WHEN we are young, the Po­pular Opinion sways us, and we are more solicitous to gain the Esteem of others then of our selves. But arriv'd to Old Age, we are apt to have a less value for Foreign things, and are most taken up with our selves, when we are ready to abandon our selves.

Life is like our other Possessions, all vanishes, when we think our stock great­est: Our measures are seldom rightly understood, till little remains to be ma­naged. Hence we see young Men squan­der (as it were) their Being, in which they think they have a long term of Years to come. We grow more chary of [Page 2] our selves, as we grow nearer to lose our selves.

The time has been, when my roving, uncontrol'd Fancy rambled after every thing strange to it: At present my Mind contracts it self to the Body, and unites more straitly with it: Nor is this out of any sense of Pleasure from such an Alliance, but out of necessity of the mutual Succour and Assistance, which they endeavour to afford one another.

In this feeble Condition, I yet retain some pleasures, but I have lost all sense of Vice, without knowing whether this change be owing to the Infirmity of a decay'd Body, or the moderation of a Mind better improv'd in Wisdom than heretofore. I fear my Age has a great­er share in it than my Vertue, that I have more reason to complain, than bragg of the Obedience of Inclinations.

In vain should I ascribe to my Reason the Fower of subjecting my desires, if they are too weak to raise themselves; and what Wisdom soever Men at my Years may boast of, it is hard to distinguish, whether those Passions, we now no long­er feel, be subdued or expired.

Howsoever it be, when our senses are [Page 3] no longer touch'd with their Objects, nor our Souls mov'd by their Impressions, it is properly no more then a State of Indo­lence: Yet is not this indolence without it's Charms, To think himself exempt from all uneasiness, is enough to give Joy to a reasonable Man.

The Enjoyment of Pleasures is not al­ways required; the privation of pain well used, renders our Condition sufficiently happy.

If any misfortune befall me, I am na­turally little sensible of it, without dash­ing this happy Constitution with any thoughts of Constancy. For Constancy is only dwelling longer upon our Mise­ries. It appears the most aimable Ver­tue in the World to those who are un­der no afflictions, but is truly a new load to such as are.

Resistance only Fretts us, and Instead of easing one grievance adds another: Without Resistance we suffer only the e­vils inflicted on us, with it our own im­provements too. For this reason under pre­sent Calamities, I resign all to Nature; I reserve my prudence for times of tran­quillity. Then by reflecting upon my own Indolence, I take pleasure in the pains, I [Page 4] endure not, and by this means make hap­py the most indifferent State of Life.

Experience grows with Age, and Wis­dom commonly with Experience: But when I ascribe this Vertue to Old Men, I mean not that they are always Masters of it. This is cerrain that they have always the Liberty to be wise, and to knock off decently those Fetters which prejudice has put upon the World. They only are allow'd to take things for what they really are.

Reason does as 'twere plant every thing in our Education; which is afterward in a manner quite over-run by Fancy. Age only has the power to drive out the one from what she had usurp'd, and reesta­blish the other in what the had lost.

For my self, I observe religiously all real Duties. The imaginary I refuse or admit, as I like or dislike 'em. For in things to which I am not oblig'd, I think it equal reason to reject what does not please me, or to accept what does.

Every day frees me from one link at least of the Chain, nor is it less for the ad­vantage of those from whom I disengage my self, then me, who regain my liber­ty. They are as great gainers in the loss [Page 5] of an useless Man, as I should have been a loser, by idely devoting my self any long­er to 'em.

Of all Ties, that of Amity is the only one that has, in my Opinion, almost irresistible Charms, and were it not for the disgrace that attends no Return, I cou'd love meerly for the pleasure of Loving, even where I was not belov'd a­gain.

In Love ill plac'd, the Sentiments of Amity entertain us purely by their own agreeable sweetness. But we ought to divest our selves of a just hatred for the Interest of our own quiet.

Happy is that Mind which can entire­ly deny some Passions, and only unbend it self to some others. It would then be void of Fear, Sadness, Hatred, or Jealousie. It wou'd desire without vio­lence, Hope without impatience, and Enjoy without transport.

The state of Vertue is not a state of Indolence. We suffer in it a perpetual Conflict betwixt Duty, and Inclination. Now we do what disgusts us, and now oppose what relishes well: Being almost always under force, both in our Actions, and Abstinence.

[Page 6] That of Wisdom is sweet and calm. It reigns Peaceably over our movements, being only to Govern well as Subjects, what Vertue Combats as Enemies.

I can say one thing of my self, as extra­ordinary as true, that is, that I have ne­ver in my self felt any Conflict between Passion, and Reason. My Passion never oppos'd what I resolv'd out of Duty; and my Reason readily comply'd with what my Pleasure Inclin'd me to.

I pretend not that this easie accord is praise worthy; on the contrary, I confess I have been often the more Vicious for it. Not out of any perverse disposition to E­vil; but because Vice cover'd the Crime, with an appearance of Pleasure.

It is certain, the nature of things is much better discover'd by reflection on 'em, when past, then by their impressions at perception. Now the great Com­merce with the World, hinders all atten­tion in Youth. What we see in others hinders us from examining well our selves.

Crowds please us at an Age, when we Love (as one may say) to diffuse our selves. Multitudes grow troublesome at another, when we naturally recoil to our selves, or instead of numbers come to [Page 7] paucity of Friends, who are more united to us.

'Tis this humour, that insensibly with­draws us from Courts. We begin through that to seek some Mean between Hurry and Retirement. We grow afterwards asham'd to show an old Face amongst young Fellows.

Let us not flatter our selves with our Judgments: A brisk Buffoonery will run it down; and the false glittering of a youthful Fancy will turn to Ridicule our most delicate Conversations. If we have Wit, the best use of it is in private Com­panies; for in a Crowd the Spirit main­tains it self but ill against the Body.

This Justice which we are oblig'd to do our selves, ought not to make us un­just to the young Men. We ought not perpetually to cry up our own Times, or enviously always condemn theirs. Let us not rail at Pleasures when we are past them, or censure Diversions, whose only Offence is our Incapacity.

Our Judgments ought to be always the same. We may live, but must not judge by Humour. There is in mine an odd peculiarity, which makes me mea­sure Magnificence more by its trouble than pomp.

[Page 8] Shows, Feasts, and great Assemblies, invite not me to the sight of 'em: The Inconveniencies I must suffer, deter me. The elegant harmony of Consorts en­gages not me so much, as the difficulty of adjusting 'em disobliges me. Abundance disgusts me at my Meals, and Rarities seem to me an affected Curiosity. My fancy cannot recommend any thing to my palate by my scarcity. My choice shou'd be of things easily to be had, that my Delicacy may not be ruled by Fancy.

I am as fond of Reading as ever, be­cause it depends more particularly on the mind, which tires not like the Senses. In truth, I seek in Books my Pleasure, ra­ther than my Instruction.

As I have less time for Practice, I have less desire to learn. I have more need of a stock of Life than of methods of living; and the little that remains, is better spent in things agreeable, than Instructive. The Latin Authors afford me the most, and I read whatever I think fine, a thousand times over without being cloy'd.

A nice Choice has confin'd me to a few Books, in which I seek rather found than fine Wit; and the true Taste (to use a Spanish Expression) is ordinarily found in [Page 9] the Writings of considerable Men. I am pleas'd to discover in Tully's Epistles, both his own Character, and that of those Persons of Quality that Write to him. He never divests himself of his Rhetorick, and the least recommendation to his most in­timate Friend is as artificially Insinuated, as if he were to prepossess a Stranger in an Affair of the greatest Consequence in the World.

The Letters of the rest want those fine turns; but in my Mind, they have more good Sense than his, and this makes me judge very Advantageously of the great and general Abilities of the Romans at that time.

Our Authors prefer the Age of Au­gustus upon the account of Virgil and Ho­race; and perhaps more yet upon the score of Maecenas, who encouraged Men of Learning, than for those Men of Learning themselves.

It is neverthelsess certain, that their Parts as well as Courages began at that time to decay. Grandeur of Soul was converted to Circumspect Conduct, and sound Discourse to Polite Conversation: I know not what to think of the Remains of Maecenas, unless it be that they had [Page 10] something of Grimace, which was made to pass for delicate.

Maecenas was Augustus's great Favou­rite; The Man that pleas'd, and whom all the Polite, and sprightly Witts court­ed; now is it not likely that his judgment over-rul'd the rest, that they affected his Air, and Ap'd, as much as they could, his Character?

Augustus himself leaves us no great Idea of his Latinity. What we see of Terence, what was reported at Rome of politeness of Scipio and Laelius, the Re­liques of Caesar, and what we have of Cicero, with the complaint of this last for the loss of what he calls, Sales, Le­pores, Venustates, Vrbanitas, Amaenitas, Festivitas, Iucunditas; all together make me believe, upon better consideration, That we must search some other time than that of Augustus, to find the sound and agreeable Wit of the Romans, as well as the pure and natural Graces of their Tongue.

It may be said, That Horase had a very nice Palate in all these Matters; which perswades me, that the rest of his Contemporaries had not. For the nice­ty of his Relish consisted chiefly in find­ing [Page 11] that of others ridiculous. But as for the Impertinencies, false Manners, and Af­fectations which he laugh'd at, his sense wou'd not at this day appear so very just.

I own that of Augustus to have been the Age of excellent Poets; but it follows not, That it was that of Universal Genius's.

Poetry requires a peculiar Genius, that agrees not overmuch with good sense. It is sometimes the Language of Gods, sometimes of Buffoons, rarely that of a Civil Man. It delights in Figures, and Fictions, always besides the reality of things, tho' it be that only, that can sa­tisfy a found Understanding.

Not but that there is something Noble in making good Verse; but we must have a great command of our Genius, o­therwise the mind is possess'd with some­thing Foreign, which hinders it from the free management of it self.

He's a Block-head (say the Spaniards) that can't make two Verses, and a Fool that makes four. If this Maxim pre­vail'd over all the World, we should want a thousand fine Works, the read­ing of which gives us a very delicate pleasure; but this Maxim respects Men of Business, rather than profess'd Poets. [Page 12] However, those that are capacitated for such great Works, will not oppose the force of their Genius, for what I can say; and it is certain, that amongst Authors, those only will write few Verses, who find themselves curb'd more by their own natural Unaptness, than by my Reasons.

Excellent Poets are as requisite for our pleasure, as great Mathematicians for our use: But it is sufficient for us to be ac­quainted with their Works, and not en­gage our selves in the solitary Enthusiasm of the one, or to exhaust our Spirits in Meditation like the other.

Of all Poets, Comedians are most proper for the converse of the World: For they oblige themselves to paint naturally what passes in it, and to express after a lively manner the Thoughts, and Passions of Men.

How new an Air soever, may be given to old Thoughts, that sort of Poetry is very tedious which is fill'd with Simi­lies of the Morning, the Sun, Moon, and Stars. Our Descriptions of a calm and a tempestuous Sea, represent nothing which the Antients have not done much better.

Now we have not only the same Ideas, but the very same Expressions, the same [Page 13] Rhymes. I never hear of the Harmony of Birds, but I prepare my self for the murmuring of Brooks; the Shepherds are always lolling upon Fern, and you may sooner find a Grove without a Shade in its proper sight, than in our Verses.

This must necessarily at length be ve­ry tedious; which cannot happen in Comedy, where with pleasure we see our own Actions drawn, and are touch'd with Paralel Motions.

A Discourse of Woods, Rivers, Mea­dows, Fields, and Gardens, make but a very languishing Impression upon us, un­less their Beauties be wholly new: But a discourse of Humanity, its Inclinations, Tendernesses, and Affections, finds some­thing at the bottom of our Souls pre­par'd to receive it; the same nature pro­duces and receives 'em, and they are ea­sily transfused from the Actors to the Spectators.

The Delicacy of Love sooths me, and its tenderness touches me; and as in Spain they love the best of any Country in the World, I am never weary of reading in their Authors Amorous Adventures. I am more affected with the Passion of one [Page 14] of their Lovers, than I shou'd be with my own, were I yet capable of any. The very Imagination of those Amours raises in me certain motions for the Gallant, which I cou'd never feel for my self.

There is perhaps as much Witt in the other Writings of that Nation, as in ours; but it is a Wit that gives me no satisfacti­on, except that of Cervantes in Don Quixot, which I cou'd read all my life without being disgusted one single mo­ment.

Of all the Books I have ever read, Don Quixot is that, of which I shou'd be most ambitious to have been the Author. No­thing in my Opinion, can contribute more to the forming in us a true relish of every thing. I wonder how Cervantes cou'd, as it were out of the Mouth of one of the greatest Fools in the World, shew him­self maiter of all the Understanding and Knowledge imaginable. I admire the diversities of his Characters, which are of the most uncommon stamp in the World, and at the same time the most na­tural.

Quevedo indeed appears a very Ingeni­ous Author, but I esteem him more for wishing all other Books Burnt, when he [Page 15] had read Don Quixot, than for having been able to read 'em.

I am not acquainted enough with Ita­lian Verse, to taste their delicacy, or ad­mire their Grace and Beauty; I meet with some Histories in that Tongue a­bove all the Moderns, and some Treati­ses of Politicks even above what the An­tients have Written.

As for the Morality of the Italians, it is full of Conceipts, which savour more of a Fancy that aims to Sparkle, than of solid Sense founded on deep Reflections.

I am very curious of every thing that is fine in French, and am very much dis­tasted at a thousand Authours, that seem only to have written for the Reputation of being Authors. I read not for the cre­dit of having read abundance, and this is it which tyes me up to certain Books, where I'm assur'd to meet satisfaction.

Montagne's Essays, Malherbe's Poems, Corneille's Tragedies, and Voiture's Let­ters have established to themselves, as it were, a Title to please me during Life.

Montagne has not the same success with others through their whole Course. As he particularly lays open Men, the Young and the Old are pleased to see [Page 16] themselves in him by the resemblance of their Thoughts. The space intermedi­ate to these Ages, takes 'em off from Na­ture to other Professions; and then they find less in Montagne that fits 'em. The Art Military employs the General; Po­liticks the States-man; Divinity the Church Man; and Law the Judge.

Montagne returns upon us, when Na­ture has brought us back again to our selves; and the approach of Age, when we truly feel what we are, recalls the Prince as well as his meanest Subjects from his Engagements to his Function, to the more near and sensible interest of his Person.

I Write not this out of any impulse of vanity, which urges Men to make their Fancies publick. I instruct my self by what I say, and understand my self better by expressing the Notion I have form'd of my self, then I could by private thoughts, and Internal Reflecti­ons.

The Idea a Man has of himself by simple attention to Internal Meditations, is always a little confus'd. The Image which is outwardly express'd is much more exact, and gives us much truer [Page 17] Judgment of our selves, when it is again submitted to the Examination of the mind, after having been laid before our eyes.

Besides, the flattering Opinion of our own merit loses half its Charms, as soon as it comes into the light; and the complaisance of self Love insensibly va­nishing leaves behind it only a disgust of its sweetness, and shame for a vanity as foolishly entertain'd as judiciously quit­ted.

To equal Malherbe to the Antients, I find nothing finer then his own compo­sitions. I wou'd only in his works re­trench what is not worthy of him. It were injustice to postpone him to any one who­ever. But he must bear with us, if for the honour of our own Judgments, we make him give place to himself.

Almost the same we may say of Cor­neille. He wou'd be above all the Trage­dians of Antiquity, if he were not in some of his pieces much below himself. He is so admirable in what is fine, that he take saway all patience for what is indiffe­rent. What in him is not excellent, me­thinks is naught; not that it is bad, but that it wants the perfection of the rest. [Page 18] It is not enough for him to please us light­ly, he's bound to touch us to the quick.

If he ravishes not our minds, they em­ploy their utmost penetration, enviously to discover the difference between him and himself.

Some Authors may simply move us. But those are petty ticklings, pleasing e­nough when we have nothing else to mind. Corneille prepares our minds for transports: If they be not elevated, they are left in a condition more uneasie than languour.

It is, I confess hard, always to Charm: Very hard at pleasure to raise a mind from its temper, to unhinge a Soul. But Corneille by having done it so often, has laid upon himself an Obligation to do it always. Let him expunge what is not noble enough for him, and he will leave us in a full admiration of those Beauties which no one can Parallel.

I should not excuse Voiture for a great many of his Letters, which he ought to have suppress'd, had himself been the Publisher: But he was like some Fathers, equally kind and prudent, who have a natural affection for their Children, and in secret cherish those that want worth, [Page 19] thereby to avoid exposing their Judgments to the Publick by their Indulgence.

He might have shew'd all his Fondness to some of his Works; for there is some­thing in 'em so unaccountably ingenious so polite, so fine, and so agreeable, that it takes away all taste of the Sales Attici' and the Roman [...]rbanitas; ecclypses quite the Spirit and Wit of the Italians, and the Gallantry of the Spaniards.

We have in French some particular pieces of admirable Beauty; of which number is the Funerall Oration of the Queen of England by Monsieur de Meaux. There is a certain Spirit diffus'd through the whole discourse, which gives as great an opinion of the Author before he is known, as of his Work, after 'tis read. His Character is impress'd on all that he says; so that altho' I have never seen him, I pass easily from the admiration of his Discourse to that of his Person.

Nor am I less affected with the Abridg­ment of General History done by the same Prelate. Such reach is there in his Re­flections: The sense so sound, so great a purity of Reasoning! What a capacity of mind must he have in one Scheme to comprehend so great a variety [Page 20] of Events, so far disjoyn'd both in time and place? What Judgment to recon­cile 'em as he do's, and draw from 'em Consequences so advantagious to the true Religion?

How great soever the pleasure of Read­ing is to me, yet that of Conversation will ever be more sensible. The acquain­tance of the Ladies would afford the sweetest, if their Charms did not put us to too much pain to defend our selves from doing Homage to 'em. Yet this is a vio­lence I rarely suffer; as my Age renders me unacceptable, my Experience makes me nice; and if they can't be pleas'd with me, I am by way of return as little sa­tisfied with them.

There are some whose Merits make a considerable impression on my mind, but their Beauty has little influence on me. And if I am at any time surprized by it, I presently reduce my Passion to a plea­sing reasonable Amity, that has none of the uneasinesses of Love.

Amongst Ladies, the most meritorious person with them, is the Lover; the next, the Confident of their Inclinations; the third, he that ingeniously sets off all that is amiable in 'em. If nothing will [Page 21] win their hearts, we may at least gain their Favours by Complements; for next to the Lover, to whom all must give place, he pleases 'em most, that can make 'em please themselves best.

When you converse with 'em, avoid carefully all indifference, they are from their Souls Enemies to such coldness, or love your self, or flatter what they love, or paint 'em so as to plunge 'em still deep­er in Love with themselves, For Love of some sort or other they must have, it is a Passion their Hearts are never unfur­nish'd with. Direct a poor Heart how to employ it.

'Tis true, some of 'em can have esteem, and even tenderness too without Love; and others there are as worthy of our Confidence and Secrets as the most trusty of our Friends.

I know some that have no less Wit and Discretion, then Charms and Beauty: But those are Rarities, that Nature wan­tonly bestows on the World, whether by design or caprice, and we can draw no Consequences in Favour of the Generall, from things so particular, and from Qua­lities so uncommon. Women so extraor­dinary seem to invade the Character of [Page 22] Men; and perhaps it is a kind of revolt from their Sex, to shake off the Natural Conditions of it for the real Advantages of ours.

I confess I have formerly been more dif­ficult in the choice of the Men, with whom I Convers'd, then at present I am; and I think my self not so much a Loser in point of Delicacy, as a gainer in point of Sense. I then sought for Men that cou'd please me in every thing, I now seek every thing that may please me in any Man.

A Man in all respects agreeable, is too great a Rarity, and it is no Wisdom to hunt for what we are hardly ever like to find. That Delicacy of pleasure, which our imagination paints to us, is what we seldom enjoy; the sickly nice Fancy gives us a disrelish of those things, which we during the whole course of our lives might obtain.

Not that, to say Truth, it is impossible to find such Jewels, but it is very rarely that Nature forms 'em, and that For­tune favours us with 'em. My good Stars made me know one of this rank in France, and another of equal merit in a Forreign Country, who was the whole delight of my Life. Death has robbed me of this Trea­sure, [Page 23] and I can never think on that cruel day on which Monsieur Daubigny died, but I may with a sad and sensible regrett, say,

Among your other measures for the con­duct of Society, you must take care to apprehend the good things seperately; be­ware to distinguish Solidity from Prolixi­ty, good Nature from want of Sense, Science from Ridicule. You will find these Qualities promiscuously blended, not only among those Men whom you may at pleasure make choice of, or repudiate, but even among those whom your interest, or other tyes as obligatory, shall bind you to.

I have seen a Man of the gayest natural parts in the World, lay aside the happy facility of his Genious, and engage in Arguments of Science and Religion, in which he betray'd a ridiculous ignorance.

I know one of the most Learned Men in Europe, of whom one may Learn a Thousand things curious or profound, in whom nevertheless you will find an [Page 24] impotence of Beleif in every thing extra­ordinary, fabulous, or exceeding Credit.

That great Master of the Stage, to whom the Romans are more beholding for the Beauty of their thoughts, then to their own Wit or Vertue: Corneille who sufficiently discovers himself without na­ming, speaks like an ordinary Man when he speaks for himself. He exhausts all his stock of thought for a Greek or a Ro­man: A French-man or Spaniard abates his courage; and when he speaks for him, he is quite dispirited. He racks his ima­gination for all that is noble to adorn his Old Heroe's, and you would say, that he debarr'd himself the advantage of his own proper Wealth, as, if he were not worthy the use of it.

If you know the World perfectly, you will find in it abundance of Men valuable for their Talent, and as contemptible for their failing. Expect not they shou'd al­ways display their good Qualities, and dis­creetly cover their Infirmities. You shall see 'em slight their Vertues, and fondly in­dulge their defects. It rests upon your Judgment to make a better choice then themselves, and by your Address, to draw from 'em that worth, which they cou'd not easily communicate.

[Page 27] For these Ten Years, which I have spent in a Forreign Country, I have found as much pleasure, and been as happy in the enjoyment of Conversation, as if I had been all the time in France. I have met with Persons of as great Worth as Quality, whose Society has been the greatest comfort of my Life. I have known Men as witty as a­ny I have ever seen, who have join'd the pleasure of their Friendship to that of their Company.

I have known some Ambassadors so delicate, that it seem'd to me a considerable loss, whenever the Duty of their Charac­ter suspended the exercise of their more peculiar Excellencies.

I have formerly thought that there were no Man of Honour but in our Court; that the effeminacy of warmer Climates, and a kind of Barbarity in the colder, hinder'd the Natives from being rais'd to this pitch, except very rarely. But experience has at length convinc'd me, that there are such every where, and if I have not disco­cover'd it soon enough, it is because it is difficult for a French-man under long use to relish any but those of his own Country.

Every Nation has it's excellence, with [Page 24] a certain turn proper and peculiar to its Genious. My Judgement, too much wed­ded to our own Air, rejected as faulty what was Foreign to us. Because we see 'em imitate us in the Fashion of things Exterior, we wou'd impose upon 'em the imitation of us, even in the Dress of Vertue too.

In truth, the grounds of any Essential Quality, are every where the same; but we endeavour to fit the Extrinsicks to our Humour, and those among us that pay the greatest deference to Reason, must have with it something to gratifie their Fan­cies.

The difference which I find between the Air of us and other Nations, to speak ingenuously, is that ours is industriously af­fected, and that of other Nations impres­sed by Nature, as it were in an indelible Character.

In all my life, I have never known but two Persons that were universally tak­ing, and those differently. The one had agreeable Qualities of all sorts; for the ordinary sort of Men, for the Humorists, and even for the Fantastical; he seem'd to have in his Nature, wherewith to please every body. The other had so ma­ny [Page 27] rare Accomplishments, that he might assure himself of esteem where-ever Ver­tue was rever'd. The first cou'd insi­nuate himself, and never fail'd to gain the Affections. The second was some­what morose and fierce, but command­ed esteem. To compleat this difference, a Man gave himself up with pleasure to the insinuations of the former, and sub­mitted oftentimes with reluctance to the worth of the latter. I had a strict Friendship with 'em both, and can say, That I never saw anything in the one, but what was agreeable; or in the other, but what was valuable.

When I want the company of men of Conversation, I have recourse to the Learned; and if I meet with Men skilfull in polite Learning, I think my self no great loser by exchangeing of the delica­cy of the present, for that of past Ages. But there are very few that have a true Judgment: Polite Learning is by most Mens management rendered very nause­ous.

Of all the Men I ever knew, Antiqui­ty is the most indebted to Mr. Waller, not only for the nicety and fineness of his apprehension, which he employs to dive, [Page 28] even into the Soul of the Antients for their true meaning, but likewise for the Beau­ty of his Fancy, with which he embel­lishes their Thoughts too.

I have seen in few Years abundance of Criticks, and but few good Judges. I affect not that sort of Learned Men, that rack their Brains to restore a Reading, which is not mended by the Restitution. The whole Mystery of their Learning lyes in what we might as well be igno­rant of, and what is worth the know­ing, they never understand. They never imagine, never think nicely enough to taste the delicacy of the Sense, or the e­legance of a Thought. They may serve well enough for Expositors to Gramma­rians; they drudge the same way, and are made of the same Lump: but they can never rightly apprehend any Man of Sense among the Antients; such a Talent is diametrically opposite to theirs.

In History, they neither mind Men, nor matters; they lay the whole weight on Cronology; and for the date of a Con­sul's Death, neglect the knowledge of his Character, or of the Transactions during his Consulate. Tully with them had been no more then a Compiler of Ha­rangues, [Page 29] or Caesar then a Scribler of Com­mentaries. The Consul, the General slip by 'em without notice, the Spirit that ani­mates their Works is unperceiv'd, and the principal Matters they treat of un­known.

I value infinitely a Critic of Sense, if the expression may be allow'd. Such is the excellent Work of Machiavel upon the Decades of Livy; and such wou'd be the reflections of Monsieur de Rohan upon Cae­sars Commentaries, had he peirc'd deeper into his Designs, and expos'd to a clearer light the secret Springs of his Conduct. Notwithstanding, I must own that he has equall'd, if not outreach'd the penetration of Machiavel in his remarks upon the cle­mency of Caesar in the Civil Wars. But we may see that his own experience of such Wars, gave abundance of light to those judicious Observations.

After the Study of polite Learning (for which I have a more particular af­fection,) I Love the Science of those great Lawyers, who might themselves be Legis­lators; who reascend to that Original Ju­stice that rules Humane Society, that know what liberty Nature permits in establisht Governments, and what for the [Page 30] publick Good, easies private Men of the burthen of Politicks.

The Conversation of Mr. — affords these instructions with as much pleasure as profit. From Hobbs, that great geni­ous of England, we may receive these shin­ing Lights, yet not altogether so true; for somethings he mistakes, others he pushes too far.

Were Grotius yet alive, all things might be Learnt of that universally Learn'd Man, who is yet more valuable for his Rea­sonings than for his Learning. Tho' he is Dead, his Writings still resolve the most important difficulties; and were Justice only regarded, they might be a standing rule to all Nations in points of War, and Peace. His Book, de Iure Bel­li & Pacis, ought to be the chief Study of Soveraign Princes, their Ministers, and whoever else have any share in the Govern­ment of the People.

Nay, even the knowledge of that Law which descends to the affairs of private Men, ought not to be slighted. But this is left to the care of the Gentlemen of the Gown, and denied to Princes as a thing below-them, tho' every moment of their Reign, they issue out Warrants that extend to [Page 31] the Fortunes, Liberties, and Lives of their Subjects.

They are only entertain'd with Ha­rangues about Valour, which is only an instrument of Destruction, and Discourses of Liberality, which is but a more regular method of squandering, unless it is boun­ded by Justice. They ought indeed to suit the Vertues they preach to the neces­sities of every ones temper: To infuse Liberality into the Covetous, to spur the unactive with the thirst of Glory, and curb, as much as is possible, the ambitious with the Reins of Justice. But amongst all the diversity of Tempers, Justice is still most requisite; for it keeps up order as well in him that does it, as in them to whom it is done.

This is not a constraint that lessens the power of a Prince, for in doing it to o­thers, he learns to do it to himself, and so it is in him a voluntary act, tho' we neces­sarily receive it from his power.

I read not in History of any Prince, bet­ter Educated then Cyrus the great. They were not contented exactly to inform him what was Justice in all respects, but they made him put his Instructions in Practice as often as occasion was offer'd; so [Page 32] that they did at the same time imprint the notions of it on his Mind, and esta­blish an habitual Justice in his Soul.

The Education of Alexander was of somewhat too large an extent: He was Taught the knowledge of every thing in Nature, but himself. His ambition af­terwards diffus'd it self as far as his Learn­ing; and knowing all, he grew desirous to Conquer all. But he had little or no method in his Conquests, and abundance of irregularity in his Life for want of knowing what he owed to the publick, to private Men, and to himself.

No Men Whatsoever can take too ef­fectual a care to make themselves just, for they have naturally too strong a Biass the contrary way.

Justice is the foundation and the Fence of all Society; without it we should still be Strowlers, and Vagabonds; our impe­tuosity would soon reduce us to our pri­mitive confusion, out of which we are happily extricated, yet instead of chear­fully acknowledging the benefit, we find a regret to submit to that happy Subjecti­on it keeps us in, and still long after that Fatall Liberty which would be the unhap­piness of our Lives.

[Page 33] When the Scriptures tell us that the Just are few, it means not in my Opini­on, that Men are not yet inclin'd to good Works. But it seems to intimate how little an Inclination they have to 'em out of a principle of Justice.

Indeed were Mens good Actions ex­amined, they would most of em be found to have their source from the considera­tion of some other Vertues. Bounty, Friend­shi [...], and Benevolence are the ordinary Spring [...] from whence they flow: Chari­ty supplies our Neighbours wants; Li­berality bestows, and Generosity obliges. Justice which ought to partake in all, is laid aside as burthensome; and necessi­ty alone gives it a share in our Actions.

Nature endeavours to find a kind of self complaisance in these first qualities, where we act upon pleasing Motives: But in this she finds a secret violence, where anothers Right extorts from us what we owe, and we only acquit our selves of our own Obligations, not lay any upon them by our beneficence.

It is a secret aversion to Justice that makes us fonder of giving than returning, of obliging than acknowledging. Thus we see the most liberal, generous Men [Page 34] are not usually the most Just. Justice in­cludes a regularity that bridles 'em, as being founded on a constant method of Reason, oppos'd to those natural impulses, which are the Hinges upon which libe­rality almost always moves.

There is something, I know not what, heroical in great Liberality, as well as in great Valour; and there is a great Ana­logy between those two Vertues, the one raises the Soul above the Consideration of Wealth, as the other beyond the manage­ment and desire of Life. But with all these gay and generous Motives, without good Conduct, the one becomes ruinous, and the other Fatal.

Those whom cross accidents of Fortune have undone, are pityed by all the World, because it is a misfortune the Conditions of Humanity submit us to: But those that are reduc'd to Misery by vain profusion, raise more contempt than commiseration; because it is the Issue of a peculiar Folly, from which every Man has the good con­ceipt to think himself exempt.

But besides Nature is always a sufferer little by compassion, and to relieve her self of an uneasie thought, She represents to her self the Folly of the Prodigall, ra­ther [Page 35] than rest on the prospect of the Beg­gar. All things consider'd, it is enough for private Men to be Benefactors.

As this ought not to be meerly through a softness of Nature which lukewarmly lets go what it has not its strength to keep; I despise the weakness which we call ill plac'd Bounty, and hate no less the vanity of those that never do a kindness but for the pleasure of boasting of it.

There are not so many ungratefull Men, as there are thought to be; because there are not so many generous Men as we imagin. He that in silence suppresses a favour receiv'd is an unthankful Fellow, that deserv'd it not. But he that publish­es one that he has done, turns it to an Injury, shewing to your disgrace the ne­cessity you had of him.

I would have an honest Man cautious of receiving obligations, and sensible of 'em when receiv'd: I would have him that obliges satisfyed with the generosity of the Action, and not think of any ac­knowledgement from the Party oblig'd. When a return is expected, it is no long­er liberality; it is a sort of Trade, which the spirit of Interest wou'd introduce in­to Favours.

[Page 36] 'Tis true, there are some persons in whose nature ingratitude is rooted: Ingra­titude is the main ingredient in their com­position; with that their Heart their Soul, and every part is season'd: Then make no returns to Love, not because they are hard and insensible, but because they are ingratefull.

This ingratitude of the Heart is of all the kinds of it the most opposite to Hu­manity. For a generous Man may be sometimes necessitated to banish the thoughts of a past kindness, to ease himself of the trouble that some Obligations are apt to give. But Friendship knitts, not fetters us together; and without some extraordinary violence to Nature, it is impossible to resist its tender engaging Charms.

The Ingratitude of the Soul is a Na­tural indisposition to acknowledge a Ser­vice, even without regard to Interest. Avarice may sometimes suppress an Ob­ligation, to avoid the expence of a return. But pure Ingratitude is without farther design in it self averse to all acknow­ledgements.

There is another sort of Ingratitude founded on a Conceipt of our own worth; [Page 37] our Vanity mistakes services done us, for dues paid to us.

The ambition of Liberty has likewise its ingratitude as well as Vanity. The only subjection it allows is to the Laws; out of abhorrence of a dependance, it hates the memory of Obligations that show a superiority in the Benefactor. This makes Republicans ingratefull. They think that a Diminution of their liberty, which others impute to their Ingratitude.

Brutus thought it meritorious to sacri­fice his Obligations to his liberty. All the kindnesses heap'd on him were converted to Injuries, when he began to look upon 'em as Fetters. He could kill a Bene­factor that aim'd to be his Master. An abominable Villany amongst the Patrons of gratitude. An admirable vertue with the Sticklers for liberty.

As there are Men purely ingratefull, out of a meer sense of ingratitude, so there are some meerly thankful out of a pure sense of thankfulness. Their Hearts are sensible not only of good turns, but even of good will too; and have of themselves a propensity to acknowledge all manner of Obligations.

There is as great a diversity of thanks, [Page 38] as of ingratitude; there are some poor Spi­rits that think themselves oblig'd by eve­ry thing, as well as vain Humours that do so by nothing.

If self-conceipt has its proud ingrates, distrust of Merit has its weak thank­full ones, that take common Justice for an Obligation.

This diffidence of themselves gives 'em an inclination to subjection, and that obliges them to make another sort of acknowledg­ment. These Persons as they are encum­ber'd with liberty, and asham'd of ser­vitude, raise up chimerical Obligations, to give an honourable colour to their sub­mission.

I will not reckon among the grateful, those poor wretches that think themselves oblig'd to us for not hurting 'em. They are not only Slaves, but Slaves that have not the Courage to hope well. To these transported Wretches all treatment that is not rigourous is favourable, and every thing that is not an injury, they think a kindness.

I shall only now consider Court Ac­knowledgments, which have not so much respect to the past, as design upon the fu­ture. They acknowledge obligations to [Page 39] all that are in any post to oblige; and by an affected gratitude for favours never done insinuate themselves into those, in whose power it is to do 'em, and indus­triously put themselves in the way of 'em. This trick of thanks as it is un­doubtedly no Vertue, so neither is it a vice but cunning, which it is lawful to serve our selves with, and guard our selves from.

The great ones in requital have a trick as artificial to excuse themselves from doing kindnesses, as the Courtiers can have to engage 'em to it. They re­proach men with Services never done, and complain of ingratitude, tho' they have hardly ever obliged any one, to draw from hence a specious pretence to oblige no body.

But let this affected Gratitude, and these mysterious Complaints of Ingrati­tude pass; let us see what is to be wish'd in the pretences to, and the di­stribution of Benefits. I cou'd wish in the Pretenders more merit than Address, and in the Disposers more Generosity than Ofsentation.

Justice respects every thing in the distribution of Favours: It regulates the [Page 40] liberality of the Donour, and weighs the merit of the Receiver.

Generosity thus circumstantiated is an admirable Vertue: not so, it is the moti­on of a Soul truly noble, but ill govern'd; or of a wild Ostentatious Humour, that thinks Reason a clogg to it.

There are so many things to be consi­der'd in the distribution of kindnesses, that the safest way is always to observe strict Justice, and consult Reason equally about those we make the Objects of 'em. But even among those that intend strict Justice, how many are misguided by their tempers to reward or punish? When we give way to Insinuation, and yield to Complement, Self-Love represents to us as Justice a Lavishness to them that flatter us; and we reward 'em for the Artifice they use to deceive our Judg­ments, and prevail upon the imbecility of our Wills.

They cheat themselves yet more easily, that mistake a morose Temper for an in­clination to Justice. The itch of punish­ing is ingenious in 'em to set an ill gloss upon every thing. Pleasure with them is Vice, and Error a Crime. A man must divest himself of Humanity to escape [Page 41] their Rigour. Misled by a false Notion of Vertue, they think they chastise Cri­minals, while they torment the Misera­ble.

If Justice appoints a great Punishment, (which is sometimes necessary) it is pro­portion'd to some great Crime, but is never harsh or rigorous. Severity and Rigour are no part of it, but spring from the humour of those persons that execute it. As these sorts of Punishments flow from Justice without rigour, so likewise does Pardon in some cases rather then from Clemency. To pardon Faults of Error is but Justice to the failings of our Nature.

I might proceed to several other parti­culars of Justice, but it is now high time to think of Religion, which ought to be our principal care.

After the manner that I have liv'd in the World, People will not easily believe that I am very solicitous about Salvation. Yet I can safely aver, that no man e're thought of the next World with more Application than my self. 'Tis stupidity to set up our Rest in a Life that may ter­minate every moment.

[Page 42] Meer Curiosity will make us inquisi­tive to know what shall become of us af­ter our Death. We are too dear to our selves to agree to the irrecoverable loss of our selves. Self Love secretly opposes the Notion of annihilation. We are desirous to exist always, and the Soul as it is inter­ess'd in its own conversation, improves this desire we have of receiving some light into a thing so obscure.

Yet the Body finding by certain expe­rience that it must die, and unwilling to die alone seeks reasons to involve the Soul in one common State. But the Soul which knows its Actions are independant of those Organs, is sensible that it can sub­sist without 'em. I have called all the light I could both from the Antients and Moderns to assist my reflections to dive into so dark a matter: I have read all that has been Written on the Immorta­lity of the Soul, and after I have done it with all my attention possible, the clear­est Proof that I find of the Eternity of my Soul, is my own perpetual desire that it may be so.

I wish I had never read Mousieur Des­cartes's Meditations: The great reputa­tion of that excellent Man among us gave [Page 43] me some hope of finding that demon­stration he promises; but there appears to me rather probability then certainty in his arguments; and how desirous soever I was to be convinc'd by his Reasons, all that I can do in his fa­vour or my own, is to rest where I was before.

I leave the Study of Metaphysicks to make an enquiry into Religion, and looking a Book upon that Antiquity of which I am so fond, I find among the Greeks and Romans, nothing more then a Superstitious Idolatrous Worship, or politick humane contrivances establish'd for the Government of Men. It is not difficult for me to see the advantages of the Christian Religion over all the rest; and submitting my self the best I can with reverence to the Belief of its Misteries, I leave my Reason to tast with pleasure the purest, and most perfect Morality in the World.

Amidst the diversity of Beleifs that divide Christianity, the true Catholick engages me as well by my own free Election, were I yet to choose, as by the habitual Impression it has long since made upon me.

[Page 44] What we now call Religion is indeed but a difference in Religion, and not a different Religion. I rejoyce that my Faith is more sound then a Here­ticks; yet instead of Hating him for this difference, I Love him because he agree's with me in the Fundamentals. The means at length to agree in the whole, is always to commuicate in something. A desire of Reunion can ne­ver be inspir'd till the enmity that arises from division be suppress'd. Men may seek one another as sociable, but they never join with their Enemies.

Besides, the difference of Doctrine in some points affected in every Sect, I re­mark, as it were, a sort of particular Spi­rit that distinguishes 'em. The Catho­lick tends particularly to the love of God, and good Works. We look upon this first Being, as an Object soveraignly ami­able, and tender Souls are touch'd with the sweet and agreeable impressions it makes on 'em.

Good Works follow necessarily from this Principle; for Love once receiv'd within, actuates us without, and puts us upon endeavouring all we can to please him we love. All we have to fear in this [Page 45] case is, lest the source of this Love, the Heart, should be corrupted by the mixture of any Passion altogather humane.

It is likewise to be feared, that instead of obeying the Ordinance of God, we should frame methods of serving him ac­cording to our own Fancies. But if this love be real and pure, nothing in the world yields that true sweetness and sa­tisfaction.

The inward joy of devout Souls rises from a secret assurance they have of be­ing agreeable to God; and the true Mor­tifications, and holy Austerities are no­thing else but pious Sacrifices of them­selves.

The Reformed Religion divests men of all confidence in merit. The Opinion of Predestination, which it dares not forgo, leaves the Mind languid, unmov'd, with­out Affection, under prerence of waiting with submission for the Will of Heaven. It is Content barely to obey, and seeks not to please; and in a set common Worship, makes God the Object rather of their Re­gularity than Love.

The Calvinists abstract from Religion every thing that appears humane, to pre­serve its Purity: but in endeavouring to [Page 46] debar Man of what is humane, they fre­quently retrench too much of what is address'd to God.

Their dislike of our Ceremonies, makes 'em industrious to refine upon us. Yet when they have attain'd to this dry nak­ed Purity, they have not so much De­votion. Those that are pious among 'em, raise up a private Spirit, which they think inspir'd; so much dissatisfied are they with a Formality that to them seems too common.

There are in matters of Worship two sorts of Humours. The one wou'd be always adding to, and the other always retrenching what is established. In the first, there is a hazard of giving too much out-side to Religion, and covering it with so many Exteriors, that the real ground of it cannot be seen through 'em. In the other, the danger is least after having cut off all that appears su­perfluous, Religion it self should be pared.

Tho' the Catholicks have abundance of Ceremonies, yet that hinders not but that men of understanding may see well enough through 'em.

[Page 47] The Reform'd use too little, and their ordinary Worship is not sufficiently di­stinguish'd from the common Occupa­tions of Life. In places where it is not tolerated, the difficulty heightens their disgust, and the Dispute raises a warmth that animates 'em. Where it rules, it produces only an exact Compliance, as the Civil Government, or any other Ob­ligation might do.

Good manners among the Huguenots are only the effects of their Faith, and the Subjects of their Belief. We are a­greed on both sides, that every Christi­an is bound to Beleive, and live aright, but our ways of expressing it differ: they say that good Works without Faith are but Dead Works, and we, that Faith without good Works is but Dead Faith.

They that began the Reformation ac­cused us of Corruption and Vice; and we now object against them our good Works.

Those that reproach'd us with ill li­ving, will now take no other advan­tage of us then that of an imaginary purer Faith. We allow the necessity of Belief, but Charity was commanded by [Page 48] Jesus Christ, and the Doctrine of his Pre­cepts is much more plain then that of his Misteries. Our Faith is obscure, but our Law is very clearly expressed. The necessary points of our Faith are above the apprehension of abundance of Men, but those of our Duty are suit­ted to the capacities of all the World. In a word, God has given us light e­nough to do well; and we would serve with it our curiosity of knowing too much; and instead of acquiescing in what he is pleased to discover to us, we wou'd pry into what he has con­ceal'd from us.

I know that the contemplation of Hea­venly things does sometimes happily dis­engage us from the World: But it is frequently no more then meer specula­tion, and the fruit of a vice very Na­tural to Mankind.

The immoderate Ambition of knowledge extends it self beyond Nature even to in­quire into what is most misterious in its Author, not so much out of a design to adore him, as out of a vain curiosity of knowing all things.

This vice is close followed by another: curiosity breeds presumption, and we as [Page 49] boldly define, as we rashly inquire, we erect a Science of those things that are to us altogether inconceiveable. So depravedly do we use the will and understanding. We proudly aspire to know every thing and cannot; we may Religiously observe eve­ry thing and will not: let us be just, cha­ritable, and patient according to the principles of our Religion, and we shall know and observe all together.

I leave it to our Doctors to refute the errours of the Calvinists, 'tis enough for me to be perswaded that our opin­ions are the sounder. But if rightly apprehended, I dare say the Spirit of both Religions is differently grounded on good Principles; only one more extends the exercise of good Works; with the other, the cautions to avoid Evill, take deeper root.

The Catholick with an active resolu­tion, and Loving industry is perpetually seeking some new way of pleasing God. The Hugenot with all circumspection and respect dares not venture beyond a known Precept, for fear by imaginary novelties of giving too much sway to his Fancy.

To be always disputing points of Do­ctrine, is not the means to reunite us. [Page 50] Arguments are inexhaustible, and the con­troversie will last as long as there are Men to manage it. But if we wou'd leave these disputes, that only serve to exasperate us, and return without passion to that Spirit that distinguishes us. I think it not impossible to find some ge­neral in which we may agree.

Let us Catholiques bridle the restless Zeal, that makes us act a little too much of our own Heads. Let the Hu­guenots quit a little their unactive regula­rity, and animate their languour with­out departing from their submission to Providence. Let us do somthing in condescention to them, that they may return as much in complaisance to us. Then without thinking of Free will, or Predestination, we shall frame insens­ibly a true rule for our actions, which will be follow'd by that of our opinions.

If we come to a reconciliation of wills upon the good conduct of Life, it will soon produce a good understanding in doctrine. Let us do what we can to joyn in good works. and we shall not long be of separate Faiths.

I conclude from the little that has been said, that it is an ill Method of converting Men, to Attack 'em by af­fronting [Page 51] their Judgments. A Man de­fends his Notions either as truth, or as his own; and however it be, he raises a hundred objections against the Person that wou'd convince him.

Nature has given to every one his pro­per Sense, and seems to have engag'd him to it by a secret fond Iudulgence, He can submit to the will of another, tho' he be free: he can own himself infe­riour in courage and Vertue; but to con­fess a submission to another Mans Sense, is what he is Scandaliz'd at: And he is most naturally averse to acknowledge a Superi­ority of Reason in any one whomsoever.

The chief advantage of humanity is to be born reasonable, and to hear ano­ther pretend more of it then our selves gives us the greatest jealousies. If we Consult the conversions of Antient Times, we shall find that their Souls were mov'd, but their Understandings very little con­vinc'd. The first disposition to receive the truths of Christianity is formed in the Heart.

Things purely Natural, the Mind may conceive, and it's knowledge Springs from it's Relation to the Object. With supernatural the Soul is taken, it is af­fected, it adheres, and unites it self, [Page 52] without ever comprehending 'em.

Heaven has better prepar'd our Hearts for the impressions of grace, then our Understandings for illumination. It's immensity confounds our narrow Intel­lects. It's bounty agrees better with our Love. There is I know not what within us that secretly pleads for a God, which we cannot comprehend, and hence it is that to succeed in the con­version of Men, we must settle a plea­sing commerce with 'em, by means of which we may inspire 'em with the same movements: For in disputes of Religion the Mind in vain strains it self to make us see, what we see but too much. In a sweet and pious familia­rity it is easie for the Soul to infuse the same sentiments.

To consider well the Christian Reli­gion wou'd make one think, that God had depriv'd it of the light of our minds, that it might turn more upon the mo­tions of our Hearts. To Love God and our Neighbour includes all, says St. Paul. And what is this, but to require a dis­position of Heart as well towards God as Man? It is to oblige us to do out of a principle of Love, what the civil [Page 53] Government enjoyns by rigorous Laws, and morality requires by a severe order of Reason.

Charity makes us relieve and succour, while Justice forbids us to do wrong. The one with difficulty hinders opposition, the other with pleasure procures Relief.

Those that have the true Notions that our Religion inspires, can't be unfaith­full to a Friend or ungrateful to a Be­nefactor. With these good sentiments a Heart innocently Loves these objects God has made amiable, and the most in­nocent of our Love is the most Charm­ing and tender.

Look upon Man in a civil Society, if Justice be necessary to him, yet 'tis a restraint. In the State of Nature, his liberty will have something of Bar­barity in it; and if he govern himself by morality, his reason is austere. All other Religions raise in our Minds tempe­stuous Thoughts, and troublesome Pas­sions. They erect against Nature su­perstitious Fears, and a furious Zeal: sometimes to the Sacrificing our Child­ren, like Agamemnon, at other times to the devoting our selves, like Decius. Only the Christian Religion composes [Page 54] all our inquietudes; softens all our Feirce­ness; sets all our tender movements a going, not only for our Friends and Neighbours, but for the indifferent, and even for our Enemies.

This is the end of the Christian Religion, and this was once the pra­ctice of it. If it be otherwise now, it is because we have let it lose its in­fluence on our Hearts, and given way to the Encroachments of our Imagina­tions. Hence springs the division of our minds about Faith, instead of the Union of our wills in good Works: so that what ought to be a band of Charity betwixt Men, is now be­come the Subject of their quarrells, their jealousies, and their ill Nature.

From this diversity of Opinions has arisen that of Parties, and the adhe­rence to Parties has caused Revolts and Wars. Many Thousands have Died in disputing the manner of take­ing the Sacrament, which they have agreed must be taken. This mischeif will last till Religion quits the curiosity of our Minds for the tenderness of our Hearts, and discourag'd by the Foolish pre­sumption of our enquiries, shall return to the sweet motions of our Love. [...] [Page 73] him capable of perceiving his Folly, and by this means to kill himself out of meer shame and despair.

The greatest and most prudent of the Goddesses favours scandalous Passions, and lends her assistance to carry on a Criminal Amour.

The same Goddess employs all sorts of Artifice to destroy a small hand-full of innocent People, who by no means de­served her indignation.

She thought it not sufficient to em­ploy her power and that of the other Gods, whom she solicited, to ruine Aeneas, but even corrupts the God of sleep to cast Palinurus into a Slumber, who so order­ed affairs, that by his Treachery the poor Pilot dropt into the Sea, and there pe­rished.

There is not one of these Gods in these Poems that does not bring the greatest mis­fortunes upon Men, and set them on the most Fatal attempts. Nothing is so Villain­ous here below, which is not executed by their Order, or authoriz'd by their Example, And this is one of the things that principally contributed to give Birth to the Sect of the Epicureans, and after­wards to support it.

[Page 74] Epicurus, Lucretius, and Petronius wou'd rather make their Gods lazy, and enjoying their Immortal Nature in an uninterrupted tranquility, than see them active, and cruelly employ'd to dis­turb our Repose.

Nay, Epicurus by doing so, pretended he show'd his great respect for the Gods; and from hence proceeded that saying which Bacon so much admire. Non De­os vulgi negare profanum, sed vulgi Opinio­nem Diis applicare profanum.

Now I don't mean by this, that we are oblig'd to discard the Gods out of our works, and much less from those of Poetry, where they seem to enter more Naturally than any where else. A Iove principium Musae. I am for introducing them as much as any man, but then I wou'd have them bring their Wisdom, Justice, and Clemency along with them, and not appear, as we generally make them, like a pack of Impostors and Assassins. I wou'd have them come with a conductto regulate all matters, and not in a disorder to confound every thing.

Perhaps it may be reply'd, that these extravagancies ought only to pass for Fables and Fictions, which belong to the [Page 75] jurisdiction of Poetry. But I wou'd fain know what Art and Science in the World has the power to exclude good Sense? If we need only write in Verse to be priviledged in all extravagancies, for my part I wou'd never advise any Man to meddle with Prose, where he must im­mediately be pointed at for a Coxcomb, if he leaves good Sense and Reason ne­ver so little behind him.

I wonder extreamly that the Anti­ent Poets who were so scrupulous to pre­serve probability in Actions purely Hu­man; violated it after so abominable a manner when they come to recount the Actions of the Gods. Even those who have spoken of their Nature more sober­ly than the rest, cou'd not forbear to speak extravagantly of their Conduct.

When they establish their Being, and their Attributes, they make them Im­mortal, Infinite, Almighty, Perfectly wise, and Perfectly good. But at the very mo­ment they set them a working, there is no weakness to which they don't subject them; there is no folly or wickedness which they don't make them commit.

We have two common sayings, which appear to be directly opposite to one ano­ther, [Page 76] and yet I look upon both to be true. The one is, that Poetry is the Language of the Gods; the other, that there is not such a Fool in Nature as a Poet.

Poetry that expresses with force and vi­gour those impetuous Passions that disturb Mankind, that Paints the Wonders of the Universe in lively expressions, does elevate things purely Natural, as it were above Nature, by the sublimity of its Thoughts, and the magnificence of its Discourses, which may justly enough be called the Language of the Gods.

But when Poets come once to quit this noble Field of Passions and Wonders, to speak of the Gods, they abandon them­selves to the caprice of their own Imagi­nation, in matters which they do not un­derstand, and their Heat having no just I­deas to govern it, instead of making them­selves, as they vainly believe, wholly di­vine, they are in truth the most extrava­gant Sots in the World. It will be no dif­ficult matter to be perswaded of the truth of this Assertion, if we consider that this absurd and fabulous Theology, is equally contrary to all Notions of Religion, and all the Principles of good Sense.

There have been some Philosophers that [Page 77] have founded Religion upon that Know­ledge which Men may have of the Di­vinity by their Natural reason. There have been Law givers too that have sti­led themselves the Interpreters of the will of Heaven, to establish a Religious Worship without any concurrence of Reason. But to make, as the Poets have done, a perpetual Commerce, a familiar Society, and if I may use the expression, a mixture or hotch potch of Men and Gods, against Religion and Reason, is certainly the boldest, and perhaps the most unaccountable thing that ever was.

It remains for us to know, whether the Character of a Poem has virtue to rectifie that of impiety and folly. Now, as I take it, we don't give so much pow­er to the secret force of any Charm. That which is wicked, is wicked for good and all; that which is extravagant can be made good Sense on no respect.

As for the Reputation of the Poet, it rectifies nothing any more than the Cha­racter of the Poem does. Discernment is a Slave to no body. That which is ef­fectually bad, is not a jot the better for being found in the most celebrated Author: And that which is just and solid, is ne­ver [Page 78] the worse for coming from an indiffe­rent hand.

Amongst a hundred fine and lofty thoughts, a good Judge will soon discover an extravagant one, which a great Genius threw out when it was warm, and which too strong an imagination was produced in defiance of good; On the other hand, in the course of an infinite number of extravagant things, this same Judge will admire certain Beauties, where the Spirit in spight of its impetuosity was just and regular.

The elevation of Homer and his other noble Qualities, don't hinder me from tak­ing notice of the false Character of his Gods: And that agreeable and judicious equality of Virgil, that pleases all Learn'd Men, does not conceal from me the least defects of his Aeneis.

If amongst so many noble things which affect me in Homer and Virgil, I cannot for­bear to remark what is defective in them; yet amongst those passages that displease me in Lucan either for being too flat, or weary me for being too far carried on, I cannot forbear to please my self in consi­dering the just and true grandeur of his Heroes. I endeavour to relish every word [Page 79] in him, when he expresses the secret move­ments of Caesar at the discovery of Pom­pey's Head; and nothing escapes me in that inimitable Discourse of Labienus and Cato, where they debate whether they shall consult the Oracle of Iupiter, Am­mon, to know the destiny of the Com­mon-Wealth.

If all the ancient Poets had spoken as worthily of the Oracles of their Gods, I should make no scruple to prefer them to the Divines and Philosophers of our time, and 'tis a passage that may serve for an Ex­ample in this matter to all succeeding Poets

One may see in the concourse of so ma­ny People that came to consult the Oracle of Ammon, what effects a publick Opini­on can produce, where Zeal and Supersti­tion are mingled together.

One may see in Labienus a pious sen­sible Man, who to his respect for the Gods, unites the consideration and esteem we ought to preserve for true Virtue in good Men.

Cato is a religious severe Philosopher, weaned from all vulgar Opinions, who en­tertains those lofty thoughts of the Gods, which pure undebauched Reason and a truly elevated Wisdom can attain to.

[Page 80] Every thing here is Poetical, every thing is consonant to Sense and Truth; it is not Poetical by the ridiculous Air of a Fiction, or by the extravagance of an Hyperbole, but by the daring greatness and Majesty of the Language, and by the noble elevation of the Discourse. 'Tis thus that Poetry is the Language of the Gods, and that Poets are wise. And 'tis so much the greater wonder to find it in Lucan, because it is neither to be met in Homer or Virgil.

WE see nothing more ordinary with Old Men than to desire a Retire­ment, and nothing so rare with them as not to repent of it when they are once re­tired. Their Souls that are in too great a Subjection to their Humours, are disgusted with the World for being tiresome, but scarce can they quit this false Object of their misfortune, but they are as angry with solitude as they were with the [Page 81] World, disquieting themselves where no­thing but themselves can give them any disquiet. This infirmity in some man­ner is peculiar to Old Age: But 'tis not impossible for a wise man to preserve himself from it.

A wise man that knows what is really good in every thing, draws all the assist­ances and agreements which they have, as well in a Retirement as in Society.

The essential reason that obliges us to withdraw our selves out of the World, when we are Old, is to prevent that laughter and contempt which Age brings along with it.

If we quit the World to good purpose, we shall still preserve the Idea of that merit, which we had there. If we tar­ry too long in it, we shall proclaim our own defects, and what we are then, will efface the memory of what we were. Besides 'tis a shame for a Person that values his credit to drag about him the infirmities of Old Age at the Court, where the end of his Services occasions that of his interests and merit.

Nature does redemand us to liberty, when we have nothing more to hope from Fortune. Behold what a sense of de­cency, [Page 82] what the care of our Reputation, what good Manners, and Nature it self require from us.

Nor is this all, for the World has still a right to demand the same thing of us. Its Commerce furnished us with pleasure so long as we were capable of relishing it: And it would be the highest ingratitude to be a charge to it, when we can give it nothing but disgust.

As for my self, I am fully resolved to live in a Convent or a Desert, rather than give my Friends an occasion to pit­ty me, or to furnish those that are not so, with a subject for their malicious Mirth and raillery. But the mischief is, that a Man is not sensible when he becomes weak and ridiculous.

It is not enough to know that we are wholly worn away, but we ought to be the first that perceive this declension, and like prudent Men to prevent the publick knowledge of this alteration.

Not that every alteration that Age brings along with it, ought to inspire us with the resolution of retiring. 'Tis true, we lose a great deal by growing Old, but amongst the losses we sustain, some of them are recompensed by considerable advantages.

[Page 83] If after I have lost my Passions, the af­fections continue with me still; I shall find less inquietude in my Pleasures, and more discretion in the conduct of my Life.

And in respect of others, if my imagina­tion diminishes, I shall not please so much sometimes, but I shall be infinitely less im­portunate for the general part. If I quit all Company, I shall be less Embarassed. If I come from large Companies to the Con­versation of a few, 'tis because I know how to make the better choice.

Besides this, 'tis to be considered, that if we change, we do it amongst People that change as well as our selves; Men of equal Infirmities, or at least subject to the very same And therefore I shall not be at all ashamed to search in their presence some relief against the weakness of Age; nor shall I be afraid to supply by Art what begins to fail me by Nature.

The greatest precaution against the in­jury of time, the nicest management of a Health that daily becomes more feeble, cannot scandalize any Men of Sense, and we ought not to trouble our selves with those that are not so.

For to say the Truth, that which dis­pleases in old People, is not too affected [Page 84] a care of their own preservation. We should easily forgive them every thing that relates to themselves, if they had but the same consideration for others. But the au­thority they assume is full of injustice and indiscretion; for they unadvisedly oppose the Inclinations even of those that bear the most with their infirmities. Their long course of life has untaught them how to live amongst their fellow Creatures, for they show nothing but a Spirit of rude­ness, austerity and contradiction to those very Men, from whom they are so unrea­sonable as to exact affability, condescen­sion and obedience. All that themselves do, they imagine to be virtuous, and place a­mongst the rank of Vices every thing that lies out of their power. In a word, as they are constrained to follow Nature, where she is tiresome and offensive, they wou'd by their good will, almost always oppose themselves to her, where she is sweet and agreeable.

'Tis an envious Humour that hates in other Men the good we possess no longer, or a temper purely Melancholy, that dis­poses the Mind to find fault with every thing.

There is no part of our Life wherein we [Page 85] ought to Study our own humour with more application than in Old Age, for it is never so difficult to be discovered as then.

An impetuous Young Fellow has a hun­dred returns, when he his dissatisfied with his Extravagances: But Old People de­vote themselves to their humours as if it were a virtue, and take pleasure in their own defects, because they carry a false re­semblance of commendable Qualities.

In effect, proportionably as they render themselves more difficult, they vainly ima­gine that they become more Delicate. They take up an invincible aversion to pleasure, believing that they are justly op­posing the current of Vice. A serious Air passes with them for Judgment, Phlegm for Wisdom, and hence proceeds that im­perious authority they allow themselves to censure every thing. They look upon Melancholy to supply the place of an in­dignation against sin, and gravity of suf­ficiency.

The only sure Remedy, when we once have proceeded so far, is to consult our reason in the intervalls when she is disen­gag'd from our humour, and if by its as­sistance we can arrive to the knowledge [Page 86] of our defects, we ought out of that little force that remains in us to form a resolu­tion of concealing them from the sight of mankind. 'Tis all that our Wisdom can do at this juncture to hide them, and it wou'd be a superfluous labour to endea­vour wholly to get clear of them.

'Tis at this point of our life that we ought to assign some time between it and death, and to chuse a convenient place to pass it in devotion if possible, at least with prudence, or with a devotion that gives us confidence, or with reason that promi­ses us Repose.

When our reason, which is so serviceable for the World, is, if I may use the expression worn out with long useing, a wise man forms another out of it to serve him in his retreat, which of ridiculous Sots, as we appear to be in Conversation, makes us truly wise in respect of our selves.

Of all the retreats that a man can pos­sibly make when he is Old, I should infi­nitely prefer that of a Convent to all the rest, if their rules were less severe, and mortifying.

'Tis certain that Old Age shuns a crowd out of a Delicate and retired Hu­mour, that cannot suffer either importu­nity, [Page 87] or an embarrass; and yet it avoids solitude with greater diligence, where it is delivered up to its own black disquietudes, or to sullen vexatious imaginations. The only remaining releif against all this is the Conversation of an honest Society: Now what society can better agree with it than a Religious one, where all manner of hu­man helps are afforded with more Chari­ty than else where, and where their vows all unite to demand those succours from Heaven, which cannot reasonably be ex­pected from Men? I confess we some­times meet a Religious (As the World calls them) of inestimable merit, such as throughly know the vanity of the World which they quitted. They are your truly virtuous and truly devout persons, that im­prove the Sentiments of Morality by those of Piety. They live not only ex­empt from the Tyranny of their Passions, but enjoy a most admirable serenity of Mind. They are more happy in desiring nothing, than the greatest Monarchs up­on earth in possessing all—I cou'd wish that we had established Societies, where honest Gentlemen might Commodiously retire after they have done the publick all the service they were capable to perform. [Page 88] When they were once entered here, whe­ther out of a consideration of their future State, a dislike of the World, or a desire of tranquillity, which is to succeed the dif­ferent agitations of Fortune, they might taste the delight of a pious retreat, and the innocent pleasure of an honest and a­greeable Conversation.

As for my self, I wou'd freely retreat to such a place from the delights of the World at an Age, when a Man's relish of pleasure is as it were extinguished; but then I wou'd not be without the Conveniences of it at this time, when we more sensibly feel whatsoever incommodes us, as in pro­portion we become more nice in the pur­suit of what pleases us, or are less tender in Relation to what affects us.

These conveniences so desirable in Old Age ought to be as far removed from abundance, that occasions disorder, as from those Anxieties that follow the heels of ne­cessity; and to explain my self more clear­ly upon this Chapter, I wou'd have a true frugality rightly manag'd.

I was formerly acquainted with a cer­tain person that had several pleasant thoughts about this affair. How happy might a man live, said he, in any Society [Page 89] where he disarms Fortune of that jurisdicti­on she pretends to have over him. We sacri­fice to this Fortune, our Estates, our repose, our years, and perhaps unprofitably, and if we arrive to possess its Favours, we purchase the short-liv'd Enjoyment, sometimes at the ex­pence of our liberty, and sometimes of our Lives. But suppose all our greatness should continue as long as we lived, yet it would at least expire with our selves: And what use of their Grandeur have these great Fa­vourites made, who never beheld the course of their Fortune interrupted? don't they seem to have acquired this mighty stock of Glory, and to have heaped these prodigious Riches for no other end, than to make them­selves more sensible of the torment of being neither able to quit nor keep them. These were his usual Sentiments, and this a­greeable Courtier, whose Conversation gave the greatest delight imaginable to his Friends, suffer'd himself to be intire­ly possest with this train of thoughts, sometimes judicious, but always serious.

I truly acknowledge there is a certain time when the wisest Action we can do, is to quit the World; but as fully per­swaded as I am, of the truth of this As­sertion, I should infinitely sooner be di­rected [Page 90] by Nature to my Retirement, than by my Reason.

Hence it proceeds, that in the midst of the World, I live after such a fashion as if I were retired out of it. I still continue in it as far as I seek what pleases me, and am still out of it as far as I avoid whate­ver incommodes me there. Every day I steal away from Acquaintances that wea­ry, and Conversations that tire me. Every day I establish a sweet Commerce with my Friends, and find the most sen­sible pleasure in the delicacy of their En­tertainment.

After my way of living, I neither en­joy a full Society, nor a perfect Retire­ment. 'Tis only an innocent bringing of my self to that station which does most square with my Inclinations. And thus I possess all those harmless sweetnesses that are most suitable to the Repose of Old Age, and are justly fitted for the propor­tion of what I am able to relish agreably.

AT the time that Monsieur de Com­minges was Ambassadour from the most Christian King to the King of Great Britain, there came to London a Phisitian, who called himself an Irish-man: This Person passed for a great Philosopher, and a mighty performer of Wonders, accord­ing to the opinion of the Credulous, and his own perswasion; and the way he made use of to Cure the Distemper'd, made him to be suspected in many places for a Ma­gician.

Some Persons of Quality having entrea­ted Monsieur de Comminges to send for him to his House in order to see some of his Prodigies, he was very willing to grant them that satisfaction, as well through his Natural curiosity, as his complaisance for them. Whereupon he sent notice to [Page 93] this pretended Magician, that he should come to his House.

Upon the Noise, which was every where dispersed of this News, the House of Monsieur de Comminges was soon filled with sick People, who came with a full assurance of their Cure.

The Irish-man made them wait for him some time; and after an impatient expect­ation, the Sick and curious saw him ar­rive with a grave, but simple Countenance, which carried in it not the least mark of an Impostor.

Monsieur de Comminges prepared him­self to examine him nicely, hoping to be well enabled to enlarge himself at his pleasure upon all that he had read in El­mond and Bodin: but he could not effect it, to his great concern: for the crowd became so troublesome, and the infirm pressed on so eagerly to be Cured the first, that they had much a do with Menaces and even force to regulate their ranks.

The Irish Physitian referred all indispo­sitions to Spirits, and all infirmities were, in his Sense, Possessions.

The first that was presented to him, was a man oppressed with Gouts, and certain Rheumatisms, which it had been impos­sible [Page 94] for him to get Cured of. Which Our Wonder-Maker observing, I have seen long since, says he, this sort of Spirits in Ireland. They are Water-Spirits which bring Coldness, and excite superfluities of Humours in these poor Bodies. Thou Evil Spirit, who hast left the habitation of the Waters to come and af­flict this miserable Body, I command thee to abandon thy new abode, and to return to thy Antient residence. This being said, the Sick Man retired; and another supplied his room, who said he was Tormented with Melancholly Vapours.

Indeed, he was one of those who are ordinarily called Hypocondriacks and sick of imagination, altho' they are but too much so in effect. Airy Spirit, says the Irish-man, return into the Air to exercise thy Trade in raising of Tempests, and stir up no more Hurricanes in this sad and miserable Body.

This sick person gave way to another who was disturbed, according to the Opini­on of the Physitian, with a simple Hobgob­lin, which would not have force enough to withstand his discourse a moment. He sup­pos'd that he had sufficiently observed him by certain Marks, which did not appear to us; and smiling upon the Assembly. This [Page 95] sort of Spirit, says he, are seldom trouble­some, and almost always diverting.

In short, he pretended he was ignorant of nothing in matter of Spirits. He was acquainted with their Number, their Ranks, their Names, their Employments, and all the Functions to which they were destined; and he made a familiar boast of understanding the Intrigues of Demons, much better than the affairs of Men.

You cannot imagin what Reputation he gain'd in a very little time. Catholicks and Protestants came to him from all parts; and you would have said that the power of Heaven was lodged in the hands of this Man, when an unexpected Adven­ture, destroyed the wonderful Opini­on which the Publick entertain'd of him.

A Man and Woman of the Country, who were Married together, came to seek some relief in his Miracle-working Virtue against certain Spirits of Discord, said they, which disturbed their Marriage, and ruined the peace of the Family.

It was a good Gentleman, aged about 45 years, who look'd like one of Estate and Quality. Methinks I have the Lady before my Eyes. She was about 30 years old, and seemed to be of a goodly make; [Page 96] but one might already see in her face, that there had been formerly more Delicacy in the Features of her Beauty. I have Na­med the Husband first by reason of the dignity of his rank; yet the Wife would speak first, whether it was because she believ'd her self to be more tormented with her Spirit, or that she was only pres­sed with that Ambition of talking, which is natural to her Sex.

I have a Husband, said she, who is one of the best Men of the World, to whom I give a thousand disquiets, and who gives me no less in his turn. My intention would be to live comfortably with, and I should always do so, if a strange Spirit, where­with I feel my self possessed at certain times, did not render me so fierce, and in­supportable, that it is not possible to en­dure me: After these Agitations are cea­sed, I return to my natural good humour, I then forget no care, nor no agreement that conduces to the obliging of my Hus­band: But his Demon possesses him, when mine forsakes me; and this Hus­band who has so much patience for my Transports, has nothing but fury for my Reason. And alas! I have no less to en­dure from him, than he from me. Here [Page 97] stopt a Woman in all appearance sincere e­enough, and the Husband, who was no less, began his discourse as follows.

Whatsoever reason I have to complain of my Wive's Devil, I am however under an Obligation to him, in that he has not taught her to lye; and I must ac­knowledge, that she has said nothing but what is very true. All the time she ap­pears to me to be in agitation I am com­posed, but as soon as her Spirit leaves her in peace, mine Torments me in its turn; and with a new Courage, and new forces, which I find myself stirred up with, I make her discern with all possible vigour the de­pendance of a Wife, and the superiority of a Husband. Thus our lives pass either in committing or enduring mischeif: Which renders us in a worse condition, than the most miserable. Behold our Torments, Sir; and if it be possible that you should know a Remedy, I conjure you to be our Deliverer. The cure of a Distemper so strange as this of ours, will procure you no inconsiderable Honour.

These are neither Hobgoblins, nor Fa­ries said the Irish-man, they are Spirits of the first order, and of the Legion of Lucifer: Proud Demons, great Enemies to obedi­ence, [Page 98] and very hard to expell. You will not take it amiss, Gentlemen, pursued he, turning to the Assembly, that I examine my Books a little; for I have occasion for words that are not of the common stamp. Thereupon he with drew into a Closet, in order to turn over his Books and Papers; and after having made use of a hundred forms, as too weak against such powerful Enemies, he fell at last upon one, that was capable in his opinion, of confounding and expel­ling all the Devils in Hell.

The first effect of the conjuration was upon himself; for his Eyes began to rowl in his Head, with so many Grimaces & Convulsi­ons, that he might very well appear distract­ed to those who came to seek his assistance.

After having turned his Staring Eyes on all sides, he fixed them at length upon this Virtuous Couple, and striking both of them with a Wand, which was not without Vertue: Be gone, Devils, says he, go ye Spirits of dissension, and exercise dis­cord in Hell, and by your departure let that happy Union be re-established, which you have impiously broken. Then he ap­proached softly to the Ears of the preten­ded Possessed, and raising a little the tone of his voice, I hear you murmur Devils, [Page 99] at the obedience which ye are forced to render me: But were ye to burst with mad­ness, ye must be gone. Depart, depart, and you my Friends, go and enjoy that repose, which ye have been deprived of so long. It is sufficient, Gentlemen, I protest to you that I am all in a Sweat with the Labour, which the opposition of these obstinate Devils has given me. I Be­lieve I have had to do with two Thousand Spirits in my life time, who all together have not given me so much pain and trou­ble as these. Which being done, the Irish-man retired, and all the company went out of the House, and our good People returned to their Lodgings, with a satisfaction more wonderfull, than the Prodigy which had been effected in their Favour.

When they were come home, every thing appeared agreeable to them by this new alteration of mind, which created a strange severity in their Senses They found a smiling Air in all things; they lookt up­on themselves with pleasure, and were not wanting in sweet and tender words to express their Love. But, vain delights, how little dependence is there upon your duration! and how unseasonably do per­sons rejoyce, that are born to Misfortunes, [Page 100] when they obtain a small happiness.

Such was their tranquillity, when a La­dy of their acquaintance came to express to them the general joy of the Town for their Cure.

They answered this civility with all the discretion in the World; and the usu­al Complements on this occasion being made and returned, the Husband began a very pertinent Conversation upon the happy condition they were in, after so long a train of miseries. Our Wife, either to cause a greater admiration of these won­ders, or else to please her own malicious humour, enlarged her self with satisfa­ction upon the tricks which her Devil had suggested to her, to torment her Hus­band. Upon which the Husband jealous of the honour of this Devil, or at least, of his own authority, gave her to understand, That she talked too much of things past, the remembrance whereof was irksom to him. He added that in the state wherein they found themselves re-established, she ought to think of nothing else, but that obedience, which a Wife ows to her Hus­band; as he would only consider on his side, how to make a lawful use of his priviledg­es, in order to make their condition as [Page 101] happy for the future, as it had been un­fortunate hitherto.

Our Wife being offended at the word Obedience, but especially at the cruel injunction to be silent, forgot no argu­ments that might serve to prove an equa­lity in Marriage, saying; That the Devils were not at such a distance, but they might be recalled, in case this equality was violated.

This Lady above mentioned, who was as discreet and judicious as any of her Sex, wisely represented to her the duty of Wives, not forgetting the Con­duct and good management, whereto Hus­bands were obliged. But her Reason in­stead of composing, did but incense her the more, and she became more insup­portable than before. You are in the right, dear Wise, replyed the Husband, the Devils were not gone so far, but they might be recalled; or rather, you have been so kind to yours, that he was resolv­ed to continue with you, notwithstand­ing the command which was given him to leave you. I am too weak of my self to be concerned alone with you and him; which obliges me to retire, expo­sed as I am to such dangerous Forces. And I likewise retire, say she, with this Spirit, [Page 102] that will not abandon me. He must be a very ill humour'd, damn'd sort of a Devil indeed, if he is not more tractable than so troublesome and so cursed a Husband. Then turning towards her Friend. Be­fore I go, said she to her, I am glad I have an occasion, Madam, to tell you with freedom, that I expected quite ano­ther Treatment from your Friendship, and that you have forgot the interest which ob­liges you, to take a Wives part against the violence of her Husband. 'Tis a very strange thing to see my self run down by one that should support me. Adieu, Madam, adieu; your visits do me a great deal of honour, but one may very well dispense with them, if they do no more good than this.

This good, but too discreet Lady was extreamly amaz'd; instructed by her own experience, that even Wisdom has its excess, and that for the most part one makes an ill use of ones Reason with those who have none.

You may judge that she did not stay long alone in a House, where nothing was talked of but Devils, and nothing done but what was of the highest pitch of extravagance. The Husband passed the rest of the day and all the Night in his [Page 103] Chamber, ashamed of the short-liv'd joy he had received, vexed at the present state of his Affairs, and reflecting upon what might happen to him from this sud­den return of his Wives distemper, with great anxiety of Mind.

As the agitation of the Wife had been much greater, so it remain'd not so long; so that return'd soon to her Senses, she made sad reflections upon the loss of those Pleasures, whereof she found her self de­priv'd. There are certain tempers in the World, that after a few moments come to themselves again, and demand of their Reason why they should sacrifice their Interest and their pleasure to a foolish Spi­rit of Contention that does them no good at all. This consideration that sometimes prevails with Women, and chiefly a Nights when they cannot sleep, had its desired effect upon our Lady, in so much that resigning her self up purely to the Conduct of Nature, she awaked her Husband as soon as it was day, designing to ascribe all past disorders to a strange power, which was neither Natural nor Human.

I know, said she, in the lucid interval I enjoy at present, that our Spirits did [Page 104] not surrender themseves at the command of the Irish-Man; and if you believe me, my dear, but too unhappy Husband, we will return and ask him for a stronger and more effectual Charm.

The poor Husband oppressed with grief, as he was, and fainting under the severity of his destiny, judge if he were not very glad to find so unexpected a calm, and tenderly affected with this amorous return of his Spouses submission: Let us bemoan, my Dear, says he to her, let us bemoan our common misfortunes, and go a second time to search a remedy, which the first could not give us.

The Wife was agreably surprised at this discourse; for instead of a trouble­some Demon whose insults she expected, she happily found a Man tender and compassionate, who gave her Comfort for the Evil she had done him.

They spent an hour or two in inspi­ring one another with a mutual confi­dence, and after having placed all their hopes in the vertue of the Phy­sician; they returned to the House of Monsieur de Comminges, in order to [Page 105] seek a more powerful releif, than that which they had experienc'd before.

Scarce were they entered into the House, but the Irish-man perceived them, and calling them pretty loud that he might be heard of all the Company, Come, says he to them, and Publish the Wonders which are effected in you, and make an acknowledg­ment to that all Puissant Virtue, which has Delivered you from that miserable slavery under which ye groaned.

The Wife immediately replied with­out consulting, that instead of the Testimo­ny he demanded, they were ready to give him a very fine one of the obstinacy of the Devils, and not of his skill. For in truth, venerable Father, added she, since your fine Operation they have Tormented us, as it were out of spite, more violently than e­ver.

You are incredulous ( cried out the good Irish-man in a wonderful passion,) or at least ungrateful, who maliciously deny those benefits ye have received. Approach hither, approach; that I may convict you both of incredulity, or Malice.

When they were come near, he nicely examined all the lines of their Faces. He particularly observed their Looks, and as [Page 106] if he had discovered in the Apple of their Eyes some impression of these Spirits; ye are in the right, says he, all amaz'd, ye are in the right, they are not yet dislodg'd. They were too deeply rooted in your Bo­dies, but they shall hold fast indeed, if I don't turn them out by the Virtue of a few words I am going to pronounce.

Leave, curst Race, an Habitation of Repose too sweet for you, and go and rave for ever in places where dwell Hor­rour, Madness, and Despair.

'Tis done, my Friends, ye are most cer­tainly Delivered: But return no more, I intreat ye. I owe my time to all the World, and ye have had as much of it as ye ought to have.

Now our Patients supposed them­selves at the end of all their Misfor­tunes: This day seemed to them as it were the first of their Marriage, and the Night was expected with the same impa­tience, as that of their Nuptials had been formerly. This Night so much desired came, but Alas! how ill did it answer their desires?

Too much Love causes the shame of Lovers, and I leave to the imagination of the Reader the great confusion of an Ad­venture.

'T was happy for the Husband, that the Wife accused the Devils that were in­nocent; But our Physitian, somuch cele­brated abroad, was no more in her esteem than a poor Irish-man, who had not skill enough to conjure down an Ignis Fatuus. Sometimes she imputed to her self this non-performance of her Husband, after the Examples of the Spanish Women, who attribute to themselves, in these occasions, the failings of their Lovers, in regard of a perswasion they have, that the force of their Charms ought neither to submit to the infirmity of Nature, nor to the pow­er of Witch-craft.

Thus the Wife, who accused the Hus­band in every thing else, when he was most innocent, justifies him when he was most deficient in Family-Duties, choo­sing rather to impute a Want of Love in him, to a want of Charms in her self, than to impute it to a real defect, which would prove eternally destructive of her Pleasures. But as a Lady doth not willingly entertain a thought that hurts the Interest [Page 108] of her Beauty; she immediately recal­led in her mind the Malice of the Devils, and turn'd her confusion into Anger a­gainst the Irish Man, who had not been expert enough to cure them.

It is a long time, said she blunty, and as if she had been inspir'd, it is a long time since the simplicity of the Irish Man has amus'd us, and I know very well, that we shall expect in vain our deliverance from him. But it is not enough to be undecei­ved; justice obliges us to undeceive others as well as our selves, and to make known to the World, the vanity of these Quacks.

Sweet-heart, replyed the Husband, 'tis undoubtedly true, that the misfortune of this Night is the pure malice of our Devils. The Irishman had a mind to laugh at them, but they were resolved to ridicule him and us in their turn. You know me, and I know my self; such a strange Impotence cou'd not naturally happen, and behold how strangely Conjuration has pre­vail'd upon us. As for the rest, Sweet-heart, when you shall make your re­proaches to this fine Physician, take care that you descend not to any particulars of this nature; and that you let nothing slip, I beseech you, which may tend to [Page 109] our shame. All Family secrets ought to be concealed: But this in a more parti­cular manner than any other.

The Wife was ready to be offended upon seeing her self suspected of such an indiscretion: But not to embroil things anew, that were tending to a good ac­commodation, she promis'd so to manage her self, that the Irish Man alone should find fault with her proceed­ing.

We usually seek the Night to con­ceal our shame, but the day here appear­ed to disperse it; and these unhappy Per­sons, who were not yet well recovered of their Misfortune, got up with the Sun, who enlivens all things, in hopes of a bet­ter success for the time to come.

They rose out of their Bed with more tranquillity, than they had remained there, and after a small Break-fast and a little Conversation to fortify their Bodies, and reconcile their Minds, they went in peace and good Union towards the House, where they had been twice with Confi­dence, and from whence they had twice returned without any relief. They re­ceived advice there, that the Irish-man was gone to St. Iames's to perform some Won­ders [Page 110] there, at the instance of Monsieur d' Aubigny.

It was the same Monsieur d' Aubigny so well known of all the World, for the most agreeable Man that ever was. Behold then some of the Prodigies which I re­marked at St. Iames's with less credulity than the Multitude, and less prejudice than Monsieur d' Aubigny.

Already did the Blind suppose they saw that light they did not see; already did the Deaf imagine they heard, and heard not; the Lame already thought they were grown well, and the impotent resumed in imagination the first use of all their mem­bers. A strong Idea of Health had made the Sick forget their Distempers; and im­agination which was no less active in the curious, than in the Sick, gave the first, a false prospect out of a desire of seeing, as it did a false Cure to the second, out of a desire of being Cured.

Such was the power of the Irish-man upon our minds: Such was the force of our Minds upon our Senses. Thus no­thing was the Subject, but Prodigies; and these Prodigies came from so great an Authority, that the astonished multitude receiv'd them with submission, whilst [Page 111] some more knowing Persons durst not re­ject them by their knowledge.

A Timerous and slavish know­ledge always pays respect to an imperi­ous and Authoriz'd Errour: The Soul was feeble, where the understanding was sound; and they, who saw best in their i­maginary Cures, were afraid to declare their real Sentiments amongst a prejudi­ced and Inchanted people.

Such was the triumph of the Irish-man, when our Couple couragiously broke through the crowd in order to come and insult over him in all his Majesty. Art not thou ashamed, said the Wife to him, to abuse the simple and credulous People as thou dost, by the ostentation of a power, which thou never didst enjoy? Thou hast directed our Devils to leave us in Re­pose, and they have only Tormented us the more. Thou hast commanded them to go out, and they persist to remain not­withstanding thy orders, equally deriding our sottish credulity, and thy ineffectual impotence.

The Husband continued the same re­proaches with the same contempt, so far as to refuse him the name of Impostor, because there was need of Capacity, said [Page 112] he, for an Impostor, and this miserable wretch had none.

The Physician lost his Speech in losing the Authority which made him venerable; and this formidable Power, establish'd on­ly in a superstitious Subjection of Spirits, came to nothing, so soon as there appear­ed persons bold enough to disown it; sur­priz'd, nonplust, confounded, he with­drew, and went out at the Back-door.

His confusion extreamly mortified the Assembly; there being nothing that the mind of Man receives with so much sa­tisfaction, as the opinion of Miraculous things, nor leaves with more difficulty and concern.

As for Monsieur d' Aubigny, he soon plac'd this Physician in the rank of others, whom he had tryed; being resolved for the fu­ture to keep to those of the Country, without an ambition to make use of New Comers, meerly because they were Strangers.

All the company retired, ashamed of their easiness to be abus'd, and yet vexed at the loss of their Error. Our married couple, glorious and Triumphant, enjoyed the pleasures of Victory, without any fur­ther thoughts of the Devils; and Mon­sieur [Page 113] d' Aubigny, who passed from one O­pinion to another, with an incredible fa­cility, quitted his former belief of our Miracle-monger, to give himself the plea­sure of laughing with me, at what had happen'd.

At my breaking out into a sudden fit of laughter, the Husband turned his Head towards us, and perceiving Mr. d' Aubig­ny, he came civilly to excuse him­self for what he had done at his House, without asking his permission. Mr. d' Aubigny replyed to him very civil­ly, giving him thanks not only for having disabused the publick, but also for having undeceiv'd himself in particular.

The Wife immediately took her part in the Conversation, which did not ren­der it less agreeable; for altho' she was really extravagant, yet it was a sort of extravagance which did not proceed so much from her Mind, as from her Hu­mour: But now she took care to conceal it; and we talk'd of nothing but mirth and pleasantry, when Mr. d' Aubigny en­tertain'd them with the the gravest dis­course in the World, which I little expected.

I am a person of an acknowledging temper, said he to them, and I should be [Page 114] ungrateful, if I did not draw you from your Error, after the obligation I am un­der to you for having drawn me from mine. Is it possible that ye should have Devils in reality? As if it was not enough for your own Minds to torment ye, and that there must be something else, be­sides a long Marriage, to afford ye that trouble, which has harrassed you this pretty while. There is no Man, but is sometimes at a loss with himself. The wisest are weary of themselves after they have been weary of others. And would ye have a Husband and Wife, who are al­most always of different minds, and dif­ferent humours, be able to live eternally together without disgust, without offence, and without disputes? Believe me, Sir, of a hundred married couple, fourscore and ten at least are possessed, after your fa­shion, but without any intervening of the Devil. The only difference I find between you is, that they suffer their misfortunes with patience, and conceal them with discretion, whereas you importune Heaven and Hell for yours, in accusing Demons that are innocent of your unhappiness, and in going to seek a supernatural assist­ance when there is no occasion for it.

[Page 115] That which was a great Prodigy, was the alteration of the Mind of the Hus­band and Wife upon the Discourse of Mr. d' Aubigny; they look'd upon them­selves with astonishment, asham'd of ha­ving been their own Devils, and to find nothing of Possession, but the contrariety of their Humours.

The Husband was the first who re­turned from his confusion to give a thou­sand thanks to Mr. d'Aubigny, for having given them the true knowledge of their misfortune. But, replyed the Wife, doth this knowledge make us e're the less un­happy? And have we not as much need of a remedy against the torment of Mar­riage, as we supposed we had against that of the Devils?

When I observed Mr. d' Aubigny just ready to say something pleasant upon a Subject that was sufficiently so; I had a mind to preserve to him the merit of a gravity, which was not ordinary with him. Whereupon I immediately took up the Discourse.

Of all the Remedies one can seek against a troublesome Marriage, I know none, said I to them, more sure, nor more wisely practised, than that of believing ones self [Page 116] more happy than others; and to remain in this Error, in case one is mistaken in it, you will like an English Proverb, better than all the Reasons I can alledge to you. ‘He that lives in this World without being deceived, is an unhappy Man.’ To see, Sirs, how far the pleasure of Deceit goes, the great­est of your Enemies makes himself agreeable, when he imposes upon ye; and the best of your Friends seldom undeceive ye, but you are offended at it.

Monsieur d' Aubigny, weary of his gra­vity, was now minded to end the Con­ference; and after the usual civilities at parting, every one returned to his home, extreamly well satisfied.

Mr. d' Aubigny had afterwards a very particular Conference with the Woman, and in spite of the Rules of Marriage, she told him all that happen'd during their imaginary Possession.

THERE is nothing so natural to persons of the Fair Sex, as to take a pleasure in their own Beauty. They please themselves as much as 'tis possible for others to please them, and are the first that discover their own Charms, and fall in Love with them.

But the motions of this self-love are so sweet and so pleasing, That they are [Page 130] scarce sensible; for self-love only flatters; but Love of another nature, when it comes to visit us, makes us feel it with a Vengeance.

This first sort of Love is congenial to all Women, it is naturally formed in them, and has themselves only for its Object. The second comes from without, and is either caused by a secret sympathy, or by the violence of an amorous impression.

The one is a Good that only occasions Pleasure, but yet it is always a Good, and lasts as long as their Beauty does. The other is capable of touching them more sensibly, but is more subject to change and alteration.

To this advantage of duration, which the pleasure that the Ladies take in their Beauty, has above the influence of an A­mour, we may add the following one, viz. That a Beautiful Woman is more concerned to preserve her Beauty than her Lover; and shews less tenderness for a Heart already vanquish'd, than she expresses vanity and ostentation, in extending her Conquests. Not but that she may very well be allowed to be sensible for her Gallant; but in all probability, she will sooner resolve to suffer the loss [Page 131] of what she loves, than lose and ruine what causes her to be beloved.

There is a certain sort of a pleasure, tho' 'tis in a manner impossible truly to describe it, which we feel in deploring the death of one we love.

Our Love supplies the place of a Lo­ver in the Reign of grief; and thence proceeds that affection to this mourning which has its Charms.

But 'tis not so with the loss of Beauty. This loss is a full consummation of all other Calamities; it cruelly robbs the Ladies of the hopes of ever receiving a­ny pleasure as long as they live.

As long as a Woman is in full possessi­on of her Beauty, no Misfortune can befall her, which she cannot in some measure alleviate. But when once that Blessing has left her, all the other advan­tages of Fortune will never be able to give her any tolerable satisfaction. Where­ever she goes, the remembrance of what [Page 130] [...] [Page 131] [...] [Page 132] she has lost, or the consideration of wha­she is at present, will give her a thou sand uneasinesses.

In such a case, her best remedy will be to employ all her discretion to make her self easie under that unfortunate Condition. But alass! what an unpalatable remedy is it for a Woman, who has once been a­dored, to abandon so dear a vanity, and come back to her Reason. 'Tis a new and mortifying experiment this, after a per­son has been used to entertain her self with such agreeable Thoughts.

The last Tears that beautiful Eyes re­serve, are spent in bewailing themselves, after they are effaced out of all Hearts. The only person that still laments a lost Beauty, is the miserable Possessor.

One of our best Poets, endeavouring to comfort a great Queen for the loss of her Royal Spouse, would make her asham'd of the extravagance of her Affection, by citing to her the Example of a certain Princess in despair, who so wholly aban­don'd her self to this weakness, that she reproached the Stars, and accused the Gods for the loss of her Husband.

But finding that the horrour of Impiety was not strong enough to make any im­pression on a mind so disordered by grief; for his last and concluding Reason, he re­presents to her that it was her Interest to be sedate, as if he had no better a remedy against this excess, but to put her in mind of the great injury it did her Beauty.

He excused the Ladies for paying some [Page 134] Tribute to their Sorrow, but he never pardons them the Sin of making them­selves less amiable. This is a Transgres­sion that he imagins will easily create an horror in them, without urging any far­ther Considerations.

It had been mere impertinence to en­deavour to reduce them by reason; but to set before their Eyes the interest of their Beauty, was the strongest Argument he could think of to oppose to the ob­stinacy of their Grief, and he knew no­thing beyond that, which was capable to reform this extravagance.

That we may fully know how far the Ladies are devoted to their Beauty, let us consider the most retired and solitary amongst them. There are some in that station who have renounced all Pleasures; who are weaned from the Interests of the World; who endeavour to please no bo­dy, and whom no body pleases. But a­midst all this coldness and indifference for every thing else, they secretly flat­tor themselves, to see they are still agree­able enough.

There are others that abandon them­selves to sorts of austerities; yet if they accidentally happen to see them­selves [Page 135] in a Glass, you shall hear them sigh, to behold so Melancholly an al­teration. They do every thing that helps to disfigure their Faces with all ima­ginable readiness, but can't endure the sight of them when they are once dis­figured.

Nature that can consent to destroy her­self out of Love to God, secretly opposes it self to the least change of Beauty, out of a principle of self-love that never dies with us.

Let a Fair Person retire into what place she pleases, let her condition be what it will, yet her Charms and Fea­tures are still dear to her. They will be dear to her even in the time of sick­ness, and if her sickness goes as far as Death, the last sigh that passes from her is more for the loss of her Beauty, than for that of her Life.

THE first Friendship which arises in the World, is that which is for­med in the Bosom of Families: The con­tinual habitude of being always together, and of considering our selves as being of the same Blood; the same opinions in which we are brought up; the conformi­ty there is between us; the communica­tion of secrets of affairs, and interests: All these things contribute as much to its pro­duction, as Nature it self: They Con­secrate at least the Name of Brother, Sis­ter, and the rest, as much as the tye of the same Blood. For whatever is affirmed of certain Natural inclinations, which a Man feels at the meeting of those Relati­ons, who are as yet unknown to him; it is certain that the Examples thereof are ei­ther aggravated, or extraordinary; and that we should use them like meer Stran­gers, if we were not accustomed to con­sider our near Relations, as our sel­ves. This therefore is the first conjuncti­on of our Hearts.

[Page 174] It were to be wished that this first Friendship would continue during Life ni the same condition, wherein we find it in our first Years. But it decay's insensibly. In the first place, by the great number of Per­sons whereof a Family is compos'd: For it is a certain Principle, that Friendship cannot long subsist between several Per­sons. Besides, a Man leaves his Family in order to establish himself in the World. He enters by Marriage into new alliances, or by the profession of a particular Piety, he goes out of his Family without having the Pleasure of adopting another. Thus he contracts on one side, in some sort, an obligation to forget his Parents; and on the other, a Duty of Loving new ones. What shall I say of the interest which so often divides Families? Admit a regulati­on of all these things, yet a single separa­tion, lessens something of the first affecti­on. During this absence, a Man insen­sibly contracts particular manners, whe­ther for the the Conduct of his Life, or for his Fortune, or in Relation to the Govern­ment of his Family. The first Bond of Friendship is scarce of any further use af­terwards, than to express it self a little more, than we would do, if they were our [Page 179] Rrelations; to have a little more curiosi­ty in their respect, and to behave our selves with care enough not to appear in­feriour in any point to others.

Not but that when there happens any essential occasion of being serviceable to them, we take a pride in not being want­ing therein. Thus this first Friendship, which is tender in the first Years, which admitts some degrees of relaxation in the succession of Life, appears notwithstand­ing always strong, when any important Interest is in agitatiou. And as for me, I believe that of all sorts of Friendship this ought to be managed with most Care.

There is a Second kind of Friendship, which has also its perfections and im­perfections, as well as the first we have spoken of. It is that, which is between a Husband and Wife, when they enter with­out constraint into the State of Matrimo­ny, and preserve a good intelligence on both sides. It has somewhat of that Friendship which is between a Superior and in­ferior; since the Laws have declared that Women ought to consider their Husbands as their Masters; and that the civility of Men obliges them to receive marks of respect from their Wives; only to quit [Page 176] them immediatly, and to depend on them by their own choice, as they depend on their Husbands by the Laws and Customs. When People live together after this decent manner, they maintain a continual commerce of e­steem; they taste all the Delicacies of Love; they have the Pleasure of Loving, and of being belov'd, and even make a glo­ry of this Friendship. I am of opinion that it is this mixture of tenderness, this return of esteem, or, if you will, this mutual ardour to prepossess one another by obliging Testimonies, wherein consists the Sweetness of this Second Friendship. I speak not of other Pleasures, which are not so much such in themselves, as in the assurance which they afford us of the perfect possession of those persons whom we Love. Which appears to me so true, that I am not afraid to affirm, that if a Man were assured of meeting the perfect affection of a Wife else where, he wou'd easily sup­port himself under the loss of his Spouse at home; and that they ought not to enter into the order of Friendship, but as tokens and proofs that it is without reserve. Few Persons, 'tis true, are capable of the purity of these Thoughts. Thus a perfect Friend­ship, [Page 177] is rerely observed in Marriages, at least they seldom continue long. The Ob­ject of gross Passions is not able to support so noble a Commerce as Friendship. After it has produced it, and maintain'd for some time the shadow and resemblance of it, Indifference, Contempt and other new Passions, soon arise to efface it. Even the constraint one is under, always to keep the same Society, lessens somewhat the value of perseverance. We lose by degrees, the assurance we had of being loved: We en­ter into suspicions, Jealousies, and disqui­ets, and can hardly conceal them in the necessity we lye under of living eternally together. From thence arise Mistrusts, Complaints and Quarrels. The Children are at that time, the only Bonds which re­tain Man and Wife in their duty. These are the Pledges and Fruits of their first Af­fection: 'Tis an Interest that binds them at the very moment, when their Hearts in­cline to a separation. But when a Man speaks of friendship, or hears it every day mention'd; he is not to understand it either of this first, or second kind. It is of a Species altogether particular. The World would have it only between two Persons; that it requires whole years [Page 178] to form it self; that Virtue alone is the Foundation of it; that it continues for ever; that it is a perfect communication of all things: In a word, that there is made of these two persons a Metamorphosis so general, that they mutually transform themselves into one another. Authors triumph upon this Portraiture. They even give it finer Colours than I do. Notwithstanding I be­lieve I may without rashness assert, that these ingenious Painters, who afford us such Illustrious Coppies of Friendship, ne­ver saw the Originals. In truth, 'tis natu­ral for us to take a pleasure in exaggerating matters; and the first moment we begin a Book, or a Discourse, we forget that our He­roes are but men, and that we speak to men.

But a man must avoid likewise to take for friendship I know not how many Correspon­dences he meets in the course of life, which certainly deserve not this glorious Title.

To partake together in some diversion, to be engaged sometimes in the same Con­versations; to meet often at Court, or in the City; such kind of obligations cannot assure one of a solid Friendship. All these things generally happen by pure chance; and 'tis Fortune that produces these diffe­rent occassions. What share can the Heart [Page 179] enjoy herein, but the interest of some plea­sure? and can this Interest beget a truly perfect Friendship? 'Tis true, we love persons that may be useful to us, or such as are pleasant and agreeable; we are de­lighted to be where they are, and give them a favourable reception. We have al­so more particular regards for those that have the Reputation of having great num­bers of Friends; of being Men of Intrigue, and of being able to serve us upon occa­sion. For to speak agreeable things, and to be capable of doing useful ones, are two great steps towards an introduction into the most inaccessible Hearts.

But 'tis no less true, that those persons whom we only know upon this bottom, should not put that Friendship we enter­tain for them, to too strong proof. A Man will hardly purchase the pleasure which the Conversation of a Wit affords; and it is ordinary enough to refer to others, the care of serving a person, who doth nothing but divert us.

If we make but a little reflection upon this, we shall observe that it is this sort of Friendship, which as imperfect and as common as it is, doth not cease to form a Civility, by which our Conduct is regula­ted, [Page 180] and which is as it were the Founda­tion of the publick Peace.

'Tis that which instructs us how to live; and this manner of living compre­hends an infinite number of small inferior Duties, without which all things would be in confusion.

A friendship more exact is prodigious; whose Examples are so rare, that a Man may easily compute them.

I Don't expect to be more successful at your Character, than our Painters have been at your Portraiture, where I may safely say, the best performers have lost their Reputation. Till now, we ne­ver beheld any Beauties so finished, but they were obliged to these Masters; either for bestowing some new graces upon them, or else for concealing some of their defects. Only you, Madam, are above those Arts, whose peculiar Character it is to flatter and embellish. They never took the Pen­cil to copy you without a shameful foil to their skill, and doing an infinite inju­stice [Page 181] to the Original; in short, without making so accomplished a Person as your self lose as many advantages, as they usu­ally give to those that possess them not.

If you have not been much obliged to the Painters, you are much less I am sure to the curiosity of your Dress: You owe nothing either to the skill of other People, or to your own Industry: And may safely rely upon Nature for the care she takes of you. As there are very few Persons up­on whom negligence sits well, I would ad­vise them not to depend too much upon it.

To say the truth, the generality of our Ladies are not pleasing any farther than their Habits make them so. Every thing they employ to set them off, conceals some defect. On the other hand, the more you take from your Dress, the more Graces you display; and it is as much your Interest to return to the primitive simplicity of Na­ture, as it is for their advantage to keep at a distance from it.

I will not amuse my self with any gene­ral Praises, that are several Ages old. The Sun shall not furnish me with a Compa­rison for your Eyes; nor the Flowers for your Complexion. I might speak of the regularity and delicacy of your Face; of [Page 182] the Charms and agreeablenesses of your Mouth; of that Neck so well turned and polished; of those bewitching Breasts; but after a Man has made the most cu­rious observations, there are a thousand things may be thought of in you, which cannot be well discribed, and a thousand things better perceiv'd than comprehended.

Take my Advice, Madam, and don't repose the care of your glory on any other person; for certainly you are no where so well as you are in your self. Appear in the midst of your Portraitures and Charact­ers, and you will defeat all the Images that 'tis possible to frame of you.

After having well admired you, what I find the most extraordinary is, that you have as it were heap'd together in your self, the several Charms of different Beau­ties. You are Mistress of those Graces that surprize, that please, that flatter, that forbid, and affect us.

Your Character, properly speaking, is not a particular Character; 'tis that of all the rest of your Sex. One Man maintains his Heart against an imperious, that suf­fer'd himself to be Conquer'd by a delicate Beauty: Delicacy gives disgust to another, who was proud to surrender his Heart to his imperious Mistress.

[Page 183] You alone, Madam, are the Foible of all the World. The ravished Lover finds in you an unexhaustible Subject for his Tran­sports: Passionate Souls find their tender­ness and languishments. Different Spirits, different Humours, contrary tempera­ments, all contribute to the largeness of your Empire. In this confusion, you cause the unhappiness of Persons between both Ages; you trouble the Repose of the most serene, and the Reason of the most advised.

Those persons that were born neither to give nor to receive Love, preserve the first of these Qualities, and unhappily lose the other. From hence it proceeds, that there is some resemblance between the heat of your Friends, and the Passion of your Lovers; that 'tis impossible to love you without Interest, and that the judgment of the most simple Spectators is never free. From hence in short, it proceeds, that e­very one commences a Lover that sees you, except your self alone, who continue still insensible.

I beg your pardon, Madam. Something wou'd be wanting to your glory, if you con­tinued such an insensible all your life. Once, and only once, you may quit this indiffer­ence. [Page 184] But to make you quit your resolution of never being in Love, we ought to find out Subjects worthy of you. If there be a­ny such, Madam, I don't doubt but that drawn by your Charms, and disgusted by the defects of others, they will soon sigh for you; and then you must remember that cruelty has bounds, and that what ever goes beyond them, is rudeness and insensibility.

Hitherto I have paid one part of the Du­ty I owe your Beauty, and 'tis none of your least praises, that I have been able to praise you so long. At present, 'tis but just I should have some consideration of my self; and that in speaking of your Wit and Humour, I should indulge my self to talk of my own.

I will deliver nothing but Truths, and least you should imagine them to be disad­vantageous to you, I will begin with the Charms of your Conversation, which are not in the least inferiour to those of your Face.

Yes, Madam, we are no less affected with hearing you, than with seeing you. You may inspire love even when you are veiled; and may make France resemble Spain, in being the Scene of the Adven­tures of the Fair invisible.

Never was there more Politeness than [Page 185] we find in your Discourse; and what is surpri­zing, nothing is so lively and yet so just; Things so happy and so well thought. And to Crown all, a quick Understanding, and a viva­city of Sense equal that of your Wit.

But let us conclude these Praises, the length whereof is always tiresom, tho' they be never so true; and now, Madam prepare to suffer pa­tiently a recital of what I have found to blame in you.

If you cannot, without difficulty, hear your defects: I am sure I could not without greater difficulty discover them. To find out any faults in you, I was obliged to make very profound Enquiries, and after a long but narrow Exami­nation, behold what Faults I have remark'd.

I have often beheld you too respectful, and condescending to ordinary Persons; and sub­mit your judgment to that of others who were inferiour to you.

I am likewise of Opinion, that you suffer your self too much to make new acquaintances. That which at first sight you have rightly judged to be gross and dull, has after some time appeared to you to be delicate without Reason; and when you come to rectify these Errours, 'tis rather by a return of your Humour, than by the reflections of your Mind.

Sometimes, Madam by a contrary Motion you think too much, and pass by the truth in Debate; so that the Opinions you form, are rather more strongly imagin'd, than solidly conceiv'd.

[Page 186] As for your Actions, they are equally in­nocent and agreeable; but as you may ve­ry well neglect those little formalities, that are in truth, but so many Fetters of Life, you must expect to meet the calumnies of Sots, and the ill Nature of those People whom your merit has made your Enemies.

Those Ladies, who are your professed Enemies, have been constrained to own to us that you have received a Thousand ad­vantages from Nature. There are some cer­tain occasions when we are obliged to own to them, that they might be better mana­ged, and that you don't always make the good use of them, as others in your Station might do.

I shall end all with the unequalities of your temper, of which you your self have made an agreeable representation. They are afflicting to those that suffer undet them; as for my self I always find some­thing mortifying in this Scene; and I see that when we most complain of any one's Humour, 'tis then when we must interest our selves in the Person.

However it is, the more we are oblig'd to take any advantage over you, we are apt to take it without measure; we easily disoblige you without thinking of it; nay [Page 187] the very design to please you has more than once made us so unfortunate as to displease you.

Believe me, Madam, a Man must be ve­ry happy to find out your good moments, and very just to make use of them.

What we may truly say, after we have well examined you, is, that there is no­thing so unfortunate as to fall in Love with you, yet nothing so difficult as not to do it.

Behold, Madam, the observations of a Spectator, who to judge the more impar­tially of you, has endeavoured to continue free. The means he took to keep himself so, was to shun you as much as was possi­ble for him. 'Tis not enough for one not to see you, after he has once beheld you; and this remedy which is elsewhere infallible, does not carry an intire safety with it in Relation to your self.

Perhaps you will tell me that a Man, whose Sentiments are somewhat tender, is not generally Master of so rigorous a Judgment. But altho' you shou'd give your self the trouble to tell me what dis­pleases you, I shall scarce take the Pains to undeceive my self; a discernment which does not seem advantagious to you, can­not subsist but in your absence; for to re­peat [Page 188] what I have already told you, do but appear, Madam, in the midst of your Por­traitures and Characters, and you will soon efface all the Images the most fruitful im­agination can form of you.

EVery one knows that the greatest part of Men condemn Epicurus, and reject his Doctrine, not only as unworthy of a Philosopher, but what is more severe, as dangerous to the Com­mon-wealth: They solemnly declare that a Man becomes vicious from the very moment he declares himself one of his Disciples; that his Opinions are direct­ly [Page 212] contrary to good manners, and thus they cover his Name with all imagina­ble Scandal and Infamy.

Notwithstanding all this, the Stoicks, who, were his greatest Enemies, never treated him so ill: they combated his Hypothesis, but never invaded his Repu­tation; and the Books they have left us plainly discover in abundance of Pla­ces the singular Esteem and Respect they had for him.

From whence then proceeds this extra­ordinary difference? and why don't we rather follow the opinion of the wise? It is an easie matter to give the true Reason of it, which is, that we don't do as they do. We don't vouchsafe to in­form our selves of any thing, but blind­ly adhere to what is told us: without instructing our selves in the nature of things we judge those to be the best that have the most Examples, and the great­est Crowd of Admirers; we don't follow Reason, but only the resemblances of it. We stifly retain our Errors because they are countenanced by those of other Men. We rather chuse to believe implicitly than to put our selves to the expence of judg­ing; and are so strangely injust as to [Page 213] conclude, that the Antiquity of an Opi­nion is a sufficient Title to authorise us to defend it, even in defiance to reason it self.

This, in short, is one of the Causes that has made Epicurus fall into the pub­lick Hatred, aud has prevail'd with almost the generality of Mankind to discard him out of the number of Philosophers. We have condemn'd him without con­descending to know him, we have banish'd him without hearing him speak for him­self; nay we have deny'd him the justice to explain his own Sentiments.

But after all, in my Opinion the chief and indeed the most plausible Pretence that Men have had to despise his Do­ctrine, has been the irregular Life of some Libertines, who as they abused the Name of this Philosopher, so they have ruined the Reputation of his Sect.

These People have recommended their own Vices under the reputation of his Wisdom; they have corrupted his Do­ctrine by their ill Manners, and came over in vast Numbers to his Party, only because they understood that Pleasure was mightily commended by them.

[Page 214] All the Mischief is, that they would not know what this Pleasure was, and what these Praises meant; that they con­tented themselves with his Name in ge­neral; that they have made it serve as a Veil to their Debaucheries; and that they quoted the Authority of so great a Man to support the Disorders of their Life. So that instead of profiting by the sage Counsels of this Philosopher, or corre­cting their vitious Inclinations in his School, they have lost the only good quality they had left them, and that is, the shame of sinning.

They have arrived to such a pitch as to commend those very Actions they blushed at formerly; they take a Pride in those Vices they had the Discretion to conceal before; and at last without the least remorse or shame, they blindly fol­lowed the Pleasure they brought along with them, and not that which he would have taught them.

In the mean time the World has passed judgment by these Appearances, and ob­serving that a sort of People who called themselves Philosophers, were extremely debauched, that they made a publick Profession of their Crimes, that they ci­ted [Page 215] Epicurus to authorise their Idleness, their Impurity, and their Lewdness, they made no difficulty to pronounce the Do­ctrine of this Philosopher to be pernicious, and to compare his Disciples to the un­cleanest Animals in nature.

The Affairs of Epicurus had been in a very ill condition of some disinterested Persons had not taken care to do him ju­stice; and freed themselves from the pre­judices of the Multitude, whose Opini­ons are generally opposite to those of the wise.

For some generous Persons have been found, who have throughly informed themselves of this Philosopher's way of living; who scorning to be determined by the common Belief, have penetrated farther into the matter, and after a due Inquiry have produced very authentick Testimonies both of the Probity of his Person, and the Purity of his Doctrine.

These Gentlemen have published in the face of the World, that his Pleasure was as severe as the Virtue of the Stoicks, and that a Man who had a mind to be as de­bauched [Page 216] bauched as Epicurus, must also for his Comfort be as sober as Zeno.

And to say the truth, it is highly in­credible that a Man to whom his Coun­try erected several Statues; whose Friends inhabited all the Cities of Greece; who loved the worship of the Gods, and the Prosperity of his Country; who was cele­brated for his Piety to his Parents, his Liberality to his Brothers, and his sweet Carriage to his Slaves; whose Modesty hindred him from medling with State-Affairs, and whose ordinary Sustenance was nothing but Bread and Water: It is high­ly incredible, I say, that such a Man should ever give Precepts of Debauchery, or teach his Disciples the Practice of those Vices, which he naturally abhorred.

On the contrary, as if this excellent Person had been apprehensive, that the Title he gave his Philosophy might be so far abused as to encourage wicked In­clinations; and that Men in after Ages might calumniate this Pleasure, wherein he placed the Sovereign good: as if he had foreseen the unjust Aversion of the following Ages, and the Irregularities of some Libertines that would abuse his Do­ctrine, he took care himself to make an [Page 217] Apology for it, and satisfied the World, that the Pleasure he speaks of was au­stere and sober.

I am not so vain as to believe that my bare Word will be taken for this, and therefore will produce one of his Let­ters, wherein any one may be able to read his true Sentiments. It is addressed to one Meneceus, and now pray observe af­ter what manner he explains himself.

Although, my dear Meneceus, we say that Pleasure is the end of Man, we would by no means be supposed to speak of infa­mous lewd Pleasures that proceed from In­temperance and Sensuality. This ill Infe­rence can only be made by those Persons who are wholly ignorant of our Precepts, or else combat them; who absolutely reject them, or pervert the true meaning of them.

By this single Fragment one may per­ceive how careful he was to preserve the Innocence of his Doctrine against Calum­ny and Ignorance; that he well foresaw that only these two things were capable to decry it; and in effect, as we have al­ready observed, they have ruined his Re­putation with the greatest part of the World.

[Page 218] His Life, as sober and innocent as it was, could not escape censure, or free him from an infinite number of Lies and Invectives: But those that have written it, after having recounted the several Ca­lumnies of his Enemies, have immediate­ly refuted them; and at the same time that they published our Philosophers, Hi­story, have likewise published his Apology.

As it is not my Design to entertain you with a Narration of his Actions, but only to defend his Pleasure, I shall send you back to Diogenes Laertius for the Account of his Life; and shall content my self to Philosophize upon the nature of this Pleasure, that has created him so many Enemies; and examine whether it is of such a hainous Character, that we ought to cashier those Persons from the number of honest Men that defend and follow it.

To live according to Nature, and not to feel any Pain, is what Epicurus calls living voluptuously. Now I am of opinion, that there is nothing in this that deserves to be condemned; that such a Life as this does not merit censure; that no Repub­lick in the World was ever so severe as to disapprove it.

[Page 219] To live according to Nature is to fol­low right Reason. The bounds she pre­scribes us are those of Innocence. There is nothing in her but what is equitable and equal.

'Tis not along of her that Avarice came into the World. She industriously conceal'd Gold in the entrails of the vi­lest Element, and we have dug it from thence.

She is not the cause of that Ambition that torments us; she brings us all equal into the World, and so she takes us out of it.

We don't differ one from another, any farther than we corrupt her. Do you think it is she that excites us to Pleasures? The Poets themselves that have lodged all manner of Extravagancies in Heaven, that so they might sin with Authority, and who have represented Iupiter weak and vitious, out of a design to copy a God in their own irregular Lives, were never guilty of the Presumptien to do it. They have preserved its Purity whole and entire; and in describing her Age, have not taken notice of the Luxury that became so rampant in the following ones.

[Page 220] Hear what they say, and they will tell you, that Acorns were then the nou­rishment of Mankind, that Rivers quench'd their Thirst, that they dwelt in Caves, that they had no Apparel to defend them from the Cold, and that they followed Nature in all their Actions.

I know very well, that things did not pass after this manner, and that the first Inhabitants of the earth never lived in this strange simplicity, which is more proper to the stupidity of Beasts, than the politeness of Men. The Poets have carried Matters too far, but their mean­ing was, that our Extravagancies don't proceed from Nature, that she never re­commended them to us, that it is not she which says;

That she did not invent vain gawdy E­quipages, purple Habits, and a long train of Lacqueys; and in fine, that it is we who abuse the Gifts of Heaven, and the Advantages we have over the rest of the Creation.

[Page 221] What then can be the meaning of li­ving according to Nature? must we ab­stain from those things she has made us Masters of? I don't pretend that, but am rather inclin'd to believe, we ought to make use of them, provided it be done pursuant to the Dictates of Nature.

We ought to use these things after such a manner, that we may easily part with them; we ought to be Masters of them, and not Slaves to them; we ought not impatiently desire to attain them, not to abandon our selves to despair up­on the Loss of them. Let us quietly enjoy them as occasion serves, but not search after them with inquietude and pain.

There is no condition that does not sit well upon a wise Man. For this rea­son I shall never quarrel with a Philo­sopher for living in a Palace, but shall at the same time not excuse him if he can't content himself with a Cottage. I shall not be scandalized to behold him in the apparel of Kings, provided he has not their Ambition.

Let Aristippus possess the riches of Croe­sus, it matters not; he will throw them away as soon as they incommode him.

[Page 222] Let Plato sit down at the Table of Dionysius the Tyrant. Sometimes he will eat nothing but Olives.

We don't at all blame the possession of Riches; we only condemn those Persons that are mere Slaves to their wealth.

Poverty of it self will never make us wise; it may indeed render us uncapa­ble of committing certain Disorders, but then there are others which it cannot remedy.

The sordid eating of the Cynics did nei­ther contribute to their Tranquillity, nor to their Modesty.

Ambition follow'd Diogenes into his Tub; and there it was he had the Pre­sumption to command Alexander the proudest of all Men.

All external Accidents will become in­different to us, if we have moderation of Soul; that is, if we are wise, and follow the Dictates of Nature.

I own 'tis harder to follow them in abundance than in necessity; and that our Moderation has much less to appre­hend from the miseries of Adversity, than the snares of Plenty: But then 'tis infi­nitely more glorious to surmount them, and the loss of false Joys does only re­commend [Page 223] to us the Possession of solid ones.

A Man does but faintly, if at all, relish that Felicity which costs him nothing, and for which he's obliged to mere chance. It is necessary that Wisdom should give it us: nay sometimes it is necessary that Pain itself should lead us to Pleasure.

One that enters the Lists at the Olym­pick Games with a design to fight, in case no body offers to appear against him, may well enough be crowned, but for this does not deserve the Title of Vi­ctorious.

Storms and Tempests give Reputati­on to Pilots. Had the Chastity of Pene­lope been never put to the Proof, it might have been said of her, that she wanted Gallants to debauch her.

Let us not therefore fly the World; let us not abandon the Court; let us not hide our selves in a Desart, from whence Philosophy drew the first Men. Let us possess Riches, let us not refuse to enter upon publick Offices. If we are wise, we shall enjoy these things without the least danger; we shall steer safely by these Rocks, we shall behold all these Objects with an indifferent eye. And [Page 224] if they are taken from us, we shall testi­fie to all the World, by our not casting our Eyes back upon them, that we despise them, and that we were never wedded to them.

It is scandalous for a wise Man to fly, and to be subdued by his Desires, which as they are not in reality according to Nature, so they can boast of no other Credit, than what the depraved Opinion of Mankind bestows upon them.

I have thus in part explained wherein the Pleasure of the Epicureans consists, what it is they mean by living up to Nature, in short what their Doctrine and true Sentiments are. Let us now consi­der whether this Opinion deserves the hatred of Mankind, or whether we have any reason to ridicule it. Let us examine whether this Pleasure favours Debauche­ry and Excess, or whether any thing in the World can be more sober and chast than it.

If you enquire of Epicurus what it is to live voluptuously, he will answer that it is to disengage our selves from too vi­gorous a pursuit of Riches, to resist and suppress evil Desires, to contemn Honours, to make our selves Masters of Fortune; [Page 225] and in a Word, to enjoy an absolute and uninterrupted Peace and repose of mind.

All his Precepts centre here, true sin­cere Pleasure in only to be found here; and in effect we ought only to search her here,; not in a brutal satisfaction of the Senses, nor in any violent emoti­ons of the Appetites.

It is too pure to depend wholly upon the Body; Reason is both the Mistress and Rule of it, the Senses are only its Servants: and therefore whatever migh­ty delights we may expect to find in good eating, or in the Pleasures of the eye, or in Perfumes and Musick, yet if we don't come to these things with a Calmness and Tranquillity of Soul, we shall find our selves miserably disappoint­ed; we shall abuse our minds with a false Joy, and embrace a Phantom, a mere ap­pearance of Pleasure for Pleasure itself.

Consume, if you are so minded, all the odoriferous Wood of Arabia the Hap­py, revel in the arms of Venus, feed up­on Nectar and Ambrosia, enjoy all the Pleasures that the most fruitful Poet ever formed in his Imagination. All this will but create Vexation and Bitterness, if we feel the least Inquietude within; [Page 226] and our Melancholy will force us to com­plain in the midst of these sweet Enter­tainments.

I will give you an Example of this, that shall fully convince you how im­possible it is for a Man to relish Pleasure when his Mind is disturbed.

You have without question read of the mighty Feast which Tigellinus made for Nero, and therefore may recall this great scene of Intemperance into your memory, the Luxury and Fame of which make no little noise even in our times. In all ap­pearance it was the greatest Effort that the most excessive Prodigality, joyned to the most exquisite Niceness, could make; in short, it was impossible for sensuality to advance a step beyond it. Agrippa's Pond was more chosen to be the Scene of this extraordinary Feast it was kept on board a most magnificent Vessel, which being drawn by an infinite number of others seem'd to move insensibly. All these Vessels were curiously inriched with Gold and Ivory; the Rowers were so ma­ny beautiful Boys, or to speak better, so many Cupids or Gods of Love. The Ocean furnished this Entertainment with Fish; and the several Provinces of the [Page 227] Empire with a prodigious variety of o­ther Dishes. Not to be tedious, the great Plenty of it was only to be matched with the extreme choiceness of the Provisions. I don't speak of the infamous Houses ere­cted on the banks of this Pond, that were all fill'd with Ladies of Quality. I don't speak of the Courtisans that were here beheld naked. The Night itself contributed to the Pleasure of this Debauch; its Dark­ness was overcome by an infinite number of Illuminations; and its Silence agreably disturbed with the harmony of several Consorts.

Would you now know whether Nero took pleasure in all these things, and whe­ther he parted from the Banquet satisfied and content? You need only consider with your self that he carried the remembrance of his Crimes, and the remorse of his Conscience about him. Having done this, you'll soon conclude that Despair accom­panied him, that he suffered as much as the greatest Criminal, and that although his outside carried the shew of a Triumph, yet he was acting a terrible Tragedy in his Soul.

If he felt any Joy 'twas that of frantick Persons; he owed his Pleasure to his Fury [Page 228] or his Drunkenness, and was no longer happy than he was abandoned by his Reason.

I say the same thing of those Sots that accompanied him; for I cannot believe, that either Seneca, or Thraseas Paetus, or Bareas Soranus, who lived up to Nature amidst the universal corruption of their Age, were in the number of his Guests: without doubt he had none but such whom a Life full as irregular as his own made him love; who advised him to all his Crimes, who were the Executors of them, and before whom he might not be obli­ged to blush.

A Herd of such profligate Wretches never aspired to true Happiness; there was not one wise Man in the whole Com­pany; now Pleasure has no influence on Minds that are corrupted and spoiled with all sorts of Debauchery and Excess.

[Page 229] In short, they lay open to all those Passi­on that disturb the Peace of the Soul, and consequently were not in a conditi­on to relish the Pleasure we speak of.

I could wish that Fpicurus had been pre­sent at this Assembly, and declared his Opinion in the face of the World. I am confident he would have spoke the truth before Nero himself; that he would never have dreaded Death, which was looked upon by him to be a thing indifferent, and am apt to imagine he would have explained himself after this manner: Oh unfortunate Prince! how strangely art thou infatuated to believe, that Pleasure consists in Intemperance, which is as far removed from all Excess, as thou art from the true felicity of Life. Thou draggest thy misery about thee wherever thou goest, and in spight of all thy endeavours, thou art not able to purchase one moments repose from thy Consci­ence. Load thy Tables with the most exqui­site Dainties that were ever eaten; drink the most generos Wines that Greece and Italy can afford; and after this wallow in all the most abominable Varieties of Luxury and Incontinence. Thou wilt find nothing there that can satisfie thee, and when thy body is surfeited with them, thy mind will [Page 230] still be upon the search after Pleasure. These are not the things that render Life happy; it is Prudence only which causes the Sove­reign good; which will teach thee to regu­late thy desires according to Nature, and in this regular state thou wilt find what thou wilt never be able to find in these Disor­ders. If thou wantest any thing cast thy eyes upon this common Mother, and she will give thee wherewith to content thy self ea­sily. Art thou thirsty? She has carefully provided Rivers and Fountains in every place to quench it. Art thou hungry? there is no part of the Vniverse so barren, but thou mayst meet with Fruits to relieve thy self: if thou canst not be satisfied with these things, much less shalt thou ever be satisfied with excess. Pleasure is nothing but a pri­vation of Pain. Consult thy hunger and thirst, and they will make thee find Plea­sure in the simplicity of Nature; and Bread and Water will supply the Place of the choi­cest Repast thou canst think of, when once thou hast need of them. At present thou art not in this Condition, thou dost not al­low thy stomach time to digest thy Meat: thy Intemperance daily lays in a new stock of Crudities, and hastens that Death which gives thee so many cruel Apprehensions. [Page 231] Thus thou sittest down at Feasts without finding any pleasure in them, because thou dost commit a violence upon Nature, and force her to obey thy desires: but know for a cer­tain truth, that they are contrary to her, and that the Irregularities of thy Body dar­ken the light of thy Reason. Don't imagine therefore to find any relish in those Pleasures thou proposest to thy self: it is only to be found in those that are permitted by Nature. The Ambition of servants carries them to a fond longing after Crowns. If they were once Kings, they would then desire to be the only Monarchs of the World; and when arrived to that heighth they would be calling out for Incense and Sacrifices. The Fable of the Giants instructs us, that Earth has presu­med to dispute the Pre-eminence with Hea­ven. 'Tis the same in all other wild disor­derly desires: No one is happy but the Per­son that knows how to regulate them; and as this can be done by no one but a wise Man, whose peculiar Talent it is, so it only belongs to him to command the Vniverse. He, and only he, can extract Pleasure from all things; he alone uses these delights with sobriety, and despises them even while he possesses them. As for thee, who dishonour­est the race of Augustus, and who art the [Page 232] infamy of Mankind, over whom the Indig­nation of the Gods has placed thee: do what thou wilt, thou wilt be always miserable, thou wilt always carry thy Tormenters about thee: thou wilt never free thy self one mi­nute from the horrors of thy Conscience, and in the midst of the Regale thou wilt not tast one drop of Wine, which shall not represent to thy Imagination the Blood of those Inno­cents, that thy Cruelty has shed.

Behold, unless I am mistaken, what Epi­curus wonld have said upon this occasion. Behold how he would have justified his Philosophy; behold how he would have reprimanded the Vices of the Emperour.

But since it is utterly impossible that the Mind, which is the Judge of Pleasure, should perfectly relish it, if the Body, whose Ministry it uses, does languish un­der any torment; Epicurus teaches, that all privation of bodily pain, as well as that of the mind, is necessary towards the consummation of that sovereign Good, which he calls Pleasure.

And to say the truth, there is so im­mediate a Communication between the Mind and the Flesh, that it is very diffi­cult to separate their Pleasures and their Suffering. It is hard to comprehend how [Page 233] the Soul can be perfectly happy, while Diseases afflict its Companion the Body: how it can think of Joy whilst the vio­lence of pain extorts Complaints from it, or how it can be sensible of Pleasure, whilst it is present at all those Places where the Indisposition rages.

Let the Stoicks boast as long as they please of the insensibility of their wise Man, and of this rigorous Virtue that laughs at Pain. When they come once to the suffering part, they'll find that their Body is by no means of this Opi­nion, and that although these Discourses are really magnificent and lofty, yet for all that they are neither to be reconci­led to Nature, nor to Truth.

I will not justifie this Proposition by the Examples of the generality of their Phi­losophers. I will not cite any name which they may have the least Pretence to re­ject, nor urge any Man upon them whose Virtue may be called in question: Her­cules alone shall assert the truth of what I have delivered.

This Hercules, who is reckoned amongst the Gods, whom so many Exploits have made immortal, and whom the Stoicks have chose for a perfect model of their [Page 234] Strength and Wisdom. Let us a little reflect upon the dying behaviour of this Heroe, and consider the last Actions of his Life. Without doubt this invincible Man will depart out of the World, as he came into it, by doing something He­roical and great. To be sure he'll not let a syllable drop from him that may dishonour his mighty Exploits, or seem unworthy of his former Character.

We shall find our selves extremely mi­staken if we are of this Opinion. The force of his Pain triumphs over his Cou­rage, his Constancy yields to the rage of the Poyson that burns him. He does not only complain, but he weeps, he cries, he stamps, he flings about

And by these his last effects of Rage and Despair he quits his life to go and take his place amongst the Gods.

Let the Stoicks therefore come over to our party; Let them amuse us no more with their insensibility, let them not pretend that their wise Man can be hap­py amidst his Tortures, and let them [Page 235] not despise pain with their usual insolence since they see Hercules himself could not support himself under the Pressure of it.

But if they answer, that the Poet has been guilty of a great Solecism in re­presenting Hercules after this manner, and continue to give other Relations of this Heroe contrary to the Authority of Books, and the Consent of the Theatre, Posidonius heretofore one of the Masters of Cicero, and the greatest of all the Sto­icks, (for so this celebrated Disciple of his calls him) will furnish us with a notori­ous Example, and we shall see one of the strongest Pillars of the Porch shaken by a slight Indisposition.

The Gout which at last attacqued this Philosopher, proved to be the rock on which his Constancy split. He com­plained of his pain with as much impa­tience as any ordinary man would have done: and tho he reproached it by vaunt­ing that all its Efforts should never con­strain him to own that it was an Evil, yet he could not forbear to afflict himself with it, to complain of it, and herein he testified more Opiniatretè than Con­stancy and Reason.

[Page 236] It seems that Cicero was scandalized at weakness of this wise Man, or at least that he was astonished at it. I have be­held, says he, Possidonius the greatest Man amongst the Stoicks suffer the pains of the Gout with as little Resolution and Bravery as my Landlord Nichomachus the Tyrian, whom he esteemed but as an ordinary Man.

And indeed I am so far from believing that the Felicity of Humane Life is com­patible with pain, that I am of Opinion it would be the Action of a wise Man to quit it, in case he were not able to set such an uncomfortable Attendant as some distance from him. And although I have the memory of Maecenas in great Vene­ration, and think that no one ought to mention his Name but with the profound­est respect; yet I could wish, if it were possible to be done, that some Verses of his were utterly lost, and that he had ne­ver inform'd us, that he was more fond of a wretched Life than (I don't say a Philosopher) but a Man of the meanest Courage ought to be.

You cannot offer him Life upon never so disadvantageous Terms, but he readily accepts it. Let him be deformed it sig­nifies nothing, let him be crooked he still [Page 237] comforts himself that he is alive. Let him endure all the united Torments of the most violent Diseases, he is still con­tented, if they are not mortal; and though you should condemn him to the most cruel Death imaginable, yet, by his good will, he would not be brought to quit his Life, provided he could still preserve it amidst the most terrible Punishments.

His effeminacy, no doubt on't, dictated these Verses to him, whilst he tasted all the pleasures of Life. He had never ex­perimentally known what pain was be­fore; and I dare boldly aver, That if he had found himself in this lamentable Con­dition of his own chusing, he would have earnestly desired Death to rid him of his Torments.

By this 'tis an easy matter to conjec­ture that Maecenus, was a Man of Pleasure, [Page 238] but not an Epicurean; since those Philo­sophers had too elevated a Soul to con­descend to such ignominious Conditions. They were less apprehensive of Death than of Pain, and sometimes renounced Plea­sure for the sake of Pain.

And the reason is, That Epicurus very well judging that the generality of Men, corrupted by the enjoyment of Pleasures, and suffering themselves blindly to be hurried on by their Appetites, would not be in a Condition to foresee the Griefs and Afflictions, which would be the certain consequences of their irregular Courses: And on the other hand, fearing that the love of Ease, and an effeminacy of Spirit, join'd to the fear of Labour and Pain, would oblige them to be deficient in their respective Duties, and render them inserviceable in the whole course of their Life; he was of opinion that at some cer­tain times, when a wise Man had full li­berty to chuse for himself, and nothing hindered him to pursue his full Satisfac­tion, he might abandon himself to Plea­sure, and entirely remove himself from Pain: But then that there were certain conjunctures, when the obligation of his duty, and the necessity of affairs, ought to [Page 239] incline him not to refuse Pain, and to re­ject Pleasure.

It was this generous Maxim that obli­ged Cato Vticensis to dye. For although he might have continued safe upon the Ruins of his own Party, and Cesar would have been proud to have given him his Life: Nevertheless the Shame to survive the loss of the publick Liberty, and the Infamy of Servitude, would not permit this generous Person to deliberate, Whe­ther he ought to chuse the Pain of dying gloriously, to avoid the Pleasure of living after a manner, which to him seem'd un­worthy of a Roman.

It was this Maxim that obliged Regu­lus to deliver himself into the hands of his Enemies, where the cruelty of his Exe­cutioners was less sensible to him, than the remorse for having broke his word would have been.

It was this Maxim, which as it made Fabricius despise the Treasures of the King of Epirus, so it made him despise those evil desires which attend the possession of Riches, to preserve the repose of his Mind, and the chief Pleasure.

In fine, it was this Maxim which com­pell'd Cicero to declaim against Anthony, [Page 240] and to devote himself for the preservation of the Republick, at a time when he might have lived peaceably at his own House, and enjoyed all the ease of Life, and the diversions of Study.

There is nothing commendable in the World which cannot be reduced to this Maxim; and whatever Heroick Actions these great Men have done, you will find that if they chose one Pain it was to avoid a greater; and on the other hand, if they have not practised certain Pleasures, it was only to acquire by this abstinence others that were more satisfactory and solid.

For to what other cause can you assign their illustrious Actions? Do you imagine that they parted out of this World with so much Indifference? That they rejected the possession of Gold? That they drew dangerous Enemies upon their Heads, and did not at the same time think that what they did was either for their Profit or Pleasure?

Don't let us do them this Injustice. Don't let us impute the effects of their Wisdom to the efforts of their irregular Minds. Let us believe that in all these things they acted with Deliberation; and [Page 241] let us not represent them in a worse Con­dition than the most savage Animals; which are never so strangely transpor­ted, but that we may easily to conclude whither the impetuosity of their Motion tends.

Cato parted with his Life; it was be­come a Burthen to him. He found much less Pain to quit the World than to submit to Cesar, whom he did not believe to be an honest Man; and much more Pleasure in not Living at all, than in Living un­der an ignominious Servitude.

Regulus returned back to Carthage: had he not done so, he had been accused of Perfidiousness.

Fabricius could not be corrupted by Pyrrhus: in this he testified his Integrity, he served his Country; and with the bare pleasure of refusing Riches, satisfied him­self infinitely more, than if he accepted them.

In short, Cicero publickly reproached Antony, and declared himself his capital Enemy. If he had no reason to do so, he deserves indeed to be blamed; but if he designed to establish the tranquillity of the Republick, though it were at the expence of his own; if he endeavoured [Page 242] to ruin Anthony that he might save Rome: besides that by this Conduct he contri­buted to the Safety of his Fellow Citi­zens, wherein his own was in a manner wrapt up, so much more did he deserve the praises of all the World, and the love of the Roman People.

These great Men, in Truth of History, were not of the Family of Epicurus; nay one of them, in some of his Writings, has attempted to confute his Opinions; but 'tis sufficient that the Authority of their Examples is to be found in the Doctrine of this Philosopher; and that the World should be informed that Virtue alone was not their chief Motive, or at least that what they call Virtue, ought to be named Pleasure.

Not but that several Persons of the greatest Bravery have been bred up in this School; who in a degenerate corrupt Age have done Actions full as vigorous, and noble, as those of the antient Ro­mans in the most Flourishing days of their Republick.

Under Nero's Empire the World no less admired the Death of Petronius, than they had done that of Seneca. The Emperour's Tutor did not purchase any Glory by [Page 243] dying, which his Master of the Revels did not afterwards acquire: And the common opinion was, That this Stoick, who had all along preached up a con­tempt of Life, did not quit it more ge­nerously, than Petronius who studied all the Pleasures of it.

I am obliged for the honour of Epi­carus to enlarge somewhat upon the Life and Death of this Courtier, who was one of his greatest Disciples; and it will be impossible for me to handle this Subject without giving you a sensible Entertain­ment. Since you are not at this time of day to be made acquainted with the Qua­lities of illustrious Men, I am sure you will not be unwilling to allow Petronius a place in this number, and to observe, en passant, the marks of his Generosity and Wisdom.

This famous Epicurean, far from resem­bling our modern Debauchees, that eat and drink away their Estates, made pro­fession of a cultivated polite Luxury, and minded nothing but refined Pleasures. And as Industry and Diligence give a Re­putation to the rest of Mankind, he was the only Person in the World that ac­quir'd it by his ease, and sitting still. His [Page 244] Words and Actions were very free and negligent; and as they show'd the candor and sweetness of his Temper, and carried an air of Simplicity, they were always received with a great deal of Satisfaction and Delight.

Nevertheless this excellent Man, very well knowing that there is a time when a wise Man ought to quit the repose and tranquillity of his Life to serve the Pub­lick, abandon'd this happy way of Li­ving, when he was elected Proconsul of Bithynia, and afterwards Consul; and by acquitting himself worthily in these illu­strious Employs, he demonstrated by his vigour, and by his conduct, that he was capable of managing the greatest Affairs.

At his leaving these Offices he betook himself to his old way of Living, and af­terwards happening to become one of Nero's greatest Friends, although this Prince had none but vitious Inclinations, yet he was so strongly enchanted by his merit, that he made him the Arbitrator or Comptroller of all his Pleasures; and believed that amidst all his Affluence and Plenty, he ought not to esteem any thing as sweet and agreeable, unless Pe­tronius first approved it.

[Page 245] I speak here only of Lawful Pleasures, and Virtuous Delights for our Epicurean was so far from having any Share in Nero's brutal Excesses, that this Prince was in a strange Confusion when he knew they were arrived to the knowledg of Petronius, who reproached him with them in some Writings; and caused Silia to be punished, because he suspected that she had revealed them to him.

From that moment Tigellinus looked upon him as his Competitor; and fearing least by the means of this wise and ho­nest Pleasure, whereof he made Profession, he might effect what Seneca could not by the Authority of his Sect, that is, recal Nero from the disorders of his Life; he resolved to destroy him, imagining there was no other way to establish himself but by ruining him.

To this end he awaked that Prince's Cruelty, to which, as being his predomi­nant Passion, all his other Pleasures gave way. He accuses Petronius with being a Friend to Scevinus, who was in Piso's Conspiracy: he corrupts one of his Slaves to impeach him, takes from him all means of defending himself, and gets the greatest [Page 246] part of his Domesticks to be chained and imprisoned.

In this condition, a Man of less Gene­rosity would either have flatter'd himself with the prospect of his Prince's Clemen­cy, or at least have prolonged his Life to the last extremity.

As for him, he does quite otherwise: he believ'd it was downright Weakness or Shame to bear any longer the Torments of Hope or Fear; and being resolved to die, he searched a way to do it with the same Tranquillity wherein he had lived.

So not being willing to quit life with Precipitation, he ordered his Veins to be opened, and afterwards to be bound up again; and then taking the Ligatures off as he pleased himself, he entertained his Friends with agreable Conversations; not affecting to make any serious Di­scourses before them, by which he might pretend to the glory of Constancy.

Nor would he employ the last Hours of his Life in speaking of the Immorta­lity of the Soul, nor of the Opinions of the Philosophers; but having pitched up­on a more voluptuous and more natural [Page 247] sort of Death, he rather chose to imitate the Sweetness of a Swan; and therefore caused some delightful moving Verses to be repeated to him.

Nevertheless he reserved a few moments to dispose of his own Affairs; he reward­ed abundance of his Slaves, and some of them he ordered to be punished. Then per­ceiving the Hour of his Death approach­ed, after he had used a little exercise he laid himself peaceably down to sleep; that his Death, which was violent, might however resemble, as much as possible, one that was fortuitous and natural.

People, if they please, may still talk of Socrates, and mightily commend the Constancy, with which he drank the Poison. Petronius is not at all inferiour to him; nay he may justly pretend to have the advantage over him; as having abandoned a life infinitely more delici­ous than that of this wise Grecian, with the same Tranquillity of mind, and the same Equality of Soul.

But that you may better comprehend the great value of this Pleasure, which I am here maintaining, I will give you the Portraicture of a Man, who perfectly possesses it, and by a Representation of [Page 248] his Counterpart, which I will afterwards give you, put you out of all manner of doubt, that Epicurus's pleasure is to be in­finitely preferr'd.

Imagine to your self a Man in perfect health, plenty and affluence; innocently enjoying the Delights of this World; his Soul peaceable, serene and easie; possessing always, and that in abundance, the most agreable Pleasures of the Body and Mind; being neither troubled with the presence, nor threatned with the fear of any Grief whatever.

What Condition can you propose more excellent, or more desirable than this? For before a Person can arrive to this exalted state, it is necessary that he possess a Force of Soul proof against Death and Pain; that his Mind be entirely disengaged from all the false Opinions of the vulgar; that it be not disturbed with impertinent Fears; nay, that it suffer not the Plea­sures it has tasted to be lost; but always entertain it self with a sweet remem­brance of them. This is to arrive to the highest Period of Felicity; where the de­fect of nothing can be pretended, as to the full consummation of Humane Hap­piness.

[Page 249] On the other hand let us represent to our selves a Man o'erwhelmed with all the Evils that can afflict Humane Nature; deprived of all hopes to see them ever di­minished; neither feeling any present Plea­sure, nor having ever tasted any, nor da­ring to promise himself any for the time to come: and after we have owned that nothing can be imagined more miserable than this Condition, let us at the same time confess, that nothing can be more happy than the voluptuous Epicurean.

Now if you think that this happy Per­son, whose Picture I have drawn, is no where to be found but only in my own Imagination; and that so perfect a Scene of Felicity cannot be among Men, any otherwise than in Idea; I protest you have wrong Sentiments both of Humane Con­dition and the goodness of Heaven; and I am obliged to draw you out of this Errour, that you may no longer mur­mur at our Misery, and the Injustice of our Destiny.

I find this Original done by the hand of one of the greatest Masters, placed in the Cabinet of one of the most curious Authors that ever writ. It is Felicity it self painted under the Character of Orata, [Page 250] for so do's Cicero call him, and here fol­lows a faithful Translation of what he recounts concerning his Happiness.

‘Nothing was wanting in Orata, (a Man extremely rich, very polite, and very delicate) of all that contributes to make a Man live voluptuously, and to make him be loved, and to enjoy a per­fect and entire health. For he possessed a very plentiful Fortune in the finest Country in the World; he had always store of Friends about him, serviceable, pleasant and diverting; and he dexterously managed every thing to the best Advan­tage of Life. And to comprehend all in a few Words, his Designs met always as happy a Success, and as favoura­ble an Accomplishment as Man could wish.’

I don't believe that there is any thing to be blamed in this condition, provided no sudden Change befalls it. We must there­fore conclude Orata to be perfectly happy, if he can still continue in the fortunate state, wherein we have shew'd him.

Thus I have given you, unless I am mistaken, a Portraicture that very well resembles the first Design which I was to lay before you; and which you mi­stook [Page 251] for a Work of Fancy, and the Pro­duct of mere Imagination.

Now let us turn the Tables▪ and find out some miserable Wretches to oppose to this Orata. Let us compare to him, if you please, some of those infortunate Persons, whom we behold on the anti­ent Theatre; one of whom judges him­self too criminal to weild the Scepter of the Greeks; who is afraid to dishonour the race of Pelops, from whence he owns himself descended; who dares not shew himself before Men, who dares not enter the Temples.

Let us compare to him another of the same rank, who making Signs to his Friends not to approach him, looks upon him­self to be so unfortunate, that he is ap­prehensive, lest his very shadow should prove contagious. Or rather let us think no more of Atreus and Thyestes; let us forget their Crimes, the remembrance of which still inspires us with horrour; let us not cast our eyes any longer upon a Family which has forced the Sun to go backward; and which has furnished Hell with one of its most famous Punishments.

[Page 252] Let us rather chuse Heroes, but Persons full as unhappy as the Off-spring of Tan­talus. Let the Son of Amphiareus make his Entrance, frighted with Visions, and demanding help against the Furies that press him.

And after Alcmeon has made us see the Tortures of Conscience, and Pressures of the Soul; let Philoctetes entertain us with the Miseries to which he finds himself reduced; let him speak, let him complain of his ill fortune. Do's he not paint out a very wretched Person when he says?

After this let him shew us the pains of the Body; when his Ulcer being in­flamed he despairs, he bemoans himself in these following Lines:

Or if these Misfortunes are not suffici­cient, let us heap together, as Ovid has done, all the Plagues, all the Calamities that old Fables afford us; and wish they may light upon one single Person, and then judge whether his Condition is hap­pier than that of Orata, or of the famous Vatia, who merited heretofore this Ex­clamation, O Vatia, you alone know what it is live; and conclude all with an Ex­clamation of the like nature; O Epicurus, you and only you know how to Philosophize.

From all these evident Truths it is an easie matter to conclude, that Pleasure is not only worthy the Commendations of all Men; but that it is the sovereign Good, and only end.

Nevertheless, since this first Proposition makes the principal point in the Doctrine of Epicurus; and as it is the truest, so it [Page 255] is also the most contested; since I say we have begun to undeceive the Enemies of this Proposition, we ought to conclude with Instructions, and leave the truth of this Opinion so well established in their minds, that they shall have no occasion to question it, without being guilty of the greatest Injustice.

That they may therefore submit to so Catholick a Truth, I only desire them to turn their eyes on the side of Nature; the Effects of which are reasonable, and the Experiences certain.

They will not only find that it autho­rises what we have asserted; but it will likewise give them such clear, such visible Demonstrations of it, that unless they hoodwink themselves on purpose, they must be forced to submit to it.

Let them consider what this Common Mother does in the Birth of Animals; that is to say, in its perfect Purity and be­fore its Corruption. They will soon ob­serve that it inspires them with the love of Pleasure, and an aversion to Pain; that it carries them towards what pleases them, and teaches them to avoid what would hurt them; that it instructs them (if I may be allowed the Expression) [Page 256] both in what is good and what is bad; and when they attain the former, she causes them to rejoice, and be satisfied with it.

This is the Reason why our Philosopher following the Dictates of Nature, pro­nounces a voluptuous Life to be the end of Man; but does not give himself the Trouble to prove so obvious a Proposition.

As he imagined there was no necessity of force of reason to perswade People that Fire is hot, that Snow is white, and that Hony is sweet, because they are all sensi­ble things; so he believed, that to make Men comprehend the Love of Pleasure, which may easily be known by the Ef­fects of Nature, there was occasion for no more than a bare Observation of these Effects, and an ordinary Reflection.

Nevertheless, though we have Nature on our side, that is to say, an infallible Decision; though we find in our Souls a natural Inclination to avoid Evil, and to follow Pleasure; though the very begin­nings of our Desires, of our Disgusts, and of all our Actions, derive their Original from Pleasure and Pain; yet because some Philosophers pretend that Pain ought not to be reckoned amongst Evils, nor Plea­sure [Page 257] amongst things that are good, and that to establish this Opinion they bring abundance of plausible Arguments, we must not so strongly rely upon our own Opinions, as we ought to keep up to the simple Truth.

We must therefore produce Reasons in behalf of Epicurus's Doctrine, and show that Reason as well as Nature is of his side.

And in effect in those Philosophers that have condemn'd this Pleasure had well considered her before-hand; if they had throughly known her before they at­tack'd her, they would easily have dis­covered, that it was not she they meant; that they were mistaken in their Invec­tives, and only rejected her out of a con­sideration of those Pains that sometimes attend her; they would have perceived that those Pains did not proceed from her, but from the Irregularities of those Persons that use her ill. And then they had never decryed her after so furious a manner.

For they must be forced to acknow­ledge, That there is not one single Person in the World that hates Pleasure, as it is Pleasure; or loves Pain, meerly as it is Pain.

[Page 258] Now because those that abuse the most innocent Pleasures, do afterwards feel a great deal of Torment and Uneasiness, and that on the other hand, there are certain times when Labour and Pain produce and prepare some sort of Plea­sures: this hath been the reason, that these Philosophers, who only considered the consequences of an ill managed Pleasure, and the Advantages of a profitable and ne­cessary Labour, have effaced the former out of the number of good things, and then pla­ced Pain amongst those that are desirable.

But now it is high time to employ all our Forces to carry our Enterprizes. This is the hour we ought to Combat in good earnest, that so we may obtain a glorious Victory.

It is not our business here to defend Pleasure, nor to consider it as the Sove­reign good of humane Life: we must ele­vate her above the throne of Virtue it­self that disputes this Title with her; and although we don't banish this Virtue from it, whereof we make Profession, we must nevertheless constrain her to resign the first place to Pleasure.

In short, as all the Philosophers in the World are agreed, that the ultimate end [Page 259] a Man ought to propose to himself here, is a quiet and agreeable Life; several of them have been mistaken in placing this Life in Virtue, and not in Pleasure; and Suffered themselves to be led aside by the gaudy Splendor of a Name that im­poses upon them, without considering a Truth which Nature it self forces them to own.

For certain it is, if they would but consult and believe her, they would confess that these same Virtues, which they are used to call Magnificent and Pom­pous, are no farther to be esteem'd than as they contribute to Pleasure; and con­sequently that not being courted for their own sake, they ought not to be preferred to the motive from which they receive all their merit, and all their value.

'Tis after the same manner that we ap­prove Physick, not upon the account of the Art, but because of our Health; and the Skill of Pilots deserves Commenda­tion for no other reason, but the great utility of Navigation. After the same manner we should not desire Wisdom, which we may call the Art of Life, if it were not serviceable to us, and did not [...]irectly lead us to the possession of Plea­ [...]ure.

[Page 260] There is no necessity to repeat in this place what this Pleasure is; or to desire you once more not to despise this Name, which Men have corrupted.

You know well enough how severe Epicurus makes it; and you ought to own to me that it is no disgrace for Wisdom to yield to it, and to be respected only for her sake.

We will confess to you likewise on our side, that unless a Man is a Philosopher he cannot be happy, and that Wisdom is the only way to arrive at Pleasure.

In a word, the weakness of humane of Nature labouring under the ignorance Good and Evil; floating generally be­tween these two things, without being able to discern them, and often chusing with Joy what it ought to have studiously avoided; in so strange a Blindness it so happens that Men instead of the feli­city they desire, get at a farther distance from it; that they become miserable in­stead of finding themselves satisfied; and that in exchange of the Pleasures they proposed to meet, they plunge themselves in Sorrows that torment and trouble them.

It is necessary therefore that a right [Page 261] application of Wisdom should draw them out of so miserable a Condition, that its light shou'd direct them in this wretched darkness, that its force should deliver them from the Servitude of wicked De­sires, unjust Terrours, and rash Opinions, and in imitation of Hercules clear an open passage for them through so many Monsters, and safely conduct them to Pleasure.

Wisdom alone performs these great things like a faithful, generous Guide; she removes the difficulties of the way where she leads us.

'Tis not sufficient that we don't wan­der; what is more, we must march in security with her; and while the Winds and the Sea overwhelm those poor Vessels that sail without her conduct, others that are steer'd by her enter the Harbour with­out fearing the Tempest.

'Tis in this Harbour that a wise Man finds Pleasure. Here it is that he quietly contemplates the Pains of other Men; that he discovers all the impertinent Er­rours wherewith their weakness is perse­cuted; that he observes with what eager­ness they strive to satisfy their Passions; that he sees them press forward in throngs [Page 262] towards him, that shall advance himself highest in Power, Riches, and Fortune.

And that he crys out, having considered all these things,

As for himself, nothing disquiets, no­thing molests, nothing troubles him. He is happy, he follows nature, he en­joys a perfect felicity; and in this Situa­tion, gives thanks to wisdom, which pro­cured him this Pleasure.

Let us act like him, if we have a mind to be happy like him; let us cast our selves into the arms of this Wisdom, let us endeavour to arrive at this Pleasure, let us suppress those ill desires that rob us of it: They are insatiable and dangerous; they don't only ruin private Persons, they destroy whole Families; they ravage King­doms, they occasion Hatred, Division, [Page 263] Discord, Sedition, and War; they tyran­nize over those Souls that nourish them, and if we carefully examine the Poets, we shall find that by the Torments of the Damned they had a mind to represent those Persons whom these inward Plagues afflict.

And thus, since by the only assistance of Wisdom we are able to crush these Vipers; since she alone instructs how to resist For­tune, and that through her means we ar­rive to obtain tranquillity, why should we fear to conclude that she is not desi­rable, but only as she creates Pleasure, and secures us from Pain?

We must say the same thing of Tem­perance, and not desire her only for her­self; but because she preserves that peace, that serenity in our Souls, without which we cannot be happy, and by the concord she inspires appeases our Trouble, and gives us Pleasure.

'Tis this Virtue that always comes to [Page 264] the relief of Wisdom: 'Tis she that puts in execution what the other does only re­solve; and as that shows us what we are to avoid, and what we are to follow, this stops us in our career when we go against the Counsels of the other, and believe our Senses rather than our Reason.

'Tis the oridle that keeps us in, when we are posting towards any unlawful Pleasure; the hand that surely conducts us to the way of truth. In short, 'tis the Virtue without which we can neither be happy nor wise.

And in truth what advantage is it to know what is Good, if we are too feeble to put it in practice? To what purpose is it to see a Precipice, if we suffer our selves to tumble down it? To give Wis­dom leave to speak, but not to permit her to act?

The generality of Men are reduced to this pass. All of them conclude in fa­vour of Wisdom, but don't know how to live up to what they have concluded.

They know that there are Pleasures the consequences of which are dangerous, and severely prohibited by our Epicurus: but they laugh at the prohibitions of this Philosopher, and abandon themselves [Page 265] to the tyranny of their disorderly Passions.

They resemble the unfortunate Phaedria in Terence, and his Character, as it is drawn by that excellent Man, suits them all from the highest to the lowest.

This outrageous Lover is sensible that he should do a foolish Action in endea­vouring to set himself at rights with his Mistress. He knows she's a Coquette, and that himself is miserable. This gives him disturbance; this makes him uneasie. But to what purpose? he does not amend his Condition. He still suffers his love to controll him; and at that very instant when he sees himself ready to perish, at that very instant he perishes deliberately.

'Tis certain that Phaedria does not want Wisdom; he only want Temperance. He knows well enough what measures he ought to take to be at ease, but does not put them in execution. He sees what is best for himself, and approves it, but for all that follows what is worse.

Behold now the manners of those Men, whom we describe, admirably well ex­prest. Behold an image of their Thoughts and Infirmities. Behold how for want of true Wisdom, it is impossible for them to find Pleasure.

[Page 266] You loose your labour when you tell them that the Pleasure they pursue is un­reasonable, that it is not necessary, that the privation of it does not cause any pain: In vain do you represent to them the Sicknesses, the Losses, the Infamy that attend the enjoyment of it. In vain do you threaten them with the punishments of the Laws, and the severity of the Ma­gistrates. You can tell them nothing but what they know, and what they are able to say upon occasion. What are they the better for all this? They are Slaves to that very Folly they detest as well as you, and resemble the Greek Philosophers who were allowed the liberty to make a great Parade of those very Virtues they never practised.

Besides these, there is another race of Men who in truth are not Philosophers, but for all that manage their Cause with a world of Spirit and Vivacity.

These People, whom we may properly call the Prophaners of the Pleasure of Epi­curus, will by no means be perswaded to acknowledg Temperance for a Virtue, but after their imperious way pretend that all happiness depends on mere fancy.

It is not worth the while to enter in­to a solemn dispute with such unreasona­ble [Page 267] Creatures as they are. The severest return one can make them is to leave them at liberty to do as they desire.

'Tis sufficient for us to know that their Opinion is false, and that true felicity consists only in those desires which flow from Temperance.

For 'tis not only a miserable thing to desire what is dishonest, but 'tis infinite­ly more advantageous not to obtain what we desire, than to obtain what we cannot desire without shame. In this view 'tis better to be of the Opinion of that An­tient, who passing his Judgment of Camil­lus that was banished out of Rome, while Manlius was Master there, preferr'd the Exile of the virtuous Refugee to the Splen­dor of the dishonest Citizen.

Now in truth those that study Tempe­rance, and manage the fruition of Plea­sure with that discretion that they find no After-claps; those certainly may call themselves happy, and deserve the title of wise Men.

Their Pleasures are durable, because they are regular; and all their Life is calm and serene, because it is innocent.

They have no inclination to run af­ter forbidden Pleasures; nay, their feli­city [Page 268] consists in abstaining from them. They sometimes embrace Pain, but then 'tis done with a design to avoid a greater. The use they make of Wisdom is by her means to attain to a state of Tranquillity; and this makes it clear, that there is no other way to enjoy this Pleasure, wherein Epicurus supposes the sovereign Good to consist, but by the means of Virtue.

You would be amazed, and perhaps angry, if examining the rest of the Vir­tues, and bringing them to the Touch­stone of Pleasure, I should maintain that Valour depends upon her no less than Wisdom and Temperance; and that this Virtue that dares encounter Lions, that despises danger, and that without any con­cern or emotion could behold the entire ruin of the World, produces nothing illustrious but only as it regards Plea­sure, and flows from no other source than it.

For in the first place we ought to take it for granted, that the Fatigues we un­dergo, and the Pains we sustain, have no­thing in them to induce us to court them, if we view them simply, and separate them from other Considerations: That Industry and Diligence, so much commen­ded [Page 269] in affairs of Life, and that Valour it­self, of which we are now talking, are never put in execution but for some design and motive.

This is not all; we may affirm, that these things have been introduced mere­ly for the ease of Life, and that the only reason we follow them is, that we may live without trouble and fear; that we may free, as much as in us lies, our body and our mind from those Maladies and Vexations which may afflict it, and to taste with greater serenity that indo­lence which makes one part of Epicurus's Pleasure.

And indeed how can you expect a Man should live happy when he perpetually fears death? How can you imagine the famous Sicilian, whose Name is upon re­cord, should taste any Pleasure in the midst of his Feasting and Musick, if he everlastingly dreads the falling of the Sword, that threatens his Head, and his Diadem.

Is it not an aggravation of misery to faint under our Pains, and not to have courage enough to suffer those Misfor­tunes, which 'tis not in our power to a­void?

[Page 270] This weakness of mind has it not led abundance of People to those Extremities that are a disgrace and scandal to humane Nature?

What was it in your Opinion that gave occasion to the Poets to turn Hecuba into a mad Bitch, but the Grief that overcame her, and constrained her to imitate the fury of those Creatures?

Had she supprest and conquered her Grief, or had she at least endeavoured to forget those subjects that occasioned it, without question she had never passed from tears to despair, and from despair to rage.

Listen I pray to the Complaints she makes. Observe how by representing to herself the miserable Condition she finds herself in at present, and from what a heigth she is fallen; how by this conduct, I say, she feeds her sorrow upon the Stage, and of her own accord provokes the motions of that Rage which is ready to seize her.

After this she remembers herself of the Beauty of these Structures, and the Riches of Asia, in order to raise her own Grief, and that of the Spectators; for who is it that can avoid being sensibly touched with this Discourse?

Or what heart would she not inspire with horror and pity, when she thus goes on?

[Page 272] So that I don't at all wonder if the people of Rome were strangely affected when they heard these Verses repeated; or if when I read them my self I cannot forbear the Tribute of a few Tears.

To say the Truth, Hecuba had great reason to complain of her ill Destiny, she had lost her Husband, her Son, her Kingdom and her Liberty. If she had beheld these Calamities without lament­ing them, she had been insensible; and we should be inhumane, if after so many Losses we should hinder her Tears.

But then, after she had for some time wept, we should not be at all unjust to prescribe bounds to her Grief, to regu­late her Complaints and her Sorrow; and lastly, to advise her to oppose strength of Reason to that of Despair.

Some Persons that are touched with her Complaints may perhaps alledge in her Justification, that those who would limit her Grief, and not suffer it to exceed its first Motions, would resign themselves up to it till the very last Moments of their Life, if they once shared with her those Misfortunes the weight of which they can only conjecture: and that our Philo­sophy which speaks of nothing less than [Page 273] Conquests and Triumphs, would faint un­der such a pressure of Calamities, if it saw them present and inevitable.

Now, for my part I wish a perpetual Sunshine of Prosperity to so tender, so melting a Man as this is: for no doubt on't, if any Disgrace happens to him, he will discover his Infirmities very plenti­fully: on this condition that by way of requital to me for my Wish he will di­spense with me for not believing what he says, nor oblige me to judge of the strength of Philosophy by the weakness of his Reason.

For without losing any time to refute word by word this sort of Reasoning, which can obtain credit no where but amongst effeminate Men; I shall content my self to convince those Persons that make use of it by two known Examples that ought to overwhelm them with confusion.

These Examples are drawn from two Persons, whom their Age and their Sex ought to render extremely feeble; but who notwithstanding all this weakness preser­ved such a presence of mind, that I shall despair to find the like among the Philo­sophers.

[Page 274] Let us consider Astianax and Polixena as they are going to die: one is a Boy, the other a young Maid. The Greeks had condemned both of them to Death. Ob­serve Vlysses, who advances first leading the former by the hand, and marching hasti­ly to throw him down the Precipice. But see the Child does not follow him with less Assurance.

Consider that amongst all those that accompany him and weep for him, he is the only Person whose eyes are dry, and who refuses to pay Tears to his own death.

Observe that whilst these barbarous Executioners invoke the Gods to this bloody Sacrifice, he throws himself head­long from the Tower, from the top of which they were to cast him, and volun­tarily puts an end to that Life which he had scarce begun.

But now turn your eyes on the other side; for by this time Polixena is placed upon Achilles's Tomb, and only waits the fatal Blow which is to appease the Anger of the Greeks, and to rejoyn her Soul to that of her Parents.

[Page 275] Admire her Beauty that still appears so charming and so serene. Her Counte­nance is not at all changed with the Ap­prehensions of Death. On the other Hand this Sun, which is going to set for ever, seems to receive a new Splendor at the last moments of its light.

Nay there is something in her air more bold and undaunted than her Sex, and her present Circumstances ought to promise.

And to do her right she is not content to wait the Blow, for without avoiding it she goes to meet it with an Heroick Bravery.

And when Pyrrhus has given her the cru­el stroke, it seems that her last Action is an Action of Courage, that she does not suffer herself to fall upon the Sepulchre of Achilles, but with a design to make the earth lie more heavy upon him, and to revenge herself upon him even as she dies.

Tell me now freely, is it not a shame for Hecuba to see her Children more cou­ragious than herself?

Tell me whether it looks well for her to shed so many Tears, when Astianax and Polyxena die without shedding any?

[Page 276] Tell me whether you don't think these two Persons infinitely happy in compari­son of this miserable Creature?

Or if you have nothing to say for her, confess at last with us, that she has too little courage in her Misfortunes, and that she wanted strength of Mind to resent them less cruelly.

Now if it be true that Weakness is the only thing that renders our Misfortunes insupportable to us, and which causing us to abandon the Helm in the most vi­olent Tempests makes us suffer Shipwrack in those places where we might have rode securely; ought we not to search after this strength of Mind to serve us instead of an Anchor, to oppose it to the fury of the Wind and Water, and preserve us from the violence of the Storm?

We ought to sustain our selves by this Pillar, which serves as the Basis to Plea­sure, and to joyn this Virtue to Tempe­rance and Wisdom; and that we may live in repose and in a privation of Misery, be­lieve that by her influence a couragious persevering Spirit is above all Pain and ill Fortune; since it despises Death, and is so prepared for Pain that it always reshembers itself that Death is the remedy [Page 277] of the most violent ones; that the lesser have abundance of good Intervals, and that it is the Master of the ordinary ones.

Matters being thus, we ought to say that we don't blame Cowardise and Weak­ness, as also that we don't practise Tem­perance and Valour for their own parti­cular respect; but that we are to reject the former, and desire the latter, because those foment Griefs, but these preserve us from them.

It only remains now for us to examine Justice, and then we shall have dispatched the principal Virtues. But these things one may say on this Chapter are almost the same with the preceding ones, and Justice is no less united to Pleasure, than Pru­dence, Temperance and Fortitude, which cannot be separated from it.

In effect this Virtue is so far from bring­ing any uneasiness to our Mind, that by its Influence and Power it perpetually nourishes in them those Sentiments that render them quiet, and never leaves us without this hope, that we can want no­thing that Nature desires, as long as she is not corrupted. And after the same manner that Folly, Intemperance, want of Resolution incessantly torment, plague and [Page 278] afflict us; so Injustice no sooner enters the Soul, but it throws her into Disorder and Confusion, and makes her unfortunate even when she does not make her criminal.

For if an unjust Man suffers himself to commit some wicked Action, although he commits it after such a manner, that nei­ther the Sun nor Men can give any Te­stimony of it, yet he can never assure him­self that it will be always kept private; and for all the obscurity of the night that covered it, he will still be under terrible apprehensions that Truth will at last dis­cover it.

Suspicion commonly follows the Acti­ons of the wicked; and though the Judg­es should never concern themselves with them, yet their own Conscience forces them to betray themselves.

But if any Person believes that their Ri­ches, their Power and Authority shall se­cure them from the Injustice of Men, and place them above the Laws, and out of the reach of Punishment, yet they can ne­ver cover themselves from the Divine Justice.

They never lift up their eyes to Heaven, but their Conscience alarms them with horrour, and the cruel Inquietudes that [Page 279] devour them without intermission, are the se­cret Executioners of that punishment which the Divinity makes them endure.

For what Power, what Wealth, when they are injustly obtain'd, can so far diminish the diffi­culties of this Life, but at the same time remorse of Conscience, fear of Punishment, the hatred of Mankind augment them infinitely more?

These ill, these unlawful Remedies don't they often turn to Poyson? and what we have some­times chose to extinguish our sorrow, has it not made it burn with greater Fury and Vehe­mence?

Are there not prodigious numbers of Persons that don't know how to prescribe Limits to their desire of being more rich, of having more Honours, of reigning more absolutely, of living more voluptuously, of feasting more deliciously, and of carrying their evil Inclinations too far?

And don't we see that the mighty heap their Extortion and their Avarice has amassed together, instead of satisfying their unreasonable Appetites, does but inflame them still the more, and that these People has more need to be cor­rected by the Laws, than inflamed by Remon­strances.

Reason therefore invites all Men that have their Judgment sound, to preserve Justice which the Laws have established.

Equity which derives its Original from Na­ture, and which may properly be called the knot of Civil Society, tells us plainly enough, that an unjust Action ought never to be com­mitted, neither by those that are weak, because they would attempt it without success; nor by [Page 280] the powerful, because after the business is com­pleated, they would not find repose, nor this ac­complishment of their desires.

In short, she forces us to own that Justice is not desirable for it self, but because it gives us a world of Satisfaction, makes our Life more assured, and our Pleasure more accomplished.

Now if the Praise of Virtue it self, on which Subject principally the other Philosophers have employed their most magnificent Discourses, produces no other effect than Delight or Plea­sure; and if this Pleasure alone, which is the end of all the Virtues, calls us to itself, and attracts us by its proper Nature, we may fafe­ly conclude, that she is the soveraign Good; and the most perfect of all other, and no longer doubt but that a happy Life is that which Epi­curus has taught us.

Oh holy and severe Pleasure! O admirable Philosophy! What Misfortune was it that de­cry'd you amongst Men? Who is it that drew upon you the aversion of so many virtuous Per­sons that knew you not? Who has hindered them to see that their Virtues are owing to you, and that they speak injuriously of you, at the same time you contribute to their Felicity.

But happy the Men who have been of the Sect of that Wise Man that followed you: happy those who have imitated him: happy even those who being born in an Age, when many believe that Vice and the Pleasure of Epicurus are but one and the same thing, have had understanding enough to discover the contrary, and have at least force of Mind sufficient to defend it, if they have not Courage enough to practise it.

or any Method. I will tell you, with all sincerity, what the Desire to satisfie you, rather than Study or Experience, suggest­ed to me upon this Subject.

The first step that a Man makes into the World, generally determines all the rest, and is the Foundation of his Re­putation, and best Presage of his For­tune; and, from the first Marches that he makes, those that have had Experience, will tell you how far he will advance. 'Tis then very necessary to make this first step with a great deal of caution, and to signalize ones Entry by something that is glorious and great.

There is a great deal of Art in gaining the publick Esteem, and to make ones Tal­ents appear so to advantage, that the World shall never disgust, or be glutted with 'em.

The means to preserve ones Reputati­on, is to produce something more and more excellent, and to provide a fresh Nutriment for the general Admiration, which seems always to grow up equal with our Merit. The great Actions we do, promise something greater; and the good ought to be follow'd by better.

[Page 130] A Great man ought not then to suffer the depth of his Capacity to be sounded, if he will be always esteem'd by the Vul­gar: He ought, on the contrary, to be­have himself after such a manner, as ne­ver to discover all that he knows, and that no man may have it in his power to assign Limits to his Learning. For, let a Man be never so learned the Opinion we have of him, when we know him but by halves, goes always farther than the Idea we conceive of him, when we are wholly acquainted with him.

Therefore let him take care not to dis­cover his Ability all at once, but make an absolute use of his Cunning. He should al­ways to manage himself with caution, that he may be able to disengage himself from the Inconveniencies he may fall into; and, to have a hidden Reserve, where he may command suitable Suc­cours, to repair his greatest Mistakes, and to retrieve him from his greatest Over­sights.

As the Success of the most Judicious Undertakings depends upon the meet­ing of a multitude of Conjunctures, ma­ny of which Chance can only recon­cile; an excellent man ought not e­ver [Page 131] to commit his Reputation to the risque of a Conversation, a Dispute, or an In­terview; for, if it does not succeed with him, he never recovers it: And no man can be sure not to fail in an Essay or a Tryal; since nothing is more com­mon, than to find ones first Projects dis­appointed. He ought then to expose his Reputation to the hazard of the Enter­prize, whatever Advantage he may pro­mise himself from its Success.

On the contrary, the great Art of all consists in not discovering all one knows at once, but to unfold it (if I may speak so) by degrees, and always to nourish and excite Curiosity.

The Magazine should always answer the Occasions; and the Piece should not belie the Pattern: In fine, a Man ought always to keep exactly to what he pro­mises.

'Tis upon this consideration only, that great Masters never discover the whole Mystery of their Art in their Lessons to their Schollars, and by that means they remain always the Masters; the Source of their Instructions never dries away, and as 'tis not communicated but by pro­portion and measure, they never exhaust [Page 132] that Fund of Knowledge, whence they draw continually both to satisfie the ex­pectation of others, and to keep up their own reputation.

There is one thing more that I would recommend to an ingenious Man, and that is, To be seen as seldom as may be; for as his presence diminishes the Esteem one has of him, so his absence and di­stance augments it. Fame every day en­creases Objects, and the Imagination goes much beyond the Sight.

We ought not then to be lavish of our selves; we ought to make ourselves expe­cted to be truly welcome. The desire a­ny one has for us, is commonly the mea­sure of the Esteem they have of us: Hap­piness is better tasted when it has been a long time expected; and the Pleasure that costs one something, is much more ardent­ly sought after, than that which is easie: so the nicest People find in Hunger a sauce that all the ragouts could not give to their Victuals; and 'tis a refining of Epicurism not to satisfie our senses and Appetites but by halves.

A Man should never make himself fa­miliar with the Vulgar, least he lose that Air of Dignity, which a Retreat and seri­ous [Page 133] Life bestows on those that shew them­selves but seldom: for presence brings to light those Defects which absence would conceal. The most pretious things lose their worth as soon as they become com­mon. Those great inclinations we have for Rarities are chang'd into scorn, when we find 'em to be had every-where; and the mind is much more delicate and diffi­cult to satisfie than the senses, which are glutted with the most delicious and ex­quisite Viands, when they are made their daily food.

Thus we may see the farther a learned Man is from us, the more we wish for his company; the more he absconds the more we look after him: not that he ought to render himself inaccessible; nothing but a mean Genius ought to be difficult to come at, being conscious that his Merit would not bear too near a Scrutiny; there is in this a Medium that consists between a Haughtiness that despises others, and a Familiarity which makes ourselves cheap.

There are many other things might be said upon this matter, and the more I en­deavour to measure the extent of 'em, the less I discover their bounds. Let us pro­ceed then step by step: Let us clear, if we [Page 134] can, this confusion of Idaeas, which pre­sent themselves in crowds to the Mind, and follow some sort of Order, which may hinder us from fruitless wandering.

The first thing, in my opinion, that a Young Man ought to do, who has a mind to settle himself with Success in the World is, to know his Planet, for there is no bo­dy but has one, and 'tis want of being acquainted with it, that an infinite num­ber of People have not made their For­tune as they might have done in the World.

How many men do we see in Favour, who have not thought it possible they should be known by Great men, yet they have been so by the effect of their Destiny? And as soon as they have made an entry, and are setled in their Posts, they need but ordinary Capacities to maintain 'em. Therefore we ought to search with care our predominant Destiny.

He that fails at the Court, perhaps, may succeed in the City: And, he that finds himself the Jest of the Town, may set up for a Wit, and be admir'd in the Coun­try. In a word, No man is a Prophet in his own Country.

[Page 135] 'Tis necessary then to know how to transplant onesself. Many Great men had never been known, if they had al­ways tarried in the place of their Birth. Some men must stand in a good Light, to appear in their true lustre.

We see every day several persons that would have been the Scandal of their Or­der, if they had continued in it, yet forsak­ing it, they have become the Honour of another.

Men succeed oftentimes better in one con­dition than in another, altho' they have not a better Genius for that which they have undertaken, than that which they leave.

'Tis to nothing but their Fate that we ought to attribute the Rise or Fall of most Great persons: Wherefore every one ought to look into his Lot, to content him­self with it, and follow it; for, to think to make ones Fortune by any other means, is, to have a mind to sail against Wind and Tide.

The second thing that is necessary for a Young Man to do, is to know his good and ill Qualities; for every thing in the World is mixt with Good and Evil. There is no man but has something good in him, which may become excellent, if it be cul­tivated.

[Page 136] Such a one would have become a Great man, if he had known his Strength, and perfected his best Talents. But the most part force their Genius, and lose the Re­ward of their Course, because they drive beyond the Posts that should bound their Career.

He ought also to know his predomi­nant Defect, for every body has one, which counterballances in a manner his excelling good Quality; and if one takes a Resolution to destroy it, one may infal­libly succeed. But one ought to take it in good time, and to labour with a great deal of Courage and Perseverance; for 'tis not a small matter to destroy a Vice that is born, and has grown up with us.

When a Young Man is arriv'd so far, he ought not to think, that he must pre­sently enter upon upon the World, and embark in some Employ; he must reflect upon it a long time first; he must consider his Abilities, provide himself of Patrons, and measure the height of the Under­taking he pretends to: He ought, if I may be allow'd the expression, to feel the Pulse of his Affairs, and to wait a long time, if it be necessary; for it belongs only to Wise men never to precipitate, [Page 137] and be impatient for any thing. He that never grieves, or puts himself in a Passi­on, shews that he is an absolute Master of himself; and when once a Man is Master of himself, he is not long after of others also.

There is a certain term to bring great Designs to maturity; those that can ex­pect it, are commonly paid with Usury for their Patience; for, in many things Delay does more than Force.

Precipitation ruins the best-laid Enter­prizes; whereas Patience ripens the most difficult Designs, and renders the execu­tion of them easie.

Not but that it becomes a Young Man, to tempt Fortune by some bold and couragious Action; for, on the contrary, this way seldom fails of Success, and the Character of Attempting is almost a cer­tain Pledge or Security for the Success of any Enterprize whatsoever. Nothing more resembles Sottishness than Cowar­dise; whereas a little Bravery supplys of­tentimes the want of Ability.

We ought not then to be afraid so much of the Merit of others, nor suffer any Idea we may have of it to give us any disturbance before 'em; for, how [Page 138] much soever one is possess'd in Favour of a man of great Reputation, he shall not have a long time convers'd with him, be­fore he finds a great deal to be abated of the excess of his Reputation; and that every one has his Weaknesses, which level him with the Vulgar, as much as he is re­moved from 'em by his Merit.

A man that is upon the Rise dazles us if we regard him at any distance; but let us come near him, and his Personal De­fects will immediately moderate the Fo­reign Gloss that he but borrow'd from his Rank and Dignity.

Let us then be upon the guard, against a Power that an Imagination too favoura­bly byass'd usurps over our Reason. It no more becomes a learned man to be fear­ful, than an ignorant to be bold.

We ought to know how to undertake seasonably: 'tis not enough to begin, we ought to know how to proceed in an Un­dertaking. There are a great many Men who are only good to broach an Affair, but are absolutely unfit to finish it: 'Tis from this Default that many great Battels have been gained without any great Ad­vantages to the Conquerors, because they tarried behind to reap the Fruit of the [Page 139] Victory, when they should pursue the Ad­vantages. And 'tis from the same Prin­ciple that a Statesman, in Publick Affairs, commits the same Solecisms, as a private Man does in those of his Family.

If a Man after having taken his Mea­sures on all sides, happens to succeed in a­ny thing, let him take a great deal of care not to suffer himself to be overcome with the flattering Design, which Self-love inspires those with, who have too much Satisfaction in any happy Success: for there is need of as much Moderation not to be corrupted by one's good Fortune, as Patience not to be cast down at the bad: Besides, one ought to have the pow­er to stop one's self in the middle of one's most favourable Enterprizes: The Tor­rent of Prosperity ought not to carry us a­way against our Wills. 'Tis often times necessary not to desire one's Victory as far as one might; a wise Retreat is no less glorious than a couragious Attack; 'tis by retiring from the World in good time, that we can secure the Glory we have ac­quired in it; and 'tis the Character of a consumated Merit, to be able to live in a Retreat with Honour, after having liv'd in the Publick with Lustre.

[Page 140] See here, my Lord, in what manner it seems to me, that a young Man who would maintain an illustrious Figure in the World, ought to begin, proceed, and finish his Actions. I am very well assu­red there are many other things might be said upon this Subject, but in the little I have writ upon this Occasion, there is e­nough to make me understood to one, that has had so much Experience as your Lord­ship, and whose Thoughts are so much elevated above those of other Men.

'TIS a great Advantage towards the Tranqui­lity of Life, Reflect. 1. to behold it through the most agreeable part of it: A thing must be ve­ry adverse indeed, that one cannot draw some profit from; we grieve oftentimes, and give ourselves abundance of trouble for something that in a little time be­comes of itself easie to us.

2. Satyr may give us a great deal of pleasure, whether we write it our selves [Page 141] or hear it from another; but this plea­sure should not inspire us with a kind of Melancholy, that is to be seen in the Conversation of some People who are seriously concerned at the Follies or Ex­travagancies of other Men; who are not pleased with the Condition they find the World in, and do not consider disa­greeable Objects, but to be displeased with 'em. What good did it do Hera­clitus to sigh and grieve? Did he by those means reform the Abuses of the Age? The wisest side is to take care of one's self, and to leave to others the managing their own Persons: Has not every one e­nough to do with his own Affairs?

3. When a Man is in trouble, he ought to remember that he has had some fa­vourable minutes, and impute to his good Fortune all his former happiness; in short, one is less Unhappy when one can charm one's Sorrows either by a remembrance, or an hope of a Condition more Happy.

4. The greatest part of Mankind look upon the Honours, Riches, and Pleasures of others, as Adulterers do upon other Mens Wives, in despising those they enjoy: Can­not a Man make use of Life with pleasure without possessing all that may belong to [Page 142] it? Why should we make a Necessity of an hundred things without which we may live content enough, providing we be but a little reasonable.

5. Although Ambition oppose this, yet we are more at quiet when we consider those that are below us: she would have us aspire to the first Rank, and despise this petty sort of Tranquillity; but had she any better recompense to put in its place?

6. The measure of our Happiness ought to be taken from that of our Passions: he that has the fewest desires, hopes, or such like other motions of the Mind, without doubt will be the most content.

7. There is nothing except the desire of Vertue, which ought to be limited, if one would live happy: For in fine, how many Vertues are there incompatible? How many Undertakings which are not proper to all sorts of People? it ought to suffice us that acquit ourselves in the Em­ploy wherein we are, and there to bound all our Duty.

8. That Man's truly miserable who goes to search for Sorrows in Futurity; 'tis an Abiss so profound that the prospect from above is enough to fright one. To make use of the present good is a very rare [Page 143] Secret: but not that a Man ought to be prepar'd for the different Accidents of Life. This may shield us from the In­sults of Fortune. No Misfortune can happen to us when one has a sufficient Fund of Patience and Reason to over­come it.

9. 'Tis very much to misunderstand one's self, to be troubled and frighted when one has done amiss. A man must have a great deal of Vanity, not to know his Weakness. But if he knows it, at least he may gain this Advantage by it, to remain in a calm Condition after a­ny Frailty whatsoever.

10. There is nothing more frights the World than Death, as if it were not a passage to a better Life. Live well, and the thoughts of Death will but create in you an excess of Joy.

11. Let not your Soul, prevented by any austere Maxims, hinder you from taking the innocent pleasure of Life. There are some Men that build them­selves up a Merit, by refusing the smallest, and most natural Sweets that Heaven has been pleas'd to mingle with the Bitters of Life, to render them supportable.

[Page 144] 12. Solid Content proceeds from a good Conscience; without that, there is no Pleasure which does not become un­easie, for there is no body that receives more Satisfaction or Uneasiness, than either to be in good or bad Circumstances with himself. Now 'tis the thought that we have performed our Duty, that makes us be content at Home; and on the other hand, nothing gives us more Pain and Inquietude, than the mortifying Reflecti­ons we make on the ill Disposition of our Hearts.

13. Happy is the Man who knows to make a right Judgment of what is truly Good, and truly Evil; for there are a thousand false Scruples, that nevertheless give us true Vexations: And therefore, if we desire to regulate them, we must by no means reject the Natural Instincts we have of all that is really Good. The Quiet of those Persons who have lost their Conscience, is a lamentable Lethargy, that leads to Infallible Destruction.

INstead of a great number of Precepts, of which the Logick we learn at the College is wholly compos'd, and which are for the most part, either Unprofitable, or too Intricate; it seems to me, that these four only may suffice to all those, who have a mind to conduct their Reason sure­ly in their Search after Truth.

1. We ought not to determine, That a thing is, or is not, without having a Reason for it, that is explain'd in so clear terms that it may naturally convince the Mind.

2. For fear of suffering one's self to be carry'd away by a Precipitancy of Mind, or Prejudice, to which we are so obnoxi­ous, we ought to examine all the terms in which any Reason is laid down, dividing it into as many parts as we can: For it is not possible for us, having our Minds so confin'd, to judge well of a thing, unless we examine it peice-meal.

3. Moreover, we ought to establish an Order in all the Thoughts that a Subject [Page 146] is fill'd with. That which is the most simple, most general, and most easie to be un­derstood, ought to precede that which is most confus'd; because there is nothing which is a greater help than this Order, to know if one be not deceiv'd in Reason­ing; that is to say, in making one thing follow another.

4. In fine, we ought to take a great deal of care, to make so exact an Enume­ration, that we may be assur'd, that nothing is omitted. If but one thing be forgot, 'tis impossible there should not be some defect or other in what we propose.

To comprehend in fewer Words these four Maxims, remember,

• 1. Not to Judge of any thing which is obscure, or without Proof.
• 2. Divide the thing you are to judge of.
• 3. Take care to have a Method in your Thoughts.
• 4. That the Enumeration you make be entire.

I Cannot well explain my Thoughts upon this Subject, without making use of this Question, viz. Whether it be not true, That those who Divine, or Con­jecture upon any private Affairs, do not speak much more, and say many more things than those who know the Secret? What is not daily said about Affairs of State, when 'tis the Prince only that knows the Mystery? One word from his mouth would explain better all the different faces of things, than all that the Po­liticians commonly babble.

Hence it seems to me, That a Man may well think, that the more Books he sees upon a Subject, the more he may conclude we know nothing of the Matter. Of e­very thing there is but one Truth to be known; but for want of this Knowledge, there is a multitude of groundless Con­jectures.

MOral Philosophy ought to endeavour to conduct us in the search of Good, as Logick guides us in the search of Truth.

So then, that of the College is not truly Moral Philosophy; for 'tis certainly true, that it only proposes some unprofitable Questions, concerning the Idea that one ought to have of the Order of Things that create our Happiness, of the number of our Passions, and other Metaphysical Points which serve for nothing else but Matter for a Dispute.

REason, which obliges us to be of­tentimes irresolute in our Judg­ments, because the greatest part of Ob­jects do not present themselves to our Minds with proof enough to make them well understood, obliges us not to be so in our Actions; for being to live with one another, 'tis necessary to chuse at last some sort of Conduct, which we should constantly observe, till we can find a better.

For in the same manner, as a Man who pulls down one House to build up another, makes choice, by way of Provision, of some place where to stand while he builds it; so when a Man would examine with care his Thoughts, and reform his Soul from the Prejudices it may have imbid'd, he [Page 151] ought to provide himself, after the same manner, of a Morality which may serve him for a Rule. This Morality may be reduc'd to four Maxims:

1. To obey the Laws and Customs of the Country where one is born, and to follow in all things, the most moderate Opinions, without disapproving, or con­demning any Person.

2. To be so constant in this Conduct, that one has chosen, as not to have any regard to whatever may be said, to put us out of conceit with it: Like in this to Travellers, who finding themselves in a Forrest, ought not to wander this way, or that way, but go as directly as they can in the same path, and not to change it, for idle Reasons; for at last they must come to some end, wherein all probability, they will be better than in the middle of the Wood.

3. To deliver themselves from all those Disquiets, which are wont to move those feeble and staggering Spirits, which suffer themselves to be turned inconstantly by all sorts of Examples: For these Agita­tions, and these unprofitable, and con­fus'd Reflections amuse the Mind; and [Page 152] take away from it all the force it should have.

4. Of all the kinds of Morality, we ought rather to make use of that which teaches us to vanquish ourselves, than that which has no other end, but to triumph over Fortune, and to change our Desires, with­out pretending to change any thing in the Order of the World. I believe this was the Secret of thosej Philosophers, who, inspite of the Incommodities of Life, were able to dispute Happiness with their Gods: But it is impossible to expe­rience this Secret, unless one be through­ly perswaded, that there is nothing tru­ly in our Power, but our Thoughts, and our Desires.

With these few Maxims one may ob­serve a regular Conduct, till one has form­ed another from long Experience, if it be possible to find a better; Life being short, and the occasions of improving it very rare.

ALL Men have a mind to be Happy. This Desire leaves us not, during the course of our Lives; 'tis a Truth where­in all the World are of one Opinion.

But to render our selves Happy with less trouble, and to be so with Security, without fearing to be disturb'd in one's Happiness, we ought to act in such a man­ner, My Lord, that others may be so with us; for, if one pretends to take care only of himself, he will find continual Op­positions: And when we will not be hap­py, but upon condition, that others may be so likewife, all Obstacles are removed, and all the World agrees with us.

'Tis this management of Happiness for our selves and others, which we ought to call Honesty, and which properly speak­ing is nothing but Self-love well manag'd.

Honesty ought then to be consider'd, as the desire of being Happy, but after a manner, that others may be so too. Let us look into, let us examine all Ver­tuous Actions, and we shall find they are [Page 154] all of this Nature, and that they all move upon the same Principle.

To possess this Honesty in the highest Degree, we ought to have a sound Un­derstanding, and our Hearts honest, and both to agree together.

By the power of our Understanding, we know what is most Just, and most Reason­able to say and do; and by the Honesty of the Heart, we never fail to be willing to do, and say the same.

When a Man has but one of these two, he cannot pretend to compleat Honesty; for the power of the former does vainly comprehend Reason and Justice: if the integrity of the Heart ben't on its side, no­thing is executed, nothing is done. And in like manner, if the integrity of the Heart be alone, and the Assistance of the Soul be wanting to guide it, it will blindly feell out its way, without ever knowing exactly the road it ought to take.

These two things are Essential to make an honest Man; and since 'tis so rare a matter to see them separately, how much ought it to be more rare, to see them together? But, My Lord, when they meet in the same Person, What Greatness do they not show, what Justice, what [Page 155] Charms, and what Reason? A Man of this Character compleats equally all his Duties, however extended, or different they may be.

He is a good Subject, a good Father, a good Friend, a good Citizen, a good Ma­ster: He is Indulgent, Humane, Assist­ing, Charitable, and Sensible of the Mis­fortunes of another.

He is Circumspect, he is Modest, he doth not act the Man of Censure, or Pride; he takes notice of another's Faults, but never talks of them, nor does seem to have seen them.

He is not in the least interess'd, but, as he knows the Necessities of Life; his Con­duct is always regulated, and he never lives in Disorder.

He is not mov'd, but by true Merit. That which is call'd Grandeur, Authori­ty, Fortune, Riches; all these do not en­chant him, and 'tis this which hinders him from taking sometimes the way to Fortune.

Although he be agreeable, and of good Converse, yet he is enough retir'd, and loves not a Crowd: So we may see he seldom endeavours to show himself up­on the Theatre of the World: but if his [Page 156] Birth or Fortune are pleas'd to place him there, as he has a vast Wit, as he is pro­digiously Apprehensive, Penetrating, Ex­pert, and what not, he performs his Part esxceedingly well.

The honest Man makes a great account of Wit, but yet he makes a greater of Reason. He loves Truth in all things; he would willingly know all things, but is not vext, if he knows nothing. He takes care of all, examines all, knows the Worth, Force, and Weakness of all. He esteems nothing, but according to its true Value. The nicest Errors and Disap­pointments do not impose upon him, nor make any Impression upon his Mind.

The honest Man, in short, says no­thing, and does nothing, which is not A­greeable, Just, Reasonable, and which does not lead to the making all Men Hap­py.

'Tis then evident, My Lord, That to make the World Happy, 'tis necessary to establish Honesty in it. But to bring this about, 'twould not suffice to know in what Condition it is at present in; 'tis necessary also, to know how it ought to be, and how it would be in effect, if all Men were Reasonable.

[Page 157] In the present Estate of the World, every thing is almost out of Order: Honesty has no place in it, and honest Men live in it, as it were a strange Country.

The Re-establishment of Honesty a­mongst Men, would be easie for Kings; and to accomplish this great Work, they would have nothing else to do, but to prefer good Men, and punish the bad.

If all Men were reasonable, there would be nothing among us, but our Na­tural Infirmities, as Sickness, Old Age, and Death.

Nevertheless, we have a thousand o­thers, as Prevention, Madness, Ambi­tion, Perfidiousness, Ignorance, and the Contempt of Knowledge.

There is nothing else in the World that attracts the eyes and esteem of all Men, but great Birth, and the Glory of War; all other Deserts, if I may speak so, are sad and languishing, and not taken no­tice of.

'Tis very just that the Merits of War should be consider'd; the Fatigues, Wounds, and Death itself, to which the Brave are so often expos'd, ought yet to be more taken notice of then they are: Nevertheless, if one compares the Ho­nours [Page 158] that are bestowed upon 'em, with those of Persons dignify'd in other Arts, we shall find that they are enough re­warded. There is this unhappiness in the Merit of the Mind, that few People un­derstand it, and that even in this small number there are some who have no great esteem for it.

It is not the same with Riches; all the World esteems them, the Poor as well as the Rich: The other Gifts of Fortune have the same advantages; the Men of the lowest birth aim at Greatness, and do what they can to raise themselves, &c.

MEN never commend freely, and without interest: Some advant­age must come to 'em, or it must cost him something considerable that has a mind to be well prais'd.

Those that are of high Birth are conti­nually respected, their name alone is a great Elogy; there is not a greater Pri­viledge amongst Men.

[Page 159] The Conditions of the most Unfortu­nate are the most despised; their Miseries alone are not enough, but there must be added to 'em Shame and Scorn; Men are in truth very cruel.

One must never say, Citizen, Coun­try Boor, and such like. All these names are injurious, and words of contempt; one must endeavour to avoid 'em, for they do but create malice amongst Men: but we must preserve the names of Knave, Traytor, Ungrateful Fellow, and others of such nature, on purpose to cast a shame on those that deserve it.

We ought not to despise those that are in want, but rather on the contrary give 'em some marks of our Esteem: And as Contempt is, it may be, one of the great­est misfortunes of Poverty, we may sweet­en in some manner their troubles, by de­claring, without affectation, that we do not esteem 'em less, however unhappy they be.

One must be affable and courteous to one's Domesticks, and by this behaviour comfort 'em in their conditions. 'Tis the work of Fortune that they are so low, and that we are above'em.

We must not be rigorous in what regards our own interests: Nothing becomes a Man [Page 160] better than to release a little of his priviledge. One must avoid great Play, 'tis a Diver­tisement too dangerous; Anger, Heat and Quarrels accompany it always; it pro­cures a Man often times bad nights, and at long run it perpetually incommodes him: Nor is this all, he must be always upon his gard; lest he be cheated, and 'tis but an uneasie condition to be always as in an Enemy's Country.

A Man ought not to have any thing re­markable or too gay in his Habit, Dis­course, or Manners: It seems to me that the modest Air becomes one better than that which they call the Bel-air; 'tis good to have in one's Countenance something great, that procures both Esteem and Respect; but the Courteous, and Honest Air does not create less good Effects; 'tis from thence that we make our selves be­lov'd: For the fierce Air that is so much esteem'd, in my Opinion, is only proper for War.

We ought to learn not to disquiet our selves, and to study well this Lesson.

The Court, if I may say so, is an Epi­tome of the whole Kingdom; whatever is most Exquisite and Pure, is there met with. The manner of speaking, the [Page 161] the Modes, the Air, and the Customs are there excellent. The greatest part of these things are not learnt, but by the Success, as Physick is not well understood, but by Experience: However, it seems to me, that one ought to endeavour to know them by their Causes, which would be the best and surest way. And to this end, we ought to know the nature of those things which please, and be skill'd in the Hearts of Men.

There is no other Study, but how to please in the Courts of Princes, because there a Man makes his Fortune by ren­dring himself agreeable. Hence it comes, that Courtiers are so Polisht. On the con­trary, in Towns and Republicks where Men manage their Affairs by Labour, the the last of their Cares is to Please, and 'tis that which renders them so Clownish.

That which we call the Last in a Figu­rative Sence, is a very rare thing, and is found but in very few People. One can scarce learn it, or teach it, but it must be born with us. Exquisite Knowledge seems to be above it, and carries a greater Lati­tude; but in truth, for the Commerce of the World, and most affairs of Life, a true Judgment equals its Worth, and pos­sesses its place. When we have got this [Page 162] Advantage, we ought not to despise those which have it not.

To be agreeable, and good Company, a Man ought to think discreetly, and rea­dily upon all that is said in Conversation; and this cannot be, if one has not an ex­cellent Wit, a great deal of Memory, and an Imagination suitable. One ought also to be Master of one's Language, by know­ing all the Niceties, Beauties, and Delica­cies of it.

We ought to suit ourselves to the Ca­pacities of those we converse with, and to take in some manner, the Heighth, and the Degree of their Wit. We ought to take a great deal of care not to affect the Vanity to be the head of the Company. One makes himself more agreeable, when one hears willingly, and without Jealou­sie; and susters others to have Wit as well as himself.

There is no Subject so barren, upon which there may not be something well said; but even when the Subject affords nothing, a Man of sense has always in Re­serve, some agreeable manner of speaking, of which he is an absolute Master, and which can never fail him: Apt Words are rare, and depend upon Time and Chance.

[Page 163] Narratives and Stories do not always succeed; we ought not to make use of them often; but when we find ourselves enga­ged in them, we must take care that they be not long, and that there be always something particular and diverting, to sur­prize the Company. One must avoid Re­petitions. We care not to hear what we know already, and we can reap no more benefit by,

Things that are New, Great, Universal, and those which have the Air of great Per­sons, are always pleasing, because Men are Curious; because they despise those things that are limited, and of small conse­quence, and are commonly very much affected with Grandeur.

'Tis for this Reason, that what comes from the Country, from little Towns, and private Quarters, is but indifferently receiv­ed. We are apt to imagine, that Politeness, and a good Tast is not to be found there.

The same Reason occasions also, that Figures d [...]wn from War, Hunting, and the Sea, are so well receiv'd; and that we cannot endure those that are taken from mean Professions; of which the World makes but small account.

[Page 164] One must not expect, that Conversa­tions should be always equal; they depend upon Chance, as well as other things.

A Man can't become Learn'd, or A­greeable, if he does not love Reading; without it the best natural Parts are com­monly dry and barren.

He ought to behave himself so, that in his Actions, Discourse, and Manners there may be always a certain Air of Politeness, that never forsakes him: No­thing is more shameful than to be Ig­norant.

Politeness is a mixture of Discretion, Civility, Complaisance, and Circum­spection; accompanied with an agreeable Air scatter'd throughout, whatever one says, or does. And as so many things are Essentially necessary to acquire this Politeness, it is no wonder if it is un­common.

Whether it is, that Women are natu­rally more Polite, or that to please them, the Spirit raises, and embellishes itself; 'tis principally from them, that this Po­liteness is learnt.

IF it be a difficult matter to discover the Origine of Winds and Subterra­nean Fires, 'tis no less very often to dive into the hidden Causes of the greatest part of our Wars; sometimes Ambition and Avarice keep those designs long conceal'd, that the least pretence discovers.

The Declarations of the pretended Cause, for the most part, are only calcula­ted to amuse the People; and oftentimes so dexterously, that the true Reasons of State and Policy are covered with some appearance of Justice. They never scruple to ruin the Foundation, and violate the most Sacred Rights of Nature.

Don't let us look for any fresh Instances of this in the unhappy War which at pre­sent oppresses all Countries of Christen­dom; let us conceive for the Princes who are the cause of it, a Respect which per­haps Posterity will not subscribe to; let us suppose, that they do all out of a good [Page 192] meaning, and that Justice is the rule of so many destructive Actions. It seems at least, that they have not forgot all im­pressions of Equity, since they have a­greed to chuse Mediators to decide their Differences; and that those who are chiefly concerned seem willing to accept his In­tervention, whom the God of Peace hath made his Lieutenant upon Earth.

But as it may happen, that these Prin­ces are not all equally dispos'd to accept of a speedy Peace, 'twill be necessary to remember them, that they are obliged to it by the Motives of Glory, Interest and a good Conscience.

Glory is nothing else but an high Esteem which is acquired amongst Men, and which passes down to Posterity. We may say, that there is nothing more glorious for a Prince, than to make his People hap­py. Nulla Major Principis Gloria, quam fecisse feli­cem & satisfecisse Inopi.The glory of storm­ing Towns and acquiring Victories is common even to Barbarians. But to conquer one's self, and renounce one's own Interest; to give Repose and Peace to the World, is the proper Character of an Hero. The People of France will ne­ver cease to give a thousand Benedictions [Page 193] and a thousand Praises to the Memory of Philip the Good Duke of Burgundy; his Hate and his Vengeance appeared just, since he armed against the Murtherer of his Father: Glory and the Reasons of State seemed to forbid him to think of a Peace, since he might promise himself assu­red Conquests by the Union which he had made with a puissant Monarch. Yet for all this, out of a pious Consideration of the Publick Calamities, he stifled his Resent­ments, and by one so great a Mercy, he rendred himself a thousand times more glorious than his Son, who was so terri­ble and who fought so many Battels. Ma­ny Conquerours have thought to gain immortal Glory by their Arms, who in the next Age have been treated as As Alexan­der has been by Seneca, Lucan, and Quintus Cur­tius. Robbers and Pyrates. War is never tru­ly glorious, but when it is founded upon Justice; which also ceases when one may have a reason­able Satisfaction without it, and when the Interest of the State demands a Peace.

It would be no difficult matter to prove that even those Princes who are at present most concern'd in this War, will find [Page 194] their truest Interest in a Peace, if they have any regard to that of their own Subjects, which is the only Salus po­puli superma lex esto.true Interest of State. Misery is general, we are a alike ruin'd by Friends and Enemies: To take any Place you must shed the Bloud, as it were, of all the People, who being seduc'd to the last Extremities, mourn secretly amidst the Songs of Triumph that are publickly commanded.

In effect, they are so far from being the better for the Conquests of their Prince, that they are more burthen'd with Taxes, and Imposts, than ever. The Towns and conquer'd Provinces do not afford for the most part half the necessary Expence to fortifie, and desend them. They must pay Contributions to their Enemy, fur­nish free Passage and Quarter to Souldiers, who almost every-where live like Licen­cious Robbers. The present posture of Affairs seems to give us some indications of the approach of the day of Judgment, whose knowledge God hath reserved wholly to himself; that it will be the last War of the World, foretold us by the Scripture, and which will for ever take a­way [Page 195] the Power from Princes and People, of Insuring and Supporting each other. Yet this is not all, they must either receive Souldiers, or pay Winter-Quarters, which destroys all they saved from the Pillage of the Campaign; perhaps they commit all these Excesses, to teach the People not to fear Death, in robbing them of all they have to keep them alive. But it is to be feared, that this Despair in the end may produce some Maxime metuenda despe­rantium auda­cia, tanquam a­cerrimi morien­tium belluarum Morsus. ill effects; that it may set the People upon looking for ease from their Burthens else­where; or at least that in this Conjuncture, when the Pope labours for a Peace, they will se­cond his good Intentions in spite of their Masters who would oppose them. When the Popes heretofore made use of the Ecclesiastical Thunder for their tem­poral Interest, the greatest part of the World never heeded it, because their Pow­er ought to be employed to edifie, and not to destroy: But if at this day the Holy Father would make use of the Church Censures against the most obstinate Op­posers of Peace, which is the Source of all Impieties, 'tis to be presumed, that so ho­ly [Page 196] an Action would draw down the Bles­sing of Heaven, and procure the Applause of all Mankind.

It may be objected, perhaps, That the Interest of State, and Prudence does make Princes defer Peace, in order to weaken a growing Enemy, whose Power, unless prevented, may occasion a common Dis­advantage: As for example, the Allies seem to have some reason not to accord so soon with France, hoping that time may give them some Advantages, to reduce her to such a condition, that she may not be in a capacity to hurt them. But this reason alone is not sufficient to continue the War, no more than it would be to begin it; 'tis from Divine Provi­dence, and not from Violence, we must expect a Remedy against the fear of an uncertain Evil Illud vero minime feren­dum est, quod quidam tradiderunt, j [...]re gentium arma recte su­mi ad imminuendam potentiam crescentem, quae nimium aucta [...] ­cere posset [...] vim pari posse ad vim inferendam jus tribu [...]t, ab omni aequitatis ratione ab horret. Gror. li. 2. cap. 1. Sect. 17 Jure. Bell. & Pacis.

Whatever Interest we may have in a War, and whatever Justice we have to take Arms; We ought seriously to de­sire Peace out of a pure Principle of Con­science, [Page 197] though we are employed in the justest War. 'Tis indeed the last Reason we have mentioned, but it would be the the first and strongest, were it not for the universal Depravity of the World.

Heretofore it was a Doubt, whether Christians might make Non mi­litandum Chri­stiano, cui nec li­tigare quidem li­ceat. Tertul. lib. de [...]. War; but not to raise any difficulty upon the Argu­ment; it is certain, they may not, but upon those condi­tions which have been seldom or never observed. 'Tis a strange thing, that a private Man shall be put to Death, if he kills another who with-holds his Estate from him; and yet a Prince for the least occasion shall be permitted to lay all in Bloud and Flames: We know the diffe­rence between them; and that a private Man has not the power to do himself Ju­stice, as Soveraigns have; but neverthe­less, they ought to prescribe Bounds to their Pretentions and Re­venge; Bellum ita suscipiatur ut ni­hil aliud nisi pax quaesita videa­tur. Cicero de Offic lib. 1. they ought to make it appear, that they seek Peace and its Effects, and not a Pretence to destroy their Neighbours. But let us go on farther, and show in what case a War, [Page 198] though never so Just, may injure a Prin­ce's Conscience; In poenis quoque exigendis illud maxime observandum est, ne unquam eo no­mine bellum sus­cipi atur in eum cui pares sunt vires, nam ut judicem civilem ita qui armis facinora velit vindicare, multo esse validiorem al­tero opertet, neque vero prudentia tantum aut suorum caritas exigere solet, ut bello periculoso abstineatur, sed saepe etiam justi­tia rectoria scilicet, quae ex ipso regiminis natura, superiorem non minus ad curam pro inferioribus, quam inferiores ad obedi­entiam obligat. Grot. de Jur. Bell. & Pacis. c. 24.. 'tis first when his Enemy is as potent as himself, and thereby en­gages his Subjects in great ha­zard; and when he sees that the War will cause them more prejudice than advan­tage Quod si plus damni evenit reip. quam compendii ex bello suscepto etiam justo, princeps debet resticuere detrimenta. This is the Opinion of the Casuists, and even of the Jesuit Dia­na, Panormit. de regular. part. 6. pract. 4. de Bello Reg.

If we make a Reflection on the success of Parties who are at present engaged, 'twill be hard to determine which will have the better; nevertheless, we may see, that there is none that do not do more Mischief to themselves, than their Ene­my; and that like the Soldiers of Cadmus, in the Fable they devour themselves.

The second Reason which ought to in­cline a Prince to Peace by a Motive of Conscience, is That he that is responsible to God for all Disorders, and Damages, [Page 199] that his Soldiers occasion in a Friend's Country: First, when they commit them for want of their Pay.

This is the Opinion of all the Divines; Puto Regem, qui quae debet sti­pendia militibus non solvi [...], non tantum militibus teneri de damnis inde secutis, sed sub [...]is suis, & vicinis quos ine­dia coacti milites male habuerunt. Gret. de Jur. Bell. & Pac. lib. 3. cap. 17. secr. 2. Num. 6.and indeed of all those that have written about Po­litiks, obliges him to make a Reparation. 'Tis but too often seen, that the great­est part of Soldiers pretend a License for want of be­ing paid; and that all parts are much embarras'd at present, to furnish their Troops with Subsistence, and that they will be more for the future. 2. When a Prince suffers, or permits Ra­pines, and the Violence of Soldiers, he isob­liged to make'em good: We may alledge here, what heretofore Tom. 4. cap. 13. Gerson said in the presence of the King of France, Tu ea non agis mala, verum est sed ea fieri per­mittis & suffers. Sic Deus judicabit [...] ­strate, & dicet, non te alii, sed infernales Di­aboli te cruciabunt. How then can these Soveraigns that make this present War dispence with these Obligations, or Pu­nishments? they know well enough, that [Page 200] where-ever their Troops pass, nay, tho' it be in a Friend's Country, that they leave nothing behind them, that they can carry away; that they mow the Corn when it is green, and plunder both Women and Children, and commit oftentimes Crimes yet more enormous. Perhaps it may be objected, That all these Disorders do not come to the knowledge of the Prince; but yet he is not less guilty before God because he ought to inform himself exact­ly, and remedy the same by his presence. With what hopes can a Prince offer his Prayers to God, when he knows, that in quitting a point of Chimerical Honour, he might prevent Pillage, Violence, Burn­ing, and Sacriledge; that he might put all Christendom in a state of Peace, and defend her from the Assaults wherewith the common Enemy threatens her; that he might establish the Glory and Wor­ship of God, so much prophan'd by the Violations of War; and that he might hinder an infinite number of innocent People from being expos'd to the last Ex­tremities and insupportable Outrages.

It is not possible but that such preva­lent Reasons must move the Christian Princes to search after Peace. But 'tis not [Page 201] enough to have bare Inclinations towards it; Piety obliges them to establish it with Industry, and to take the most proper and ready Measures for so great and good a Work.

The best and most assured Method that can be found on both sides, is to speak freely their Grievances and Preten­tions, without losing the time in the discussion of Preliminaries and Formali­ties; and not pretend an Indisposition on purpose, or some default of the Equipage of a Plenipotentiary, to retard the Effect of his Commission. Every one ought to do himself Justice in the Tribunal of his own Conscience, as well as his Enemy, and offer him a Reparation of the Wrong he has done him; after the exam­ple of that holy Prince, Heze'iah, 2 Kings. ch 18, 19. who ha­ving broken an Alliance which he had made with an idolatrous King, was not asham'd to condemn and submit himself to render a just Satisfacti­on. Which was the cause that God, who had punish'd him for this Breach, after­wards heap'd upon him infinite Prosperi­ties.

After the rate that the Ministers assist at the Assembly of Nimeguen, they seem [Page 202] to be very far from entertaining so pious an Intention. They are so slow in coming thither, that in all probability they will not be slower in moving Questions, and yet they may be more slow in resolving them. They may make it last, if they please till the Diet of Ratisbonne; and perhaps amidst these Delays there may happen some Accidents that will exaspe­rate their Spirits so much, that they'll break it as they did the Treaty of Co­len.

Whenever there is sincere Inclination to treat of Peace, the Points are always propos'd before, by a secret and private Mediation, and concluded in the Cabi­nets of Princes: The sending of Embassa­dors and Plenipotentiaries, and Publick Conferences serve for nothing else but show. This appears by the most impor­tant Treaties of this Age, and particularly that of the Pyrenees; so that we may easi­ly see that Nimeguen, where they know not yet what they mean to propose, will cause us a long time to expect a Peace; during which every Party endeavours to make the best Advantage of the present Conjuncture, and flatter themselves with Successes they think to find over the rest.

[Page 203] The Allies imagine perhaps, That France in the end will be distress'd by the vast Numbers of its Officers and Soldiers; and that the poverty or natural inconstancy of the People will cause a speedy Reverse of its Prosperity. On the other side, France confides in the Union of its Forces, in the good Fortune she has always hitherto had, and in the Dissention she endeavours to spread among her Enemies; and in fine, trusts to the Revolution of Affairs, that the Port or Poland may produce in the North and the Empire itself.

All these Conjectures are very ill ground­ed, both on one side and t'other, but espe­cially through the ill Conduct of one Par­ty. These three Years they have been framing them to no purpose, and accord­ding to the judgment of the best Politi­cians, each side has more reason to fear than to hope. In the mean time, for these uncertain Hopes, all Christendom under­goes infinite Devastations, which can ne­ver cease, but by the end of the War. We must expect Peace from God only, and believe; that at last he will move the Hearts of these Princes to hearken to his Voice and the Groans of the People.