AFFLICTIONS. THE PRESENT MISFORTUNE IS ALWAYS DEEMED THE GREATEST: THEREFORE, SMALL CAUSES ARE SUFFICIENT TO MAKE US UNEA­SY, WHEN GREAT ONES ARE NOT IN THE WAY.

WE ought to make a good improvement of past and present afflictions. If they are not sanctified to us, they become a double cross; but if they work rightly in us, and, convince us of our failings, and how justly we are afflicted, they do us much good. Affliction is a spiritual physic for the soul, and 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 else entirely burnt up and undone forever. Therefore may all [Page 6] who labour under any kind of affliction, have reason to say with JOB—"when he hath tried me, I shall come forth as pure gold."

LET a man live (says Mr. Steele) but two or three years without affliction, and he is al­most good for nothing, he 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 honour for him as he had before. Now, saith God, this amendment pleaseth me, this rod was well bestowed, I have dis­appointed him in his great benefit and advan­tage.

IT may be boldly 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 tranquillity of mind.

PROSPERITY is not without its troubles, nor adversity without its comforts. A mind that can bear affliction without murmur, and the weight of a plentiful fortune without vain glory—that can be familiar without mean­ness, and reserved without pride, has some­thing in it great, particularly pleasing, and truly admirable.

[Page 7]NOTHING would be more unhappy, (said Demetrius) than a man who had never known affliction. The best need afflictions for the trial of their virtue: How can we ex­ercise the grace of contentment, if all things succeed well? or, that of forgiveness if we have no enemies?

HE who barely weeps at misfortunes, when it is in his power to heal them, is not touch­ed with them to the heart, and only sheds the tears of a crocodile.

IF you are disquieted at any thing, you should consider with yourself, Is this thing of that worth, that for it I should so disturb myself, and lose my peace and tranquillity?

THE consideration of a greater evil, is a sort of remedy against a lesser. THEY are always impaired by affliction, who are not improved by it. A virtuous man is more peaceable in adversity, than a wicked man in prosperity.

THE keeping of ourselves above grief, and every painful passion, is indeed very beauti­ful and excellent; and none but souls of the first rate seem to be qualified for the under­taking.

IT were no virtue to bear calamities, if we did not feel them.

DIVINE PROVIDENCE always places the remedy near the evil; there is not any duty to which Providence has not annexed a bless­ing; [Page 8] nor any affliction for which virtue has not provided a remedy.

IF some are refined like gold in the fur­nace of affliction, there are many more, that, like chaff, are consumed in it.

SORROW, when it is excessive, takes away fervour from piety, vigour from action, health from the body, light from the reason, and repose from the conscience. Resignation to the divine will is a noble and needful lesson.

YET there is a gloomy pleasure in being dejected and inconsolable. Melancholy stu­dies how to improve itself, and sorrow finds wonderful relief in being more sorrowful.

TO be afflicted with the afflicted, is an instance of humanity, and the demand of good nature and good breeding: Pity is but an imaginary aid; and yet, were it not for that, sorrow would be many times utterly insupportable.

MIRTH is by no means a remedy for grief; on the contrary, it raises and inflames it. The only probable way I know of, to soften or cure grief in others, is by putting on an appearance of feeling it yourself; and you must, besides, talk frequently and feelingly on the occasion, and praise and blame as the sufferer does; but then remember to make use of the opportunity this condescension and familiarity gives you, of leading him, by de­grees, into things and passages remote from his present bent of mind, and not unpleasing [Page 9] in themselves. In this manner, and by this policy, you will be able to steal him away from his afflictions with his own approba­tion, and teach him to think and speak of other things than that alone, which frets — or rather WRINGS his heart.

NONE should despair, because God can help them, and none should presume, because God can cross them. A firm trust in the assistance of an Almighty Being naturally produces patience, hope, chearfulness and all other dispositions of mind, that alleviate those calamities which we are not able to re­move.

HE, who is puffed up with the first gale of prosperity, will bend beneath the first blast of adversity.

REPROOF in adversity hath a double sting.

THERE is but one way of fortifying the soul against all gloomy presages and terrors of the mind; and that is, by securing to our­selves the friendship and protection of that Being who disposes of events, and governs futurity.

EVENTS which have the appearance of misfortunes, often prove a happy source of future felicity; this consideration should en­able us to support affliction with calmness and fortitude.

ANGER.

AN angry man who sup­presses his passions, thinks worse than he speaks, and an angry man that will chide, speaks worse than he thinks. A vindictive temper is not only uneasy to others, but to them that have it.

ANGER may glance into the bosom of a wise man, but rests only in the bosom of fools.

IN all things mistakes are excusable; but an error that proceeds from any good prin­ciple leaves no room for resentment.

IT was a good method observed by Soc­rates, when he found in himself any dispo­sition to anger, he would check it by speak­ing low, in opposition to the motions of his displeasure.

IT is much better to reprove ingenuously, than to be angry secretly.

HE that waits for an opportunity of acting his revenge, watches to do himself a mis­chief.

BY taking revenge, a man is but even with his enemy, but by passing it over, he is su­perior.

IT is the only valour to remit a wrong, and the greatest applause that I might hurt and would not.

[Page 11]TO be able to bear provocation, is an ar­gument of great wisdom; and to forgive it, of a great mind.

THEY who will be angry for any thing, will be angry for nothing.

NONE should be so implacable as to refuse a humble submission. He, whose very best actions must be seen with favourable allow­ance, cannot be too mild, moderate and for­giving.

TO pardon faults of error, is but justice to the failings of our nature.

THE noblest remedy for injuries is obliv­ion. Light injuries are made none by not regarding them.

THERE is no man obliged to live so free from passion, as not in some cases to show some resentment: There are injuries, affronts, &c. that are frequently met with in our tour through life, where it would be rather a stoical stupidity than virtue, to do otherwise: I do not mean revenge, for that must ever be wrong, but a proper resentment, so that the injurer may not be encouraged to commit a second injury.

ONE unquiet disposition distempers the peace and unity of a whole family, or society; as one jarring instrument will spoil a whole concert.

OUR passions are like the seas, agitated by the winds; but as God hath set bounds to [Page 12] these, so should we to those? so far should they go, and no farther.

REASON is given us, by him who breathed in us our immortal part, that in all our ac­tions we should govern ourselves by advice of it.

WE must forget the good we do, for fear of upbraiding, and religion bids us forget injuries, lest the remembrance of them sug­gest to us a desire of revenge.

HE that is always angry with his sin, shall seldom sin in his anger.

HE that is not above an injury, is below himself.

ANGER let loose is one of the most foolish passions, 'tis no wonder that it generally dis­appoints itself, and misses its end, by chus­ing the most violent means, which are seldom successful.

REASON, in anger, is like a ship in the tempest, hurried away by the waves, and often overset.

THE angry man is his own severest tormen­tor; his breast knows no peace, while his raging passions are restrained by no sense of either moral or religious duties: What would be his case, if his unforgiving examples were followed by his all merciful maker, whose forgiveness he can only hope for, in propor­tion as he himself forgives and loves his fel­low creatures, through the merits and blood of the blessed Jesus.

[Page 13]AN injury unanswered, in course, grows weary of itself, and dies away in a voluntary remorse.—

THINK, when you are enraged at any one, what would probably become your sentiments, should he die during the dispute. Reconcilia­tion is the tenderest part either of friendship or love. The sacrificing of our anger to our interest, is oftentimes no more than the ex­change of a painful passion for a pleasura­ble.

AMBITION AND AVARICE.

AMBITION and Avarice are the two elements that enter into the com­position of all crimes. Ambition is bound­less, and avarice insatiable.

HE that spares in every thing is a niggard; and he who spares in nothing is profuse; neither of which can be generous or liberal.

PITIFUL! that a man should so care for riches, as if they were his own, yet so use them, as if they were another's; that when he might be happy in spending them, will be miserable in keeping them; and had rather, dying, leave wealth to his enemies, than when alive, relieve his friends.

INTEREST speaks all manner of languages, and acts all sorts of parts. Virtues are lost in interest, as rivers in the sea.

[Page 14]HISTORY tells us of illustrious villains, but there never was an illustrious miser in na­ture.

WHAT madness is it for a man to starve himself to enrich his heir, and so turn a friend into an enemy! for his joy at your death will be proportioned to what you leave him.

THE tallest trees are most in the power of the winds, and ambitious men of the blasts of fortune. Great marks are soonest hit.

THE most laudable ambition is, to be wise, and the greatest wisdom, to be good.

WE may be as ambitious as we please, so we aspire to the best things.

MANY through pride or ambition ruin their fortune and family, by expense and equipage, making themselves little by striv­ing to be great, and poor by trying to look rich.

IT is very strange that no estimate is made of any creature except ourselves, but by its proper qualities. He has a magnificent house, so many thousand pounds a year, is the common way of estimating men, though these things are only about them, not in them, and make no part of their character.

HONOURS, monuments and all the works of vanity and ambition, are demolished and destroyed by time; but the reputation of wis­dom is venerable to posterity.

BEAUTY.

THERE is nothing that gives us so pleasing a prospect of human na­ture, as the contemplation of wisdom and beauty. Beauty is an overweaning, selfsuffi­cient thing, careless of providing itself any more substantial ornament; nay, so little does it consult its own interest, that it too of­ten defeats itself by betraying that innocence which renders it lovely and desirable. As therefore virtue makes a beautiful woman ap­pear more beautiful, so beauty makes a vir­tuous woman really more virtuous.

IT is, methinks, a low and degrading idea of that sex, which was created to refine the joys, and soften the cares of human nature, by the most agreeable participation, to con­sider them merely as objects of sight. This [Page 16] is abridging them of their natural extent of power, to put them upon a level with their pictures. How much nobler is the contem­plation of beauty heightened by virtue, and commanding our esteem and love, while it draws our observation? How faint and spir­itless are the charms of the coquet, when compared with the real loveliness of inno­cence, piety, good humour, the irresistable charms of modesty unaffected, humanity, with all those rare and pleasing marks of sen­sibility; virtues, which add a new softness to her sex; and even beautify her beauty.

NOTHING (says Mr. Addison) can atone for the want of modesty and innocence, with­out which, beauty is ungraceful and quality contemptible.

LET a woman be decked with all the em­bellishments of art and care of nature; yet if boldness be to be read in her face, it blots all the lines of beauty.

THE plainer the dress, with greater lustre does beauty appear: Virtue is the greatest ornament, and good sense the best equipage.

AN inviolable fidelity, good humour and complacency of temper in a woman, outlive all the charms of a fine face, and make the decays of it invisible.

IT is but too seldom seen, that beautiful persons are otherwise of great virtue.

[Page 17]NO beauty hath any charms equal to the inward beauty of the mind. A gracefulness in the manners is much more engaging than that of the person; the former every one has the power to attain to in some measure, the latter is in no one's power—is no internal worth, and was the gift of God, who formed us all. Meekness and modesty are the true and lasting ornaments.

BEAUTY inspires a pleasing sentiment, which prepossesses people in its favour. Mod­esty has great advantages, it sets off beauty, and serves as a veil to ugliness. The misfor­tune of ugliness is, that it sometimes smothers and buries much merit; people do not look for the engaging qualities of the head and heart in a forbidding figure. 'Tis no easy matter when merit must make its way, and shine through a disagreeable outside.

WITHOUT virtue, good sense and sweetness of disposition, the finest set of features will, ere long cease to please; but, where these with the graces are united, it must afford an agreeable and pleasing contemplation.

THE liberality of nature in the person, is but too frequently attended with a deficiency in the understanding.

BEAUTY without the graces of the mind, will have no power over the hearts of the wise and good. Beauty is a flower which soon withers; health changes, and strength abates, but innocency is immortal, and a comfort both in life and death.

MERIT, accompanied with beauty, is a jewel set to advantage.

THERE are emanations from the mind, which, like a ray of celestial fire, animate the form of beauty; without these, the most perfect symmetry is but a moulded clod; and whenever they appear, the most indifferent features acquire a spirit of sensibility, and an engaging charm, which those only do not admire, who want faculties to discover. —Those strokes of sensibility, those touches of innocence and dignity, &c. display charms too refined for the discernment of vulgar eyes, that are captivated by a glance of beauty, assisted by vivid colour and gaudy decora­tion.

BENEVOLENCE.

AS benevolence is the most social of all virtues, so it is of the largest extent; for there is not any man, either so great or so little, but he is yet capable of receiving ben­efits.

THE greatest benefits of all, have no wit­ness, but lie concealed in the conscience.

A KIND benefactor makes a man happy as soon as he can, and as much as he can. There should be no delay in a benefit, but the modesty of the receiver. If we can­not foresee the request, let us however im­mediately grant it. It is so grievous a thing to say, I beg!—The very word puts a man out of countenance, and it is a double kind­ness to do the thing, and save an honest heart the confusion of a blush.

LET no one be weary of rendering good offices, for by obliging others, (if our hearts [Page 20] and affections are as they should be) we are really kind to ourselves. No man was ev­er a loser by good works; for though he may not be immediately rewarded, yet, in pro­cess of time, some happy emergency or oth­er occurs to convince him, that virtuous men are the darlings of Providence.

HE that receives a benefit without being thankful, robs the giver of his just reward. It must be a due reciprocation in virtue that can make the obliger and the obliged worthy.

HE who receives a good turn, should nev­er forget it; he who does one should never remember it.

IT is the character of an unworthy nature, to write injuries in marble, and benefits in dust.

THE following fact, I think, strongly delin­eates the image of a noble and generous mind, and may justly be ranked among the beauties of STERNE—so deservedly famed for his humanity, sensibility and generosity. A friend of this benevolent DIVINE, being distressed in finances, and whom Sterne wish­ed to relieve, (for Sterne could not be happy while a FRIEND was in distress) but it was not in his power at that time!—Yet,—the FRIEND! a friend must be relieved at all haz­ards!—"A friend is sacred!"—Sterne finds no rest till it is done.—"I was" (says he) "obliged to borrow two hundred pounds be­yond my own currency, upon the occasion. [Page 21] I had no sufficient security to proffer; but Captain Le Fevre happened luckily just then, to have sold out of the army—I mortgaged the story to him, and he lent me the money." The friend and Sterne, were each relieved— Sterne was the happiest of the two.

LET us be careful that we permit no arti­ficial desires to prevent us of the power, in which we shall ever find real pleasure—that of relieving distress.

THAT which is given with pride and os­tentation, is rather an ambition than a boun­ty. Let a benefit be ever so considerable, the manner of conferring it is yet the noblest part.

IT is a good rule for every one who has a competency of fortune, to lay aside a certain proportion of his income for pious and char­itable uses; he will then always give easily and chearfully.

IT was well said of him that called a good office that was done harshly, "a stony piece of bread:" It is necessary for him that is hungry to receive it, but it almost chokes him in the going down.

ALPHONSO, king of Scicily, being asked, What he would reserve for himself, who gave so much away? Even those things, said he, that I do give, for the rest I esteem as nothing.

IT is a much greater kindness not to suffer us to fall, than to lend a hand to help us up, [Page 22] and a greater satisfaction to be kindly re­ceived, and obtain nothing, than obtain what we desire, after having been exposed.

REQUESTS cost a reluctancy in nature, fearing to receive the discourtesy of a denial. That which is bestowed too late, is next to not giving.

MONARCHS are more unhappy than their subjects.—For use makes state familiar, and the fatigue grows every day more irksome.— Has opulence and grandeur then no advant­ages? NONE—but the power of doing good. I have often been surprised that so little of this kind of manufacture is ever wrought by princes, when the very rarity of the work might serve to render their names famous to posterity. "And paid a tradesman once to make him stare." But away with all ambi­tion, which only affects our names, without improving our natures.

LIBERALITY is never so beautiful or en­gaging, as when the hand is concealed that bestows the gift.

A NOBLE Lord, who once suffered him­self to lose a thousand pounds to a man of modest merit, whom he knew to be greatly necessitated, and to whom he durst not offer it as a gift, surely did a very laudable action, and in which modesty had no small share.

BOOKS.

ALL parts of Christendom acknowledge one book, which is called the BIBLE, as the standard of all belief and prac­tice; and though it is called but one book, it is a collection of many, and contains a variety of subjects that need not be enumer­ated. Wherefore, for those who acknowl­edge the scriptures to be authentic and di­vine, and who may want to know the best rules of living, in order to be happy in the next world, and even in this, such persons will find, in that neglected collection of writ­ings, what will be useful for both these ends, and an agreeableness of style very distin­guishing.

WOULD you see history in all her simplic­ity, and all her force; most beautifully easy, yet irresistably striking? See her, or rather feel her energy, touching the nicest mo [...] ­ments of the soul, and triumphing over our passions, in the inimitable narrative of Jo­seph's life.—The representation of Esau's bitter distress; the conversation pieces of Jonathan, and his gallant friend; the mem­orable journey of the disciples going to Em­maus; are finished models of the impassioned and affecting.—Here is nothing studied, no [Page 24] slights of fancy, no embellishments of ora­tory, yet, how inferior is the episode of Nisus and Eurialus, though worked up by the most masterly hand in the world, to the undis­sembled, artless fervency of these scriptural sketches.

ARE we pleased with the elevation and dignity of an heroic poem, or the tenderness and perplexity of a dramatic performance? In the book of Job they are both united, and both unequalled—the language glows, and the pathos swells, till at last the Deity him­self makes his entrance, &c.

IF we sometimes choose a plaintive strain, such as soften the mind, and sooth an agree­able melancholy; Are any of the ancient tragedies superior, in the eloquence of mourning, to David's pathetic elegy on his beloved Jonathan; to his passionate, inconso­lable moan, over the lovely but unhappy Absalom; or that melodious woe, which warbles and bleeds in every line of Jeremi­ah's lamentation? If we want maxims of wisdom, or have a taste for the laconic style, how copiously may our wants be supplied, and how delicately our taste gratified! es­pecially in the book of Proverbs, Ecclesias­tes and some of the minor prophets.

KING ALPHONSO was wont to say, that dead counsellors, meaning his books, were to him far better than living; for they, with­out flattery or fear presented to him truth.

THERE is no end of books. Many libra­ries are furnished for sight and ostentation, rather than use; the very indexes not to be read over in an age: And in this multitude, how great a part of them are either danger­ous, or not worth reading! A few books well chosen, and well made use of, will be more profitable than a great confused Alexandri­an library.

SUCH books as teach sapience and pru­dence, and serve to eradicate errors and vi­ces, are the most profitable writings in the world, and ought to be valued and studied more than all others whatsoever.

IN vain do we look for true and lasting satisfaction in any other books than the ho­ly scriptures, wherein are contained all that is necessary to the happiness of this life, and the life hereafter.

[Page 26]SOME will read over, or rather over read a book, with a view only to find fault, like a veno­mous spider, extracting a poisonous quality, where the industrious bee sips out a sweet and profitable juice.

A GREAT many people are too fond of books, as they are of furniture, to dress and set off their rooms, more than to adorn and enrich their minds.

NEXT to the study of the Holy Scriptures, it may not be amiss to recommend the read­ing of a little poetry, properly chosen. The faculty in which WOMEN most excel (says the admirable—the judicious Mrs. Cha­pone) is that of imagination—and when prop­erly cultivated, it becomes the source of all that is charming in society.—Nothing you can read will so much contribute to the im­provement of this faculty, as poetry—which, if applied to its true ends, adds a thousand charms to those sentiments of religion, virtue, generosity and delicate tenderness, by which the human soul is exalted and refined.

NATURAL philosophy, the study of na­ture, moral philosophy, &c. are strongly rec­ommended, in an elegant, refined and sub­lime style, by the amiable lady above men­tioned: As also the reading of SPECTATORS, GUARDIANS, RAMBLERS and ADVENTURERS, as particularly useful to young people, &c. Nor would I by any means (she adds) ex­clude that kind of reading which young peo­ple [Page 27] are naturally most fond of, though I think the greatest care should be taken in the choice of those fictitious stories, that so en­chant the mind; most of which tend to in­flame the passions of youth, whilst the chief purpose of EDUCATION should be to mode­rate and restrain them. There are, howev­er, works of this class, in which excellent morality is joined with the most lively pic­tures of the human mind, and with all that can entertain the imagination, and instruct the heart.

CHASTITY.

CHASTITY consists in a fixed abhorence of all forbidden sensual in­dulgences, a recollection of past impurities with shame and sorrow; a resolute guard over the thoughts, passions and actions for the future; a steady abstinence from the most distant approaches of lust and inde­cency; a lively consciousness of the omni­presence of the Almighty, who sees and knows all our actions, and our most hidden thoughts, and who is of purer eyes than to behold in­iquity.

THAT chastity is not the only virtue of woman, is most certain; but still it is so es­sential to the perfection of every other vir­tue in her, that the loss or want of it, like the sin of idolatry among the Israelites, weak­ens the force and takes off the merit of them, imprinting such a stain upon the soul, as sullies every emanation of it.

THIS virtue of chastity has ever been es­teemed so inseparably necessary to every character, particularly the female character, that every civilized people in the world have guarded it with the greatest care.

THE chaste mind, like a polished plane, may admit foul thoughts, without receiving their tincture.

CHASTITY is a purity of thought, word and action.

CHEERFULNESS.

I LOOK on cheerfulness as on the health of virtue.

CHEERFULNESS, even to gaiety, is con­sistent with every species of virtue and prac­tice of religion.—I think it inconsistent only with impiety or vice.—The ways of heaven are pleasantness. We adore, we praise, we thank the Almighty, in hymns, in songs, in [Page 30] anthems—and those set to music too. Let "O! be joyful," be the Christian's psalm— and leave the sad Indian to incant the devil with tears and screeches. It is this true sense of religion that has rendered my whole life so cheerful as it has ever so remarkably been—to the great offence of your religion­ists. Though why, prithee, should priests be always so grave? Is it so sad a thing to be a parson?

BE ye as one of these, saith the Lord— that is, as merry as little children. The Lord loveth a cheerful giver—and, Why not a cheerful taker also? Plato and Seneca— and surely they were wise enough to have been consecrated—thought that a sense of cheerfulness and joy should ever be encour­aged in children, from their infancy—not only on account of their healths, but as pro­ductive of true virtue.

COMPASSION.

IT is certainly, methinks, a sort of enlargement of our very selves, when we enter into the ideas, sensations and concerns of our brethren; by this force of [Page 31] their make, men are insensibly hurried into each other; and by a secret charm we la­ment the unfortunate, and rejoice with the glad, for it surely is not possible for the hu­man heart to be averse to any thing that is humane; but by the very mein and gesture of the joyful and distressed, we rise and fall into their condition; and since joy is com­municative, it is reasonable that grief should be contagious, both which are felt and seen at a look, for one man's eyes are spectacles to another to read his heart. Those useful and honest instruments do not only discover objects to us, but make ourselves also trans­parent; for they, in spite of dissimulation, when the heart is full, will brighten into gladness, or gush into tears; from this foun­dation in nature is kindled that noble spark of celestial fire, we call charity or compas­sion, which opens our bosoms, and extends our arms to embrace all mankind, and by this it is, that the amorous man is not more suddenly melted with beauty, than the com­passionate man with misery.

[Page 33]BY compassion we make others' misery our own; and so by relieving them, we at the same time relieve ourselves.

SOME, who are reduced to the last extrem­ity, would rather perish, than expose their condition to any, save the great and noble minded. They esteem such to be wise men, generous, and considerate of the accidents which commonly befal us. They think, to those they can freely unbosom themselves, and tell their wants, without the hazard of a reproach, which wounds more deeply than a short denial.

CYRUS the first emperor of Persia, obtain­ed a victory over the Assyrians, and after the battle, was so sensibly touched with seeing the field covered with dead bodies, that he ordered the same care to be taken of the wounded Assyrians, as of his own soldiers; faying they are all men as well as we, and are no longer enemies, when once they are vanquished.

TRUE benevolence, or compassion, extends itself through the whole of existence, and sympathizes with the distresses of every crea­ture capable of sensation. Little minds may be apt to consider compassion of this kind, as an instance of weakness; but it is un­doubtedly [...] [Page 36] [...] [Page 35] with a cruel blow which no forecast or fru­gality could have prevented.—O God! look upon his afflictions.—Behold him distracted with many sorrows, surrounded with the ten­der pledges of his love, and the partner of his cares—without bread to give them—un­able, from the remembrance of better days, to dig;—to beg, ashamed. When we enter the house of mourning, such as this—it is impossible to insult the unfortunate even with an improper look. Under what levity and dissipation of heart such objects catch our eye—they catch likewise our attentions, collect and call home our scattered thoughts, and exercise them with wisdom. A transient scene of distress, such as is here sketched, how soon does it furnish materials to set the mind at work, how necessarily does it en­gage it to the consideration of the miseries and misfortunes, the dangers and calamities, to which the life of man is subject! By hold­ing up such a glass before it, it forces the mind to see and reflect upon the vanity— the perishing condition, and uncertain tenor of every thing in this world. Or behold a still more affecting spectacle—a kind indul­gent father of a numerous family lies breath­less—snatched away in the strength of his age—torn in an evil hour from his children, and the bosom of a disconsolate wife! Be­hold much people of the city gathered to­gether, to mix their tears, with settled sorrow [Page 36] in their looks, going heavily along to the house of mourning, to perform that last sad office, which, when the debt of nature is paid, we are called upon to pay each other! —In this melancholy mansion—see how the light and easy heart, which never knew what it was to think before, how pensive is it now! how soft, how susceptible, how full of relig­ious impressions! how deeply is it smitten with a sense, and with a love of virtue!— Without this end, sorrow, I own, has no use, but to shorten our days, &c.

LET any who is conversant in the vanity of human life reflect upon it, and he will find—the man who wants mercy, has a taste for no other enjoyment of any kind: There is a natural disrelish of every thing which is good in his very nature, and he is born an enemy to the world, he is ever ex­tremely partial to himself, in all his actions, and has no sense of iniquity but from the punishment which shall attend it: The law of the land is his gospel; and all his cases of conscience are determined by his attorney: Such men know not what it is to gladden the heart of the miserable.

HOW shocking to humanity, to see the picture of religion besmeared with supersti­tion, justice blooded with cruelty.

I WILL not attempt to account for those compassionate sentiments we feel for distress, or that indignation which is excited by the [Page 37] appearance of oppression; but I will main­tain, that they are the distinguishing honours of human nature; and what philosopher will be such an enemy to society, as to as­sert the contrary.

ONE should not destroy an insect, one should not quarrel with a dog, without a reason sufficient to vindicate one through all the courts of morality.

COMPASSION was not impressed upon the human heart, only to adorn the fair face with tears, and to give an agreeable languor to the eyes—it was designed to excite our ut­most endeavours to relieve the sufferer.—Yet, how often have I heard that selfish weakness which flies from the sight of distress, digni­fied with the name of tenderness!—" My friend is, I hear, in the deepest affliction and misery.—I have not seen her—for indeed I cannot bear such scenes—they affect me too much—those who have less sensibility are more fit for this world—but, for my part, I own, I am not able to support such things. —I shall not attempt to visit her, till I hear she has recovered her spirits."—This have I heard, with an air of complaisance, and the poor selfish creature has persuaded herself, that she had finer feelings than those gener­ous friends, who were sitting patiently in the house of mourning—waiting in silence the proper moment to pour in the balm of comfort—who suppressed their own sensa­tions, [Page 38] and attended to those of the afflicted person—and whose tears flowed in secret, while their eyes and voice were taught to en­liven the sinking heart with the appearance of cheerfulness.

HE, who looks upon the misfortunes of others with indifference, ought not to be surprised if they behold his without compas­sion.

COMPANY. (VIDE CONVERSATION.)

BE very circumspect in the choice of your company; in the society of your equals you may enjoy pleasure; in the society of your superiors, you may find prof­it; but to be the best in company, is to be in the way of growing worse; the best mean to improve, is, to be the least there. But above all, be the companion of those who fear the Lord and keep his precepts.

NUMA POMPILIUS thought the company of good men so real a pleasure, that he es­teemed it preferable to a diadem. And when the Roman ambassadors solicited him [Page 39] to accept of the government, he frankly de­clared, among other reasons for declining it, the conversation of men, who assemble to­gether to worship God, and to maintain an amiable charity, was his business and de­light.

IT often happens in company, as in a­pothecaries' shops, that those pots which are empty, are as gaudily dressed and flourished, as those that are full.

THE life of all life is society; of society, freedom; of freedom, the discreet and mod­erate use of it.

FROM ill air we take diseases; from ill company, vices and imperfections. The best knowledge of behaviour, is observing decency. Complaisance renders a superior amiable, an equal agreeable, and an inferior acceptable.

A MAN without complaisance ought to have much merit in the room of it.

A WELL bred man, says Montaigne, is al­ways sociable and complaisant.

HE that is not so exact as to please, should at least be so affable as not to disoblige.

IT is best mourning when alone, and best rejoicing when in company.

CRITICISE upon nothing more than your own actions, and you will soon see reason enough to pardon the weakness of others.

NO persons are more empty, than those who are full of themselves.

[Page 40]CONVERSATION can only subsist in GOOD COMPANY; to explain the word:—Subtract the impertinently talkative, the contemptu­ously silent, the illiterate, and the ill bred; banish pedantry, affectation and rudeness, the remainder is GOOD COMPANY; a set of people of liberal sentiments, solid sense and just imagination, whose wit is untinctured with indelicacy, and their politeness clear of flattery. That person alone is fit for con­versation, who is free of the extremes of pride and of meanness; never unseasonably talkative or mute, and has the faculty ever to entertain, or, at least, never to offend his COMPANY.

CONSCIENCE.

CONSCIENCE is a high and awful pow­er; it is next and immediately under God, our Judge; the voice of conscience is the voice of God; what it bindeth or looseneth, [Page 41] is accordingly bound or loosened in heaven, 1 John iii. 21. The greatest deference and precise obedience is due to its command. Its consolations are of all, the most sweet: And its condemnations the most terrible.

WHEREVER you go, conscience accom­panies you, whatever you say, do, or but think, it registers and records in order to the day of account; when all friends forsake you, when even your soul forsakes your body, conscience will not, cannot forsake you; when your body is weakest and dullest, your conscience is then most vigorous and active. Never more life in the conscience than when death makes its nearest approach to the body. When it smiles, cheers, acquits and comforts, O what a heaven doth it create within; and when it frowns, condemns and terrifies, how are our pleasures, joys and delights of this world clouded, and even benighted! it is certainly the best of friends, or the worst of enemies in the whole creation.

THERE is no true felicity, but in a clear and open conscience, and those are the hap­py [Page 42] conversations, where only such things are spoken and heard, as we can reflect upon after with satisfaction, free from any shame, or mixture of repentance. A storm in the conscience will always lodge clouds in the countenance.

A GOOD conscience is to the soul what health is to the body. It preserves a con­stant ease and serenity within us, and more than countervails all the calamities and af­flictions that can befal us.

NO line holds the anchor of contentment so fast as a good conscience. This cable is so strong and compact, that when force is of­fered to it, the straining rather strengthens, by uniting the parts more closely.

[Page 43]IT fareth with men of an evil conscience, when they must die, as it does with riotous spend thrifts, when they must pay their debts; they will not come to an account, for the distrust they have of their ability to satisfy for what they have done.

MOST men fear a bad name, but few fear their consciences.

NO man ever offended his own conscience, but first or last it was revenged upon him for it.

CONSCIENCE is the gift of the Almighty: That moral inspector is not more severe as an enemy, than kind as a friend; was it not this that supported the sufferer of Uz, and was he not animated by the suffrage of con­science, when he wished that man might be permitted to plead his cause with God?

A REGULAR life is the best philosophy; a pure conscience the best law.

CONTENTMENT.

CONTENTMENT is nat­ural wealth, luxury is artificial poverty, and no man has more care than he who endeav­ours [Page 44] after the most riches, which in their language is endeavouring after the most hap­piness.

THE utmost we can hope for in this world is contentment, if we aim at any thing high­er, we shall meet with nothing but grief and disappointment.

WE should direct all our studies and en­deavours, at making ourselves easy now and happy hereafter.

A CONTENTED mind is the greatest bless­ing any one can enjoy in this life, and if in this life our happiness arise from the subdu­ing of our desires, it will arise in the next for the gratification of them.

THE way of virtue is the only way to fe­licity.

IF you can but live free from want, care for no more, for the rest is but vanity.

[Page 45]OUR pains should be to moderate our hopes and fears, to direct and regulate our passions, to bear all injuries of fortune or men, and to attain the art of contentment.

TO be in a low condition, and contented, affords the mind an exquisite enjoyment of what the senses are robbed of. If therefore thou wouldest be happy, bring thy mind to thy condition.

WHAT can he want who is already con­tent; who lives within the limits of his cir­cumstances, and who has said to his desires, "Thus far shall ye go and no farther?" This is the end of all philosophy, and poor is the philosopher who has not gained that end.

TO communicate happiness is worthy the ambition of beings superior to man; for it is the first principle of action with the author of all existence.—It is God that taught it as a virtue—it is God that gives the example.

CONVERSATION.

IT is highly requisite to avoid too much familiarity in conversation. It is an old English adage, "too much famili­arity breeds contempt," so he that familiarizes himself, presently loses his superiority, that his serious air, and good deportment gave him, and consequently his credit. The more common human things are, the less they are esteemed; for communication discovers im­perfections that a prudent reserve concealed. We must not be too familiar with superiors, because of danger; nor with inferiors by rea­son of indecency; and far less with mean people, whom ignorance renders insolent; for, being insensible of the HONOURS done them, they presume it is their due.

IN your discourse be cautious what you speak, and to whom you speak; how you speak, and when you speak; and what you speak, speak wisely, speak truly. A fool's heart is in his tongue, but a wise man's tongue is in his heart.

PLUTARCH advises to moderate and cor­rect all base, unworthy and hurtful passions, that in all our conversations we may be open hearted and sincere, and not seek to over­reach [Page 48] or deceive others in any of our deal­ings.

LET all your conversation with men be sober and sincere; your devotion to God dutiful and decent; let the one be hearty and not haughty, let the other be humble, but not homely. So live with men as if God saw you, so pray to God as if men heard you.

NOTHING more engages the affections of men, than a handsome address and grace­ful conversation.

OUR conversation should be such, that youth may therein find improvement, wo­men modesty, the aged respect, and all men civility.

TALKATIVENESS is usually called a femi­nine vice, but it is possible to go into mascu­line company, where it will be as hard to wedge in a word as at a female gossiping.

CONTROVERSIES, for the most part, leave truth in the middle, and are factious at both ends.

VILE and debauched expressions are the sure marks of an abject and grovelling mind, and the filthy overflowing of a vicious heart.

SPEAK always according to your con­science, but let it be done in terms of good nature, civility and good manners.

IT is a sure method of obliging in conver­sation, to shew a pleasure in giving atten­tion.

[Page 49]AS men of sense say much in few words; so the half witted have a talent of talking much, and yet say nothing.

SOME men are silent for want of matter, or assurance; and again some are talkative for want of sense.

MODESTY in your discourse will give a lustre to truth, and an excuse to your errors.

MUCH tongue and much judgment seldom go together; for talking and thinking are two quite different faculties, and there is commonly more depth where there is less noise.

BUFFOONERY and scurrility are the cor­rupters of wit, as knavery is of wisdom. Some are so black in the mouth, as to utter scarce any thing that is decent; supplying want of sense with want of modesty, and want of reputation with want of shame.

IT is a fair step towards happiness and virtue, to delight in the conversation of good and wise men; and where that cannot be had, the next point is, to keep no company at all.

DISCRETION of speech is more than elo­quence; and to speak agreeably, is more than to speak in exact order.

THE value of things are not in their size, but quality, and so of reason, which wrap­ped in few words, hath the greater weight.

A MAN may contemplate on virtue in solitude and retirement; but the practical [Page 50] part consists in its participation, and the so­ciety it hath with others; for whatever is good, is the better for being communicable.

THE talent of turning men into ridicule, and exposing those we converse with, is the qualification of little ungenerous tempers.

IN disputes men should give soft words, and hard arguments, they should not so much strive to vex, as to convince an enemy.

WHEREVER the speech is corrupted, so is the mind.

IN heat of argument, men are common­ly as though they were tied back to back, close joined, and yet they cannot see each other.

FAMILIAR conversation ought to be the school of learning and good breeding. A man ought to make his masters of his friends, seasoning the pleasure of converse, with the profit of instruction.

PLEASURE given in society, like money lent to usury, returns with interest to those who disperse it.

MODESTY should be distinguished from an aukward bashfulness, and silence should on­ly be enjoined when it would be froward and impertinent to talk; if you speak without conceit or affectation, you will always be more pleasing than those who sit like statues without sense or motion. When you are si­lent, your looks should shew your attention and presence to the company. You must [Page 51] appear to be interested in what is said, and endeavour to improve yourself by it.

CONVERSATION may be divided into two classes—the familiar and the sentimental.

IT is the province of the familiar, to dif­fuse cheerfulness and ease—to open the heart of man to man, and to beam a temperate sunshine upon the mind.

NATURE and art must conspire to render us susceptible of the charms, and to qualify us for the practice of the second class of conversation here termed sentimental.

TO good sense, lively feeling and natural delicacy of taste, must be united an expan­sion of mind, and a refinement of thought, which is the result of high cultivation. To render this sort of conversation irresistably attractive, a knowledge of the world is requi­site, and that enchanting ease, that elegance of manner, which is to be acquired only by frequenting the higher circles of polished life. In sentimental conversation, subjects interesting to the heart and to the imagina­tion, are brought forward; they are discuss­ed in a kind of sportive way, with animation and refinement, and are never continued longer than politeness allows: Here fancy flourishes—the sensibilities expand—and wit guided by delicacy and embellished by taste—points to the heart.

COVETOUSNESS.

LET the fruition of things bless thy possession, and think it more satis­faction to live richly, than to die rich; for since your good works, not your GOODS, will follow you; since wealth is an appurtenance of life, and no dead man rich, to famish in plenty and live poorly, to die rich, were but a multiplying in madness, and use upon use in folly.

COVETOUSNESS never judges any thing unlawful, that is gainful.

IT is almost a wonder that covetousness, even in spite of itself, does not at some times argue a man into charity, by its own prin­ciple of looking forwards, and the firm ex­pectation it would delight in, of receiving its own again with usury.

IT is a much easier talk to dig metal out of its native mine, than to get it out of the cov­etous man's coffer. Death only has the key of the miser's chest. A miser, if honest, can only be honest bare weight.

CONSCIENCE and covetousness are never to be reconciled; like fire and water they always destroy each other, according to the predominancy of either.

THE only gratification a covetous man gives his neighbours, is, to let them see that he himself is as little the better for what he has, as they are.

AVARICE is the most opposite of all char­acters to that of God Almighty, whose a­lone it is, to give and not receive.

A MISER grows rich by seeming poor; an extravagant man grows poor by seeming rich.

COURAGE.

ALL true courage is deriv­ed from virtue, and honour from integrity.

IF you desire to be magnanimous, under­take nothing rashly, and fear nothing you undertake; fear nothing but infamy, dare any thing but injury. The measure of mag­nanimity is to be neither rash nor timorous; for magnanimity or true courage, which is an essential character in a soldier, is not a savage ferocious violence—not a fool hardy insensibility of danger, or headstrong rash­ness to run into it; not the fury of inflamed passions, broke loose from the government of reason—but a calm, deliberate, rational courage, a steady, judicious, thoughtful for­titude; the courage of a man, and not that of a tyger.

COURAGE certainly is of no sex, but a faculty of the soul; and however custom may depress, or discourage it in females, it [Page 55] certainly belongs to human nature in gen­eral. If men possess a more determined courage in perils, which they foresee, women are allowed to be blessed with a superior presence of mind in sudden dangers; and, perhaps, the latter is one of the most distin­guishing characteristics of real courage.

CHARITY.

CHARITY makes the best construction of things and persons, excuses weakness, extenuates miscarriages, makes the best of every thing, forgives every one, and serves all.

IN order to our final doom and sentence, we need but this one enquiry, whether we were charitable or uncharitable? For they who are possessed with a true divine charity, have all christian graces. They who have [Page 56] not this divine principle have no good in them, and that is enough to condemn them, without enquiring what evil they have done.

WHEN a compassionate man falls, who would not pity him: Who that had power to do it, would not befriend and raise him up? Or could the most barbarous temper offer an insult to his distress, without pain and reluctance? True charity is always un­willing to find excuses;—in generous spir­its, compassion is sometimes an over balance for self preservation: God certainly inter­wove that friendly softness in our nature, to be a check upon too great a propensity to­wards self love.

UNDER the gospel, God is pleased with a living sacrifice; but the offerings of the dead, such as testamentary charities are, which are intended to have no effect so long as we live, are no better than dead sacrifices; and it may be questioned, whether they will be brought into the account of our lives, if we do no good while we are living. These death bed charities, are too like a death bed repentance; men seem to give their estates to God and the poor, just as they part with their sins—when they can keep them no longer.

CHARITY obliges us not to distrust a man, prudence not to trust a man before we know him.

[Page 57]THE first duty of man next to that of worshipping the Deity, is, ministering to the necessities of his fellow creatures.

ARE we not all citizens of the world? Are we not all fellow subjects of the universal monarch? Is not the universe our home? And is not every man a brother? Poor and illiberal is that charity which is confined to any particular nation or society.—Should we not feel for the stranger, and him that hath no helper?

HE who is charitable from motives of os­tentation, will never relieve distress in secret.

FOR farther thoughts on, or inducements to this virtue, I refer my readers to Spec­tator, 3d Vol. No. 177.

DEATH.

PREPARE to part with life unwillingly; study more how to die than to live; if you would live till you were old, live as if you were to die when you are young. In some cases it requires more courage to live than to die. He that is not prepared for death, shall be perpetually troubled, as well with vain apprehensions, [Page 58] as with real dangers; but the important point is, to secure a well grounded hope of a blessed immortality. When the good Musculus drew near his death, how sweet and pleasant was this meditation of his soul.

DESTINY has decreed all men to die; but to die well is the particular privilege of the virtuous and good.

AS there is no covenant to be made with death, so, no agreement for the arrest and stay of time: It keeps its pace, whether we redeem and use it well or not.

HE that has given God his worship, and man his due, is entertained with comfortable presages, wears off smoothly and expires in pleasure.

DEATH is no more than turning us over from time to eternity. It leads to immor­tality, [Page 59] and that is recompense enough for suffering it.

THE way to bring ourselves with ease to a contempt of this world, is to think daily of leaving it. They who die well have lived long enough; as soon as death enters upon the stage, the tragedy of life is done. There are a great many miseries which nothing but death can give relief to. This puts an end to the sorrows of the afflicted and distressed. It sets prisoners at liberty; it dries up the tears of the widows and the fatherless; it eases the complaints of the hungry and naked; it tames the proudest tyrants, and puts an end to all our labours: And the contemplation on it, supports men under their present adversities, especially when they have a prospect of a better life after this.

HAVE we so often seen ourselves die in in our friends, and shall we shrink at our own change? Hath our Maker sent for us, and are we loth to go? It was for us our [Page 60] saviour triumphed over death. Is there then any fear of a foiled adversary?

THE grave lies between us and the object we reach after. Where one lives to enjoy whatever he has in view, ten thousand are cut off in the pursuit of it.

ALL our knowledge, our employments, our riches and our honours, must end in death; so that we must seek a sanctuary of happiness some where else.

WHEN the scene of life is shut up, the slave will be above his master, it he has act­ed the better part; thus nature and condi­tion are once more brought to a balance.

HOW poor will power, wealth, honour, fame and titles seem at our last hour? and how joyful will that man be, who hath led an honest, virtuous life, and travelled to heaven, though through the roughest ways of poverty, affliction and contempt.

[Page 61]THE young may die shortly, but the aged cannot live long. Green fruit may be pluck­ed off, or shaken down; but the ripe will fall of itself.

THERE is nothing in history, which is so improving to the reader, as those accounts which we meet with of the death of eminent persons, and of their behaviour in that dread­ful season.

IT is a great pity that men know not to what end they were born into this world, till they are ready to go out of it.

I WAS wonderfully affected (says a wor­thy CHRISTIAN) with a discourse I had lately with a clergyman of my acquaintance upon this head, which was to this effect: The consideration (said the good man) that my being is precarious, moved me many years ago to make a resolution, which I have dili­gently kept, and, to which I owe the greatest satisfaction that mortal man can enjoy. Ev­ery night before I address myself to my Cre­ator, [Page 62] I lay my hand upon my heart, and ask myself, whether, if God should require my soul of me this night, I could hope for mer­cy from him. The bitter agonies I under­went in this my first acquaintance with my­self, were so far from throwing me into despair of that mercy which is over all God's works, that it proved motives of greater cir­cumspection in my future conduct. The oftener I exercised myself in meditations of this kind, the less was my anxiety; and by making the thoughts of death familiar, what was at first so terrible and shocking, is now become the sweetest of my enjoyments. These contemplations have indeed made me serious, but not sullen; nay, they are so far from having soured my temper, that I have a mind perfectly composed, and a secret spring of joy in my heart:—I taste all the innocent satisfaction of life pure, as I have no share in pleasures that leave a sting behind them.

DEATH is only terrible to us as a change of state—Let us then live so as to make it only a continuation of it, by the uniform practice of charity, benevolence and religion, which are to be the exercises of the next life.

As the tree falls so must it lie, as death leaves us, judgment will find us. If so, how importunate should every one of us be to se­cure the favour of the Almighty Judge, to be interested in the Redeemer's love, and a­mong the number of his chosen people be­fore it is too late.

IN the death of others we may see our own mortality, and be taught to live more and more in the daily expectation of, and prep­aration for that awful hour to which we are all hastening as fast as the wings of time can carry us: Seek then an interest in the bless­ed Redeemer.

DEATH is the end of fear and the begin­ning of felicity. Death is the law of nature, the tribute of the flesh, the remedy of evils, and the path either to heavenly felicity, or eternal misery.

EDUCATION.

LET holy discipline clear the soil, let sacred instruction sow it with the best of seed; let skill and vigilance dress the rising shoots, direct the young idea how [Page 65] to spread; the wayward passions how to move.—Then what a different state of the inner man will quickly take place! Charity will breathe her sweets, and hope expand her blossoms; the personal virtues display their graces, and the social ones their fruits: The sentiments become generous; the car­riage endearing; and the life honourable and useful.

POSTERITY wisely regulates the rewards due to men of learning, and equals them to the greatest princes: Three thousand years after their death, their honour is not tarnish­ed by that of the greatest heroes. Homer is as well known as Achilles. The able histo­rian, the famous poet, the great—the pious and ingenious philosopher have an advant­age over the conqueror and the general. Twenty centuries after they are dead and rotten they speak with as much eloquence and vivacity as when living; and all that read their writings perceive their genius. The heroes who have rendered themselves famous by their actions, have not near such an ascendant over our hearts; for he, at one [Page 66] and the same instant, persuades, engages and captivates the heart of one man shut up in his closet at Stockholm, and of another that lives in the middle of Paris, London, &c. &c. Heroes are infinitely obliged to poets and historians, but the latter are seldom behold­en to the former. Achilles owes part of his glory to Homer: If there had been no histo­rians, it would scarce have been known that there ever was such a man as Alexander, &c. &c. &c.

EDUCATION is the ruling motive in most of the actions of mankind; they are more or less tractable, according as they have been more or less cultivated in their youth. When they have been taught early to render them­selves sociable, to bend their tempers, and to accommodate their wills to those of others, it grows into a custom, and they become in­sensibly complaisant, without thinking of being so. In short, habit is to them a second nature.

We should justly consider religion as the most essentially necessary qualification; at the same time children should be fitted for an appearance becoming their station in this world. Many are apt to disjoin the ideas of piety and politeness, but true religion is not only consistent with, but necessary to, the perfection of true politeness.

THE end of learning is, to know God, and, in consequence of that knowledge, to love [Page 67] him, and to imitate him, as we may the nearer, by possessing ourselves of virtue.

WHAT sculpture is to a block of marble, education is to the human soul. The phi­losopher, the saint, the hero, the wise, the good, or the great man very often lie hid and concealed in a plebeian; which a proper education might have disinterred and brought to light.

THE educator's care should be, above all things to lay in his charge the foundation of religion and virtue.

PARENTS are more careful to bestow wit on their children, than virtue; the art of speaking well, rather than doing well; but their morals ought to be their greatest con­cern.

AN industrious and virtuous education of children is a better inheritance for them than a great estate. To what purpose is it, said Crates, to heap up estates, and have no care what kind of heirs they leave them to?

THE highest learning is to be wise, and the greatest wisdom to be good.

THE great business of man is, to improve his mind and govern his manners.

EXCESS of ceremony shows want of breed­ing. That civility is best, which excludes all superfluous formality.

TRUE philosophy, says Plato, consists more in fidelity, constancy, justice, sincerity [Page 68] and in the love of our duty, than in a great capacity.

IF our painful peregrination in studies be destitute of the supreme light, it is nothing else but a miserable kind of wandering.

THE mind ought sometimes to be divert­ed, that it may turn to thinking the better.

LEARNING is the dictionary, but sense the grammar of science. Poetry is inspiration —it was breathed into the soul, when it first quickened, and should neither be styled art nor science, but genius.

GREAT men are always reserved and mod­est, and being content with meriting praise, do not endeavour to court it; and for this they are the more praise worthy, because, if vanity is pardonable, it is in the man who deserves those shining compliments, which are so becoming to many learned men. It is said, that Racine was a whole year in composing his tragedy of Phaedra, the mas­ter piece of the theatre, and before he com­mitted it to the stage, consulted his friends a long time, corrected several passages by their advice, and waited for the success of his per­formance, before he would presume to pro­nounce it a good one. Prado wrote the same in a month's time; gave it out boldly to be acted, and assured the public it was an excellent piece. But it happened to him as it often does to all half witted authors; his work quickly went to the chandlers' shops, [Page 69] whereas Racine's will reach to the latest pos­terity.

GREAT talents, such as honour, virtue, learning and parts, are above the generality of the world, who neither possess them them­selves, nor judge of them rightly in others: But all people are judges of the lesser talents, such as civility, affability and an obliging agreeable address and manner: Because they feel the good effects of them, as mak­ing society easy and pleasing.

ALMOST all the advantages or miscarria­ges of our lives depend, in a great measure, upon our education. Therefore it is great­ly the duty of all who have in ANY way the inspection of this important affair, by every means possible, to win young minds to im­provement; to the end that good parts may not take an evil turn, nor indifferent ones be totally lost for want of industrious cultiva­tion.

EDUCATION, when it works upon an in­genuous mind, brings out to view every la­tent perfection, which, without such helps are never able to make their appearance. And, if we take the trouble to look round, we shall find very few, to whom nature has been such a niggard of her gifts, that they are not capable of shining in one sphere of science or another: Since then there is a cer­tain bias towards knowledge, in almost eve­ry mind, which may be strengthened and [Page 70] improved by proper care; sure, parents and others should consider, that, in the neglect of so essential a point, they do not commit a private injury only, as thereby they starve posterity, and defraud our country of those persons, who, under better management, might perhaps make an eminent figure.

INDEED, the difference in the manners and abilities of men proceeds more from educa­tion, than from any imperfections or advant­ages derived from their original formation.

YOUTH moreover is the proper and only season for education; for if it be neglected then, it will surely be in vain to think of rem­edying the oversight in more advanced years; it will be too late to think of sowing it, when maturity has rendered the mind stubborn and inflexible, and when, instead of receiving the seeds, it should be bringing forth the fruits of instruction.

BUT there is one point in the article of ed­ucation, which is more essential than any of the rest: I mean the great care that ought to be taken to form youth to the principles of religion. Vice, if we may believe the gen­eral complaint, grows so malignant nowa­days, that it is almost impossible to keep young people from the spreading contagion; if we venture them abroad, and trust to chance or inclination, for the choice of their compa­ny; it is therefore virtue, and a perfect sense of their duty to God, which is the great and [Page 71] valuable thing to be taught them. All other considerations and accomplishments should give way, and be postponed to these; these are the solid and substantial good we should labour to implant and fasten on their minds, neither should we cease till we have attained a true relish for them, and placed their strength, their glory and their PLEASURE IN THEM.

IT is also of the first consequence in train­ing up youths of both sexes, that they be early inspired with humanity, and particu­larly that its principles be implanted strong­ly in their yet tender hearts, to guard them against inflicting wanton pain on those ani­mals, which use or accident may occasion­ally put into their power.

ENVY.

TAKE heed you harbour not that vice called Envy, lest another's hap­piness be your torment; and God's blessing become your curse.—Spencer in his Fairy Queen gives the following description of Envy:

VIRTUE is not secure against envy. Men will LESSEN what they will not imitate. It is observed that the most censorious are gen­erally the least judicious; who having noth­ing to recommend themselves, will be find­ing fault with others.

NONE envy the merit of others, but who have little—or none at all themselves. He that envies, makes another man's virtue his vice, and another man's happiness his tor­ment, [Page 73] whereas he that rejoices at the pros­perity of another, is partaker thereof.

SOME people as much envy others a good name, as they want it themselves, and per­haps that is the reason of it.

ENVY is a passion so full of cowardice and shame, that none have the confidence to own it.

ENVY is fixed only on merit; and, like a sore eye, is offended with every thing that is bright.

A MAN that hath no virtue in himself, en­vieth it in others.

BASE envy withers at another's joy, and hates that excellence it cannot reach. En­vy flames highest against one of the same rank and condition.

got it, and shared it among themselves. All were satisfied; the loss of WISDOM was nei­ther regretted nor remembered; FOLLY sup­plied its place, and those who had the larg­est share of it, thought themselves the wis­est.

FRIENDSHIP.

FRIENDSHIP is a sweet attraction of the heart, towards the merit we esteem, or the perfections we admire; and produces a mu­tual inclination between two persons, to pro­mote each others' interest, knowledge, virtue and happiness.

THERE is nothing so common as preten­ces to friendship; though few know what it means, and fewer yet come up to its de­mands. By talking of it, we set ourselves off; but when we enquire into it, we see our defects; and when we engage in it, we must charge through abundance of difficulty. The [Page 76] veneration it has challenged in every age, (the most barbarous not excepted) is a stand­ing testimony of its excellence: And the more valuable it is, the more are we con­cerned to be instructed in it.

MONSIEUR DE SACY in his essay upon friendship, treats to this effect: The friend­ship which is to be recommended, is union of affections, springing from a generous re­spect to virtue, and is maintained by a har­mony of manners. It is a great mistake to call every trifling commerce by this serious name; or to suppose that empty compli­ments and visits of ceremony, when no more is intended than to pass the time, and shew the equipage, should pass for a real and well established friendship. The frequency of the practice will not wipe off the absurdity: —There is as wide a difference between a bully and a man of honour.

NOT that these amusements are to be found fault with, the innocence and convenience of which protects them, when they pass for nothing but what they are; but certainly they ought to be distinguished from their betters; and the language and professions bear a proportion to the real impression they have on our heart.

CONFORMITY of inclination is the life of friendship.

WHILST all are pursuing this common in­terest, all are travelling the same course, [Page 77] nothing can break the union of their affec­tions and desires. The danger is only from irregular motions, and forgetting from which they should act. So long as we maintain a respect to this principle of union, and keep virtue on the throne, our humour and ca­price will be checked and subdued. If in­terest can maintain and form societies, as we find it does, why should not those who are actuated by a higher principle, (and with such only is our business) do as much, if not more.

IT may be said, from hence I conclude that all good men are friends, if virtue be the life of friendship. The consequence holds good as far as esteem goes, if they knew one another, they would value one a­nother. But though friendship is founded on esteem, so much that it cannot otherways subsist, there goes however, something more to form it; esteem is a tribute due to merit in general; but friendship is an improvement made upon merit, and engages us in a very different degree.

SUCH impression has been made upon the heart as cannot be well described, and works like a mother's affection to her own children, above those of strangers, as amiable in them­selves. Those who would have friendship confined to the narrowest compass, have no­tions of it the most sublime; though num­ber, if practicable, may be highly useful.

[Page 78]FOR to have but one friend, may some­times be to have none, or, which is the same thing, none when we want him. The cir­cumstances of time, and place and ability too, make it proper that we have more than one bottom to venture in. The offices of friendship are various, to direct our choice, and rectify our mistakes; to sustain our mis­fortunes, moderate our joys and the like. This may possibly be better done by the care and endeavours of several. Not that I would have friendship governed by profit and convenience; a motive so mean can produce nothing extraordinary. There is some­thing generous in the composition, that looks at another man's advantage as much as his own.

AND that we may not talk without a pre­cedent for what we say, the sages of old, whose friendships were so well cultivated, and became so famous as to be handed down to the present time, even theirs were divided into several streams. The most polite na­tions, and their PHILOSOPHERS too, gave us examples of that sort to build upon. It were difficult to determine, just how many make a sufficient quantity of friends, some fix the number to three, others allowing a greater latitude, but this rule will serve us, the fewer the better; and he who thinks he has a great number of friends, has most rea­son to believe he has none. It was a good [Page 79] return of Socrates, when his house was thought too little "Would to God I could fill it with true friends;" said he: After all, if one should have a barn full, one would wish for no more than a closet would hold. Let the matter at least turn upon this, set­ting aside the reasons I have offered:—The difficulty we shall find in the choice of our friends, will make us rejoice we have but few to chuse. Of such importance is the work, it is so hard to succeed, and so danger­ous to miscarry, so severe an inquiry into the inclination and merits of the person, and the experience we must run through, before we are safe in their hands, will convince us, that to gain three or four in the course of our life, is to employ it well. Whence is it, so many friendships clapt up on a sudden, which have the air of a veteran, not of a raw, undisciplined affection, and look like the meeting of old friends, not of new ones; whence can it be, these so promising, and kindly advances should so soon be overturn­ed? It is because they began too soon, and run up too fast: And is there any mystery in this, that time should destroy what we set up without consulting him? We meet, and at first sight like one another well, the next thing is to say so, the next in course to be DEAR FRIENDS. We vow and swear eternal amity; and when we go to considering, we find him out; we grow cool;—and at length [Page 80] come to hate him. We swing ourselves up by main force, and our own weight brings us down again. Would you contract a friendship that should last a long time, be a long time in contracting it.

PLUTARCH thus describes the person a friend should be. As to the person of whom we are to make a friend, he must be endowed with virtue, as a thing in itself lovely and desirable, which consists of a sweet and o­bliging temper of mind, a lively readiness in doing good offices; than which qualifi­cations, nothing is more rarely found in na­ture. To this a familiar conversation must be added; for the person whom we desire to make our friend, must not casually be pick­ed up at a tavern, or an eating house, nor at a promiscuous meeting at a horse race; but one chosen upon long and mature delibera­tion, confirmed by settled converse, and with whom, as the proverb says, "we have eaten a bushel of salt."

FROM a vicious man I should desire to stand off altogether. By a vicious man I do not mean one liable to failings, as all men are, but one that acts without any regard to hon­our and conscience. He is out of his ele­ment that makes an engagement that is not supported only by principles of virtue. True friendship justly founded is a blessing, in which virtue has the sole property. And, as virtue has but few temporal rewards to [Page 81] propose, those few are to be found no where else.

EQUALITY of birth and fortune, is by some made a point necessary to a well in­structed friendship, and it must be said the rule ever to be embraced, if we could, when we pleased, find as good men of our own rank, as elsewhere. But considering there are but few of any rank fit to be chosen, we should look at the solid foundation of merit, and pass by mere accomplishments. We make no league with the coat of arms and liveries, but the man, and with that part of the man too, that is considered abstractly from both. These things are not fixed to the freehold.

NOT but that one should carry it with that distance and regard which is due to persons of condition. If they condescend to lay aside their state there is no reason we should take advantage of the level. One would presume farther upon the behaviour of a man genteelly bred, than another that wanted that advantage. But, on the other hand, there are instances to be met with, of such as have out stretched expectation, as well as those that have fallen short of it. These should be looked upon with as much favour, and more, for having hammered out themselves into the perfections they have.

THE general duty of a friend is, an in­dustrious pursuit of his friend's real advant­ages; fidelity in his trusts, assistance in all his wants, and a constant endeavour for his advancement in piety and virtue; for so close is the connexion, that this is the ex­pression of GOD himself speaking of a friend: THY FRIEND, WHICH IS AS THINE OWN SOUL, Deut. xiii. 6.

REVENGE (says de Sacy) which is never to be indulged, is between friends, most of all a crime, and yet it will sometimes creep in, under the disguise of justice; and here the easiness of revenge may encourage us to it. We know the man to the bottom, and can therefore injure him a hundred ways; but, this is ungenerous—inhuman! All that we can honourably allow ourselves in, is to [Page 83] shew, by a genteel behaviour, what he has lost, who has forfeited our friendship; by our generous conduct, to discover the fault is his, and make him suffer in the reproach of his own breast. To be unconcerned at his misfortunes, or success; to look upon him with the aversion of an enemy, is passion and not just resentment. His betraying your secrets will not justify you in exposing his. You will meet with a more favourable opin­ion from the best of men, while you are so gen­erous to suffer rather than retaliate. Where­as they will think you deserve such usage, if you can allow it in yourself. There is no relief but patience, admitting it otherwise, you open a door to all manner of disorder. Friendship has no sting to revenge affronts with, the remorse which a guilty person feels, and the disgrace he meets with abroad, if his character be known, is the punish­ment we should content ourselves with in­flicting.

AMONG the friends we should cast off, I reckon those that stick as long as fortune is kind, but turn with the tide and keep at a distance; those flies that follow the honey pot while there is something to be had, and take leave when there is no more to be hoped for. A true friend may be forgiven, if in time of prosperity he seem to neglect you, but he is not worth having, who neglects you in distress; for it is then his duty comes on, [Page 84] when things go against you; to sustain and comfort you when you are in trouble; and to bear a part of your burden.

WE think we come up to the highest pitch of friendship, when our purse is open to our friend. It is true, comparatively reck­oning, he is a generous man that will do so much; but that is not enough, if to part with our money to those who profess an af­fection for us, be the highest piece of friend­ship, pray what must the lowest be? Is it such a mighty piece of business to do that for the dearest person on earth, which we do to gratify a vain humour? What common humanity or applause will put us upon, surely, amongst friends, is not to be reckon­ed an act of transcendent kindness, when it is no more than giving to another self, and paying of debts. Is there any thing more certainly a due, than what we are engaged to by the alliance of friendship: Let a man in­cur the displeasure of his superiors, and warmly embark in my service, I will own such a man to be a friend indeed, generous and affectionate, one cannot praise him too much. Let him open his purse to one he loves, this comes short of the other. A man of honour, upon a slender friendship, will do as much as this. To cry up with the part­ing with our pence, for the highest sacrifice that can be paid to friendship, is the sign of a grovelling spirit, that knows not what is [Page 85] truly noble. The people of old had better notions of the matter, who would borrow to give others in distress, and think they had done no more than their duty.

WHEREFORE, he that fails in this point, is not worth our acquaintance, he that de­serts a man to save his pocket, will never hazard life and reputation in his service. Vir­tue is the principle of union, but vice is oft­en strong enough to make a separation. Ad­versity is a time to try how sincere the pro­fessions were; if they pass that test, we may depend upon them.

WITH three sorts of men enter into no se­rious friendship, the ungrateful man, the multiloquous man and the coward. The first cannot prize your favours, the second cannot keep your counsel, and the third dares not vindicate your honour.

OF all felicities, how charming is that of a firm and gentle friendship; it sweetens our cares, softens our sorrows and assists us in extremities; it is a sovereign antidote against calamities. Nature, within the soul of man, has formed nothing more noble, or more rare than friendship.

THAT admirable friendship which is found­ed on virtue, cemented by esteem and sym­pathy.—That uniting of virtuous hearts cannot be easily dissolved, nor shaken: Each is to each a dearer self.

TRUE friends are the whole world to each other. And he that is a friend to himself, is also a friend to mankind. There is no relish in the possession of any thing without a partner.

IT was ever my opinion, says Horace, that a chearful good natured friend is so great a blessing that it admits of no comparison.

CICERO used to say, That it was no less an evil for a man to be without a friend, than to have the heavens without a sun. And [Page 87] Socrates thought friendship the sweetest pos­session, and that no piece of ground yielded more, or pleasanter fruit than a true friend.

FORTUNE, honours—life itself, are sacri­fices due to the sacred connexions of friend­ship.

THAT friendship alone, which flows from the source of virtue, supplies an uninterrupt­ed, an inexhaustible stream of delight.

HASTILY contracted friendships generally promise the least duration or satisfaction; as they too often may be found to arise from design on one side, and weakness on the oth­er. True friendship must be the effect of long and mutual esteem, affection and knowledge.

ONLY good and wise men or women, can be friends, others are but companions.

THE kindnesses of a friend lie deep, and whether present or absent, as occasion serves, he is solicitous about our concerns.

FRIENDSHIP improves happiness and a­bates misery, by the doubling of our joy, and dividing of our grief.

THE best friendship is to prevent a request, and never put a man to the confusion of asking. To ask is a word that lies heavy on the tongue, and cannot be uttered but with a dejected countenance. We should therefore strive to meet our friend in his wishes, if we cannot prevent him.

IT is no flattery to give a friend a due character, for commendation is as much the duty of a friend, as reprehension.

THERE cannot be a greater treachery than first to raise a confidence, and then deceive it.

PROSPERITY is no just scale, adversity is the only balance to try friends.

FALSE is their conceit, who say, The way to have a friend is not to make use of him. Nothing can give a greater assurance, that two men are friends, than when experience makes them mutually acknowledge it.

WEALTH, without friends, is like life with­out health; the one an uncomfortable for­tune, and the other a miserable being.

WITHOUT friends this world is but a wil­derness.

NOTHING is more grievous, than the loss of that friendship which we have greatly es­teemed and valued, and which we least fear­ed would fail us.

WE may easily secure ourselves from open and professed enemies; but from such as, un­der a pretence of amity, design an injury, there is no sanctuary. Who would imag­ine [Page 89] that a pleasing countenance could har­bour villainy?

A FRIENDSHIP of interest lasts no longer than the interest continues; whereas true af­fection is of the nature of a diamond; it is lasting, and it is hard to break.

A FAITHFUL friend is the medicine of life, and this excellency is invaluable.

FRIENDSHIP has a noble effect upon all ac­cidents and conditions, it relieves our cares, raises our hopes, and abates our fears. A friend who relates his success, talks himself into a new pleasure; and by opening his mis­fortunes, leaves part of them behind him.

ALL men have their frailties; whoever looks for a friend without imperfections will never find what he seeks; we love ourselves with all our faults, and we ought to love our friend in like manner.

WHOEVER moves you to part with a true and tried friend, has certainly a design to make way for a treacherous enemy.

HE is happy that finds a true friend in extremity; but he is much more so, who findeth not extremity whereby to try his friend.

FRIENDSHIP is the most sacred of all mor­tal bonds. Trusts of confidence, tho' with­out any express stipulation or caution, are yet, in the very nature of them, as sacred as if they were guarded by a thousand articles of conditions.

[Page 90]A TRUE and faithful friend is a living treasure, a comfort in solitude, and a sanctu­ary in distress.

SOME cases are so nice, that a man cannot appear in them himself, but must leave the soliciting wholly to his friend. For the pur­pose, a man cannot recommend himself with­out vanity, nor ask many times without un­easiness; but a kind proxy will do justice to his merits, relieve his modesty, and effect his business without trouble or blushing.

AN enemy may receive hurt by our ha­tred; but a friend will suffer a greater inju­ry by our dissimulation.

THERE is requisite to friendship more goodness and virtue, than dexterity of wit, or height of understanding; it being enough, that they have sufficient prudence to be as good as they should be, in order to the com­pleting of a virtuous friendship.

FRIENDSHIP'S the gentle bond of faithful minds.

AS certain rivers are never so useful as when they overflow, so hath friendship noth­ing more excellent in it than excess, and doth rather offend in her moderation than in her violence.

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

[Page 92]OF all associations, there is none so firm and noble, as when virtuous hearts are link­ed together by a correspondence of manners, and freedom of conversation.

THE rare qualities of friendship are vir­tue, piety, good sense; thereon are founded admiration and esteem—and sensibility must support it.

A FRIEND is a precious jewel, within whose bosom we may unload our sorrows, and unfold our secrets.

IT will be very fit for all that have enter­ed into any strict friendship, to make one special article in the agreement, That they shall mutually admonish and reprove each other.

GRATITUDE.

O! HOW amiable is grat­itude! especially when it has the supreme benefactor for its object. I have always looked upon gratitude as the most exalted principle that can actuate the heart of man. It has something in it noble, disinterested, and (if I may be allowed the term) generous­ly devout. Repentance indicates our na­ture [Page 93] fallen, and prayer returns chiefly upon a regard of one's self. But the exercise of gratitude subsisted in Paradise, when there was no fault to deplore; and will be perpet­uated in heaven, when God shall be "all in all."

DEMOSTHENES said, it becometh him, who receiveth a benefit from another man, for­ever to be sensible of it, but him that bestow­ed it, presently to forget it. He is unjust, said Socrates who does not return deserved thanks for any benefit, whether he be a friend or a foe.

THERE is no vice nor failing of man, that doth so much unprinciple humanity, as in­gratitude: Since he who is guilty of it lives unworthy of his own soul, that hath not vir­tue enough to be obliged, nor to acknowledge the true merits of the obliger.

IT is a common thing for gratitude to be forgetful, as for hope to be mindful.

WITHOUT good nature and gratitude, man had as well live in a wilderness, as in a civ­il society.

HE who receives a good turn, should nev­er forget it; he who does one, should never remember it.

IT is the character of an unworthy nature to write injuries in marble, and benefits in dust.

[Page 94]HE that preaches gratitude, pleads the cause both of God and man; for without it we can neither be sociable nor religious.

IT is the glory of gratitude, that it depends only on the good will: If I have will to be grateful, says Seneca, I am so.

IF gratitude is due from man to man, how much more from man to his maker? The Supreme Being does not only confer upon us those bounties which proceed more im­mediately from his hand, but even those benefits which are conveyed to us by others. Every blessing we enjoy, by what means so­ever it may be derived upon us, is the gift of him who is the great author of good, and Father of mercies.

GRATITUDE, when exerted towards one a­nother, naturally produces a very pleasing sensation in the mind of a grateful man; it exalts the soul into rapture, when it is em­ployed in this great object of gratitude, on this beneficent Being who has given us ev­ery thing we already possess, and from whom we expect every thing we hope for.

GENEROSITY.

OBSERVE the various ac­tions and tempers of men, and pass by hu­man infirmities with a generous greatness.

MEN of the noblest dispositions, think themselves happiest when others share with them in their happiness.

GOOD nature is the very air of a good mind, the sign of a large and generous soul, the peculiar soil on which virtue prospers. There is far more satisfaction in doing, than receiving good. To relieve the oppressed, is the most glorious act a man is capable of; it is in some measure doing the business of God and Providence; and is attended with a heavenly pleasure, unknown but to those that are beneficent and liberal.

IT is not in the power of a good man to refuse making another happy, where he hath both ability and opportunity.

GOODNESS is generous and diffusive. It is largeness of mind, and sweetness of tem­per; modest and sincere, inoffensive and o­bliging. Where this quality is predominant, there is a noble forwardness for public ben­efit; an ardour to relieve the wants, to re­move the oppressions and better the condi­tion of all mankind.

[Page 96]NO character is more glorious, none more attractive of universal admiration and respect, than that of helping those who are in no con­dition of helping themselves.

WE read a pretty passage (says Philologus) of a certain cardinal, who, by the multitude of his generous actions, gave occasion for the world to call him "The patron of the poor." This ecclesiastic prince had a constant custom, once or twice a week, to give public audi­ence to all indigent people in the hall of his palace, and to relieve every one according to their various necessities, or the motions of his own bounty. One day, a poor widow, encouraged by the fame of his generosity, came into the hall of this cardinal, with her only child, a beautiful maid, about fifteen years of age. When her turn came to be heard, among a croud of petitioners, the cardinal discerning the marks of an extraor­dinary modesty in her face and carriage, as also in her daughter, encouraged her to tell her wants freely—she blushing—and, not without tears, thus addressed herself to him. "My lord, I owe for the rent of my house, five crowns, and such is my misfortune, that I have no other means to pay it, save what would break my heart, since my landlord threatens to force me to it; that is, to pros­titute my only daughter, whom I have hith­erto, with great care, educated in virtue.— What I beg of your eminence is, that you [Page 97] would please to interpose your authority, and protect us from the violence of this cru­el man, till, by our honest industry, we can procure the money for him." The cardinal, moved with admiration at the woman's vir­tue and innocent modesty, bade her be of good courage; then he immediately wrote a billet, and giving it into the widow's hands, Go, said he, to my steward, and he shall de­liver thee five crowns to pay thy rent. The poor woman overjoyed, and returning the cardinal a thousand thanks, went directly to his steward—and gave him the note, which when he had read, told her out fifty crowns. She, astonished at the meaning of it, and fearing it was the steward's trick to try her honesty, refused to take above five, saying, she mentioned no more to the cardinal, and she was sure it was some mistake. On the other side, the steward insisted on his mas­ter's order, not daring to call it in question. But all the arguments he could use were in­sufficient to prevail on her to take more than five crowns. Wherefore, to end the contro­versy, he offered to go back with her to the cardinal, and refer it to him. When they came before that munificent prince, and had fully informed him, of the business;— "it is true—said he, I mistook in writing fifty crowns. Give me the paper, and I will rec­tify it." Thereupon he wrote again; saying this to the woman, "So much candour and [Page 98] virtue deserves a recompense. Here I have ordered you five hundred crowns. What you can spare of it, lay up as a dowry to give with your daughter in marriage.

WHAT a mighty impression the actions of truly great men stamp on hearts sincerely addicted to virtue.

THE words of Lewis XII of France shew­ed a great and noble mind; who being ad­vised to punish those that had wronged him before he was king, answered, It is not be­coming a king of France to revenge injuries done to a duke of Orleans.

THE conferring of a happiness on any creature, is certainly the highest enjoyment of the human mind! but the paying of it to an amiable and deserving object, must height­en the sentiment even to transport.

AN extraordinary instance of generosity in an Egyptian.

A CONFLAGRATION having reduced to ashes one of the principal mosques of Cairo, the Mussulmans imputed this calamity to the hatred of the Christians; and, without examining if such an accusation was well founded or not, several young people ran to the quarter inhabited by christians, and set fire to it by way of reprisal.

SUCH an outrage deserved the severest punishment: The governor caused the per­petrators to be apprehended; but, as the number was very great, he could not resolve [Page 99] to doom to death so many young persons, who were hurried into this excess more by passion than malice.

AS many lots were thrown into an urn, as, amounted to the number of culprits: Some few of these were marked, death; and all the others condemned the drawers to the correction only of rods.

WHEN they had all drawn their lots out of the fatal urn, one of those destined to death cried out in a transport of grief, "I do not regret the loss of life; but how will my pa­rents, overwhelmed with sorrow, and redu­ced to the greatest misery, be able to live without my assistance?"

ONE of those that had escaped death, re­plied to him that was lamenting his fate. "Friend, I have neither father nor mother; my life is of no use to any one; give me your lot, and take mine." The surprising sacrifice excited the admiration of every one present, and the governor, who was soon in­formed of it, pardoned both the criminals.

HONESTY.

EVERY man is bound to be an honest man, but all cannot be great men; he that is good is great, and if the foolish esteem him not so, let him stand to the verdict of his own conscience. Where there may be a sufficient ground of reproach, yet an honest man is always tender of his neighbour's character, from the sense of his own frailty. An honest man lives not to the world, but to himself.

THERE are few persons to be found, but what are more concerned for the reputation of wit and sense, than honesty and virtue.

HE only is worthy of esteem, that knows what is just and honest, and dares to do it; that is master of his own passions, and scorns to be slave to another's. Such a one, in the lowest poverty, is a far better man, and merits more respect, than those gay things, who owe all their greatness and reputation to their rentals and revenues.

[Page 101]TRICKS and treachery are the practice of fools, that have not sense enough to be hon­est. They who have an honest and engag­ing look, ought to suffer double punishment if they belie it in their actions.

HONESTY is silently commended even by the practice of the most wicked; for their deceit is under its colour.

THE Dutch have a good proverb, "Thefts never enrich, alms never impoverish, prayers hinder no work."

IT is not so painful to an honest man to want money, as it is to owe it.

THE want of justice is not only condemn­ed, but the want of mercy. The rich man went to hell for not relieving Lazarus, though he wronged him not.

There is nothing in the world worth being a knave for.

THE difference there is between honour and honesty, seems to be chiefly in the mo­tive; the mere honest man does that from duty, which the man of honour does for the sake of character.

THE more honesty a man has, the less he affects the air of a saint—the affectation of sanctity is a blotch on the face of piety.

HONOUR.

TRUE honour, (says Dr. Hildrup) is seated in the soul. It is a kind of SONS [...]ERENNIS rising from a generous heart, and flowing with a natural and easy descent into all the different traces of life, and channels of duty; refreshing, invigorat­ing and adorning all the faculties of the soul, language of the tongue, the very air of the face, and motion of the body. It displays itself in a natural, unaffected greatness and firmness of mind, improved by a train of wise and religious reflexions, and generous actions, in which personal virtue and real merit truly consist.

THE bulk of mankind are caught by shew. The pompous sound of titles, and glitter of ornaments strike their senses, attract their at­tention, raise their admiration, and extort from them all that reverence which is due only to eminent and distinguished merit; while real virtue and true honour pass si­lently through the world, unheeded and un­regarded, but by the happy and discerning few, who are sensible of its merit, or enjoy the blessed communication of its influence.

[Page 103]FOR to do good, to be lovers of mankind, to alleviate the distresses, and promote the peace and happiness of our fellow creatures, is the highest honour, the noblest ambition that can enter into the heart of man. But the bulk of mankind judge otherwise. Noise and shew, title and equipage, glitter and grandeur, constitute the whole idea of hon­our; and whoever can command an inter­est sufficient to procure, and an affluence suf­ficient to support them, becomes thereby not only a man of honour, but even a subordi­nate fountain of honour, enabled to produce others after his kind, and propagate the HON­OURABLE species from generation to genera­tion.

THE man of honour is an internal, the person of honour an external; the one a real, the other a fictitious character. I am therefore never surprised to see or hear such things attempted, said and done by a person of honour, which a man of honour would blush to think of.

A PERSON of honour may be a prophane, irreligious libertine; a penurious, proud, revengeful coward, may insult his inferiors, oppress his tenants and servants debauch his neighbours' wives and daughters, defraud his creditors, and prostitute his public faith for a protection, may associate with sots and drunkards, sharpers and gamesters, in order to increase his fortune; I say, it is not im­possible [Page 104] but that a person of honour may be guilty of all these; but it is absolutely impos­sible for a man of honour to be guilty of a­ny one of them.

ANCIENTLY the Romans worshipped vir­tue and honour for gods; whence it was that they built two temples, which were so seat­ed, that none could enter the temple of hon­our, without passing through the temple of virtue.

WISDOM and virtue make the poor rich, and the rich honourable.

HONOURS are in this world under no reg­ulation; true quality is neglected, virtue is oppressed, and vice triumphant. The last day will rectify this disorder, and assign to every one a station suitable to the dignity of his character: Ranks will then be adjusted, and precedency set right.

TRUE honour, though it be a different principle from religion, is that which produ­ces the same effects.

[Page 105]THE sense of honour is of so fine and del­icate a nature, that it is only to be met with in minds which are naturally noble; or in such as have been cultivated by great exam­ples, or a refined education.

IMPATIENCE.

AN impatient man is hur­ried along by his wild and furious desires, into an abyss of miseries; the more exten­sive his power is, the more fatal is his im­patience to him: He will wait for nothing, he will not give himself time to take any measures, he forces all things to satisfy his wishes, he breaks the boughs to gather the fruit before it is ripe, he will needs reap, when the wise husbandman is sowing; all he does in haste is ill done, and can have no longer duration than volatile desires: Such as these are the senseless projects of the man [Page 106] who thinks he is able to do every thing, and who, by giving himself up to his desires, a­buses his own power.

IMPATIENCE is the principal cause of most of our irregularities and extravagancies. I would sometimes have paid a guinea to be at some particular ball or assembly, and something has prevented my going there; after it was over, I would not give a shilling to have been there. I would pay a crown at any time for a venison ordinary; but after having dined on beef or mutton, I would not give a penny to have had it in veni­son.

THINK frequently on this, ye giddy and ye extravagant.

INTEMPERANCE.

THOSE men who destroy a healthful con­stitution of body by intemperance, and ir­regular life, do as manifestly kill themselves, as those who hang, poison or drown them­selves.

CAST an eye into the gay world; what see we for the most part, but a set of queru­lous, emaciated, fluttering, fantastical beings worn out in the keen pursuit of pleasure; creatures that know, own, condemn, deplore, yet still pursue, their own infelicity! The decayed monuments of error! The then re­mains of what is called delight.

VIRTUE is no enemy to pleasure, but its most certain friend: Her proper office is, to regulate our desires that we may enjoy eve­ry pleasure with moderation, and lose them without discontent.

IT is not what we possess that makes us happy, but what we enjoy. If you live ac­cording [Page 108] to nature, you will seldom be poor, if, according to opinion, never rich.

TEMPERANCE, by fortifying the mind and body, leads to happiness. Intemperance, by enervating them, ends generally in mise­ry.

THE virtue of prosperity is temperance, the virtue of adversity, fortitude, which in mor­als is the most heroic virtue.

KNOWLEDGE. KNOWLEDGE IS A TREASURE OF WHICH STUDY IS THE KEY.

KNOWLEDGE is one of the means of pleasure, as is confessed by the natural desire which every mind feels of in­creasing its ideas. Ignorance is mere pri­vation, by which nothing can be produced; it is a vanity in which the soul sits motion­less and torpid for want of attraction; and without knowing why, we always rejoice when we learn, and grieve when we forget. I am therefore inclined to conclude, that if nothing counteracts the natural consequence of learning, we grow more happy as our minds take a wider range.

[Page 109]KNOWLEDGE will soon become folly, when good sense ceases to be its guardian. The true knowledge of God and yourself, are true testimonies of your being in the high road to salvation; that breeds in you a filial love, this a filial fear; the ignorance of yourself is the beginning of all sin, and the ignorance of God is the perfection of all evil.

KNOWLEDGE OF ONE's SELF.

LET men learn to be affectionate to their friends, faithful to their allies, respectful to nobility, and just even to their enemies; let them be taught to fear death and torments less than the reproach of their own conscience. Did we but know ourselves, how humble it would make us, and happy it would be for us if we did; for, want of knowledge of our­selves, is the cause of pride, and pride was the first cause of our separation from God; and ignorance of ourselves is the cause of keeping us from coming to him; for God resisteth the proud, and giveth grace to the humble. Did we know ourselves, we would not be proud. For what is man? a weak and sickly body; a pitiful and helpless crea­ture, exposed to all the injuries of times and fortune; a mass of clay and corruption, prone to evil and so perverse and depraved a judg­ment, [Page 110] as to prize earth above heaven, tem­poral pleasures before endless felicities. It is not very difficult for men to know them­selves, if they took but proper methods to enquire into themselves; but they are more solicitous to be thought what they should be, than really careful to be what they ought to be.

MAN! KNOW THYSELF, ALL WIS­DOM CENTERS THERE.

IF knowledge without religion was truly valuable, nothing would be more so than the devil.

KNOWLEDGE, that is of use, is the greatest and noblest acquisition that man can gain. But to run on their disputations; whether privation be a principle; whether any thing can be made of nothing; whether there be an empty space in the compass of nature! or, whether the world shall have an end; and such like, is without end, and to no end.

OF all parts of wisdom, practice is the best. Socrates was esteemed the wisest man of his time; because he turned his acquired knowledge into morality, and aimed at good­ness more than greatness.

THE most resplendent ornament of man is judgment: Here is the perfection of his in­nate [Page 111] reason; here is the utmost power of rea­son joined with knowledge.

A MAN of sense does not apply himself so much to the most learned writings, in order to acquire knowledge, as to the most ration­al, to fortify his reason.

THERE is no necessity of being led through the several fields of knowledge. It will be sufficient to gather some of the fairest fruit from them all, and so lay up a store of good sense, sound reason and solid virtue.

WE rarely meet with persons that have a true judgment, which in many renders literature a very tiresome knowledge. Good judges are as rare as good authors.

WE read of a philosopher who declared of himself, that the first year he entered up­on the study of philosophy, he knew all things; the second year something, but the third year nothing. The more he studied, the more he declined in the opinion of his own knowledge, and saw more the shortness of his understanding.

DIFFICULT and abstruse speculations raise a noise and a dust, but when we examine what comes of them, little account they turn to, but heat, clamour and contradiction.

KNOWLEDGE will not be acquired with­out pains and application. It is trouble­some and deep digging for pure waters; but when once you come to the spring, they rise up and meet you.

[Page 112]WHAT is knowledge good for, which does not direct and govern our lives.

USEFUL knowledge can have no enemies, except the ignorant. It cherishes youth, de­lights the aged, is an ornament in prosper­ity, and yields comfort in adversity.

LIBERALITY.

THE most acceptable thing in the world is a discreet liberality. He that gives to all without discretion, will soon stand in need of every one's assistance.

LIBERALITY does not so much consist in giving largely, as in giving seasonably.

HE is not to be esteemed liberal who does, as it were, pick a quarrel with his money, and knows not how either to part with it, or keep it; but he that disposes of it with dis­cretion and reason; that proportions his bounty to his ability; chuses his objects ac­cording to their necessities; and confers his bounties when they can do most good.

THOSE persons (says Tacitus) are under a mighty error, who know not how to distin­guish between liberality and luxury. A­bundance of men know how to squander, that do not know how to give.

WE should be generous—but not profuse or profligate.

LOVE.

LOVE can never exist with­out pain in a delicate soul, but even these pains are sometimes sources of the sweetest pleasures.

WHERE love is there is no labour, and if there is, the labour is loved.

THERE is no passion that more excites us to every thing that is noble and generous than virtuous love.

LOVE is not a guilty passion, a criminal desire which debases human nature; it is a most exalted esteem and regard, founded on reason and virtue; an affection which en­nobles the mind, elevates the soul, and leads it nearest to heaven. This is the idea which [Page 115] that sacred name conveys—pure and unmix­ed with any gross conceptions; and which, thus understood, may as well subsist between two persons of the same, as of a different sex; though some will argue, that the latter is ca­pable of a more refined softness.

LOVE founded on external charms, and which only seeks the gratification of the sen­ses, will soon change its object, and be pleas­ed with novelty; but where esteem is the basis of love, when it is founded on virtue— accompanied by all those amiable and en­dearing qualities of the head, and heart and mind enlarged, surely that affection—that friendship cannot die—it can never fall, while those virtues remain on which it is built—by which it is enlarged, strengthened and supported.

SOLID love, whose root is virtue, can no more die than virtue itself.

WITHOUT constancy there is neither love, friendship, nor virtue in the world.

HE that loves on the account of virtue, can never be weary; because there are ever fresh charms to attract him, and entertain him.

OUR affections are the links which form society; and though by being stretched or broken they may give us pain, yet certainly we could have no pleasure without them.

GOD is love, and the more we endeavour to imitate the Deity, the nearer we approach to perfection and happiness. Love or char­ity is moreover the distinguishing character­istic of a true Christian.

THAT sweet and elegant uniting of the minds, which is properly called love, has no other knot but virtue; and therefore, if it be a right love, it can never slide into any action that is not virtuous.

ALL those who love are not true friends; but all such as are true friends necessarily love. True love (says Thompson) and friend­ship are the same.

LOVE is not to be satisfied with gold, but only paid with love again.

AN affection in a lover is restless, so if it be perfect it is endless.

LOVE makes a man that is naturally ad­dicted to vice to be endued with virtue, for­ces him to apply himself to all laudable ex­ercises, that thereby he may obtain his love's [Page 117] favour, endeavours to be skilful in good let­ters, that by his learning he may allure her; to excel in music, that by his melody he may entice her; to frame his speech in a perfect phrase, that by his eloquence he may persuade her; and what nature wants, he seeks to a­mend by art; and the only cause of this vir­tuous disposition is love.

LOVE fixed on virtue, increaseth ever by continuance.

LOVE is a virtue, if measured by dutiful choice, and not maimed by wilful chance.

PERHAPS it is not possible to love two per­sons exactly in the same degree, yet, the dif­ference may be so small, that none of the parties can tell certainly, on which side the scale preponderates.

IT is a narrowness of mind to wish to con­fine your friend's affection solely to yourself: If she depends on you alone for all the com­forts and advantages of friendship, your ab­sence or death may leave her desolate and forlorn. If therefore you prefer her good to your own gratification, you should rather strive to multiply her friends, and be ready to embrace in your affections all who love her, and deserve her love.

A TOAD, fed on the vapours of a dungeon is not such a wretch as a man of sense, who has had the misfortune to be heartily in love with a weak and worthless woman.

[Page 118]IN true love one object must ever reign predominant in the affections, knowing no equal, perhaps in friendship too, we always hold one dearer than all the others besides.

LOVE is the most elevated and generous of all passions, and, of all others, the most incident to virtuous and liberal minds.

LOVE OF GOD.

THE three great springs of love to God are these: A clear discovery of what God is in himself; a lively sense of what he has done for us, and a well grounded hope of what he will do for us. Where the love of God reigns in the affections, it will com­mand all the powers of nature, and all the rest of the passions to act suitably to this sov­ereign and all ruling affection of love. The eye will often look up to God in a way of humble dependence; the ear will be atten­tive to his holy word; the hands will be lifted up to heaven in daily requests; the knees will be bent in humble worship; all [Page 119] the outward powers will be busy in doing the will of God, and promoting his glo­ry. He that loves God will keep his com­mandments, and fulfil every present duty with delight: He will endeavour to please God in all his actions, and watch against, and avoid whatever may offend him; and while the several outward powers are thus engag­ed, all the inward affections of nature will be employed in corresponding exercises. Su­preme love will govern all the active train of human passions, and lead them captive to chearful obedience.

How senseless and absurd is the pretence to love God above all things, if we do not resolve to live upon him as our hope and happiness; if we do not chuse him to be our God and our all, our chief and all sufficient good in this world, and that which is to come! Where the idea of God, as a Being of supreme excellence, doth not reign in the mind, where the will is not determined and fixed on him as our supreme good, men are strangers to that sacred and divine affection of love. Until this be done, we cannot be said to love God with all our heart.

How necessary and useful a practice it is therefore for a christian to meditate often on the transcendent perfections and worth of the blessed God, to survey his attributes, and his grace in Christ Jesus; to keep in mind a constant idea of his supreme excellence, and [Page 120] frequently to repeat and confirm the choice of him as our highest hopes, our portion and our everlasting good! This will keep the love of God warm at heart, and maintain the divine affection in its primitive life and vig­our. But if our ideas of the adorable and supreme excellence of God grow faint and feeble, and sink lower in the mind; if we lose the sight of his amiable glories, the sense of his amazing love in the gospel, his rich promises, and alluring grace; if we shall a­bate the fervency of this sacred passion, our love to God grows cold by degrees, and suf­fers great and gradual decays.

WHAT thanks do we owe to God, who, though we are so much indebted to him, de­mands only our love, to pay off all our debts upon this consideration; doth he not shew us, by placing the precept of love above all others, how, poor and insolvent as we are, we may clear ourselves of all that we owe him.

IT is surely impossible to read the life and death of our blessed Saviour, without renew­ing and increasing in our hearts, that love and reverence, and gratitude to him, which is so justly due for all he did and suffered for us; every word that fell from his lips is more precious than all the treasures of the earth, for his are the words of eternal life! They must therefore be laid up in our hearts, [Page 121] and be constantly referred to, on all occasions, as the rule and direction of all our actions.

IT is impossible to love God, without de­siring to please him, and, as far as we are a­ble, to resemble him; therefore the love of God must lead to every virtue in the highest degree; and we may be sure we do not tru­ly love him, if we content ourselves with a­voiding flagrant sins, and do not strive in good earnest, to reach the greatest degree of perfection we are capable of, by his help.

WE cannot possibly exceed in the measure of our love to God, to whom reason as well as revelation directs us to offer the best of our affections, and from whom alone we can hope for that happiness, which it is our na­ture incessantly to desire.

AS to the acts of love to God, obedience is the chief: "This is love, that we keep his commandments."

LOVE OF OUR NEIGHBOUR.

LOVE your neighbour for God's sake, and God for your Saviour's sake, who creat­ed all things for your sake, and redeemed you for his mercy's sake. If your love hath any other motive, it is false love; if your motive hath any other end, it is self love. If you neglect your love to your neighbour, in vain you profess your love to God; for [Page 122] by your love to God, your love to your neighbour is acquired; and by your love to your neighbour, your love to God is nour­ished.

ALL men of estates are, in effect, but trus­tees for the benefit of the distressed, and will be so reckoned when they are to give an ac­count.

WE may hate men's vices without any ill will to their persons; but we cannot help despising those that have no kind of virtue to recommend them.

HE that makes any thing his chief good, wherein virtue, reason and humanity do not bear a part, can never do the offices of friend­ship, justice or liberality.

A REGARD to decency and the common punctilios of life, has been often serviceable to society. It has kept many a married cou­ple unseparated, and frequently preserves a neighbourly intercourse, where love and friendship have both been wanting.

IT is providential that our affection di­minishes in proportion as our friend's power increases. Affection is of less importance, whenever a person can support himself. It is on this account that younger brothers are oft beloved more than their elders; and that Benjamin is the favourite.

"LOVE worketh no ill to his neighbour;" therefore, if we have true benevolence, we will never do any thing injurious to individ­uals, [Page 123] or to society. Those very comprehen­sive moral precepts our Saviour has gracious­ly left with us, which can never fail to direct us aright, if fairly and honestly applied, such as, "whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, even so do unto them." There is no occasion, great or small, on which you may not safely apply this rule, for the di­rection of your conduct; and whilst our hearts honestly adhere to it, we can never be guilty of any sort of injustice, or unkindness.

MARRIAGE.

MARRIAGE is certainly a condition, upon which the happiness or misery of life does very much depend; more than indeed most people think beforehand. To be confined to live with one perpetually, for whom we have no liking and esteem, must certainly be an uneasy state. There had need be a great many good qualities to reconcile a constant conversation with one, where there is some share of kindness, but without love, the very best of all good qual­ities will never make a constant conversation [Page 124] easy and delightful. And whence proceed those innumerable domestic miseries, that plague and utterly confound so many fami­lies, but from want of love and kindness in the wife or husband; from these come their neglect and careless management of affairs at home, and their profuse extravagant ex­penses abroad. In a word, it is not easy, as it is not needful, to recount the evils that a­rise abundantly, from the want of conjugal affection only. And since this is so certain, a man or woman runs the most fearful haz­ard that can be, who marries without their affection in themselves, and without good assurances of it in the other.

LET love advise you before you chuse, and your choice be fixed before you marry. Remember the happiness or misery of your life depends upon this one act, and that nothing but death can dissolve the knot.

A SINGLE life is doubtless preferable to a married one, where prudence and affection do not accompany the choice; but where they do, there is no terrestrial happiness e­qual to the married state.

THERE cannot be too near an equality, too exact a harmony betwixt a married cou­ple; it is a step of such weight as calls for all our foresight and penetration, and, espe­cially the temper and education must be at­tended to. In unequal matches the men are [Page 125] generally more in fault than the women, who can seldom be chusers.

MARRIAGES founded on affection are the most happy. Love (says Addison) ought to have shot its roots deep, and to be well grown before we enter into that state. There is nothing which more nearly concerns the peace of mankind—it is his choice in this respect on which his happiness or misery for life depends.

THOUGH Solomon's description of a wise and good woman, may be thought too mean and mechanical for this refined generation; yet certain it is, that the business of a family is the most profitable and honorable study they can employ themselves in.

THE best dowry to advance the marriage of a young lady is, when she has in her counte­nance, mildness; in her speech, wisdom; in her behaviour, modesty; and in her life, virtue.

BETTER is a portion in a wife, than with a wife.

AN inviolable fidelity, good humour and complacency of temper in a wife, outlive all the charms of a fine face, and make the de­cays of it invisible.

THE surest way of governing both a pri­vate family and a kingdom, is, for a husband [Page 126] and a prince to yield at certain times some­thing of their prerogative.

A GOOD wife, says Solomon, is a good por­tion; and there is nothing of so much worth as a mind well instructed.

SWEETNESS of temper, affection to her husband and attention to his interest, consti­tute the duties of a wife, and form the basis of matrimonial felicity. The idea of power on either side, should be totally banished. It is not sufficient, that the husband should nev­er have occasion to regret the want of it; the wife must so behave, that he may never be conscious of possessing it.

MEDIOCRITY.

WHEN a man has got such a great and exalted soul, as that he can look upon life and death, riches and poverty, with indiffer­ence; and closely adhere to probity and truth, in whatever shapes they may appear; then it is that virtue appears with such a brightness as that all the world must admire her beauties.

MERIT.

HOW many men of extra­ordinary parts and merit have died un­known? How many are there who still at this time live unknown, and who will never be taken any notice of? Nature produces [Page 128] merit, virtue carries it to perfection, and for­tune gives it the power of acting.

TRUE merit is not afraid of being effaced by that of others. We judge of the merit of men by the usefulness of their actions, and there are a great many men valued in the world, who have no other merit than vices profitable to commerce and society. The more true merit a man has, the more does he applaud it in others. Real merit gains a man the esteem of good men, but it is only fate and chance that gains him that of the multitude.

MEN of mean qualities shew but little fa­vour to great virtues; a lofty wisdom offends an ordinary reason.

SUPERIORITY of virtue is the most unpar­donable provocation that can be given to a base mind. Innocence is too amiable to be beheld without hatred; and it is a sacred ac­knowledgment of merit which the wicked are betrayed into, when they pursue good men with violence. This behaviour visibly proceeds from a consciousness in them, that other people's virtues upbraid their own want of it.

[Page 129]WE ought not to judge of men's merits by their qualifications, but by the use they make of them.

IT is a thing exceedingly rare to distinguish virtue and fortune. The most impious, if prosperous, are always applauded; the most virtuous, if unprosperous, are sure to be des­pised.

OUR good qualities often expose us to more hatred and persecution, than all the ill we do.

THE common people are oft but ill judg­es of a man's merit; they are slaves to fame, their eyes are dizzled with the pomp, and titles and large retinue, and then no wonder if they bestow their honours on those who least deserve them.

IN the flourishing commonwealth of Greece and Rome, it was either some brave action against the enemy, or eminent justice, virtue or ability, that raised one man above anoth­er; wealth had no share in it.

THE world is a theatre, the best actors are those that represent their parts most natural­ly; but the wisest are seldom the heroes in the play. It is not to be considered (says Epic­tetus) [Page 130] who is prince, or who is beggar, but who acts the prince or the beggar best.

IT is true greatness that constitutes glory, and virtue is the cause of both. But vice and ignorance taint the blood, and an un­worthy behaviour degrades and disennobles the man, more than birth and fortune ag­grandize and exalt him.

WHAT need has a great man of any for­eign aid to promote the regard that is due to his merit, when a certain air of noble sim­plicity, and forgetfulness of his own gran­deur, will not fail to attract the public atten­tion; since shutting his eyes upon himself is an infallible way to open all the world's upon him.

LEWIS the fourteenth, though a king, re­warded merit and encouraged literature. Plutarch has a fine expression, with regard to some women of learning, humility and virtue—that her ornaments were such as might be purchased without money, and would render any woman's life glorious and happy. Adam signifies earth, and Eve life, But not to insist upon Hebrew definitions, man was originally made of the dead earth— but woman of the living man—therefore, of a more excellent nature.

MERIT must take a great compass to rise, if not assisted by favour.

IT is not always to merit that we ought to ascribe the fame a man has got in the [Page 131] world, chance often contributing greatly to it. How many illustrious geniuses, learned men, fine painters, great sculptors and excel­lent architects, have been unknown for want of meeting with some favourable opportuni­ty of displaying their knowledge and talents to the world.

MEMORY.

MEMORY (says Mr. Locke) is, as it were, the storehouse of our ideas, and of so great moment, that where it is wanting, all the rest of our faculties are in a great measure useless.

THE memory of good and worthy actions gives a quicker relish to the soul, than ever it could take in the highest enjoyments of youth.

MISFORTUNE.

SINCE misfortunes cannot be avoided, let them be generously borne. It is not for any sort of men to expect an exemption from the common lot of mankind; and no person is truly great but he that keeps up the same dignity of mind in all condi­tions.

IT is a comfort to the miserable to have companions in this sad state. This may seem to be a kind of malicious satisfaction, that one man derives from the misfortunes of a­nother; but the philosophy of this reflection stands upon another foundation; for our comfort does not arise from others being miserable, but from this inference upon the balance that we suffer only the lot of human nature; and as we are happy or miserable compared to others, so others are miserable or happy compared to us By which justice of providence, we come to be convinced of the sin, and the mistake of our ingratitude.

IN any adversity that happens to us in the world, we ought to consider that misery and affliction are not less natural than snow and hail, storm and tempest, and it were as rea­sonable to hope for a year without winter, [Page 134] as for a life without trouble. Life, how sweet soever it seems, is a draught mixed with bitter ingredients; some drink deeper than others before they come at them; but if they do not swim at the top, for youth to taste them, it is ten to one but old age will find them thick at the bottom; and it is the employment of faith and patience, and the work of wisdom and virtue, to teach us to drink the sweet part down with pleasure and thankfulness, and to swallow the bitter with­out reluctance.

THERE is no accident so exquisitely un­fortunate, but wise men will make some ad­vantage [Page 135] of it; nor any so entirely fortunate, but fools may turn it to their own prejudice. One advantage gained by calamities, is to know how to sympathize with others in the like troubles. It is often found, that to be armed against calamities with a tranquil mind, is either a sure way to avoid them, or at least to protract the season of their arrival; and if there was nothing else in it, but the rendering of them the more tolerable when they happen, it would be prudent to try the experiment.

HUMAN life is so full of lamentable e­vents, that either for ourselves, or for our fellow creatures, we find continual subject for mourning; and thus that benevolence, which is the very essence of virtue, contrib­utes to make us wretched.

IN human life there is a constant change of fortune; and it is unreasonable to expect an exemption from the common fate.

WHERE there is no conflict, there is no conquest; and where there is no conquest, there is no crown.

EVILS inevitable are always best support­ed, because known to be past amendment; and felt to give defiance to struggling. Few are the days of unmixed felicity, which we acknowledge while we experience; though [Page 136] many are those we deplore, when by sorrow taught their value, and by misfortune their loss.

WHEN a misfortune is impending, I cry, God forbid—but when it falls upon me, I say, God be praised.

THERE is no knowing how the heart will bear those misfortunes which have been con­templated but never felt. We are but lit­tle affected by a distant view of evils, and it is good for our peace that it should be so.

MORTALITY.

COULD we draw back the covering of the tomb! could we see, what those are now who once were mortal, Oh! how would it surprise and grieve us, to be­hold [Page 137] the prodigious transformation that has taken place on every individual; grieve us to observe the dishonour done to our nature in general, within these subterraneous lodg­ments! Here, the sweet and winning aspect, that wore perpetually an attractive smile, grins horribly a naked—ghastly skull.— The eye that outshone the diamond's lustre, and glancing her lovely lightning into the most guarded heart: Alas! where is it? Where shall we find the rolling sparkler? How are all those radiant glories totally— totally eclipsed! The tongue that once com­manded all the charms of harmony, and all the powers of eloquence, in this strange land, "has forgot its cunning." Where are now those strains of melody, which ravished our ears? Where is that flow of persuation, which carried captive our judgments? The great master of language and of song, is become silent as the night that surrounds him.

MODESTY AND IMPUDENCE.

MODESTY has a natural tendency to conceal a man's talents, as im­pudence displays them to the utmost, and has been the only cause why many have risen in the world, under all the disadvanta­ges of low birth and little merit. Such in­dolence and incapacity is there in the gen­erality of mankind, that they are apt to re­ceive a man for whatever he has a mind to put himself off for, and admit his over bear­ing airs, as proofs of that merit which he as­sumes to himself.

A DECENT assurance seems to be the nat­ural attendant on virtue; and few men can distinguish impudence from it; as, on the other hand, diffidence being the natural re­sult of vice and folly, has drawn disgrace up­on modesty, which in outward appearance so nearly resembles it.

AS impudence, though really a vice, has the same effect upon a man's fortune, as if it were a virtue, so we may observe, that it is almost as difficult to be obtained, and is, in that respect, distinguished from all the other vices which are acquired with little pains, and continually increase upon indulgence. [Page 139] Many a man being sensible that modesty is exceedingly prejudicial to him in making his fortune, has resolved to be impudent, and put a bold face upon the matter; but it is observable, that such people have seldom succeeded in their attempts, but have been obliged to relapse into their primitive mod­esty. Nothing carries a man through the world, like a true, genuine, natural impu­dence; its counterfeit is good for nothing, nor can ever support itself. If any thing can give a modest man more assurance, it must be some advantages of fortune which chance procured to him. Riches naturally gain a man a favourable reception in the world, and give merit a double lustre, when a person is endowed with it. It is wonder­ful to observe what airs of superiority fools and knaves, with large possessions, give them­selves, above men of the greatest merit, in poverty. Nor do the men of merit make a­ny strong opposition to those usurpations, but rather seem to favour them by the mod­esty of their behaviour.

To make wisdom agree with imudence, is as difficult as to reconcile vice and modesty. These are the reflections which have occur­red upon this subject of modesty and impu­dence, and I hope the reader will not be dis­pleased to see them wrought into the follow­ing allegory.

[Page 140]JUPITER in the beginning joined Virtue, Wisdom and Confidence together; and Vice, Folly and Diffidence; and thus connected, sent them into the world. But though he thought he had matched them with great judgment, and said, that Confidence was the natural companion of Virtue, and that Vice deserved to be attended with Diffidence, they had not gone far before dissension arose among them. Wisdom, who was the guide of the one company, was always accustomed, before she ventured on any road, however beaten, to examine is carefully, to enquire whither it led; what dangers difficulties, or hindrances might possibly, or probably occur in it. In these deliberations she usually con­sumed some time, which delay was very dis­pleasing to Confidence, who was always in­clined to hurry on, without much fore­thought or deliberation, in the first road he met. Wisdom and Virtue were inseparable; but Confidence one day following his impet­uous nature, advanced a considerable way before his guides and companions, and not feeling any want of their company, he never enquired after them, nor ever met with them more. In like manner, the other society, though joined by Jupiter, disagreed and sep­arated. As Folly saw very little way before her, she had nothing to determine concern­ing the goodness of [...] nor could give the preference to one above another, and [Page 141] their want of resolution increased by Diffi­dence, who, with her doubts and scruples always retarded the journey. This was a great annoyance to Vice, who loved not to hear of difficulties and delays, and was nev­er satisfied without his full career in whatev­er his inclinations led him to. Folly, he knew, though she hearkened to Diffidence, would be easily managed when alone, there­fore, as a vicious horse throws its rider, he openly beat away this controller of his plea­sures, and proceeded on his journey with Folly, from whom he is inseparable. Con­fidence and Diffidence, being after this man­ner both thrown loose from their respective companions, wandered about for some time; till at last chance led them at the same time to the same village. Confidence went directly up to the great house, which belonged to Wealth, the lord of the village, and without staying for a porter, intruded himself imme­diately into the innermost appartments, where he found Vice and Folly were receiv­ed before him. He joined the train, recom­mended himself very quickly to his landlord, and entered into such familiarity with Vice, that he was enlisted in the same company with Folly. They were frequent guests with Wealth, and from that moment inseparable. Diffidence in the mean time, not daring to approach the great house, accepted of an in­vitation from one of the tenants, and enter­ing [Page 142] the cottage found Wisdom and Virtue, who, being repulsed by the landlord, had re­tired thither.

VIRTUE took compassion on her, and Wis­dom found from her temper, that she would easily improve, so they admitted her into their society. Accordingly by their means, she altered, in a little time, somewhat of her manner; and becoming much more amiable and engaging, was now called by the name of Modesty.

As ill company has a greater effect than good. Confidence, though more refractory to counsel and example, degenerated so far by the society of Vice and Folly, as to pass by the name of Impudence.

MANKIND, who saw these societies as Ju­piter first joined them, and knew nothing of those mutual dissensions, are thereby led into strange mistakes, and whenever they see Im­pudence, make account of Virtue and Wis­dom; and oft when they observe Modesty, call her attendants Vice and Folly.

A MAN without modesty, is lost to all sense of honour and virtue.

MODESTY is sure the chief ornament of our sex, and cannot be blameable in the men; [Page 143] it is one of the most amiable qualities that either man or woman can possess.

THERE scarce can be named one quality that is amiable in a woman, which is not be­coming in a man, not excepting even modes­ty and gentleness of nature.

THE modesty of women prevails more than their power, riches or beauty. Mod­esty in your discourse, will give a lustre to truth, and an excuse to your errors.

IT has been said, that when Jove created the passions, he assigned to every one of them its destined abode; modesty was forgotten, and when she was introduced to him, he knew not where to place her; she was therefore or­dered to consort with all the rest; ever since that time she is inseparable from them; she is the friend of truth, and betrays the lie that dares attack it; she is in a strict and in­timate unity with love; she always attends, and frequently discovers and proclaims it; love, in a word, loses its charms, whenever it appears without her. There is not a more glorious ornament for either sex, than mod­esty.

THE first of all virtues is innocence, the next is modesty. If we banish modesty out of the world, she carries away with her half the virtues that are in it.

MODESTY makes large amends for the pain it gives the persons who labour under [Page 144] it, by the prejudice it affords every worthy person in its favour.

AS real modesty is the beauty of the mind, so an affectation of it, as much disgraces a perfect mind, as art and an affected dress do a perfect face.

MUSIC.

IF we consider music mere­ly as an entertainment, doubtless the author of all good designed the pleasing harmony and melody of sounds (among other purpo­ses) to heighten the innocent pleasures of hu­man life, and to alleviate and dispel its cares. When we are oppressed with sorrow and grief, it can enliven and exhilerate our droop­ing spirits. When we are elated, and as it were, intoxicated with excessive joy, (for joy may be excessive and even dangerous) it can moderate the violence of the passions, bring us down from the giddy height and reduce us to a state of tranquillity. If inflamed with anger, or boiling with rage, it can soft­en us into pity, or melt us into compassion. In a word, hatred, malice, envy and all the hideous group of infernal passions, which are [Page 145] at once the torment and disgrace of human­ity, flee before this powerful charmer, who, not content with this conquest, goes on, if we listen to her enchanting strains, refining our passions, and cherishing those virtuous im­pulses, and that gentleness of manners in the soul, which every one feels, who has not stifled them by sensuality, baseness, or villa­ny; of these latter,

SHAKESPEARE, that sagacious piercer into human nature, writes thus:

MUSIC is one of the seven sciences, and is justly admired by all people of a fine taste, and who love the liberal arts. A man who has no taste for music, is destitute of a feel­ing, which we are informed will be of high estimation in another system. The want of a taste for music, is a sign of a barbarous dis­position, and those who are not affected with its charms, are, in character, something be­low the beasts of the field. A taste for this art does not imply that a person is an actu­al performer upon an instrument, or that he is a good singer; both judgment and taste for [Page 146] music, may be where the power of the or­gans, that are necessary for execution, are wanting. A person may have a bad voice, and yet be delighted with a good song, and be a good judge of singing; he may be pleas­ed with a tune upon the violin or harpsicord, and yet not be able to perform upon either. Such as do not love music, are persons that few chuse to keep company with.

HUMAN NATURE.

NOTWITHSTANDING the degeneracy and meanness that is crept into human nature, there are a thousand actions in which it breaks through its original corrup­tion, and shews what it once was, and what it will be hereafter. We may consider the soul of man, as the ruin of a glorious pile of building; where, amidst the heaps of rub­bish, you meet with noble fragments of sculp­ture, [Page 147] broken pillars and obelisks, and a mag­nificence in confusion. Virtue and wisdom are continually employed in clearing the ru­ins, removing these disorderly heaps, recov­ering the noble piles that lie buried under them, and adjusting them as well as possible, according to their ancient symmetry and beau­ty. A happy education, conversation with the finest spirits, looking abroad into the works of nature, and observations upon man­kind, are the greatest assistances to this neces­sary and glorious work. But even among those who have never had the happiness of any of these advantages, there are sometimes such exertions of the greatness that is natur­al to the mind of man, as shew capacities and abilities that need only those accidental helps to fetch them out, and shew them in a prop­er light. A plebeian soul is still the ruin of this glorious edifice, though encumbered with all its rubbish.

DISCOURSES of religion and morality, and reflections upon human nature are the best means we can make use of to improve our minds, and gain a true knowledge of our­selves; and consequently to recover our souls out of the vice, ignorance and prejudice which naturally cleave to them.

THERE is nothing which favours and falls in with the natural greatness and dignity of human nature, so much as religion; which does not only promise the entire refinement [Page 148] of the mind, but the glorifying of the body, and the immortality of both.

IT is with the mind as with the will and appetites; for, as after we have tried a thous­and pleasures, and turned from one enjoy­ment to another, we find no rest to our de­sires, till we at last fix them upon the sov­ereign good; so in pursuit of knowledge, we meet with no tolerable satisfaction to our minds, till after we are weary with tracing other methods, we turn them upon the one supreme and unerring truth. And were there no other use of human learning, there is this in it, that by its many defects, it brings us to a sense of our weakness, and makes us readi­ly and with greater willingness, submit to revelation.

IT is according to nature to be merciful, for no man that has not divested himself of humanity can be hardhearted to others, with­out feeling a pain in himself.

THE wise and good will ever be loved and honoured as the glory of human nature.

NOBILITY.

IT is the saying of a great man, that if we would trace our descents, we should find all slaves to come from princes, and all princes from slaves. But fortune has turned all things topsyturvy, in a long story of revolutions. Though it matters not whence we came, but what we are; nor is the glory of our ancestors any more to our honour, than the wickedness of their poster­ity is to their disgrace.

IT matters not from what stock we are de­scended, so long as we have virtue; for that alone is true nobility.

[Page 150]BE not deceived by the splendor of riches, to overlook the claim of unassuming merit; prefer not the title to the man.

WEALTH and titles are only the gifts of fortune; but peace and contentment are the peculiar endowments of a well disposed mind.

THE greatest ornament of an illustrious life, is modesty and humility, which go a great way in the character of the most exalt­ed princes.

NOBILITY is to be considered only as an imaginary distinction, unless accompanied with the practice of those generous virtues by which it ought to be obtained.

TITLES of honour conferred upon such as have no personal merit to deserve them, are, at best, but the royal stamp set upon base metal.

TITLES of honour are like the impressions on coin—which add no value to gold and silver, but only render brass current.

Great qualities make great men. Who, says Seneca, is a gentleman? The man whom nature has disposed, and as it were, cut out for virtue. This man is well born indeed; for he wants nothing else to make him noble, who has a mind so generous, that he can rise above, and triumph over fortune, let his con­dition be what it will.

HE that boasts of his ancestors confesses he has no virtue of his own. No other person [Page 151] hath lived for our honour; nor ought that to be reputed ours, which was long before we had a being; for what advantage can it be to a blind man that his parents had good eyes? Does he see one whit the better?

THIS one advantage is observable in being nobly born, that it makes men sensible they are allied to virtue, and lays stronger obli­gations on them not to degenerate from the excellencies of their ancestors.

THERE is no nobility like that of a great heart; for it never stoops to artifice, nor is wanting in good offices, where they are sea­sonable.

THERE is a nobility without heraldry. There is no true glory, no true greatness with­out virtue; without which we do but abuse all the good things we have, whether they be great or little, false or real. A high pedi­gree makes a man take up with the virtues of his ancestors, without endeavouring to acquire any himself.

TITLE and ancestry render a good man more illustrious, but an ill one more con­temptible. Vice is infamous, though in a prince; and virtue honourable, though in a peasant.

MEN, in former ages, though simple and plain were great in themselves, and inde­pendent on a thousand things, which are since invented, to supply perhaps that true greatness which is now extinct.

[Page 152]WE may observe some of our noble coun­trymen, who come with high advantage, and a worthy character into the public. But, ere they have long engaged in it, their worth unhappily becomes venal, Equipages, titles, precedences, staffs, ribbands and such like glittering ware, are taken in exchange for in­ward merit and true honour. They may be induced to change their honest measures, and sacrifice their cause and friends to an imag­inary interest; and, after this, act farces as they are fit, and hear qualities and virtues assigned to them, under the titles of graces, excellencies and the rest of this mock praise, and mimical appellation. They may even, with serious looks, be [...]ld of honour and worth, their principle and their country; but must be sensible that the world knows better, and that their few friends and admir­ers have either a very shallow sense, or a ve­ry profound hypocrisy.

ALL things have some kind of standard, by which the natural goodness of them is to be measured. We do not therefore esteem a ship to be good because she is curiously carved, painted and gilded; but because she is fitted for all the purposes of navigation, which is the proper end of a ship. It should be so likewise in our esteem of men, who are not so much to be valued for the grandeur of their estates or titles, as for their inward goodness and excellence.

[Page 153]VIRTUE can render the meanest name great—and vice turn the greatest into con­tempt.—Listen, ye plebeians and ye peers.

PEOPLE in high or distinguished life, ought to have a great circumspection in regard to their most trivial actions. Titles make a greater distinction than is almost tolerable to a British spirit. They almost vary the spe­cies; yet, as they are oftentimes conferred, seem not so much the reward, as the substi­tutes of merit.

PEOPLE of superior birth, fortune or edu­cation, ought to maintain their superiority by their intellectual acquirements, in which they are not likely to be surpassed, or even equalled by those in lower stations, who have had none of their opportunities to im­prove themselves.

OBLIGATIONS.

HAVE I obliged any body, or done the world any service? If so, the action has rewarded me; this answer will encourage good nature, therefore let it al­ways be at hand.

A MAN cannot be bound by one benefit to suffer all sorts of injuries, for there are some cases wherein we lie under no obligation for a benefit, because a greater injury absolves it. As for example, a man helps me out of a law suit, and afterwards commits a rape up­on my daughter; where, the following im­piety cancels the antecedent obligation. A man lends me a little money, then sets my house on fire; the debtor is here turned cred­itor, because the injury outweighs the bene­fit: Nay, if he does but so much as repent the good office done, and grow four and in­solent upon it, and upbraid me with it; if he did it only for his own sake, or for any other reason than for mine, I am in some de­gree more or less acquitted of the obliga­tion.

[Page 155]A CERTAIN person once had done me a sin­gular piece of service, but had afterwards be­haved himself very unworthily towards me. An occasion soon occurred which put it into my power to requite his ill offices; and I was urged to take advantage of it, by a friend of mine—or rather, an enemy of his. I ob­jected, that this man had formerly obliged and served me. True, he replied, but sure­ly his ill behaviour since that time, has suf­ficiently cancelled both the service and the obligation. By no means, merchants' ac­compts are never to be admitted into the higher and more liberal commerce of friend­ship. A person who has once obliged, has put it out of his power ever after to disoblige us. The scripture has inculcated a precept, to forgive our enemies; how much stronger then must the text imply, the forgiveness of our friends? The disobligation, therefore, being thus cancelled by religion, leaves the obligation without abatement in moral. A kindness can never be cancelled—not even by repaying it.

OATHS.

THE lawful use and end of swearing, is, to put an end to all strife, and to maintain both equity and charity among men; the two bonds and ligaments of soci­ety. Now, since it is the sovereign right and property of God alone, infallibly to search and try the hearts of men, he therefore be­comes the infallible witness of the truth or falshood of what they speak; so that in eve­ry such lawful oath, there is not only a sol­emn appeal, and in that appeal an inscrip­tion of glory to his sovereign omniscience, but therein they put themselves under his wrath and curse, in case they swear falsely, which makes this action most sacred and solemn.

BUT to break in rudely and blasphemous­ly upon the sacred and tremendous name of God, with bold and full mouthed oaths, striking through his sacred name with direct, contumelious blasphemies, this argues a heart from which all fear of God is utterly expelled and banished. Yet some there are, grown up to that prodigious height of impiety, that they dare assault the very heav­ens, and discharge whole vollies of blasphe­mies [Page 157] against that glorious majesty which dwells there. They are not afraid to bid defiance to him, and challenge the God that made them to do his worst. They deck (as they account it) their common discourses with oaths, and horrid imprecations, not esteem­ing them genteel and modish without. It consists not with the greatness of their spir­its to be wicked at the common rate. They are willing to demonstrate to the world, that they are none of those puny, silly fellows that are afraid of invisible powers, or so much of a coward as to clip a full mouthed oath, by suppressing, or whispering the emphatical sounding syllable, but think a horrid blas­phemy makes the most sweet and graceful cadency in the hellish rhetorick. If there be a God, which they scarce believe, they are resolved audaciously to provoke him, to give them a convincing evidence of his Being. And if he be, as they are told he is, rich in patience and forbearance, they are resolved to try how far his patience will extend, and what load of wickedness it is capable to bear. If therefore destruction be not sure enough, they will do their utmost to make it so, by treading down the only bridge where they can escape it, that is, by trampling under their feet the precious blood and wounds of the Son of God, and imprecating the dam­nation of hell upon their souls, as if it slum­bered [Page 158] too long, and was too slow paced in its motion towards them.

IT is common for some men to swear, only to fill up the vacuities of their empty dis­course.

COMMON swearing argues in a man, a per­petual distrust of his own reputation, and is an acknowledgment that he thinks his bare word not worthy of credit.

THE man of the world—the all accomplish­ed—Earl of Chesterfield says, "I was even absurd enough, for a little while, to swear, by way of adorning and completing the shin­ing character of the man of fashion, or pleas­ure, which I affected; but this folly I soon laid aside, upon finding both the guilt, and the indecency of it. Listen ye Stanhopean pretenders, ye pretenders to politesse.

THE great Dr. Desagulier being invited to make one of an illustrious company, one of whom, an officer present, being unhappily addicted to swearing in his discourse, at the period of every oath, would continually ask the doctor's pardon; the doctor bore this levity for some time with patience; at length he was necessitated to silence the swearer with this fine rebuke: "Sir, you have taken some pains to render me ridiculous (if possible) by your pointed apologies; now Sir, I am to tell you, If God Almighty does not hear you, I assure you I will never tell him."

THE infamous, though common practice of cursing and swearing, upon the most triv­ial occasions, and of using the name of God irreverently, prevails shamefully with many who are pleased to call themselves Christians; nor is this custom less ridiculous than impi­ous, as it is the only crime which human na­ture is capable of committing, that neither proposes pleasure nor profit for its end.

OPPRESSION.

THERE is a species of op­pression that custom (and a bad custom it is) has made too familiar to the inhabitants of this isle, that is, the confinement of the per­son of their fellow creatures, for debt, &c. under sanction of the law; indeed law is necessary for the protection of our property, and there are men of strict honour, probity and humanity in that profession, who do honour to it; but these are not the men who advise arrests, imprisonments and destruc­tion, that would lay waste a whole family, merely to put money in his purse; such on­ly are the proceedings of the dregs of that profession.

THE sentiments of humanity incline us to comfort the miserable, and it is a failing in the most essential duties, to abandon them in their present occasions; but it is almost ex­cess of cruelty to insult them in their misfor­tunes. A man under any misfortune is to be pitied: If you have not the generosity to lend him your hand to retrieve him, do not add a new weight to his disgrace to sink him utterly. And yet men are so brutal and un­merciful, as to load a man with the most se­vere [Page 161] censure, who is unfortunate. The first thought that occurs is, to dive into the rea­son of his distress. They neither offer in his behalf the misfortune of the times, nor the posture of affairs and conjuncture of things, but will absolutely have him guilty of meriting all that has befallen him and in­vent a thousand malicious stories to discredit and ruin him beyond recovery. Detestable practice! Can such persons call themselves men? No! their actions are too evident a proof of the brutal, instead of the rational mind. The wounded porpoise is pursued to absolute destruction by his fellow fish, and the stricken deer is denied shelter by his most customary associates; but surely such prac­tices must forfeit all title to humanity.

HOW justly does Mr. Somerville, in his chace, compare such persons to a pack of hounds worrying one of their wounded spe­cies to death.

[Page 162]EVEN the honest heart, that never knew what it was to owe, and unable to answer the due demand, can scarce form an idea of what it is to breathe the air at the mercy of another: To labour, to struggle to be just, whilst the cruel world is loading you with the guilt of injustice.

PAST enjoyments do not alleviate present evils; whereas the evils a man has endured heighten the present satisfactions.

NO man has a thorough taste of prosperi­ty, to whom adversity never happened. It is better to suffer without a cause, than that there should be a cause for our suffering.

IT is inhuman and arrogant, to insult over a penitent delinquent.

POLITENESS.

POLITENESS taught as an art is ridiculous; as the expression of liberal sentiment and courteous manners, it is truly valuable.

POLITENESS is an evenness of soul, which excludes at the same time both insensibility and too much earnestness. It supposes a quick discernment, to perceive immediately [Page 163] the different characters of men; and by an easy condescension, adapts itself to each man's taste; not to flatter, but to calm his passions. In a word, it is a forgetting of ourselves, in order to seek whatever may be agreeable in others: But in so delicate a manner, as to let them scarce perceive we are so employed: It knows how to contradict with respect, and please without adulation; and is equally remote from an insipid com­plaisance, and a mean familiarity.

THERE is a politeness of the heart which is confined to no rank, and dependant upon no education; the desire of obliging seldom fails, (if joined with delicacy of sentiment to please) though the stile may differ from that of modern refinement.

[Page 164]TRUE politeness is a science not to be ac­quired in schools. Nature must bestow a genius; and that genius must be improved by reading authors of delicacy and spirit; and heightened by a freedom of conversation with persons of taste. It is an enemy to all kind of constraint, does every thing with ease, and though certain never to offend, is never at the expense of flattery to oblige.

BE careful to observe the distinction be­tween over strained complaisance and true politeness—between false delicacy and true.

HE that is truly polite, knows how to con­tradict with respect, and to please without adulation; and is equally remote from an insipid complaisance, and a low familiarity.

MERIT and good breeding will make their way every where. Knowledge will introduce you, and good breeding will endear you to the best of companies; for, politeness and good breeding are absolutely necessary to a­dorn any, or all other good qualities or tal­ents. Without them no knowledge, no per­fection whatever, is seen in its best light. The scholar, without good breeding, is a pe­dant; the philosopher a cynic; the soldier a brute; and every one disagreeable. If a man accosts you, and talks to you ever so dully or frivolously, it is worse than rude­ness, it is brutality, to shew him, by a mani­fest inattention to what he says, that you think him a fool, or a blockhead, and not [Page 165] worth hearing. It is much more so with re­gard to women, who, of whatever rank they are, are entitled, in consideration of their sex, not only to an attention, but an officious good breeding from men. The most familiar hab­itudes, connexions, and friendships, require a degree of good breeding else their intimacy will soon degenerate into a coarse familiari­ty, infallibly productive of contempt or dis­gust.

POLITENESS and modesty are becoming in all men, but especially in those whom for­tune has raised above others.

GOOD breeding is the result of much good sense, some good nature, and a little self de­nial for the sake of others, and with a view to obtain the same indulgence from them. Good manners are, to particular societies, what good morals are to society in general, their cement and their security.

WORLDLY politeness is no more than an imitation, or imperfect copy of Christian charity, being the pretence or outward ap­pearance of that deference to the judgment, and attention to the interests of others; which a true Christian has as the rule of his life, and the disposition of his heart.

WHATEVER sphere a man has been bred in, or attained to, religion is not an injury, but an addition to the politeness of his carriage. They seem indeed to confess their relation to one another, by their reciprocal influence. In quick [Page 166] promiscuous conversation, as true religion contributes to make men decent or courteous, so true politeness guards them effectually from any outrage against piety or purity.

TO be perfectly polite, one must have a great presence of mind, with a delicate and quick sense of propriety, or, in other words, one should be able to form an instantaneous judgment of what is fittest to be done, on eve­ry occasion as it offers. I have known one or two persons, who seemed to owe this ad­vantage to nature only, and to have the pe­culiar happiness of being born, as it were, with another sense, by which they had an im­mediate perception of what was proper and improper, in cases absolutely new to them; but this is the lot of very few. It must every where be good breeding, to set your compan­ions in an advantageous point of light, by giving each an opportunity of displaying their most agreeable talents, and by carefully avoiding all occasions of exposing their de­fects;—to exert your own endeavours to please, and to amuse, but not to outshine them:—To give each their due share of at­tention and notice:—Not engrossing the talk, when others are desirous to speak, nor suffer­ing the conversation to flag, for want of in­troducing something to continue or renew the subject. In honour preferring one another. We should be perfectly easy, and make oth­ers so if we can. But this happy case be­longs [Page 167] perhaps to the last stage of perfection in politeness—but a real desire of obliging, and a respectful attention, will in a great measure supply many defects.

POVERTY.

IN seeking virtue, if you find poverty, be not ashamed, the fault is not yours. Your honour or dishonour is pur­chased by your own actions; though virtue gives a ragged livery, she gives a golden cog­nizance. If her service make you poor, blush not; your poverty may prove disadvantage­ous to you, but cannot dishonour you.

TO feel the extremity of want, and be always under discipline and mortification, must be very uncomfortable: But then we are to con­sider, that the world will either mend or wear off, and that the discharge will come shortly, and the hardship turn to advantage; that the contest is commendable and brave, and that 'tis dangerous and dishonourable to surren­der.

POVERTY falls heavy upon him only, who esteems it a misfortune.

It is more honourable not to have and yet deserve, than to have and not deserve.

THE little value Providence sets upon riches, is seen by the persons on whom it is bestowed. Though want is the scorn of eve­ry wealthy fool, an innocent poverty is yet preferable to all the guilty affluence the world can offer.

THERE is no contending with necessity; and we should be very tender how we censure those that submit to it. It is one thing to be at liberty to do as we will, and another thing to be tied up to do what we must.

OF all poverty, that of the mind is the most deplorable.

IT is in every body's observation with what disadvantage a poor man enters upon the most ordinary business; for as certainly as wealth gives grace and acceptance to all that its pos­sessor says or does, so poverty creates dises­teem, scorn and prejudice to all the under­takings of the indigent. The necessitous man has neither hands, lips, nor understanding [Page 169] for his own, or his friend's use; but is in the same condition with the sick, with this dif­ference only, that his is an infection no man will relieve, or assist; or if he does, 'tis seldom with as much pity as contempt, and rather for the ostentation of the physician, than com­passion on the patient: It is a circumstance, wherein a man finds all the good he deserves inaccessible, all the ill unavoidable; under these pressures, the poor man speaks with hes­itation, undertakes with irresolution, and acts with disappointment; he is slighted in men's conversations, overlooked in their as­semblies, &c. But from whence, alas! has he this treatment? From a creature that has only the support of, but not an exemption from, the wants, for which he despises him; for such is the unaccountable insolence of man, he will not see, that he who is support­ed, is in the same class of natural necessity, as he that wants a support; and to be helped implies to be indigent.

A MAN is not judged by the internal quali­fications of his mind, but by the extent of his house. One who has been in business, and has not gained riches, is said to have done poorly, notwithstanding his mind may be formed by the best of principles, and his ac­tions guided by the highest rules of Christian benevolence; which perhaps was the only cause of his not thriving in temporary wealth in an equal degree with some of his contempo­raries. [Page 170] While some who live as "without God in the world," thoughtless of every con­cern but accumulating wealth, are esteemed of the first rank in the community, and the most able members of society. So much is the truth of that saying verified, that "Mo­ney commands all things."

AMIDST the miseries to which human life is liable, nothing is so generally dreaded as poverty; since it exposes mankind to distres­ses that are but little pitied, and to the con­tempt of those who have no natural endow­ments superiour to our own. Every other difficulty or danger, a man is enabled to en­counter with courage and alacrity, because he knows that his success will meet with ap­plause, for bravery will always find its ad­mirers; but in poverty every virtue is obscur­ed, and no conduct can entirely secure a man from reproach. Cheerfulness, (as an admira­ble author observes) is here insensibility, and dejection, sullenness; its hardships are without honour, and its labours without reward. Not­withstanding this, there is no station more favourable to the growth of virtue, where the seeds of it are previously sown in the mind.

But when poverty is felt in the utmost ex­treme, it then becomes excessively dangerous, and some deviations from rectitude, are per­haps impossible to be avoided.

VICE is covered by wealth, and virtue by poverty.

[Page 171]How many abject souls there are, who es­teem the want of wealth as a want of virtue?

A CONSCIOUSNESS of the rectitude of our in­tentions, tells us, though we are unfortunate, it is not because we are more undeserving than others; nor is our native pride depress­ed by a sense of our poverty. We can see, in idea, Cincinnatus, the great dictator, pre­paring on his hearth the homely repast, with those hands that had subdued the enemies of his country, and borne the triumphal laurel; reflect that Socrates, the reformer, and Mene­nius Agrippa, the arbiter of his country, had been, the one maintained, and the other buried by contribution. And the great Scipio Af­ricanus had been so poor, that the portions of his daughters were paid by the public: Who then would repine at adoption into a family that has been honoured by such illustrious ancestors!

PRAISE.

PRAISE is the tribute due to virtuous deeds, and though it is heartily to be despised, when it comes from the lips [Page 172] of bad men, when we have not a true title to it; yet it is not to be esteemed disagreeable, or undiscreditable when bestowed upon occa­sions where it is really due, and by those who are really judges of virtue. Praise is the re­ward of noble actions: What is more ani­mating to our commanders both by sea and land, than the assurance of their country's applause, for their heroic behaviour. Praise is only to be given when truly merited, and then not in the presence of the party to whom it is due. When Telemachus repaired to the assembly of the confederate kings, after the death of Adrastus, and the Daunians desired peace, we are told, that as soon as they espied him, they were all hushed in expectation to hear him discourse; this made him blush, and he could not be prevailed upon to speak. The praises that were given him by public acclamations, on account of his late action, added to his bash­fulness so, that he would gladly have hid him­self. At length, he desired as a favour, that they would desist from commending him: Not but that I am a lover of praise, said he, especially when it comes from such good judges of virtue; but, I am afraid of loving it too much. Praises are apt to corrupt men; they fill them full of themselves, and render them vain and presumptuous; we ought e­qually to merit and decline them; there is a great likeness between the justest and the falsest [Page 173] praises. Just praises are such as you will give me in my absence, if I am so happy as to deserve them. If you believe me to be really good, you ought also to believe that I am willing to be modest, and would fear vanity; spare me, therefore, if you have any esteem for me, and do not praise me as if I were a man fond of such things. A man ought to blush, when he is praised for perfections he does not pos­sess. Be careful how you receive praise; from good men neither avoid it nor glory in it; from bad men neither desire nor expect it. To be praised of them that are evil, or for that which is evil, is equal dishonour; he is happy in his merit, who is praised by the good, and emulated by the bad.

THEY who deserve least praise themselves, always allow it least to others; for the poor in merit, like all other poor, envy those of supe­rior worth, and would willingly bring them down to their own level.

THE understanding is by nothing more ea­sily vanquished than the artillery of praise, es­pecially if accompanied with the ideas of truth and gravity: It makes its way to the heart, without opposition; and the sense and digni­ty [Page 174] of the speaker conspire with our natural love of it, to give it the sanction of sincer­ity.

NONE are worthy to give true praise, but such as are themselves praise worthy.

PRAISE from the common people is gene­rally false, and rather follows vain persons than virtuous.

LET us constantly follow reason, says Mon­taigne, and let the public approbation follow us the same way, if it pleases.

How satirical is that praise which com­mends a man for virtues, that all the world knows he has not.

THERE is this good in commendation, that it helps to confirm us in the practice of vir­tue.

THE character of the person who commends you is to be considered, before you set a value on his esteem.

THE praises of a worthy person, of whose good sense, penetration and understanding we have an exalted opinion, is certainly—though pleasing to the sense, a most dangerous thing: It is not in fortitude to resist it, it surely makes us vain—unless we catch—and check its ris­ing progress.

SINCERITY and candour ought to season every action of our lives, and even have place in such contests as we may be engaged in with our enemies.

PRAYER.

PRAYER unaccompanied with a fervent love of God, is like a lamp unlighted; the words of the one without love being as unprofitable, as the oil and cotton of the other without flame. "Our wants" says the late Bishop of London (Dr. Gibson) "are daily, and the temptations which draw our hearts from God, to the things of this world are daily, and upon both these accounts our prayers ought also to be daily."

THE said doctor gives the following ad­vice;

"OUR morning prayers will always most properly begin with thanksgivings to almighty God, our Creator and Preserver. In the next place a solemn dedication of ourselves to his service. This followed by petitions, viz. for his grace and assistance to ourselves—for the like in behalf of others.

The evening prayers to begin in the same order, only a confession of sins at the end of the day, and petition must stand in the place of morning dedication—and the conclusion should be with a petition for rest and protec­tion instead of that for a blessing on our bu­siness. [Page 176] —For the Sabbath, the great day of rest, &c." Let your prayers be ever so pro­per in the form and expression, or let your heart accompany them with a devotion ever so intense, still be very careful to avoid the dangerous error of imagining that any merit arises from the most perfect performance of them. They become acceptable to God through Christ alone; and are the means, in­deed, to make you good; but the goodness itself is not in them, no more than a favour among men can be said to be deserved, be­cause asked with humility, propriety and el­egance. If therefore you were to trust merely in them, 'twould be making idols of your pray­ers;—it would be putting them in the place of CHRIST'S atonement, which is quite con­trary to praying, (as an unworthy sinner) in the name of CHRIST.

IF we have not recourse to God with the mind and thoughts that we ought, it looks as if we expected nothing from him; or rather, (seeing our remissness and indolence) it may be said, that we do not deserve to obtain—that we do not value the things that we seem to ask. Yet, God would have what is asked of him, asked with earnestness; and far from taking our importunity ill, he is in some manner well pleased with it. For, in fine, He is the only debtor who thinks himself obliged for the demands that are made upon him. He is the only one that pays what we never lent him. [Page 177] The more he sees us press him, the more liberal he is. He even gives that he does not owe. If we coldly ask, he defers his liberalities; not because he does not love to give, but be­cause he would be pressed, and because vio­lence is agreeable to him.

TERTULLIAN says something like this, of the prayers that the primitive chistians made in common. We meet together, says he, as if we conspired to take by our prayers what we ask of him; this violence is pleasing to him. St. Paul ingeniously explains what Christ teaches in the Gospel, that heaven is taken by violence; "do violence to God," says he, seize the kingdom of heaven. He that forbids us to touch another's goods rejoices to have his own invaded: He that condemns the violence of avarice, praises that of faith.

AS the bones of the human frame connected together, form the skeleton of a man, so re­pentance, faith, hope, charity, love, zeal, hu­mility, patience, resignation, hatred of sin, purity of heart and holiness of life, all united together, make a Christian; but must be ac­companied with prayer, the breath of the new creature, or they will prove like dead corps, lifeless and inactive.

GOING to prayer with bad affections, is like paying one's levee in an undress.

ALL prayer must be made with faith and hope: He who would pray with effect, must live with care and piety: Our prayers must [Page 178] be fervent, intense, earnest and importunate. Our desires must be lasting, and our prayers frequent and continual. God hears us not the sooner for our many words, but much the sooner for our earnest desire. A long prayer and a short differ not in their capaci­ties of being accepted; for both of them take their value, according to the fervency of spirit, and the charity of the prayer. That prayer which is short, by reason of an impatient spi­rit, dullness, slight of holy things, or indiffer­ency of desires, is very often criminal, always imperfect; and that prayer which is long out of ostentation, superstition, or a trifling spirit, is as criminal and imperfect, as the other in their several instances.

WE must be careful in all our prayers to attend our present work, having a present mind, not wandering upon impertinent things, nor distant from our words, much less con­trary to them.

OFTEN pray, and you shall pray oftener; and when you are accustomed to frequent devotion, it will so insensibly unite to your nature and affections, that it will become a trouble to you to omit your usual or appoint­ed prayers; and what you obtain at first by doing violence to your inclinations, at last will be left with as much uneasiness, as that by which at first it entered.

PLEASURE.

THERE is but one solid pleasure in life, and that is, our duty. How miserable then, how unwise, how unpardon­able are they, who make that a pain.

HE that resigns the world, is in a constant possession of a serene mind, but he who fol­lows the pleasures of it, meets with nothing but remorse and confusion.

THE temperate man's pleasures are dura­ble, because they are regular; and all his life is calm and serene, because it is innocent.

HOW wretched is it to consider the care and cost laid out upon luxury and shew, and the general neglect of those shining habits of the mind, which should set us off in real and solid excellencies. When pleasure is pre­dominant, all virtues are of course excluded.

IF sensuality is pleasure, beasts are happier then men; but human felicity is lodged in the soul, not in the flesh.

[Page 180]THE pleasure of virtue, of charity and of learning, is true and lasting pleasure.

THE man whose heart is replete with pure and unaffected piety, who looks upon the father of nature in that just and amiable light, which all his works reflect upon him, cannot fail of tasting the sublimest pleasure, in con­templating the stupendous and innumerable effects of infinite goodness. Whether he looks abroad on the natural or the moral world, his reflections must still be attended with de­light; and the sense of his own unworthiness, so far from lessening, will increase his pleas­ure, while it places the forbearing kindness and indulgence of his creator in a still more interesting point of view. Here his mind may dwell upon the present, look back to the past, or stretch forward into futurity with equal satisfaction; and, the more he indulges contemplation, the higher will his delight a­rise. Such a disposition as this, seems to be the most secure foundation on which the fab­ric of pleasure can be built.

THE contemplation of the beauties of the universe, the cordial enjoyments of friendship, the tender delights of love, and the rational pleasures of religion, are open to all; and they are, all of them, capable of giving that real happiness contended for. These being the only fountains from which true pleasure springs, it is no wonder that many should be [Page 181] impelled to say, they have not yet found it, and should still cry out, "Who will shew us any good." They seek it in every way but the true way. They want a heart for devo­tion, humanity, friendship and love, and a taste for whatever is truly beautiful and ad­mirable.

PRIDE.

EVERY man, however little, makes a figure in his own eyes.

PRIDE, by a great mistake, is commonly tak­en for a greatness of soul, as if the soul was to be ennobled by vice: For, that pride is one of the most enormous of vices, I think no reasonable man can dispute; it is the base offspring of weakness, imperfection and ig­norance; since, were we not weak and imper­fect creatures, we should not be destitute of knowledge of ourselves; and had we that knowledge, it were impossible we should be proud. But, on the contrary, true humility is a certain mark of a bright reason, and ele­vated [Page 182] soul, as being the natural consequences of them. When we come to have our minds cleared by reason from those thick mists that our disorderly passions throw about them; when we come to discern more perfectly, and consider more nearly the immense power and goodness, the infinite glory and duration of God; and to make a comparison between these perfections of his, and our own frailty and weakness, and the shortness and uncertain­ty of our beings, we should humble ourselves even into the very dust before him.—Titles, riches and fine houses, signify no more to the making of one man better than another, than the finer saddle, to the making of the bet­ter horse. And it truly shews a poor spirit, for one man to take these paltry advantages of another; it must be intrinsic worth in any creature, that must give it the preference to another. If he is ambitious to excel his fel­lows, let it be in something that belongs to himself, something that demonstrates him to be a better creature. Let him contend in vir­tue, which alone is capable to put a great difference between man and man; and who­ever gains the advantage there, has reason to value it, though it will never make him proud.

HE who thinks no man above him but for his virtue, none below him but for his vice, can never be obsequious in a wrong place.

THAT is a mean and despicable kind of pride, that measures worth by the gifts of for­tune, the greatest portion of which, is too often in the hands of the least deserving.

NONE are so invincible as your half wit­ted people, who know just enough to excite their pride, but not so much as to cure their ignorance.

THE little soul that converses no higher than the looking glass, and a fantastic dress, may help to make up the shew of the world; but cannot be reckoned among the rational inhabitants of it. If they who affect an out­ward [Page 184] shew, know how many deride their triv­ial taste, they would be ashamed of them­selves, and grow wiser; and bestow their su­perfluities in helping the needy, and befriend­ing the neglected.

PROUD men never have friends; neither in prosperity, because they know no body; nor in adversity, because then no body knows them.

MEN of fine parts, they say, are proud; I answer, dull people are seldom so, and both act upon an appearance of reason. Pride and modesty are sometimes found to unite together in the same character; and the mix­ture is as salutary as that of wine and water. The worst combination is that of avarice and pride.

THE man of shew is vain; the reserved man is proud more properly. The one has greater depth, the other a more lively imagi­nation. Persons of proud yet abject spirits, will despise you for those distresses, for which the generous mind will pity, and endeavour to befriend you; a hint to whom only you should disclose, and from whom you should conceal them.

READING.

READING is to the mind what exercise is to the body; as by one, health is preserved, strengthened and invigorated: by the other, virtue, (which is the health of the mind) is kept alive, cherished and con­firmed. There are persons who seldom take a book in their hand, but to discover the faults it may, in their opinion, contain; and the merit of the work is the least of their con­sideration; they can pass over many fine sen­timents, and rhetorical expressions, without the least regard, but to whatever they think obscure, absurd, or impertinent, they are sure to afford no quarter: Many perfections can­not atone for a few imperfections with them, they must have a perfect piece or none; such persons ought not to read at all, they are not fit to judge of what they do read. For every man of sense and candour, who reads in or­der to reap the benefit of reading, will give merit its due, wherever he finds it, and be cautious how he commends. When I meet with a great many beauties in a piece, I am not offended with a few faults, which might have escaped the author through inadvertency, [Page 186] or which the impotence of human nature could not so well provide against. Some­times, too, what is very clear in a book, seems to us obscure, for want of reading it with sufficient attention.

WE should not read a book on purpose to find its faults; but, purely to understand it.

OF all the diversions of life, there is none so proper to fill up its empty spaces, as the reading of useful and entertaining authors; and with that, the conversation of a well chos­en friend.

BY reading we enjoy the dead, by conver­sation the living, and by contemplation our­selves. Reading enriches the memory, con­versation polishes the wit, and contemplation improves the judgment. Of these, reading is the most important, which furnishes both the other.

IT must be allowed, that slow reading is the quickest and surest way to knowledge. A frequent perusal of a few well-chosen books, will tend more to the improvement of the un­derstanding, than a multifarious reading of all the superficial writers, who have attempt­ed to acquire literary fame.

[Page 187]IF we would perpetuate our fame or repu­tation, we must do things worth writing, or write things worth reading.

I THINK persons may as well be asleep —for they can be only said to dream—who read any thing, but with a view of improv­ing their morals, or regulating their conduct. Nothing, in this life, after health and virtue, is more estimable than knowledge—nor is there any thing so easily attained, or so cheap­ly purchased—the labour, only sitting still, and the expense, but time, which if we do not spend we cannot save.—In the world, you are subject to every fool's humour.—In a library, you can make every wit subject to yours.

MANY great readers load their memories, without exercising their judgments; and make lumber rooms of their heads, instead of fur­nishing them usefully.

WERE the BIBLE but considered impartial­ly and attentively, in its most advantageous lights; as it contains all the written revela­tion of God's will now extant; as it is the basis of our national religion, and gives vigour and spirit to all our social laws; as it is the most ancient, and consequently curious collection of historical incidents, moral precepts and political institutions; as the style of it is, in some places, nobly sublime and poetical, and in others, sweetly natural, plain and unaf­fected; in a word, as being well acquainted [Page 188] with it is highly requisite, in order to make men useful and ornamental in this life, (to say nothing of their happiness in the next,) it is to be hoped that a cool reflection or two of this sort, might induce the more ingenuous and rational among them, to let the BIBLE take its turn, in their riper years, among those volumes which pass through their hands, ei­ther for amusement or instruction. Should such an entertainment once become fashiona­ble, of what mighty service would it be to the interest of religion, and consequently to the happiness of mankind.

RELIGION.

RELIGION is a thing much talked of, but little understood; much pre­tended to, but very little practised; and the reason why it is so ill practised, is, because it is so little understood; knowledge, there­fore, must precede religion, since it is neces­sary to be wise, in order to be virtuous, it must be known to whom, and upon what ac­count duty is owing, otherwise it never can be [Page 189] rightly paid. It must therefore be consid­ered, that God is the object of all religion, and that the soul is the subject wherein it exists and resides. From the soul it must proceed, and to God it must be directed, as to that Almighty Being whose power alone could create a rational soul, and whose goodness only could move him to make it capable of an eternal felicity, which infinite bounty of God has laid a perpetual obligation upon the soul to a constant love, obedience and adoration of him, and to an undoubted assurance, that the same power and goodness that created man, will forever pre­serve him and protect him, if he perseveres in the sincere performance of his duty. The body can have no other share in religion, than by its gestures to represent and discover the bent and inclination of the mind, which rep­resentations also are but too often false and treacherous, deluding those that behold them, into the opinion of a saint, but truly discov­ering a notorious hypocrite to God, who sees how distant his intentions are from his pre­tences. People are as much deceived them­selves, as they deceive others, who think to use religion as they do their best clothes, on­ly wear it to church and on sundays, to ap­pear fine, and make a shew, and with them, as soon as they come home again, lay it a­side carefully, for fear of wearing it out: That religion is good for nothing that is [Page 190] made of so slight a stuff, as will not endure wearing, which ought to be as constant a covering for the soul, as the skin is to the body, not to be divided from it; division be­ing the ruin of both. Nor must it be thought that religion consists only in bending the knees, which is a sitting posture of humility; but in the fervent and humble adoration of the soul. Nor in the lifting up of the hands and eyes, but in the warmth of the affections. Outward gestures and decent behaviour are things very fit and reasonable, being all that the body can pay; but it is inward sinceri­ty alone that can render them both accepta­ble. Much less does religion consist in dis­mal looks and sour faces, which only shew that it is very unpalatable to those who make them; and it seems as if they were swallow­ing something that went grievously against their stomachs. It is likewise to be consid­ered, the frequency and fervency of prayers gives it acceptance, not the length of them. That one prayer rightly addressed to God from a well disposed mind, is more effica­cious than ten sermons carelessly heard, and more carelessly practised. But hearing be­ing a much easier duty than praying, because it can often change into sleeping, is there­fore preferred to it, by a great many people. But if, in the end, their profound ignorance will not excuse them, I am sure their stupid obstinacy never will. But there are so ma­ny [Page 191] virtues required in order to praying right­ly, that people think, perhaps, that it would take up too much time and pains to acquire them. And they are much in the right, if they think their prayers will be insignificant without them, and that an ill man can never pray well, and to purpose, for the stream will always partake of the fountain. And if the mind, which is the fountain of all our addresses to God, be vicious and impure, the prayers, which proceed from it, must needs be sullied with the same pollutions. But, on the contrary, if the mind be once made vir­tuous, all that proceeds from it will be pleas­ing and accepted. And as to dejected looks and a sorrowful countenance, they are no wise graceful in religion, which is so far from being a melancholy thing, that it can never appear displeasing, or tiresome to a mind where wisdom and virtue do not first seem troublesome; for wisdom, instructing the soul to act reasonably, instructs it likewise to serve and obey God readily and chearfully; for that which appears reasonable to a wise man, will always appear delightful; and re­ligion is that very same reason and wisdom, whose ways are ways of pleasantness, and all whose paths are peace.

WERE men sensible of the happiness that results from true religion, the voluptuous man would there seek his pleasure, the cov­etous [Page 192] man his wealth, and the ambitious man his glory.

MEN who are destitute of religion are so far from being learned philosophers, that they ought not to be esteemed so much as reasonable men.

RELIGION is so far from debarring men of any innocent pleasure or comfort of human life, that it purifies the pleasures of it, and renders them more grateful and generous. And, besides this, it brings mighty pleasures of its own, those of a glorious hope, a serene mind, a calm and undisturbed conscience, which do far outrelish the most studied and artificial luxuries.

NEITHER human wisdom, nor human vir­tue —unsupported by religion, are equal to the trying situations that often occur in life.

As little appearance as there is of religion in the world, there is a great deal of its influ­ence felt in its affairs—nor can any who have been religiously educated, so root out the principles of it, but, like nature, they will re­turn again, and give checks and interruptions to guilty pursuits.—There can be no real happiness without religion and virtue, and the assistance of God's grace and Holy Spirit to direct our lives, in the true pursuit of it. Happiness, I contend, is only to be found in religion—in the consciousness of virtue—and a sure and certain hope of a better life, which brightens all our prospects, and leaves no [Page 193] room to dread disappointments—because the expectations of it are built upon a rock, whose foundations are as deep as those of heaven or hell.—So strange and unaccount­able a creature is man! he is so framed, that he cannot but pursue happiness—and yet, unless he is made sometimes miserable, how apt is he to mistake the way, which can only lead him to the accomplishments of all his wishes.—What pity it is that the sacred name of religion should ever have been borrowed and employed in so bad a work, as in cover­ing over pride—spiritual pride, the worst of all pride—hypocrisy, self love, covetousness, extortion, cruelty and revenge—or that the fair form of virtue should have been thus disguised, and forever drawn into suspicion, from the unworthy uses of this kind, to which the artful and abandoned have often put her. —Some people pass through life, soberly and religiously enough, without knowing why, or reasoning about it—but from force of habit merely.—Again, some think it sufficient to be good Christians, without being good men— to spend their lives in—drinking, cheating —and praying.

TRUE religion gives an habitual sweetness and complacency, which produces genuine politeness, without injury to sincerity; it preserves the mind from every unfair bias, and inclines it to temper justice with mercy in all its judgments upon others.

[Page 194]RELIGION is the best armour in the world, but the worst cloak.

DIVINE meditations do not only in power subdue all sensual pleasures, but far exceed them in sweetness and delight.

To be furious in religion is to be irrelig­iously religious. Persecution can be no ar­gument to persuade, nor violence the way to conversion.

WERE angels, if they look into the ways of men, to give in their catalogue of worthies, how different would it be from that which any of our own species would draw up? We are dazzled with the splendor of titles, the ostentation of learning, and the noise of vic­tories, &c. They, on the contrary, see the phi­losopher in the cottage, who possesses a soul in thankfulness, under the pressure of what little minds call poverty and distress. The evening's walk of a wise man is more illus­trious in their sight, than the march of a general, at the head of a hundred thousand men. A contemplation of God's works, a generous concern for the good of mankind, and unfeigned exercise of humility only— denominates men great and glorious.

WHAT can be more suitable to a rational creature, than to employ reason to contem­plate that divine Being, which is both the au­thor of its reason, and noblest object about which it can possibly be employed.

[Page 195]ALL our wisdom and happiness consist summarily in the knowledge of God and our­selves. To know, and to do, is the compen­dium of our duty.

WE have a great work on our hands; the gospel promises to believe, the commands to obey, temptations to resist, passions to con­quer; and this must be done, or we are un­done; therefore look to heaven for the pow­er.

RELIGION is exalted reason, refined from the grosser parts of it. It is both the foun­dation and crown of all virtues. It is mo­rality raised and improved to its height, by being carried nearer to heaven, the only place where perfection resideth.

THE greatest wisdom is, to keep our eye perpetually on a future judgment, for the di­rection and government of our lives; which will furnish us with such principles of action, as cannot be so well learned elsewhere.

HOW miserable is that man, that cannot look backward without shame, nor forward without terror! What comfort will his rich­es afford him in his extremity; or what will all his sensual pleasures, his vain and empty titles, robes, dignities and crowns avail him in the day of his distress.

REPENTANCE.

TRUE repentance is that saving grace wrought in the soul, by the spir­it of God, whereby a sinner is made to see, and be sensible of his sin, is grieved and humbled before God on account of it, not so much for the punishment to which sin has made him liable, as that thereby God is dis­honoured and offended, his laws violated, and their own soul polluted and defiled: And this grief arises from love to God, and is ac­companied with a hatred of sin, a fixed reso­lution to forsake it, and expectation of fa­vour and forgiveness through the merits of CHRIST; this is evangelical repentance. The insensibility of a sinner, the want of regret and penitence, after having sinned provokes God more than the sin itself.

WHEN God is angry with us, it is not through a principle of hatred, that he shews [Page 197] his anger, it is to draw us to him, even in the time of his anger. SALVIAN gives the follow­ing ingenious description of repenting sin­ners, who, far from conversion are always re­lapsing into sin.

THEY act every thing in such a manner, that one may say, they do not so much re­pent of their sins, as they afterwards do of that repentance. They seem, by their behav­iour, not to be so sorry for their ill life, as that they have promised to live a good one. —How terrible is conviction and guilt, when they come too late for repentance.

IT is better to be affected with a true pen­itent sorrow for sin, than to be able to resolve the most difficult cases about it.

THE time present is the only time we have to repent in, to serve God, to do good to men, [Page 198] to improve our knowledge, to exercise our graces and to prepare for a blessed immortal­ity.

WE may strike up bargains, and make con­tracts by proxy, but all men must work out their own salvation in person. How irrational is a late repentance. Must the body be besieg­ed with sickness, before the work be done on which eternal life depends!

HE who repents truly, is greatly sorrowful for his past sins; not with a superficial sigh or tear, but a pungent, afflictive sorrow; such a sorrow as hates the sin so much, that the man would rather chuse to die than act it any more. A holy life is the only perfec­tion of repentance, and the firm ground up­on which we can cast the anchor of our hopes, in the mercies of God through Jesus Christ. A true penitent must all the days of his life pray for pardon, nor think the work completed till he dies.

RICHES.

RICHES cover a greater number of faults, than ever charity has done.

RICHES cannot purchase worthy endow­ments; they make us neither wiser nor health­ier. None but intellectual possessions are what we can properly call our own.

A FINE coat is out a livery, when the per­son who wears it discovers no more sense than a footman.

A GREAT fortune, in the hands of a fool, is a great misfortune. The more riches a fool has, the greater fool he is. All the treas­ures of the earth are not to be compared to [...] virtue of the soul.

EATING and drinking, vain mirth, news, play and the like, are their constant enter­tainment, who know no other pleasure, than what their five senses furnish them with.

[Page 200]IT is an insolence in the wealthy to affix, as much as in them lies, the character of a man to his circumstances.

RICHES have no real advantage, except in the distribution.

SABBATH.

[Page 201]Upon the Lord's day we must abstain from all servile and laborious works, except such as are matters of necessity, of common life, or of great charity. The Lord's day being the remembrance of a great blessing, must be a day of joy, festivity, spiritual rejoicing and thanksgiving: Therefore let your devotions spend themselves, in singing or in reading psalms, in recounting the great works of God, in remembering his mercies, in worshipping his excellencies, in celebrating his attributes, &c. &c.

SENSIBILITY.

SENSIBILITY of mind, and fineness of feelings, are always the atten­dants of true genius. These, which by themselves constitute a good heart, when joined to a good head, naturally give a great­er tendency to virtue than vice: For they are naturally charmed with beauty, and dis­gusted with every kind of deformity. Virtue, therefore, which is amiable in the eyes of our [Page 202] enemies, must have additional charms for those whose susceptibility of beauty is more delicate and refined; and vice, which is nat­urally loathsome, must appear uncommonly odious to those who are uncommonly shock­ed at real turpitude.

IT is a melancholy consideration, that man, as he advances in life, degenerates in his nature, and gradually loses those tender feelings which constitute one of his highest excellencies. The tear of sensibility, said Juvenal, is the most honourable characteris­tic of humanity.

WHATEVER real pain may sometimes be occasioned by sensibility, is in general coun­terbalanced by agreeable sensations, which are not the less sincere and soothing, because they do not excite the joy of thoughtless merriment. The anguish of the sympathetic heart is keen, but no less exalted are its grat­ifications. Notwithstanding all that has been said on the happiness of a phlegmatic disposition, every one who has formed a true estimate of things, will deprecate it as a curse that degrades his nature. It is the negative happiness of the dullest of quadrupeds, doom­ed to the vilest drudgery.

MEN, destitute of delicacy, and that solid merit which is usually accompanied with diffidence, often rise to the highest eminence, acquire the largest fortunes, fill the most im­portant offices, and give law to the senti­ments [Page 203] as well as practice of others. These, judging from themselves, have no adequate idea of the dignity of human nature, and the comparative perfection of which it is capa­ble.

O SENSIBILITY! thou parent of virtue— thou ornament of human nature! unhappy must that man be, who is void of thee. He must be a monster in the human form—he must forever be a stranger to those disposi­tions and affections of mind which exalt [Page 204] our species, and which are the sources of the most refined pleasures.

SWEET sensibility! source of all that is pleasing in our joys, or painful in our sor­rows; how acute are thy sensations? 'Tis from thee that we derive the generous con­cerns, the disinterested cares that extend be­yond ourselves, and enable us to participate the emotions of sorrows and joys that are not our own.

SOLITUDE.

SOLITUDE is a rate at­tainment, and shews a well disposed mind, when a man loves to keep company with him­self; and a virtue as well as advantage to take satisfaction, and content in that enjoy­ment.

[Page 206]SOLITUDE can be well fitted, and sit right, but upon very few persons. They must have knowledge enough of the world to see the follies of it, and virtue enough to despise all vanity.

THAT calm and elegant satisfaction which the vulgar call melancholy, is the true and proper delight of men of knowledge and vir­tue. What we take for diversion, is but a mean entertainment, in comparison of know­ing ourselves.

SIR Henry Wotton who had gone on seve­ral embassies, and was intimate with the greatest princes, chose to retire from all; say­ing, the utmost happiness a man could attain to, was to be at leisure to be, and to do good; never reflecting on his former years, but with tears, he would say, how much have I to repent of and how little time to do it in.

TRUE happiness is of a retired nature, and an enemy to pomp and noises. It arises, in the first place from the enjoyment of one's self; and, in the next, from the friendship and conversation of a sew select companions.

THOUGH the continued traverses of fortune, may make us out of humour with the world; yet nothing but a noble inclination to virtue and philosophy can make us happy in retire­ment.

[Page 207]I PREFER a private to a public life. For I love my friends, and therefore love but few.

THE late amiable Mr. Shenstone used fre­quently to say, that he was never more hap­py than when alone except when he had his friends about him. There are, says he, indeed some few whom I properly call my friends, and in whose company I cannot but be more happy than in any solitary indulgences of imagination: But how seldom it is that you will allow me these extraordinary indulgen­ces.

WHEN the heart has long been used to the delightful society of beloved friends, how dreadful is absence, and how irksome is soli­tude. But those phantoms vanish before the sunshine of religion: Solitude and retirement, give us the opportunity for a wider range of thought, on subjects that ennoble friendship itself.

SECRECY.

[Page 208]HE who trusts a secret to his servant, makes his own man his master.

SECRECY is the cement of friendship. When Ulysses departed to repair the siege of Troy; in his charge to his friend respect­ing the care of Telemachus, who was then in his infancy, he, among other things, thus en­treats them, "above all forget not to render him just, beneficent, sincere, and faithful in keeping secrets." And it is afterwards made a great part in the character of Telemachus, that he knew how to keep a secret, without telling any untruths, and yet could lay aside that close mysterious air so common to peo­ple that are reserved. He did not seem op­pressed with the burden of the secret he kept; he always seemed easy, natural, open, as one that carried his heart upon his lips. But at the same time, that he would tell you every thing that was of no consequence, he knew how to stop just in the proper moment, and without proceeding to those things which might raise some suspicion, and give a hint of his secret. By this mean his heart was impenetrable and inaccessible.

A MAN without secrecy is an open letter for every one to read.

THE itch of knowing secrets is naturally attended with another itch of telling things.

[Page 209]A PROPER secrecy is the only mystery of able men, mystery is the only secrecy of weak and cunning ones. The man who tells noth­ing, or who tells all, will equally have noth­ing told him. If a fool knows a secret, he tells it because he is a fool; if a knave knows one, he tells it wherever it will be his inter­est to tell it. There are some occasions in which a man must tell half his secret, in or­der to conceal the rest; but there is seldom one in which a man must tell all. Great skill is necessary, to know how far to go, and where to stop.

SERIOUSNESS.

NOTHING excellent can be done without seriousness, and he that courts wisdom must be in earnest. A serious man is one that duly and impartially weighs the moments of things, so as neither to val­ue trifles, nor despise things really excellent; that dwells much at home, and studies to know himself, as well as men and books; [Page 210] that considers why he came into the world, how great his business, and how short his stay; how uncertain it is when we shall leave it, and whither a sinner shall then betake himself, when both heaven and earth shall fly before the presence of the judge; considers God is always present; and the folly of do­ing what must be repented of, and of going to hell, when a man may go to heaven. In a word, that knows how to distinguish be­tween a moment and eternity.

NOTHING is more ridiculous, than to be serious about trifles, and to be trifling about serious matters.

THERE are looking glasses for the face, but none for the mind, that defect must be sup­plied by a serious reflection upon one's self. When the external image escapes, let the in­ternal retain and correct it.

SLANDER.

SLANDER is a propensi­ty of mind to think ill of all men, and af­terwards to utter such sentiments in scanda­lous expressions.

[Page 211]SLANDERERS are a species of creatures, so great a scandal to human nature as scarce to deserve the name of men. They are in gen­eral, a composition of the most detestable vices, pride, envy, hatred, lying, uncharita­bleness, &c. and yet it is a lamentable truth, these wretches swarm in every town, and lurk in every village; and actuated by these base principles, are ever busy in attacking the characters of mankind; none are too great or too good to escape the level of their enven­omed darts. If in high life they find the greatest worth, or a man in a middle station, sober, honest, industrious and aspiring, it is odds that his merit alone immediately excites them to exercise their malignant tongue, and their souls rest not, 'till their bags of poison are quite exhausted. However shocking to the well cultivated mind this assertion may appear, the truth is too flagrant, and of too easy investigation to admit of the least doubt. What account such unhappy creatures will be able to render hereafter, for so great an a­buse of their time and talents, so unpardona­ble an injury to their neighbour, and so black a violation of the command of the gospel, "love one another," is not difficult to guess, nor agreeable to think on.

SPENCER, in his Fairy Queen, Book IV. cant. 8. after representing slander as an old woman, sitting on the ground in a little cot­tage, goes on,

[Page 213]CALUMNY is a filthy and pernicious infec­tion of the tongue, for it is generally aimed, by the most wicked and abandoned part of mankind, against the most worthy, and most deserving of esteem, and wounds them un­expectedly. And to whom is it pleasing? To the most vile and persidious, the talka­tive. But what is its source? From what or­igin does it proceed? From falsehood for its father, and envy for its mother, and from curiosity for its nurse.

NOR is calumny itself without an offspring; for it not only begets strife and contention, hatred and malice, bloodshed and murder; but nourishes other destructive evils. And now let us enquire, what is the antidote to this disease? Innocence and patience. In­nocence enables us to bear it, and patience blunts its edge.—When you hear any one ill spoken of in your company, which hap­pens but too often, mingle not the poison of your malignant reflections, nor bid higher than the rest in the auction of slander, much less be the messenger of such abuses to the person concerned.

TEN thousand are the vehicles in which the deadly poison of slander is prepared and communicated to the world—and by some [Page 214] artful hands, it is done by so subtile and nice an infusion, that it is not to be tasted or dis­covered but by its effects. How frequently is the honesty and integrity of a man dispos­ed of, by a smile or shrug.—How many good, generous actions have been sunk in oblivion, by a distrustful look—or stamped with the imputation of proceeding from bad motives, by a mysterious and seasonable whisper. Look into the companies of those whose gen­tle natures should disarm them, we shall find little better account.—How large a portion of chastity is sent out of the world by distant hints—nodded away, and cruelly winked in­to suspicion, by envy. How often does the reputation of a helpless creature, bleed from report—which the party who is at the pains to propagate it—hopes in God it is not true, but in the mean time is resolved to give the report her pass, &c.

THERE are some wounds given to reputa­tion, that are like the wounds of an enven­omed arrow; where we irritate and enlarge the orifice while we extract the bearded weapon; yet cannot the cure be completed otherwise.

WHEN a man of distinguished worth suf­fers unmerited calumny, it often has the same effect as an eclipse of the sun, which serves only to make it admired the more. While it shines in unvaried light and splen­dor, it shines unnoticed; but when it is ob­scured [Page 215] by some sudden and unexpected dark­ness, it attracts our attention, and emerges with an unusual and superior eclat.

IN this age, in some companies, there re­mains nothing, when you have done with public affairs, and public diversions, but private anecdotes—pulling down, or gently undermining characters, sitting in judgment upon those transactions, which, though of a private nature, are, by the newly established custom of the times, laid before the public— or producing fresh accounts of them from private hands. I hardly ever hear a con­versation of this kind carried on for half an hour, without some flagrant instance of slan­der and injustice. It is amazing to observe the courage with which, upon mere common report, facts are repeated, which tend to the utter ruin of a character, and even motives confidently assigned, which, it was impossible should be known.

THE heaviest misfortune will not shelter you from censure, when the conversation takes this turn. If you have lost your dear­est friend, we pity you indeed; but we can­not help observing, either that you have ve­ry little feeling, and do not grieve enough, or that you are highly blameable in feeling too much, and grieving too violently; or else, that there is something very ridiculous in your manner of shewing your griefs, or in some circumstance of your behaviour under it. If [Page 216] you are stripped of your whole fortune, it is a terrible thing to be sure, but it cannot be dissembled, that your own imprudence was in a great measure the cause of it.

THE best dispositions have usually the most sensibility. They have also that deli­cate regard for reputation, which renders them sorely afflicted by the attacks of calum­ny. It is not an unreasonable and exces­sive self love, but a regard to that, without which, a feeling mind cannot be happy, which renders many of us attentive to every word which is whispered of us in our absence.

No virtue, no prudence, no caution, no generosity can preserve us from misrepresent­ation. Our conduct must be misunderstood by weak intellects, and by those who only see a part of it, and hastily form a judgment [Page 217] of the whole. Every man of eminence has those in his vicinity who hate, who envy, and who affect to despise him. These will see his actions with a jaundiced eye, and will represent them to others in the colours in which they themselves behold them.

LET the weak and ill natured enjoy the poor pleasure of whispering calumny and detraction, and let the man of sense display the wisdom and dignity of disregarding them. The dogs bay the moon, but the moon still shines on in its beautiful serenity and lustre, and moves on in its orbit with undisturbed regularity.

LET it be our first object to do our duty, and not to be very anxious about any cen­sure, but that of conscience.

SOUL.

LET us duly learn to prize and value our soul: Is the body such a val­uable piece? What then is the soul? the body is but a husk, or shell; the soul is the kernle; the body is but the cask; the soul is [Page 218] the precious liquor contained in it; the bo­dy is but the cabinet; the soul is the jewel; the body is but the dwelling; the soul the inhabitant; the body is but the lanthorn; the soul or spirit, the candle of the Lord, that burns in it. And seeing there is such differ­ence between the soul and the body in re­spect of excellency, sure our better part chal­lenges our greater care and diligence, to make provision for it. Bodily provision is but half provision; it is but one part, and that the meaner and more ignoble too, if we consid­er only the time of this life: But if we con­sider a future state of endless duration after this life, then bodily provision will appear to be but no provision at all, in comparison, there being no proportion between so short a period of time, and the infinite ages of eter­nity. Our great partiality towards our bod­ies, and neglect of our souls, shews clearly what part we prefer; we are careful enough in not wounding or maiming our bodies; but we make bold to lash and wound our souls daily. We are industrious enough to pre­serve our bodies from slavery, &c. but we make nothing of suffering our souls to be slaves and drudges to lust, and to live in the vilest bondage to the most degenerate of crea­tures, the devil.

WE arm and defend our bodies, and our souls have as much need of armour as they, for the life of a Christian is a continual war­fare, [Page 219] and we have potent and vigilant ene­mies to encounter withal, the devil, the world, and this corrupt flesh we carry about with us. We had need, therefore, to put on the whole armour of God that we may be able to stand in the evil day, and having done all may stand, having ourselves girt with truth, and having the breastplate of right­eousness; above all, taking the shield of faith, and for a helmet, the hope of salvation, and the sword of the spirit, which is the word of God.—Ephesians, vi. 13, 14.

I NEVER had a sight of my soul, says the emperor Aurelius, and yet I have a great value for it, because it is discoverable by its operations: And by my constant experience of the power of God, I have a proof of his being, and a reason for my veneration.

I AM as certain that there is a God above, (says Sterne) as that I myself am here below —for how otherwise did I come here?—He must love virtue, and detest vice; consequent­ly, he must both reward and punish. If we are not accountable creatures, we are surely the most unaccountable animals on the face of the earth. Consult the caterpillar, thou ig­norant, and the butterfly shall resolve thee. In its first state, sluggish, helpless, inert— crawling on the face of the earth, and gross­ly feeding on the herbage of the field. After its metamorphosis, its resurrection, a winged seraph, gorgeous to behold, light as air, ac­tive [Page 220] as the wind, sipping Aurorean dew, and extracting nectarious essences, from aromat­ic flowers.

A STRIKING emblem of the soul of man!

THE BUTTERFLY.

THOSE appeals which Atheists themselves make to reason, proclaim the soul of man to be the ruling and noblest part of him; be­sides the soul is the more vital, more tender and sensible part of us; and consequently, the affliction of this must render us much more miserable, than any hardships or diffi­culties virtue can impose upon the body.

TRUTH.

A LIE is a desperate cow­ardice. —It is to fear man and brave God.

THERE are lying looks, as well as lying words; dissembling smiles, deceiving signs, and even a lying silence.

NOTHING appears so low and mean as ly­ing and dissimulations; and it is observable that only weak animals endeavour to supply by craft the defects of strength. Virtue scorns a lie for its cover, and truth needs no orator.

A LIAR is a hector towards God, and a coward towards man.

SINCERITY of heart, and integrity of life, are the great and indispensable ornaments of human nature.

THAT kind of deceit which is commonly laid, and smoothly carried on under disguise of friendship, is of all others the most impi­ous and detestable.

NOT to intend what you speak, is to give your heart the lie with your tongue; not to [Page 222] perform what you promise, is to give your tongue the lie with your actions.

NOTHING can be more unjust or ungener­ous than to play upon the belief of a harm­less person; to make him suffer for his good opinion, and fare the worse for thinking me honest.

IT would be more obliging to say plainly, we cannot do what is desired, than to amuse people with fair words; which often put them upon false measures.

GREAT men must go and meet with truth, if they are desirous to know it; for none will carry it to them.

THERE is no vice that doth so cover a man with shame, as to be false and perfidious.

IT is easy to tell a lie, hard to tell but a lie. One lie needs many more to maintain it.

SINCERITY is to speak as we think; to do as we pretend and profess; to perform and make good our promise, and really to be what we would appear to be.

LYING is a vice so very infamous, that even the greatest liars cannot bear it in others.

THE Egyptian princes were used to wear a golden chain, beset with precious stones, which they stiled truth, intimating that to be the most illustrious ornament.

NOTHING is more noble, nothing more venerable, than fidelity. Faithfulness and truth are the most sacred excellencies and en­dowments of the human mind.

[Page 223]MOST of us are aware of, and pretend to detest, the barefaced instances of that hypoc­risy, by which we deceive others; but few of us are upon our guard, to see that fatal hy­pocrisy by which we deceive and over reach our own heart. It is a dangerous and flat­tering distemper, which has undone thou­sands.

TIME.

HOW speedily will the consum­mation of all things commence! for yet a ve­ry little while, and the commissioned Arch­angel lifts up his hand to heaven, and swears by the Almighty name, that "TIME SHALL BE NO LONGER." Then abused opportuni­ties will never return, and new opportuni­ties will never more be offered. Then should negligent mortals wish ever so passionately for a few hours—a few moments only—to be thrown back from the opening eternity; thou­sands of worlds would not be able to pro­cure the grant.

[Page 224]A WISE man counts his minutes: He lets no time slip, for time is life; which he makes long, by the good husbandry of a right use and application of it.

MAKE the most of your minutes, says Au­relius, and be good for something while you can.

KNOW the true value of time; snatch, seize and enjoy every moment of it. No idleness, no laziness, no procrastination; never put off till tomorrow what you can do today.

WE should read over our lives as well as books, take a survey of our actions, and make an inspection into the division of our time. King Alfred (that truly great and wise mon­arch) is recorded to have divided the day and night into three parts: Eight hours he allotted to eat and sleep in, eight for busi­ness and recreation, and eight he dedicated to study and prayer.

TO come but once into the world, and tri­fle away our right use of it, making that a burthen which was given for a blessing, is strange infatuation.

TIME is what we want most, but what we use worst; for which we must all account, when time shall be no more.

THERE is but little need to drive away that time by foolish divertisements, which flies away so swiftly of itself, and when once gone, can never be recalled.

[Page 225]AN idle person is a kind of monster in the creation; all nature is busy about him. How wretched is it to hear people complain, that the day hangs heavy upon them, that they do not know what to do with themselves. How monstrous are such expressions among creatures, who can apply themselves to the duties of religion and meditation; to the reading of useful books; who may exercise themselves in the pursuits of knowledge and virtue, and every hour of their lives, make themselves wiser and better.

SHOULD the greatest part of people sit down, and draw a particular account of their time, what a shameful bill would it be? So much extraordinary for eating, drinking and sleeping, beyond what nature requires; so much in revelling and wantonness; so much for the recovery of last night's intemperance; so much for gaming, plays and masquerades; so much in paying and receiving formal and impertinent visits, in idle and foolish prat­ing, in censuring and reviling our neigh­bours; so much in dressing, and talking of fashions; and so much lost and wasted in do­ing nothing.

THERE is no man but hath a soul, and, if he will look carefully to that, he need not complain for want of business. Where there are so many corruptions to mortify, so many inclinations to watch over, so many tempta­tions to resist, the graces of God to improve, [Page 226] and former neglects of all these to lament, sure he can never want sufficient employ­ment. For all these require time, and so men at their deaths find; for those who have lived carelessly, and wasted their time, would then give them all to redeem it.

THIS was a memorable practice of Vespa­fian, through the whole course of his life; he called himself to an account every night for the actions of the past day, and so often as he found he had skipped any one day without doing some good, he entered upon his diary this memorial, "I have lost a day."

IF time, like money, could be laid by, while one was not using it—there might be some excuse for the idleness of half the world —but yet not a full one; for even this would be such an economy, as the living on a prin­cipal sum, without making it purchase inter­est.

TIME is one of the most precious jewels which we possess; but its true value is sel­dom known till it is near a close, and when it is not in our power to redeem it. The right improvement of time is of the greatest consequence to mankind. The present mo­ment is only ours. The present moment calls for dispatch; and, if neglected, it is a great chance if ever we get another oppor­tunity. Today we live, tomorrow we may die. Beside, we have a great work to do, and an appointed time in which it must be done. [Page 227] The uncertainty of this time adds much to its brevity; the velocity of it urges its im­provement the more. SENECA observes, We all complain of the shortness of time, but spend it in such a manner, as if we had too much.

THE time we live ought not to be comput­ed to by the number of years, but by the use which has been made of it: It is not the ex­tent of ground, but the yearly rent which gives the value to the estate. Wretched and thoughtless creatures! in the only place where covetousness were a virtue, we turn prodigals! nothing lies upon our hands with such uneasiness, nor has there been so many devices for any one thing, as to make time glide away imperceptibly and to no purpose. A shilling shall be hoarded up with care whilst that which is above the price of an estate, is flung away with disregard and contempt.