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M' MURRAY'S ENGLISH READER; un, PIECES m PROSE AND POETRY, SELECTED FROM THE BEST WRITERS. DESIGNED TO AKSI8T YOUNG PERSONS TO READ WITH PROPRIETY' AND EFFECT; TO IMPROVE THEIR LANGUAGE AND SENTIMENTS; AND TO INCULCATE SOME OF THE MOST IMPORTANT PRINCIPLES OF PIETY AND VIRTI'B. J- ■ 'A PRECEDED BY AN INTRODUCTION TO WALKER'S SYSTEM OF THE INFLECTION^. ILLUBTUATED BY SUITABLE EXAMPLES. Revised, and interepei'sed with many new Pieces, BY THE REV. JOHN DAVIS, A. M. CortMponding Member of the Orammatiral Society of Paris; Editor cftke Improved Editions of Murray' a Orammara, Ooldtmith't England^ Walker's Dictionary^ ^c. Sfc. Slercotgpc Qrbition. SAINT JOHN, N. B.: J. k. A. M'MILLAN, PRINCE WILLIAM STRBET. i-fi Many seleci efit of youn utility, that prove the y the writer r sufficiently The prese of three obj liorate theii the most im The piece emotions, a but contain versified, pi this nature read with pi variety and fully observ another, wi leachine th< constructio] and the voi well, are of reading sue Apply that h more compl different. The langi carefully rf instances, e tracted fror From the 8( may expect portant and trite or evt naturally u and to prod ment and a That this piety and v which placi mend a gre nature, and exhibited it the attentif sions on th The Com •entiment t Sree, offenc e peculiar «At of yout ment in ed PREFACE. Mamy eelectlons of excellent matter have been made for the ben- elit of young persons. Performances of this kind are of so great utility, that fresh productions of them, and new attempts to im- prove the young mind, will scarcely be deemed superfluous, if the writer make his compilntion instructive and interesting, and jiufliciently distinct from others. The present work, as the title expresses, aims at the attainment of three objects: to improve youth in the art of reading; to me- liorate their language and sentiments: and to inculcate some of the most important principles of piety and virtue. The pieces selected, not only give exercise to a great variety of emotions, and the correspondent tones and variations of voice, but contain sentences, and members of sentences, which are di- versified, proportioned, and pointed with accuracy. Exercises of this nature are, it is presumed, well calculated to teach youth tc read with propriety and efl^ect. A selection of sentences, in which variety and proportion, with exact punctuation, have been care- fully observed, in all their parts, as well as with respect to one another, will probably have a much greater efl'ect in properly teaching the art of reading, than Id coniiaonly imagined. In such constructions, every thing is accommodated to the understanding and the voice; and the common difficulties in learning to read well, are obviated. When the learner has acquired a habit of reading such sentences with justness and facility, he will readily apply that habit, and the improvements he has made, to sentencet more complicated and irregular, and of a construction entirely different. The language of the pieces chosen for this collection, ha« been carefully regarded. Purity, propriety, perspicuity, and, in many instances, elegance of diction, distinguiish them. They are ex- tracted from the w^^rks of the most correct and elegant writeri. From the sources whence thn sentiments are drawn, the reader may expect to And them connected and regular, sufficiently im- portant and impressive, and divested of everytt^ing that is either trite or ecce.itric. The frequent perusal of such composition naturally tends to infuse a VisUi for this species of excellence; and to produce a habit of thinking, and of composing, with judg- ment and accuracy. That this collection may also nerve the purpose of promoting piety and virtue, the (Jnmpiler has introduced many extracts, which place religion in the most amiable light, and which recom- mend a great variety of moral duties, by the excellence of their nature, and the happy effects they produce. These subjects are exhibited in a style and manner, which are calculated to arrest the attention of vouth,and to make strong and durable impres- sions on their minds. The Compiler has been careAil to avoid every expression an4 •entiment that might gratify a corrupt mind, or, in the least de- gree, off'end the eye or ear of innocence. This he conceives to be peculiarly incumbent on every person who writes for the ben- efit of youth. It would, indeed,' be a great and happy improve- ment in education, if no writings were allowed to come under 5 f . % IV PREFACE AND ADVERTISEMENT. their notice, but such as are perfectly innocent; and if, on all pioper occasions, they were encouraged to peruse those which tend to inspire a due reverence for virtue, and an abhorrence of vice, as well as to animate them with sentiments of piety and Ifoodness. Such impressions deeply engraven on their minds, and connected with all their attainments, could scarcely fail of attending them through life; and of |)roducing a solidity of princi- ple and character, that would be able to resist the danger arising from future intprcourse with the world. The reader will perceive, ttiiitthe Compiler has been solici'ous to rewOmmotid t<> vouiig per.sons, the perusal of the Sacred Scrip- tures, by inter.spcrsing through his work, some of the most beau- tiful anil interes;,ing passages of those invaluable writings. To excite an early taste and veneration for this great rule of life, is a point of so high importance, as to warrant the attempt to pro- mote it on every proper occasion. To improve the young mind, and to afford some assistance to tutors, in tb? arduous and importani work of education, were the motives which led to this production. If the Author should be so Ruccessful as to accomplish these ends, even m a small degree, he will think that his time and pains have been well employed, and will deem himself amply rewarded. ADVERTISEMENT TO THE IMPROVED EDITION. The Evfflish Reader, as it proceeded from the hands of Lindi^ey Murray, is well calculated to further the important objects which that eminently useful writer had in view in its compilation. The pervading style of .the work is, in the highest degree, pure and perspicuous; and the sentiments contained in it are never unfa- vourable to the acquisition of the besr moral and religious prin*;!- ples. An objection, however, has been made by some intt'lligent persons, that its character is rather sombre and monotonous, bovh as respects the ideas, and the language in which they are clother . This objection the present Editor of the Reader has endeavoured to obviate, by leaving out some of Mu nay's pieces, and introduc- ing others of a more varied kind, selected from the writings of several of the most distinguished authors of the present day. But, while these passages are thought to be somewhat more live- ly, and much more eloquent, than those which have been omitted, it is presumed that they will be found in unison with the spirit and the plan of the original Compiler. By stereotyping the work, and putting the lines a little closer, the Editor has been enabl«;d to insert nearly one hundred pieces more than were contained in any of the York editions. In order to kcpp pace with thi; pr<'senl advanced state of the art of reading, it has also been deemed proper to omit Murray's Introductory Observations, and ijisert in their place a synopsis of Walker's admirable system of the Intlections of the voice. The subject, however, is so fully treated, that no observation or rule has been withheld that might be useful in the attainment of a branch of learning now justly considered so necessary both to good reading and correct recitation. Still farther to illustrate the system, each chapter is commenced with a piece marked with the principal inflections. *V Th» piecfg marked*' have been introduced by the preteni Editor. Bblpast, April, 1832. CONTENTS. INTRODUCTION. Page INFLECTIONS OF THE VOICE 7 Table of the Inflections 8 \ Circumflexes and Monotone 9 KULE8 FOR INFLECTING SENTENCES, OR PARTS OF SENTENCES. Rule I.— Complete and Independent Sense 9 II.— Negative Sentencets, or Members of Sentences 10 III.— Direct Period ib. Exception to the First and Third Rule ib. INTEiTROGATION. IV.— Questions usked by Verbs 11 .Exception.— Long Interrogative Sentence ib. V.—Questions commencing with Pronouns or Adverbs* • ib. VI.— Interrogative Sentences, connected by the Conjunc- tion or ib. VII.— Questions followed by Annwers 12 PARENTHESIS. VIII.— The manner of Pronouncing the Parenthesis 13 Note 1 . — Short Intervening Members 13 -. s. Note 2. — Longer Intervening Mv?mbcrs ib. Exception.— Parenthesis ending with an Emphatical Word ib. SERIES. Explanation of the Series 1.1 Table of the Inflections of the Simple Series 14 Examples of the Simple Series ib. IX.— Commencing Compound Series ib. X. — Concluding Compound Series . -la Note.— Series of Series' ib. HARMONIC INFLECTION. XI.— This Inflection fklls on Words forming the most agreeable Cadence 10 Observations end Examples ib. EXCLAMATION. XII.— Word repeated in form of an Exclamation 17 ACCENT. XIII.— Words the same in part of their Elements 17 EMPHASIS 4 18 Single Empiiasis 10 Double Emphasis ib. Treble Emphasis ib. General Emphasis ib. RHETORICAL PUNCTUATION fO DIRECTIONS FOR REAPING VERSE. llULE I.— How to begin ^ Poem SI II.— Verse the same as Prose, in respect to Accent and Emphasis lb. III.— The Vowel, when cutoif, preserved in Pronunciation ib. IV. — The Cfesura and Demi-CKsura S3 v.— A Pause at the end of Lines ib. VI.— How to form a Cadence S3 VIl.-The Simile lb. VIII.— The Inflection, when no Pause in the Sense at the end of the Verse ib. Note.— Rising Inflection in Verse ai. in Proae ib. IX.— Sublime Descriptions in Poetry S4 2 CONTENTS. PART I. PIECES IN PROSE. Page Chap. I. — Select Sentences and Paragraphs. 35 Chap. II. — Narrative Pieces. Sect. 1. No Rank or Possessions can make the Guilty Mind Happy 35 2. Haman; or, the Misery of Pride 3ft 3. Lady .lane Gr«>y • 37 4. Ortogrul; or, the Vanity of Riches 40 5. The Hill of Science 49 6. The Journey of a Day, a Picture of Human Life 45 7. La Roche 40 Chap. III. — Didactic Pieces. t 1. The Folly of Mispending Time 51 2. The Importance of a Good Education 52 3. On Forgiveness 64 4. Comforts of Religion 55 5. On the Importance of Order in the Distribution of our Time 56 6. Moderation in our Wishes recommended 58 7. The Omniscience and Omnipresence of the Deity, the Source of Consolation to Good Men 59 8. On retirement and Meditation 63 9. The Elements subservient to the Wants of Man ib. 10. The improvement of the Mind, the principal Source of Happiness 65 11. The Misery of Infidelity 66 12. Christ, the Desire of all Nations 68 13. To a Young Man on the Choice of Friends 69 14. The Insignificance of the World 70 J5. Equal Distribution of Enjoyment 73 16. ITncertiiinty of Human Expectations 74 17. On Character 75 18. Chiist, the Image and Glory of God 76 19. On Gentleness and Modesty 77 20. The Philanthropy of the Gospel 79 Chap. \Y .^—Argumentative Pieces. .,, ^^, , 1. Happiness is founded in Rectitude of Conduct • •' 80 2. Virtue and Piety, Msm's Highest Interest 81 3. The Misfortunes of Men mostly chargeable on themselves 82 4. On the Immorality of the Soul 85 5. The same Subject 87 Chap. V. — Descriptive Pieces. 1. On the Dissolution of Nature 88 2. The Seasons 89 3. The Cataract of Niagara, in Canada 90 4. The Grotto of Antiparos 91 5. Earthquake at Catanea 93 6. Creation 94 7. Charity 95 8. On the Beauties of the Psalms 96 9. Character of AJfr(>d King of England 97 10. Character of Queen ^''.lizabeth 98 11. On England , 100 12. The Christian Mother 101 15. On the Dissolution of all Visible Things 102 CONTENTS. S Sect. Pag« 14. The Puritans 102 15. The Intellectual Character of Milton 10ft 16. On Day and Night, and the Seasons 106 17. Rural Life in England • 107 18. On Poetry 110 19. On Westminster Abbey 112 20. On the Advantages of the Telescope and Microscope 114 21. The Divine Character lift 22. On the Greatness of Bpnaparte 110 Chap. VI. — Pathetic Pieces. l.The Good Man's Comfort in Affliction 119 2. An Eminent Instance of True Fortitude ib. 3. The Close of Life 121 4. The Clemency and Amiable Character of the Patriarch Joseph 122 5. The Elder's Deathbed 125 6. War, a Fragment • 128 7. Comal and Galvina 129 8. The widow and her Son 130 9. The same, continued 133 10. The Head-stone 136 11. The Village Teacher 140 C H A p . VII. — Dialogues, 1. Christianity defended against Scepticism. — Locke and Bayle 142 2. The Vices and Follies of Men should excite Compassion rather than ridicule. — Democritus and Heraclitus 147 S. The Glory of a Wise and Peaceful King is more solid than that of an Unjust Conqueror. — Romulus and \uma Pompilius 149 4. On the Death of Morar. — Reyno and Alpin 152 5. Moderate Wishes the Source of Happiness. — Menalc i Eschinus 158 0. Beauty and Utility combined in the Productions of Nuu. — Theron and Aspasio 154 Chap. VIII. — Public Speeches, 1. The Apostle Paul's noble Defence before Festus and Agrippa 15? 2. Cicero against Verres 15!» 8. Lord Mansfield's Speech in the House of Peers, 1770, on the Rill for Preventing the Delays of .lustice, by claim- ing the Privilege of Parliament 162 4. An Address to Young Persons 166 5. Speech of Lord Chatham against the American War, and against employing the Indians in it 169 6. Grattan on the Declaration of Rights 172 7. Curran for Hamilton Rowan 174 8. Pitt on the African Slave Trade 176 9. On the same Subject 178 10. Rolla to the Peruvians • 180 11. Funeral Eulogium on Dr. Franklin 181 Chap. IX. — Promiscuous Pieces, 1. Excellence of the Holy Scriptures 182 2. Earthquake at Calabria, in the year 1638 183 3. Letter fVom Pliny to Marcellinus, on the Death of an Ami- able Young Woman 186 CONTENTS. Sect. Page 4. On the Government of our Thoughts - - - 187 5. Reflections on Christ's Sermon on the Mount - - 189 6. Schemes of Life often Illusory - - . • 190 7. The Influence of Devotion on the Happiness of Life - 192 8. Virtue, when deeply rooted, is not subject to the influence of Fortune ...._. 194 9. What are the real and solid Enjoyments of Human Life - 195 10. The Speech of Fabricus to King Pyrrhus - - 197 11. The Pleasures resulting from a Proper Use of our Faculties 198 12. Character of James I. King of England - - - ih. 13. On Charles V.'s resigning his Dominions - - 199 14. Feelings excited by a long Voyage .... - 202 15. Address to the Sea - 204 A Morning in the Highlands - . . . . 205 Maternal Affection 207 The Virtues of Irreligious Men, an Aggravation of their Guilt 208 10. On Happiness 209 20. On Autumn - - - - - - - 210 91. On the Beauty and Force of the English Language - 211 22. Arguments in favour of the Planets being inhabited - 213 23. St. Paul at Athens 215 24. The folly of Ambition 216 25 The Resurrection of Christ - - - - 219 26. Omnipresence of the Deity - . . - . 220 27. On Genius and Fame ..... 222 28. War 223 29. On Humility 224 30. Remarks on Homer, the Bible, Dante, and Ossian - 227 31. The Last Day 231 16. 17. 18. PART II. PIECES !N POETRY. Chap. I. — Short and Easy Pieces* Sect. 1. To the Butterfly - . . - . 2. On the Sensitive Plant .... 3. The Setting Sun .... 4. Saturday Night - . . . . !i. The Day of Life «. On Truth 7. A Receipt for Happiness ... 8. The Daisy 9. Morning U/mn for Children ... 10. Evening Hymn for Children ... 11. The Condescension of God . . . . Chap. II. — Narrative Pieces, 1. The Bears and the Bees ... 5. The Nightingale and the Glow-worm 3. The Youth and the Philosopher 4. The Bee, the Lily of the Valley, and the Tulip . ft. The Stranger and his Friend ... 6. Diicourse between Adam and Eve retiring to rest Page - 2?5 ib. . 236 ib. - 237 ib. . 238 ib . 239 ib. . 240 . 241 ib . 243 244 .246 247 10. Nothing forn CONTENTS. Page 187 - 189 190 - 192 iience Life - ulti«s their 194 195 197 198 ih. 190 202 204 205 207 208 209 210 211 213 215 216 219 220 222 223 224 227 231 Page - 2»5 ib. - 236 ib. - 2r ib. .238 ib . 239 ib. . 240 . 241 ib . 242 344 .246 247 Sect. Page Chap. III. — Sacred Pieces. ' *'■ 1. The Glorifis of Creation - - - - -250 2. The Creation required to praise ita Author - - 251 3. Hymn - - - - - - - - 258 4. God Visible in his Works ----- 254 5. Sunday Morning ------ 255 6. Sunday Evening --_.-. 256 7. The Power of God 258 8. An Address to the Deitv ----- 259 9. The Dwelling-place of God - - - - -260 10. Di>votion --...--261 11. A Morning Hymn - - - - - - ib. !2. An Evening Service - - - - - 263 13. The Nativity - - - - - - - 264 14. On Prayer 265 15. Grave of a Christian - - - - - -266 16. Lines written on the first Page of a Bible - - 267 17. The Goodness of God ----- 268 18. On Life ib. 19. The Influence of Hope at the Close of Life - . 260 Chap. IV. — Didactic Pieces. 1 Indignant Sentiments on National Prejudices and Hatred, and on Slavery ..... JJ71 2 On True Dignity . -272 3 Cruelty to Brutes censurad ... 273 4 A Paraphrase on the latter part of the Sixth Chapter of St. Matthew -274 5 Reflections on a Future State, from a Review of Winter 275 f) On Pride -276 7 On Procrastination • . ♦ . . 277 S On Taste -278 9 Whatsoever ye would that Men fbould do to you, do ye even so to them . , . . 279 10. Nothing formed in Vain .... 280 Chap. V. — Descriptive Pieces. 1 The Morning in Summer .... 281 2 Rural Sounds, as well as Rural Sights, delightful 282 3 Liberty and Slavery contrasted • ib. 4 True Happiness • . . . . 283 5 Picture of a Good Man • • . -284 6 The Sabbath Morning -285 7 The Pleasure and Benefit of an improved and well-direct- ed Imagination .... 286 8 The Rainbow • . • .287 9 The Field of Waterloo . . • -289 1 10 Night . • . • 291 11 On Rome • . • -292 12 On the Plain of Marathon • > • .294 113 The Covenanter's Sabbath . -205 Chap. VI. — Pathetic Pieces. I Elegy on Pity .997 > Stanzas written at Midnight .... 298 3 The Burial of Sir John Moore • • .299 4 A Mother's Love • • 300 ^ On the Downfall of Poland . . -301 6 The Hermit • . -303 :^% f CONTENTS. Beet. 7 Who ia my Neighbour? • • . 8 Eliza ..... 9 Ode fo Pity . . . 10 Presentiment of Death • • • 11 Marceti*:!. • • ' * 12 The Mother to her Infant 13 The Deserted Wife 14 A Ship Sinking • • .. 15 Hymn to Humanity Chap. VII. — Promiscuous Pieces. 1 The Order of Nature - - - - 2 The Pursuit of Happ:;iess often ill directed - 9 Reflections on a Skull - . - . 4 The Fireside . . . _ fl The Road to Happiness open to all men 6 Providence vindicated in the present State of Man 7 The Anticipations of Hope _ . . 8 Human Frailty - - - _ 9 The Harvest Moon - _ - _ 10 Song of the Stars - - - - 11 The Ocean _ - . - _ 12 Lines written in a Highland Clen 13 Modern Greece - _ . - 14 The Well of St. Keyne 15 Conscience - - 1ft Description of Spring - - - 17 Heavenly Minstrel - - . - 18 Kirkstall Abbey revisited - - - ;, 19 Summer Sabbath Walk . - _ 20 Youth . - - - - 21 Wesminbter Abbey - - - • 22 A Morning Scene - - - - 23 Thunder Storm among the Alpa 24 The Daisy in Ind'a . . - 25 Home - » - _ . 26 Ode to Adversity - - - - 27 The Butterfly . - . . 26 Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College - 29 Mont nianc - - - - - 30 To the Evening Primrose . - - 31 The Evening Ilour - - - . 32 Ode to Content • • - - 33 Ode tn Peace 84 A field Flower . - - - 3ft Spring - - - - , 36 On Genius - - . - 87 Memory - - - - - 38 The Hour of Death . - 39 On Parting - - . . - 46 SoasonB of Praver - - » ft , 41 Meditation on the Woods • • • 42 The Pilgrims to Emmaus • • .# 48 The Beacon • - - • . 4i Hymn on a Review of the SeasoM - » •• Pag« 304 • 3051 306 • 307 30« • 309 3i0| • 311 3121 - 315 316 - 318 3lij - 321 - 32.1 .324 - 325 320 - 327 328 - 329 320 - ^m 332 - m\ 334 - 335 337[ - 33k 340 - 341 ."143 - 844 345 - 346 347l - 350 351 1 ■ 3m 3531 - 3.^ 35.51 - 35«l 3571 - 358l 35tl - 360l 30l[ • 30)1 3fi5| . 36(1 3071 INTRODUCTION. INFLECTIONS OF THE VOICE. The difference between speaking and musical sounds, is, that musical sounds remains for some specified time on one particular note, and leap from one part of the scale to the other; while speaking sounds^ instead of dwelling any par- ticular time on the note with which they commence, are perpetually sHding either upwards or downwards, to the neighbouring notes, without any perceptible rest on any. So tkat speaking and musical sounds are essentially dis- tinct: the former being constantly in motion from the moment they commence ; the latter being at rest for some given time in one precise note. * By reflecting on the inanner in which words are pro- nounced, we discover that they are pronounced either sliding upwards or downwards, or in a Monotone. Ha^* ing maturely considered this, we conclude, that the primary division of speaking sounds is into the upward or down- ward slides of the voice; or, into a combination <^ th« two, called the Circumflex. There are, therefore, two inflections of the ▼oice— the upward, or Rising Inflection ; and the downward, or Fall- ing Inflection. The former is represented by the aciit« accent, and is mostly used at a comma, to imply the con* tinuation of the sense : or in asking a question beginning with a verb; thus, "Do you leave town' to-day 1" The latter is represented by the grave accent, and is generally used at a semicolon or colon, to imply a conclusion of sense : we might also use it in answer to the former ques- tion; ae, "Ycs\ I do\" INTRODUCTIOir. i ! • ^ to »0 H-> H^ H- O «0 00 :-l OS pi ^^ W J« J- p 50 00 ^ OS Oi ^ CO M ^ A A O n CD A O CB on af] cc t» D- cr cr D- p* 00000 (^ Pd & Cm Od » s 3 3 00000 r* c* *♦ r*. «-♦• ^^^^ o cfi m £. 3* 3- 5: O O T^ C 3 ^ d, {i, A 3 3 S 3- o c O-S^Cl- 00 CO CO en en (/] 0} pg P P P3 P P B; 3 a" o- c or c «0 03 1(3 3 ^ (^ C ^ 3 •I o' o- c 3 3 « 3: w » 3 3 so •7-1 cr A o P ^^ a" * £i A* A Vi A O- P A •I '^ ^ "1 p o «-♦ ^ A •"J ja 3 M«> 3* A cn re 03 1 o p 3 A O ^ 3 So ® tr" A O •-< 3 §:§■ A 3 3- A DO 3- sr A A &- O O- &- ffi o- c- S. <^ 3^ CL S^ A ^^ ^ A CO ^ £L^ 3 5' — A (Jq, O-aq A rt "< ^ e-a ^ 3 ^* •— ^ — 3 3- " " B •"• ^ Oq 3 V; ^ O o A CO CO 3" A P_ 9? >-• «• »?. NK. & CL C^ O' 3" 3* 3- tr A A A A o "1 A >.^ " o o *^ -^ 3 S".3 CO p A O 3 CO o A 3 A A CO CO p 'n ^ A A P A CO CO CO S' 3 o 3 Grq a. A A O 2- 3* 3 5 S' 3 eg p A A A -^ 3 3: p '^ «"♦ -^ A ^ 2 J ■* -. ' en o ^— A 3 A A 3^ 3 5 n> 3 _ H-. A (59 •-» 3 r; a oq 3 3; .^P •-* k9 to tS »-• ^ H- O CO 00 ^i 05 01 jp^ f^ M r ? .^ 90 .-^ p p" jp^ to to ^ A A A A A A A a'a ^A^^';^^« ^ « « A A* JT a" p-3-3'3r3^Cr'3[-CP'3'«,ET'. a-, g^PA ^ ^g§ gs§f 111 l.f 1.^^51 floTS cr-A re rT'»'.i-^3 -'^'3 §,-"«.^ £.££.£.£.£.£,£, CO CO CO 3-ClO »-• A CL. > IS o K ft i-H W o H o CO But it is fool 8elve8 with CI ("i It.o one can pati When the [the Mojwtone, RULES F( mnc IS comp md of a ■ente: Age, in a virt lakos It prefera It 13 this whic Instant called otl |u dwell too lonj Mary's suffori [radical diitreHH ^Hiiiniseratiou': > forget her frai [nd approve of ( lad attained niu A INTllODUCTIOJr. 9 CIRCUMFLEXES. Falling and Rising, The Rising Circumflex begins with the falling inflec- Ition, and ends with the rising, upon the same syllabic ; land seems, as it were, to bend the voice upwards. But it is foolish in us to compare Driiiius Africanus and our- selves with Chldius. Allorrotlier calamitiei;; were tolerable; but \\,o one can patiently bijar the deuth of Cl(5diu8. t jRisifig and Falling. ^^ '-■ ' The Falling Circumflex liogiiis with the rising inflcc- Ition, and ends with the ialhng upon the same syllable ; land seems to bend the voice downwards. Queen. Ilnmlet, you have your father much offended. Ilavilet. Maduni, you have uiy father much oft'ended. MONOTONE. When the tone of the voice is not inflected, it is called [the Monotone. Hi/jrh on a throne of roynl state, which /nr Outshone the iceulih of Oniius and of Ind, Or where the porgcovs Enxt, with richest bnnd^ Hhowcrs on Uvv linigs barbaric pearl and gold, Satan exalted sat. 'U' RULES FOR INFLECTING SENTENCES, OR PARTjs of 8ENTEINCES. RuLi I. — The Falling Inflection takes place where the mne is complete and independent, whether it be at the md of a «entcnce, or a part of a sentence. Age, in a virtuous person, carries with it an authority, which lakes it preferable to all tin; |»loasures of youth*. It is this which reconnnendrt variety'; where the mind is every Itistant nailed off to sumetliiuK new, and the attention not sutfered |o dwell too long on any particular object'. I Mary's sufTorings exceed, both in df';,'ree and Induration, those [ragical distresses which fancy has feiyiicd, to excite sorrow and Voatiniaeratlon': and, whili! wcHurvey (hem, we are apt altogether ' forget her frailties; we think of her faults with less indignation; ind approve of our tears, as if J hey wore shed for a person who fart attained much nearer to pure virtue'. 10 IKTRODUCTIOa". Rule II. — Negative sentences, tnnccs, adopt the rising inflection. or members of sen* It is not enough that you continue steadfast and immoveable', you must also abound in the work of the Lord, if you expect yourj labours to be crowned with success. Virtue is of intrinsic value, and good desert; not the creature of I will', but necessary and immutable; not local or temporary', but of equal extent and antiquity with the divine mind; not a mode of sensation', but everlasting truth; not dependant on power', but the guide of all power. .♦ ••■ Rule III. — Every direct period requires a long pause, with the rising inflection, at the end of the first principal! member. As, while hope remains, there can be no full and positive] misery'; so, while fear is yet alive, happiness is incomplete. If to do were as easy as to know what were good' to do, chapels ! had been churches, and poor men's cottages, princes' palaces. Virtue were a kind of misery', if fame were all the garland that] crowned her. No man can rise a! we the infirmities of nature', unless assist- ed by God. As the rude and untaught multitude arc no way wrought upon more effectually, thjan by seeing public punishments and execu- tions'; so, men of letters and education feel their humanity most I forcibly exercised, when they attend the obsequies of men whoj had arrived at any perfection in liberal accomplishments. Exception to the First and TJiird Rule. When the commencing member of an antithesis con«| tains a concession requiring a strong emphasis, and an appeal is made to the feelings in the second member, the latter has the rising, and the former the falling inflection. I If we have no regard for religion in youth', wc ought to have some regard for it in nge'. If we have no regard for our own' character, we ought to have some regard for the character of others'. When a Persian soldier was reviling Alexander the Great, his ollicer reprimanded him by saying: " Sir, you were paid to fight Alexander, and not to rair at liini.'' The duty of a soldier consisis in obcjing\ not directing' his general. If CO itcnt cannot remove' the disquietudes of mankind, it will at least alleviate' them. If these sentences had been so constructed, as to make the latter member a mere inference from, or consequence UrTPOfitCTlOS* 11 the former, the inflections would hare remained accord* to the first and third RulCi If we have no regard for religion in yoofh', we have seldom [y regard for it in age\ If we have no regard for our otvn' character, it in scarcely to expected that we should have any for the character of others*. iless assist- INTERROGATION. I Rule IV. — Questions commencing with, or asked by hrbs, take the rising inflection. V'ould it not employ a beau preitHy enough, If, instead of etcr- ^ly playing with his snufl-box, he spent some part of his time ill iking one' I Shall this man, then, who was born to save his country, die any iere but in his country' ? Will you retain the memorials of his |lant soul, and deny his body a grave in Italy' 1 Will <*ny per- igive his voire for banishing a man from this city, whom every on earth would be proud to receive within its walls'? lException.. — When an interrogative sentence, begun with Verb, is very long, or concludes a paragraph, it may end |th the falling inflection. The Drigantcs, even under a female leader, had force enough |burn the enemy's settlements, to storm their camps; and, if ccess had not introduced negligence and inactivity, would have !n able entirely to throw off the yoke: and shall not we, un^ iched, unsubdued, and struggling, not for the acquisition, but the continuance of liberty, declare, at the very onset, what ^d of men Caledonia^ has reserved for her ''cfence' 1 IRuLK V. — Questions commencing with pronouns or ad» rbs, take the falling inflection. ^ho continually keeps this globe on which wc dwell in its orbiri liogivethdayand night, summer and winter, seedtime und har- kt'1 Who produces every plant, and brings forth successively kry animaP 1 Who supplies the returning wants of every liv- ^ creature"? Ah ! why will kings forget that they are men, And men that they are brethren'1 Why delight In human sacrifice' 1 Why burst the tics Of Nature, that should knit their souls together In one soft bond of amity and love' 1 tuLE VI. — When interrogative sentences, or members I sentences, connected by the disjunctive conjunction or, tcced each other, the first ends with the rising, and the It with the falling inflection. 'I ml 12 ITTRODJCTIO:!?*. Shall wo in your person crown' the author of the public calari'.j iti<.'a, or shall we dosiroy' l)iin ■? Is the jroodnt'.ss' or \visdi):n' of the Divine Being, more inanifesil in this his jirocecdin^j;" ? But should thpse credulous infidels, after all, he in the riphtJ and this pretended revdatioii be all a fable, from hcli^vinfj it whai harm' could ensue* Would it render princes more tyrannical, oa subjects more unirnvfrnable'.' — the rich more insolent, or the ponij more disorderly'? Would it mak'^ worse parents or children'j husl>and8 or wives'; niastcr^ or servants'; friends orneiehbours'l Or would it not make iiumi more virtuous, and consqucntly, morq happy in every' situation? , . Rule VII. — Vv''hcn qu.?.=tioiif> are followed by answorsj tile question shonlJ bo delivered in a higher tone of voice] Mild, after a suitable pause, the answer returned in a firnij but lower tone. *' :" ^ ' *'" '• Are you poor'? Show yourself active and industrious, peaceabld and contented. Are you wealthy '? Show yourself beneficent anif charitable, condcscpudlu:? arid isunjane. Are you desirous thai your talents and al)i!iiic'.s n»ay procuio yui respect"? Display thei not ostentati.)u^ly to public viifw. Would you escape the envjl which your riches ruifrltt f xcitj"? Let them not niinisier to pridel hut adoru lliom with humility. PARENTHESIS. RtTLF- VIII. — A Parenthesis must be delivered or pre iiounccd in a lower tone of voice, and with a more rapiJ delivery than the rest of the sentence, and conclude witif Ihe same pause and inflection wliich terminate the mcnij her that inimcdiaiuly precedes it. The many letters Tvliirh como to me from persons of the besj sense in both sexus' (for I may pronounce their charactern froiT their way of writinir') do not a little encourage me in the prose| cution of this my undert:Akiiijj. Young master was alive last Wljitsuntide, said the coacliman.- Whiisnntide ! alas'i cried Trim' (cxtfsiiding his right arm, and fa!i ins instantly into the same attitude in which he read the serinoiil —what in AVhitsnntiJn, .Tonatiian' (for that was the coachnian| name'), or Shrovetide, or any lid(! or time to this? Are we v here now'1 continued the ''orporal', (striking the end of his stiol |H'rpendicularly upon thn floor, so a«to pive an idea of health ail Ftability';) anil are we not' (ilropping his hat on the grouini| jjone In b moment? Note I . — Short intervening members, such as, said I, sm he, rephtd /, &c. not only follow the inflection, but th| tone of the member t!iat precedes them. Thus, when t!ij le series is ca INTRODUCTION. 13 irecedin? member breaks off with the rising infloction, these ublic calan^Bjjcmbers are not pronounced, like other parentheses, in a )re jnanifesB^^*^^' ^^^ ^^ ^ higher and feebler tone than the rest. Thun, thpn\ said he', since yon arc Mrg:?nt, it ia thus that I con- le've it. The sovereign good is that, the posfiepsion of which ren- lers us happy. And how\ said 1% do wo possess it7 Is it sensual ^rihtellectuall There you are entering', said he', upon the detail. Note 2. — But when the intcrveriincf mcnibcr goes far- Iher than these simple phrases, they must always be pro- louTico'l in a lower tone of voice, and terminate with the Ki^'-n^ inflection. - I had letters' from him (hero I felt in myporkots') that exactly Jpoke the Czar's character, which 1 knew peiil;< tiy well. Exception. — Whatever be the inflection that precedes, [he parenthesis must end with the falling iniioction when It terminates with an emphatical word ; and when the par- enthesis is long, it may be pronounced in a monotone. But if yo were evcrprrsent, if yc vore .ill aereed that the mea- kumsthen augjjested v/cro roaiiy iho he^l; if you it:i*rhine8, in par- [icular, were thus persuaded' (and it w-is jio p.iitiiil atVection for me, that prompted you to pive me up tho hope.>, tho applause, thi* lioiiours, which attended that course 1 then advised, hut the Kupu- nnr force of truth, and your utter inaMlity to point nut any more blipible course'); if this was the case, I say, it it ;b'& ... 1' 2' 3' 4^ 5^ 6^ 7' . V 2' 3' 4' 5^ 6^ 7^ 8' V 2^ 3' 4' 6' 6^ r 8' 9' 3 4 7 8 9 10 .r2^3^4'5'6'r8^9M0' l'2^> CONCLUDIXG. No. of Members. 2 3 1' 2' 3' 4 . . r 2' 3M^ 5 r 2' 3' 4' 5^ 6 r 2^ 3' 4' 5' 6^ 7 r 2^ 3^4' 6' 6' r 8 .... 1'2^3^4^6'6' 7' 8^ 9 . . 1' 2' 3^ 4^ 5^ 6' 7' 8' 9^ 10. 1' 2' 3' 4^ 6^ 6^ 7' 8' 9M Examples of the Simple Commencing Series. Three Members.— The young*, the healthy", and tlie prospeij tous', should not presume on their advantagen. Five Memdbrs. — The presence', knowledge", power", wiBdomj .and goodness' of God must all be unbounded. Ten Memders. Next then, you authors, be not you severe; Why, what a swarm of scribblers have we here: One', two*, three', four', five', six', seven", eight", nine", ten', All in one row, and brothers of the pen. Examples of the Simple Concluding Series. Four Members.— Fear not, ye righteous, amidst the distress^ of life. You have an Aimiglity Friend continually at hand \\ pity", to support', to defend', and to relieve" you. Seven Members. They pnssed over many a frozen, many a fiery Alp; Rocks*, eaves', k .:es", fens', bogs', dens', and shades of dcathi Rule IX. — In the commencing compound scries, thj falling inflection takes place in every member but the lad A contempiai;lon of God's works", a voluntary act of justice tl our own dctrlnient\ a generous concern for the good of mankind| tears shed in s lence for the misery of others", a private desire < resentment broken and subdued', an unfeigned exercise of huml lity", or any other virtue', are such actions as denominate meij jgruat and reputable. \[\\i,, IKTRODUCTION. 15 eri€8. IXG, rs^ '. '. * 1' 2' 3' . r2' 3M' [' 2' 3' 4' 5^ r 3' 4' 5' 6^ J^4'6' 6'r t^ 5' 6' 7' 8' 9 6' 7' 8' 9^ r 7' 8' 9M( series. i the pro»pe 'er\ wUdoni RpLE X. — In the concluding compound series, every member takes the falling inflection, except the last but one. True gentleness teaches us to bear one another's burdens'; to I rejoice with those who rejoice'; to weep with those who weep ; to please everyone his neighbour for his good"; to hn kind nv.d tender-hearted"; to be pitfful and courteous'; to support the weak'; |au(i to be patient towards all men'. Note, — When several members of a sentence, consisting of distinct portions of similar or opposite words in a series, follow in succession, they must be pronounced singly, ac<:ording to the number of members in each portion ; and together, according to the number of portions in the whole sentence ; that the whole may form one related compound series. The soul consists of many faculties; as the understanding' and the wiir, with aU the senses both inward and outward'; or, to I speak more philosophically, the soul can exert herself in niunv different ways of action. She can understand', will', imagine'; see' and hear'; love' and discourse'; and apply herself to many I other like exercises, of ditferent kinds and natures'. The first portion of this series of series', she can under- standy unllf imaginej as it contains one complete portion, may be considered as a concluding scries ; and as it forms but one portion of a greater series, it may be considered as a commencing one, and must be pronounced in sub.ser- viency to it ; that is, the first and second word must have; the rising, and the last the falling inflection. The next portion must be pronounced in a similar manner; that is, the first word with the rising, and the last with the falling inflection, with tiie voice a little higher and more forcible on the word hear than on the word imagine. The next portion, being the last but one, alters its inflections ; the first word having the falling, and the last the rising in- flection. On the other hand, tiiose evil spirits who, by long custom, have contracted in the body habits of lust' and sensuality', malice' and revenge', an aversion to everything that is good', just', and lauda- ble', are naturally seasoned and prepared tor pain and misery. As this is a commencing series of series', the last mem- ber but one of the second series may be pronounced with the falling inflection at revenge; and, as the last member has a series of three single words, they come under the Table of the Inflections of the Simple Commencing Series. I 1 ji I 16 INTRODUCTION. HARMONIC INFLECTION. :! Inil| 1 Though the rule for Harmonic Inflection ia extremely indefinitey yet we subjoin it, and give a few examples to assist the readei in acquiring some knowledge of this in- 1 flection. RuLB XI. — When a series of similar sentences, or mem- hers of sentences, form a branch of a subject or paragraph ; the last sentence or member must fall gradually into. a lower tone, and adopt the harmonic inflection on such words as | form the most agreeable cadence. iw * Wo may learn from this observation which we have made on I the mind of man, to take particular care, when we have once settled in a regular course of life, how we too frequently indulge ourselves in any the most innocent diversions and entertain-! ments"; since the mind may fall olf from the relish of virtuous ac- tions, and by degrees' exchange' that' pleasure", which it takes in I the performance of its duty\ for delights of a much more inferior | and unprofitable nature. By using the falling inflection on the word entertain- mentSj and introducing the harmonic inflection upon the words degrees and exchange) and upon that and pleasure ,- that is, the rising inflection upon degrees and that, and the I falling upon exchange and pleasure,- by this means, the monotony will be broken, the thought enforced, and the period rendered much more musical. This sentence k read as the first three members of a compound concluding series. One of the most eminent mathematicians of the age, has assured me, that the greatest pleasure he took in rending Virgil, was in exaniiuing JEneas' voyage by the map; as I question not, but many a modern compiler of history would be delighted with little' niore\ in that divine" author', than the bare matters of fact. Here wc find placing the rising inflection upon the word Htikf and the falling upon more; and the falling upon divine^ and the rising upon author,' ^;;ives both a distinct- ness and hirmony to the cadence. This sentence is read as the first three members of a compound concluding series of three members. Cratian very often recommends the fine taste ns the utmost per- fection of an Mcconipli^ihed man. As this word arises very often in conversation, I shall endeavour to give some account of it; and to lay down rules how wc may know whether we are posseBsed, INTRODUCTIOa". 17 and how' we may acquire*, thai fine' tasteof writing' which w «o much talked of among the polite world. Placing the rising inflection upon how, and the falling upon acquire,' the falling inflection on fine, and the riling upon writing ; prevents a sameness which would other- wise arise from the similitude of the three members, and gives an agreeable close to the sentence. This is read a» the last example. Since I have mentioned this unaccountable zeal which appears in atheists and infidelfl, I must farther observe, that they are, in a most particular manner, possosoed with the spirit o^ bigotry. They are wedded' to opinions' full of contradiction' and impossi- bility'; and at the same' time'. look upon the smallest' difRcnity' in an article' of faith' as a sufficient reason for rejecting it. This arrangement of inflections on the latter part of the sentence gives a fine harmony and variety to the sentence ; which it otherwise would not possess. This sentence ap- pears to be inflected with regard to the words wedded! to opinions^ full of contradiction'' and impossibility', as the first two members of a compound concluding scries of three members; the last of which, same! time^, look upon the smallest' difficulty'' in an article'' of faith' as a sufficient reason for rejecting it, as a compound concluding series of four members. EXCLAMATION. Rule XII. — When the Eirclamation comes immediately after a question, and, as it were, repeats it ; in this case, the repeated question, which is really an exclamation, as- sumes the rising inflection. Will you for ever, Athenians, do nothing but walk up and down the city, asking one another, What news'? Whnt news'! Is there any thing more new than to see a man of Macedonia become muster of the Athenians, and give laws to Greece"} ACCENT. Rule XIII. — Words that are the same in part of their elements, when distinguished from, or opposed to each other, no matter what is their ordinary accentuation, take the accent on that syllable in which they diller. Neither justice nor tnjugtice has any thing to do with the pre- sent questioH. lililf !': I ! |i 18 INTEODUCTIOir. The riches of a prince roust increase or ^crease in proportion to the number and riches of his subjects. Thought and language a«*4 and re-act upon each other. 'ili'i iiim h I ii I EMPHASIS. Emphasis, in the usual sense of the word, is that stress or force with which words are pronounced, so as to be distinguished from the rest of the sentence. All words are pronounced with emphatic, accented, or unaccented or feeble force. When words have an anti- thesis expressed or understood, or when the speaker or reader wishes to enforce strongly the ideas they represent, they are called emphatic. They are said \,o be accented, when they consist of principal verbs, nouns, adjectives, and even adverbs. They are said to be unaccented or feeble, when they consist of auxiliary verbs, pronouns, conjunctions, and other particles that depend upon an emphatic word. Exercise' and temperance' strengthen even an indifferent' con- 8iitution\ Here we find the word indifferent pronounced more for- cibly thijii th«» words exercise, temperance, ana strengthen, though they are pronounced with more force than the par- ticles and, an, and even than the word constitution. The principal circumstance that distinguishes empha- tical words from others, seems to be a meaning whidi points out, or distinguishes something as distinct or oppo- site to some other thing. When this opposition is expressed in words, it forms an antithesis, the opposite parts of which are always emphatical. Thus, in the following couplet of Pope: »Tis hard to say, if greater want of skill Appear in writing or in judging- ill. The words writing and judging are opposed to each other, and are therefore the emphatical words ; where we may likewise observe, that the disjunctive or, by which the antithesis is connected, means one of the things exclu- sively of the other. The same may be observed in an- other couplet from the same author ; where one branch of the antithesis is not expressed, but understood, Get wealth and place, if possible with grace; If npt, b^ any meaps gel w^aJth aijA ^la<;e.. l!ITHOI»rCTIOX# 19 Here it appears eTidently, that the worJg any means, which are the most emphatical, are directly opposed to the means understood by the word grace ; and the last line is perfeclily equivalent to this r If not by tkete meanSf by any other meansy get wealth and place. SI3VGT.E EMPHASIS. When a sentence is composed of a poshive and negative part, the positive mast have the falling, and the negative the rising inflection. We can do nothing against^ the truth, bvt /or* the truth. It is not the business of virtue to txtrryate'^ the allections of the mind, but to regulate' them. !• DOUBLE EMPHASra. The falling inflection takes place on the fir^ empbatie word; the rising, on the second and third; and the falling, on the fourth. Custom is the pUtj^ue" of wise' men, and the idol' offoth. It is as great a pomt of wisdom to hide" ignorane^, as to discover' knowledgit. As it 18 the part nfjnstke* never to do tiolenet^, il is ©f m0defty' never to commit offence". TREBLE EMPHASIS. The rising inflection takes place on the first and thirJ^ and the falling on the second of the flrst three emphatic words; the first and third of the other three have the fall- ing, whilst the second takes the rising inflection. A friend.' cannot be known' in prosperity'; and an enemy" cannot be hidden' in adversity^. Man is a creature designed for two different states of being, or rather for two different lives, The^r^t' life iashorC and transient'; hii second^, permanent' and lasting'. Passions' are winds', to urge us o'er the wave'; Reason" the rudder', to direct and save". GENERAL EMPHASIS. When we wish to give a passage or paragraph with the greatest possible emphasis, noi only every word of it 20 llTTEODUCTIOJr. becomes emphatic, but even the parts of compound words are pronounced as il' they were separate and independent. Illl I I 'I'll' There wis a time, then, my fellow-citizens, when the Laceilrr- mcniang were sovereign maRtersboth by sea and land; when their troops and forts surrounded the entire circuit of Attica; when they possessed Eubcea, Tanagra, the whole Hoeotian district, Megara, iGgina, Cleone, an('( the other islaniils; while this stale had not one ship— no, noV 6ne wall'. That's truly great! what think you, 'twas set up The Greek and Roman name in such a lustre, But doing right in stern despite of Nature; Shutting their ears 'gainst all her little cries. When great, august, and godlike justice call'd ! At Aulis — one pour'd out a daughter's life, And ira'n'd more glory than by all his wars ! Another slew a sister in just rage ! A third, the theme of all succeeding time, Cave to the cruel axe a darling son ! Nay, some for virtue have cntomb'd themselves, As he of Carthage — an immortal name ! But there is one" .step' left'— nbove them all! Above their history, above their fable ! A tc(f(B\ — bride', — mistress", — unenjoyed' ! — Do that. And tread upon the Greek and Uoiuan glory! Shall an inferior magistrate, a governor, who holds his whole power of the Roman people, in a Roman province, within eight of Italy, bind", sconrffc", torture' with fire and red-hot plates of iron, and at last put to the infamous death of the cross, a Roman citizen'1 Shall neither the cries of innocence expiring in agony, nor the tears of pitying spectators, nor the majesty of the Roman common- wealth, nor the fearof the justice ofhiscoiintry, restrain the licifn- tioug and wanton cruelty of a monster, who, in confidence of his riches, titrlkea ut the root of all liberty, and sets mankind at dofiancci RHETORICAL PUNCTUATION. Mr. Walker has given in the following lines all that is considered important or practically u^ei'ui upon this sub- ject: In pausing, ever lot this rule take place: Never to separate words, in any case. That are lesn separable than those you join; And — which imports the same— not to combine Such wordi together ns do not relate So closely as the words you separate. INTRODUCTION. 21 ny, nor the DIRECTIONS FOR READING POETRY. Rule I. — As the exact tone of the passion, or emotion which verse excites, is not at first easy to hit, it will be proper always to begin a poem in a simple and almost prosaic style ; and so proceed, till, warmed with the sub- ject, we leel the emotion which we wish to express. Gray's Elegy on the Extirpation of the Bards is almost the only one th?t does not admit of commencing mod- erately. Ruin Rcize thee, rntliless kin?! Confusion on lliy banners wait, &c. Rule II. — In verse, every syllable is to have the same accent, and every word the same emphasis, as in prose. Hence the article the ought never to have a stress, though pluced in that part of the verse where the ear expect* an accent. Of all the cauwofi which ronppire to hlind Man's errinj: jiulanieiit, Mm! ujistMiidc the nnind. What the weak head with stro;ip«»st bias rules, Is pride the never-failing vice of fools. An injudicious reader of verse would be apt to lay a stress upon the word the in the third line, whereas a good reader would transfer it to the worc's what and tvcak. The last syllable of the word excellent, in the following couplet, being the place of the stress, is very apt to draw the organs to a wrong proiumciation of the word, in com- pliance with the rhythnms of the verse : Their praise lis Ktill~lhe Htylc is exrellenl; The KcntsU they hiiiubly take upon content. But a stresK upon the last sylla])lo of this word would bo only indulging the ear in a childish jingle of syllables, and ought to be avoided upon pain of the greatest possible re- proach to a good reader. RuLB III. — The vowel e, which is often cut ofl' bv an apostrophe in the word the, and in syllables before r, as in dangerous, gen*rowi, ought to be preserved in the pronun- ciation ; as the syllable it forms is so short, as not to in- crease the number of syllables to the car, or at all hurt the harmony. 22 IXTBODUCTIOir. iii ! 'Tifl hardto«ay, if greater want o'* skill Appear in writing or in judging ill: But of the two, lees dangerous is ih* offence To tire our patience, than mislead our sense. Rule IV. — Almost every verse admits of a pause in or near the middle of the line, which is called the cesura ; without which, much of the distinctness, and almost all the harmon}^ will be lost So much they hate the crowd, | that if the throng By chance go right, | they purposely go wrong. Know, then, thyself; | presume not God to scan; The proper study of mankind | is man. But besides the capital pause, there are certain subor- dinate pauses, called demi-csesuras, which, though not so essential as the capital pause, yet according to many of our prosodists, form some of tl^^ greatest delicacies in read- ing verse, and are an inexhaustible source of variety and harmony in the composition of poetic numbers. To man- age these demi-caesuras well, will require great judgment on the part of the reader, lest he fall into &n affected sing- song in pronouncing verses of this kind. Warms j in the sun, || refVeshes | in the breeze. Glows I in the stars, || and blossoms | in the trees; Lives j through all life, II e.Ytend8 | through all extent, Spreaos | undivided, || operates | unspent. The cffisura in the middle of these lines is marked with ft double acute ; the demi-cffisura in the other parts of the above lines, by a single acute. RuLK V. — At the end of every line in poetry, must be a pause, proportioned to the intimate or remote connection subsisting between them. -Deeds of eternal ftime Were done, but intlnite; for wide was spread That war, and various, sometimes on firia ground A standing tight; then soaring on main wing, Tormoiited all the air; all air secerned then Conflicting fire: long time in even scale The battle hung. The pauses at the end of these lines are so small, when compared with those in the body of the lines, that an ap- peal may bo mode to every ear for the truth of the rule laid down. IJTTttOljUCTIOir. 23 RvLi Vr. fu order to form a cadence in a period in rhyming verse, we must adopt the falling inflection with considerable force, in the cssura of the last line but one. Like kings, we lose the conquests painM before. By vuin ambition still to make th«m more; Eoch might his several province' || well command. Would all but sloop to what they understand. Rule VII. — A simile, in poetry, ought always to be read in a lower tone of voice, than that part of the passage I which precedes it. So when an angel, by divine command, With rising tempests' shakes a guilty land, (Suck as of late o'er pale Britannia pass'd) Calm and serene he drives the furious blast; And pleased the Almighty's orders to perform. Rides on the whirlwind, and directs the storm. Rflf. VIII. — When there is no pause in the sense at I the end of the verse, the last word must have exactly the I same inflection it would have in prose. O'er their heads a crystal firmament. Whereon a sapphire throne, Inlaid with pure* Amber, and colours of the showery arch. In this example, the word pure has the falling inflcc- Ition as it would have were the sentence pronounced pro- saically. For the same reason, the words retired and went {must be pronounced with the rising inflection. At his command the uprooted hills retired' Each to his place; they heard his voice and went Obsequious; Heaven his wonted lace renew 'd,' And with fresh fiowerets hill and 'illey smiled. Nuic, — Though, in verse, we frequently suspend the Ivoicp by the rising inflection ; where, if the composition Iwerc prose, we should adopt the falling ; yet, wherever, in jprosc, the member or sentence would necessarily require Ithe rising inflection, this inflection must bo adopted in »^crge. Uo who throngh vast eternity can pierce, Hec worlds on worlds conit^ose one universe} Observe how system into systoni runs, W hat other planets circle other suns; What varied being peoples every star. May tell why Heaven has made us as we are: ! f if !l nil l:HI>lli>l! 34 # INTnOPCCTI03r. But of this frame, the bearings and the ties, The strong connections, nice dependencies, Gradations just, has thy pervading soul Look'd through? or can a pan contain the wholel Is the great chain that draws all to agree, And drawn supports, upheld by God or theel Here, every line but the fifth might take the falling in- flection, likfc a commencing series of five members ; but, at thfe fifth, where the two principal constructive parts unite, and the sense begins to form, here, both in prose and verae, must be the principal pause and the rising in- flection. The two questions at the end ought to have the rising inflection also, as they would have it in prose ; though, from injudiciously printing the last couplet, so as to form a fresh parag'-aph, the word whole is generally pronounced A^ith the falling inflection, as being at the end of a paragraph, which would be prevented by uniting the last couplet to the rest, so as to form one complete portion ; which, no doubt, was the intention of the poet. Rule IX. — Sublime, grand, and magnificent descriptions in poetry, frequently require a lower tone of voice, and a sameness nearly approaching to a monotone, to give it variety. The UBC of the monotone has been already exemplified in page 9, in the grand description of Satan's throne ; and may bo further illustrated by a passage of the Allegro oi" the same poet: Ilwnce I loathed Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born; In Stygian cave forlorn, 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrielcs, and tights unholy, Find out some uncouth cell. Where brooding Darkness sjjreads his jealous wings, And tile nicht-ravcn Kingf; ThSrc, under k\\\\ wtiJkdes and low-brow'd rucks, As raggtMi as tMy locks, In dark Ciiuuierlan desert over dwell. In repeating this passage, we shall find the darkness and horror of the cell woiidorfully auguiontcd by pronoun- cing the eighth line, There, under elm shades and low-brow'd rocki, in a low monotone. THE ENGLISH READER. PART I. PIECES IN PROSE. CHAP. L— SELECT SENTENCES, &c. SECTION I. ^ILIGENCE\ industry^ and proper improvement of time', are material duties' of the young\ The acquisition of knowledge^ is one of the most hon arable occupations' of youth\ Whatever useful or engaging endowments wc possess\ iriiiuc is requisite', in order to their shining with proper Iu8tre\ Virtuous youth^ gradually brings forward accomplished md flourishing' manhood. Sincerity^ and truth' form the basis of every virtue. Disappointments^ and distress' are often blessings in usguise. Change^ and alteration' form the very essence of the rorld\ True happiness is of a retired nature', and an enemy^ to )omp' and noise\ In order to acquire a capacity for happiness^ it must Uc )ur first study' to rectify inward disorders. Whatever purifies^ fortifies' also the heart\ From our eagerness to grasp\ we strangle and destroy, pleasure. A temperate spirit\ and moderate expectations', &te ex b^llcnt safeguards of the mind, in this uncertain^ and fhanging' state. There is nothing', except simplicity of intention', and )urity of principle', that can stand the test of near ap- iroach' and strict excm'nation\ B mmm 26 THE ENGLISH ftEADEk. m I i I 11 liiil: The value of any possession is to be chiefly estimated'] by the relief which it can bring us in the time of oi greatest need. No person who has once yielded up the government hij mind\ and given loose rein to his desires and passions'] can tell how far they may carry him. Tranquillity of mind is always most likely to be atJ taiiif^d', when the business of the world is tempered win' thoughtful and serious retreat\ He v/ho would act like a wise man', and build his houi on the rock\ and not on the sand', should contemplate huj| man life, not only in the sunshine', but in the shade. L^t usefulness' and beneficence\ not ostentation^ andl vanit/, direct the train of your pursuits\ To maintain a steady and unbroken mind\ amidst all the shocks of the world', marks a great and noble spirit. •Patience, by preserving composure within', resists thf| impression which trouble makes from without. Compassionate affections^ even when they draw tearij from our eyes for human misery', convey satisfaction' the heart. They who have nothing to give\ can often afford relief to others', by imparting what they feel. Our ignorance of what is to come\ and of what is really good or evil', should correct'anTciety' about wordly success The veil which covers from our sight the events of sue-] ccoding years', is a veil woven by the hand of mercy. The best preparation for all the uncertainties of futui rity, consists in a well-ordered mind\ a good conscience',! and a cheerful submission' to the will of Heaven\ SECTION II. Tu« chief misfortunes that befall us in life, can be traced to some vices or follies which we have committed. Were we to survey the chambers of sickness and dis-l treso, we should often find them peopled with the victimiT of intemperance and sensuality, and with the children of] vicious indolence and sloth. To be wise in our own eyes, to be wise in the opinionl of the world, and to be wise in the sight of our Creatorj are throe things so very different, as rarely to coincide. Man, in his highest earthly gloiy, is but a teed floating on the stream of time, and forced to follow every new di] roction of the current. PaetiBcbap. I. SELECT SENTENCES, Ac 27 y estimated'j time of ov ►vcmment nd passions'l y to be at] mpered wi[\ ild his houi template \i\i\ ! shade, intation^ amJl i\ amidst all| >ble spirit. ', resists thtl • I ' draw tears! tisfaction' afford reliel rhat is realljf rdly success vents of suc'l mercy, [ties of futui conscience', in be traced ted. !Bs and dis-l the victiirj } children of^ the opinionl our Creator! coincide. :eed floating a*ry new ^ The corrupted temper, and the guilty passions of the bad, frustrate the effect of every advantage which th« I world confers on them. The external misfortune?* of life, disappointments, pov- erty, and sickness, are light in comparison of those inward distresses of mind, occasioned by folly, by passion, and by guilt. No station is so high, no power so great, no character so unblemished, as to exempt men from the attacks of ra?hness, malice, or envy. Moral and religious instruction derives its efficacy, not so much from what men are taught to know, as from what lliey are taught to feel. He who pretends to great sensibility towards men, and yet has no feeling for the liiglh objects of religion, no heart to admire and adore the great Father of the universe, has reason to distnist the truth and delicacy of his sensibiUty. When, upon rational and sober inquiry, we have estab- liflird our principles, let us not suffer them to be shaken by the scoffs of the licentious, or the caviMof the sceptical. ^^ hen we observe any tcndonry to treat religion or morals with disrespect and levity. let us hold it to be a sure indication of a perverted understanding, or a depraved heart. Every degree of guilt incurred by yielding to tempta- tion, tends to debase the mind, and to weaken the gener* ous and benevolent principles of human nature. Luxury, pride, and vanity, have frequently as much in- fluence in corrupting the sentiments of the great, as ignor- ance, bigotry, and prejudice, have in misleading the opinions of the multitude. Mixed as the present fitatc is, reason and religion pro- nouiK'c, that generally, if not always, there is more happi- ness than misery, more pleasure than pain, in the condition of man. iiociety, when formed, requires distinctions of property, diversity of conditions, subordination of ranks, and multi- plicity of occupations, in order to advance the general good. That the temper, the sentiments, the morality, and, in general, the whole conduct and character of men, arc in- fluenced by the example and disposition of the persona with whom they associate, is a reflection which has long since passed into a proverb, and been ranked among th« *'•■ ^f 'Mi^-vT mm 28 THE ENGLISH READER. Paxt I m m liii'iiiii ilWII iiiiii iiii '■'"■I In Iiii I i i yii llPlil Standing maxims of human wisdom, in all ag«s of the world. SECTION III. r The desire of improvement discovers a liberal mind; and is connected with many accomplishments, and many vir- tues. Innocence confers ease and freedom on the mind, and leaves it open to every pleasing sensation. ^ Moderate and simple pleasures relish high with the \ temperate : in the midst of his studied refinements, the j voluptuary languishes. ^ Gentleness corrects whatever is oifensive in our man- ners ; and, by a constant train of humane attentions, studies to alleviate the burden of common misery. That gentleness which is the characteristic of a good man, has, like every other virtue, its seat in the heart: and let me add, nothing except what flows from the heart, can render even external manners truly pleasing. Virtue, to become either vigorous or useful, must be habitually active; not breaking forth occasionally with a transient lustre, like the blaze of a comet; but regular in its returns, like the light of day: not like the aromatic gale, which sometimes feasts the sense; but like the ordinary breeze, which purifies the air, and renders it healthful. The happiness of every man depends more upon the state of his own mind, than upon any one external cir- cumstance ; nay, more than Upon all external things put together. in no station, in no period, let us think ourselves secure from the dangers which spring from our passions. Every age, and every station, they beset; from youth to gray hairs, and from the peasant to the prince. Riches and pleasures are the chief temptations to crimi- nal deeds. Yet those riches, when obtained, may very possibly overwhelm us with unforseen miseries. Those pleasures may cut short our health and life. He who is accustomed to turn aside from the world,-and commune with himself in retirement, will, sometime :t least, hear the truths which the multitude do not tell hira. A more sound instructor will lift his voice, and awaken within the heart those latent suggestions, v/hich the world had overpowered and suppressed. ' Cbaf. I. SELECT SENTENCES, &c 29 Amusement often becomes the business, instead of th« relaxation of young persons; it is then highly pernicious. He that waits for an opportunity to do much at once, may breathe out his life in idle wishes; and regret, in the last hour, his useless intentions and barren zeal. The spirit of true religion breathes mildness and &fia-> bility. It gives a native, unaffected ease to the behaviour. It is social, kind, and cheerful; far removed from that gloomy and illiberal superstition, which clouds the brow, dharpens the temper, dejects the spirit, and teaches men to fit tiiemselves for another world, by neglecting the con** cems of this. Reveal none of the secrets of thy friend. Be faithful to his interests. Forsake him not in danger. Abhor the thought of acquiring any advantage by his prejudice. Man, always prosperous, would be giddy and insolent ; always afflicted, would be sullen or despondent. Hopes aii ' fears, joy and sorrow, are, therefore, so blended in his life, as both to give room for worldly pursuits, and to re- call, from time to time, the admonitions of conscience. SECTION IV. We have seen the husbandman scattering his seed upon the furrowed ground. It springs up, is gathered into his bam, and crowns his labors with joy and plenty. — Thus the man who distributes his fortune with generosity and prudence, is amply repaid by the gratitude of those whom he obliges; by the approbation of his own mind; and by the favour of Heaven. Temperance, by fortifying the mind and body, leads to happiness; intemperance, by enervating them, ends gen- erally in misery. Title and ancestry render a good man more illustrious; but an ill one more contemptible » Vice is infamous, though in a prince; and virtue honourable, though in a peasant. An elevated genius, employed in Kttle things, appears — to use the simile of lionginus — like the sun in bis evening declination: he remits his splendour, but retains his mag- nitude; and pleases more, though he dazzles less. If envious people were to ask themselves, whether they would exchange their entire situations with the persons envied (I mean their minds, passions, notions, as well as 30 THE ENGLISH READER. i m their persons, fortunes, and dignities) — I presume the aelf> love common to human nature, would generally make them prefer their own condition. We have obliged some persons: — very well! — what would we have more 1 Is not the consciousness of doing good, a sufficient reward ? Do not hurt yourselves or others, by the pursuit of plea- sure. Consult your whole nature. Consider yourselves not only as sensitive, but as rational beings ; not only as rational, but social; not only as social, but immortal. Art thou poorl — show thyself active and industrious, peaceable and contented. Art thou wealthy ] — show thy. self beneficent and charitable, condescending and humane. Though religion removes not all the evils of life; though it promises no continuance of undisturbed prosperity (which indeed it were not salutary for man always to enjoy) ; yet, if it mitigates the evils which necessarily belong to our state, it may justly be said to give " rest to them who la- bour and are heavy laden." What a smiling aspect does the love of parents and children, of brothers and sisters, of friends and relations, give to every surrounding object, and every returning day! With what a lustre does it gild even the small habitation, where* this placid intercourse dwells ; where such scenes of heartfelt satisfaction succeed uninterruptedly to one another ! How many clear marks of benevolent intention appear every where around us ! What a profusion of beauty and ornament is poured forth on the face of nature ! What a magnificent spectacle presented to the view of man ! What supply contrived for his wants! What a variety of objects set before him, to gratify his senses, to employ his understanding, to entertain his imagination, to cheer and gladden his heart t The hope of future happiness is a perpetual source of consolation to good men. Under trouble it soothes their minds ; amidst temptation, it supports their virtue ; and, in their dying moments, enables them to say, " O death ! where is thy sting 1 grave ! where is thy victory T* Paet 1 1 ^>«^»- '• SELECT SENTENCES, Ac. n nc the self* rally make 'ell ! — what ss o{ doing luit of plea- yourselve8 lot only as lortal. industrious, -show thy. id humane, ife; though irity (which njoy); yet, ong to our em who la- •arents and d relations, irning day ! habitation, uch scenes dly to one tion appear beauty and What a of man ! 1 variety of employ his ) cheer and source of tothes their irtuc ; and, « death ! jtory]" SECTION V. AoKSiLAUs, king of Sparta, being asked, what things ho thought most proper for boys to learn, answered: •* Those which they ought to practice when they come to be men." A wiser than Agesilaus has inculcated the same sentiment : •'Train up a child in the way he should go; and when he is old, he will not depart from it." An Italian pliilosopher expressed in his motto, that timo was his estate. An estate which will, indeed, produce nothing without cultivation ; but which will always abun- dantly repay the labours of industry, and satisfy the most extensive desires, if no part of it be suffered to lie waste by ncgUlence ; to be overrun with noxious plants ; or laid out foi show, rather than use. When Aristotle was asked, what a man could gain by telUng a falsehood, he rcpUed " Not to be credited when he speaks the truth." L'Estrange, in his fables, tells us, that a number of frolicsome boys were one day watching frogs at the side of a pond ; and that, as any of them put their heads above the water, they pelted thejn down again with stones. One of the frogs, appealing to the humanity of the boys, made this striking observation : " Children, you do not consider, that though this may be sport to you, it is death to us." Sully, the great statesman of France, always retained at his table, in his most prosperous days, the same frugal- i'y to which he had been accustomed in early life. He was frequently reproached, by the courtiers, for this sini- pUcity; but he used to reply to them in the words of an ancient philosopher, "If the guests are men of sense, there is sufficient for them : if they are not, I can very well dis- pense with their company." Socrates, though primarily attentive to the culture of his mind, was not negUgent of his external appearance. His cleanliness resulted from those ideas of order and de- cency, which governed all his actions ; and the care which he took of his health, from his desire to preserve his mind free and tranquil. Eminently pleasing and honourable was the friendship between David and Jonathan. << I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan," said the plaintive and survivinsr 32 THE ENGLISH READER. Pabt I. ■ Part I. i David ; " very pleasant hast thou been to me : thy love to me was wonderful ; passing the love of woman." Sir Philip Sidney, at the battle near Zutphen, was wounded by a musket-ball, which broke the bone of his thigh. He was carried about a mile and a half, to the camp ; and, being faint with the loss of blood, and probably parched with thirst through the heat of the weather, he called for drink. It was immediately brought to him ; but, as he was putting the vessel to his mouth, a poor wounded soldier, who happened at that instant to be car- ried by him, looked up to it with wistful eyes. The gal- lant and generous Sidney took the bottle from his mouth, and delivered it *o the soldier, saying, " Thy necessity ig yet greater than mine." Alexander the Great demanded of a pirate whom he had taken, by what right he infested the seas. " By the same right," replied he, "that Alexander enslaves the world. But I am called a robber, because I have only one small vessel; and he is styled a conqueror, because he commands great fleets and armies." We too often judge of men by the splendour, and not by the merit of their actions. Antoninus Pius, the Romati emperor, was an amiable and good man. When any of his courtiers attempted to inflame him with a passion for militar} ^lory, he used to answer, that he more desired the preservation of one sul)- ject, than ^Ve destruction of a thousand enemies. Men are too often ingenious in making themselves miserable, by aggravating to their own fancy, beyond bounds, all the evils which they t-iiJure. They compare themselves with none but those whom they imagine to be more happy; and complain, that upon them alone hsa fallen the whole load of human sorrows. Would they look with a more impartial eye on the world, they would see themselves surrounded with sufferers ; and find that they are only drinking out of that mixed cup, which Provi- dence has prepared for all. — " I will restore thy daughter again to life," said the eastern sage, to a prince who grieved immoderately for the loss of a beloved child, " provided thou art able to engrave upon her tomb, the names of three persons who have never mourned." The prince made inquiry after such persons; but found the inquiry vain, and was silent. Pabt I. ■ Past I. SELECT SENTENCES, Ac. 33 thy love to phen, was one of his alf, to the d probably 5 weather, it to him; h, a poor to be car- The gal- lis mouth, lecessity ig whom he " By the slaves the B only one ecause he ften judge it of their n amiable tempted to le used to >f one sub" hemselves y, beyond y compare gine to be alone hai» L they look (vould see that they ich Provi- ^ daughter ince who ^ed child, tomb, the id." The found the SECTION VI. That every day has its pains and sorrows, is universally experienced, and almost universally confessed. But let us not attend only to mournful truths: if wc look impartially about us, wc shall fmd that every day has likewise its pleasures and its joys. We should cherish sentiments of charity towards all men. The Author of all good nourishes much piety and virtue in hearts that arc unknown to us ; and beholds re- pentance ready to spring up among many whom we con- sider as reprobates. No one ought to consider himself as insignificant in the «ight of his Creator. In our several stations, wc are all sent forth to be labourers in the vineyard of our heavenly Father. Every man has his work allotted, his talent com- mitted to him; by the due improvement of which he may, in one way or other, serve God,* promote virtue, and be useful in the world. The love of praise should be preserved under proper subordination to the priiiciple of duty. In itself, it is a useful motive to action: but when allowed to extend its influence too far, it corrupts the whole character; and pro- duces guilt, disgrace, and misery. To be entirely destitute of it, is a defect: to be governed by it, is depravity, 'i^he proper adjustment of the several principles of action in hugian nature, is a matter that deserves our higiiest at- tention. For when any one of them becomes either too weak or too strong, it endangers both our virtue and oar happiness. The desires and passions of a vicious man, having once obtained an unlimited sway, trample him under their feet. They make him feel, that he is subject to various, contra- dictory, and imperious masters, who often pull him differ- ent ways. His soul is rendered the receptacle of mai^y repugnant and jarring dispositions; and resembles sojne barbarous country, cantoned out into diflercnt princi])aU- ties, which are continually waging war with one another. Diseases, poverty, disappointment, and shame, are far from being, in every instance, the unavoidable doom cf man. They are much more frequently the olTspring of his own misguided choice. Intemperance ongondcru dis- ease, sloth produces poverty, pride creates disappoint- ments, and dishonesty exposes to shame. b2 ♦ I I iiiiSi! iilHM 34 THE ENGLISH READER. Part I. ,!, II The ungovemcd passions of men betray them into a thousand follies; their follies, into crimes; and their crimes, into misfortunes. When we reflect on the many distresses which abound in human life ; on the scanty proportion of happiness w^ ich any man is here allowed to enjoy ; on the small difference which the diversity of fortune makes on that scanty pro- portion; it is surprising, that envy should ever have been a prevalent passion among men, much nore that it should have prevailed among Christians. Where so much is suf- fered in common, little room is left for envy. There is more occasion for pity and sympathy, and inclination to assist each other. At our first setting out in life, while yet unacquainted with the world and its snares, when every pleasure en- chants with its smile, and every object shines with the gloss of novelty; let us bewafc of the seducing appearances which sur-ound us, and recollect what others have suffered from the power of headstrong desire. If we allow any passion, even though it be esteemed innocent, to acquire an absolute ascendant,* our inward peace will be impaired. But if any which has the taint of guilt, take early posses- sion of our mind, we may date from that moment the ruin of our tranquillity. Every man has some darling passion, which generally affords the iirst introduction to vice. The irregular grati- fications into which it occasionally seduces him, appear under the form of venial wcakiicsscs; and are indulged in the beginning with scrupulousness and reserve. But by longer practice, these restraints weaken, and the power of habit grows. One vice brings in another to its aid. By a sort of natural aflmity, they connect and entwine them- selves together; till their roots come to be spread wide and deep over all the soul. How many young persons have at first set out in the world with excellent dir.positions of heart: generous, char- itable, and humane; kind to their friends, and amiable among all with whom they bad intercourse! And yet, how often have we seen all those fair appearances unhap- pily blasted in the progress of lite, merely through tbe intluence of loose and corrupting pleasures; and those very persons who promised once to be blessings to the world. Blink down, in the end, to be the burden and nui- F: nee of society ! nuppmess s 35 CHAPTER II. NARRATIVE PIECES. Sect. I. — No Rank or Posse-mons can make the guilty Mind happy, DIONYSIUS', the tyrant of Sicily', was far from being happy\ though he possessed great riches^ and all the pleasures' which wealth^ and power' could procured Dam- ocles', one of his flatterers', deceived by these specious appearances of happiness, took occasion to compliment him on the extent of his power', his treasures', and royal magnilicenee\ and declared that no monarch had ever l)een greater^ or happier' than Dionysius\ *' Hast thou a mind, Damocles," says the king, *' to taste this happiness'; and to know, by experience, what the enjoyments are', of which thou hast so high an ideal" Damocles', with joy, accepted the oirer\ The king ordered that a royal ban- quet should be prepared', and a gilded sopha, covered with rich embroidery, placed for his favourite^ Side-boards', lo»ded with gold and silver plate of immense value', wore arranged in the apartment\ Pages of extraordinary beauty were ordered to attend his table\ and to obey his com- mands' with the utmost readiness', and the most profound submission\ Fragrant ointments\ chaplets of flowers\ and rich perfumes', were added to the entertainment^ The table was loaded with the most exquisite delicacies' of every kind\ Damocles, intoxicated with pleasure, fancied him- self amongst superior bcings\ But in the midst of all this happiness', as he lay indulging himself in state, he ser^ let down from tlie ceiling\ exactly over his head, a glitter- ing: sword hung by a single hair^ The sight of impending destruction' put a speedy end to his joy' and revelling'. The pomp of his attendance\ the glitter of the carved plate\ and the delicacy of the viands', ceased to alTord liim any pleasured lie dreads' to stretch forth his hand to the table.^ He throws' off the garland of roses^ He hastens' to remove from his dangerous situation^; and ear- nestly^ entreats' the king to restore him to his former hum- Me condition', having no desire to enjoy any longer a nuppiness' so tcrrible\ 3G THE ENGLISH READER. Put I. ■ CtfiP. n. By this device, Dionynus intimated to Damocles, how miserable he was in the midst of all his trea8ures\ and in possession' of all the honours^ and enjoyments' which royalty' could bcstow\ Cickbo. Sect. II. — Human, - or^ tJie Misery of Pride. Ahasueuus, who is supposed to be the prince known among the Greek historians by the name of Artaxerxes, had advanced to the chief dignity of his kingdom, Haman, an Amalekite, who inherited all the ancient enmity of his race to the Jewish nation. He appears, from what is recorded of him, to have been a very wicked minister. Raised to greatness without merit, he employed his power «olely for the gratification of his passions. As the hon« ours which he possessed were next to royal, his pride was cvci*y day fed with that servile homage which is peculiar to Asiatic courts; and all the servants of the king pros- trated tliomsclves before him. In the midst of this gen- neral adulation, one person only stooped not to Haman. This was Mordccai tlie Jew; who, knowing this Amalekite to be an enemy to the people of God; and, with virtuous indignation, despising that insolence oi prosperity with which he saw him lifted up; "bowed not, nor did him reverence." On this appearance of disrespect from Mor- dccai, Haman "was full of wmth; but ho thought scorn to lay hands on Monlecai alone." Personal revenge was not sufficient to satisfy him. Ho violent and black were his passions, that he resolved o exterminate the whole nation to whicli Mordecai belonged. Abusing, for this cruel purpose, the favouj of his credulous sovereign, he obtained a decree to be sent forth, that, against a certain day, all the Jews throughout the Persian dominions should be put to the sword. Meanwhile, confident of success, and blind to approaching ruin, he continued exulting in his prosperity. Invited by Ahasnerns to a royal bnnld man set before him such provisions as he had collected for himself, on which Obidah fed with eagerness and gra- titude. When the repast was over, " Tell me," said the iermit, « by what chance thou hast been brought hither. have been now twenty years an inhabitant of *lhe wiU ierness, in which I never saw a man before." Obidah pien related the occurrences of his journey, without any poncealment or palliation. "Son," said the hermit, «let the errors and follies, tho 48 THE ENGLISH HEADER. Pabt I. Icai,. II. ■s dangers and escapes of this day, sink deep into thy heart Remember, my son, tha>. human Ufe is the journey of a day. We rise in the morning of youth, full of vigour, and full of expectation ; we set forward with spirit and hope, "vs'ith gaiety and with diligence, and travel on^ a while in the direct road of piety towards the mansions of lest. In a short time, we remit our fervour, and endeavour to find some mitigatio > of our uuty, and &ome more easy means of obtaining J^e same end. We then relax or* vigour, and resolve ^o longer to be terrified with crimes ai a dis- tance ; bu ^eiy vpon our own constancy, and venture to approach what we resolve never co touch. We thus enter i the bowers of ease, and repose in the shades of security, j Here the heart softens, and vigilance subsides; we are thenl willing to inquire whether another advance cannot be made,] and whether v/e may not, at least, turn oar eyes upon the] gardens o^ pleasure. We approach them with scruple and hesitation . we enter them, but enter timorous and trem- bling; and, always hope to pass thi.ough them without losing the road of virtue, which, for a while, we keep inj our «ight, and to which we purpose to return. But temp*] tation succeeds temptation, and one compliance preparei us for another: we in time lose the happiness of innocence, and solace our disquiet with sensual gratifications. 65 j degrees, we \ct fall the remembrance of our original inten* tion, an J qiiit the only adequate object of rational desire.] We entangle ounelves in business, immerge ourselves in luxury, and rove through the labyrinths of inconstancy; till the darkness of old age begins to invade us, and dis* ease and anxiety obstruct our way. We then look ba.k upon our lives with horror, with sorrow, with repentance;] and wish, but too often vainly wish, that we had not for- saken the ways of virtue. Happy are they, my son, who] shall learn from thy example, not to despair; but shall remember, that though the day is past, and their strength is wasted, there yet remains one ellbrt to be made; that reformation is never hopeless, nor sincere endeavours ever unassisted ; that the wanderer may at length return after dl his errors; and that ho who implores strength and courage from above, shall find danger and diliiculty jjfiv« way before him. Go now, iny son, to thy repose ; commit thyself to the care of Omnipotence; and, when the mom-j ing calls again to toil, begin anew thy journey and thyl life." Dh. JoiiN»oJ.| PabtI. Iciap. II- NARRATIVE PIECES. •Sect. VIL— La Roche, 49 Oir the last day of Mr. Hume's journey, different accidents had retarded his progress; he was benighted before he reached the quarter in which La Roche resided. His guide, however, was well acquainted with the road; and he found himself, at last, in view of the lake in the neigh- bourhood of La Roche's dwelling. A light gleamed on the |wat«r, that seemed to proceed from the house; it moved jsiowly along, as he proceeded up the side of the lake; id at last he saw it glimmer through the trees, and stop It some distance from the place where he then was. He supposed it some piece of bridal merriment, and pushed his horse, that he might be a spectator of the scene ; it he was a good deal shocked on approaching the spot, find it proceed from the torch of a person clothed in the S8 of an attendant on a funeral, and accompanied by iveral others, who, like him, seemed to have been em- ployed in the rites of sepulture. On Mr. Hume's making inquiry who was the person they ladbeen burying ; one of them, with an accent more mourn- ful than is comjoion to their profession, answered, <f a Supreme! that mannef] here of little L it represscil urt by calanvj ness. — I wiUj annoi, I can.| feci toomiichi but therM refore havclj ou ; to (iirectl these tearsij lat while yott| ion. lild, the laftl irs! Suchil her virtiie«;l ise they wcrel you saw hell who are pif judge of m struck nie;f of my (»o 3Ut the heaH ,0 pour it oB with confidence to him, in whose hands arc life and death; on whose power awaits all that the first enjoys; and in contemplation of whom disappears all that the last can inflict! For we are not as those who die without hope: we know that our Redeemer livcth; that we shall live with him, with our friends, his servants, in that blessed land where sorrow is unknown, and happiness is endless as it lis perfect. Go, then ; mourn not for mc, I have not lost Iray child: but a little while, and we shall meet again, Inever to be separated. But ye arc also my children : — [Would ye that I should grieve without comfort I So live she lived ; that when your death cometh, it may be the Bath of the righteous, and your latter end like his." its,',' i/lCti;. Mackknzit:. ♦ f CHAPTER III. DIDACTIC PIECES. •Sect. I. — The Folli/ of mispcncUng Time. N ancient poet, unreasonably discontented at the pre- sent^ state of thin;Tg^ which his system of opinions Dbligcd him to represent in its worst' form, has observed |if the earth\ "That its greatest' part is covered by the jninhabitable ocean\ that of the rest\ some is encumbered vith naked mountains', and some lost under barren sands^; ome scorched with uninterraitted heat', and some petri- Bod with perpetual frost^: so that only a few' regions re- uain for the production of fruitri\ the pasture of cattle', M the accommodation of man\" The same observation mav be transferred to tho time' illoted us in our present^ state. When we have deducted kll that is absorbed in sleep\ all that is inevitably appro- piated to the demands of nature\ or irresistibly engrossed k the tyranny of custom'; all that passes in regulating jlic superficial decorations of life\ or is given up in the eciprocations of civility to the disposal of others'; all that torn from us by the violence of disease\ or stolen im- erceptibly away by lassitude and languor'; we sholl find Ittt' part of our duration very smair of which we can truly i 1 52 THE ENGLISH READER, PaitI icall ourselves masterd^ or which we can spend wholly at our own choice\ Many of our hours are lost in a rota' tion of petty cares', in a constant recurrence of the same | employments^; many of our provisions for ease or happi. ness' are always exhausted by the present^ day; and i| great part of our existence serves no othe/ purpose, thanj that of enabling us to enjoy the rest\ Of the few moments which are left' at our disposal, il| may reasonably be expectcd\ that we should be so frugal', as to let none of them slip from us without some cquiva* lent': and perhaps 't might be found, that, as the earth\J however straitened by rocks and water?, is capable of pro«i ducing more than all its inhabitants are able to consume'/ our lives', though much contracted by incidental distraci tion', would yet afford us a large space vacant to the] exercise of reason' and virtue^; that we want not time', bii diligence^ for great performances ; and that we squ nde/j much of our allowance, even while wc think it sparing and in.su'li.cient\ An Italian philosopher expressed in his motto', th time was his estate^; an estate', indeed, which will producel nothing without cultivation', but will always abundantljl repay the labours of industry\ and satisfy the most exteM sive' desires, if no part of it be sutTcred to lie waste byl negligence^ to be overrun wall noxious plants', or laid outi for show' rather than for use\ Db. John soil Sect. II. — The Importance of& Good Edacation^ I coxsiDKR a human soul, without education, like marl) In the quarry; which shows none of its inherent beautie until the skill of the polisher fetches out the coloun makes the surface shine, and discovers every ornamenti cloud, spot, and vein, that runs tl ough the body of Education, after the same manner, when it works up a noble mind, draws out to view every latent virtue *x^ perfection, which, without such helps, are never able make their appearance. If my reader will give me leave to cHnngc the alluafl 80 soon upon him, I shall make use of the same instan to illustrate the force of education, which Aristotle brought to explain his doctrine of substantial forms, wb he tells us, that % statue lies hid in a block of marble; Ichif. hi. DIDACTIC PIECES, 53 s^ or laid outi [)U. JOIINSUSJ jthtt the art of the statuary only clears away the super- loous matter, and removes the rubbish. The 6gure is ia [the stone, and ihe sculptor only finds it. What sculpture lis to a block of marble, education is to a human soul. le philosopher, the saint, or the hero ; the wise, the good, |or the great man, very often \iet> hid and concealed in a plebeian, which a proper education might have disinterred, id have brought to light. I am therefore much delighted ith reading the accounts of savage nations, and with mtemplating those virtues which are wild and unculti- rated; to see courage exerting itself in fierceness, rcsolu- ^on in obstinacy, wis/lom in cunning, patience in suUenncse id despair. Men's passions operate variously, and appear in differ- it kinds of actions, according as they are more or less ied and swayed by reason. When one hears of ne- es, who, upon the death of their masters, or upon chan. jing their service, hang themselves upon the next tree, as |t lotuctimcs happens in our American plantations ; who in forbear admiring their fidelity, though it exprcssefi Itielf in so dreadful a manner 1 What miglit not that sav- je greatness of soul, which appears in these poor wretches many occasions, be raised to, were it rightly cultivatcdl Ind what colour of excuse can there be, for the contempt eith which we treat this part of our species; that we should aot put them upon the common footing of humanity ; that re should only set an insignificant fine upon the man who lurders them ; nay, that we should, as much as in us lies, put them oft* from the prospects of happiness in another w!d, as well as in this ; and deny them that which we |ook upon as the proper means for attaining it? It is, therefore, an unspeakable blessing to be born in fhose parts of the world where wisdom and knowledge [lourish; though it must be confessed there are, even in lese parts, several poor uninstructcd persons, who are hut little above the inhabitants of those nations of which have been he/c speaking; as those who have had the Jvaniages of a more liberal education, rise above one bother, ]>y several dilFerent degrees of perfection. For, \o return to our statue in the llock of marble, wo sec it JQietimcs only begun to be chipped ; sometimes rough* fewn, and but just sketched into a human figuiv ; Bome. limes wc sec the man appearing distinctly in all his limbH ind features; sometimes we find the figure wrought up to 54 THE ENGLISH READER. Part I. Icbif. HI. 1:3 great elegancy ; but seldom meet with any, to which the hand of a Phidias or a Piaxiteles could not give several nice touches and finishings. Addisoi. Sect. HI. — On Forgiveness. Tub most plain and natural sentiments of equity concur with divine authority, to enforce the duty of forgiveness. Let him who has never in his life done wrong, be allowed the privilege of remaining inexorable. But let such as are conscious of frailties and crimes consider forgiveness as' a debt which they owe to others. Common failings are the strongest leiyson of mutual forbearance. Were this I virtue unknown among men, order and comfort, peace and] repose would be strangers to human life. Injunes retal- iated according to the exorbitant measure which passion I prescribes, would excite resentment in return. The in« jured person would become the injuror; and thus wrongs, retaliations, and fresh injuries, would circulate in endlesi succession, till the world was rendered a field of blood. Of all the passions which invade the human breast, revcn;i:« is the most direful. When allowed to reign with full do- 1 minion, it is more than sufficient to poison the few plca^ sures which remain to man in his present state. Howj much soever a person may suffer from injustice, he is al- ways in hazard of suffering more from the prosecution ofl revenge. The violence of an enemy cannot inflict what is efjual to the torment he creates to himself, by means of the fierce and desperate passions which he allows to rage in his soul. Those evil spirits who inhabit the regions of misery, I are represented as deli^^liting in revenge and cruelty; but all that is great and good in the universe, is on the side of clemency and mercy. The Almighty Ruler of the world, though for ages offended by the unrighteousness, anil in- sulted by the impiety of men, is "long-suUering and slow! to anger.'* His Son, when he appeared in our nature, «•[ liibited, both in his life and his death, the most illustrioujj example of forgiveness which the world ever beheld, we look into the history of mankind, we shall find thaJ in every age, they who have been respected os worthy, orl admired as great, have been distinguished for this virtofj Revenge dwells in little minds. A noble and mognani* nious spirit is not from the others feel. C their impotent than with angf —It has been lean no sooner make himself g Se JTheue are ma beauty; who 1 I season; who I j paired in their of their friendi der connexioni iheml It prese ! there does not sive prospect < I rience of manki the open and g j of, has rendere( ships. The pi when they for I who animated Where then cs: religion ] Th( providence an( the heart. I s humanity ; wh rendered more that stupid iri^ nify with the r It might the who think the; anco of religic feel the want inanity to cone of maukihd; « habit, at least, Duule necessar might be exp PabtlIchap. ni. DIDACTIC PIECES. 55 mous spirit is always superior to ito This spirit suffers not from the injuries of men those severe shocks which {others feel. Collected within itself, it stands unmoved by their impotent assaults; and with generous pity, rather than with anger, looks down on their unworthy conduct. —It has been truly said, that the greatest man on earth . {ran no sooner commit an injury, than a good man can make himself greater by forgiving it. Blaih.. SicT. IV. — Comforts of Religion. ' I There are many who have passed the age of youth and - beauty ; who have resigned the pleasures of that smiling I season ; who begin to decline into the vale of years, im- paired in their health, depressed in their fortunes, stripped of their friends, their children, and perhaps still more ten- der connexions. What resource can this world afford ihemi It presents a dark and dreary waste, through which, there does not issue a single ray of comfort. Every delu- I give prospect of ambition is now at an end ; long expe- jrience of mankind, and experience very different from what the open and generous soul of youth had formerly dreamt of, has rendered the heart almost inaccessible to new friend- ships. The principal sources of activity arc taken away, when they for whom we labour are cut off from us; they who animated and who sweetened all the toils of life. Where then can the soul find refuge, but in the bosom of religion] There she is admitted to those prospects of providence and futurity, which alone can warm and fill the heart. I speak here of such as retain the feelings of humanity ; whom misfortunes have softened, and perhaps rendered more delicately sensible ; not of such as possess that stupid irisensibility, which some are pleased to dig- nify with the name of Philosophy. . » It might therefore be expected, that those philosophers who think they stand in no need themselves of the assist- ance of religion to support their virtue, and who never feel the want of its consolations, would yet have the hu- manity to consider the very different situation of the rest of maukihd; and not endeavour to deprive them of what habit, at least, if they will not allow it to bo nature, has Quule necessary to their morals and to their happiness. It might be expected, that humanity would prevent them ■ i i i 56 THE ENGLISH READER. Tjun I I Chap. III. from brealdng into the last retreat of the unfortunate, who can no longer be objects^ of their envy at resentment; and tearing from them tiieir only remaining comfort. The at- tempt to ridicule religion may be agreeable to some, by relieving them from restraint upon their pleasures; and may render others very miserable by making them doubt those truths, in which they are most deeply interested : hut it can convey real good and happiness to no one indi- vidual. , ^ Gjl£«OlT. Sect. V. — On the Importance of Order in f/u Dttiribuim of our lime. Tims we ought to consider as a sacred trust committed to us by God ; of which we are now the depositaries, and are to render an account at the last. That portion of it which he has allotted to us, is intended partly for the concemi of this world, partly for those of the next. Let each of these occupy, in the distribution of our time, that space which properly belongs to it. Let not the hours of hos- pitality and pleasure interfere with the discharge of our :>ecessary aflairs; and let not what we call necessary afl^irs, encroach upon the time which is due to devotion. To every thing there is a season, and a time for every pur- pose under the heavens. If we delay till to-morrow what ought to be done tonlay, we overcharge the morrow with a burden which belongs not to it. We load the wheels of time, and prevent them from carrying us along smoothly. He who every morning plans the transactions of the day, and follows out that plan, carries on a thread which m\\ guide him through the labyrinth of the most busy life. The orderly arrangement of his time is like a ray of light, which darts itself through all his aiKiirs. But where no plan is laid, where the disposal of time is surrendered merely to the chance of incidents, all things lie huddled together in one chaos, which admits neither of distribution nor review. The first requisite for introducing order into the manage- ment of time, is, to be impressed with a just sense of its value. Let us consider well how much depends upon it, and how fast it flies away. The bulk of men are in no- thing more capricious and inconsistent, than in their appreciation of time. "When they think of it, as the mea- sure of theii and with the when they vi it in eon tem] sion. While otlen wishing every other They allow e and make e\ help them to less of time, observed in i how many nii laying up in suffer to pasj j)entance see! omitted to be torment of s by the conse pressed by ca under a burt dying man be ing, when bis Such are the not attending persons, is m: not being pei But he wh takes the pro] He is justly s ment, he proh in a few year God and his c the lawful inl on the past, r arrests the ht useful purpoiH those hours il His days and remembrance irregular a s thougli he rer no account of c2 I .'" II I Tami I I Chaf. III. DIDACTIC PIECES. 57 sure of their continuance on earth, they highly prize it, and with the greatest anxiety seek to lengthen it out. But when they view it in seperate parcels, they appear to hold it in contempt, and squander it with inconsiderate profti-- sion. While they complain that life ir short, they are often wishing its different periods at an end. Covtous of every other possession, of time only they are prodigal. They allow every idle man to be master of this property, and make every frivolous occupation welcome that carr help them to consume it. Among those who are so care- less of time, it is not to be expected that order should l>e observed in its distribution. But, by this fatal neglect, how many materials of severe and lasting regret are they laying up in store for themselves! The time which they suffer to pass away in the midst of confusion, bitter re- [)entance seeks afterwards in vain to recall. What was omitted to be done at its proper moment, arises to be the torment of some future season. Manhood is disgraced by the consequences of neglected youth. Old age, op- pressed by cares that belonged to a former period, labours under a burden not its own. At the close of life, tlie (lying man beholds, with anguish, that his days are finish- ing, when his preparation for eternity is hardly commenced. Such are the ettects of a disorderly waste of time, through not attending to its value. Every thing in the life of such persons, is mis[)laced. Nothing is performed aright, from not being performed in due season. But he who is orderly in the distribution of his time, takes the piO])er method of escaping those manifold evils. He is justly said to redeem the time. By proper managv - ment, he prolongs it. He lives much in little space ; more in a few years than others do in many. He can live to God and his own soul, and at the same time attend to all the lawful interests of the present world. He looks back on the past, and provides for the future. He catches and arrests the liours as they lly. They are marked down for useful purposes, and their memory remains. Whereas, those hours fleet by the man of confusion lik«; a shadow. His days and vears are either blanks, of which he has no remembrance ; or they are filled up with so confused and irregular a succession of unfinished transactions, that though he remembers he has been busy, yet he can gi^e no account of the business which has employed him. ULirit. c2 I i 5S THE ENGLISH READER. Part I. wm. 'i '■ n 1 Sect. Yl.-^Moderation in our Wishes recommended. The active mind of man seldom or never rests satisfied with jts present condition, how prosperous soever. Origi- nally formed for a wider range of objects, for a higher sphere of enjoyments ; it finds itself, in every situation of fortune, straitened and confined. Sensible of deficiency in its state, it is ever sending forth the fond desire, the aspiring wish, after something beyond what is enjoyed at present. Hence, that restlessness which prevails so gen- erally among mankind. Hence, that disgust of pleasures which they have tried ; that passion for novelty ; that am- bition of rising to some degree of eminence or felicity, of which they have formed to themselves an indistinct idea. All which may be considered as indications of a certain native original greatness in the human soul, swelling be- yond the limits of its present condition, and pointing to the higher objects for which it was made. Happy, if these latent remains of our primitive state, served to direct our wishes towards their proper destination, and to lead us into the path of true bliss. But, in this dark and bewildered state, the aspiring ten- dency of our nature unfortunately takes an opposite direc- tion, and feeds a very misplaced ambition. The flattering appearances which here present themselves to sense; the distinctions which fortune confers; the advantages and pleasures which we imagine the world to be capable of bestowing, fill up the ultimate wish of most men. These arc the objects which engross their solitary musings, and stimulate their active labours ; which warm the breasts of the young, animate the industry of the middle-aged, and often keep alive the passions of the old, until the vcrj- close 01 life. Assuredly there is nothing unlawful in our Vishing to be freed from whatever is disagreeable, and to obtain a fuller enjoyment of the comforts of life. But when theso wishes arc not tempered by reason, they are in danger of precipitating us into much extravagance and folly. De- sires and wishes are the first springs of action. When they become exorbitant, the whole character is likely to be tainted. If we suffer our faiicy to create to itself worlds of ideal happiness, we shall discompose the peace and order of our minds, and foment many hurtful passions. Sect, VII.~ Chip. UI. DIDACTIC PIECES. 59 Here, then, let moderation begin its reign; by bringing "^vithin reasonable bounds the wishes that we form. As goon as they become extravagant, let us check them, by proper reflections on the fallacious nature of those objects, which the world hangs out to allure desire. You have strayed, my friends, from the road which con- ducts to felicity; you have dishonoured the native dignity of your souls, in allowing your wishes to terminate on nothing higher than worldly ideas of greatness or happi- ness. Your imagination roves in a land of shadows. Unreal forms deceive you. It is no more than a phan- tom, an illusion of happiness, which attracts your fond admiration; nay, an illusion of happiness, which often conceals much real misery. Do you imagine that all are happy, who have attained to those summits of distinction, towards which your wishes aspire? Alas! how frequently has experience shown, that where roses were supposed to bloom, nothing but briars and thorns grew I Reputation, beauty, riches, grandeur, nay, royalty itself, would, many a time, have been gladly exchanged by the possessors, for that more quiet and hum- ble station with which you are now dissatisfied. With all that is splendid and shining in the world, it is decreed that there should mix many deep shades of wo. On the ele- vated situations of fortune, the great calamities of life chiefly fall. There the s'orm spends its violence, and there the thunder breaks ; while, safe and unhurt, the in- habitants of the vale remain below. — Retreat, then, from those vain and pernicious excursions of extravagant desire. Satisfy yourselves with what is rational and attainable. Train your minds to moderate views of human Hfe, and human happiness. Remember, and admire, the wisdom of Agur's petition : " Remove far from me vanity and lies?. Give me neither poverty nor riches. Feed me with food convenient for me : lest I be full and deny thee ; and say. Who is the Lord 1 or lest I be poor and steal ; and take; the name of my God in vain." Blaih. Sect. VII. — Omniscience and Omnipresence of the Deity y the SQurcc of Consolation to good Men. ^ I WAS yesterday, about sunset, walking in the open fields, till the night insensibly fell upon me. I at first amused myself with all the richness and variety of cojours which (iO THE ENGLISH READER. Part I. !^■;:.■^ il i I appeared in the western parts of heaven. In proportion iHH they faded away and went out, several stars and planets appeared one after another, till the whole (irmament was in a glow. The bluencss of the ether was exceedingly heightened and enlivened, by the season of the year, and the rays of all those luminaries that passed through it. The galaxy appeared in its most beautiful white. To complete the scene, the full moon rose, at length, in that clouded majesty which Milton takes notice of; and opened to the eye a new picture of nature, which was more finely shaded, and disposed among softer lights, than that which the sun had before discovered to us. As I was surveying the moon walking in hor brightness, nud tjiking her progress among the constellations, a thought aro.sc in me, which I believe very often perplexes and disturbs men of serious and contemplative natures. David himself tell into it, in that reaction : " When 1 consider the heavens, the work of thy fingers ; the moon and the stars which thou hast ordained ; what is man that thou art mindful of him, and the son of man that thou regardest himl" In the same manner, when I considered that infinite host of stars, or to speak more philosophically, of suns, which were then shining upon me ; with those in- numerable sets of planets or worlds, which were movin|i round their respective suns ; when I still enlarged the idea, and supposed another heaven of suns and worlds, risinij «till above this which we discovered; and these still en- lightened by a superior firmament of luminaries, which are planted at so great a distance, that tliQy may appear to the inhabitants of the former, as the stars do to us; in short, while I pursued this thought, I could not but reflect on tliat little insignificant figure which I myself bon> amidst the immensity of God's works. V\^cre the sun, which enlightens this part of the creation, with all the host of planetary worlds that move about him, utterly extinguished and annihilated, they would not be missed, more than a grain of sand upon the sea-shore. The space they possess is so exceedingly little in compii- rison to the whole, it would scarcely make a ])lank in the creation. The chasm would be impcrcepti])le to an eye ^that could take in the whole compass of nature, and pa^•o from one end of the creation to the other ; as it is possi- ble there may be such a sense in ourselves hereafter, or in creatures which are at present more exalted than ourselves. Part I. ■ Chaf. III. DIDACTIC PIECES. 61 By the help of glasses, we see many stars, which we do not discover with our naked eyes ; and the finer our tele- fcopes are, the more still are our discoveries. Huyg^enius carries this thought so far, that he docs not think it im- possible there may be stars, whose light has not yet travelled down to us, since their first creation. There is no question that the universe has certain bounds set to it ; but when we consider that it is the work of Infinite Power, prompted by Infinite ijloodness, with an iiifinite space to exert itself in, how can our imagination set any bounds to it? To return, therefore, to my first thought : I could not but look upon myself with secret horror, as a being that was not worth the smallest regard of one who had so great a work under his care and superintendence. I was afraid of being overlooked amidst the immensity of nature ; and lost among that infinite variety of creatures, which, in all probability, swarm through all these immeasurable regions d" matter. In order to recover myself from this mortifying thought, I considered that it took its rise from those narrow con- ceptions, which we are apt to entertain of the Divine Nature. Wc ourselves cannot attend to many different ol)jccts at the same time. If we are careful to inspect some things, we must of course neglect others. This im- perfection which we observe in ourselves, is an imperfec- tion that cleaves in some degree, to creatures of the highest capacities, as they are creatures, that is, beings of finite and limited natures. The presence of every created being is confined to a certain measure of space ; and consequently his observation is stinted to a certain number of objects. The sphere in which we move, and act, and understand, is of a wider circumference to one creature than another, according as we rise one above an- other in the scale of existence. But the widest of these our spheres has its circumference. When, therefore, we rellect on the Divine Nature, we are so used and accus- tomed to this imperfection in ourselves, that we cannot forbear, in some measure ascribing it to Him, in whom there is no shadow of imperfection. Our reason, indeed, assures us, that his attributes are infinite; but the poor- ness of our conception is such, that it cannot forbear set- ting bounds to every thing it contemplates, till our reaskin oomes again to our succour, and throws down all thoae I 1 62 THE ENGLISH READER. PabtI. I CMAF.ni ii little prejudices, which rise in us unawares and are natural to the mind of man. We shall therefore utterly extinguish this melancholy thought, of our being overlooked by our Maker, in the multiplicity of his works, and the infinity of those objects among which ho seems to be incessantly employed, if wc consider, in the first place, that he is omnipresent; and in the second, that he is omniscient. If we consider him in his omnipresence, his being passes through, actuates, and supports, the whole frame of na- ture. His creation, in every part of it, is full of him. There is nothing he has made, which is either so distant, so little, or so inconsiderable, that he does not essentially reside in it. His substance is within the substance of every being, whether material or immaterial; and is as intimately present to it, as that being is to itself. It would be an imperfection in him, were be able to move out of one place into another; or to withdraw himself from any thing he has created, or from any part of that space which he diffused and spread abroad to infinity. In short, to speak of him in the language of the old philosophers, ho is a Being whose centre is every where, and his circum- ference no where. In the second place, he is omniscient as well as otnni- present. His omniscience, indeed, necessarily and natu- rally flows from his omnipresence. He cannot but be conscious of every motion that arises in the whole material world, which he thus essentially pervades; and of every thought that is stirring in the intellectual world, to every part of which he is thus intimately united. Were the soul separated from the body, and should it with one glance of thought start beyond the bounds of the creation; should it, for millions of years, continue its progress through infi- nite space, with the same activity ; it would still find itself within the embrace of itd Creator, and encompassed by the immensity of the Godhead. In this consideration of the Almighty's omnipresence and omniscience, every uncomfortable thought vanishes. He cannot but regard everything that has being, espo- cially such of his creatures who fear they are not regarded by him. He is privy to all their thoughts, and to that anxiety of heart, in particular, which is apt to trouble them on this occasion ; for as it is impossible he should overlook any of his creatures, so we may l)0 confident that L i>ii Chap. HI. DIDACTIC PIECES. 63 he regiards, with an eye of mercy, those who endeavour to recommend themselves to his notice; and, in unfeigned humility of heart, think themselves unworthy that he should be mindful of them. Addison. '■^ I.. ,« p-=^ ii» * • Sbct. VIII. — On Retirement and Meditation, Retirement and meditation open a source of new and better entertainment than you meet with in thn world. You will soon find, that the world does not perform what it promises. The circle of earthly enjoyments is narrow and circumscribed ; the career of sensual pleasure is soon run ; and when the novelty is over, the charm is gone. Who has not felt the satiety and weariness of the king of Israel, when he exclaimed, " All is vanity and vexation of spirit 1" — Unhappy is the man, who, in these cases, has nothing within to console him under his disappointment. Miserable is the man who has no resources within hinisclf, who cannot enjoy his own company, who depends for hap- piness upon the next amusement, or the news of the day. But the wise man has treasures within himself. The house of solitude is to him the house of meditation. He communes with his heart alone. He views the actions of his past life. He corrects what is amiss ; he rejoices in what is right ; and, wiser by experience, lays the plans of his future life. The great and the noble, the wise and the learned, the pious and the good, have been lovers of serious retirement. On this field, the patriot forms schemes, the philosopher pursues his discoveries, the saint improves himself in wisdom and goodness. Solitude is the hallowed ground which religion, in every age, has adopted as her own. There, her sacred inspiration is felt, and her holy mysteries elevate the soul; there, devotion lifts up her voice ; there, falls the tear of contrition ; there, the heart pours itself forth before him who made, and him who re- deemed it. Apart from men, you live with nature, and converse with God. Loo an. ■«! •Sect. IX. — The Elements subservient to theWatita of Man, TaK eye of man is turned, not towards heaven, as the poets and even some philosophers allege, but to the hori- zon ; 80 that he may view at once the heaven which iliu- 64 THE ENGLISH READER. PlRTl. I CBAf-DI. {t t minates himf, and the earth which supports him. His visual rays take in nearly half of the celestial hemisphere, and of the plane on which he treads ; and their reach ex» tends from the grain of sand which he tramples under foot, to the star which shines over his head at an immeasurable distance. « Man alone, of all animals, can enjoy equally the day and the night; he alone can bear to live within the ton id zone, and upon the ice of the frigid. If certain animals be par- takers with him in these advantages, it is only by means of his instructions, and under his protection. For thig advantage, he is indebted to the element of fire, of which he alone is the sovereign lord. Though the dog is much more intelligent than the mon- key, and is a witness every hour of the ellccts of fire, and accustomed to live only on meat that is dressed; yet, if you give him raw Hesh, he will never think of roasting it on the coals. This barrier, which separates man from the brute, weak as it may appear, is insurmountable to animals. God has intrusted the first agent in nature to that being alone, who, by his reason, is qualified to make a right use of it. This element is universally necessary to litiman exis- tence, even in the hottest climates. By means of fire alone, man guards his habitation by night from the ravenous* beasts of prey; drives away the insects which thirst for his blood; and clears the ground of the trees and plants which cover it, the stems and trunks of which would resist every Hpccies of cultivation. In every country, with fire he pre- pares his food, dissolves metals, vitrifies rocks, hardens <'lay, softens iron, and gives to all the productions of tlie earth the forms and the combinations which his nccessiticfl require. ' The benefits which man derives from the nir, are no less extensive. Few animals are, like him, capable of resj)iring with e([ual ease at the level of the sea, and on the summit of the loftiest mountains. Man is the only being that. gives to air all the modulations of which it is susceptible. Witli his voice alone, he imitates the hissing, the cries, the sing- ing of all animals; while he erjoys the gift of speech, denied to every other. Sometimes he communicates sen- sibility to the ear ; he makes it sigh in the pipe, complain in the fiute, threaten in the trumpet, and animate to tiie tone of his passions the brass, the box-tree, and the reed. P^HTl. I CHlf.ni. DIDACTIC PIECES. 65 Sometimes he makes the air his slave: he forces it to grind> to bruise, and to move to his advantage an endless variety of machinery. In a word he yokes il to his marine car, and constrains it to wail him even over the billows of the ocean. As man is the only being that has the disposal of fire, which is the principle of life, so he alone practices agri- culture, which is its support. All animals who live upon fruits, have, like him, occasion for it, and most of them the experience; but no one the practice. The ox never thinks of sowing the grain which he treads out upon the barn-floor; nor the monkey, the maixe of the field which be plunders. St. Pikbri. ♦Sect. X. — The Improvement of the Mind, the prtncipul Source of Happttiesa, The chief blessing to an intelligent being, that which makes all other blessings poor, is the improvement of his own mind. Man is glorious and happy, not by what he has, but by what he is. He can receive nothing better or nobler, than the unfolding of his own spiritual nature. The highest existence in the universe is Mind ; for God is Mind ; and the development of that principle which assimilates us to God, must be our supreme good. The omnipotent Crea- tor, we have reason to think, can bestow nothing greater than intelligence, love, rectitude, energy of will and of l)encvolcnt action ; for these are the splendours of his own natur(>. We adore him for these. In imparting these, he imparts, as it were, himself. We are too apt to look abroad for good. But the only true good is within. In this out- ward universe, magnificent as it is in the bright day and the starry night — in the earth and the skies, we can discover nothiDg so vast as thought, so strong as the unconquerable purpose of duty, so sublime as the spirit of disinterested- ness and self-sucriiice. A mind, which withstands all the powers of the outward universe— all the pains which fire, and sword, and storm can inflict, rather than swerve from uprightnciis — is nobler than the universe. Why will wo not learn the glory of the soul 1 We are seeking a foreign good. But we all possess within us what is of more worth than the external creation. For this outward system in the product of Mind. All its harmony, beauty, and bene- 'ii 66 THE ENGLISH READER. Part I. ficent influences, arc the fruits and manifestations of Thought and Love ; and is it not nobler ankl happier, to he enriched with these energies, from which the univene springs, and to which it owes its magnificence, than to pos- sess the universe itself] It is not what we have, but what we are^ which constitutes ,our glory and felicity. The only true and durable riches belong to the mind. A soul, narrow and debased, may extend its possessions to the end of the earth ; but is poor and wretched still. It is through inward health that we enjoy all outward things. Philosophers teach us, that the mind creates the beauty which it admires in nature ; and we all know, that when abandoned to evil passions, it can blot out this beauty, ajid spread over the fairest scenes the gloom of a dungeon. We all know, that by vice it can turn the cup f social happiucjiis into poison, and the most prosperous condition of life into a curse. From these views we learn that the true friend and Saviour, is not he who acts for us abroad, but who acta within — who sets the soul free, touches the springs of thought and affection, binds us to God, and, by assimilat- ing us to the Creator, brings us into harmony with the creation. Thus the end which we have ascribed to Christ, is tho- most glorious and beneficent which can be accom- plished by any power on earth or in heaven. CHAJfxiNo. \ ^r VI I ,Hi 'i > ,^/W, m * Sbct. XL — The Misery of Jixjidtliiy. IwFinKtiTY operates directly in impairing or destroying our comfort. It implies the negation of all those truths which tend most effectually to support and cheer us under the calamity of our lot. Even in the midst of prosperity, the doctrines which it teaches us to reject are calculated to elevate our minds, and to increase our joy. We partake Q& the blessings of life with a far purer, and a far higher relish, when we regard them as bestowed by the hand of aai all-perfect God; and when we receive them through the channel of a merey secured to us by the mediation of his own Son, and when we contemplate them as pledges and foretastes of that "fulness of joy" which remains for us " at his right hand " in heaven. And that which de- prives us of this divine relish, must so far bo deemed inimical to us, at abridging our happiness, which, at th« Chap. III. DIDACTIC PIECES. 67 best, is but nrxed and circumscribed. But such is the effect of infidelity, whose baneful touch withers the charm of erery earthly blessing, reduces it to the degraded level of a mere animal gratification, and leaves us to feed upon it like the beasts that perish, without a thought that rises above the dust, and without a thought Miat points beyond the grave. It is, however, amidst trials and sorrows that infidelity appears in its most just and frightful aspect When subjected to the multifarious ills which flesh is heir to, what is there to uphold our spirit, but the discoveries and the prospects that are unfolded to us by revelation ? What, for this purpose, can be compared with the belief, that every thing here below is under the management of infinite wisdom and goodness, and that there :s an immor- tality of bliss awaiting us in another world 1 If this con- viction be taken away, what is it that we can have recourse to, on which the mind may patiently and safely repose in the season of adversity 1 Where is the balm which I may apply with effect to my wounded heart, after I have re- jected the aid of the Almighty Physician 1 Impose upon me whatever hardships you please : give me nothing but the bread of sorrow to eat; take from me the friends in whom I \ A placed my confidence; lay me in the cold hut of poverty, and on the thorny bed of disease ; set death before me in all its terrors: — do all this; only let me trust in my Saviour, and " pillow my head on the bosom of Omnipotence," and I will " fear no evil ;" I will rise supe- rior to aflliction — I will " rejoice in my tribulation." But let infidelity interpose between God and my soul, and draw its impenetrable veil over a future state of existence, and limit all my trust to the creatures of a day, and all my cxpectntions to a few years, as uncertain as they are short; and how shall I bear up, with fortitude or with cheerful- ness, under the burden of distress 1 or where shall I find one drop of consolation to put into the bitter draught which has been ^iven me to drink ? I look over the whole range of this wilderness in which I dwell ; but I see not one covert from the storm, nor one leaf for the healing of my soul, nor one cup of cold water to refresh mo in the weariness and the faintings of my pilgrimage. Oh ! what ciin I be but comfortless and wretched, when I am with- out Christ, without God, and without hope ! Dr. a. Thoxpsoit. 68 THE ENGLISH READER. Piurl • Sect. XH. — Ckristt the Desire of all Natima, Tmx principle of love, the sense of moral beauty, arc not less deeply rooted in our constitufion, nor have they bcoi less active, than the less noble, the debasing passion of fear. Tradition, poetry, mythology, philosophy, are all rich in aspirations after something far purer, lovelier, brighter, than the world has ever seen. The fceUng might be traced in a thousand intermediate forms, through the immense gradation from barbarian fictions of a golden ago of innocence, to the lofty dreams, and unearthly reveries, and shadowings forth of spiritual perfection, in the mys- tical philosophy of Plato. All fiction tells this trutli, that humanity has the wish and the want for something above its present moral condition ; and that, while it is of the earth, earthy, it aspires to be, and would now see and love that which is as are tlie angels of God in heaven. Hence, tales of long-past ages before the world grew cor- rupt, when all was infantine simplicity and innocence ; and of coming ages, when goodness shall re-appear, and elevate the race perhaps to earthly immortality. Hence, contem- poraneous fictions of happy valleys and blessed islands, far in the west, where the sun shone benignantly after tra- versing a guilty and a troublous world. Hence, the cha- racters in whose conception romance and poetry delight, with all their godlike attributes. They are the prayer of the universal human heart to nature and to God, to show us, though it be but for once, the blessed sight of huma- nity in its best estate, free from guilt, from weakness, from impurity, from selfishness, without stain, spot, or soil; the softened, but unclouded reflection of its pure and holy Creator. And God granted the prayer in Jesus of Naza- reth. There was the purity of infancy with the full deve- lopement of maturity. There was tenderness without weakness, and energy without harshness. He benevolently consorted with the vilest, while his goodness shamed the righteousness of the severest. He was in the house of feasting, and in the house of mourning; and the heart reverenced and blessed him in them both. He was in the l>Ofom of his Father, and unfolded the truths of heaven, and the mysteries of eternity; and, the while, his eye rested in love and gladness on the sparrow's wing, and the lily's blossom. He wrought miracles, and wiped away tears. Chip. III. DIDACTIC PIECES. 69 He was not of the world — that world which he lived and (lied to redeem. By his side on the couch at the last pas- chal supper, by the foot of his cross as he was expiring, his eye and heart rested on " the beloved disciple ;" that heart whose universal benevolence so identified him with humanity, that he was one with the whole human race, who all live in him as they died in their first progenitor : " for as by man came death, by man came also the resurrection of the dead ; and as in Adam all die, so in Christ shall all be made alive." V ' '^ '' - Fox. ■ V •Sect. XIII.— To a Young Man on the Choice ofFriendi^ You will hear weak men repeating, every day, that friend- ship has left the world. The amount of this obserration is, that they have never found it. When I inquire into the character of these declaimers, I find them to be selfish men, who consider friendship a» a compact of advantage; unsteady men, who cannot continue long in the same mind; or vicious men, who must either debauch their friends, or part with them. The friendship of selfishness, if there be such a thing, endures only till one of the parties is de- ceived. A weak mind is steady till it » ngaged in form- ing a new friendship, and a vicious man has no reason to ''omplain. Prom all this, I wish you to learn, if you de- sire to obtain this blessing of infinite price, that it depends on yourself whether you shall ever obtain it. If you come to the market, bring along with you the coin which will purchase the commodity. The free and uncontrolled commerce of the affections is founded on virtue, of which, if you are destitute, you have no right to blame other njen for the want of friendship. Do you wish to enjoy the esteem of good men 1 I know no other way to obtain it, than by making yourself worthy of it. A young man, who possesses any degree of reflection and foresight, will easily see the vast advantage of recommending himself to the worthy, by a due regard to his character. He secures not only the approbation of his own mind, and a fair reputa- tion in the mean time ; but, like a general who is beloved by his army, he is surrounded by an impenetrable host, who will repel the dangers of life, and make his passage through it safe and honourable. The love of good men is a def(^iice to him who possesses it. It gires the whole world a favourable impression of his virtues; and it op«n« i 70 THE ENGLISH READER.- Vxm L to him sources of advantage and improvement^ of which nothing but bad conduct can possibly deprive him. Vice seeks concealment; and it is one of its distin- guished attributes, that it persuades its votaries to indulge in its practices without the fear of detection. Men's deli- cacy hinders them from telling you, that you were last evening committing a debauch. Your own self-love will not allow you to believe, that a thing is known which you wish to conceal. You do not know that the men arouad you contrive to look into your heart, or at least into your most secret actions. Or, if the thing should be known, you flatter yourself that the apologies which you make will be g« neral'' sustained. These are the dangerous rocks on v '«<».? *ie innocence and integrity ef thousands are daily sh ^ v ,. -J, beyond the hopes of recovery. Be not deluded: '.uic * e a thousand avenues to the heart, and to the most secret ictions, through which the world obtain distorted views of your character ; and your only safety is to have nothing to conceal. There is no truth of greater importance to a young man beginning life, than this one which I am stating. The vain hope of conceal- ment is often the first thing that blunts the edge of that ingenuousness which guards his virtue. Be assured, then, that if men do not judge of you as you are, they will be ready to err on the uncharitable side, and make you worse rather than better. Were it even possible to deceive the quick and satirical eye of the world, your character would gain the detestable addition of hypocrisy to your other vices ; and you would shun the intimacy of good men, for fear of being discovered. Your connections with the worthy are the test and security of your virtue. Cultivate their friendship, imitate their example, and listen to their advice. , ,, , *■„ . . ,., » , Geneu. • Sect. XIV. — The Insignificance of the World. TttouGH this earth were to be burned up, though the trum- pet of its dissolution were sounded, though yon sky were to pass away as a scroll, and every visible glory wliich the linger of the Divinity has inscribed upon it, were to be put out for ever —an event, so awful to us, and to 'every world in our vicinity ; by which so many suns would be extin- guished, and so many varied scenes of life and popula- tion would rush into forgctfulness — what is it in the high CSAF. III. BIDACTIC PIECES. 71 scale of the Almighty's workmanship? — a mere shred, which, though scattered into nothing would leave the universe of God one entire scene of greatness and of ma^ jcsty. Though this earth and these heavens were to dis- appear, there are other worlds which roll afar ; the light of other suns shines upon them ; and the sky which man- tles them is garnished with other stars. Is it presumption to say, that the moral world extends to these distant and unknown regions] — that they are occupied with people? — that the charities of home and of neighbourhood flourish there 1 — that the praises of God are there lifted up, and his goodness rejoiced inl — that piety has its temples and its oflerings 1 and the richness of the divine attributes is there felt and admired by intelligent worshippers'? ,« And what is this world in the immensity which teems with them 1 — and what are they who occupy it ] The uni- verse at large would suffer as little in its splendour ar variety by the destruction of our planet, as the verdur», and sublime magnitude of a forest would suffer by the i W of a single leaf. The leaf quivers on the branch which supports it. It lies at the mercy of the slightest acf* dent. A breath of wind tears it from its stem, a-^Ml it lights on the stream of water which passes underri ath. In a moment of time, the life which we know by the mi- croscope it teems with, is extinguished ; and an occurrence so insignificant in the eye of man, and on the scale of his observation, carries in it to the myriads which people this little leaf, an event as terrible and as decisive as the de- struction of a world. Now, on the grand scale of the uni- verse, we, the occupiers of this ball, which performs its little round among the suns and the systems that astron- omy has unfolded — we may feel the same littleness and the same insecurity. We differ from the leaf only in this circumstance, that it would require the operation of greater elements to destroy us. But these elements exist. The fire which rages within, may lift its devouring energy to ^e surface of our planet, and transform it into one wide and wasting volcano. The sudden formation of elastic matter in the bowels of the earth — and it lies within the agency of known substances to accomplish this — may ex- plode it into fragments. The exhalation of noxious air from below may impart a virulence to the air that is around u» ; it may affect the delicate proportion of its ingredients ; and the whole of animated nature may wither md die I II ffl 'I I >'mBE ir<.. 'n 72 THE ENGLISH READER. PaetI. ■Ciaf.IU. under the malignity of a tainted atmosphere. A blazing comet may cross this fated planet in its orbit, and realize all the terrors which superstition has conceived of it. We cannot anticipate with precision the consequences of an event which every astronomer must know to lie within the limits of chance and probability. It may hurry our globe towards the sun — or drag it to the outer regions of the planetary system — or give it a new axis of revolution ; and the effect, which I shall simply announce, without explain* ing it, would be to change the place of the ocean, and bring another mighty flood upon our islands and continents. These are changes which may happen in a single instant of time, and against which nothing known in the present system of things provides us with any security. They might not annihilate the earth, but they would unpeople it; and we who tread its surface with such firm and assured footsteps, are at the mercy of devouring elements, which, if let loose upon us by the hand of the Almighty, would spread solitude, and silence, and death, over the donuniona of the world. < *• Now, it is this littleness, and this insecurity, which make the protection of the Almighty so dear to us, and bring, with such emphasis, to every pious bosom, the holy lessons of humility and gratitude. The God who sitteth above, and presides in high authority over all worlds, is mindful of man ; and, though at this moment his energy is felt in the remotest provinces of creation, we may feel the same security in his providence, as if we were the objects of his undivided care. It is not for us to bring our minds up to this mysterious agency. But, such is the incomprehensible fact, that the same Being, whose eye is abroad over the whole universe, gives vegetation to every blade of grass, and motion to every particle of blood which circulates through the veins of the minutest animal; that, though his mind takes into his comprehensive grasp, immensity and all its wonders, I am as much known to him as if I were the single object of his attention ; that he marks all my thoughts ; that he gives birth to every feeling and every movement within me; and that, with an exercise of power which I can neither describe nor comprehend, the same God who sits in the highest heaven, and reigns over the glories of the nria«* ment, is at my right hand, to give rao every breath which I dra'W, and every comfort which I enjoy. Cualm iii< PaBT I. I ClAF. III. DIDACTIC PIECES. 73 ♦ Sect. XV. — Equal Distribution of Enjoyment* All sensual pleasure is a relative thing. That which is • Ittxury to him to whom it is new, is none to those to whom it is familiar. The continual recurrence of them, reduces the highest ranks of sensual gratification to a level with the lowest. He who is in possession of an easy sufficiency, and capable of commanding a series o/ plain and humble plflasures, indulges a groundless envy, when he suffers it to be excited by the higher, but the habitual indulgences of persons in superior station. The enjoyments to which he looks up, are not superior to his own. There are those whose appetites are courted by more costly provision than his; — whose senses are excited by more stimulating enter- tainments, and soothed by smoother accommodations; — whose days are spent in more expensive amusements, and whose nights are passed upon softer pillows : but he who fares sumptuously every day, sits down to no sweeter feast than he ; he whose delight is daily stirred by more pun- gent excitements, is no more animated by them than he is by his cheaper and soberer pastime ; and he whose love of ease is lulled in a downier lap, — whose situation is covered in every part of it with cushion, and lined all over with pillow, enjoys not a more delicious recumbence, even upon the supposition of his mixing along with it the labour, of some kind or other, wliich is necessary to render rest delightful, than belongs to his hour of repose in his less silken seat. ■ v> ^.!i . ' , . . v.. i : Continual repetition wears awaj the exquisiteness of all sensual pleasure, and gradually dulls the most lively de- lights into flat and insipid sensation. That landscape which fills the traveller with rapture, is regarded with in- difference by him who sees it every day from his window. The sweetest sounds that art can combine, lose much of their effect upon an ear that is perpetually listening to melody. The most costly luxuries that can load the board of opulence, are but bread to him who makes them his daily meal. The cordial that exhilarates the sober, is but "a cup of cold water" to one who is accustomed to the draught of intemperance. The brilliant lustres that illu- nunate the house of public amusement, are no more than sober day-light to him who passes all his evenings there. And the softest couch into which languor ever sunk, is I only a seat to those who never recline upon one less soft D k! ml M iliEi!' 74 THE ENGLISH READER. Pait I. When custom has made them necessary, the highest order of sensual pleasures communicates no higher satisfaction * than the supply of her necessary wants affords to simple nature. And let me be allowed to stop one moment to remark, how much they are exposed to pain in this world of change, to whom the deprivation of luxury were the horror of famine ; exclusion from gay assemblies, the dreariness of solitude ; the soberness of domestic society; the gloom of imprisonment; the loss of soft clothing; the misery of nakedness ; and the reduction of elegant life.; redundant conveniences, the bare condition of savage trd unaccommodated man ! ) *; ^* v - FAwcirr. * Sect. XVI. — Uncertainty of Human Expectations. Dakk and uncertain is the state of being in which wc now exist. Human life is not formed to answer those high ex- pectations, which, in the era of youth and imagination, we are apt to entertain. When we first set out in life, we bid dcTmiice to the evil day ; we indulge in dreams and vision* of romantic bliss ; and fondly lay the scene of perfect and uninterrupted happiness for the time to come. But expe- rience soon undeceives us : we awake, and find that it was but a dream. Wo make but few steps in life, without find- ing the world to be a turbulent scene ; we soon experience the changes that await us, and feel the thorns of the \v\- derness wherein we dwell. Our hopes are frequently bla»ft- ed in the bud ; our designs are defeated in the very morneiii of expectation ; and we meet with sorrow, and vexation. and disappointment on all hands. There arc lives bcsidei. our own in which we are deeply interested; — lives in which oxtr happiness is placed, and on which our hopes depend. Jiust when we have laid a plan of happy life ; when, after the experience of years, we have found out a few choser) friends, and have begun to enjoy that little circle in whiih wc would wish to live and to die ; an unexpected stroke disappoints our hopes, and lays all our schemes in tiic dust. When, after touch labour and care, we have reaitd the goodly structure; when we have fenced it, as we fondly imagine, from every storm that blows, and indulge tht pleasing hope that it will always endure ; an invisible hani! interposes, and overturns it from the foundation. Son of prosperity ! thou now iookest forth from thy higli tower; tlu>u now gloriest in thine excellence ; thou say tit, PaitI.! Chap. III. DIDACTIC PIECES. 75 that thy mountain stands strong, and that thou art firm ai the cedar of Lebanon — but, stand in awe. Before the mighty God of Jacob, and by the blast of the breath of his nostrils, the mountain hath been overturned, and tha cedar of Lebanon hath fallen like the leaf before the tem- pest. At this very moment of time, the wheel is in motion that reverses the lot of men, that brings the prosperous to the dust, and lays the mighty low. Now, O man, thou rcjoicest in thy strength; but know, that for thee, the bed of languishing, the bed of death, will be spread. Thou now removest from thee the evil day, and saycst in thy heart, thou ehalt 'never see sorrow; but, remember the changes of this mortal life. The calmest and the stillest hour precedes the whirlwind and the earthquake; the monarch hath drawn the chariot of state in which he wa« wont to ride in triumph ; and the greatest who ever awed the world, have moralized at the turn of the wheel. LOGAK. ♦Sect. XVII. — On Character. m I Kxow nothing that gives a man greater pleasure than a fair and respectable character, if he is conscious that he deserves it. The estimation of the worthy is the reward of honest and upright intentions, and a reward precious as ointment poured forth ; and, notwithstanding the attempt"* of the malicious, and bad as this world is said to be, every good man will enjoy this reward. The best actions are capable of misrepresentation, and the purest motives may be sullied by those who choose to enter into the heart. But the arrows of slander are so generally sent abroad, that, by aiming at all, they hurt nobody ; or, if they do, it is the person who has his quiver full of them. A man of respectable character is superior to the use of slander, tnd cannot be hurt by it: he may have as much weakness and imperfection > to make the attack possible ; but he has as much merit us to render it harmless. There is no other possible way of securing our good character in this censorious world, than by deserving it. I have seen many attempts made to gain a reputation, by accumulating wealth, by a splendid use of it, by shining talents, by noise, by show, and even by defaming other men; but I have never seen any successful attempt, wher« a man was not beloved for the goodness of his heart, »nd 76 THE ENGLISH READER. Paet I. I Chap. HI. respected for his virtues. Men are extremely apt to err on this point. The wish of being creditable and respected is general ; but we will not take the plain and beaten road. We wish, in spite of nature, to excel in qualities which are of no use; and we will not take the trouble to practice the virtues which are in our power. Our self-partiality whis- pers that we have wit, talents, or taste ; and we absurdly imag^ine, that these are more essential to our character than humanity and goodness. This is a radical defect, which every young man should labour to cure. Vanity, indeed, is much more frequently displayed with respect to the powers of the und(3rstanding, than to the dispositions of the heart. It is not impofisible, that there may be persons of such exquisitely tender feelings, as to be moved, almost to tears, at the tale of distress, who ypt are hypocrites in sensibility, or who indulge their feeUngs without attompting to '•elieve the misery which excites them. Such characters arc rare, because the atTcctation is ridiculous, and mankind expect that pretenders to com- passion will support their pretensions b}'' acts of kindness. But every man thinks that he has a right to display the powers of his understanding. He derives the means from a fund as inexhaustible as his vanity ; and he obtains his imaginary victory without cxp(;nse. Let us not, then, confound the means with the end. Our character and re- spectability depend on the use that we make of our talents, not on the display of them; and, therefore, our first object in life is, not to appear wise, but to be good. Geneb. *SncT. XVIII. — Christ, the Image and Clary of Cod, I\oT the most highly gilted m mmd, nor the most de- spotic in power, nor the most influential in goodness, of all the sons of men, can furnish out a picture of the Dcitr like Christ. At best, they are but beams of that glory, of | which he was the brightness. liOok at his miracles. In raising the dead, there is an indication of divine power which nature never supplied. Look at his knowledge ot the human heart and future events. That emanated from a higher vtisdom than what designed the orbits of the pla- nets, or combined the elements of material existence. Inj the dignity m which the Gahlean peasant walked the cartli, and looked down upon its rulers, and rebuked its lordil Part I. I Chap. III. DIDACTIC PIECES. 77 and raised its slaves, and legfslated for human hearts, and promised eternal life, and established the kingdom of heaven, learn the moral grandeur of God. That unsul- lied purity on which the keenest malice and the vilest fiilsehood could fix no stain, pourtrays the Divine holiness. That untiring patience which no stupidity or perversity could baffle; that lowliness which disdained not the child, the slave, the sinner, the outcast ; that kindness to all, which consorted with the Samaritan, and was gracious to the Gentile ; — do they not preach to our inmost hearts, of God's forbearance, condescension, and impartiality 7 That mercy which so promptly welcomed back the erring fol- lower, and so generously prayed even for his murderers, — is it not an impressive lesson on the fathomless mercy and free forgiveness of our God and Father] And that bene- volence which prompted him to incessant exertion ; which supported hini through unparalleled suflering; which was alike the soul of his discourses, his actions, his miracles; which shone through his life and his death ; whose splen- dours were around his brow when he expired on the cross, and when he sat down ou the right hand of the Majesty on high; — what is it but a glorious revelation of the glo- rious truth, that God is love 1 Fox. * Skct. XIX. — On Gentleness and Modesty. The qualities which I wish you to possess, are of such a nature as to make you estimai)le in any situation, or in any company. Gentleness and modesty are e(iually at- tractive to the high and the low, to the learned and tho unlearned. In possessing what is unassuming and amia- ble, you interfere with no person's claims, and you inter- rupt the progress of no person's vanih . You secure the silence of the severe, and the approbation of tlie worthy. Be assured, then, that you may make yourself very agree- able to your friends and associates, although you are not too eager, at your entrance on life, to display the shining qualities which you jmssess. I have known teazing and disagreeuble eOects produced by the and)ition of young people, to shine where they should have been instructed. iSonietimes they acquire a degree of ineuruble petulance, by the euHy victories which they obtain over niodest merit. Every wise man feels a sensible dit-uppointment on such. 78 THE ENGLISH READER. Part I. I CgAP. HI. Il..,l! m !J •jIS ; 'I occasions, and lamentj? that the forwardness of a vain young man or woman should have prevented the pleasure and instruction which he expected in the conversation of the learned ; while this vain youn:? man or woman was inwardly and foolishly exulting in the fancied |tovver of entertaining others. But what is still more serious, this petulance 'becomes incorrigible: the reward of it is the reserve of your friends; and, in time, you arc excluded from those select meetings, vv^here they v/ish to indulge in free conversation, without impcrlinence. All young persons should know, while their rank and connections will secure thoir reception into the company of their equals, that there arc many particular parties formed, from which they will be positively excluded if they are destitute of the qualities which make them agreeable. These are, the good sense and information which enable them to bring their share to the feast of reason, and Iho modesty which will prevent their good sense from beinj,' ti'oublesome. Your first great care, then, in conversation, as in read- ing, is, to have your understanding equal to what you hear. Use your endeavour to have that distinct perception of every sentence uttered in company, which will give your mind the precise idea of the pen;on who uttered it. Quick apprehension will make you a more agreeable companion, than a smart reply. That little degree of vanity whidi enters into the composition even of modest men, is more, fluttered when they ore distinctly understood, than when they arc well answered. Avoid, theruibre, that disegroe- ahle absence of nrmner, and vacancy of counte!uuifo, which are the indications of a weak mind, when you listen to the conversation of your seniors. Show, at least, that desire to understjind, which will make them adapt their observations to your capacity. If you wish to please your frienfls by ?/oj/7' conversation, you must first learn tho art of being pleased with theirs. Do not allow yourself to ho hurried away by the dangerogs desire of speaking, wheii you ought to be silent. Uut remember there is an at.liMi- tive, I had almost said an eloquent silence, which displays the intelligence, and, at the saiue time, the modesty of a young person. This, be assured, ia tho charm whicli mak<^s iixtcen ftttractive. Gknkh. CiAP. III. . DIDACTIC PIECES. 79 • Sbct. XX. — The Philanthropy of the Gospel. To «ay that the principle of disinterested benevolence had never been known among men before the publication of Christianity, would be an exaggeration; — an exaggeration Mmilar to that of affirming, that the doctrine of immor- tality was new to mankind when taught by our Lord. In truth, the one had, in every age, been imperfectly prac- tised, and the other dimly supposed; yet neither the one principle nor the other existed in sufficient strength to ba the source of substantial benefit to mankind. But Christ, while he emphatically " brought life and immortality to liijht," and so claimed to be the author of hope for man, M also with such effect lay the hand of his healing power upon the human heart, long palsied by sensualities and iolfishness, that it haa ever since shed forth a fountain of active kindness, largely available for the relief of want ml misery. As matter of history, unquestionable and conspicuous, Christianity has in every age fed the himgry, and clothed the naked, and redeemed the captive, and visited the sick. it has put to shame the atrocities of the ancient popular amusements, annihilated sanguinary rites, brought slavery into disesteem and disuse, and abolished excruciating punishments; it has even softened the ferocity of war; iind, in a word, is seen constantly at work, edging away oppressions, and moving on towards the perfect triumyih which avowedly it meditates — that of removing from the oarth every wo which the inconsideration, or the selfish- ness, or the malignity of man indicts upon his fellows. It remains, then, to ask, by what special means h;i« Chrifitianity clfected these ameliorations 1 and it will l)e tuiml, that the power nnd success of the new principle of litMiovolence, taught in the Scriptures, are not more re- murkabln than are its constitution and its ingredients, ('hri.^tian philiinthropy, though it takes up among its ele- ments thn native benevolence of the human heart, is a compound ])rinciple, essentially differing from the sponta- ii'HMis sympathies of our nature. Now, as thi^ new and Minposite benevolence has, by a trial of eighteen ccntu- nt's, and under every imaginable
  • ^ -60^ CHAPTER IV. ARGUMENTATIVE PIECES. SfieT. I. — Happiness is founded in Rectitude of CiKiduct. ATili men pursue good\ s^nd would be happy', if they know liow\* not happ> r ninutes^ and miserable for hourt-i'; hut ha})})}', if pos....ic', through every part of liieir existonce\ Either, therefore, there is a good of this stoady\ but durable' kind, or there is not^. If not\ then all good must be transient^ and uncertain'; and if so', an object of the lowest value', wliich can little dccerve our' attention' or in«juiry.^ But if there be a better good\ such a goed as we are sei'lin/i:'; lik<' *'very uthei"' thing, it must be derived from some caused* and that eavise must either \c oxternal\ in»ernal\ or mixed'; in as much a8\ except these three', there is no other ()()HHible\ Now a steadyN du'ii'do' good, cannot ho derived from an external cause^; since alT derived from externals' must Ihictuate', as tlu'V Ouetuate\ By iiie Fame rule\ it eiuinot be derived Irom •-.s i ii-\la-e of tile two'; b(i'au.se the part^ wliich ia external, CJBAP. I\. ARGUMENTATIVE PIECES. 81 will prop >i'tionably destroy It^ csc-enceV. What, then, re- mains' Ivt I Vie cause internan — the very cause"* whicli "vve liuve i,4/t>ose(]^ when we place the sovereign Sfood of niird' —in rectitude' of conduct\ Kirris. SccT. IL — Virtue and Piety, Man's highest Interest, - I Fixi) myself existing upon a little spot, surrounded every way by an immense unknown expansion. — Where am n What sort of a place do I inhabit] Is it exactly accommodated, in every instance, to my convenience I Ia there no excess of cold, none of heut to offend me 1 Ahj I never annoyed by animals, either of my own, or a dif- ferent kind ] Is every thing subservient to me, as thougli I had ordered it all myself] No — nothing like it — the far>- tliest from it possible. The world appears not, then, originally made for the private convenience of me alone ] It does not. But is it not possible so to accommodate it, 1)7 my own particular industry ] If to accommodate man and beast, heaven and earth, if this be beyond me, it is not possible. What consequence, then, follows] or can there be any other than this ] — If I seek an interest of my own detached from that of others, I seek an interest vrhich is chimerical, and which can never have existence. ' ' How, then, must I determine ] Have I no interest at all! If I have not, I am stationed here to no purpose. But why no interest] Cm I be contented with none, but one saperate and detached] Is asocial interest, joined with others, such an absurdity as not to be admitted ] The bee, the beaver, and the tribes of herding anima|f>, are sufficient to convince me, that the thing is, somewhere at least, possible. How, then, am I assured that it is m»t equally true of man] Admit it; and what follown*? 1. tjo, then honour and justice are my interest; then the whole train of moral viitues are my interest; witl»out some portion of which, not even thieves can maintain hocicty. ' :- X But, farther still — I stop not here — I pursue tins social interest, as far as I can trace my several relations, I pass from my own stock, my own neighbourhood, my own na- tion, to the wliolc race of mankind, as dispersed through- out, the earth Am I not related to them all, by ih s mutual aids of commerce; by the general intercourse ot 82 THE ENGLISH READER. PaiitI. I Chap, IV. 1 1 1 \ 1 1 i art» and letters; \rj that common nature, of which we all participate ? Again — I must have food and clothing. Without a proper genial warmth, I instantly perish. Am I not re- lated, in this view, to the very earth itself? — to the distant i*un, from whose beami I derive vigour? — to that stupen- dous course and ordc r of the infinite host of heaven, by which the times and seasons ever uniformly pass on] Were this order once confounded, I could not probably aurvive a moment ; so absolutely do I depend on this com- mon general welfare. What, then, have I to do, but to enlarge virtue into piety 1 Not only honour and justice, and what I owe to man, is my interest ; but gratitutic also, acquiescence, resignation, adoration, and all I ov,e to this great polity, and its greater Governor, our common Parent. Harris. 8ect. III.- • The Misfortunes of Men mostly chargcahk on themselves. We find man placed in a world, where he has by no mean« the disposal of the events that happen. Calamities soiuc- tiiiica befall the wortliiest and the best, which it is not in their power to prevent ; and where nothing is left them, bi!e to acknowledge, end to vsubmi* to, the high hand of Heaven. For sucli visitations of trial, many good and Wi'm reasons can be assigned, which the present sulrjert Icada me net to discuss. But though these unavoidable calamities make a part, yet tliey make not the chief part. of the vexations and sorrows that distress human life. A multitude of evils beset us, for the source of which v;^ must i jok to another quarter. No sooner has any thing in the health, or in the circumstances of men, gone cro!-i> to tlv.ir wishes, than they begin to talk of the unequal distribution of the good things of this life ; they envy tiio 4(V.diUn^ cf others, they repine at their own lot, and fret ai'iaiuBt thi Ruler of the world. i" ull 0'' tl- ae sentiments, one man pines under a brok«Mi cor »tituUon 13 ut let us ask him, whether ho can, fairly an I Uoneetly as.^ign no cause for this but the unkno\7n decree (^\ Heaven ] Has he duly valued th.3 blessing of hoaltli, and always observed the rules of virtue and sohri* ciy * Has he been moderate in his life, and temprrat* in all his pleasures'? If now he is only paying the pri.e Chip. IV. ARGUMENTATIVE PIECES. S3 of his former, perhaps his forgotten indulgences, has hn any title to complain as if he were suffering unjustly ? Were we to survey the chambers of sickness and distress, we should often find them peopled with the victims of in- temperance and sensuality, and with the children of vicious indolence and sloth. Amtmg the thousands who languish there, we should find the proportion of innocent sufferers t(j be small. We should see faded youth, premature old a?e, and the prospect of an untimely grave, to be the por- tion of multitudes, who, in one way or other, have brought those evils on themselves ; while yet these martyrs of vice and folly, have the assurance to arraign the hard fate of man, and to " fret against the Lord." But you, perhaps, complain of hardships of another kind: of the injustice of the world; of the poverty which you suffer, and the discouragements under which you la- I)Our; of the crosses and disappointments o( which your hfe has been doomed to be full. — Before you give too much scope to your discontent, let me desire you to reflect im- partially upon your past train of life. Have not sloth, or pride, or ill temper, or sinful passions, misled you often from the path of sound and wise conduct 1 Have you not been wanting to yourselves, in improving those opportuni- ties which Providence offered you, for bettering and ad- vancing your state 1 If you have chosen to indulge your humour, or your taste, in the gratification of indolence or pleasure, can you complain because others, in preference to you, have obtained those advantages which naturally belong to useful '-ibours and honourable pursuits I Have not the consequences of some false steps, into which your passions or your pleasures have betrayed you, pursued you through much of your life ; tainted, perhaps, your characters, involved you in embarrassments, or sunk you into neglect 1 — It is an old saying, that every man is the artificer of his own fortune in the world. It is certain, that the world seldom turns wholly against a man, unless through his own fault. " Religion is," in general, "profit- able unto all things." Virtue, diligence, and industry, joined with good temper and prudence, have ever been found the surest road to prosperity ; and, where men fail of attaining it, their want of success is far oftcner owing to their having deviated from that road, than to their hav- ing cncountenul insuperable bars in it. Some, by being too artful, forfeit the reputation of probity. Some, by 84 THE ENGLISH READER. Part I. I Cbap. IV. Ill' ;,S; i t. M being too open, are accounted to fail in prudence. Others by being- fickle and changeable, are distrusted by all. The case cjmmonly is, that men seek to ascribe their disap- pointments to any cause, rather than to their own mis-