] of a benevolent heart are apt to be exceeding­ly agitated.

Man is born unto trouble, as the sparks fly up­ward; he cometh forth like a flower, and is cut down; he flourishes in health and vigour, but con­tinueth not; his days pass like a shadow, and he is gone; he eateth in darkness, hath much sorrow, and returneth to his original dust, and no further remembrance of him remains.

Death is the law of our nature, the debt which all must pay, and there is no discharge in that war. The works of nature wax old and decay: the lofti­est monuments of human art, pyramids, cities, states and empires, have their periods, beyond which they will not endure. All things have a tendency to change; and man, amongst the rest of the cre­ation, when called by Providence, must submit to part with the life which was given him. The great and the good, the wise and the prudent, the learn­ed and the ignorant, the renowned and the ob­scure, the prince and the peasant, are all travelling the road which leads to the grave.

The time of our departure is utterly uncertain, and the accidents which may deprive us of life are innumerable. An unexpected bruise, an undesign­ed blow, a fall from a horse, the scratch of a pin, the pairing of a nail, or the dust of a wall, may be made the instruments of immediate death: thus An­acreon, the poet, was choaked with a grape-stone; Fabius, the Roman Senator, was suffocated with a single hair in a draught of milk; Pope Alexander with a fly, which slew accidentally into his mouth; [Page 68] Homer died of grief; Sophocles with excess of joy; Dyonisius with the good news of a victory he had obtained, and Aurelianus in the midst of a dance.

Diseases and deaths, says an ingenious author, are secretly lurking every where; they are in our bosoms, in our bowels, in every thing we taste, in every thing we enjoy. We have death dwelling with us in our houses, walking with us in the fields, lying down with us in our beds, and wrapped about us in our very clothes, always ready, at the Divine command, to give the fatal blow. If Heaven per­mits, Benhadad is slain in his bed, and Ammon at his table; Belshazzar in his cups, the Egyptian first­born in their sleep; Saul in the field; Caesar in the Senate; Caligula in the theatre; Antiochus in his coach; Zechariah in the temple, and Pope Victor at the sacrament.

To exclude from our thoughts that which can­not be avoided, betokens a weakness and timidity, which a wise and prudent man, who desires to act his part with propriety, would not indulge. Medi­tation on death, which terminates every scene of the short period of existence allotted to man in this transitory state, though gloomy, is interesting, and may be highly beneficial; it induces us to enquire, wherefore we were made, to ascertain the duties in­cumbent upon us, and to a serious and attentive practice of them. No event is more solemn and important, than that which is to close the connec­tions of life. To prepare for this last hour is a mo­mentous object: to be able to meet it with a ration­al composure and dignity, calmness and fortitude, [Page 69] should be the earnest desire, and engross the princi­pal attention of man.

That we may have a peaceful and happy exit, when we are called to quit this mortal scene, it be­comes us to renounce the pursuits and indulgences of vice and error, and to walk in the paths of vir­tue, which alone lead to true felicity.

"Boast not thyself of to-morrow; for thou knowest not what a day may bring forth."

AN ADDRESS TO YOUTH.

FINE parts, learning, or rank in life, without Virtue, are not sufficient qualifications in a man whom you admit to your intimacy and friend­ship. You will derive more solid advantage, and profitable instruction, from one hour's converse with a man of sobriety and virtue, than from a year's intimacy with one of more shining talents, if joined with profligate principles, and a licentious conduct.

The greater a bad man's accomplishments are, the more dangerous he is to society, and the less fit for a companion. Vice, in a pleasing garb, is most likely to prove destructive.

Reject the first intrusions of pride; "it was not made for man," and very ill becomes him. Pride is a Proteus, which, the more easily to gain admis­sion in the mind, assumes innumerable forms; but there is one certain test, whereby it may always be discovered: all its secret suggestions centre in the [Page 70] exaltation of self, and a comparative depreciation of others. At first a Pigmy, it secretly solicits an entrance into the mind; when once admitted, it will enlarge to a Monster, and usurp sole dominion there. What, alas! has vain man to be proud of? If he be wise, wealthy, comely, and honorable, these are not self-acquired accomplishments, but the gracious gifts of his Creator, for which hum­ble thanksgiving is due. To whatever attainments he arrives, whatever excellencies he may possess, they all proceed from the bounty of that Being, who can divest him of them all in a moment, and leave him an idiot.

If you consider your own numerous imperfecti­ons, and the infinitely great obligations we are un­der to the Source of every Blessing, it will produce humility; and this is the most excellent state of the human mind. In proportion as we are proud of our own accomplishments, self-confidence will ensue, which is the certain path to ruin. An hum­ble trust in, and continual dependance upon, the greatest and best of Beings, for strength and pre­servation, is the only state of safety, and will best promote our present, as well as eternal happiness.

Humility in ourselves, will produce kindness for and from others. To be humble, kind, benevo­lent and grateful, is to possess a disposition of mind ever acceptable to that God, whose Omniscience pervades our most secret thoughts, as well as acti­ons; and pleasing in the sight of wise men. "The humble he will teach of his ways, and the meek he will lead in the paths of true judgment." Hap­py [Page 71] are the youth who are thus taught and led; the preservation of Divine Providence will protect them here, and their end will be "joy unspeaka­ble, and full of glory."

Friendship is the balm of life; the "cordial drop" dispensed by Heaven to exhilarate its languor, and alleviate its cures; yet you can have but few friends in the extensive sense of the term. Such is the frailty and depravity of human nature, that a few only are susceptible of, or know how to cul­tivate a true and lasting friendship. It is indeed a plant of celestial extract, "of tender violations apt to die:" an exotic on earth, it will not flourish in every soil. The man who, in the unreserved open­ness of his heart, exposes his weakness freely (and if I may be allowed the metaphor) strips himself naked before his supposed friends, will find among them more Hams than Japhets. Many who may be warm in the profession friendship will, either from a fond desire of revealing secrets, or the baser motive of detraction, expose his failings with cru­el aggravations.

The base officiousness of such detractors may, perhaps, receive approbation from the self-righte­ous and the profane, for they will not consider, that it is only exercised by the betrayers of friend­ship, to gain reputation on the comparison, and to hide still greater deformity in themselves: therefore, in the choice of your friends, be cautious whom you admit under that sacred character. A false friend will injure you more than a thousand open enemies, and is, in reality, a very despicable character.

The Ornaments of Youth.

AMONG all the accomplishments of youth, there is none preferable to a decent and agreeable behaviour among men, a modest freedom of speech, a soft and elegant manner of address, a graceful and lovely deportment, a cheerful gravity and good humour, with a mind appearing ever se­rene under the ruffling accidents of human life: Add to this, a pleasing solemnity and reverence, when the discourse turns upon any thing sacred and divine; a becoming neglect of injuries, and hatred of calumny and slander; a habit of speaking well of others; a pleasing benevolence and readiness to do good to mankind, and special compassion to the mi­serable; with an air and countenance expressive of all these excellent qualifications.

Soliloquy on Human Life.

WHAT are Life's miseries, or what its joys? We increase the former by our impatience; and by raising our expectations too high, disappoint ourselves in the latter.

Experience has taught me these truths, said I; and the more I see of the world, the more I am convinced, that man has created more wretched­ness, diseases, and dissatisfaction for himself, than the bountiful founder of the world designed he should encounter, "What a number of distem­pers have luxury, vice and pleasure brought upon [Page 73] the descendants of Adam? How many are daily toiling, and suffering a thousand hardships, in order to increase their substance? The good of their children is their excuse: the love of wealth alone actuates others to put in practice a thousand arts of deceit and chicanery, in order to obtain the prize in view. But why should we suppose that riches will give happiness to our children, when it has so often been seen to have a contrary effect on ourselves? Or of what value is gold to him, who has more than enough to supply his wants, yet lets it remain untouched in his coffers? We envy those we think happier than ourselves, and by so doing, encrease our discontents. But why should I dwell longer on the weakness, madness, and folly of others, when I myself am a compound of the same materials! What is all my boasted philosophy, when I am led by others to follow their example, and tri­fle away moments which are too precious to be so foolishly squandered?

HOW TO ENJOY LIFE.

ONE seldom goes into mixed company, with­out hearing, if the conversation grows seri­ous, frequent complaints against life, viz. That it is nothing but one dull round of the same enjoyments, over and over again; that those pleasures that ap­peared so tempting unpossest—possest, are trifling, and not worth living for; that we rise up to eat and drink, and pay a few ridiculous visits, and then lie [Page 74] down again to sleep; that even this happy state is often interrupted by sickness, or one disappointment or other; and that at last old age comes on, robs us of our health and senses, and renders us the object of the contempt of the younger, till death closes the scene.

If we consider life in the contracted view of these murmurers, and make it consist only in so ridicu­lous a rotation, life would indeed become a burthen; but if we employ the nobler powers we have, in considering what life is, and act in consequence of such knowledge, we shall find a scene of so exalted and dignified a nature, that we shall be apt to think the spectacle Providence has introduced us to, by vesting us with human faculties, so noble, that we should stand indebted only for one day's acquaint­ance with it.

Life, properly understood, offers to the human creature an unlimited scene of pleasure: but if he will confine his own sphere of action in a narrower compass than his powers extend, whom can he blame? If, instead of employing his reason in con­sidering the various parts of the universe, and ac­quiring a knowledge productive of the noblest hap­piness, he will make no manner of use of those fa­culties he is master of, but bury his senses in the grosser part of himself, it is no wonder if he finds the enjoyments of life trivial, few, and not worth living for. A man who makes no other use of life than what his animal frame points to, must of course find a void in happiness; since the senses gratified, the little reason he has is just enough to make him feel a want, and that want to make him [Page 75] repine. The senses, as part of the human consti­tution, have indeed a natural right to be indulged, but still subordinately.

If these complaints were only in the mouths of the sensual or ignorant, or the poorer part of man­kind, I should not be so much surprized; but when I hear persons of tolerable good sense talk in this manner, it raises a sort of indignation in me at their ingratitude. For my part, when I consider man­kind in their different pursuits of pleasure, all actu­ated by the same principle, instead of arraigning, I cannot but admire the wonderful sagacity of Provi­dence, who has bestowed such a variety of enter­tainments to please the contrary tastes of each par­ticular person.

This consideration brings on another, a no less proof of the wisdom of Providence, viz. the desire implanted in our minds of enjoying one thing above another; since the want of such a desire would ei­ther make the mind sicken through inaction, and grow a burthen to itself, or else surfeit in the con­trary.

The Christian's Soliloquy on Nature's Charms.

THE charms of rural nature, especially in the months of spring and summer, afford pleasure [...] the eye, fruit to the taste, music to the ear, and instruction to the mind; the birds on every bough, the flowers on every side, and variegated scenes presented to the view around, all conspire to excite [Page 76] pleasure, admiration, and devout acknowledgments in the thinking and serious spectator, while sun, moon, stars, and all the orbs above appear

But what are Nature's charms, when put in com­petition with the beauty and loveliness of the GOD of GRACE? whose smile alone makes Heaven, with all the glorious inhabitants thereof, rejoice, with joy unspeakable and full of glory. The world, with all it can afford to felicitate and ennoble the possessors of its riches, honors, joys and pleasures, is but a mere blank, when compared to HIS all-gracious presence, and the joys at his right hand, where there are pleasures for ever more. Oh, then, my soul! let it be thy constant wish to know more, love more, serve more and better, HIM, whose handy works all nature shows, while grace and glo­ry speak his matchless praise, and teach both hea­ven and earth to spread abroad his fame.

ON REPROOF.

NOTHING is more common than to give re­proof to others; nothing more displeasing to many than to receive it themselves. Instructions flatter the self-love of him who gives them, and de­note his superiority over him who is instructed: he is pleased at thinking himself wise enough to direct the conduct of another, and yet has not the power to follow his own good counsels. To receive advice gives us displeasure, as it shews us our folly or our vices are known to the world: and however weak or vicious men may be, few but have such an opi­nion of their wisdom, or are not so far past shame, but it gives them some uneasiness to be found out.

The censuring of faults in our friends has been attributed, and not unjustly, more to pride than love or charity, as we endeavour not so much to correct, as to make them believe we are without them ourselves. Such a reproof is only a cover to our own hypocrisy.

Reproof, as Wycherly somewhere observes, is often to the weak mind what physic is to the weak body—which either, not timed seasonably, or given in too great a quantity, makes the remedy worse than the disease. Nothing requires more care, experience and knowledge, than the office of a reprover. He who would correct his friend must do it with cau­tion, and make a nice choice of a convenient time and place: he should be free also from prejudice, passion and invective, and consult the temper of him to whom he speaks, that he may talk to him in that [Page 78] manner which is most suitable to it.—To do all this is not so easy a task.

Though there are many absurdities in giving re­proof, there are some also in receiving it. To re­prove a self-opinionist, though with ever so much caution and friendship, as it calls his own conduct in question, will be only affronting him; he cannot bear to think he has acted foolishly, or at least that any one has perceived it. Many receive the reproof of their friends according to the dignity of the re­prover; they have a pride in being instructed by some one above them, but cannot bear advice from an equal.

No one is either too wise or too good to be re­proved: therefore when reproof is just and gentle, it should be esteemed as the kindest office of a friend. To give reproof is the most difficult. He who sets up for a reformer of others, ought always to watch over himself; for should he happen to fall into the frailty he condemns, he affords a public scene of laughter and ridicule.

The Charms of Virtue.

THE enjoyment of Virtue is wholly internal, and the chief pleasure of her real votaries, that of doing good.

God, in his divine mercy, says Sadi the Philo­sopher, introduced a certain vicious man into a so­ciety of religious, whose manners were pure and holy. Struck with their virtues, he quickly began [Page 79] to imitate them, and shake off all his former ha­bits; in a word, to be a model of justice, sobriety, patience, industry and benevolence. His good works were undeniable, but people imputed them to un­worthy motives. They were always for judging of him by what he had been, not by what he was.—Overwhelmed with sorrow, he poured forth his tears into the bosom of an ancient Solitary, who was more just, as well as more humane, than the rest.

"O my son," said the old man to him, "return thanks to the Almighty, that thou art superior to thy reputation. Happy is he who can say, My ene­mies and rivals stigmatize me for vices of which I am not guilty. If thou art good, what matters it to thee, that men persecute and even punish them as being one of the wicked? Hast thou not, for thy comfort, two unerring testimonies of thy acti­ons, God and thy Conscience?"

Advice of an Heathen Philosopher.

LET not sleep, says Pythagoras, fall upon thy eyes, till thou hast thrice reviewed the trans­actions of the present day. Where have I turned aside from rectitude? What have I been doing? What have I left undone, which ought to have been done? Begin thus from the first act, and proceed; and in the conclusion, at the ill which thou hast done be troubled, and rejoice for the good.

Rules out of Ptolemy's Golden Table.

I NEVER exalted the proud rich man, nor hat­ed the poor just man. I never denied justice to the poor for poverty, nor pardoned the wealthy for his riches. I never gave reward for affectation, nor punishment upon passion. I never suffered evil to escape unpunished, nor goodness unreward­ed. I never denied justice to him that asked it, nor mercy to him that deserved it. I never punished in anger, nor promised in mirth. I never did evil upon malice, nor good for covetousness. I always sought to be loved by the good, and feared by the wicked. I always favored the poor, that were able to do little, and God, who was able to do much, favored me.

EXTRACTS.

AS we can neither recall one moment of our life, nor suppress the most minute action of it; to lament what is past, to repine at our ill for­tune or indiscretion, is wasting reflexion, and griev­ing to no purpose.

IN all changes, we should have regard to these three things: God's approbation, our own benefit, and the not harming our neighbour.

ONE day spent according to the precepts of Virtue, is infinitely to be preferred to an eternity of Vice.

HOW few are there like Tully, who wished, that every man's thoughts were written in his forehead.