ACUTENESS IN REPLICATION.

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

Indeed, a man of reflection, if he does not keep an intimate commerce with the world, will be sometimes so entangled in the intricacies of intense thought, that he will have the appear­ance [Page 14] of a confused and perplexed expression, while a sprightly woman will extricate herself with that lively and rash dexterity which will al­most always please, though it is very far from being always right.

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

AFFABILITY.

IN order to render ourselves amiable in soci­ety, we should correct every appearance of harshness in our behaviour. That courtesy should distinguish our demeanor, which springs, not so much from studied politeness, as from a mild and gentle heart. We should follow the c [...]s of the world in matters indifferent; but stop when they become sinful. Our manners [Page 15] ought to be simple and natural, and of course they will be engaging. Affectation is certain deformity—By forming themselves on fantastic models, and vying with one another in every reigning folly, the young begin with being ri­diculous, and end in being vicious and immo­ral.

ANXIETY, THE VICE OF AGE.

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

Anxiety is the poison of human life. It is the parent of many sins, and of more miseries. In a world where every thing is so doubtful— where we may succeed in our wish, and be mi­serable—where we may be disappointed, and be bless'd in the disappointment; what means a restless stir and commotion of the mind? Soli­citude cannot alter the course, or unravel the intricacy of human events—Curiosity cannot [Page 16] pierce through the cloud which the Supreme Being hath made impenetrable to the human eye—Wisdom commands man to retire after he has done all that was incumbent on him, and to possess his mind in peace. By going beyond this point, by giving himself up to immoderate concern about unknown events, he can do no­thing to advance this success, and does much to ruin his peace;—he plants within his breast the thorn which is long to gall him—To the vanity of life he adds vexation of spirit, which is whol­ly of his own creation, not of divine appoint­ment.

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

INDISCRIMINATE APPLAUSE.

IT is the fault of many that they do not always carefully distinguish between running into the error of detraction, and its opposite extreme of [Page 17] undeserved praise—This proceeds from the false idea they entertain, that the direct contrary to what is wrong, must be right. Thus the dread of only being suspected of one fault, makes them actually guilty of another.

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

METHOD IN THE ARRANGEMENT OF IDEAS.

IN delivering our sentiments on particular sub­jects, there is nothing which is attended with better effect, and makes us appear to more ad­vantage than offering our opinions with clearness and precision; and this can only be done by ar­ranging them in proper order, so that they may appear regularly to arise one from the o [...]her: this is stiled method, and prevents conf [...]s [...]n; hinders us from indulging in the luxuriance of [Page 18] fancy, running into desultory digressions, and makes us appear superior to our subject.

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

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

AVARICE.

ONE of the vices of old age, which appears the most unaccountable, is that covetous attachment to worldly interest with which it is [Page 19] often charged. But this too can naturally be deduced from the sense of its feebleness and decay.

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

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

Chilled by the hand of time the heart loses that tender sensibility, with which it once en­tered into the concerns and sorrows of others. However, as in every period of life, humanity and friendship contribute to happiness, it is both our duty and interest to cherish the remains of the kind affections, nor suffer them to be blunted [Page 20] or destroyed by sordid avarice. We should not, from having suffered much in the course of our long pilgrimage, become callous to the suffer­ings of others. But, remembering we still are men, study to keep our heart open to the sense of human woe

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

AWE.

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

Omnipotence, viewed alone, would be a for­midable object. But, considered in conjunction [Page 21] with the moral perfections of the divine nature, it serves to heighten devotion.

BEHAVIOUR.

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

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

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

The great art of pleasing in conversation con­sists [Page 22] in making the company pleased with them­selves. Detraction should be avoided, especially amongst women where their own sex is concern­ed; it would be more noble for them to shew a compassionate sympathy to the unfortunate, es­pecially to those who are rendered so by the villainy of men. It is a laudable pride, as well as secret pleasure, which ought to be indulged, in being the friend and refuge of the unhappy, but without the vanity of shewing it.

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

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

A fine woman, like other fine things in na­ture, has her proper point of view, from which she may be seen to most advantage. To fix this point requires great judgment, and an intimate knowledge of the human heart. By the present mode of female manners, the ladies seem to ex­pect that they shall regain their ascendency over [Page 23] men, by the fullest display of their personal charms, by being always in their eyes at public places, by conversing with them with the same unreserved freedom as they do with one another; in short, by resemblin [...] men as near as they can. The folly of this expectation and conduct will soon be shown. For the power of a fine woman over the hear [...] of men, of men of the finest parts, is even beyond what she conceives. They are sensible of the pleasing illusion, but they cannot, nor do they wish, to dissolve it. But if she is determined to dispel the charm, it certainly is in her power, she may soon reduce the angel to a very ordinary girl.

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

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

MAN OF BUSINESS.

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

MIXED COMPANY.

THE mind of each sex has some natural kind of bias, which constitutes a distinction of character, and the happiness of both depends, in a great measure, on the preservation and ob­servance of this distinction. For where would be the superior pleasure and s [...]tisfaction resul [...] ­ing [Page 25] from mixed conversation, if this difference was abolished?

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

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

COMPASSION.

COMPASSION is an emotion of which we ought never to be ashamed. Graceful, par­ticularly in youth, is the tear of sympathy, and the heart that melts at the tale of woe. We should not permit case and indulgence to con­tract our affections, and wrap us up in selfish enjoyment. But we should accustom ourselves to think of the distresses of human life, of the solitary cottage, the dying parent, and the weep­ing orph [...]n. Nor ought we ever to sport with pain and distress in any of our amusements; [Page 26] nor treat even the meanest insect with wanton cruelty.

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

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

CONFIDANTS.

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

There are certain unguarded moments, in [Page 27] which such a woman, though the best and wor­thiest of her sex, may let hints escape, which, at other times, or to any other person than her husband, she would be incapable of; nor will a husband in this case feel himself under the same obligation of secrecy and honour, as if confi­dence had originally been put in himself, espe­cially on subjects which the world is apt to treat lightly.

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

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

CONSCIENCE.

DURING the gay and active periods of life, sinners elude, in some measure, its force. Carried round in the whirl of affairs and plea­sures; intent on contrivance, eager in pursuit, amused by hope, or elated by enjoyment, they [Page 28] are sheltered by that croud of trifles which sur­rounds them from serious thought. But con­science is too great a power to remain always suppressed.

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

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

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

CONSTANCY AND FIRMNESS OF ACTION.

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

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

CONTENT.

DURING the whole progress of the human course and events, the principal materials of our comforts, or uneasiness, lie within our­selves. Every age will prove burdensome to those who have no fund of happiness in their own breasts. Could they be preserved from all infirmities of frame; could they have bestowed [Page 30] upon them, if it were possible, perpetual youth; still they would be restless and miserable, through the influence of ill-governed passions—It is not surprizing that such people are peevish, and querulous when old. Unjustly they impute to their time of life that misery, with which their vices and follies embitter every age.

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

CONVERSATION.

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

It has been laid down as a rule, that in con­versation, women should carefully conceal any knowledge or learning they happen to possess; but there seems neither to be necessity or pro­priety in this advice; let discretion and modesty, [Page 31] without which all knowledge is little worth, go­vern a lady's understanding, she will never make an ostentatious parade of it, because she will ra­ther be intent on acquiring more, than on dis­playing what she has.

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

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

ARTIFICIAL COURTESY.

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

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

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

[Page 33]It is not difficult to distinguish the true from the artificial meekness. The former is univer­sal and habitual; the latter, local and tempo­rary; and this we may be assured of, that if we are not as gentle to our servants, as to our visi­tors, the spirit of gentleness is not in us.

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

Amongst women of breeding, the exterior of gentleness is so uniformly assumed, and the whole manner is so perfectly level and uni, that it is next to impossible for a stranger to know any thing of their true dispositions by conversing with them; and even the very features are so exactly regulated, that physiog [...]omy, which may sometimes be trusted among the vulgar, is with the polite, a most lying science. That gentle­ness is ever liable to be suspected for the coun­terfeited, which is so excessive as to deprive people of the proper use of speech and motion, or which, as Hamlet says, "makes them lisp [Page 34] and amble, and nick-name God's creatures."

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

COQUETRY.

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

Yet there is a case where a woman may co­quet justifiably to the utmost verge which her conscience will allow. It is where a gentleman purposes and declines to make his addresses, till such time as he thinks himself perfectly sure of her consent. This at bottom is intended to force a woman to give up the undoubted privilege of her sex, the privilege of refusing; it is intend­ed [Page 35] to force her to explain herself, in effect before the gentleman deigns to do it, and, by this means, to oblige her to violate the modesty and delicacy of her sex, and to invert the clearest or­der of nature.

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

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

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

The man is entitled to all these, who prefers one woman to the rest of her sex, and perhaps whose greatest weakness is this very preference. [Page 36] The truth of the matter is, vanity and the love of admiration is so prevailing a passion amongst the sex, that they can be fond of the love, when they are indifferent to, or, even, when they despise the lover.

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

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

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

Every sentiment of esteem will remain; but love, though it requires very little food, and is easily surseited with too much, yet it requires [Page 37] some. He will view her in the light of a mar­ried woman; and though passion subsides, yet a man of a candid and generous heart always re­tains a tenderness for a woman he has once loved, and who has used him well, beyond what he feels for any other of her sex.

COURTSHIP.

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

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

If she sees evident proofs of a gentleman's attachment, and is determined to shut her heart against him, she should treat him honourably and humanely. She should not let him linger in a mise [...]ble suspense, but be anxious to let him [Page 38] know her sentiments with regard to him; and this may be done by a variety of ways,—from a certain species of easy familiarity in behaviour he may be satisfied, if he has any discernment, he has nothing to hope for,—from solicitously avoiding his company,—from the interposition of a common friend to explain matters to him. But, if these methods are ineligible, opportu­nities of letting him explain himself, should not be avoided; it is acting barbarously and un­justly. If he forces an explanation, the answer should be polite, resolute, and decisive.

MAN'S DANGER AND SECURITY IN YOUTH.

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

[Page 39]The whole state of nature is now become a scene of delusion to the sensual mind. Hardly any thing is what it appears to be: and what flatters most is always farthest from reality. There are voices which sing around us, but whose strains allure to ruin. There is a banquet spread where poison is in every dish. There is a couch which invites us to repose, but to slum­ber upon it is death. Sobriety should temper unwary ardour; Modesty check rash presump­tion; Wisdom be the offspring of reflection now, rather than the bitter fruit of experience hereafter.

DECEIT.

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

[Page 40]Dissimulation in youth is the forerunner of perfidy in old age: its first appearance is the fatal omen of growing depravity and future shame. It degrades parts and learning, obscures the lustre of every accomplishment, and sinks us into contempt with God and man. The path of falsehood is a perplexing maze. After the first departure from sincerity, it is not in our power to stop. One artifice unavoidably leads on to another; till, as the intricacy of the laby­rinth increases, we are left entangled in our own snare.

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

DEVOTION,

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

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

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

[Page 42]It expresses the spirit which must animate all religious duties. It stands opposed not merely to downright vice; but to a heart which is cold and insensible to sacred things, and obeys the divine commands without ardour, love and joy. It is rational and well-founded. It is of the highest importance to every other part of religion and virtue; and, in fine, is the most conducive to our happiness. It diffuses an au­spicious influence over the whole of virtue. It is often found a powerful instrument in humanizing the manners of men, and taming their unruly passions. It smooths what is rough, and softens what is fierce in our nature. It is the great purifier of the affections. It inspires contempt of the low gratifications belonging to animal life. It promotes a humble and cheerful con­tentment with our lot, and subdues the eager desire of riches and of power, which has filled this unhappy world with crimes and misery. The spirit of devotion is the gift of God. From his inspiration it proceeds; towards him it tends; and in his presence hereafter, it shall attain its full perfection.

MORALITY AND DEVOTION SE­PARATELY INSUFFICIENT.

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

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

MODERN SENTIMENTAL DEVOTEES.

IF we trace the history of sentiment from its beginning, we shall find that girls (for a­mongst this class it runs to its greatest excess,) of this cast have had their heads originally turned by pernicious reading, and the insanity confirmed by imprudent friendships. They ne­ver fail to select beloved con [...]idants of their own turn and humour, though, if they can help it, [Page 44] not so ha [...]dsome as themselves. Violent inti­macies en [...]e, or an intimate union of souls imme­diately takes place.

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

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

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

[Page 45]But, young people never shew their folly and ignorance more conspicuously, than by this over-confidence in their own judgment, and this haughty disdain of the opinion of those who have known more days. Youth has a quickness of apprehension, which it is very apt to mistake for an acuteness of penetration. But youth, like cunning, though very conceited, is very short sighted; and never more so, than when it disregards the instructions of the wise, and the admonitions of the aged.

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

DISCONTENT.

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

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

[Page 47]The man of business pines for leisure; the leisure for which he had longed proves an irk­some gloom, and, through want of employment, he languishes, sickens, and dies.

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

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

DISSIPATION.

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

It is too often cultivated as the readiest relief to domestic in [...]l [...]ity; it d [...]ws the mind awhile from the subject of its distress, and suffers it to [Page 48] enjoy an interval of ease; but this resource is as treacherous as it is momentary, and plunges the mind into more real distress than that from which it promised to relieve it.

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

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

DUTY OF OLD AGE.

A MATERIAL part of the duty of the aged consists in studying to be useful to the [...]ace who are to succeed them. Here opens to them an extensive field, in which they may so [Page 49] employ themselves as considerably to advance the happiness of mankind. To them it belongs to impart to the young the fruit of their long ex­perience; to instruct them in the proper con­duct, and to warn them of the various dangers of life; by wise counsel to temper their precipi­tate ardour, and both by precept and example to form them to piety and virtue.

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

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

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

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

FEMALE EDUCATION.

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

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

Music, dancing, and languages gratify those who teach them, by imperceptible and almost immediate effects; and every observer can, in some measure, judge of the progress. The ef­fects of these accomplishments address them­selves to the senses; and there are more who [Page 51] can hear and see, than there are who can judge and reflect.

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

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

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

[Page 52]The more ostensible qualifications should be carefully regulated, or they will be in danger of putting to flight the modest train of retreating virtues, which cannot safely subsist before the bold eye of public observation, nor bear the bolder tongue of impudent and audacious flat­tery.

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

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

A truly good and well-educated young lady w [...]ll be found in the bosom of retirement, in the practice of every domestic virtue, in the performance of every amiable accomplishment, [Page 53] exerted in the shade, to enliven retirement,— to heighten the endearing pleasures of social in­tercourse,—and to embellish the narrow, but charming circle of family delights; and to this amiable purpose dedicating her most elegant ac­complishments, instead of exhibiting them to attract admiration, or depress inferiority.

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

Sensibility, delicacy, and an ingenuous temper are of more esteem than language or music, for they are the language of the heart, and the mu­sic of the [...]ording passions. Every appearance of am [...]ble simplicity, or of honest sha [...], will be dear to sensible hea [...]ts; they should carefully cherish every such indication in a young female; for they will perceive th [...] it is this temper, wisely cultivated, which will one day make her [Page 54] enamoured of the loveliness of virtue, and the beauty of holiness; from which she will acquire a taste for the doctrines of religion, and a spirit to perform the duties of it.

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

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

Notwithstanding girls should not be treated [Page 55] with unkindness, nor the first openings of the passions blighted by cold severity; yet they should be accustomed very early in life to a cer­tain degree of restraint. The natural cast of character, and the moral [...] of the sexes, should not be disregarded, even in child­hood.

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

There is more piety, as well as more sense, in labouring to improve the talents which chil­dren actually have, than in lamenting that they do not possess supernatural endowments or an­gelic perfections. A girl who has docility, will seldom be found to want understanding enough [Page 56] for all the purposes of a social, a happy, and an useful life, and those who hope to do a great deal, must not expect to do every thing. If they know any thing of the malignity of sin, the blindness of prejudice, or the corruption of the human heart; they will also know, that the heart will always remain, after the very best pos­sible education, full of infirmity and imperfec­tion.—They should consider that they are not educated cherubims and seraphims, but men and women; creatures, who at their best estate, are altogether vanity: how little can be ex­pected from them in the weakness and imbe­cility of infancy!

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

To win the passions, therefore, over to the cause of virtue, answers a much nobler [...]nd than their extinction would possibly do, even if that [Page 57] could be effected; for they resemble fires, which are friendly and beneficial when under proper direction; but if suffered to blaze without re­straint they carry devastations along with them; and, if totally extinguished, leave the benighted mind in a state of cold and comfortless inanity.

EFFECTS OF RELIGION.

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

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

[Page 58]In prosperity he cultivates his mind, stores it with useful knowledge, with good principles, and virtuous dispositions. The resources remain entire when the day of trouble comes. His chief pleasures are always of the calm, innocent and temperate kind, and over those, the changes of the world have the least power. His mind is a kingdom to him, and he can ever enjoy it.

SUPERSTITION AND ENTHUSIASM.

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

ANGER AND ENVY CONTRASTED.

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

Simple anger soon runs itself out of breath, and is exhausted at the end of its tale, but it is for that chosen period that envy has treasured up the most barbed arrow in its whole quiver: anger puts a man out of himself; but the truly malicious generally preserve the appearance of self-possession, or they could not so effectually [Page 60] injure: anger talks loudly of its own wrongs; envy of its adversary's injustice: anger is a vio­lent act; envy a constant habit: no one can be always angry, but he may be always envious.

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

EVENTS UNCERTAIN.

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

[Page 61]Both good and evil are beheld at a distance, through a perspective which deceives. The colours of objects when nigh, are entirely dif­ferent from what they appeared, when they ap­peared in futurity. It is common for men to be deceived in their prospects of happiness. They judge by the sensations of the present moment, and in the fervour of desire pronounce confi­dently concerning the desired object. But reflect not that their minds, like their bodies, undergo great alteration from the situation into which they are thrown, and the progressive stages of life through which they pass.

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

FAITH, PIETY, AND ACTIVE VIRTUE.

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

FALSE SENTIMENT.

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

Error is never likely to do so much mischief as when it disguises its real tendency, and puts on an engaging and attractive appearance. Many a young woman who would be shocked [Page 63] at the imputation of an intrigue, is extremely flattered at the idea of a sentimental connection, though perhaps with a dangerous and designing man. Such an engagement will be infinitely dearer to her vanity, than an avowed and au­thorised attachment.

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

A sentimental girl very rarely entertains any doubt of her personal beauty; for she has been daily accustomed to contemplate it herself, and to hear it from others. She will not, therefore, be very solicitous for the confirmation of a truth so self-evident; but she suspects her pretensions to understanding are more likely to be disputed; and, for that reason, greedily devours every compliment offered to those perfections which are less obvious, and more refined. She is per­suaded that men need only open their eyes to decide on her beauty; while it will be the most convincing proof of the taste, sense, and ele­gance [Page 64] of her admirer, that he can discern, and flatter those qualities in her.

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

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

No longer she is gratified with the tear of counterfeited passion, the sigh of dissembled rapture, or the language of premeditated ado­ration. No longer is the altar of her vanity loaded with the oblations of fictitious fondness, the incense of falsehood, or the sacrifice of flat­tery. Her apotheosis is ended!—She feels her­self degraded from the dignities and privileges of a goddess, to all the imperfections, vanities, and weaknesses of a slighted woman, and a ne­glected wife. Her faults, which were so lately overlooked, or mistaken for virtues, are now [Page 65] set in a note book. The passion, which was vowed eternal, lasted only a few short weeks; and the indifference which was so far from be­ing included in the bargain, that it was not so much as suspected, follows them through the whole tiresome journey of their insipid, vacant, and joyless existence.

FELICITY EQUALLY DISTRI­BUTED.

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

If the feelings of pleasure are more numerous and more lively, in the higher departments of life, such also are those of pain.—If greatness flatters our vanity, it multiplies our dangers.— If opulence increases our gratifications, it in­creases in the same proportion our desires and demands.—If the poor are confined to a more narrow circle, yet within that circle lie most of those natural satisfactions, which, after all the re [...]inements of art, are found to be the most [Page 66] genuine and true. For the happiness of every man depends more upon the state of his own mind than upon any one external circumstance; nay, more than upon all external things put to­gether.

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

FELICITY TEMPORAL.

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

Of temporal things which belong to this class, the catalogue, it must be confessed, is small. Perhaps the chief wordly good we should wish to enjoy, is a sound mind in a sound body. Health and peace, a moderate fortune, and a [Page 67] few friends, sum up all the undoubted articles of temporal felicity.

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

SPIRITUAL FELICITY.

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

Had Providence spread an equal obscurity over happiness of every kind, we might have had some reason to complain of the vanity of our condition. But we are not left to so hard [Page 68] a fate. The Son of God hath removed that veil which covered true bliss from the search of wandering mortals, and hath taught them the way which leads to eternal life.

WANT OF FORESIGHT RESPECT­ING OUR SPIRITUAL STATE.

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

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

Man, boastful as he is of reason, is merely the creature of his fortune, formed and moulded by the incidents of his life; incapable of pro­nouncing with certainty concerning his own good or evil; of futurity he discerns little, and [Page 69] even that little he sees through a cloud.—Ig­norant of the alteration which his sentiments and desires will undergo from new situations in life;—ignorant of the consequences which will follow from the combination of his circum­stances with those of others around him;—ig­norant of the influence which the present may have on the future events of life;—ignorant of the effect which a change of condition may produce on his moral character and his eternal interests; how can he know what is good for him all the d [...] of his vain life, which spendeth as a shadow [...]nstead therefore of lamenting this ignorance only, he should consider how it ought to be improved; what duties it suggests; and what wise ends it was intended by providence to promote.

FRIENDSHIP.

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

[Page 70]Too many of the pretended friendships of youth, are mere combinations in pleasure. They are often founded on capricious l [...]kings, sudden­ly contracted, and as suddenly dissolved. Some­times they are the effect of interested complai­sance and flattery on the one side, and of cre­dulous fondness on the other. Such rash and dangerous connections should be avoided, lest they afterwards load us with dishonour.

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

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

In the choice of friends principal regard should be had to goodness of heart and fidelity. I [...] they possess taste and genius, that will make them more agreeable and useful companions. To those who deserve the name of friends we should always unbosom ourselves with the most [Page 71] unsuspicious confidence. An open temper, if restrained but by tolerable prudence, will make us, upon the whole, much happier than a sus­picious one, although by it we may sometimes suffer.

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

GALLANTRY.

THOUSANDS of women of the best hearts and finest parts have been ruined by men who approach them under the specious name of friendship. But supposing a man to have the most undoubted honour, yet his friendship to woman is often so near a kin to love, that if she be very agreeable in her person, she will probably very soon find a lover, where she wish­ed only to meet a friend. Yet women should be warned against that weakness so common among the vain, the imagination that every man who takes particular notice of them is a lover. Nothing can expose them more to ridicule, than taking up a man on the suspicion of being their [Page 72] lover, when perhaps he never once thought of them in that view; and giving themselves those airs so common to silly women on such occa­sions.

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

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

GOD WITH RESPECT TO MAN.

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

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

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

That sigh heaved from the afflicted bosom, which is heard by no human ear, is listened to [Page 74] by him; and that tear is remarked which falls unnoticed, or despised by the world. These present his administration under an aspect so mild and benign as in a great measure to dis­perse the gloom which hangs over human life.

IGNORANCE OF GOOD AND EVIL. ITS UTILITY.

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

GOOD MAN.

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

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

There his mind regains its serenity; the agi­tation of passion is calmed; and a softening balm is infused into the wounds of the spirit; his heart is lightened; he does not feel himself so­litary or forsaken; he believes God to be pre­sent with him, and as he hears a voice which [Page 76] speaks to none but the pure in heart, so he be­holds a hand which sinners cannot see.

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

EFFECT OF LOOSE GRATI­FICATIONS.

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

GRATITUDE.

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

WORDLY GREATNESS AND HONOURS,

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

HAPPINESS—HOW JUDGED OF.

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

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

HAPPINESS NOT INDEPENDENT.

NO individual can be happy unless the cir­cumstances of those around him be so ad­justed as to conspire with his interest. For in human society, no happiness or misery stands unconnected and independent. Our fortunes are interwoven by threads innumerable: one man's success or misfortune, his wisdom or folly [Page 79] often, by its consequences, reaches through multitudes.

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

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

HEALTH.

THOUGH good health be one of the great­est blessings of life, it is thought necessary prudently to caution women against making a [Page 80] boast of it, and exhort them to enjoy it in grate­ful silence. For men so naturally associate the idea of female softness and delicacy with a cor­respondent delicacy of constitution, that when a woman speaks of her great strength, her ex­traordinary appetite, her ability to bear excessive fatigue, we recoil at the description in a way she is little aware of.

HISTORY.

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

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

TRUE VIRTUE AND HONOUR.

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

[Page 81]They should consider such violation as a se­vere reproach in the most enlightened state of human nature; and under the purest dispen­sation of religion, it appears to have extinguish­ed the sense of gratitude to Heaven, and to slight all acknowledgement of the great and true God. Such conduct implies either an entire want, or a wilful suppression of some of the best and most generous affections belonging to human nature.

HOPE.

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

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

[Page 82]Was this hope entertained with that full per­suasion which Christian faith demands, it would in truth totally annihilate all human miseries; it would banish discontent, extinguish grief, and suspend the very feeling of pain.

HUMANITY.

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

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

[Page 83]That gentleness which is a characteristic of a good man, has, like every other virtue, its seat in the heart.—In that unaffected civility which springs from a gentle mind, there is a charm infinitely more powerful than in all the studied manners of the most finished courtier.

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

It exercises authority with moderation;—ad­ministers reproof with tenderness;—confers fa­vours with care and modesty.—It is unassuming in opinion, and temperate in zeal.—It contends not eagerly about trifles; slow to contradict, and still slower to blame; but prompt to allay dissention and restore peace.—It neither inter­meddles unnecessarily with the affairs, nor pries inquisitively into the secrets of others.—It de­lights above all things to alleviate distress; and, [Page 84] if it cannot dry up the falling tear, to soothe at least the grieving heart.

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

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

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

Attacked by great injuries, the man of mild and gentle spirit will feel what human nature [Page 85] feels; and will defend and resent as his duty allows him: but to slight provocations he is happily superior. Inspired with noble senti­ments, taught to regard, with an indulgent eye, the frailties of men, the omissions of the care­less, the follies of the imprudent, and the le­vity of the fickle; he retreats into the calmness of his spirit, as into an undisturbed sanctuary, and quietly allows the usual current of life to hold its course.

HUMILITY IN COMPANY.

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

There are many who never can forgive ano­ther for being more agreeable and more accom­plished than themselves, and who can pardon any offence rather than an eclipsing merit. The fable of the nightingale should be ever had in remembrance, as it conveys a most useful lesson replete with valuable instructions. Had the silly warbler conquered his vanity, and resisted the temptation of shewing a fine voice, he might [Page 86] have escaped the talons of the hawk. The me­lody of his singing was the cause of his destruc­tion; his merit brought him into danger, and his vanity cost him his life.

HUMOUR.

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

INDUSTRY.

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

Industry is not only the instrument of im­provement, but the foundation of pleasure. He [Page 87] who is a stranger to it may possess, but cannot enjoy; for it is labour only which gives relish to pleasure.—It is the indispensible condition of our possessing a sound mind in a sound body.

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

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

INTENT OF RELIGION.

IF there be any principle fully ascertained by religion, it is, that this life was intended for a state of trial and improvement to man. His preparation for a better world required a [Page 88] gradual purification, carried on by steps of pro­gressive discipline. The situation here assigned him was such as to answer this design, by calling forth all his active powers, by giving full scope to his moral dispositions, and bringing to light his whole character. Hence it became proper, that difficulty and temptation should arise in the course of his duty; ample rewards were pro­mised to virtue; but these rewards were left, as yet, in obscurity and distant prospect.

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

LOVE OF JUSTICE.

A SENSE of justice should be the founda­tion of all our social qualities. In our most early intercourse with the world, and even in our most youthful amusements, no unfairness should [Page 89] be found. That sacred rule of doing all things to others, according as we wish they would do unto us, should be engraven on our minds. For this end, we should impress ourselves with a deep sense of the original, and natural equa­lity of men.

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

SELF-KNOWLEDGE.

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

[Page 90]For the ordinary commerce of the world is a commerce of flattery and falsehood; where reciprocally they deceive and are deceived, where every one appears under an assumed form, professes esteem which he does not feel, and bestows praise in order to receive it.

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

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

When he has kept from vice, [...] should be [Page 91] known whether his innocence proceeded from purity of principle, or from worldly motives; —whether any malignity or envy rises within him, when he compares his own condition with that of others. He should enquire whether he has been as solicitous to regulate his heart, as to preserve his manners from reproach;—pro­fessing himself a Christian, whether the spirit of Christ has appeared in his conduct;—de­claring that he hopes for immortality, whether that hope surmounted undue attachment to the present life.

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

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

CHEERFULNESS, in old age, is grace­ful. It is the natural concomitant of vir­tue. But this is widely different from the levity of youth. Many things are allowable in that early period, which, in maturer years, would [Page 92] deserve censure; but which, in old age, become both ridiculous and criminal.—By awkwardly affecting to imitate the manners, and to mingle in the vanities of the young; as the aged depart from the dignity, so they forfeit the privileges of grey hairs. But if by follies of this kind they are degraded, they are exposed to much deeper blame, by descending to vicious plea­sure, and continuing to hover round those sin­ful gratifications to which they were once ad­dicted.

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

PUBLIC LIFE, ITS INCONVENIENCIES.

HE who lives always in public cannot live to his own soul. Conversation and inter­course with the world is, in several respects, an education for vice. From earliest youth we are accustomed to hear riches and honour extolled as the chief possessions of man, and proposed to us as the principal aim of our future pursuits. We are trained up to look with admiration on [Page 93] the flattering marks of distinction which they bestow. In quest of those fancied blessings, we see the multitude around us eager and fervent. Principles of duty we may, perhaps, hear sometimes inculcated; but we seldom behold them brought in competition with worldly profit.

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

LOVE.

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

[Page 94]F [...]r love is not to begin on the part of the female, but entirely to be the consequence of a man's attachment to her. Nature has therefore wisely and ben [...]volently assigned to the ten­der sex, a greater flexibility of taste on this subject.

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

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

ARTFUL SENTIMENTAL LOVER.

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

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

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

[Page 96]The lover, de [...]pl [...] versed in all the obliqui­ties of fraud, and ski [...]led to wind himself into every ave [...]ue of the heart which indiscretion has left unguarded, soon discovers on which side it is most accessible.—He avails himself of this weakness by addressing her in a language ex­actly consonant to her own ideas.—He attacks her with her own weapons, and opposes, if a sentimental girl, rhapsody to sentiment.—He professes so sovereign a contempt for the paltry concerns of money, that she thinks it her duty to reward him for so generous a renunciation.— Every plea he artfully advances of his own un­worthiness, is considered by her as a fresh de­mand, that her gratitude must answer.—And she makes it a point of honour to sacrifice to him that fortune which he is too noble to re­gard.

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

EFFECTS OF HONOURABLE LOVE.

A MAN of delicacy oft betrays his passion by his too great anxiety to conceal it: especially if he has little hopes of success. True love, in all its stages, seeks concealment, and never expects success—It renders a man not [Page 97] only respectful, but timid, to the highest degree, in his behaviour to the woman he loves.

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

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

MALE COQUETRY.

MALE coquetry is much more inexcusable than female, as well as more pernicious; but it is rare in this country. Very few men will give themselves the trouble to gain, or re­tain any woman's affections, unless they have [Page 98] views on them either of an honourable or dis­honourable kind.

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

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

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

But as a woman in this country may easily prevent the first impressions of love, every mo­tive of prudence and delicacy should make her guard her heart against them, till such time as [Page 99] she has received the most convincing proofs of the attachment of a man of such merit as will justify a reciprocal regard. She should studiously labour to possess such high principles of honour and generosity, as will render her incapable of deceiving, and, at the same time, to possess that acute discernment which may secure her against being deceived.

MAN OF THE WORLD.

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

He who acts from worldly wisdom lays prin­ciple aside, and trusts his defence to his art and ability. He avails himself of every advantage which his knowledge of the world suggests—he [Page 100] attends to nothing but what he considers as his interest; and unconfined by conscience, pursues it by every course which promises him success.

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

MAN'S REAL DEPENDENCE.

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

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

[Page 101]What must be the fate of him who looks not up to Heaven for direction, nor properly exerts the reason which God hath given him?—who brings neither patience nor attention to the search of true happiness?—who applies to no other counsellor than present pleasure, and with a rash and credulous mind delivers himself up to every suggestion of desire?

DEVOUT MAN.

HIS veneration is not confined to acts of im­mediate worship. It is the habitual tem­per of his soul. No place and no object appear to him void of God. When he surveys this vast universe, where beauty and goodness are every where predominant;—when he reflects on the numberless multitudes of creatures, who, in their different stations, enjoy the bles­sings of existence;—and when, at the same time, he looks up to an universal Father, who hath thus filled creation with life and happiness; his heart glows within him.—He looks forward to immortality, and discovers the highest sub­jects of gratitude. He views himself as a guilty creature, whom divine benignity has received in [...] gra [...]e, whose forfeited hopes it has restored, and to whom it has opened the most glorious pr [...]ct of future felicity.—He contemplates [Page 102] with astonishment the labours of the son of God, in accomplishing redemption for men, and his soul overflows with thankfulness to him.

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

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

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

MEN AND WOMEN, HOW DIFFERENT IN POINT OF UNDERSTANDING.

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

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

In literary composition women are pleased with point, turn, and antethesis; men with ob­servation, and a just deduction of effects from their causes.—Women are fond of incidents; men of argument.—Women admire passionate­ly; men cautiously.—One sex will think it be­trays a want of feeling to be moderate in their appl [...]se; the other will be afraid of exposing a want of [...]dgment by being in raptures with any thing.—Men refuse to give way to the emotions [Page 104] they actually feel; while women sometimes affect to be transported beyond what the occa­sion will justify.

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

MARRIAGE.

THERE is nothing which renders a woman more despicable than her thinking it essen­tial to happiness to be married. Besides the gross indelicacy of the sentiment, it is a false one, as thousands of women have experienced. But a married state, if entered into from pro­per [Page 105] motives of esteem and affection, is the hap­piest, makes women the most respectable in the eyes of the world, and the most useful members of society. Care should be taken not to relin­quish the ease and independence of a single life, to become the slaves of a fool, or a tyrant's caprice.

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

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

Should they have the misfortune to have such tempers, and such sentiments deeply rooted in [Page 106] them; should they have spirit and resolution to resist the solicitations of vanity, the persecution of friends; and can they support the prospect of the many inconveniences attending the state of an old maid, then they may indulge themselves in that kind of sentimental reading and con­versation, which is most correspondent to their feelings.

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

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

To avoid these complicated evils, joined to [Page 107] others which may arise from the opinion of the world relative to the infelicity thence arising; women who are determined, at all events, to marry, should have all their reading and amuse­ments of such a kind, as do not affect the heart nor the imagination, except in the way of wit and humour.

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

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

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

A woman should not marry a fool; he is the most intractable of all animals; he is led by his passions and caprices, and is incapable of hear­ing the voice of reason. Besides it may pro­bably too hurt a woman's vanity to have a hus­band, [Page 108] for whom she has reason to blush and tremble every time he opens his lips in com­pany.

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

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

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

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

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

In point of fortune, which is necessary to the happiness of both, a competency is requisite. But what that competency may be, can only be [Page 109] determined by their own tastes. If they have enough between them, as will satisfy all de­mands, it is sufficient.

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

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

TRUE MEEKNESS.

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

Meekness is imperfect, if it be not both ac­tive and passive; if it will not enable us to sub­due our own passions and resentments, as well as qualify us to bear patiently the passions and resentments of others. If it were only for mere [Page 110] human reasons, it would turn to a profitable account to be patient; nothing defeats the ma­lice of an enemy like the spirit of forbearance; the return of rage for rage cannot be so effec­tually provoking.

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

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

Meekness may be called the pioneer of all the other virtues, which levels every obstruction, and smooths every difficulty that might impede their entrance, or retard their progress. Ho­nours and dignities are transient;—beauty and riches frail and fugacious;—but this amiable virtue is permanent. And surely the truly wise would wish to have some one possession, which they might call their own in the severest exi­gencies. This can only be accomplished by ac­quiring and maintaining that calm and absolute [Page 111] self-possession, which, as the world had no hand in giving, so it cannot, by the most ma­licious exertion of its power, take away.

MIDDLE AGE.

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

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

THE UNION OF PIETY AND MORALITY.

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

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

NEGLECT OF RELIGION.

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

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

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

OLD MAID.

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

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

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

All this is owing to an exuberant activity of [Page 115] spirit; which, if it had found employment at home, would have rendered them respectable and useful members of society.

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

OLD AGE.

OLD Age is a stage of the human course, which every one hopes to reach; it is a period justly entitled to general respect. Even its failings ought to be touched with a gentle hand. For though in every part of life vexa­tions occur; yet, in former years, either busi­ness, [Page 116] or pl [...]a [...]ur [...], served to obliterate their im­pr [...]i [...]n, by supplying occupation to the mind.

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

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

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

It is too common to find the aged at declared emnity with the whole system of present cus­toms and mann [...]rs; perpetually complaining of th [...] [...]wing d [...]pravity of the world, and of the as [...]onishing vices and follies of the rising genera­tion. [Page 117] All things, according to them, are rush­ing fast into ruin. Decency and good order have become extinct, ever since that happy dis­cipline, under which they spent their youth, has passed away.

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

PASSIONATE WOMAN.

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

An imperious woman will so little covet the [Page 118] ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, that it is the only ornament she will not be solicitous to wear. But resentment is a very expensive vice. How dearly has it cost its votaries, even from the sin of Cain, the first offender of this kind? "It is cheaper (says a pious writer) to forgive and save the charges."

APPEARANCES OF PIETY.

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

But supposed piety is an invention of their own, unknown to reason—unknown in the word o [...] [...]od.—For piety is a principle which regene­rates [...]e heart, and forms it to goodness.—If, the [...], while piety seems ardent, morality [...] decline; or if ever the regard to it should totally fall—if, whilst making prayers no alms are give [...]—if, whi [...]t we appear zealous for God, we [...] or unjust to men —if we are hard o [...] con [...]ac [...]d in h [...]art, severe in our censures, and oppre [...]sive in our conduct, [...] conclude what we ha [...] termed piety, was no more than an empty name, resolving itself either into an [Page 119] hypocritical form of godliness—a transient im­pression of seriousness—and accidental melting of the heart—or the deliberate refuge of a de­luded and superstitious, but, at the same time, a corrupted mind. For all men, even the most depraved, are subject, more or less, to com­punctions of conscience.

MEN OF TRUE PLEASURE.

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

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

[Page 120]In the intercourse of domestic affection,—in the attachment of friends,—the gratitude of dependents,—the esteem and good-will of all who know him,—he sees blessings multiplied a­round him on every side; like a tree in the midst of an inhabited country, affording to some friendly shelter, to others fruit, which is not only admired by all for its beauty, but blessed by the traveller for the shade, and by the hun­gry for the sustenance it has given.

MAN OF PLEASURE.

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

Pleasures thus drawn to the dregs become va­pid and tasteless. What mght have pleased long, if enjoyed with temperance and mingled with retirement, being devoured with such ea­ger haste, speedily surfeits and disgusts. Hence, having run through a rapid course of pleasure, after having glittered for a few years in the foremost line of public amusements, such men [Page 121] are the most apt to fly at last to a melancholy retreat; not led by religion or reason, but driven by disappointed hopes and exhausted spirits to the pensive conclusion, that all is vanity.

PLEASURE, SENSUAL AND SPIRITUAL.

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

PLEASURES OF OLD AGE.

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

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

No age is doomed to total infelicity, pro­vided that we attempt not to do violence to na­ture, by seeking to extort from one age the [Page 123] pleasures of another, and to gather in the win­ter of [...]ife those flowers which were destined to blossom only in its summer or its spring.

PRESUMPTION.

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

Th [...]se are the vices too commonly found among the young.—Big with enterprise, and elated by hope, they resolve to trust for success to none but themselves.—Full of their own abi­liti [...]s, they deride the admonitions which are given them by their friends, as the ti [...]or [...]us suggestions of age.—Too wise to [...],— [...]o impatient to deliberate,—too f [...]ard to b [...] [...]e­str [...]ned, they plunge with precipitate indisc [...]e­tion into the midst of all the dangers with which life abounds.—Positive in opinion, and confident in their assertions, as they are at this period, the time will arrive when both men and things will appear in a different light. Many [Page 124] characters now admired, will sink, by and by, in esteem;—and many opinions, of which they a [...] at present most tenacious, will alter as they advance in years.

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

DISAPPOINTED PRIDE.

WHEN a man's sufferings arise from the bad dispositions of his own heart; when in the height of prosperity he is rendered mise­rable solely by disappointed pride, every ordi­nary [Page 125] motive for communication ceases. The violence of anguish drives him to confess a pas­sion which renders him odious, and a weakness which renders him despicable.

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

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

PRINCIPLE AND SENTIMENT CONTRASTED.

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

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

PROSPERITY.

A SINGLE disappointment is sufficient to embitter all the pleasures of worldly pros­perity. Though it might be expected, one in possession of high power and station should dis­regard slight injuries. But prosperity debilitates instead of strengthening the mind.—Its common effect is, to create an extreme sensibillity to the slightest wound.—It fo [...]ents impatient desires; and raises expectations which no success can sa­tisfy.—It fosters a false delicacy, which sickens [Page 128] in the midst of indulgence; by repeated grati­fication, it blunts the feelings of men to what is pleasing; and leaves them unhappily acute to whatever is uneasy.

NECESSITY OF PRUDENCE IN EVERY STAGE OF LIFE.

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

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

[Page 129]From the first to the l [...]st of man's abode on earth, the discipline must never be relaxed of guarding the heart from the dominion of pas­sion. Eager passions and violent desires were not made for man.—They exceed his sphere. —They find no adeq [...]te object on earth;— and, of course, can be productive of nothing but misery.

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

REDEMPTION.

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

In this hour, the long series of prophecies, [...]isions, types, and figures was accomplished. This was the center in which they all met;— this the point to which they tended and verged, throughout the course of so many generations. —We behold the law and the prophets standing at the foot of the cross, and doing homage.— We behold Moses and Aaron bearing the ark of the covenant;—David and Elijah presenting [Page 130] the oracle of testimony;—we behold all the priests and sacrifices,—all the rights and or­dinances,—all the types and symbols, assem­bled together to receive their consummation.— In this hour every rite assumed [...] significancy; —every prediction met [...]s event;—every symbol displayed its correspondence.

REFORMATION.

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

RELIGION.

THE spirit of true religion breathes gentle­ness and [...]lity.—It gives a native unaf­fected [...] to the behaviour.—It is social, kind, and chee [...]l [...] ▪— [...] removed from that gloomy and [...]lliber [...] superstition which clouds the brow, [Page 131] sharpens the temper, dejects the spirit, and teaches men to fit themselves for another world, by neglecting the concerns of this.

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

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

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

We should never indulge ourselves in ridi­cule on religious subjects, nor give countenance to it in others, by seeming diverted with what they say. This, to people of good breeding, will be a sufficient check. It is not necessary to [Page 132] go farther than scripture for our religious opi­nions.

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

RELIGIOUS REFLECTION.

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

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

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

RESIGNATION.

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

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

He should not be too particular in his peti­tions to heaven concerning his temporal interest, but suffer God to govern the world according to his own plan; and only pray, that he would bestow what his unerring wisdom sees to be best for him. On the whole, he should follow [Page 134] wherever his providence leads; comply with whatever he requires, and leave all the rest to him.

RIDICULE.

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

A man of sense and breeding will sometimes join in the laugh, which has been raised at his expence by an ill-natured repartee; but if it was very cutting, and one of those shocking sorts of truths, which, as they scarcely can be par­doned even in private, ought never to be ut­tered i [...] public, he does not laugh because he is pleased, but because he wishes to conceal how much he is hurt; and will remember it, as a treat of malice, when the whole company should have forgotten it as a stroke of r [...]icule.—Even women are so far from being privileged by their sex to say unhandsome or cruel things, that it is this very circumstance which renders them [Page 135] intolerable. When the arrow is lodged in the heart, it is no relief to him who is wounded to reflect, that the hand which shot it was a fair one.

SELF-COMMUNION,

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

By this the pious man walks among the vari­ous scenes of nature as w [...]in the [...]cinc [...] of a great temple, in the habitual exerci [...] [...] [...]o­tion. And from hence, when his [...] been thus employed, he returns to the world like a superior being. He carries into active life, those pure and elevating sentiments to which the giddy crowd are strangers. A certain [Page 136] odour of sanctity remains upon his mind, which, for a while at least, will repel the contagion of the world.

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

SILENCE.

SILENCE is one of the great arts of conversa­tion, as allowed by Cicero himself, who says "there is not only an art but an eloquence in [Page 137] it," and this opinion is confirmed by a great modern, Lord Bacon. For a well bred woman may easily and effectually promote the most use­ful and elegant conversation, without speaking a word. The modes of speech are scarcely more variable than the modes of silence.

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

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

SINCERITY.

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

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

At the same time, this virtu [...]s sincerity is perfectly consistent with the most prudent vigi­lance and caution.—It is opposed to cunning, not to true wisdom.—It is [...] the simplicity of the weak and improvident, [...] candour of [...] min [...]; [...] who scorns deceit, bec [...] [...] accounts it [...] and un­profitable; [Page 139] and who seeks no disguise, because he needs none to hide him.

SLOTH.

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

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

[...] re [...]lies. It were vain [Page 140] —it were cruel, to prohibit them. But, though allowable as the relaxation, they are most cul­pable as the business, of the young. For they then become the gulph of time, and the poison of the mind.—They foment bad passions—they weaken the manly powers—they sink the na­tive vigour of youth into contemptible effeminacy.

SOBRIETY OF MIND. ITS NECESSITY.

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

Moderation,—vigilance,—and self-govern­ment, are duties incumbent on all; but espe­cially on such as are beginning the journey of life. For the whole state of youthful views and passions, is adverse to sobriety of mind.— The scenes which present themselves at our en­tering upon the world, are commonly flattering. —Whatever they be in themselves, the lively spirits of the young gild every opening prospect. —The field of hope appears to stretch wide be­fore them. Pleasure seems to put forth its blossoms on every side.—Impelled by desire, [Page 141] forward they rush with inconsiderate ardour:— prompt to decide and to chuse;—averse to he­sitate or to enquire;—credulous, because un­taught by experience;—rash, because unac­quainted with danger;—headstrong, because unsubdued by disappointment.

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

When beginning to act that part, it is of the greatest moment to regulate our plan of con­duct with the most serious attention, before we have yet committed any fatal or irretrievable errors.—If, instead of exerting reflection for this valuable purpose, we deliver ourselves up, at so critical a time, to sloth and pleasure;— if we refuse to listen to any counsellor but hu­mour, or to attend to any pursuit except that [Page 142] of amusement;—if we allow ourselves to float loose and careless on the tide of life, ready to receive any direction which the current of fa­shion may chance to give us— the sad conse­quences of such indiscretion will extend to us: —we cannot attain success without preparation, nor escape dangers without precaution.—Hap­piness will not grow up to us of its own ac­cord, and solicit our acceptance, when, to the rest of mankind, it is the fruit of long cultiva­tion, and the acquisition of labour and care.— We should not deceive ourselves with such ar­rogant hopes.

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

SOLITUDE.

SOLITUDE is the hallowed ground which religion hath, in every age, chosen for her own.—There her inspiration is felt, and her secret mysteries elevate the soul.— There, falls the tear of contrition;—there, rises towards [Page 143] heaven the sigh of the heart;—there, melts the soul with all the tenderness of devotion, and pours itself forth before him who made, and redeemed it.

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

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

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

Man cannot discharge any part of his duty aright, who never suffers his passions to cool— and his passions cannot cool, who is engaged without interruption in the tumult of the world. This incessant stir may be called the perpetual drunkenness of life. It raises that eager fer­mentation [Page 144] of spirit which will ever be sending forth the dangerous [...]mes of rashness and folly.

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

Besides, it is also necessary to [...] us for [Page 145] a life to come. For breathing habitually a con­tagious air, how certain is our ruin, unless we sometimes retreat from the pestilential region, and seek for proper correctives of the disorders which are contracted there?— Religious retire­ment both abates the disease, and furnishes the remedy.—It lessens the corrupting influence of the world; and it gives opportunity for better principles to exert their power.

THE STUDY OF MAN.

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

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

But religion has been no less attentive to the same important object.—The defence which it [Page 146] provides is altogether of an internal kind.—It is the heart, not the outward state, which it professes to guard, by affording the distressed that security and peace, which arise from a be­lief of divine protection.—It opens to them sources of consolation which are hidden from others.— By that strength of mind with which it endows them, it sets them upon a rock, against which the tempest may violently beat, but cannot shake; for it prepares the mind for encountering, with fortitude, the most severe shocks of adversity.

READING AND STUDY.

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

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

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

[Page 147]Those who cultivate letters, have rarely a strong passion for promi [...]uous visiting, or dissi­pated society: study therefore induces a relish for domestic life, the most desirable temper in the world for women.

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

PASSIVE TAMENESS OF SPIRIT, AND UNLIMITED COMPLIANCE.

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

[Page 148]Unlimited complaisance which, on every oc­casion, falls in with the opinions and manners of others, is so far from being a virtue, that it is itself a vice, and the parent of many vices.— It overthrows all steadiness of principle, and produces that sinful conformity with the world, which taints the whole character.

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

TEMPERANCE.

TEMPERANCE in pleasure is essentially necessary to be observed, particularly by youth, that they may beware of that rock on which thousands, from race to race, continue to split. The love of pleasure, natural to man in every period of his life, glows at this age with excessive ardour. — Novelty adds fresh charms, as yet, to every gratification.—The world appears to spread a continual feast;—and health, vigour, and high spirits invite them to partake of it without restraint. In vain are they warned of the latent danger.—The old, [Page 149] when they offer their admonitions, are upbraid­ed with having forget that they once were young. And yet, to what do the counsels of age, with respect to pleasure, amount? They may all be comprized in few words, not to hurt ourselves and not to hurt others by our pursuit of pleasure, and these will be fully effected by temperance. Within these bounds, pleasure is lawful, beyond them it becomes criminal, be­cause it is ruinous.

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

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

TRUE GENUINE SENTIMENT.

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

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

When an innocent girl of this open, trusting, tender heart, happen [...] to mee [...] with one of her own sex and age, whose address and manners are engaging, she is instantly seized with an ar­dent desire to commence a friendship with her. [Page 151] —She feels the most lively impatience at the re­straint of company and the decorums of cere­mony.—She longs to be alone with her,—longs to assure her of the warmth of her tenderness, —and generally ascribes to the fair stranger all the good qualities she feels in her own heart, or rather all those which she has met with in her reading, dispersed in a variety of heroines.— She is persuaded that her new friend unites them all in herself, because she carries in her prepos­sessing countenance the promise of them all.

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

Yet this trusting confidence, this honest indis­cretion, is, at this early period of life, as amia­ble as it is natural; and will, if wisely cultiva­ted, produce, at its proper season, fruits in­finitely more valuable than all the guarded cir­cumspection of premature, and therefore arti­ficial prudence. Nay, if the younger part of the sex are sometimes deceived in the choice of a friend, they enjoy even then [...]n higher de­gree of satisfaction the [...] if they never trusted— For to be always clad [...]n the burthensome ar­mour of suspicion is more painful and incon­venient, [Page 152] than to run the hazard of suffering, now and then, a transient injury.

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

GOVERNMENT OF TEMPER.

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

With respect to a woman, the principal vir­tues and vices [...]ust be of a dom [...]st [...] kind.— [...] own family and de­ [...] [...] of action the scene [Page 153] of almost all those tasks and trials, which must determine her character and her fate, here and hereafter.—The happiness of her husband, chil­dren, and servants, must depend on her temper; and it will appear, that the greatest good or evil which she may ever have in her power to do, may arise from her correcting or indulging its infirmities.

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

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

Every temper is inclined, in some degree, to passion, peevishness, or obstinacy: we should therefore always watch the bent of our nature, and apply remedies proper for the infirmities to which we are most liable.—The first is so in­jurious [Page 154] to society, and so odious in itself, that men who give way to it render themselves, not only disgusting, but dangerous:—hurried on by the violence of rage, they break through the bounds of decorum — destroy the order of civil society— disregard truth— sacrifice justice —and disgrace, as well as offend, the dignity of their Creator.

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

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

By accustoming ourselves thus to conquer and disap [...]t our anger, we shall, by degrees, find it grow weak and [...]ageable, [...] as to leave our reason at liberty.—We shall be able to re­strain [Page 155] our tongue from evil, and our looks and gestures from all expressions of violence and ill-will.

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

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

There are many who acquire the character of ill-temper, when in reality they merit not the severity of the accusation; and this arises mere­ly from their mode of replication, or their manner of interrogating—as they are generally and unfortunately attended with a species of tartness on every trivial occasion.—This indi­cates to common observers a degree of petu­lance, and seems to take its origin from a jea­lousy, [Page 156] or rather fear of their own consequence being degraded or injured in some respect.— This should be carefully avoided, for the very appearance of peevishness, is ungrateful and painful.

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

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

We should substitute in their room the pursuit [Page 157] of glory and happiness in another life.—Read­ing—reflection—rational conversation—and a­bove all, conversing with God, by prayer and meditation, would preserve us from taking that interest in the little comforts and conveniences of our remaining days, which usually gives birth to so much fretfulness in old people.

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

Sullenness and obstinacy is, perhaps, a worse [Page 158] fault of temper than either of the former—and, if indulged, may end in the most fatal extremes of stubborn melancholy—malice—and revenge. —The resentment which, instead of being ex­pressed, is passed in secret, and continually ag­gravated by the imagination, will in time be­come the ruling passion; and then, how horri­ble must be his case, whose kind and pleasurable affections are all swallowed up by the torment­ing, as well as detestable sentiments of hatred and revenge!

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

Truth and justice demand that we should acknowledge conviction, as soon as we feel it and not maintain an erroneous opinion, or jus­tify a wrong conduct, merely from the false shame of confessing our past ignorance.—With a disposition strongly inclined to sullenness or obstinacy, this may appear perhaps impractica­ble;—but by constant use the mind will gain [Page 159] strength from the contest, and this internal ene­my will by degrees be forced to give ground.

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

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

Excessive and ill-judged indulgence, seldom [...] [...]duce a woman to the miserable condi­tion of a humoured child, always unhappy from having nobody's will to study but its own. —The insolence of such demands for herself, and such disregard to the choice and inclinations of others, can seldom fail to make as many enemies as there are persons obliged to bear [Page 160] with those humours; whilst a compliant—rea­sonable—and contented disposition, would [...] ­der her happy in herself, and beloved by all her companions;—particularly by those who live constantly with her.

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

[Page 161]All these qualifications, which cannot fail to render its pleasing, will be the natural result of a well-governed temper, as it will derive plea­sure to itself, in proportion as it has the power of communicating it to others.—This disposi­tion of mind should therefore be cultivated with the utmost care and diligence—the symptoms of that humour, against which all our artillery should be levied, should be minutely watched, and with a firm resolution conquered as they rise;—for a sweet disposition is its own reward, and is in itself essential to happiness.

GOOD TEMPER, ITS EFFECTS AND UTILITY.

A GOOD-NATURED man, whatever faults he may have, they will for the most part be treated with lenity;—he will generally find an advocate in every human heart;—his errors will be lamented, rather than abhorred; —and his virtues will be viewed in the fairest point of light;—his good-humour, without the help of great talents or acquirements, will make his company preferable to that of the most brilliant genius, in whom this quality is wanting—but with it, such a brightness will be added to their lustre, that all the world will [Page 162] envy and admire, whilst his associates will al­most adore, and labour to imitate him.—In short, it is almost impossible that we can be sin­cerely beloved by any body, without this en­gaging property, whatever other excellencies we may possess;—but with it, we shall scarcely fail of finding some friends and favourers, even though we should be destitute of almost every other advantage.

It is true, we are not all equally happy in our dispositions; but human virtue consists in cherishing and cultivating every good inclina­tion, and in checking and subduing every pro­pensity to evil.—If a man had been born with a bad temper, it might have been made a good one, at least with regard to its outward effects, by education, reason, and principle: and though he is so happy as to have a good one while young, he must not suppose it will always con­tinue so, if he neglects to maintain a proper command over it.—Power—sickness—disap­pointments—or worldly cares may corrupt, or embitter the finest disposition, if they are not counteracted by reason and religion.—Hence these should be ever exerted in the exigencies of life—they will teach us a becoming submis­sion under all the accidents of our mortal state, with which it is so variously chequered;—di­vest calamity of its severest sting—make our enemies ashamed of their persecuting spirit— [Page 163] and cause us to smile even in the midst of mis­fortune.

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

Generous anger does not preclude esteem for whatever is really estimable, nor does it destroy good-will to the person of its object—or autho­rize any impeachment to rest on the goodness of our disposition:—It even inspires the desire of overcoming our enemy by benefits,—and wishes to inflict no other punishment than the regret of having injured one who deserved his kindness:—It is always placable, and ready to be reconciled, as soon as the offender is con­vinced of his error; nor can any subsequent injury provoke it to recur to past disobligations, which had been once forgiven.—The conscious­ness [Page 164] of injured innocence naturally produces dignity, and usually prevents anger;—but if tempered with the calmness of a quiet spirit, it ever rises superior to the oppressive hand of in­solence and cruelty.

EFFECTS OF VICE.

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

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

VILLAIN.

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

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

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

The advantages of this world, when obtained [Page 166] by criminal means, carry a curse in their bosom, nay, even when innocently gained, are uncertain blessings.—To the virtuous, they are often no more than chaff—to the guilty, they are always poison.

VIRTUE AND PROSPERITY CON­TRASTED.

THOSE situations which favour pleasure are too generally adverse to virtue.—Virtue requires internal government and discipline; prosperity relaxes the mind, and inflames the passions:—virtue is supported by a regard to what is future—prosperity attaches us wholly to what is present:—virtue checks our pursuits, which are the result of intemperance—refrains our desires, and makes them flow in the calm tide of moderation—prosperity increases our evil propensities—enflames our passions—and plunges us deep in the stream of riot and ex­cess:—virtue is the sovereign pilot which steers us into the harbour of true lasting pleasure— prosperity is too apt to turn the helm to the port of sensual enjoyment—unites us too closely to the things of this world—and makes us eye the moment of our dissolution with regret and horror.—The characteristics of virtue are mo­desty and humility—the most common attend­ants [Page 167] upon prosperity are pride and presumption; and often proves the motive of impiety.

VIRTUE,

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

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

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

[Page 168]It is connected with eminence, in every libe­ral art;—with reputation, in every branch of fair and useful business;—with distinction, in every public station. The vigour which it gives to the mind, and the weight which it adds to the character;—the generous sentiment which it breathes;—the undaunted spirit which it in­spires;—the ardour of diligence which it quick­ens;—the freedom which it procures from per­nicious and dishonourable avocations, are the foundation of all that is high in fame, or great in success among men.

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

VOLUPTUARY.

THE corrupted temper, and the guilty pas­sions of the bad, frustrate the effect of every advantage which the world confers on them— The world may call them men of pleasure; but [Page 169] of all men they are the greatest foes to pleasure: from their eagerness to grasp, they strangle and destroy it—riotous indulgence enervates both the body and the mind: so that in the midst of his studied refinement the voluptuary lan­guishes.

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

WIT.

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

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

Though it is the most captivating, yet it is the most dreaded of all talents: the most dan­gerous to those who have it, and the most feared by those who have it not. He who is grown rich without it, in safe and sober dulness, shuns [Page 170] as a disease, and looks upon poverty as its in­variable concomitant.

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

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

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

But those who happily possess this talent, cannot be too abstinent in the use of it.—It [Page 171] often makes admirers, but never makes friends; and she, who does not desire friends, has a sor­did and insensible soul; but she, who is ambi­tious of making every man her admi [...] has an invincible vanity and a cold heart.

WOMAN.

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

In this land of civil and religious liberty, where there is as little despotism exercised over the minds, as over the persons of women, they have every liberty of choice, and every oppor­tunity of improvement; and how greatly does this increase their obligation to be exemplary [Page 172] in their general conduct, attentive to the govern­ment of their families, and instrumental to the good order of society.

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

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

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

WORLD.

THE world is the great deceiver, whose fallacious arts it highly imports us to detect. But, in the midst of its pleasures and pursuits, [Page 173] the detection is impossible. We tread as within an enchanted circle, where nothing appears as it truly is.—We live in delusion, forming plans of imaginary bliss.—We wander forever in the paradise of fools—meditating in secret on the means of attaining worldly success;—which ac­quired, has seldom, in one instance, fulfilled our expectation;—but where we have reckon­ed most upon enjoyment, there have we gene­rally found the least.

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

RELIGIOUS WORSHIP.

THE expressions of those affections, under its various forms, are no other than native effusions of the human heart. Ignorance may mislead, and superstition may corrupt them, but [Page 174] their origin are derived from sentiments that are essential to man.

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

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

YOUTH.

YOUTH is the season of warm and generous emotions;—the heart should then sponta­neously rise into the admiration of what is great, glow with the love of what is fair and excellent, and melt at the discovery of tenderness and goodness.—In this season we should endeavour, upon rational and sober enquiry, to have our principles established, nor suffer them to be sha­ken by the scoffs of the licentious, or the cavils of the sceptical.—No wantonness of youthful [Page 175] spirits, no compliance with the intemperate mirth of others, should ever betray us into profane sallies.

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

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

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

DETACHED SENTIMENTS AND MORAL MAXIMS.

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

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

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

In every action we undertake, we should con­sider first with ourselves, and weigh well the [Page 178] nature and circumstances of the thing; nay, though it be a slight one, represent to ourselves what accident we may probably meet with, and determine to preserve our minds and reason un­disturbed—by which means we shall be guarded against their disagreeable effects; which never can be done, if we suffer every one to discom­pose us.

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

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

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

Upon every f [...]esh accident we ought to turn our eyes inward, and examine how we are qua­lified [Page 179] to encounter it,—and prepare ourselves to meet it with patience and resolution—If we use ourselves to these, by degrees no accident what­ever will be able to surprise or subdue us.

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

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

It is always in our power to come off con­querors, [Page 180] provided we will never engage in any combats but such whose successes will be deter­mined by our own choice.

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

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

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

If we resolve to make wisdom and virtue the study and business of our lives, we must be sure to arm ourselves beforehand against all the in­conveniencies and discouragements that are like [Page 181] to attend this resolution.—We shall meet with many scoffs and much derision—but let us not be affected, or supercilious; only stick close to whatever we are in our judgment convinced is virtuous and becoming—and consider this as our proper station assigned by God, which we must not quit upon any terms; and remember, that if we persevere in goodness, those very men who derided us at first, will afterwards tu [...] our admirers;—but if we give way to their [...] ­proaches, and are vanquished by them, we shall render ourselves doubly, and most deservedly ridiculous.

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

If we observe some other person more caressed than ourselves;—invited to entertainments when we are left out;—saluted before we are taken notice of;—thought more proper to advise with, and his counsel followed rather than ours;—we should consider whether these res­pects paid to him are good things, or evil;—if they deserve to be esteemed good, this ought to be matter of joy to us;—but if they be evil, [Page 182] how unreasonable is it to be troubled because they have not fallen to our share.

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

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

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

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

[Page 183]If possible we should avoid swearing altoge­ther, it is vulgar and impious—but if we can­not do that absolutely, we should be sure to de­cline it as much as is in our power.

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

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

To render us truly amiable, in the sight of the just and virtuous, nothing, however it may be laughed at by the dissolute, contributes so much to that end as chastity,—but how perfect soever ours may be, the conceit of this should not make us troublesome to others, that are more frail; nor should we be too lavish in either [Page 184] reproving their failings, nor in commendation of our own virtue.

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

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

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

Of all kinds of discourse, none is more unsafe, —none more despicable than that which breaks [Page 185] in upon modesty and good manners.—Wherever therefore any person flies out into obscenity, if such a liberty dare be taken, we should reprove him publicly, and put a stop to his lewd conver­sation;—but if that cannot conveniently be done, yet at least we may do ourselves the justice to disapprove it; and by forbearing to join with him—by blushing for him—and by chiding looks, let all the company see plainly, that we detest his filthy ribbaldry.

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

When upon mature deliberation we are per­suaded a thing is fit to be done—let us do it boldly, and not affect privacy in it, nor con­cern ourselves at all what impertinent censures or reflections the world may pass upon it; for if the thing be just and innocent, it is foolish to [Page 186] stand in fear of those, who will themselves do ill in censuring and condemning what we do well.

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

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

At the age of fourteen women begin to be courted and caressed; then they think that the recommending themselves to the affections of the men is the only business they have to attend to; and so presently fall to tricking—to dres­sing—and practising all the little engaging arts peculiar to their sex; in these they place all their hopes, as they do all their happiness in the success of them:—But they should under­stand, that there are other attractives much more powerful than these; that the respect we pay them, is not due to their beauty, so much [Page 187] as to their modesty, and innocence, and unaffect­ed virtue; and that these are the true, the irre­sistible charms, such as will make [...]he surest and most lasting conquests.

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

We should never profess ourselves philoso­phers, nor talk much of rules and wise observa­tions among the ignorant and vulgar—but let our rules be seen in our practice. Nor should we be solicitous in making a shew of our eru­dition, or boast of our learning [...] raises the envy of the illiterate—disgusts [...] modest— gives us the character of ostentatious, and loads us with general odium. Nay, if we happen in conversation with ignorant and common men, though they themselves start [...] discourse con­cerning some point in philosophy, we should forbear joining with them in it; for when men are forward to vent their notions, it is a shrewd sign they are not well digested. We should ra­ther labour to approve the exce [...]lence of our [Page 188] doctrines to the world, not by disputes and [...] harrangues, but by digesting them into [...], and growing strong in virtue.