[...]

EXAMINING the records of mortality, I found the memorials of a promis­cuous multitude. They were huddled, at least they rested, together, without any re­gard to rank or seniority. None were am­bitious of the uppermost rooms, or chief seats in this house of mourning. None entertain­ed sond and eager expe [...]tations of being ho­norably greeted, in their darksome cells. The man of years and experience, reputed as an orcale in his generation, was content to lie down at the seet of a babe. In this house appointed for all living, the servant was equally accommodated, and lodged in the same story, with his master. The poor in­digent lay as softly, and [...]pt as soundly, as the most opulent possessor. All the distinc­tion that subsisted, was a grassy hillock, [...]nd [...]th of [...]ers; or a sepulchral stone, [...]n [...]ted with imagery.

THE SEPULCHRE'S PERTINENT ADDR [...]S TO MAN.

BE ye always ready: for in such an hour as ye think not—Important admonition! methinks it reverberates from sepulchre to sepulchre; and addresses me with line upon line, precept upon precept.—The reiterat­ed warning, I acknowledge, is too needful; may co-operating grace render it effectual! The momentous truth, though worthy to be engraven on the tables of a most tenaci­ous memory, is but slightly sketched on the transient flow of passion. We see our neigh­bours fall; we turn pale at the shock; and feel, perhaps a trembling dread. No soon­er are they removed from our sight, but, driven in the whill of business or lulled in the langours of pleasure, we forget the pro­vidence, and neglect its errand. The im­pression made on our unstable minds, is like the trace of an arrow, through the penetrat­ed air; or the path of a keel in the furrow­ed wave.

AN AFFECTING REPRESENTATION OF A DYING CHRISTIAN, WITH THE SORROW OF HIS FAMILY.

THERE lies the affectionate husband; the indulgent parent; the faithful friend; and the generous master. He lies in the last extremities, and on the very point of dissolution. Art has done its all. The raging disease mocks the power of medi­cine. It hastens with resistless impetuosity, to execute its dreadful errand; to rend a­sunder the silver cord of life, and the more delicate tie of social attachment, and conju­gal affection.

A servant or two, from a revering dis­tance, cast many a wishful look, and con­dole their honored master, in the language offighs. The condescending mildness of his commands, was wont to produce alacri­ty of obedience, and render their service a pleasure. The remembrance of it both em­bitters their grief, and makes it trickle plentifully down their honest cheeks. His friends, who have so often shared his joys, and gladdened his mind with their enliven­ing converse, now are miserable comforters. A sympathising and mournful pity, is all the relief they are able to contribute; unless it be augmented by their silent prayers for the [Page 137] [...]vine succor, and a word of consolation suggested from the Scriptures. Those poor innocents, the children crowd around the bed; drowned in tears, and almost frantic with grief, they sob out their little souls, and passionately cry, "Will he leave us? leave us in a helpless condition [...] leave us to an in­jurious world"

A LIVELY PICTURE OF A TENDER WIFE, MOURNING THE EXPECTED LOSS OF AN INDULGENT HUSBAND.

IN her, the lover weeps; the wife mourns; and all the mother yearns. To her, the loss is beyond measure aggravated, by months and years of delightful society, and exalted friendship.—Where, alas! can she meet with such unsuspected fidelity, or re­pose such unreserved considence? where find so discreet a counsellor; so improving an example; and a guardian so sedulously at­tentive to the interests of herself, and her children?—See how she hangs over the lan­guishing bed; most tenderly solicitous to prolong a life, important and desirable far beyond her own. Or, if that be impracti­cable, no less tenderly officious to sooth the [Page 138]last agonies of her dearer self.—Her hands, trembling under direful apprehensions, wipe the cold dews from the livid cheeks; and sometimes stay the sinking head on her gen­tle arms, sometimes rest it on her compassi­onate bosom.—See! how she gazes, with a speechless ardor, on the pale countenance, and meagre features. Speechless her ton [...] but she looks unutterable things. W [...] all her soft passions throb with unavailing fondness and her soul bleeds with exquisite anguish.

AN INTERESTING DESCRIPTION OF A GOOD MAN IN THE VIEWS OF DEATH.

THE sufferer, all patient and adoring, submits to the divine will; and, by submission, becomes superior to his affliction. He is sensibly touched with the disconsolate state of his attendants; and pierced with an anxious concern for his wife and his children. His wise who will soon be a destitute widow; his children, who will soon be helpless or­phans. ‘Yet, though cast down, not in de­spair.’ He is greatly refreshed, by his trust in the everlasting covenant, and his hope of approaching glory. Religion gives [Page 139]a dignity to distress. At each interval of ease, he comforts his very comforters, and suffers with all the majesty of woe.

The soul, just going to abandon the tot­tering clay, collects all her force, and exerts her last efforts. The good man raises him­self on his pillow; extends a kind hand to his servants, which is bathed in tears; takes an affecting farewell of his friends; clasps his wife in a feeble embrace; kisses the dear pledges of their mutual love; and then pours out all that remains of life and of strength, in the following words;— ‘I die my dear children: but GOD, the everlasting GOD, will be with you.—Though you lose an earthly parent, you have a Father in Hea­ven who lives for evermore.—Nothing, no­thing but an unbelieving heart, and irreligi ous life, can ever separate you from the regards of his providence—from the en­dearments of his love.’

He could proceed no farther. His heart was full; but utterance failed.—After a short pause, with difficulty, great difficulty, he added;— ‘You the dear partner of my soul, you are now the only protector of our orphans.—I leave you under a weight of cares.—But GOD, who defendeth the cause of the widow—GOD, whose promise is faithfulness and truth—God hath said I [Page 140]will never leave thee, nor forsake thee—This revives my drooping spirits—Let this sup­port the wife of my bosom—And now, O Father of compassions, into thy hands I commend my spirit—encouraged by thy promised goodness, I leavemy fatherless.’—

Here he fainted; sell back upon the bed; and lay, for some minutes, berest of his sens­es. As a taper, upon the very point of ex­tinction, is sometimes suddenly rekindled, and leaps into a quivering flame: so life, be­fore it totally expired, gave a parting strug­gle, and once more looked abroad from the opening eye lids.—He would fain have spoke; fain have uttered the sentence, he began. More than once he essayed; but the organs of his speech were become like a broken vessel, and nothing but the obstruct­ing phlegm rattled in his throat. His as­pect, however, spoke asfection inexpressible. With all the sather, all the husband still liv­ing in his looks; he takes one more view of those dear children, whom he had so often beheld with a parental triumph. He turns­his dying eyes on that beloved woman, whom he never beheld but with a glow of delight. Fixed in this posture, amidst smiles of love, and under a gleam of Heaven, he shines out his last.

THE CHAMBERS OR THE TOMB POURTRAY­ED.

YONDER entrance leads, I suppose to the vault. Let me turn aside, and take one view of the habitation, and its te­nants. The sullen door grates upon its hinges; not used to receive many visitants, it admits me with reluctance, and murmurs. —What meaneth this sudden trepidation; while I descend the steps, and am visiting the pale nations of the dead?—Be composed my spirits, there is nothing to fear in these quiet chambers. ‘Here, even the wick­ed cease from troubling.’

A beam or two finds its way through the grates, and reflects a feeble glimmer from the nails of the coffins. So many of those sad spectacles, half concealed in shades, half feen dimly by the baleful twilight, add a deeper hortor to these gloomy mansions.— I pore upon the inscriptions, and arn just a­ble to pick out, that these are the remains of the rich and renowned. No vulgar dead are deposited here. The most illustrious and right honourable have claimed this for their last retreat. And, indeed, they retain somewhat of a shadowy pre-eminence. They lie, ranged in mournful order, and in a sort of silent pomp, under the arches of an ample sepulchre; while meaner corpses. [Page 142]without much ceremony, "go down to the stones of the pit.

THE TOMB KNOWS NO DISTINCTIONS OF TITLES OR ESTATES.

THOSE who received vast revenues, and called whole lordships their own, are here reduced to half a dozen feet of earth, or confined in a few sheets of lead. Rooms of state, and sumptuous furniture, are resigned for no other ornament than the shroud, for no other apartment than the darksome niche.—Where is the star that blazed upon the breast, or coronet that glit­tered round the temples? the only remains of departed dignity are, the weather-beaten hatchment, and the tattered escutcheon. I see no splendid retinue surrounding this so­litary dwelling. The lordly equipage ho­vers no longer about the lifeless master.— He has no other attendant than a dusty sta­tue; which while the regardless world is as gay as ever, the sculptor's hand has taught to weep.

IMPORTANT LESSONS TAUGHT BY THE TOMBS OF NOBLES.

I THANK you, ye relics of sounding titles and magnificent names. Ye have taught me more of the littleness of the world, than all the volumes of my library. Your nobility arrayed in a winding sheet; your grandeur mouldering in an urn; are the most indisputable proofs of the nothing­ [...]s of created things. Never, surely, did Providence write this important point in such legible characters as in the ashes of my lord, or on the corpse of his grace.

THE BENEFITS OR FAITH IN THE SON OF GOD.

OYE timorous souls, that are terrified at the sound of the passing bell; that turn pale at the sight of an opened grave, and can scarce behold a coffin or a skull, without a shuddering horror: ye that are in bondage to the grisly tyrant, and tremble at the shaking of his iron rod, cry mightly to the father of your spirits, for faith in his dear Son. Faith will free you from your slavery. Faith will embolden you to tread [Page 144]on (this fiercest of) serpents. Old Simeon clasping the child Jesus in the arms of his flesh, and the glorious Mediator in the arms of his faith, departs with tranquility and peace. That bitter persecutor Saul, having won Christ, being found in Christ, longs to be dismissed from cumbrous clay, and kin­dles into rapture at the prospect of dissolu­tion.

A PICTURESQUE DESCRIPTION OF A SUM­MER'S MORN.

THE air was cool, the earth moist, the whole face of the creation fresh and gay. The noisy world was scarce awake. Business had not quite shook off his found sleep, and riot had but just reclined his gid­dy head. All was serene; all was still: e­very thing tended to inspire tranquility of mind, and invite to serious thought.

Only the wakeful lark had left her nest, and was mounting on high to salute the o­pening day. Elevated in air, she seemed to call the laborious husbandman to his toil, and all her fellow-songsters to their notes.

SUN-RISING DESCRIBED.

THE greyness of the dawn decays gra­dually. Abundance of ruddy streaks tinge the fleeces of the firmament. Till at length the dappled aspect of the east is lost in one ardent and boundless blush.

THE USEFULNESS OF THE SUN ILLUS­TRATED.

WHAT were all the realms of the world but a dungeon of darkness without the beams of the sun? All their fine scenes hid from our view, lost in ob­scurity.—In —In vain we roll around our eyes in the midnight gloom. In vain we strive to behold the features of amiable nature. Turn whither we will, no form or comeliness ap­pears. All seems a dreary waste, an undis­tinguished chaos; till the returning hours have unbarred the gates of light, and let forth the morn.—Then what a prospect opens: The heavens are paved with azure, and strewed with [...]s [...]s. A variety of the liveliest verdure a [...]ys the plains. The flowers put on a glow of the richest colours. [Page 146]The whole creation stands forth dressed in all the charms of beauty. The ravished eye looks found and wonders.

A DESCRIPTION OF RURAL NATURE.

THE fields are covered deep, and stand thick with corn. They expand the milky grain to the sun, while the gales, now inclining, now raising each flexile stem, open all their ranks to the agency of his beams; which will soon impart a firm consistence to the grain, and a glossy golden hue to the ear, that they may be qualified to fill the barns of the husbandman with plenty, and his heart with gladness.

Yonder lie the meadows, smoothed into a persect level; decotated with an embroi­dery of the gayest flowers, and loaded with spontaneous crops of herbage. A winding stream glides along the flowry margin, and receives the image of the bending skies, and waters the roots of many a branching willow.

The pastures, with their verdant mounds, chequer the prospect, and prepare a stand­ing repast for our cattle.

[Page 147] On several spots, a grove of trees, like some grand colonade erects its towering head. Every one projects a sriendly shade for the beasts, and creates an hospitable lodging for the birds. Every one stands ready to furnish timber for a palace, masts for a navy, or, with a more condesc [...]nding courtesy, fuel for our hearths.

A FRUIT GARDEN AND AN ORCHARD IN THEIR SUMMER ARRAY

NEARER the houses, we perceive an ample spread of branches, not so starely as the oaks, but more amiable for their annual services. A little while ago, I beheld them, and all was one beauteous boundless waste of blossoms. But now, the blooming maid is resigned for the use­ful matron. The stower is fallen, and the fruit swells out on every twig.—Breathe soft, ye wiads! O spare the tender sruitage, ye surly blasts! let the pear-tree suckle her juicy progeny, till they drop into our hands, and dissolve in our mouths. Let the plumb hang unmolested upon her boughs, till she satten her deli [...]ious flesh, and cloud her po­lished skin with blue. And as for the apples, [Page 148]that staple commodity of our orchards, let no injurious shocks precipitate them imma­turely to the ground, till revolving suns have tinged them with a ruddy complexion, and concocted them into an exquisite fla­vour.

A KITCHEN GARDEN AND ITS PRODUCTS.

IOBSERVE several small inclosures, which seem to be apprehensive of some hostile visit from the north, and, therefore, are desended on that quarter by a thick wood, or a losty wall. At the same time, they cultivate an uninterrupted correspon­dence with the south, and throw open their whole dimensions to its friendly warmth.— One, in particular, lies within the reach of a distinguishing view, and proves to be a kitchen-garden. It looks, methinks, like a plain and frugal republic. Whatever may resemble the pomp of courts, or the en­sign of royalty, is banished from this hum­ble community.—A skilful hand has parcel­led out the whole ground into narrow beds, and incervening alleys. Why does the par­sley with her frizzled locks shag the border; or why the celery, with her whitning arms, perforate the mould, but to render the soups [Page 149]of the owner savoury? The asparagus shoots its tapering stems, to offer him the first fruits of the season; and the artichoke spreads its turgid top to give him a treat of vegetable marrow. The tendrils of the cu­cumber creep into the sun; and, though basking in its hottest rays, they secrete for their master, and barrel up for his use the most cooling juices of the soil. The beans stand firm, like files of embattled troops— the peas rest upon their props, like so many companies of invalids, while both replenish their pods with the fatness of the earth, on purpose to pour it on their owner's ta­ble.

NATURE AND ART CONTRASTED.

HERE nature, always pleasing, every where lovely, appears with peculiar attractions. Yonder she seems dressed in her dishabille: grand but irregular. Here, she calls in her hand-maid art, and shines in all the delicate ornaments which the ni­cest cultivation is able to convey. Those are her common apartments where she lod­ges her ordinary guests; this, is her cabinet of curiosities, where she entertains her inti­mate acquaintance.—My eye shall often ex­patiate [Page 150]over those scences of universal ferti­lity: my feet shall sometimes brush through the thicket, or traverse the lawn, or stroll along the forest glade; but to this delight­ful retreat shall be my chief resort. Thi­ther will I make excursions: but here will I dwell. ^*

FLOWRY BEAUTIES PLEASINGLY REPRE­SENTED.

WHAT colours, what charming co­lours are here! These, so nobly bold, and those so delicately languid. What a glow is enkindled in some! what a gloss shines upon others! In one, methinks, I see the ruby with her bleeding radiance; in ano­ther, the sapphire with her sky-tinctured blue! in all, such an exquisite richness of dyes, as no other set of paintings in the u­niverse can boast. Some assume the mo­narch's purple; some look most becoming in the virgin's white; but black, doleful black, has no admittance into the ward­robe of Spring. The weeds of mourning [Page 151]would be a manifest indecorum, when na­ture holds an universal festival. Here stands a warrior clad with crimson, there sits a magistrate robed in scarlet, and yonder struts a pretty fellow that seems to have dipped his plumes in the rainbow, and glit­ters in all the gay colours of that resplen­dent arch. Some rise into a curious cup, or fall into a set of beautiful bells. Some spread themselves in a swelling turf, or croud into a delicious cluster. In some the predominant stain softens by the gentle di­minutions, till it has even stole away from itself.

THE GRAND CAUSE OF VEGETATION, AND THE GROWTH OF FRUITS AND FLOWERS.

THE moisture of the earth, and of the circumambient air, passed through proper strainers, and disposed in a range of pellucid tubes: this performs all the won­ders, and produces all the beauties of ve­getation. This creeps along the fibres of the low spread moss, and climbs to the ve­ry tops of the lofty-waving cedars. This, attracted by the root, and circulating thro' invisible canals; this bursts into gems; ex­pands [Page 152]itself into leaves, and clothes the fo­rest with all its verdant honours.—This one plain and simple cause gives birth to all the charms which deck the youth and ma­turity of the year. This blushes in the ear­ly hepatica, and flames in the late advancing poppy. This reddens into blood in the veins of the mulberry, and attenuates itself into leafen gold, to create a covering for the quince. This breathes, in all the fra­grant gales of our garden; and weeps o­dorous gum in the groves of Arabia.

TULIPS AND PINKS, EMBLEMS OF THE DIF­FERENCES AMONG CHRISTIANS.

IN a grove of tulips, or a knot of pinks, one perceives a difference in almost eve­ry individual. Scarce any two are are turn­ed and tinctured exactly alike. * Each al­lows himself a little particularity in his dress, though all belong to one family.— A pretty emblem this of the smaller diffe­rences between Protestant Christians. There are modes in religion which admit of varia­tion, without prejudice to sound faith or real holiness. Just as the drapery, on these pic­tures of the spring, may be formed after a [Page 153]variety of patterns, without blemishing their beauty, or altering their nature.—Be it so then, that, in some points of inconsidera­ble consequence, several of our brethren dissent: yet let us all live amicably and so­ciably together; for we harmonize in prin­ciples, though we vary in punctilios. If any strife subsists, let it be to follow our Divine Master most closely, in humility of heart, and unblameableness of life. Let it be to serve one another most readily, in all the kind offices of a cordial friendship. Thus shall we be united, though distinguished; united in the same grand fundamentals, tho' distinguished by some small circumstantials, united in one important bond of brotherly love, though distinguished by some slight­er peculiarities of sentiment.

FLOWERS POURTRAYED IN LIVELY CO­LOURS.

ACIRCUMSTANCE, recommending and endearing the flowry creation, is their regular succession. They make not their appearance all at once, but in an or­derly rotation. While a proper number of these obliging retainers are in waiting, the [Page 154]others abscond, but hold themselves in a posture of service, ready to take their turn, and fill each his respective s [...]ation the instant it becomes vacant.—The snow-drop, fore­most of the lovely train, breaks her way through the frozen soil, in order to present her early compliments to her Lord. Dress­ed in the robe of innocency, she steps forth, fearless of danger, long before the trees have ventured to unfold their leaves, even while the iciles are pendent on our houses. Next peeps out the crocus, but cautiously, and with an air of timidity. She hears the howling blasts, and skulks close to her low situation. Afraid she seems, to make large excursions from her root, while so many ruffian winds are abroad, and scouring along the aether.—Nor is the violet last in this shining embassy of the year. Which, with all the embellishments that would grace a royal garden, condescends to line our hedges and grow at the feet of briars. Freely, and without any solicitation, she distributes the bounty of her emissive sweets; while herself, with an exemplary humility, retires from sight, seeking rather to administer pleasure, than to win admiration. Em­blem, expressive emblem, of those modest virtues which delight to bloom in obscuri­ty; which extend a cheering influence to multitudes, who are scarce acquainted with the source of their comforts! Motive, en­gaging [Page 155]motive, to that ever active benefi­cence, which stays not for the importunity of the distressed, but anticipates their suit, and prevents them with the blessing of its goodness! ^*

The poor polyanthus, that lately adorned the border with their sparkling beauties, and transplanted into our windows, gave us a fresh entertainment, is now more; I saw her complexion fade; I perceived her breath decay; till at length she expired, and dropt into her grave.—Scarce have we sustained this loss, but in comes the auricu­la, and more than retrieves it. Arrayed she comes, in a splendid variety of amiable forms, with an eye of chrystal, and garments of the most glossy sattin, exhaling perfume, and powdered with silver. Scarce one a­mong them but is dignified with the charac­ter of renown, or has the honour to repre­sent some celebrated toast. But these also, notwithstanding their illustrious titles, have exhausted their whole stock of fragrance, and are mingled with the meanest dust.— Who could forbear grieving at their depar­ture, did not the tulips begin to raise them­selves on their fine wands, or stately stalks? they slush the paterre with one of the gayest [Page 156]dresses that blooming nature wears. Here one may behold the innocent wantonness of beauty. Here she indulges a thousand freaks, and sports herself in the most charming di­versity of colours. Yet I should wrong her, were I to call her a coquette; because she plays her lovely changes, not to enkindle dissolute affections, but to display her Crea­tor's glory.—Soon arises the anemone, en­circled at the bottom with a spreading robe, and rounded at the top into a beautiful dome, In its loosely flowing mantle you may ob­serve a noble negligence; in its gently bend­ing tufts, the nicest symmetry. I would term it the fine gentleman of the garden; because it seems to have learnt the singular address of uniting simplicity with refine­ment, of reconciling art and ease.—The same month has the merit of producing the renunculus. All bold and graceful it ex­pands the riches of its foliage, and acquires by degrees, the loveliest enamel in the world. Methinks nature improves in her opera­tions. Her latest strokes are most masterly. To crown the collection, she introduces the carnation, which captivates every eye with a noble spread of graces, and charms every sense with a profusion of exquisite odours. This single flower has ce [...]red in itself the perfections of all the preceding. The [...]o­ment it appears, it so commands [...] [...]n­tion, that we scarce regret the absence of the [Page 157]rest.—The gilly-flower, like a real friend, attends you through all the vicissitudes and alterations of the season. While others make a transient visit only, this is rather an inhabitant, than a guest in your gardens; adds fidelity to complaisance.

THE TIME, ORDER AND ADJUSTMENT OT FLOWERS, EVIDENCE THE CREATOR'S WISDOM.

LET me add one remark upon the ad­mirable adjustment of every particu­lar, relating to these fine colonies planted in the parterre.—With such accuracy and correctness is their structure finished, that any the least conceivable alteration would very much impair their perfection. Should you see, for instance, the nice disposition of the tulips attire fly abroad, disorderly and irregular, like the flaunting wood-bine; should the jessamine rear her diminutive head on those grand columns which support the holliho [...]k; should the erect and manly as­pect of the piony hang down with a pensive air, like the [...] of the hyacinth; should [...] [Page 158]fringes which edge the pink, or the gaudy stains which bedrop the iris; should those tapering pillars which arise in the mid­dle of its vase, and tipt with golden pen­dants, give such a lustre to the surrounding panels of alabaster—should those shrink and disappear like the chives which cover the heart of the anemone.—In many of these cases, would not the transposition be fan­tastical and aukward? in all to the apparent prejudice of every individual?

Again; with regard to the time of their appearing, this circumstance is settled by a remarkable foresight and precaution.— What would become of the sailor, if, in ve­ry stormy weather, he should raise a lofty mast, and croud it with all his canvass? Such would be the ill effect, if the most stately species of flowers should presume to come aboad in the blustering months. Ah! how would they rue the imprudent bold­ness! Therefore, those only that shoot the shortest stems, and display the smallest spread of leaves, or (if you please) carry the least sail, are launched amidst the blow­ing seasons.—How injudiciously would the perfumer act, if he should unseal his finest essences, and expose them to the northern winds, or wintry rains! our blooming artists of the aromatic profession, at least the most delicate among them, seem perfectly aware [Page 159]of the consequences of such a procedure. Accordingly they postpone their odorife­rous treasures, till a ferener air, and more unclouded skies grant a protection to their amiable traffic, till they are under no more apprehensions of having their spicy cells rifled by rude blasts, or drowned in inces­sant showers.

A COMMENT ON THE BEAUTIES OF CREA­TION.

THE earth is assigned to us for a dwell­ing. —The skies are stretched over us like a magnificent canopy, dyed in the purest azure, and beautified now with pic­tures of floating silver, now with colourings of reflected crimson.—The grass is spread under us, as a spacious carpet, wove with silken threads of green, and damasked with flowers of every hue.—The sun, like a gol­den lamp, is hung out in the ethereal vault; and pours his effulgence all the day to light­en our paths.—When night approaches, the moon takes up the friendly office, and the stars are kindled in twinkling myriads, to cheer the darkness with their milder lus­tre, not disturb our repose by too intense a glare—The clouds, besides the rich paint­ings they hang around the heavens, act the part of a shifting screen, and defend us, by their seasonable interposition, from the scorching beams of summer. May we not also regard them as the great watering-pots of the globe? which, wafted on the wings of the wind, dispense their moisture evenly through the universal garden; and fructify, with their showers, whatever our hand plants.—The fields are our exhaustless gra­nary. —The ocean is our vast reservoir.— [Page 161]The animals spend their strength to dis­patch our business, resign their clothing to eplenish our wardrobe, and surrender their very lives to provide for our tables.—In short, every element is a store-house of con­veniencies; every season brings us the choicest productions; all nature is our ca­terer. —And, which is a most endearing re­commendation of these favours, they are all as lovely as they are useful. You ob­serve nothing mean or inelegant. All is clad in beauty's fairest robe, and regulated by proportion's nicest rule. The whole scene exhibits a fund of pleasures to the imagination, at the same time that it more than supplies all our wants.

BUDDING FLOWERS EMBLEMATIC OF THE COVETOUS MAN.

ON every side I espy several budding flowers. As yet they are like bales of cloth from the packer's warehouse. Each is wrapped within a strong enlosure, and its contents are tied together by the firmest bandages; so that all their beauties lie con­cealed, and all their sweets are locked up. Just such is the niggardly wretch, whose [Page 162]aims are all turned inward, and meanly ter­minated upon himself. Who makes his own private interests, or personal pleasures, the sole centre of his designs, and the scan­ty circumference of his actions.

ANTIDOTES AGAINST UNRULY PASSIONS.

DOES anger draw near with her light­ed torch, to kindle the flame of re­sentment in our breasts? does flattery ply our ears with her inchanting and intoxicat­ing whispers? would discontent lay her leaden hand upon our temper, and mould into our minds her sour leaven, in order to make us a burden to ourselves, and unami­able to others? instantly let us divert our attention from the dangerous objects, and not so much endeavour to antidote, as to shun, the moral contagion. Let us revolve in our meditations, that wonderful meek­ness of our distressed Master; which, amidst the most abusive and provoking insults, maintained an uniform tenor of unshaken serenity. Let us contemplate that prodi­gious humiliation, which brought him from an infinite height above all worlds, to make his bed in the dust of death. Let us sooth [Page 163]our jarring, our uneasy passions, with the rememorance of that cheerfulness and re­signation, which rendered him, in the deep­est poverty, unfeignedly thankful; and, un­der the heaviest tribulation, most submissive­ly patient.

IMPORTANT ADMONITIONS TO THE FAIR SEX.

HARBOUR not, on any consideration; the betrayer of your virtue. Be deaf, inflexibly deaf, to every beguiling solicita­tion. If it obtrude into the unguarded heart, give it entertainment, no, not for a mo­ment. To parley with the enemy, is to open a door for destruction. Our safety consists in flight; and, in this case, suspici­on is the truest prudence; fear the greatef [...] bravery. Play not on the brink of the precipice: flutter not round the edges of the flame: dally not with the stings of death, but reject, with a becoming mixture of so­licitude and abhorrence, the very first insi­nuations of iniquity; as cautiously as the smarting sore shrinks even from the foftest hand, as constantly as the sensitive plant re­coils at the approaching touch.

CONSOLATIONS IN THE VIEWS OF DEATH.

FEAR not, thou faithful Christian, fear not, at the appointed time, to descend into the tomb. Thy soul thou mayst trust with thy omnipotent Redeemer, who is lord of the unseen world; "who has the keys of hell and of death." Most safely mayst thou trust thy better part in those beneficient hands, which were pierced with nails, and fastened to the ignominious tree for thy salvation.—With regard to the earthly tabernacle, be not dismayed. It is taken down, only to be rebuilt upon a di­viner plan, and in a more heavenly form. If it retires into the shadow of death, and lies immured in the gloom of the grave; it is only to return from a short confine­ment to endless liberty. If it falls into dissolution, it is in order to rise more illus­trious from its ruins, and wear an infinitely brighter face of perfection and of glory.

A DESCRIPTION OF NOON.

THE sun blazes from on high; the air glows with his fire; the fields are [Page 165]rent with chicks; the roads are scorched to dust; the woods seem to contract a sick­ly aspect, and a russet hue; the traveller, broiled as he rides, hastens to his inn, and intermits his journey; the labourer, bath­ed in sweat, drops the scythe, and desists from his work; the cattle flee to some sha­dy covert, or else pant and toss under the burning noon. Even the stubborn rock, smit with the piercing beams, is ready to cleave. All things languish beneath the dazzling deluge.

BEES, CONTRASTED WITH BUTTERFLIES AND SPIDERS.

THE bees, that nation of chymists! to whom nature has communicated the rare and valuable secret of enriching them­selves, without impoverishing others. Who extract the most delicious syrup from eve­ry fragrant herb, without wounding its sub­stance, or diminishing its odours.—I take the more notice of these ingenious opera­tors, because I would willingly make them my pattern; while the gay butterfly flut­ters her painted wings, and sips a little fan­tastic delight, only for the present moment; [Page 166]while the gloomy spider, worse than idly busied, is preparing his insidious nets for destruction, or sucking venom, even from the most wholesome plant. This frugal community are wisely employed in provid­ing for futurity, and collecting a copious stock of the most balmy treasures.

THE BEAUTIES OF A GARDEN.

HERE I behold, assembled in one view, almost all the various beautics which have been severally entertaining my imagination. The vistas, struck through an ancient wood, or formed by rows of ve­nerable elms, conducting the spectator's observation to some remarkable object, or leading the travellers footsteps to this de­lightful seat:—the walls, enriched with fruit-trees, and faced with a covering of their leafy extensions, I should rather have said, hung with different pieces of nature's noblest tapestry:—the walks, neatly shorn, and lined with verdure, or finely smoothed, and coated with gravel:—the alleys, arch­ed with shades to embower our noon-tide repose, or thrown open for the free acession of air, to invite us to our evening recrea­tion: [Page 167]—the decent edgings of box which inclose, like a plain selvage, each beautiful compartment, and its splendid figures;— the shapely ever-greens, and flowering shrubs, which strike the eye, and appear with peculiar dignity in this distant situati­on: —the bason, with its chrystal fount, floating in the centre, and diffusing an a­greeable freshness through the whole:— the waters, falling from a remote cascade, and gently murmuring as they flow along the pebbles.

THE EFFECTS OF HEAT AND COLD, WITH A REFERENCE TO THE SAVIOUR OF THE WORLD.

HEAT, whose burning influence parch­es the Lybian wilds, tans into soot the Ethiopian's complexion, and makes e­very species of life pant, and droop, and languish. Cold, whose icy breath glazes yearly the Russian seas, often glues the fro­zen sailor to the cordage, and stiffens the tra­veller into a statue of rigid flesh. He, who sometimes blends you both, and produces the most agreeable temperature, sometimes suffers you to act separately, and rage with [Page 168]intolerable severity. That King of Hea­ven, and Controuler of universal nature, when dwelling in the tabernacle of clay, was exposed to chilling damps, and smit­ten by sultry beams. The stars, in their midnight watches, heard him pray; and the sun, in his meredian fervors, saw him toil.—Hence are our frozen hearts dissolv­ed into a mingled flow of wonder, love, and joy, being conscious of a deliverance from those insufferable flames, which, kindled by divine indignation, burn to the lowest hell.

MEADOWS AND FIELDS DESCRIBED, WITH A RFFERENCE TO THE GREAT REDEEMER OF MANKIND.

YE luxuriant meadows; he who, with­out the seedsiman's industry, replenish­es your irriguous lap, with never-failing crops of herbage, enamels their cheerful green, with flowers of every hue.—Ye fer­tile fields; he who blesses the labours of the husbandman, enriches your well-tilled plains with waving harvests, and calls forth the staff of life from your furrows. He, who causes both meadows and fields to laugh and sing, for the abundance of plenry. He [Page 169]was no stranger to corroding hunger and parching thirst. He, alas eat the bitter bread of woe, and had "plenteousness of tears to drink—That we might partake of richer dainties than those which are produc­ed by the dew of heaven, and proceed from the fatness of the earth.

PRECIOUS STONES DESCRIBED, WITH A RE­FERENCE TO THE GREAT CREATOR.

YE beds of gems, toy-shops of nature! which form, in dark retirement, the glittering stone. Diamonds that sparkle with a brilliant water, rubies that glow with a crimson flame, emeralds dipped in the freshest verdure of Spring, sapphires decked with the fairest drapery of the sky, topaz em­blazed with a golden gleam, amethyst im­purpled with the blushes of the morning.— He who tinctures the metallic dust, and consolidates the lucid drop; he, when so­journing on earth, had no riches, but the riches of disinterested benevolence; had no ornament, but the ornament of unspot­ted purity.

A DESCRIPTION OF THE SILK WORM.

SHALL I mention the annimal which spins her soft, her shining, her exqui­sitely fine silken thread? whose matchless manufactures lend an ornament to grandeur, and make royalty itself more magnificent.— Shall I take notice of the cell, in which, when the gaity and business of life are over, the little recluse immures herself, and spends the remainder of her days in retirement? Shall I rather observe the sepulchre, which, when cloyed with pleasure and weary of the world, she prepares for her own interment? Or how, when a stated period is elapsed, she wakes from a death-like inactivity, breaks the inclosure of her tomb, throws off the dusky shroud, assumes a new form, puts on a more sumptuous array, and, from an in­sect creeping on the ground, becomes a winged inhabitant of the air.

THE HAPPINESS OF GLORIFIED SPIRITS.

YE spirits of just men, made perfect, who are released from the burden of the slesh; and freed from all the vexatious [Page 171]solicitations of corruption in yourselves, de­livered from all the injurious effects of in­iquity in others. Who sojourn no longer in the tents of strife, or the territories of disorder, but are received into that pure, harmonious, holy society, where every one acts up to his amiable and exalted charact­er, where God himself is pleased graciously and immediately to preside.—You find not without pleasing astonishment, your hopes improved into actual enjoyment, and your faith superseded by the beatific vision. You feel all your former shyness of behaviour, happily lost in the overflowings of unbound­ed love, and all your little differences of opinion entirely bore down by tides of in­variable truth.

EVENING THE TIME FOR REFLECTION.

THE evening, drawing her sables over the world, and gently darkening in­to night, is a season peculiarly proper for sedate consideration. All circumstances concur to hush our passions, and sooth our cares; to tempt our steps abroad, and prompt our thoughts to serious reflection.

A PLEASANT RURAL WALK DESCRIEED.

THE business of the day dispatched, and the sultry heats abated, invited me to the recreation of a walk. A walk, in one of the finest recesses of the country, and in one of the most pleasant evenings which the summer season produced.

The limes and elms, uniting their branch­es over my head, formed a verdant canopy, and cast a most refreshing shade. Under my seet lay a carpet of nature's velvet; grass intermingled with moss, and embroi­dered with flowers. Jessamines in conjunc­tion with woodbines, twined around the trees, displaying their artless beauties to the eye, and diffusing their delicious sweets through the air. On either side, the boughs, rounded into a set of regular arch­es, opened a view into the distant fields, and presented me with a prospect of the bending skies. The little birds, all joyous and grateful for the favours of the light, were paying their acknowledgments in a tribute of harmony, and soothing themselves to rest with songs. While a French horn from a neighbouring seat, sent its melodicus ac­cents, sostened by the length of their pas­sage, to complete the concert of the grove.

THE BLESSINGS OF LIBERTY AND PRO­PERTY.

LIBERTY, that dearest of names, and property, that best of charters, give an additional, an inexpressible charm to e­very delightful object.—See how the declin­ing sun has beautified the western clouds; has arrayed them in crimson, and skirted them with gold. Such a refinement of our domestic bliss, is property; such an improve­ment of our public privileges, is liberty.— When the lamp of day shall withdraw his beams, there will still remain the same col­lection of floaring vapours; but O! how changed, how gloomy! the carnation streaks are faded; the golden edgings are worn a­way; and all the lovely tinges are lost in a leaden-coloured louring sadness. Such would be the aspect of all these scenes of beauty, and all these abodes of pleasure, if exposed continually to the caprice of arbi­trary sway.

A DESCRIPTION OF SUNSET.

THE sun has almost finished his daily race, and hastens to the goal. He descends lower and lower, till his chariot-wheels seem to hover on the utmost verge of the sky. What is somewhat remarka­ble, the orb of light, upon the point of set­ting, grows considerably broader. The sha­dows of objects, just before they become blended in undistinguishable darkness, are exceedingly lengthened.—Like blessings, little prized, while possessed; but highly e­st [...]emed, the very instant they are prepar­ed for their slight; bitterly regretted when once they are gone and to be seen no more.

The radiant globe is, now, half immersed beneath the dusky earth. Or, as the anci­ent poets speak, is shooting into the ocean, and sinks into the western sea. And could I view the sea, at this juncture, it would yield a most amusing and curious spectable The rays, striking horizontally on the li­quid element, give it the appearance of floating glass; or reflected in many a differ­ent direction, from a beautiful multiplicity of colours.—A stranger, as he walks along the sandy beach, and, lost in pensive atten­tion, listens to the murmurings of the rest­less flood, is agreeably alarmed by the gay [Page 175]decorations of the surface. With entertain­ment, and with wonder, he sees the curling waves here glistering with white, there glow­ing with purple; in one place, wearing an auzure tincture, in another, glancing a cast of undulating green; in the whole, exhibit­ing a piece of fluid scenery, that may vie with yonder pencil tapistries, though wrought in the loom, and tinged with the dyes of heaven.

THE APPEARANCE OF NATURE AFTER SUN­SET.

THE great luminary is sunk beneath the horizon, and totally disappears. The whole sace of the ground is overspread with shades, or with, what one of the finest painters of nature calls, a dun obscurity. On­ly a few very superior eminences are tipt with streaming silver. The tops of groves, and lofty towers, catch the last smiles of day, are still irradiated by the departing beams. But O! how transient is the distinction! how momentary the gift! like all the bles­sings, which mortals enjoy below, it is gone, almost as soon as gra [...]ed. See! how lan­guishingly it trembles on the leafy spire; [Page 176]and glimmers, with a dying faintness, on the mountain's brow. The little vivacity that remains, decays every moment. It can no longer hold its station. While I speak, it expires; and resigns the world to the gra­dual approaches of night.

Every object, a little while ago, glared with light; but now, all appears under a more qualified lustre. The animals har­monize with the insensible creation; and what was gay in those, as well as glittering in this, gives place to an universal gravity. In the meadows, all was jo [...] und and sportive; but now the gamesome lambs are grown weary of their frolicks, and the tired shep­herd has imposed silence on his pipe. In the branches, all was sprightliness and song; but now the lively green is wrapt in the de­scending glooms, and no tuneful airs are heard, only the plaintive stock-dove, cooing mournfully through the grove.

INTERESTING REFLECTIONS ON THE CLOSE OF DAY.

SHOULD I now be vain and trifling, the heavens and the earth would rebuke my [Page 177]unseasonable levity. Therefore, be these moments devoted to thoughts, sedate, as the closing day, solemn, as the face of things. And, indeed, however my social hours are enlivened wi [...]n innocent pleasantry; let eve­ry evening, in her sable habit, toll the bell to serious cons [...]ietation. Nothing can be more proper for a person who walks on the borders of eternity, and is hasting continual­ly to his final audit; nothing more proper than daily to slip away from the circle of a­musements, and frequently to relinquish the the hurry of business, in order to consider and adjust "the things that belong to his peace."

THE COOLNESS OF EVENING TWILIGHT, AND ITS BENEFITS.

AFTER all the ardors of the sultry day, how reviving is this coolness!—This gives new verdure to the fading plants; new vivacity to the withering flowers; and a more exquisite fragrance to their mingled scents.—By this, the air also receives a new force, and is qualified to exert itself with greate activity.—This I might call the grand alembec of nature, which dislils her [Page 178]most sovereign cordial, the refreshing dews. Incessent heat would rob us of their benefi­cial agency, and oblige them to evaporate in imperceptible exhalations. Turbulent winds, or even the gentler motions of Au­rora's fan, would dissipate the rising vapours, and not suffer them to form a coalition.— But, favoured by the stillness, and condens­ed by the coolness of the night, they unite in pearly drops, create that finely tempered humidity, which cheers the vegetable world, as sleep exhilirates the animal.

THE ADVANTAGES OF SOLITUDE.

THE world is a troubled ocean; and who can erect stable purposes, on its fluctuating waves? The world is a school of wrong, and who does not feel himself warp­ing to its penicious influences? on this sea of glass, how insensibly we slide from our own stedfastness! some sacred truth, which was struck in lively characters on our souls, is obscured; if not obliterated. Some wor­thy resolution, which heaven had wrought in our breasts, is shaken if not overthrown. Some inticing vanity; which we had solemn­ly renounced, again practises its wiles, a| [Page 179]gain captivates our affections. How often has an unwary glance kindled a fever of ir­regular desire in our hearts? how often has a word of applause dropt luscious poison in­to our ears; or some disrespectful expression raised a gust of passion into our bosoms? our innocence is of so tender a constitution, that it suffers in the promiscuous c [...]oud. Our pu­rity is of so delicate a complexion, that it scarce touches on the world, without con­tracting a stain. We see, we hear, with pe­ril.

But here safety dwells. Every medling and intrusive avocation is secluded. Si­lence holds the door against the strife of tongues, and all the impertinences of idle conversation. The busy swarm of vain i­mages, and cajoling temptations which be­set us, with a buzzing importunity, amidst the gaities of life, are chased by these thick­ening shades.—Here I may, without disturb­ance, commune with my own heart, and learn the best of sciences, to know myself. Here the soul may rally her dissipated pow­ers, and grace recover its native energy.— This is the opporcunity to rectify every e­vil impression, to expel the poison, and guard against the contagion of corrupting examples. This is the place where I may, with advantage, apply mysels to subdue the rebel within, and be master, not of a sceptre, [Page 180]but of myself.—Throng then, ye ambitious, the levees of the powerful; I will be punc­tual in my assignations with solitude. To a mind intent upon its own improvement, solitude has charms in comparably more en­gaging than the entertainments presented in the theatre, or the honours conferred in the drawing room.

THE BENEFITS OF AFFLICTION.

WHEN sickness has drawn a veil o­ver the gaity of our hearts, when misfortunes have eclipsed the splendor of our outward circumstances, how many important convictions present themselves with the brightest evidence! Under the sunshine of prosperity, they lay undiscover­ed; but, when some intervening cloud has darkened the scene, they emerge from their obscurity, and even glitter upon our minds. Then the world, that delusive cheat, confes­ses her emptiness: but Jesus, the bright and morning star, beams sorth with inimi­table lustre. Then, vice loses all her falla­cious allurements; that painted strumpet is horrible as the hags of hell; but virtue, de­spised virtue, gains loveliness from a louring [Page 181]providence, and treads the shades with more than mortal charms. May this reconcile me, and all the sons of sorrow, to our ap­pointed share of suffering; if tribulation tend to dissipate the inward darkness, and pour heavenly dew upon our minds; wel­come distress, welcome disappointment, wel­come whatever our froward flesh or peevish passions, would miscall calamities. These light afflictions which are but for a moment, shall fit easy upon our spirits, since they be­friend our knowledge, promote our faith— and so, " work out for us a far more exceed­ing and eternal weight of glory."

DARKNESS AND LIGHT CONTRASTED.

HOW has this darkness snatched every splendid and graceful object from my sight! It has dashed the sponge over the pic­tures of spring, and destroyed all the deli­cate distinctions of things. Where are now the fine tinges, which so lately charmed me from the glowing parterre? The blush is struck out from the cheeks of the rose; and the snowy hue is dropt from the lily. I cast my eyes towards a magnificent seat; but the aspiring columns, and fair expanded front, are mingled in rude confusion. Without [Page 182]the sun, all the elegance of the blooming world, is a mere blank; all the syme [...]ry of architecture, is a soapeless heap.

THE WORKINGS OF FANCY IN SLEEP.

FANCY, extravagant fancy, leads the mind through a maze of vanity. The head is crowded with false images, and tan­talized with the most ridiculous misappre­hensions of things. Some are expatiating amidst fairy fields, and gathering garlands of visionary bliss, while their bodies are stretch­ed on a wisp of straw, and sheltered by the cobwebs of a barn. Others, quite insensi­ble of their rooms of state, are mourning in a doleful dungeon, or struggling with the raging billows. Perhaps with hasly steps, they climb the craggy cliff, and, with real anxiety, sly from the imaginary danger—or else, benumbed with sudden fear, and find­ing themselves unable to escape, they give up at once their hopes, and their efforts; and though, reclined on a couch of ivery, are sinking, all helpless and distressed, in the fu­rious whirlpool.

AN A [...]DRE [...]S TO THE VOTARIES OF MIRTH.

O THAT the votaries of mirth, whose life is a continued round of merriment and whim, would bestow one se­rious reflection on the variety of human woes! It might teach them to be less ena­moured with the few languid sweets that are thinly scattered through this vale of tears, and environed with such a multitude of ragged thorns. It might teach them no longer to dance away their years with a gid­dy rambling impulse, but to aspire with a determined [...]im, after those happy regions, where delights, abundant and unembittered, slow.

THE FOLLY OF THE ADVOCATES FOR VICE AND SENSUALITY.

SOME are prostituting their reputation, and sacrificing, their peace, to the gratification of their lusts; sapping the foun­dation on their health, in debaucheries; or shipwrecking the interests of their families in their bowls. And, what is worse, are for­feiting the joys of an eternal heavon, for the [Page 184] sordid satisfactions of the beast; for the tran­sitory sensations of an hour. Ye slaves of appetite, how far am I from envying your gross sensualities, and voluptuous revels! little, ah! little are you sensible, that, while indulgence showers her roses, and luxury diffuses her odours, they scatter poisons al­so, and shed unheeded bane. Evils, incom­parably more malignant than the wormwood and gall of the sharpest affliction.—Since death is in the drunkard's cup, and worse than poignards in the harlot's embrace.

THE PROPER SPHERE OF REASON.

I AM far from decrying that noble facul­ty of reason, when exerted in her proper sphere; when acting in a deferential subor di­nation to the revealed will of Heaven. While she exercises her powers within these appointed limits, she is unspeakably service­able, and cannot be too industriously culti­vated. But when she sets up herself in proud contradistinction to the sacred oracles; when, all-arrogant and self-sufficient, she says to the word of scripture I have no need of thee: she is then, I must be bold to main­tain, [Page 185]not only a glow-worm, but an ignis fa­tuus, not only a bubble, but a snare.

THE TENDENCY OF NOVELS, ROMANCES AND THEATRICAL AMUSEMENTS.

THE generality of our modern roman­ces, novels and theatrical entertain­ments, are commonly calculated to inflame a wanton fancy. Or, if conducted with so much modesty, as not to debauch the af­fections; they pervert the judgment, and bewilder the taste. By their incredible ad­ventures, their extravagant parade of gal­lantry, and their characters, widely different from truth and nature, they inspire foolish conceits, beget idle expectations, introduce a disgust of genuine history, and indispose their admirers to acquiesce in the decent civi­lities, or to relish the sober satisfactions of common life.

A VIEW OF RURAL NATURE BY MOON­LIGHT.

NOW the moon is risen, and has collect­ed all her beams, the veil is taken off from the countenance of nature. I see the recumbent flocks; I see the green hedge­rows, though without the feathered choris­ters, hopping from spray to spray. In short, I see once again the world's great picture; not indeed in its late lively colours, but more delicately shaded, and arrayed in softer charms.

What a majestic scene is here! the moon, like an immense crystal lamp, pendent in the magniflcent ceiling of the heavens.— The stars, like so many thousands of golden tapers, fixed in their azure sockets. All pouring their lustre on spacious cities, and lofty mountains, glittering on the ocean, gleaming on the forest, and opening a pros­pect, wide as the eye can glance, m [...]re vari­ous than fancy can paint.

THE BENEFITS OF MOONLIGHT.

WELCOME, thrice welcome, this auspicious gift of Providence, to enliven the nocturnal gloom, and line with silver the raven-coloured mantle of night! How desirable to have our summer evenings illuminated! that we may be able to tread the dewy meads, and breathe the delicious fragrance of our gardens; especially when the sultry heats render it irksome and fati­guing, to walk a broad by day.—How cheer­ing to the shepherd, the use of this univer­sal lantern; as he tends his fleecy charge, or late consigns them to their hurdled cots! How comfortable and how advantageous to the mariner, as he ploughs the midnight main, to adjust the tackling, to explore his way, and, under the influence of this beam­ing sconce, to avoid the fatal rock! This ce­lestial attendant is most exactly punctual, at all the stated periods of her ministration. If we choose to prolong our journey, after the sun is gone down, the moon, during her whole increase, is always ready to act in the capa­city of a guide. If we are inclined to set out very early in the morning; the moon in her decrease prevents the dawn, on pur­pose to offer her assistance. And because it is so pleasant a thing, for the eyes to behold the light, the moon at her full, by a course [Page 188]of unintermitted waiting, gives us, as [...]c were, a double day.

A WALK BY MOONLIGHT, WITH THE EF­FECTS OF NOCTURNAL DARKNESS ON RURAL SCENES.

I EXCHANGE the n [...] retreats of art for the noble theatre o [...] [...]ture. Instead of measuring my steps, under the covert of an arbour, let me range along the summit of this gently rising hill. There is no need of the leafy shade, since the sun has quitted the horizon, and withdrawn his scorching beams. But see how advantages and incon­veniencies are usually linked, and chequer our affairs below! if the annoying heat cea­ses, the landscape, and its pleasing scenes, are also removed. The majestic castle, and the lowly cottage, are vanished together. I have lost the aspiring mountain, and its russet brow; I look round, but to no pur­pose, for the humble vale and its flowery lap. The plains, whitened with flocks, and the heath yellow with furze, disappear. The advancing night has wrapt in darkness the long extended forest, and drawn her man­tle over the winding of the silver stream.

A VIEW OF THE STARRY HEAVENS.

HERE I enjoy a free view of the whole hemisphere, without any obstacle from below to confine the exploring eye, or any cloud from above, to overcast the spacious concave. 'Tis true; the lively vermilion, which so lately streaked the chambers of the west, is all faded. But the planets, one after another, light up their lamps; the stars advance in their glittering train; a thousand and a thousand luminaries launch forth in successive splendors; and the whole firmament is kindling into the most beautiful glow. The blueness of the aether, heightened by the season of the year, and still more enlivened by the absence of the moon, gives those gems of heaven the strongest lustre.

A DESCRIPTION OF A FROSTY NIGHT AND MORNING.

THE sober evening advances to close the short-lived day. The firmament, clear and unsullied puts on on its brightest blue. The stars, in thronging multitudes, and with a peculiar brilliancy, glitter through [Page 190]the fair expanse. While the frost pours its subtle and penetrating influence all around. Sharp and intensely severe, all the long night the rigid aether continues its operations. When, late and slow, the morning opens her pale eye, in what a curious and amusing disguise is nature dressed! the icicles, jag­ged and uneven, are pendent on the houses. A whitish film incrusts the windows, where mimic landscapes rise, and fancied figures swell. The fruitful fields, are hardened to iron; the moistened meadows are congealed to marble; and both resound (an effect un­known before) with the peasant's hasty tread. The stream is arrested in its career, and its overflowing sursace chained to the banks. The fluid paths become a solid road, where the finny shoals were wort to rove, the sportive youth slide, or the rattling chariots roll.

THE EFFECTS OF FROST ON NATURE, WITH MORAL REFLECTIONS.

THE air is all serenity. Refined by the nitrous particles, it affords the most distinct views and extensive prospects. The seeds of infection are killed, and the pesti­lence destroyed even in embryo. So the cold of affliction tends to mortify our cor­ruptions, and subdue our vicious habits.— The crouding atmosphere, constringe our bodies, and braces our nerves. The sp [...] are buoyant, and sally briskly on the exe­cution of their office. Now, none loiters 0 in his path; none is seen with folded arms. All is in motion; all is activity. Choice, prompted by the weather, supplies the spur of necessity. Thus, the rugged school of misfortune often trains up the mind to a vigorous exertion of its faculties. The bleak climate of adversity often inspirits us with a manly resolution. When a soft and downy a [...]luence, perhaps, would have relax­ed all the gen ral spring of the soul, and have left it [...]rvated with pleasure, or dissolved in indolence.

FROSTY WINDS, AND THEIR BANEFUL IN­FLUENCES.

COLD cometh out of the north. The winds having swept those desarts of snow, arm themselves with millions of fro­zen particles, and make a fierce descent upon our isle. Under black and scowling clouds, they drive dreadfully whizzing through the darkened air. They growl are [...]our houses; assault our doors, and, [...] for entrance, fasten on our windows. Walls can scarce restrain them, bars are una­ble to exclude them; through every cranny they force their way. Ice is on their wings; they scatter agues through the land; and winter, all winter, rages as they go. Their breath is as a searing iron to the little verdure, left in the plains. Vast­ly more pernicious to the tender plants than the sharpest knife; they kill their branches, and wound the very root.

A SHOWER OF HAIL DESCRIBED.

IF the snow composes the light-armed troops of the sky, methinks the hail con­stitutes [Page 193]stitutes its heavy artillery. When driven by a vehement wind, with what dreadful impetuosity does that stony shower fall! how it rebounds from that frozen ground, and rattles on the resounding dome! It at­tenuates the rivers into smoke, or scourges them into foam. It crushes the infant flow­ers; cuts in pieces the gardiner's early plants, and batters the feeble fortification of his glasses into shivers. It darts into the traveller's face: he turns, with haste, from the stroke; or feels on his cheek, for the gushing blood. If he would retreat into the house, it follows him even thither; and, like a determined enemy that pushes the pur­suit, dashes through the crackling panes.

DESCRIPTION OF A RAINBOW.

BEHOLD a bow of no hostile intention! a bow painted in variegated colours on the disburdened cloud. How vast is the extent, how delicate the texture of that showery arch! it compasseth the heavens with a glorious circle, and teaches us to for­get the horrors of the storm. Elegant its form, and rich its texture; but more delight­fui its sacred significancy. While the vio [Page 194]let and the rose blush in its beautiful aspect, the olive-branch smiles in its gracious im­port. It writes, in radiant dyes, what the angels sung in harmonious strains; "peace on earth good will towards men." It is the stamp of insurance, for the continuance of seedtime and harvest; for the preservation and security of the visible world.

THE ONLY METHOD OF REFORMING SINNERS.

IF ever a reformation is produced, it must, under the influences of the eternal Spirit, be produced by the doctrines of free grace, and juscisicarion through a Redeemer's righ­teousiness. Till these doctrines are gener­ally inculcated, the most eloquent harangnes from the pulpit, or the most correct disser­tations from the press, will be no better than a pointless arrow and a broken bow.

TOO TRUE A PICTURE OF THE PRECENT AGE.

IF indolence, avarice, and venality; if pleasure, luxury, and prodigality; if youth without principles, tradesmen with­out honesty, and nobles without honour; if these are allowed to be, either provoking immoralities, or fatal symptoms, I fear the ruin of England cannot be far off.

CHRIST COMPARED TO RIVERS OF WATER.

IN a dry place, burnt up for want of moi­sture, nothing is so desirable, nothing so refreshing as water. To the poor sinful soul, of whose condition the parched ground is a fit resemblance, Christ shall be, not barely as the morning dew, not barely as the tran­sient shower, but as a river; yea, as rivers of water, that flow in copious and never failing streams through the thirsty soil. Ma­king even the sandy desart, green with her­bage, and gay with flowers.

THE SECURITY OF BELIEVERS IN JESUS.

SHOULD ye be pursued by a conquer­ing foe, determined to cut you in pieces, if you turned into a castle, whose walls were stronger than brass, stronger than adamant, stronger than all the rocks in the world, you might laugh at the attempts of your, enemy. You are free from the power of the sword. So free are you, and abundantly more free from danger, when you fly to the strong hold of Christ's death and atonement.

THE DANGER OF COVETOUSNESS AND PRO­DIGALITY.

IF riches have been your idol, hoarded up in your coffers, or lavished out upon yourselves; they will when the day of reck­oning comes, be like the garment of pitch and brimstone, put upon the criminal condemned to the flames.

THE BENEFITS OF CHRIST'S REDEMPTION.

FEAR not, says the Lord, for I have Re­deemed thee, Isaiah, xliii, 1. Redemp­tion by Christ is a preservative from all ter­ror, and an antidote against every evil. When this blood is sprinkled, sin is done a­way; and God is appeased; his promises are your portion, and his arm is your defence.

THE NECESSITY OF PRAYER, AND THE PRAC­TICE OF IT URGED ON ALL.

ALAS! how many of those, whom we call Christians, are strangers to prayer! how many servants rise to their work, and ne­verbend a knee before their master in heaven! how many masters set their servants an un­godly example! enter upon the affairs of the day, without imploring the God of all grace either to prosper their business, or to sanc­tify their souls! how many parents know not what it is, to make earnest supplications for the conversion and salvation of their children, how many children are as ignorant of the nature, the necessity, the advantages of prayer, "as the wild ass's colt." Job, xi, 12.

A TIMELY WARNING TO THOUGHTLESS SINNERS.

IF this building was rocking over your heads and tottering on every side; if the beams were bursting, and the walls cleaving; you would be struck with astonishment. And how is it, that you are under no ap­prehensions, when the indignation of an Al­mighty God is ready to fall upon you, and (worse than ten thousand falling millstones) grind you to powder?

ALL THE PERFECTIONS OF DEITY HARMÒN­IZE IN THE CROSS OF CHRIST.

HERE, Justice has set her most awful terrors in array; even while goodness appears, with inexpressible loveliness, and and the most attractive beauty. Here truth, more unshaken than a rock, takes her im­moveable stand; and mercy, tenderer than the mother's tears, yearns with bowels of e­verlasting pity.—In a word, the cross of Christ is a conspicuous theatre on which all the divine perfections unite and harmonize, and shine forth with transcendent lustre.

THE NATURE AND EFFECT OF FAITH IN JESUS.

THIS is a foundation of the sublimesf hope, and a fountain of the most ex­uberant joy. This affords matter for the deepest humility, and yields fuel for the most flaming love. Faith in our crucitied Jesus, is an ever-active principle of the most cheer­ful and exact obedience: is an ample and in­exhaustible magazine, from which we may fetch arms to conquer; absolutely conquer, the allurements of the world, the solicitati­ons of the flesh, and the temptations of the devil.

THE HAPPY INFLUENCES OF THE LOVE OF GOD.

ASENSE of his immensely rich good­ness shall win your affections; shall in­cline (what all the threatenings of damnation could never effect,) shall incline you to loath your sins, and to love his service; shall smooth your path, and expedite your pro­gress to the regions of immortal honour and joy.

JESUS CHRIST WORTHY OF OUR HIGHEST REGARD.

WHO is more worthy of our choi­cest thoughts, affections, and honors, than that divinely compassionate Saviour, who offered himself, in the very prime of his life, a bleeding victim for our sins, that his sacrifice might have every recommending circumstance which could render it accepta­ble to God and available for man?

THE HAPPINESS AND EMPLOYMENT OF THE SAINTS ABOVE.

THOSE happy beings, who stand a­round the throne, cloathed with white robes, serve their God day and night, for e­ver, in his temple. In the regions of im­mortality they find a heaven, because there they have a never-ceasing and eternal com­munion with God; because there they have an uninterrupted and everlasting Sabbarh.

THE CONTENTS OF THE BIBLE HELD OUT AND RECOMMENDED.

IMIGHT recount the glorious privile­ges, exhibited in this blessed book; the inestimable promises, made to the righteous; the tenderly compassionate invitations, ad­dressed to sinners; the refined and exalted displays of morality; with many other no­ble particulars—which is the prerogative of scripture to contain—the wisdom of man­kind to believe—and the only felicity of our nature to be interested in, and infiuenced by them.

GOD'S METHOD OF DEALING WITH MAN.

GOD, to shew his utter detestation of all iniqity; to manifest his singular de­light in all virtue; frequently takes occasi­on to denounce vengaance, or promise hap­piness, when some notorious evil is com­mitted, or some laudable good performed.

THE BENEFITS OF ADVERSITY.

WE are taught in scripture, that the Almighty chastens whom he loves; and scourges the men whom he receiveth to himself. Adversity is a school, in which both private persons and public societies have learned the most heroic virtues.

NATURE AND DIVINE REVELATION SOME­WHAT ALIKE.

THE pages of scripture, like the pro­ductions of nature, will not only en­dure the test, but improve upon the trial. The application of the miscroscope to the one, and a repeated meditation on the other, are sure to display new beautics, and present us with higher attractives.

THE LOVE OF GOD THE END OF ALL RE­LIGION.

THE love of God, that supremely glor­ious, and supremely gracious Being, is of all other tempers, the most delightful and divine. A sacred flower, which its ear­ly bud is happiness, and in its full bloom is heaven. To plant this noble principle in the breast, to cultivate its growth, and bring it to maturity, is the grand end of all reli gion, and the genuine fruit of faith unfeign­ed.

THE WORKS OF REDEMPTION TOO GREAT FOR ANGELS.

THE angels were absolutely incapable of executing so great a work. It re­quired a far abler agent to negociate our reconciliation. It must cost incomparably more, to redeem guilty souls. Therefore the God of our salvation "laid the help upon one that is mighty." He appointed, to the most momentuous of all offices, the most illustrious of all beings,

THE WORK OF GOSPEL MINISTERS.

AS you are all, by nature, in bondage to sin, our business is, to take you by the hand, and lead you out of this ignomini­ous slavery, into the glorious liberty of the sons of God; while the spirit of the most High breaks off your shackles, and makes you free indeed.—What manna can be more refreshing than such a message? what balm more healing than such a ser­vice?

GOOD WORKS ABSOLUTELY INSUFFICIENT TO SAVE MANKIND.

GOD has not reconciled the world to him­self by their own pious practices, but by his son Jesus Christ.—Can your charita­ble deeds expiate your innumerable offences? As soon may a single drop of pure water correct and sweeten the unfathomable brin [...] of the ocean. Can your defective per­formances satisfy the demands of a perfect law, or your wandering devotions screen you from the displeasure of an injured God? As well may your uplifted-hand eclipse the sun, or intercept the lightning when it darts through the bursting cloud.

ON THE Religious Education OF DAUGHTERS.

IT has long been a prevailing report, that, among persons of education and distinction, true religon is very rare. This, I would hope, is an invidious rumour, rather than a true representation of the case. May it not be an attifice of the grand enemy? calculated to bring the best and noblest of causes into disrepute: as though politeness and piety were inconsistent: as though grace and good-breeding were irreconcileable.— Is then the faith of Christ quite fatal to refin­ed [Page 206]manners? as the rod of Moses was to the counterfeit miracles of d [...]gicians. No; it is rather like the influence of the sanctuary on the rod of Aaron: which, while it remained at a distance from the tabernacle, was a dry, sapless and barren stick; but, when deposited before the ark, was quick­ened into vegetable light, was adorned with a milk-white bloom, and enriched with full grown fruit; or as the sacred historian expresses this surprising fact, "It brought forth buds, and bloomed blossoms, and yielded almonds." Numb. xxii. 6.

I find, upon the list of saints, the most re­nowned kings, and victorious generals, the a­blest politicians, and the greatest philosophers men that have bid the sun stand still, and prolong the parting day; have laid an em­bargo upon darkness; and protracted the shades of night; have commanded the ground to cleave asunder, and transmit their presumptuous foes to a strange and inevita­ble des [...]ction; have divided the impetuous waves, and led their followers to safety and to conquest thought the depths of the sea. Men who have walked in the burning fiery surnace, as under the shelter of an embow­ering arbour; and sat in the lions den, amidst a herd of hungry monsters, with as much serenity, and as much security, as amidst a circle of besom-friends.

[Page 207] I myself have known various persons, ad­mired for their accomplished behaviour, and revered for their exalted station, who have thought it their highest honour to be servants of Jesus Christ. My excellent friend Camillus, at whose house I now re­side, is one of the number. I cannot refrain from giving a portrait of Camillus; or rather of a few of his most distinguishing features: for, to paint him in full proportion, as he daily appears, in all the mild, the benign majesty of domestic authority, parental go­vernment, and Christian zeal—To do this, would require a much abler hand than mine.

Camillus, not long ago, entertained in his house a young clergyman, who was always treated with a respect suitable to the dignity of his office, and the piety of his behaviour. I having larely presented the worthy ecclesi­astic to a living, and always requiring re­sidence on the benefice, he is now destitute of a chaplain. Remembering, however, that all Christians are spiritual priests; he thinks it no dishonour to have an imme­diate and personal audience with the King of Heaven; not acting at all out of character to repesent the wants of his houshold, with his own mouth, at the throne of grace.

Before supper is introduced, the evening [Page 208]incense ascends. This rather than a later hour, is pitched upon, that the little congre­gation may join in the sacred service, with a lively devotion. After a plentiful meal, when the limbs are weary, people, even though kneeling, and in the presence of God, are more inclined to nod, than to pour out their souls; are very apt to mistake the cu­shion for a pillow.—No servant is allowed to be absent, one only excepted, whose presence in the kitchen is absolutely necessary. Ac­quainted with their master's resolution, they are careful, so to manage their affairs, and dispatch their business, that no unavoidable obstacle may intervene to detain them from the stated worship.

When all are assembled, without either tumultuous disorder in their approach, or a slovenly negligence in their apparel, a chap­ter is read. Camillus makes the choice.— He imagines it not so useful for his family, whose momories are weak, and their capaci­ties scanty, to read the lesson for the day.— He has, therefore, selected some of the most instructive and animating portions of scrip­ture; and judges it adviseable to peruse these again and again, rather than to go regularly through the whole inspired writings.—The servants take it by turns to read, which im­proves them in the practice, and keeps them awake. If any of them discovers a disposi| [Page 209]of sleep, to him the office is sure to be assigned.

When the chapter is finished, Camillus singles out some one verse, of very weighty and edifying import, which, for the space of five or six minutes, he explains, applies, and affectionately urges upon their consciences. This done, with great seriousness and pro­found reverence, he offers up evening pray­ers. His prayers consists of short sentences, and the whole is performed in a little time. Every part is pronounced with that deliber­ate slowness and solemn accent, which com­mand attention and create awe. He makes a very perceivable pause at the close of each petition that every one may have leisure to add, in silence, a hearty amen; and to recol­lect the merits of that blessed Redeemer, which render every thanksgiving acceptable, and every supplication successful.

In the morning, before breakfast, the wor­ship of the living God is renewed. At this juncture Camillus omits the chapter, but re­quires one of his domestics to repeat the verse on which he enlarged the proceeding night. None knows which shall be called to this task, therefore every one is obilged to be properly prepared. He throws the sub­stance of his exhortation into a few scaren­ing and interesting questions, which he ad­dresses [Page 210]to one of his children or servants— for, in this prespect, no difference is made.— All are equally enjoined to remember. Some times he encourages those whose answers shew that they have given diligent heed to his instructions. Sometimes he puts on an air of severity, mixed with tenderness, and re­proves the notoricusly negligent. Always he re-inculcates the principal points, charg­ing them to retain the doctrines in their me­mory, and revolve them in their thoughts, while they are pursuing their respective busi­ness —These doctrines are the seed of faith, the root of godliness. Unless these be lod­ged in the mind, and operate on the heart, he never expects to have his domestics com­mence true believers, or real Christians. No more than the husbandman can reasonably expect a crop in harvest without sowing his field, or the florist promise himself a blow of tulips, without planting his parterre.

I have given a glimpse of Camillus at the head of his family; let me now shew my fa­vourite in another attitude.—Camillus is convinced that no trust is of superior or of equal importance to the tuitionary cultivati­on of an immortal soul. As providence has blessed him with two fine daughters, their present and future happiness is the reigning object of his care. He has no interest so much at heart as to give them a truly refined education, such as may render them an orna­ment [Page 211]and a blessiing to society, while they pass the time of thier sojourning here be­low, and may train them up for a state of e­verlasting bliss, when the world and its tran­sitory scenes shall be no more.

Camillus never could persuade himself to admire the maxims of prudence said to be gathered from the extravagant rant of our tragedies; and less is his esteem for those modest dispositions, which people pretend to imbibe from the lucious gallantries of comedy; for which reason he has no impati­ent desire to secure for Miss Metissa and Miss Serena a place in the front box.—Howe­ver, as we are apt immoderately to covet what is absolutely forbidden, he has himself attended them, once or twice, to the thea­trical entertainments and public diversions; thinking it much the safest method, that their curiosity should be gratified under his own inspection and hoping to make them sensible how much they endanger their vir­tue, who too often frequent them; how shamefully they debase their affections, who are passionately fond of them; and what mere phantoms they follow, who seek for satisfaction in such delusory delights.

They learn to dance, in order to require a genteel air, and a graceful demeanor; not to shine at a ball, or win the worthless ad­miration [Page 212]of fops.—He is content to have them unacquainted with the wild and roman­tic fables of heathen poetry. Nor is under any painful apprehensions of damping the sprightliness of their temper, though they have no taste for the chimerical adven­tures of our romances, and are strangers to the loose intrigues of our novels; being fully persuaded, that there is as much sound sense as smartness of thought in that cele­brated saying,

He has introduced them to the knowledge of history, and its instructive facts. They have atolerable idea of the four universal mo­narchies, so eminent for their great evenst, and so circumstantially foretold in scripture. They have been led through the most re­markable transactions of our own country, and are pretty well acquainted with the pre­sent state of Europe. They have all along been taught to observe the wonderful revo­lutions of empires, and the adorable pro­cedure of Providence; that they may discern how the fashion of this world passeth away; and and how happy are the people, how happy are the persons who have the LORD for their GOD. They have been taught to observe the hon­ourable success that has usually attended the [Page 213]practice of integrity, guided by prudence; to­gether with the scandal and ruin which have always pursued folly in her senseless ram­bles, and dogged vice to her horrid haunts. That they may see the rocks on which some have split, and avoid the destructive tract; see the road which has conducted others to the haven of happiness, and steer the same auspicious course.

They have been initiated in geography, and understand the several divisions of the globe; the extent of its principal kingdoms, and the manners of their various inhabitants. They will tell you the peculiar commodi­ties which each climate produces; whence comes the tea that furnishes their breakfast, and whence the sugar that renders it pala­table: what mountains supply them with wines, and what islands send them their spices; in what groves the silk-worms spin the materials for their cloaths, and what mines supply them with the dimonds that sparkle in their earrings.—A screen covered with a set of coloured maps, and a custom of referring from the public papers to those beautiful draughts, has rendered the acqui­sition of this knowledge a diversion rather than a task, has enticed them into a valuable branch of science, under the inviting disguise of amusement. This serves to enlarge their apprehension of things, gives them magnifi­cent [Page 214]cent thoughts of the great Greater, and may help to suppress that silly self-admi [...]ation, which p [...]ompts so many pretty idols to fan­cy themselves the only considerable crea­tures under heaven.

They spell to perfection, and have ob­tained this art by a sort of play, rather than by laborious application. Whenever they asked any little gratification, it has been their papa's custom to make them spell the word, which if they performed aright, they seldom sailed to succeed in their request.— They are mistresses of the needle; and the youngest, whose genius inclines that way, is expert in using the pencil. Music is their recreation, not their business. The eldest to a skilful finger, adds a melodious and well regulated voice. She often entertains me with singing an anthem to her harpsichord. Entertains did I say?—she really edisies me. These truly excellent performances exalt the desires, and compose the affections; they in­spire 02 such a serenity of delight, as leaves nei­ther a sting on the conscience, nor a stain on the imagination. Methinks they bring us a little antepast of heaven, and tune cursouls for its harmonious joys.

Thoroughly versed in the most practical parts of arithmetic, they have each her week, wherein to be intrusted with the manage­ment [Page 215]of a sum of money. This they dis­burse, as cir [...]n n [...]tances require, for the smaller necessaries of the family. Of this they keep an exact account, and make a re­gular entry of each particular in their day­book.— Not long ago a tenant of inferior rank came to Camillus with his rent: instead of receiving it himself, he referred him to Miss Serena. You would have been delight­ed to observe the behaviour of our little land­lady on this occasion; the engaging conde­scension with which she addressed the honest rustic; the tender good-nature with which she enquired after his dame and the family at home; the ready dexterity with which she wrote and subscribed a proper receipt; and, above all, her amiable generosity in return­ing half a crown to buy a copy-book for his eldest son, who he said, "was just going in­to joining hand, but the feared would never come to spell or write half so well as her la­dyship."

Though Camillus is careful to ground them betimes in the rules of oeconomy, he is equally careful to cultivate a spirit of discreet beneficence. A few days ago, when my friend and his lady were abroad, Miss Metissa was informed of a poor woman in the parish, just brought to bed, after a long and hard labour; who, being unhappily married to a sot of a fellow, was, at a time when the choicest com­forts [Page 216]were scarcely sufficient, destitute of the meanest conveniences. Upon hearing the calamitous case, she immediately dis­patched a servant with a crown from her weekly stock; part to buy for the afflicted creature some present accomodations, and part to defray the expences at such a juncture unavoidable; but gave a strict charge, that the whole should be employed for the re­lief of the distressed mother and her helpless infant, none of it fingered or enjoyed by the worthless drone her husband. When Ca­millus returned, he was so pleased with this seasonable and well judged charity, that, be­sides his commendation and caresses, he far­ther rewarded our considerate and matron like benefactress, by making her a present of Clarissa; for he always contrives to make what tends to their improvement, the mat­ter of their reward. If they have commit­ted a fault, they are forbid the priveledge of using their maps. If they have behaved in a becoming manner, their recompence is, not a peice of money, or a paper of sweet­meats, but some new instruction on the globe, some new lesson on the harpsichord, which may at once delight and improve them.

To prevent a haughty carriage, and to worm out all inordinate self-love, he teaches them to consider their neighbours as mem­bers of the same universal family, and chil­dren [Page 217]of the same Almighty Father. How­ever poor in their circumstances, or mean in their aspect, they are the objects of God's in­finiciely tender regards.—Of that God, who has given his own Son to suffer death for their pardon, and has prepared a heaven of endless bliss for their final reception; for which reason they should despise none, but honour all; should be as ready to do them good, as the hand is ready to sooth the eye when if smarts, or ease the head when it aches. One afternoon, when he was going to treat them with an orange, he bid each of them bring a fine toy, lately received for a present. It was made in the shape of a knife, the han­dle of ivory and inlaid with the gayest co­lours; the blade of glass most dazzlingly bright, but without an edge. "Cut the orange in two," said their papa. When they both tri­ed with their pretty knives, and, to their no small mortification, both failed. He fur­nished them with another of more ordinary appearance, but tolerably sharp. With this they easily pierced the rhind, and came at the delicious juice. "Who now," said Ca­millus, "would not prefer one such servicea­ble, though plainutensil, toa hundred of those glittering but worthless trifles? and you, my dear children, if you have no other recom­mendations than a shewy person, and the trappings of dress, you will be as contempti­ble in your generation as that insignificant [Page 218]bauble. But, if it is the desire of your hearts and the endeavour of your lives, to be exten­sively useful, you will gain, and what is bet­ter, you will deserve respect; your names will be precious, and your memories blessed.

With equal watchfulness he discounte­nances all those acts of petulant barbarity, which children are so apt to exercise on the reptile creation. He will allow no court of inquisition to be erected within his house; no, not upon the most despicable, or even the noxious animals. The very nuisances that are endued with life, he thinks should be dispatched, not with a lingering butchery but with a merciful expedition. To rend in pieces a poor fly, and feast their eyes with the mangled limbs, shivering and con­vulsed in the pangs of death; to impale a wretched infect on the needle or bodkin; and, what is still more shocking, to take pleasure in hearing its passionate moan, and seeing its agonizing struggles: such practices he absolutely forbids, as insufferable viola­tions of nature's law. Such as tend to ex­tinguish the soft emotions of pity, and inure the mind to a habit of inhumanity.—He often informs his lovely pupils, that every living creature is sensible of pain; that none can be abused in this cruel manner, without suffering very exquisite mitery. To turn their torments into pastime, and make sport [Page 219]with their anguish, is a rigour more than tyrannical, worse than brutal; is the very reverse of that benign Providence, whose tender mercies are over ALL his works.

He proposes to give them a taste of na­tural philosophy, and to accomodate them with the best microscopes; that the use of these instruments, and a spice of that know­ledge, may inspire them with an early ad­miration of nature's works, and with the deepest veneration of nature's almighty Author. Camillus has no design to fin­ish a couple of semale philosophers, or to divert their attention from those domestic arts, which are the truest accomplishments of the sex; yet neither would he have his daughters debarred from that rational and exalted delight, which is to be found in con­templating the curiosities of the great Crea­tor's cabinet. Why may they not, with­out departing from their own, or encroach­ing on the masculine character, why may they not be acquainted with the accurately nice structure of an animal; or with the process and effects of vegetation? why may they not learn the admirable operations of the air, or the wonderfnl properties of the water? have some general notion of the im­mense magnitudes, the prodigious distances, and the still more amazing revolutions of the heavenly orbs? he apprehends it very [Page 220]practicable to con [...]luct an entertainment with dignity, and order a family with propri­ety, even while they retain some tolerable idea of these magnisicent laws which regulate the system of the universe.

The microscope, whenever they are in­clined to amuse themselves, will shew them a prosusion of splendid ornaments, in some of the most common and contemptible ob­jects. It will shew them gold and embroi­dery, diamonds and pearl, azure, green, and vermilion, where unassisted eyes behold nothing, but provocatives of their abhor­rence. This instrument will shew them the brightesh v [...]nish, and the most curious carving, even in the minutest scraps of ex­istence. Far more surprising than the ma­g [...] fears of the most dexterous ju [...]ler, is will treat their sight, not with delusive, but with re [...] wonders. A huge elephant shall stalk, where a pony mite was wont to crawl. Blood shull bound from the beating heart, and eyes sparkle with a lively [...]us [...]re, limbs shall play the most sp [...]ightly motions, or trand comp [...]sed in the most gracefulattitudes, where nothing ordinarily appeared but a confused speck of animated matter.—A tinc­ture of philosophy will be the cosinetic of nature; will tender all her seenes lovely, and all her apartments a theatre of diversion: di­versions infinitely superior to those dange­rous [Page 221]delights, which are so apt to inveigle the affections, and debauch the minds of young people.—When philosophy lends her optics, an unclouded morning, beauti­ful with the rising sun; a clear night, brilli­ant with innumerable stars; will be a more pleasing spectacle, than the gaudiest illu­minations of the assembly-room. The me­lody of birds, and the murmur of sountains; the humming insect, and the sighing gale, will be a higher gratisication then the finest airs of an opera. A field covered with corn or a meadow besprinkled with daisies; a marsh planted with osiers, or a mountain shaded with oaks, will yield a far more agrecable prospect than the most pompous scenes that decorate the stage. Should clouds overcast the heavens, or winter dis­robe the Rowers; an inquiry into the causes of these grand vicissitudes, will more than compensate the transitory loss. A discove­ry of the divine wisdom and goodness, in these seemingly disastrous changes, will im­part gaiety to the most gloomy sky, and make the most unornamented seasons smile.

It is for want of such truly elegant and sa­tisfactory amusements, that so many ladies of the first distinction, and sinest genius, have no employ for their delicate capacities; but lose their happiness in slights of caprice, or fits of the vapour; lose their time in the most [Page 222]insipid chat, or the most whimsical vaga­ries; while thought is a burthen, and re [...]ec­tion, is a drudgery; solitude [...]ills them with horror and a serious discourse makes them melancholy.

Above all, Camillus is most earnestly desirous to have his tender charge ground­ed in the principles, and actuated with the spirit of Christianity. No scheme, he is thoroughly persuaded, was ever so wise­ly calculated to sweeten their tempers, to exalt their affections, and form them to fe­licity, either in this world, or another. It is therefore his daily endeavour, by the most easy and endearing methods of instruction, to fill their minds with the knowledge of those heavenly doctrines, and win their hearts to the love of that invaluable book in which they are delineated.—He longs to have a sense of God Almighty's goodness impressed on their souls, From this source, under the influences of the s [...]nctisying Spirit, he would derive all the graces and all the duties of godliness. With this view he speaks of the divine Majesty, not only as supereminently great, but as most transcen­dently possessed of every delightful, every charming excellence. He represents all the comforte they enjoy, and every blessing they receive, as the gists of his bountiful hand, and as an earnest of unspea [...]ably rich­er [Page 223]favours [...] THEM, [...] whatever their [...] Father commands, forbids, [...], proceeds from his overflow­ing kindness, and is intended for their e­ternal good, if, by these expedients, he may awaken in their minds an habitual gratitude to their everlasting Benefactor. The ac­tings of which noble principle are not only frui [...]ful in every good work, but productive of the truest satisfaction; somewhat like the fragrant streams of consecrated incense, which, while they honored the great object of devour worship, regaled with their plea­sing perfumes.

Nothing is more displeasing to Camillus than the fond flatteries which their injudici­ous admirers bestow on their shape and com­plexion, the gracefulness of their carriage, and the vivacity of their wit. He would fain make them sensible that these embel­lishments are of the lowest value, and most fading nature;—that, if they render their possessors vain and self-conceited, they are far greater blemishes than a hump on the back, a wen in the neck, or stuttering in the speech.—He would have them tho­roughly convinced, that, notwithstanding all their silks, diamonds, and other marks of their superior circumstances, they are ignor­ant, guilty, impotent creatures; blind to truths of the last importance; deserving the [Page 224]vengcance of etetnal fire, and unable of themselves to think a good thought. That, from such conviction, they may perceive their absolute need of a Saviour: a Saviour in all his offices—as a prophet, to teach them heavenly wisdom—as a priest, to atone for all their many, many sins—as a king, to subdue their iniquities, write his laws in their hearts, and make them, in all their conversation, holy.

In short, the point he chiefly labours, is to work in their hearts a deep, an abiding sense, that God is their supreme, their only good; that the blessed Jesus is the rock of their hopes, and the fountain of their salvati­on: that all their dependence for acquiring the beauties of holiness, and tasting the joys of the sublimest virtue, is to be placed on the Holy Ghost the comforter.—Amidst all these efforts of his own, he never fails to to plead that precious promise of our un­changeable Jehovah; I will pour my spirit upon thy seed, and my blessing upon thy offspring; and they shall grow up in knowledge and grace, as willows by the water-co [...]s.

A lady of brilliant parts, but no very ex­traordinary piety, told Camillus, that he would spoil the pretty dears; would extin­guish that decent pride, and fondness for pleasure, which are shining qualifications in [Page 225]an accomplished young lady, which gave her an clevation of sentiment, and a delica­cy of taste, greatly superior to the ignoble vulgar.—To whom he replied: "Far from extirpating their passions, I only attempt to turn them into a right channel, and di­rect them to the worthiest objects. Willing I am that they should have a decent ambiti­on; an ambition, not to catch the the giddy coxcomb [...]s eye, or be the hackneyed toast of rakes; but to please their parents, to make a husband happy, and to promote the glory of God.—They may entertain a fondness for pleasure; but such pleasure as will enno­ble their souls, afford them substantial satis­faction, and prepare them for the fruition of immortal bliss.—Let them be covetous also, if you please, Madam; but covetous of redeeming their time, and of gaining intel­lectual improvement; covetous of those riches, which no moth can corrupt, nor thief steal, which neither time nor death can de­stroy."

In all these instances of parental sollcitude, his beloved Emilia takes her constant, her willing share. Contributes her [...]dvice in every plan that is concerted, and her hear­ty concurrence in every expedient that is executed; every expedient for polishing the human jewel, and making their manners as saultless as their forms.—May the God of [Page 226]infinite goodness, the sacred source of all perfection prosper their endeavours! that, as the young ladies are adorned in their per­sons, with native beauty, they may be en­riched in their understandings, with refined knowledge, and dignified in their souls with the spirit of the blessed Jesus.—Then, sure­ly, more amiable objects the eye of man can­not behold: more desirable partners the heart of man cannot wish.