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tHl

RUITIN

IPBONUM

AS WJ

SBIi

B0<

-**<56

ENGLISH RKADER,

OR r'..'

PIECES IN PROSE AND VERSE;

SELECTED FROM THE BEST WRITERS:

•
0CSIONBD TO ASSIST TOUNO PERSONS TO READ WITH FROPEISTt
AND effect; to improve THEIR LANGUAGE AND 8BNTI-
MBNTS, AND TO INCULCATE SOME CF THE MOST IMPOR-
TANT PRINCIPLES OF FIBTT AND YIRTUB. «

BY LINDLEY MURRAY,

Author of " An English Orammar," &c. ke.

TO WHirH ARE PREFIXED,

'VHE DEFINITIONS OF INFLECTIONS
AND EMPHASES,

AND

RULES FOR READING VERSE,

WITH

A KEY,

BIBITINO THE METHOD OF APPLTINO THOSE PRINCIPLB8 TO

raONUNCIATION OF WRITTEN LANGUAGE. THE INFLBCTIOHI,

AS WELL A8 EMPHASES, ARE ALSO ACTUA|.LT APPLIED, BT

8BN8IBLR CHARACTERS, A.\n AGMBEABLY VO TCIB DI-

BBCTIOir^ C6»St<UIBD 11$ THE RB.T,;Ta TUB W30UI

V or 1I|R« VnHRAr<?tt SBLBCTldKS.

; • .BY M. n. BARtLtTT. -
' Author or «ThePractlaiIReauer.'*

aurtotfpti by A. PM and Brolktr, Ntm-Yorth
PUBLISHED BT

CAM PELL BRYSON,

BOOKSELLER AND STATlONtB, MONTBBAL,

I841». .«..

v\^<>\^

^v.

ic-

II 3.0

sv selections of excellent matter have been made for the benefit of

persons. Performances of this kind are of so great utility, thpl

roductions of them, and new attempts to improve the young mind|

arcely be deemed superfluous, if the writer make his compilation in»

ive and interesting, and sufficiently distiiict from others.

present work, as the title expresses, aims at the attainment of

ibjecls: to improve youih in the art of reading; to meliorate their

lire and sentiments ; and to inculcate some of the most important

pies of pielv and virtue.

pieces selected, not only give exercise to a great variety of emo-

nd the correspondent tones and variations of voice, but contain sen-

and members of sentences, whicli are diversified, proportioned, and

" with accuracy. Exercises of this nature are, it is presumed, well

ted to teach youth to read with propriety and effect. A selection

ences, in which variety and proportion, with exact punctuation,

?cn carefully observed, in all l.ieir parts as well as with respect to

ither, will j)robably have a mufh greater efl'uct, hi properly teaching

of reading, than is comnioniy imajiined. In such constructions,

ig is accommodated to tlio undnrslandingand the voice; and the

difhculiics in learning to read well are obviated. When the

has acquired a habit of reading such sentences with justness and

he will readily apply that habit, and the improvements he hu

sentences more complicated and irregular, and of a constructioa

different.

language of the pienog chosen for this collection has been carefully
Purity, propriety, perspicuity, and, in many instances, clega"™"**
, distinguish them. They arc extracted from the works r . .^
rect and elegant writers. From the sources whence the •"* >
e drawn, the reader may expect to tind lij-jni connected and s
iently important and impressive, and d.vc "Md of every ihinj c^.H
trite or eccentric. The frequent pen >iaV of such compo: *lim
tends to infuse a taste for lias spccijg of c xcellence ; a< ;?*o
I habit of thiiikmg, and of composing, wlii judgment and .'^>

[learner, in his progress through this volume t nd tha Sequel to It, TlH

numerous instances ofconiposition, in sirici c^aformity to the r '19

nting pcrspiciions and elee-iir.t w.itini; contained in the Appensli vO

jr's English Gramtnar. BynfoasiaiiaMycxani.ningtius conform "'»

confirniPil in live utility of those rules ; and ba enabled to ap y

li ease; and ilextcrity,

iipor fm-tlior to olisprvc, tli.it the Pioader and the Sfi'iuel, besk "1
lo read aocnrar.oly, anil inruicntinfr many impottinl se!S.inicnt<>, m .'
ItM'cd ass an.viruirics to the Author's Kne'ish Graimiiai? as pracUib 3
Ins ol'ilie prlncipies and rnU'n routainpU in ihat WKl|»

v^ •

I -

'^ • **

PREFAC

A ^

^, •»^ V

C»

^ ^

That tnis collection mtiy also serve the purpose of promoting piety I
virtue, the Comftiler has introduced many extracts, which place reli^
in the most amiable light; and which recommend a great variety of n)(|
''Hl'v^duties, by the excellence of their nature, and the happy effects they p
duce. Thuso subjects are exhibited in a style and manner which are <
culated to arrest the !>,ttention of youth ; and to make strong and dun
impressions on their minds.'*'

The Compiler has been careful to avoid every expression and sentin
that niigltt gratify a corrupt mind, or, in the least desree, otfend thoj
or ear of innocence. This he conceives to be peculiarly incumbenr
every person who writes for the benefit of youth. It would indeed f
great and happy improvement in edu(;iition,if no writings were allowd
come under their notice, but such as are perfectly innocent; and ifc
proper occasions, they were encouraged to peruse those which tend t|
spire a duo reverence for virtue, and an abhorrence of vice, as well i"
animate them with sentiments uf piety and goodness. Such impres^
deeply engraven on their minds, and connected with all their attainm
could scarcely fail of attending them through life, and of producing i
•idity of principle and character, that would be able to resist the dal
arising from future intercourse with the world.

The Author has endeavoured to relieve the grave and serious paj
his collection, by the occasional admission of pieces which amuse asl
as instruct. If, however, any of his readers should think it contair
|;reat a proportion of the former, it tiay be some apology to observe!
tn the exi:iting publications designed for the perusal of you^g peracrJ
prepondeiance is greatly on the side of gay and amusing productions.!
inuch attention may be paid to this medium of improvement. Whe|
nnagmation. oi' youth especially, is much entertained, the sober dicta
the understanding are regarded with indifference ; and the influen
good afiecUons is either feeble, or transient. A temperate use of sucj
tertainment seems therefore requisite, to afford proper scope for the (
Uons of the understanding and the heart.

The reader will perceive, that the Compiler has been solicitous I
commend to young persons, the perusal of the sacred Scriptures, byl
spersing through his work some of the most beautiful and mterestini
sages of those invaluable writings. To excite an early taste and va
taon for this great rule of life, is a point of so high importance, as toj
rant the attempt to promote it on every proper occasion. L

To improve the young mind, and to affora some assistance to tutl
the arduous and important work of education, were the motives whf
to this production. If the Author should be so successful as to accoi
these ends, even in a small degree, he will think that his time ondf
have been well employed, and will deem himself amply rewarded.

* In some of the pieces, the Compiler has niade a few alterations, |
recbal, to adapt them the belter to the design of his work.

of promoting piety i

, which place relij

great variety of mo

lappy effects they p

manner which are i

ik9 atrong and dunpprHE author of the application of the Inflections, &c. to the col
ition of reading lessons in Murray's English Reader, has, with
ly others of his profession, borne testimony to the excellency of
|t work, by making it an almost exclusive reading book in his
ool for nearly fidcen years. Indeed, public taste has deter-
ed the merits of the English Reader, by pronouncing it the best
k of the kind now in use. No reading book in the English
guage, has a more unlimited circulation, or has done more to
ance th^ art of reading. The writer, however, always sup-
led the work imperfect ; in as much as Mr. Murray's strictures
correct reading arc too abstruse and difficult for the j^enerality
piipils ; and none of his principles applied to practice ; they
reK>re remained as mere inoperative precepts, without the force
examples. The subscriber has endeavoured to remedy this
*ect in the work, by applying the acknowledged principles of
ution, by sensible characters, to most of the pieces in the coU
tion ; and he has also furnished a Key, for the benefit of the pupil,
a! of youj^ peracrAiibiting those principles, by rules and examples, and illustrating
lusing productions.^ manner of applying them to practice. The learner, by con-
ting this Key, will soon be enabled to extend the principles to
eral reading ; — for this purpose, let him, in the outset, compare
mtcnded lesson with the rules and examples furnished in the
y, and, with a pencil, make the req^uisite cliaractcr ; this exer -hei
I soon make him master of the principles, and the mode of ap-
ing them. These principles will enable him to impart to ha-
ding, the greatest precision, harmony, force, and variety, and
e a finishing polish to his style of delivery,
"he work has now received its utmost perfection, and wears the
mp of its highest cxcell:j»iue. Mr. Murray's selections have
n kept entire, and his order of arrangement scrupulously pre-
ed ; for in these respects no writer could have been more for-
ate. The book is, in short, what it always has been, the Eng-
li Reader, with the addition of the principles of Elocution, dic-
ing the precise manner of reading Us contents. It is therefore
mbly but confidently submitted to the favour of a discriminating
iblic, by that public's devoted servant,

M. R. BARTLETT.
Xltiea, May 1, 1823.

>ression and sentii
desrce, otfend the
icuriarly incumbeni
It would indeed
Tilings were allowi
innocent; and ifc
those which tend ti
of vice, as well
ess. Such impres!
th all their attainroj
and of producing
tie to resist the di

v<i and serious pai
cs which amuse asj
lid think it contai
ipology to observe

iprovement. Whei
led, the sober dicti
e; and the influeni
smperateuse ofsui
oper scope for the

IS been solicitous
cred Scriptures, by
tiful and interesti
I early taste and vi
1 importance, as ti
:casion.

e assistance to tut{
Tc the motives w
iccessful as to accoi
k that his time and]
amply rewarded.

e a few alterations,
I work.

(6)
A KEY,

Exhibiting the manner of anplyinsr the principles oflnRet
tions and Empiiuses lo the pronunciation of written lawA
ffuage, with the dijinilion of those terms.

INFLECTIONS.

THE inflections of the voice are those peciiiiar slides
which it takes oi: pronouncing a strongly emphatic word, oi
maivinff a necessary pause. Ot' these there are two, the up-
ward slide, and the downward. The first is represented d}'^
a small dash inclining to the right in an angle ol* about 45 de-f
grees, thus ': the second is marked by the same character,'^
mclimng to trie lefi, thus \ |

SENTENCES.

DIRECT FRRIOD.

Definition and Rule. — The tlirect period consists of twol
great members, coiimienclng with corresponding connectives,!
eitlier expressecl or injplied. and the Ibrmer part dependingj
on the latter lor sense : — at tne close of the first the rising in-
flection is applied, and at Uie close ol'the latter the falling in-
flection. ,

Example. — As Columbia exnects her sons to be brave', sol
she presumes her daughters will be virtuous^ '

INV£UT£D PERIOD.

Definition and Rul\ — The inverted period consists also olf
two great memhers, similarly connected, yet making sense I
as it proceeds ; it is also capable of being transposed and*
rendered direct, by which the de{)endence of the parts may .
be tested. These parts adopt the same inflection that are ;
adopted in the direct period.

Example. — At the aecla ration of ^)eace, in obedience to the ;
voice of the people, the General returned his sword to its 1
RcabbarcK, because it v/as in obedience to the same respected i
voice that he drew it at the approach of war\

LOOSE SENTENCE.

Definition and Rule. — The loose sentence consists of a di
rect or an inverted }Deriod, with one or more additional mem"
bers. The period is read as m the abo"s examp-les, and the
falling infiec'tion is applied to each additional member t\ia.\
forms goixl sense.

Example,— As you will find m the Bible all the truths ne-

cessa
every
this I
andi

il-.

re two, the up-

le truths ne^

A KEY. T

cessary to be believed', so you will find, at the same time,
every necessary direction for the perlbrmance of your duty^ ;
this book, therefore, must be the , rule of all your actions^ ;
and it will prove your best friend in all the journey of lifu\

PENULTIMATE MEMBER.

DefinUion and Rule. — The penultimate member is the last
iiinb or member in the sentence but one. As the final mem-
ber takes the Hilling, the penultimate adopts the rising inflec
tion.

Example. — The soul, considered abstractly from its pas-
sions, is of a remiss and sedentary nature^ ; slow in ita resolves,
and languishing in its execution^

EXCEPTION TO THE FOREGOING RULES. ^..

Whenever the member of a sentcmce, claiming the rivsing
inflection, terminates with a strongly emphatic word, the
falling inflection is applied ; lor strong emphasis always dic-
tates the downward slide of the voice.

Example. — I must therefore desire the reader to remem-
ber tliat, by the pleasures of tlie imagmation, I mean those
only that arise from sight"^ ; and that I divide them into two
kinds\

' SERIES.

Dei^niiion. — Series implies that succession of similar or
opposite jjarticulars, or portions of a sentence, whether single,
double, triple, or compound, or whatever other variety they
may assume, which Irequentlv commence or close a com-
pound sentence. These may be divided into

1st, The Simple Series ;

2d, The Compound Series ;

3d, The Senes of Seneses.

SIMPLE SERIES.

Definition. — ^The simple series consists ol* two or more
single particulars, followmg each other in succession, either
in commencing or closing a sentence.
J Rule 1. — When the sentence commences with two par-
ticulars, the 1st takes the \ and the 2d the '' inflection.

Example. — Manufactures^ and agriculture', give steady em
ployment to thousands of the poorer order\

Rule 2. — When the sentence closes with two single par-
ticulars, the 1st takes the ', and the ^ inflection.

Example. — Example is generally more forcible than pre-
cept' or discipline\
Rule 3. — When the sentence commences with three sm-
le particulars, the 1st and 2d take the \ and the 3d the ' iti-
lection.

A KEY.

Example. — Tlie licad\ the ht'art\ and the hands', shoulc
be constantly and actively employed in doin^ good\

Rule 4. — Wlien three single particulars lorm the conclu-
din^r series, the 1st and 3d take tlie ^, and thie 2d the'' inflec-
tion.

Example. — ^^Vhateyer obscurities involve religious tenets,
the essence of true piety consists in liumility\ love', and de-
votion\

Rule 5. — When four single particulars form the com-
TiMncin^ series, the 1st and 4th take the \ and the 2d and 3d
tlie ' inflection.

Example. — Health', peace\ fortune^ and friends', const!
tute some of the ingredients of the cup of human happiness^

Rule 6. — When four single particulars form the conclu
ding series, the Ist and 4th adopt the ', and the 2d and 3d the
inflection.

Example. — ^The four elements into which the old philoso-
phers classed the material world, are flre\ water', air', and
earth\

Rule 7. — ^When the commencing series contains a lon^
ist of particulars, they are divided from the right, into pen
ods of three members each, and set ofi" by the dash ; the last
period may be read afler Rule 3, the others after Rule 4, and
odd particulars after Rule 1.

Example of 5 particulars. — Gold\ silver', — copper\ iron ,
and lead', are found in many parts of the new world\

Example of 6 particulars. — The elk\ deer', wolP, — fox\
ermine\ and martin', abound in cold climates\

Example of 1 particulars. — The Amazon^ — ^La Plate\
Mississippi', Mis8ouri\ — St. Lawrence', Oronoco\ and Ohio',
rank among the largest rivers upon the globe\

Example of 8 particulars. — Cotton\ coflee', — sugar^
molasses" , — spice\ lhiits\ and drugs', are imported fn
Wcst-Indies\

Example of 9 particulars. — Love\ joy', peace\ — long-suf
fering\ gentleness', goodiiess\ — liiith\ meekness^ and tem
pe ranee', are the fruits of the divine spirit^

Example of 10 particulars. — Metaphors\ — enigmas\ mot-
tocs',parabIes\ — ^fables^ dreams', visions^ — the arama\ bur-
lesque\ and allusion', are all comprehended in Mr. Locke's
definition of w^it\

Rtle 8. — ^When this long list of particulars forms the clo-
sing series, they admit of the same division, and are read ac-
cording to Rule 4th ; but odd members agreeably to Rule 1st.
mple of 5 particulars, — I'he productions of Brazil, are
% fruits',— <lye-woods\ metals^, and diamonds\

,nim ,
om the

A KEY.

Kxaniiylf. o/O pariiaiJnrs. — The cliief towns in the United
States ol Aihcrioji, are Now- Vork\ Pliihulelphia', Bahimore\

,y— ll().st<)n\ Chark'ston', an 1 New-0''leans\

\ Kxanqtle of 7 particulars. — The Aiiiericans export from
flie llrlile shDres ol' their l(?a^iiL'il ilomain, to li)rei?n climes,
it variety ol' hunher\ — fish\ heef, j)ork\ — buttcr\ clieese',
in.l flour'.

rania^ burlesque^ and allusion^

COMPOUND SERIES.

Definition. — ;The compound series consists of two or more
Jccessive particnjars, comix>sed of two wonls or members
a sentence, which^thoui^h not i)crfectly similar, are suffi-
?ntly so to admit ot classification.

IRiTLE 1. — All the compound momhers which form the
>mmencin^ series, take the ^ inflection, except the last,
lich takes the ' infiection.

\Exami)le. — The whole system of the infellectual powers\
chaos and the creati<m\ and all the furniture of three
)rlds', enter into the sidiject of iMilton's Paradise Lost\
IRuLE 2. — When the compound members form the con
|idinir series, they all adopt the ^ inflection, except the joc-
Jtimate member., wliicfi takes the ' inflection. s
K.Trtm;>/<;.— Notwithstanding' all the ptiins which^icero
)k in the education of his son, he nevertheless remained a
;re blockhead. Nature rendered him incapable of impro-
i^ by all the rules of eloquence\ the precepts of philosophy\
fblher's endeavours', and the most re&ied society of
|hens\ ^-.

EXCEPTION.

^he only exception to the above rule is, when the sen-
dee commences with a conditional or suppositivc phrase;
lin that case ihe members Uike the ' inflection.
'Examples. — Whatever contributes to promote the nilftci-
I of virtue, and strengthen the bonds of brothernood^
itever tends to calm the rulHed feeling, and regulate thtt
is undoubtedly a source of happiness^

sions',

oX^^

10 A KEY.

So, when the faithful pencil has design'd
Some bright idea of the master's mind' ;
When a new world leaps out at his command'
And ready Nature waits upon his hand';
When the ripe colours soften and unite',
And sweetly melt into just siiades anc' li^ht' ;
When mellowing years their full perfection give »
And each bold figure just begins to live' ;
The treachero;is colours the fair art betray',
And all tiie bright creation fades away\

SERIES 01 SER1ESES.'

Definition. — Two or more simple particulars, combinec
wtli two or more compound particulars, and all united ii
forming an independent member of a sentence, coustituttj
what is termed a series of serieses.

General Rule.— When several compound members o© i
cur, composed of similar or opposite particulars, and forminj^
a simple series, they may be divided according to their na |
tures iiito couplets or triplets, and pronounced, singly ac '
cording to tlie appropriate rule of tne simple series; but d '
together agreeably to the number of compound particulars iij
the Avhole period, and according to the appropriate rule c*
the compound series.

Example.— For I am persuaded, that neither life', nori
death^; nor angels\ nor principalities,' nor powers^; na*
things present', nor things to come^ ; nor height,' nor depth'
nor any other creature', shall be able to separate me fron''
lije love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord\

THE DASH*

General Rule. — To these members of a sentence sepag
nted by the Dash, the same inflections must be applied, acj
cording to their nature, a« wc aid be applied were the par '
set off by any other points.

Example.— In general, the manners of Mr. Henry wen
those of the i)lain Virginian gentleman^— kind^ — open' — caii
did'— and conciliating^— warm without insincerity'— and poM adopt, i
lite without pomp'^ — neither chilling by his reserve' — nor km tions.
tigu'ng by his loquacity^ — but adapting himself without eflbfl turns,
to tlie character of his company^ ^ Exa)

the da
on drei

gionoi
(lelliili

INTERROGATIVE SENTENCES.

Rule 1.— Those interrogative sentences which are <
menced with a verb, always adopt the ' inflection.

Examples.— Is justice lame among us, my f-iend, as
as blind' ? Can he exalt his thoughts to any thing ^eat an

end or
will tht
ffightet

» •

A KEY.

nand'

on give »

•ay',

lars, combinec
d all united ii
ice, constitute:

d members oc !
rs, and forming !
ig to their na
!ed, singly ac |
series; butaf
d particulars u
ropriate rule c|

either life', nol
r powers^; noii
ht/ nor depth I
jarate me fm\
Lord\ n

I sentence sepa;
be applied, ac I
were the part;f

r. Henry wenf
d^— open'— caM
cerity'— and w I
•eserve' — nor L
elf without efld

which are c

ection.

ly iViend, as

' thing great ai

noble, who believes that, after a short turn upon the stage 0/
this world, he is to sink for ever into ob'ivion' ?

Rule 2.— Those interrogative sentences that commence
with a verb which is followed hy the disjunctive conjunction
or, adoptiS, at the close of the hrst part, the ' inflection, aiul
at the end of the second, the ^ inflection.

Examples.ShnW we, in your person, crown the author of
the public calamity', or shall v/c destroy him\'' Will the
trials of this lile continue for ever', or will time finally dissir
pate them^ ?

Rule 3.- -Those interrogative sentences that commence
with the interrogative pronoun or adverb, always close whh
the ^ inflection.

Examples.— Who will take the trouble of ansAvering these
questions^ ? How will he collect the necessary evidence^ ?
Whence derive his authorities^ ? When adjust all the con-
tending points^ ?

Rule 4. — When the interrogative sentence consists of se-
veral members followinff in succesfiioii, commencing with a
pronoun o" adverb, all those members adopt the ^ inflection,
save the penultimate, which takes the ' innection.

Example.— Where can he find such cogent exhortations
to the pnictice of virtue^ ; such strong excitements to piety
and holiness^ ; and, at the same time, such assistance in at-
taining them'', as are contained in the Holy Bible^ ?

Rule 5. — When the interrogative sentence commences
with a verb, and consists of several succeeding member
they all adopt the ' inflection.

Example. — Would an infinitely Avise being make such a
glorious creature as man, lor so mean a purpose'? can he
(lelliiht hi the production of such abortive inteihgences', siic'i
short-lived rational beings'? Avould he aive him talents that
are not to be exerted', and capacities that are not to be grati-
fied'?

Rule 6.— When the intern)gative sentence presents a
combination of particulars, forming a series of serieses, they
adopt, according to their natures, both the ' and the ^ inflec-
tions. The last mem her, however, iijion which the question
turns, must ahvays have the ' inflection.

Example.— \)o you imagine the hours Avasted in idle prate ,
the days devoted to vain aniusements\ the Aveeks lavished
on dress and parade\ and the months squandered without
end or aini', are all lost in the great account of eternity'? or
Avill they, like an army of departed ghosts, rise to your al^
frighted memory, and condemn you^ '^

11.

:"r

1 1

A KEY.

EXCLAMATION POINT.

General Rule.— SenttMices and their members fbhoweo
Dy this point, adopt, according to tiieir natures, both inflec
tions.

Examples.— inhh is a man of pleasure', what is a man of
pain^ '' How quick\ how total', is iiis transit^ ! In what a
dismal gloom does he sit for ever^ ! Ho\v short', alas' ! is his
day of rejoicing^ ! lor a moment he glitters', he dazzles^ ! in
a moment where is he^ •* Oblivion covers his memory^ !

PARENTHESIS.

Rule 1.— When this figure is used either with or without
tlie comma, it always adopts the ' inflection.

Examples.— Na.ti\ra\ historians observe', (for while I am in
the country I must thence bring my allusions',) that male
birds only have voices^

Know ye not, brethren', (for I speak to them that know
the law',) that the Uw has dominion over a man so long as
he lives' :

I had letters from him', (here I felt in my pocket',) that ex
actly spoke the king's mind .

Rule 2. — When the parenthesis is set off by the semico>

n, colon, or dash, the ^ infleciion obtaing.
_ Example. — Then went the captain with the officers, and
%()Uffht the apostles Avithout violence^ ; (for they feared the
opTe lest they should have been stoned^;) and when they

jd brought them, tliey set them before the councif.

|lU^LE 3.— That phrase or member which intervenes and

reaks the connexion of a sentence, is, whether long or short,
of the nature of a pareniliesii;, and is preceded and fbllowed
by the ' inflection.

Examples. — The minister's talenls', f()rmcd f()r great enter-
prise', could not fail of rendering him conspicuous\

I shall always remember', iriy fi-iends', with the most lively
gratitude', your continued kindness to me\

He is alternately supported', and has been for these ten
years', bv his father', his brother', and his uncle\

EMrHASIS.

Definition. — Emphasis is that peculiar stress of the Voice
with which the imj)ortant wonls in a sentence are pro-
nounced, in order to distinguish them from the less important
or little connective particles.

Rule 1.— Those words and phrases in a sentence which
stand opposed to each other, adopt the strongs emphasis.

I
i

A KEY.

]»

3 loftoweo
ith inflec

a man of
[n what a
as^ ! is his
zzles^ ! in
lory^ !

or without

lile I am in
that male

that know
so long as

/,) that ex

he semico-

)fRcers, and
feared the
when they

cir.

rvenes and
ng or short,
nd followed

"•reat enter-

most lively

r these ten

>f the ■Voice
le are pro-
is important

tence which
iphasia.

■A

•I
f

Examples. — Many people mistake the love of virtue for the
practice ol'it.

Many states were in alliance withy and under the protec
tlon oJ\ the then mistress of the Avorlil.

The wise man is happy when he iS-ains his ovm esteem;
the/boi when he g-ains tlie esteem ol'olhfirs.

Rule 2. — That word or pluiKse in a sentence which sug-
gests or dictates the ojiposing word, must take the strong
emphasis.

Emphasis.— When a Persian soldier was railing against
Alexander the Great, his ollicer reproved him by saying,
"Sir, >[ou were paid lo fight against Alexander."

Justice, my friend, ai)pears to be lame among us.

And Nathan sai<l unto David, Thou art the man.

EMPHATIC INFLECTIONS.

Rule 1. — When emphasis is positive and affirms some-
thing, it always dictates tlie ^ inflection.

Examples. — An honest man may, without blame, risk his -
property in equitable trade''.

oir, you were paid io fight ao^ainst Alexander^

I think you inloruied me that your brother supplied your
wants\

In the penisal of a book, a man expects to be instructed}.

This treaty secures the honour of the United lStates\

Rule 2. — When emphasis denies something, it always
adopts the ' hiflection.

Examples.— An honest man may risk his property witboi
blame, in equitable trade^, but not in gambling^ ^

Sir, vou were paid to fight against Alexander^ not tolS
at him'.

I think you informed me that your brother supplied your
wants\ and not your dating father' .

In the perusal of a book, a man expects to be instructed'',
not corrupted'.

This treaty, says Fisher Ames, secures the honour of the
United States^, and therefiire cannot compromise it'.

Washington never fought for personal jfiime', but he tbught
for i\ie freedom of his country\

READING VERSE.
Rule 1. — That sentence, or meml)er of a sentence, which,
m prose, would, according to the ll^regoing rules, adopt the
uiiiection, must adopt it also in poetry.

EXAMPLES.

Btit when old age has silver'd o'er thy head',
When memory fails', and all thy vigour's fled'.
Then may'st tJiou seek tlie stillness of retreat',

2 . ■

14 A KEY.

And hear', alooP, the liuman tempest beat\
WJiat' ! shall an African', shall Juba's heir'j
Reproach great Cato's son', and show the world
A virtue Avanting in a Roman's souF?
Is there', (as ye sometimes tell us',)
Is there one who reigns on high'?
Has he bid you buy and sell us' ?
Speaking I'rom his throne', the sky' ?
Rule 2.— That ser^Mice, or member of a sentence, whichi
m nrose, would, accoruing to the Ibregoing rules, require the
intlection, nuist, in poetry, adopt the same inflection.

EXAMPLES.

I am monarcl) of all I survey^

My right there is none to dispute^ ;

From the centre, all round to the sea',

I am k)rd ol'the fowl and the brute\
Can you discern another's mind'?
T WJiy is't you envy^ ? Envy's blind\

'I'ell envy', when she would annoy'.
That thousands want what you enjoy\

O, lost to virtue\ lost to manly thought^
Lost to the noble sallies of the soul\
Who think it solitude to be alone^ !
Communion sweeO, communion large and high ,
Our reason\ guardian angel', and our God\
Then nearest these', when others most remote^ ;
And aW, ere long', shall be remote', but these\

^ E 3. — Almost every kind of verse admits a short pause
near the middle of the line, the observance of which
ives great beauty to tlie reading of poetry.

EXAMPLES.

A Uttle rule',, a little sway\

A sunbeam\, in a winter's day',

Is all the proud\, and mighty have',

Between the cradle',, and the grave\

And see the rivers',, how they run

Thro' woods\, and meads', in shade', and sun^?

Sometimes swift.',, sometimes slow' ;

Wave succeeding wave',, they go

A various journey',, to the deep ,

Like human lile',, to endless sleep\

Rule 4.— At the end of every line in poetry, a pause
should be made, proportioned to the intimacy or remotenftii
of the connexion between the words that terminate the one
and commence tiie other.

t- Di

r Th

) Ha

.; Th

i An

Die

Yel

^^Whei

nrom tm

irder, fr

romthc

O'e

Wl
An
On
Wi
Th
Ha

A KEF.

'Ml i

e, which*
[uire the ^
1.

rt pause
►f which

paose
otenftiJ
he one.

EXAMPT.KS.

Now the pine tree's',, waving top',
Gently greets',, the morning gale^ ;
Kidliiiffs now',, begin to crop'

Daisies',, on the dewy dale\
Did sweeter sounds',, adorn my flowing tongue',
Than ever man pronounc'd',, or angels sung' ;
Hai I all knowledge',, human and divine'.
That thought can reach',, or science can define':
And had I power',, to ^ve that knowledge birth ,

In all the speeches',, ofthe babbling earth' ;
Did Shadrach's zeal',, my glowing breast inspire',
To weary tortures',, and rejoice in fire' ;
Or had I fai^n',, like that wliich Israel saw'.
When Moses gave them'^, miracles and law' ;
Yet', gracious Charity',, mdulgent guest',
Were not thy power '„ exerted in mv breast,'
Those speeches',, would send up unheeded prayer ,
That scorn of Ufe'., would be but wild despair^ :
A cynibal's sound '„ were better than my voice .
My faith were form',, my eloquence were noise .

EXCEPTION.

When the break betwjen the lines separates the article
bom the noun which it limits ; the adjective, in its natural
Irder, from the noun which it modifies ; or the preposition
rom the noun which it governs, no pause can be admitted.

EXAMPLE.

O'er their heads',, a crystal fountain',
Whereon a sapphire throne',, inlaid with pure
Amber', and colours ofthe show'ry bow\
On a sudden', open fly'.
With impetuous recoil',, and jarring sound',
Th' infernal doors', and', on their hinges, grate
Harsh thunder\

DIRECTIONS TO THE LEARNER.

In taking up the English Reader with a view of applying
\e principles of elocuti(»n to the pronunciation ofthe lessons,
le learner will conunence with the Key, and make himself
)mplete master of the definitions and rulet, and iamiliar
nth the Examples. In the mean time lie may exercise his
idgment, by selecting from any other book examples under
le several rules and exceptions, and apply the appropriate
^laracters.

In a little time he will feel liimself prepared to enter upoa
le select sentences, and progress thvough tlie book.

A KEY

Great care should be taken to cuard against a drawling ^
indistinct utterance, and a iiurried clipping mode of pro*
nouncinff words and phrases.

Guard also against extending the rising inflection too high
or the falling too low ; and be careful to make no pause in
rising or falling, urAcsa a pause is inserted.

In spirited interrogatives, and at the period, the inflection:
adopt their greatest extremes ; but in dispassionate, and es-
pecially pathetic pieces, they should resemble tlie undula
tions of a gently agitated lake.

!• In pronouncing a scries of particulars, to which the falling
inflection is applied, or a simple series of three »r inore mem-
bers, the first particular or member should !>f read in the
low pitch, a small increase of force applied lo the second,
another advance to the third, and so on, to the jast in the
conmiencing series, and the last but one in the closing series;
this will produce a climax in utterance, and add force to the.
delivery.

Generally speaking, lessons should be read upon the mid-
dle pitch of the voice. In this pitch, utterance will be easiest
to the reader, and most pleasing to tlie hearer ; and in this,
too, the voice has the greatest strength, and most play.

The principles have been purposely omitted in several
chapters toward the close of a few sections, for the purpose
of having the pupil apply them in pencil mark, as a test of
his knowledge of the Key, and of their application to general
reading.

DILI

Itime'', ai
" Theg
ble occ
,Wha1
irtue is
ustre\
Virtu(
nd flou
Since
Disar
guise\
Chanj
Time
nd nois
In or
owTJirsi
Wha
> From
* pleasure
A ten
cellent j
in g Stat

In the t
l<^f constn
] >ie presun
hn flection!
|T|ie Auih
»rd tiie It
[and para(

nst a drawling
mode of pro-

ction too high
(e no pause in

the inflection!
ionate, and es-
le tlie undula

^h the falling
»r inore mem-

>f read in the

LO ilMi second,
the last in the

closing .series;

dd force to the

upon the mid-
i will be easies;
r ; and in this,
most play,
ted in several
or the purpose
rk, as a test ol
tion to general

THE ENGLISH READER

PART I.
PIECES IN PROSE.

CHAPTER I.

SELECT SENTENCES AND PARAGRAPHS.

SECTION I.

, DILIGENCE^ industry\ and proper improvement o
^ime'', are material duties of the young^.
^ The acquisition of knowledge' is one of the most honour
,ble occupations of youth\
Whatever useful^ or engaging' endowments we possess',
irtue is requisite', in order to their shining with proper
|ustre\
Virtuous youth' gradually brings Ibrward accomplished
nd flourishing manhood^.
Sincerity^ and truth' form the basis of every virtue\
Disappointments^ and distress' are often blessings in dis-
^^uise\

Change^ and alteration', Ibrm the very essence of the world * .
Dme happiness' is of n. retired nature^; an enemy to pomp'
.nd noise\
In order to acquire a capacity for happiness', it must be
■our first study to rectify inward disorders' .

"Whsitever purifies', fortijies also the heart\
* From our eagerness to grasp', we strangle' and destroy
' pleasured

A temperate spirit\ and moderate expectations', are ex
" gTMarew of the mind', in this uncertain {

wg state

i/e,

change

NOTE.

|n the first chaptei, the compiler has exhibited sentences in a great variety
lofconstruction, and in all the diversity of punctimiion. If well practised upon
[he presumes they will fully prepare the young reader for the various pauses,
hnflcctions, and modulations of voice, which the succeeding pieces require
jTiie Author's " English Exercises," under the head of Punauation, will af-
I Ord tiie learnev additional scope for improving liimacU* in reading sentencM
land paragraph.? variously constructed

17 *

liii

I'i

'Mm'

The English Header.

ParM. iChap,

There is nothing', except simplicity of intention^ and pii.
ritj^ ol' principle', that caii stand the teal ol'near approach' and
irtrict examination^

The t>a/tt« of any possession', is to be chiefly estimated', bv
the relief which it can brin^ us', in the time'of our greatebi
need^

No person who has once yielded up the government of his
mind/and given loose rein to his desires^ and passions', can
tell how far they may carry him\

Tranquillity ol'mind', is always most likely to be attained',
when the business of the loorld', is tempered with thoughtful
and serious retreat^

He wiio would act like a wise man', and build his house
on the rock^y and not on llie sand', shoultl contemplate human
lilc', not only in the sunshine', but in the sliade^.

Let usefulness^ and beneticence', not ostentation^ and va-
nity', direct the train ol'your pursuits^

To maintain a steady and unbroken mind', amidst all the
sliocks of the world', marks a great' and noble spirit\

Patience', by {)reserving composure within', resists the
impression which trouble makes Irom without'^.

Compassionate atiections', even when Ihey draw ieai'i
liom our eyes tor human misery', convey satistiiction to the
heart\ '

They who have nothing" to give', can often afford relief to
others , by imparting Avhat they /(?e/\

Our ignorance of what is to come\ and of what is reallv
goocP or evil', should correct anxiety about worldly success .

The veil which covers fron. our sight the events of sue
ceeding years', is a veil woven by the hand of merci/'.

The best preparation tor all the u certainties of futurity',
consists in a well ordered mind\ a goon conscience', and a
dieerful submission to the will of Heaven^

SECTION If.

THEcAic/ misfortunes thatbefiill us in life', can be traced
to some vices^ or follies' Avhich we have committed^

Were we to survey the chambers of sicknei^s' and distress,
we should often find them peopled with the victims of uiteni- .
perance^ anil sensuality', aiul with the children of vicious iii'
iiolence' and sloth^

To be wise in our oivn eyes\ to be wise in the opinion of J
the worW, and to be wise in the sight of our Creator'^ are''
tliree things so very different', as larely to coincided

Man', in his highest earthly glory', is but a reed floating
. the stream of time', and forced to follow ev(

tion of the current^

every new direc-

Thee
frustrate
Pers on 1

i The«!
ty\ and
ciistresse

|;nilt^
I No stj
,^uil)lemii
f|nalice',

I Moral
#0 much
ilhey are

I Hewl
|has no I
|idmire^
ieason U
When
jish^d Oil
ihe »coj/J
When
\ah'' wit
Jication
Every
?nds to
knevole

Luxui
iuence
\ance\
lions of

Mixei
liounce'
piness'
dition 01

; Societ
liversit)

fiplicity
roo(r.

That
reneral'
luencet

kvhom
)assed i

lug max

Pari 1, iChap. 1.

Select SentenceSf ij-c.

tion\ and pii-
ippruach^ and

estimated', bv
f our greatebi

?rnment of hu
passions'', can

be attained',
th thoughtful

lild his house
niplate huniai:

ation^ and va-

amidst ail the
; spirit\
n\ resists the

y draw tean
Miictioa to tiic

afford relief to

what is really
[)rldly success .
events of sue
'mercy.
m of futurity',
ids

The corrupted temper\ and the guilty passions of the bad'
.Jruatratc the eflcct of every advantage wnich the loorld con
fers on the>n\

The external niisJlirtunes of life', disappointments^ pover-
ty\ and sickness', are li^lU in comparison of those imoard
distresses oi' mindly occasioned by lbl!y\ by passion', and by
|:nilt\

i No station is so high\ no power so ffreat\ no character so
inibleinished', as to exempt men from the attacks of rashness\
|ua!ice', or envy\

I Moraf' and relip'ovis instniction' derives its elficacy', not
#0 nuicli l*om whit men arc taught to kiiow^ as from what
•jlhey are brought tofeet^.

\ He who pretends to great sensibility^ towards men', and yei

^as no leeling f()r the higli objects of religion^ no heart to

'jidmire'' and adore' the great Father of tlie universe', has

l-easoii to distrust the trutV and delicac)^ of his 8ensibility\

Whea', upon rational'* and sober imiuiry', we have estab-
lished our f)rincii)les', lot us not suffer them to lie shaken by
ilie ico/fs of the licentious', or the cawt/«of the sceptical^
* When we observe any tendency to treat religion' or mo-

Mids to debase the mind\ and to weaken the generous anti

')ene\\)\ent 2)rinciples of human nature\
Luxury\ pri le\ and vanity', have frequently as much in-

hi c nee in corrupting the sentiments of the greai\ as i^no
fance}, bigotry\ ana prejudict', have in misleading the opi

lions of the multitude^.
icience', ana a || Mixed as the present state is', reason^, and religion', pro
liounce', that', generally', if not always', there is more hap
piness' than misery\ more pleasure^ than pain'', in the cor.
dition of man\

, can be traced

)itted\

j' and distress,

tims of uiteni-

1 of vicious ill-

the opinion of|
Creator' i arej|

icide\

, reed fli)atin?

ery new direc-

Society', when formed', requires disti
liversity of conditions^ subordination of
iplicity of occupations', in order to s

iplicity

J00(l\

distinctions of property ,

of ranks\ and a mul-

advance the general

pations ,

That the temper', the sentiments\ the morality^ and', in
reneral', the whole conduct^ and character of men', are in-
puenced by the example^ and disposition' of the persons Avith
Ivhom they associate', is a reflection which h.is long since
passed into a proverb', and been ranked among the stand
mg maxims of human wisdom', in all ages of tiie vvorkl\

20 The English Reader, fart 1

SECTION HI.

THE desire of improvemcnt'f discovers a liberal nilnc!^
it is connected v> ith many accomplisiunents', and many
\irtues\

Innocence confers ease'' and fieedom on tile mind' ; and
eaves it open to every pleasing sensation^.

Moderate" and simple pleasures', relish high with the tem
perate'' : In the midst of las studi(;d refinements', the volup-
luarjf languibhes\

Gentleness corrects whatever is offensive in our manners^
.md', hy a constant train of humane attentions', studies to al-
leviate the burden of common misery\

That gentleness which is the characti'ristic of a /ST 0(l man',
nas', like every other virtue', its seat \n the hraii' : and', kl
me add', nothing', except what flows from the heart', can reu
der even extermtl manners truly pleasing\

Virtu'j', to become eitlur vigorous^or useful', murt be
haiutually active'' : not breaking fiulh occasionally with a
transient lustre', like, the, !>laze of a cornel' ; but regular in its
rettirns', like the light of //m/' : not like the aromatic ffalt\
which sonu'.times feasts the sense' ; but like th«> ordinary
bretz^f which purifies tJic;iir', and renders it healthful'.

The happiness of every man', depends more upon the state
of his own mind', than upon any one exlernal circumstance' •
nay', more than upon all exhrnul things puttogether\

In no station\ in no neriod', let us think ourselves secure
from the dang<TS whicn spring from our passions^. Efvery
age\ and every station' they beset' ; from youth' to gray
hairs\ and from the jjeasanf to the prince'.

Riches" and pleasures', are the c/ii'^temptations to criminal
deeds". Yet those riches', when obtained', may wry possibh,
overwhelm us with unforeseen miseries'. Those pleasures
may cut short our lieaJth' and life'.

He who is accustomed to turn asid(; from the t ^rld\ and
comnDune with himself in retiremenf, will', sometimes at
Z«aji', hear the truths which the nm//i<it</c do not tell him'.
A more sound instructer will lift his voice', and awaken with-
in the heart those latent suggestions', which the world had
overpowered' and suppressed'.

Amusement often becomes the business', instead of ^he
relaxalion% of young persons' : it is then highly pernicious'.

He that waits for an opportunity to do muck at once', niay
breatlie out his life in idle wishes', and regref, in the last
hour', his useless intentions' and barren zesil'.

The spirit of true religion', breathes mildness" and affability".
It gives a native^ unnflccted ease to the behaviour". It is so-

fhaf.

kial\ kit

|nd illib
Jie tenii

k^ •'es lb
Re.eti
liis intei
jtliooght
. Man'

mivays
md leai
lis lile',
ball', fro

i TIMI

msi\ is

r Tbert

•Idisturbe

protectio

The 1

^he bous

^rval b(

It is o

>f huma

ivUs', 01

io yield^

Anion

nate co

hur ihnii

lis kindr

Chari

.shines^ ;

%he dark

"t Many

^nd are

I tJenu

heart tl

derstooc

piaffe \)i

;ver ma

The!

Whei

)bservei

itenipest

'riiei

Ihiult on

libural minih
its', iiiid many

I mind' ; nnd

with the tern
ta', the voliip-

)iir mnnrH-rs"' ;
btudies to ill-

AfTod man',
vi^: and', It I
oart',canrtMj

ul', miwt l)e
(rjally with a

regular in its
romatic ^(tlt%

tho ordinary
althnil\
ipon tho state
rcumstance' •
;<'ther\
sulvL'o scctire
'or.s\ Efvery
)uth' to gray

TiS to criminal
' \'vry possibhf
ose pieasin'os

e T -^rk^, and
sometimes at
not tell him\
iwakftn with-
;hc world had

istead of fi\e
pernicious*,
at once', iriay
;f , in the last

ind affability^.
w\ It is so-

|C^f. *. Select SentenceSt ^t 31

|^ial\ kind *"" rheerfuP: far removctl from tl-.at rioomy^
and illiberal ■J'P^ratition', Avliich clouds ttit, bio\v\ Bharpeiis
Jie lenipcr\ dejeo ts the snirit', and loaches men to fit them-

ihe^'eslbr ano^/**'" world', ny nejrlectinsr the concerns oi'lhis\
Re.eal nont ^* thesccrets of thy liiencr. Be J'aillijul to
liis interests^ Forc^ake him not in danj?cr\ Abhor the
tJiought ol'acquinng.any advauiase by his prejudiced
,' Man' J always prosperous wounl be eriddy' and insolent',
tlways afflicted', would be iiillen' or desi)ondent\ Hopes'
ind (ears', joy^ and sorrow , are^ tlicreti)re', so blended In
lis lile', as both loji^ive room lor worldly pursuits^ and lo re-
[•alK, from tinie^ to tinie', the admonitions of conscience'.

SECTION IV.
TIME once past', never returns' : the monient whicli i.s
nl\ is lost^br ever^.
There is noUnn«? on earth so stable', as to assure us of uii-
•jiisturbed rest' ; nor so powerful', as to ufiord us constani
protection^.

The house o^ feasting' too often becomes an avenue to
<$]\e house ofmournivi^''. Short', to the licentious', is the iu-
5|erval betAveon iheni^

It is of great importance to us', to form a proper estimate
>f human lile' ; Avithout either loading it with imaginary
ivUs', or expecting liom it greater advantages than it is able
^o yiekP.

Among a// o\ir corrupt passions', there is a stnmg and inti-
nate conncxion\ AVhen any one of them is adopted into
bur family', it seldom quits until it has fathered upon us all
Its kindred\

Charity', like the sun', briglitens every object on which it
ehines^; a censorimis disposition' casts every character into
lithe darkest shade it will bcar\

^ Many men mistake tlie love', for the practice of virtue' ;
jHnd are not so much good men , as the friends of goodness\
i Genuine virtue' has a language that speaks to every
^leart tlirougliout the world'. It is a language which is un-
jj^lerstood hyaW. In every region\ every chmate', the /to-
iiage i)aid to it', is the same\ In no one sentinicnt' were
ver mankind more generally agreed^
The appearances of our security' are frequently deceitful\
When our sky seems most settled^ and serene', m some un-
|Observed quarter', gathers the little black cloud', in which the
|tenmestferments',and prepares todi.schargeitselionourhead\
I Tlie man of true fi)rtitiflie' may l>e compared to the castle
[Kiult on a rock', which defies the attacks of the surrounding

'!::■!!

l|:!i

i'ii

The

English

Reader*

1
Parti. ^f^^P' 1

waters^: the man of n feeble and timorous spirit', to a hut
placed on tiie siiore', whicli every wind shakes', and every
wave overllowH*.

Nothin'' is so inconsistent with self-pisscssion', as violent
anger^. It over|K)\vcrs reason*; confounds our ideu-^; dis-
lorti* the aj>pearance', ami blackens the colour of every ob-
ject*. By tne storms which it raises ivitlnn^t and by the
mischiels ^vhicll it occasions without', it gciierally brings on
the passionate and revengeful man', greater misery than he
can oring on llic object of his resentnient\

The palace ol"viV/»e has', in all aj^es', been renrescnted ns
})laccd on ti.e smninit of a hill^; in the ascent of which', labour
w reqiiisite', and difficuUies are to be surmounted*; anil whert'
a conductor is noedetl ', to direct (mr Avay', and nkl our steps*.

In ']Ui\ghisoi'oth<:rs'j let us always think the best', and cm-
j)loy the sj)irit of charitv' and candour^ But in judging of
ourselves', we ought to be exact' and severed

Let him', Avho desires to see others happy', make haste to
p:We while WxH^ift can be enjoyed*; and renjember'.that every
inonjent of (lelay', takes away something from the value of
his l>en'jlaction\ And let him who proposes his own happi-
ness', reHect', that while he Ibrms his jnirpose', the day rolls
on', and " the night cometh', when no man can work\"

To sensual i)erson8', hardly any thing is what it appears to
be*: and what flatters most', is always farther from reality*.
There are voices Avliich sing around them', but whose strams
allure to ruin*. There is a banquet spread', where jmson i

m every dish*. There is a couch which invites them to re-
l)ose', but to slumber upon it', is death\

If we would judge whether a man is really happy', it is
not solely to hirj houses^ and lands', to his equipage* and liis
retinue we are to look'. Unless we could aec farther', and
discern what joy\ or what bitterness', his iieart feels', we
can iDronounce little concerning him\

The book is well written^; and I have perused it with
pleasure' and profit^ It shows', first', i\mi true devotion is
rational' and well founded*; next^, that it Is of the highest
imi)ortance to every other part of religion^ and virtue'; and'
lastly', that it is most conducive to our happiness*.

There is certainly no greater felicity', than to be able tr
look back on a life usefully' and virtuously employed*; t(
trace our own progress in existence', by such tokens as ex
cite neither shame' nor sorrow\ It ought therefore to bi
tlie care of those who wish to pass their last hours with
comfort', to lay v.p such a treasure of pleasing ideas', as shal'
support the expenses of that time', which is to depend wholly
upon the fund already acquired^

»WHA'

MS lost t
He tha
less quali
Can w<
■}tiiation
Ifinciple!:
Mrtue'? 1
I What
^rsity'!

Irison \\
When
rtainty
^rived fi

How H

diange ii

How n

Uppointci

Sliich', ■
en wou
What i
itional s
the
o': I ai;
illect wi
tl

iious

Part 1. thap. 1.

Select ScnlenctiS, ^'C.

lirit', to a hut
a', and everjr

)n', as violent
ur idea^^; dis-
r of every ob-
and by tbe
ally brings on
liscry than he

eprescnted ns
wliich'', labour
Mr;an(l where
akl our 8leps\
be8t\ and cni-
in judging of

make haste to
or' that every
1 the value of
lis own happi-
, the day roils
n wori<\"
t it appears to
■ li-oni realit^'\
whose strains
?here poison is
s them to re-

' happi/, it is
ipagre' and iiis
farther', and
sart feels', we

rused it with
lie devotion is
f the liighest
virtue'; and'
ess*.

to be able tr
:;mployed^; U
tokens as ex
lerefore to br
t hours with
[leas', as shall
iepend whoUy

i SECTION V.

( WHAT avails the show of external liberty', to one wiko
mis lost the goveniiiient oriiiniseir?

He that cannot live well to-day', (says l^Iartial',) will tie
less qualified to live wcil to-nMrrow\

Can we esteem that man [jrospcrous', who is raised to a
■Ituation Avhicli Hiitters his passions', but which corrupts liis
li'inciples', <lisorders his temper', and finally oversets liiti
llrtue'?

i What niiserv does the vicious man secretly endured — Ad-
l^jrsity'! how blunt are all the arrows of /Ay quiver', in com-
irison with those o\'ffuilt/\

When we have no |)leasure in goodncsf', we may with
Ttainty conclude the reason to be , that our pleasure is all
rived from an opposite quarter\

How strangely are the opinions of men altered', by a
change in their conditioiri

How many have had reason to be thankful', ftr being dis-
Uppointed in designs which they earnestly pursued, bu'
iiiclr, if succcssliilly accomplished', they have afterwards
len would have occasioned their ruin^!
What are the acticms which allonl in the remembrance a
ktional salisfaction\'' Are they the pursuits of sensual pica,
nre', the riots of ji)llity', or the displays of show and vanity?
fo^: I appeal to your hearts', my friends', if what you r^
llect with most pleasure', are not the innocent\ the \;r
ous', the honourable parts of jt'our i)ast li(e\
The present emp'oyment of time should frequently be nn
►ject of thought^ About what are we now ImsiedT What
the ultimate scope of (uir present pursuits' and cares?
an we justify them to ourselves'? Are they likely to pro
uce any thing that will survive the moment', and bring forth
^Dme fruit lor futurity'?

Is it not strange', (says an ingenious writer',) thot sonv;
persons should be so delicate as not to bear a disagreeubli
"ncture in the house', and yet', by their behaviour', force
ery face they see about tliem, to wear the gloom of unea-
leas' and discontent'?
rif we are now in health\ peace', and fsafety^; without nny
[articular or uncommon evils to atHict oair condition'; what
[lore can we reasonably look for in this vain and uncertain
|rorld\' How little can the greatest prosperity add to s vth a
tate7 \yil! any future situation ever make us happy\ if now
rith so few causes of grief', we imagine ourselves misertAU ?
\ he evil lies in the state of our mind" not in our conditio of

The English Reader,

Pari 1,

III

^lii:;

. ;. '

:,1..

#1-

fortune'; and by no alteration of circumstances is it likely to
be remedied^

When the .ove of unwarrantable pleasures^ and of vicious
companions', is allowed to amuse young persons', to engross
iheir time\ and to stir up their passions': the day of ruin'.—
let them take heed\ and beware'! the day of irrecoverable
ruin beii-iis to draw nij^h\ Fortime is squandered^; health is
broker. •; iriends are oi!ended\ afl'ronted', estranged^; aged
pareiits , ])erhaps', sent atHicted' and mourning to the dust\

On \vhom dues time hang so heavily', as on the slothlul
nnd la'/,y\'' To whom are the hours so lingering\'' Who are
so ollen devoured with spleen', and obliged to fly to every
expedient', Avliich can help them to j^et rid of themselves^
Instead of producing tranquillity', indolence ])roduces a fret-
ful restlessness of mind^; gives rise to cravings which are
nevor satisfied^; nourishes a sickly\ elieminate delicacy',
which sours and corrupts every i)leasure\

SECTION VI. j

WE have seen the hiifthandman scattering ills seed upon'
Ihe furrowed grouncf! It springs up\ is gatiiered into his
barns', and crowns his labours with joy' and plenty \ — Thus
llui man who distributes his fortune with generosity^ and
prudence', is amply repaid by the gratitude of Ihose whom
lie obliges , by the approbation of his own mind', and by the
liivour of Heaven\

Temperance'^ by fortifying the mind^ and body', leads to
lia])i)iness\' intemperance' , by enervating them', ends gene-
rally in misery^.

Title"' and ancestry render a good' man more iUustrious^;
\\i an ill one', more contemptible^. Vice is inl'amous'. thougli
i\\ a prince^; and virtue, honourable', though in a peasant^.

An elevated genius',employed in little tilings', appears' (to
use the simile of Longinus') like the sun in his evening de-
clinaticm^: he remits his splendour', but retains his magni
tude^; and pleases more', though he daz/les less^.

If envious people' were to ask themselves', whether they
would exchange their entire situations with the perscms eji-
vied', (I mean their minds\ passions\ notions', as well as
their persons\ fbrtunes\ and dignities',) — I presume the
self-love', common to human nature', would generally make
them prefer their own condition^

AVe have obliged some iiersons*: — very welf! — wliat would
we have more^? Is not tne consciousne&s of doing good' a
sufficient reward'?

Do not hurt yourselves^ or others', by trie pursuit of piea-

Iphap. ]

iure\ (
fiot only
i^ional'j \.

Art tl
peaceabl
•elf bene

Thouf
promises
indeed it
ft .mitiga
|nay just
ire heav

What

lren\ of

to every

^^Vith wl

where tl

Jieartliilt

P How

^very wl

iOrnamen

fnagnific

|upply c

Met belbi

'itanding

Lean

lis
n The
«onsolati

ninds

ji their
ivliere is

AGES

things h
** Those
m€n\"
jBentimer

tvhen he
Anita
'as his
Hiing Wi
repay
^ive desi
jence, t
jhoii^' ra
When

P^^^ 1 khan. 1.

Select Sentences^ ^^c.

i is it iiiiely to

ami of vicious

is', to engross

ay of ruin'' .—

irrecoverable

recP; yieaith is

angecr; aged

to the diist\

the slothl'ul

"•\'' Who arc

fly to everv

themselves^

oduces a fret-

igs which are

ate delicacy',

his seed upon
lered into his
lenty\— Thus
inerosity^ and
r Ihose wliom
d', and by the

ody', leads to
ri^ ends gene-

'e iUustrious^;
inous^ though
I a a peasant^.
i", appears' (to
s evening de-
ms his magni

Avhether tliey
le persons eji-
is', as well as f

|ure\ Consult your whole nature". Consider yoursei\'e8
liot only as sensitive^ but as rational beings^ ; not only as ra-
tional', hut social'' ; not only as social', but immortaV.

Art thou poor'?— Sliow thyself active^ and industrious ,
peaceable' and contented^ Arttiiou wealthy'? — Show tiiy-
■elf beneficent^ and charitable', condescending' and hiunane'.

Though religion removes not all the evils of lile', though it
promises no continuance of undisturbed prosperity', (which
Hideed it were not salutarv for man always to enjoy',) yet', if
ft .mitigates the evils which necessarily belong to our state', it
fiiay justly be said to give "rest to them who labour' arui
|re heavy laden\"

M What a smihng aspect does the love of parents' and chi^
llren\ of brothers' and sisters\ of friends^ and relations', give
io every surrounding object', and every returning da} ^ !
^^Vith what a lustre does it gild even the small habitatitm',
ivhere this jMacid intercourse dwells^ ! where such scenes ol
lieartlelt satisfaction succeed uninterru])tedly to one another' '

How many clear marks of benevolent intention 5ii)pear
,^very where around us^! What a profusion of heauty^ and
{Ornament' is poureil forth on the lace of nature^ ! What a
luiagnificent spectacle presented to the viewof nian^. What
jupply contrived ibr his wants^ ! What a variety of ol^ecMa
let before him', to gratify his senses\ to employ hi:} under
Standing\ to entertain his imagination', to cheer and gladden
'lis heaii^ !

The hojic of future happiness' is a perpetual source of
i^Hisolation to good men\ Under trouble', it sooths their
.^linds^; amidst temptation', it supports their virtue', and',
ifn their dying moments', enables them to say', " O death !
Ivhere is thy sting-^ I O crave' ! where is thy victory^?"
i SECTION VII.

AGESILAUS', king of Sparta', being asked', "What
things he thought most proper for 6oj/s to learn'," answered',
*' Those which they ought to j)ractise when they come to be

men]." A wiser than Agesilaus' has inculcated the same
iBentiment^: " Train up a child in the way he shotild go', and
,|vhen he is old he will not depart from it\"

presume the
enerally make

— what would
doing good' a

ursuit of plea-

I An Italian philoso])her expressed in his motto', that "time
|\'as his estate"^." An estate indeed which will i)roduce no-
hing WiihouT cultivation^ ; but which will ahvays abundant^
y repay the labours of industry\ and satisfy the most exten-
pive desires', if no part of it be sufli^red to lie waste by negli-
gence, to be overrun with noxious j>lants', or laid out lor
jtAoii'' rather than use'\
When Aristotle was asked', " What a man could gain by

im M

Hi'

^■:;'i

1,1'/;

¥:

' ' li.

The Ens:Hsh Reader.

Part 1.

f^hap. :

telling a/(rf»e/»oorfy' J»e replied', "Not to be credited when jt A,jt,)„

he speaks the truth''" J,,,! ^^yj,^

L'Estrange', in his Fables', tells us that a number of fro- j^,,,^ j,i,

licsome boys' were one day watching frogs', at the si<le of a fivt'i'. "

pond', and that', as any of them put their heads above the f^g^/ '^jj^

water', they pelted them down a^ain with stoiies\ One ol
Uie frogs', appealing to the humanity of the boys', made this
striking observation^ : " Ciiildren', you do not consider' that
tliough this may be sport to you\ it is death to us"

Sully', the great statesman of France', always retained at
nis table', in his most prosperous days', the same frugality U
ivhich he had been accustomed in early life\ lie was lie*
quently reproached by the courtiers' lor this simplicity^ j but
he used to reply to them', in the words of an ancient phioso- J
pher' ; " If the guests are men of sense', there is sufficient i\n ij
tliem^ : if they are not', I can very well dispense with their
conipany\"

Socrates', though primarily attentive to the culture of his
viind\ was not negligent of his external appearance^ His
cloanliness resulted irom those ideas of order^ and decency'
which governed all his actions^ ; and the care which he took
of liis health', from his desire to preserve his mind free and
tranquiP.

Eminently pleasing^ and honourable' was the friendship
between David' and Jonathan^ " I am distressed for thee',
my brother Jonathan'," said the plaintive and surviving Da-
vid' ; " very pleasant hast thou been to me^ ; thy /aye lor me
was wonderfuP ; passing the love of ioome»\"

Sir Philip Sidney', at the battle near Zutpiien', was wound-
ed by a musket ball , which broke the bone of his thigh\ He

Men a

ble', b:

e eailH

tie but

"nplain

man si

re on t

ill) sufli

at niixc

ill resto

a princ

ild', ",

uies of

ince rm

my vail

HE ijjr
irokcn
A soft
r up an
r»elteri

hatrei
l^nde ii

a la IP

Hear C(

tnilvrc

w;is carried about a mile and a half to the camp^ ; and being

faint with the loss of hloocP, and probably parched with thirst ^ ^

t.lin)u;?li the heat of the weather', he called for drink\ It ^iFaitlifu
\vas immediately brought to him\* but', as he was putting ^ftrw?/ a re
the vessel to his mouth', a poor ^younded soldier', who hap- Setst tl
pened at that instant to be carried by him', looked up to it l|©nev)f a
with Avishful eyes^ The gallant and generous Sidney' too^ .^IIq tlia'
the Imttle from hie moutli', and delivered it to the soldier',
gaying', " Thy necessity is yet greater than mine^,"

Alexander the Grt.'at' demanded of a pirate', whom he liarl
^taken', by what right he infested the seas\' "Bvthe same
'right'," replied he', "that Alexander enslaves the V)oiid\\
Hut I am called a robber', because I have only one small ves-
seP; and he is styled a eonmieror', because he commands-
great fleets' and armies\" We too often judge of men by
fjie splendour' and not by the merit of their actions^

1 hat ru
He tha

lich [ie
If thine

be thii
He tha

the eye
I have

a tlie r

Pari 1.

, ■ .A

Select Sent dices f tj'O.

redited when iji Antoninus Pius^ the Roman Emperor'', was an amiabte
fii(l g-ood maii^ When any of his courtiers atlenipted to in-
vvitli a jxi.ssion lor mitilary ^\wy\ he used

mber of fro-
the side ol" a
Is above ihe
ies\ One ol
^s', made this
consider'' that

>s retained at
ic frugahty t(
lie was Ire*
nplicity\; but
icient phloso-
3 sufficient for
fise with their

culture of his
arance\ His
and decency'
.vhich he took
mind free and

the friendship
ssed for thee^
surviving Da-
hy iove lor me

', was wound-
liis thigh\ He
p^; and being
led with thirst
for drini<\ It
le was putting
er', who ha-ji-
looked up to il
s Sidney' tool^
to the soldier',
line .

, whom he harl
" By the same
es tlie world\
one small ves-
he commands
1^6 of men by
lions'.

pime hiwi vvitli a jxission lor military ^'lory', he used to an-
iNver'. "Tiiat lie more desired the preaervation o^ one svh-
feet', than tlie destruction ol'a thousand enemies."

Men are too often ingenious in making themselves mise-
nible', by ag'g'ravating to their own liuicy', beyond bounds', ali
me edls whicii they en(lure\ They compare themselves with
wne but those whom they imagine to l)e more haj^py^ ; and
p)mplain', that upon tjiem alone has liiilen the v/hole load of
' nnan sorro\vs\ Would they look with a more impartial
re on the Avorld', they would see themselves surrounded
Klh sufferers^ ; and find that they are only drinking out of
bat mixed cup' which Providence has prepared for ml^. — "1
^ill restore thy daughter again to life', said an eastern sage
a prince who grieved innnoderately lor the loss of a beloved
lild', "provided thou art ahle to engrave on her tomb' the
unes of three persons Avho liave never mourneir." Tfie
rince made inquiry after such persons^ ; but found the u»-
jiiiry vain', and was silent\

SECTION VIII.

HE that hath no rule over his own spirit', is like a city that

hrukcn down', and without walls\

A soft answer turneih away wrath'; hwx gnevous words

Jr up anger\

Better is a dinner of herbs where love is', than a stalled ox

I hatred there with\

Pride foetli belore destruction' ; and a liaughty spirit l)e-

•ealali\

Hear counscP, and receive instruction', that thou mayest
^^, truly «mc\

1: Faithfid are the wounds of a friend'; but the kisses of an
eiiciivj are deccitfuP. Open rebuke' is better than secret Zow«\

Secst thou a man wise in his own conceit' ? There is more
liene of a /oo/', than of him'.

I He that is slow to anger', is better than the mighty^ ; and
m that ruleth his spirit', than he that taketh a city^.
iHe that hath pity on the poor', Ifjndeth to the Lord""; that
"^lich [ie hath given', will he pay bun again\

If thine enemy be hungry'', give ]\\m))read to eaf ; and ii

be thirsty', give him water to drink\

He that planted the ear', shall he not hear' ; He that forno-

the eye', shall he not see' ?

I have been young', and noAV I am old^ ; yet have I never

a tlie righteous forsaken', nor his seed begrging breads

3. 1

I'ti!:*';

2Vte English Reader.

Part 1

It is ])etler \o be a door-keeper in thelioiise of tlie Lord' than
to dwell m the tents ()l'Avicke(lness\

1 have seen tiie wiclced in great power', and spreading him*
self like a ;LTecn bay-tree\ Yet Ke passed away^ : 1 souglit
hhii', hut lie coukl not he lound\

Hiippy is the man that tindelii wisdom\ Length of days
is in her ri^ht liand' ; and in her left hand', ricljes'' and ho-
nour\ Her ways are ways ol' pleasantness', and all her paths
are peace'.

How good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell to
grether in nuity^! It is like precious ointment^ : Like the dew
oi'Hernion', and the dew tliat descended UDon the mountains

oi ZlOU .

The slujrgard will not plong-h by reason of tlie cokP ; lie
Utall tlicrcli)re besf'm harvest', and have nothing\

1 went by the iield of the slothful'', and by the vineyard ol
the man void of understandhig^ : and', lo' ! it was all grown
over with thorns^; inflles had covered its face', and the stoiu
wall was broken down\ Then I saAv', and considered ii
weir ; I looked upon it', and received instruction\

Honourable age is not that which standeth in length ok
time', nor that which is measured by number of J/tmV;-
Bu\ ivisdom is the gray hair to man', and an unspotted life is*
old age'.

Solomon', my son', know thou the God of thy fathers', ano
w.Tve him Avith a perfect heart', and with a witling mind\ 1:
liiou sa'k huu', he will be Ibund of thee^ ; but if thou/wso/u
him', he wili cast thee oil i()r ever\

SECTION IX.

THAT every day has its pains^ and sorrows'^ is univer-
sally exi)erienced', and almost universally confessed\ But let
us not attend only to moimiful truths^ : if we look impartial!)
about us', we shall find' 'that every day has likewise lis
pleasures' and hsjoys^.

We should cherisli sentiments oi' charity towards all men\
The author of all good' nourishes much piety^ and virtue' in
liearts that are unknown to us^ ; and beholds repentance
ready to spring up among many' whom we consider as re-'\
probates''. ^ I

No one ought to consider himself as insignificant in tliC|
aight of his Creator'. In our several stations', we are all seiiti
lorth to be labourers in the vineyard of our heavenly Father\|
Every man has his work allotted^ his talent committed to!
luni' ; by the due improvement of which', lie may', in one|
way or other', serve God\ promote virtue , and be useful in :
the wor!d\

pkap. 1.

' The loi
rdinatioi
lotive to
io far', ii

disgrace',

defect'.

^Ijustmei

fre', is a
nen any

euilaiig

The lie

•taineil i

I ley ma I

iici()ry\ 11

jrays\ 1

lilt' and

)US coui

^^hich are

f: Disease

;oin bein

an\ T

vn niisi?

)th prod

siionest}

>en' beti

rimes'; a

When 1

luman lit

by man

i'hich the

on'

Pari 1

Llie Lord' than

ipreading him*
^ay^ : 1 souglit

«ength of (lays
•iclies'' and ho-
d all her paths

en lo dwell to
Like the dew
the niountauis

the cohP; he

tie vnievard ol
Avas all grown
, and the stoiu
I considered i;
ion\

h in length o
er oi' years'^ :-
[ispolted life is

ly fathers ^ ami
fling mind\ 1:
if thou forsah

ws , IS liinver-
!ssed\ But let
)ok impartial!)
IS likewise its

rards all rnen\

and virtue' in

ds repentance

onsider as re-

lificanl in the
we are all sent.
venly B'ather\;
committed tOi
J may', in oiiei
nd be useful in

phap. 1. Select SenlenceSf i^c. 29

'^1 The love ol' praise' sliould be preserved under pwper sub-
ordination to the principle of duty''. In itself, it is a usefiiJ
fliotive to action'; but when allowed to extend its influence
tt>o far', it corrupts the whole character', and produces guilt',
disgrace', and niisery\ To he entirely destitute of it , is a
4ejecl\ To be governed by it', is depravity''. The proper
l^ljusttnent of the several principles of action in human na-

fre', is a matter that deserves our highest attention\ For
nen any one of them becomes either too weak'' or too strong^',
' eiulangers both our virtue' anu our happiness^
The lie.sires and [)assions of a vicious man', having onee
•tained an unlimited sway', trample him under their ieet\
I'hey make him teel that he is su )joct to various^ contra-
clory\ and imperious masters', w ic often pull him dillerent
ay.s\ His soul is rendered the receptacle of many repug
int' and jarring dispositions\, and resembles some barha-
)us country', car.toned (mt into diflerent principalhies'.
_^/hich are continually waging war (mone ariOtner\
^; Diseases', poverty^ di.sappoiiitment\ and shame', are iiir
fironi being' , in evary instance', the unavoidable tloom of
an\ They are nuich more tiec|uently the otispring of hi;;:!
vn misguided choice''. Intemperance engenders disease',
[oth produces poverty', pride creates disappointments', and
isiionesty exposes to sharne\ Tlie ungoverned passions of
jien' betray them into a ihousand l',)!lies'; their ti)llies iiiio
rimes'; and their crimes into mis(brtunes\
When we reflect on the many distresses Avhich abomid in
nnan life', on the scanty proportion of happiness whii-h
i>; man is /te»T allo\yed to enjoy', on the small dilfereuee
liich the diversity oi' fortune makes on that scanty prop(H'-
)ii'; it is surprising that envy should ever hiive been a pre-
lent passion among men\ nuich more more that it should
kive prevailed among Christians^. Where so much is sut-
ured in common', little room is left ibr envy\ There is more
j^iccasion for pity^ and sympathy', and an inchnation to assist
' ch other\

At our first setting out in life', when yet unacquainted
Ifilli the vvorld^ and its snares', when every pleasure ei>-
wiants with its smile\ and every object shines with the gloss
*•* novelty', let us beware of the seducing appearances Avhich
.rround us'j and recollect what others have suffered from
le power of lieadstrong desire\ if we allow any passion',
ren though it be esteemed innocent^ to acquire an absolute
icendant , our inward peace ivill be impaired^ But if a«v
^hich has the taint of i^uiW take early possession of o^
•»ind', we may date', from tliat moment , the ruin of a^
J-anquillity*. ^

The English Reader,

Part 1

<VV I

"ft;

Every man Ims some darling passion', whicli general!*
%rtl)rds the first iiitroduytioii to vice\ The irrcijular gratjii
cations' into which it occasionally seduces iiiin, appear un-
der the li>riiiori'£'/;t(7/ weaknesses', and are indulged', in tlit
he^innin:;'', wit!i .scnipuKni.snes.s' and reserved But', b;
Ioniser practice', these restraints weaken', and the power t.
habit grows\ One vice hrin^s in another to its aid\ B)
a sort ol' natural aliinity', they connect^ and entwine thcni
selves toilet licr', till tiieir n)o{y coine to be spread wide^ aiK
deep' over all tiie souP.

SECTION X.

^VHKNC Fi arisf.s the misery of this present world'? It i
not owin ^' to our cloudy atuiosphiM'e', our changiui? seasons
and inck'uient .skies'. It is not owin^ to the debility ot'ou
b<»dii's', nor to tiie luiequal distribution of the ijoody of tor
tunt'\^ Amidst all disadvanrai^-es of this kind\ a pure\ ;
*ite:ul!'ist\ and eiili..»'!ilened mind', possessed of stron<^ vir
i.ue', could ouj')y itself in jioaco', and smile at the itn|)oten
?i.s-s;uilt.s of iortune' and the elements\ It is within ourseht
TJKit misery li;u iixetl his seat\ Our disordered hearts', on
ijuiity passions^ our violent prejudices'^ and misplaced
sires', are the instruments of the trouble v/hich we endure
These shiu'pen the da'-fs which adversity would otherwis:
point in vain a.<4Minst i's\

While the vain' nnd the licentious' are revellin;^ in tli-
midst of exlruvagance^ auil riot', how little do they think r
t!n se scenes of sore distress', which ari3 passing? at that nwv
meat rlu()u:>;tiout the world'; multitudes ^trul^i4■!ini^• li)r a poo
<ul)sisteiu'-e', to support the wiil;^ an»l children' whoiii the
love', and who k)ok up to them', with ea'^er eyes', l()r tlia
bread which they ca)i hardly procure'; nuiltitutles ^froaniii
jnder sickness in desolate cottages', untended' ami unnioun.
ed"; many', apparently in a better situation of lite', pinia
away in secret with concealed griefs'; lamilies weepiui? ove
the belov^ed y>/t7/6^s vviiom they have lost^ or, in all the hitter |
ness of aiii^uish', bidding- those who are just expiring tbj
Ixst adieu\

Never adventure on too near an .Tppron- 'i to what is cvit
Faufiliarize not yourselves with it', in the ^('-.fhtei'l instance!;'
Without fear^. Listen with reverence to every i-eprehensio:
of conscience', and preserve the most quick and accuniii
sensibility to ricfht'iind wron'4'\ If ever your moral impre
siotis begin to decay\ and your natural abhorrrnte of ^uiltl;
Jessen', you have ground to dread that the ruin of uir/Mt'
tast approach'ng\

B/ (lifjappointnicntii^ and trials' the violence of our ;wiJ

Part 1

Viap, 1.

Select SenlenccSf ^-c*

hicli generallv
regular gratifi'
in , appear uiv
tlulged', ill till

ic\ But^ I);

I the power c
> its ai(l\ B)
entwine thorn
read wiile^ aiL

riety' and

it world'? It ■:
agini? .seasons

(lebilily ot* oi:
e ifoody of tor
id\ a pure\ ;

ot' .strong vlr
[\i the iin[)oten
^vithiu oarselvt
-eil hearts^ on

misplaced tit
ich we endure
ouid otlierwisi

evollinj? in tl:
lo tht>y think I
ini? at that nuv

ling- Km- a \)W
vn' Vhoiti the;;

eyes', t()r tha?
tuiles irroaniii:
' and inunourii

of life', pinin:
!.s weepiiii? ovt

iuallt,hel)ittO[i
St expiring M

to^vhat is evill
lite f I instances^
ry reprehensio|
k and accnraii
r nu)ral iniprel
■rrnLCof^uiltll
ruin ()i'virtne\

hions i-s tamed', and our minds^ are formed to sobriel
tellection\ In the varieties of lilii', occasioned by tlie vici»-
litudes ol' worldly lortuiie', we are inured to habits both of
'the active' anil the sullering virtues\ How much soever wc
'Complain of the vanity of tlie world', facts plainly show',
4iat if its vanity vyere less\ it could not answer the purpose

!f .salutary disciplined Unsatisfactory as it is', its pleasures
re stilt too apt to corrupt our hearts^ How liital then
lust the consetiuences iiave been', had it yielded us more
"iiomplele enjoy uient'i* If', with all its troubles', we are in
lauger of being too much attached to it', how enlirely woukl
t have seduced our arfections', if no troubles had been mir>-
[led with its pleasures\''
In sea.sons of distress^ or difliculty', to aban(h>u ourselv««
dejection' J carries no mark ol'a great or a worthy mind^
listead of sulking un.ler trouble^ and declaring *' that his
)ul is weary of lile'," it becomes a wise* and a good man',
I the evil day', with lirtimess', to maintain his post^; to
?ar up against the stornf ; to have recourse to those advan-
l^es which', in the worst of times', are always lell to inte-
fity^ and virtue'; and never to give up the hope that better
lys may yet arise\

How many young persons have', at first', set out in the
lorl<l with excelleii., dispositions of heart'; generous\ cha-
jiable', and humane'; kuul to their friends', and amiable
iion^ all with whom I hey had intercourse'! And yet', how
Iten nave we seen all those fair appearances', unhappily
lasted in the progress of life', merely t.hrough the inMuence
f loose and corrupting p/crts«m; and those very fxjrsons',
Iho promised once to oe blessings to the worltl', siuik down',
I the end', to be the burden' and nuisance of society\
The most common propensity of mankind', is', to store
iturity with whatever is agreeable to them^; especially in
lose periods of life', when imagination is lively', and hope
|ardent\ Looking flirward to the year now beginning',
ley are ready to promise themselves much',^ from the tbuiv
|itions o^ prosperity which they have laid'; irom the friend-
lips'^ and connexions which they liave secured'; aiul from
[e plans of cy/iJwc'^ which they have fbnued'. Alas'! how
\ceitful do all these dreains of happiness often prove'!
* Idle many are saymg ui secret to their hearts'. " To-mor-
Iw shall be as this day', and nio/o abundantly'," we are
)liged', in return, to say to them', "Boast not yourselves oi
■mon'ow'; for you know not what a day may bring fortliM"

■W:

:r- a

■I-

ncp of our pa^i

I ■h^

The Engttati Reader.

., ¥

CHAP. II.

XARRATIVE PIECES

SECTION I.

•/Vb rank or possessions can make the ffuilty mind happy.

DIONYSIUS', the tyrant of Sicily', was far from being
liappy', thtmgh he possessed great riches^ and all the plea-
wires which wealth^ and power' could procured Damocles',
(ftie of his flatterers', deceived by those specious appearances
d,' happiness', took occasion to compliment him on the ex-
tent of his power\ his treasures', and royal magnificence";
mid declared that no monarch had ever been greater^ oii
jiuppier' than Dionysius\

2 " Hast thou a mind', Damocles'," says the kin^', *' to ]
taste this happiness'; and to know', by experience , wlia;^
the enjoyments are', of which thou hast so high an idea'?'
Damocles', with joy', accepted the offer\ The king orderJ
eil that a royal hanguet should be prepared', and a gildeJ
sofa', covered with rich embroidery', placed for his favourite']
Sideboards', k)aded with gold^ and silver plate', of immens
value', were arranged in the apartment^

3 Pages of extraordinary beauty' were ordered to attend
his table', and to obey his commands with the utmost readil
ness', and the most profound submission^ Fragrant oinli
ments\ chaplets ol* fIo\vers\ and rich perfumes', were addel
to the entertaiiunent\ The table waa loaded with the moyf
exquisite delicacies rtf every kind\ Damocles', intoxicatei']
with pleasure', landed himself amongst superior beings\

4 But in the midst of all this happiness', as he lay indule|
ing hinjself in state', he sees let down from the ceiling', e)|
actly over his head', a glittering sword', hung by a singl
hair\ Tlie sight of impending destruction', put a speedl
end to his joy' and revelling\ The pomp of his attendancel
the glitter of the carved plaie\ and the delicacy of the viancls||
cense to pfford him any pleasured

5 He d eads to stretch forth his hand to the tabled Hj
throws ofl'the garland of roses'. He hastens to remove froi^
his dangerous situation', and earnestly entreats the king
restore him to his former humble condition', having no d^
sire to enjoy any longer a happi.iess so terrible\

6 By this device', Dionysius intimated to Damoclej', hoj
miserable he was in the midst of all his treasures', and
possession of all the honours^ and enjoyments' vhich royalj
could bestow^ cicero.

Part

1. map. 2*

Narrative Pieces,

nind happy.

ir from being
d all the plea-
Damocles',
IS appearances
im on the ex-
magnificenceV
en greater^ or

he king^ " to
erience , wliu;
igh an idea^''
'he kmg order-
and a gildei
' liis favourite .^
te'',of immen:

ered to atteni
3 utmost reatii
Fragrant oinlj
!S^, were adde(:
1 with the moyi
js', intoxicatCi
rior beings\
5 he lay induk!
Jie ceiling', ei
mg by a stns\.
, put a speed]
lis attendance
y of the viands

the tabled Hi
to remove froc
?als the king
, having no dtj

»:e\

Damocles', ho(
'asures'', and j
}' vhich royalf

CICERO.

SECTION II.

Change qf external condition t« often adverse to virtue.

'IN the dayc of Joram', king of IsraeKj flourished the oro-
fdiet Elisha\ His character was so einment^ and his fame
■0 widely spread'', that Benhadad'', the king of oyria^ thougj'li

idolator , sent to consult him' concerning the issue of a
ttemper which threatened his life\ The messenger em-
)yed on this occasion' was Hazael', who appears to have

!n one of the princes', orchief menof the Syrian court\
[2 Charged with rich gills from the king', he presents him-
!f before the prophet', and accosts him in terms of the liigli-
t respect\ During the ccwference whicli they held to-
ither , Elisha fixed his eyes steadfastly on tlie countenance
Hazael', and discerning', by a prophetic spirit', his future
ranny^ and cruelty^ he could not contam himself from
irsting into a flood of^tears^

3 When Hazael', in surprise', inquired into the cause of
(is sudden emotion', the prophet plainly informed him of the
Imes^ and barbarities' which he l()resaw tliat he would af-

^ards commit\ The soul of Hazael abhorred', at this
le', the thoughts of cruelty\ Uncorrupted', as yet', b>
ibition^ or greatness', fiis indignation rose at being thoughi
)Me of the savage actions which the prophet had men-
led'' ; and', with much warmth', lie replies' : " But whaf*
thyaervant a dog\ that he should do this great thing'?"

Elisha makes no return', but to point out a remarkable
mge' which was to take place in his condition^ : "Tlie
\rA hath shown me', that thou shalt be king over Syria\'*
Icourse of time', all that had been predicted' came to pass',
izael ascended the throne', and ambition took possession of
heart\ " He smote the children of Israel in all their
ists\" He oppressed tliem during all the days of king Je-
. ihaz^: and', from what is lefl on record of his actions', he
iinly appears to have proved', what the prophet foresaw
*" to be , a man of violence\ cruelty', and Dlood\

In this passage of history , an object is presented', which
serves our serious attention^ We behold a man who', in

state of life', could not look upon certain crimes without
•prise' and horror^; wlio' knew so little of himself', as to
lieve it impossible for him ever to be concerned in commit-
\g them^; that same man', by a change of condition^ and
unguarded state of mind', transformed in all his senti-
and as he rose in greatness', rising also in guilt',
O B2

^nts^;

Tlie

English

Reader.

Parti

till at last he completed that whole character of iniquity whicl
he once detested\ blair.

SECTION III.

Haman ; or^ the niisenf of pride.
AHASUERUS', wt»o is supposed to be tho prince know
among the Greek historians by the name of Artaxerxes', hai
advanced to the ciiief dignity ol" his kingdom', Haman^ a;
Amalekite', who inherited all the ancient enmity of his raw
to the Jewish nation\ He ajjpears^ from what is recordei
ofliim^to have been a very wicked minister^ Raised t;
greatness without nierit', he employed his power «o/e/y li) (
the gratification of his passions'.

2 As the honours which he possessed were next to royal (_
nis pride was every day fed with that servile homage', whid;|
is peculiar to Asiatic courts'; and all the servants ot thekim^
prostratecl themselves before him\ In tlie midst of tliis genii)|
ral adulation', one ])erson only stooped not to Haman^.

3 This was Mordecai the Jcav^: who', knowing this Amsl
lekite to be an enemy to the people of God'j and', with vil
tuous indignation', despising triat insolence of prosperity wifl
which he saw 1dm lifted up', " bowed not', nor did himrl
verence\" On this ay^pearance c f ;lisrespect from Mordecai|
Haman "was full of wrath^: bat he " "

thought

scmii
liands on Mordecai alone'." Personal revenge' was nd
sufficient to satisfy him\

4 So violent and black were his passions', that he resolve]
to exterminate tlie whole nation to wfilch Modecai belongedi
Abusing', for his cruel purpose', the favour of his creduloij
sovereign', he obtained a decree to be sent forth*. that|
against a certain day', all the Jews throughout the rersiai
dominions', should be put to the sword\

5 Meanwhile', confident of success^j and blind to approaclj
ing ruin', he continued exulting in his prosperity\ Invite!
by Ahasuerus to a royal banquet', which Eisther the queel
had prepared', " he went forth that day joyful', and withf
glad heart\" But behold how slight an incident' was sun
cient to poison his joyM As he went forth', he saw Mordee
in the king's gate'; and observed', that he stiU refused to
him homage\ " He stood not up', nor was moved for him';|
although he well knew the formidable designs', which Har
was preparing to executed I

6 One private man', who despised his greatness\ and m
dained submission', while a whole kingdan trembled befon
him': one spirit', which the utmost stretch of his powd
could neither subdue^ nor humble', blasted his triumpbi

T^enge' was m

dent' was sufl

ap.

^*arrahve Pieces*

s Avhole soul was shaken with a storm orpa88ion\ 'Wrath\
ide\ and desire of revenge', rose into fury^ With diffi-
\iy lie restrained himself m public\ but as soon as he came
his own house', he was forced to disclose the agony of his
d\ •

He gathered together his friends^ and family', with Ze-
h his wife\ " He told them of the glory of his riches\ and
multitude of his children', and of all the things wherein
king iiad promoted him^; and how he had advanced him
)ve the princes' and servants of the king\ He said', niore-
3r', Yea , Esther the queen' suffered no man to come in
fh the king', to the banquet that she had prepared', butmy-
V; and to-morrow also am I invited to her with the king\"
^er all this preamble', what is the conclusionV "Yet all
3 availeth me nothing', so long as I see Mordecai the Jew'
ing at the king's gate ."
The sequel of Haman's history' I shall not now pursue\
night afford matter for much instruction', by the conspi-
)us justice of God in his fall' and punishment\ But con-
iplating only the singular situation, in which the expres-
is just nuoted present him\ and the violent agitation of his
ul which they display', the following reflections naturally
36^: How miserable is vice', when one guilty passion ere
s so much tormentM how unavailing is prosperity', when',
the height of it', a sing-le disappointment' can destroy the
feh of all its pleasures^! how weak is human nature', which',
the absence ofreaV is thus prone to form to itself tmagi-

woes

BLAIR.

SECTION IV.

Lady Jane Grey.

^HIS excellent personage' was descended from the roval
of England by both her parents^ She was carefully edu-
ed in the principles of the reformation^: and her wisdom*
1 virtue' rendered her a shining example to her sex\ But
Tas her lot to continue only a short period on this stage of
<\g\ for', in early life', she fell a sacrifice to the wild arabi-
I of^the duke of Northumberland', who promoted a mar-
re between her^ and his son', lord Guilford Dudley', and
led her to the throne of England', in opposition to the
)ts of Mary' and Elizabeth^
At the time of their marriage' she was only about eign-
[i years of age\ and her husband was also very voung- a
gon of life very unequal to oppose the interestec viewB of
il and aspiring men', who', instead of exposii^ vntia to

• ,*I

The English Reader,

Part]

ft -1

dan^r^ should have been the protectors of their innocence
and yuuth\

3 This extraordinary young person', besides the solid en-
dowments ofpiety^ and virtue', possessed the most enffaeiiu
disposition', the most accomplisiied parts^; and being of ai
equal a;?e with king Edward VI/ she had received all hu;
cciucation with him', and seemed even to possess a greafi'
tiicility in acquiring every part of manly' and classical lite
rature^

4 She had attained a knowledge of the Roman^ and Grec.
languages', as well as of several woriem tongues^; hadpassoi
most of her time in an application to learning'; and expressiv
a great indillerence (or other occupations^ and amusement
usjjal with her sex' and station^

5 Roger Ascham', tutor to the lady Eli'/abeth', having a
one time naiJ her a visit', l()und her employed in reaniii:
Plato', wliile the rest of the family were engaged in & part
of hunting in the park^; and upon his admiring the cingularit)
(.flier choice', she told him', that she " received more pica
•jMfo from that author', tlian others could reap from all thei
i>j)ort' and gayety\"

G Her heart'., replete with this love of literature^ and scr
DU9 studies', and with tenderness towards her hushand', wli A
Wfis deserving of her .'itiection', had never opened itself to tli |
Idimering allurements of ambition^; and the iiilbrmation i
her advancement to the throne', was by no means agreealii'
to her\ She even refused to accept the crovvn^; pleaded th
prelerable right of the two princesses^; expressed her dreii
of ilie consefiuences attending an enterprise so dangerous ,
not to say so criminal'; and desired to remain in thatprivai ^
station in which she was born\

7 Overcome at last with the entreaties^, rather than ret
sons', of her lather^ and father-in-law', and', above alI',of hf <
husband', she submitted to their will', and was prevailed ci
CO relinquish her own judgment^ But her elevation was ( '
very short continuance^ The nation declared for quee
Mary^; and the lady Jane', after wearing the vain pageantr
of a crown during ten days', returned to a private life', wii
much more satisfaction' than she felt when royalty was tei
dered to her\

8 Queen Mary', who appears to have been incapahle
generosity^ or clemency', determined to remove every pe'|
son' I'rom whom the least danger could be apprehended;
Warning was', therefore', given to lady Jane to prepare 11
death^; a doom wliich she had expected', and which the it ,i
nocence of her life\ as well as the misfortunes to which stl

had beer

\ y Th(

Ip the t
Iflolestcu
•t' three
persuade
•ion to p

10 La<
Ij^rcumst:

unents
Ireek lai
le Scri(]

every

11 On
)rd', des
Knt', anc
ig' woul
mch unl

Approach
lid', wo
>in each
)r ever u

[)rtune',
leir eterl

12 It }
}rd Guilf
(ut the c

ejr you
leir orde
ithin th
, 13 She
iven hin
e wait
lould br
Kly car
rmed by
nd', tha

14 Sir
er to ex
resent',
er\ SI
rltten ir

ne m Gl

15 Thl
inst

10 his Ml

Pari\

eir innocence

the snlid en-
nost enf^^affinc
id being of at
ceived all he;
iseas a greafc

cln8sical lite

an^ and Grecl

had pass-'

aiulexpres-si'i

ainusementi!

2th', having a
ed in readiii;
iged in h nan
the singula rit;
/edrnore pica
) llconi all tliti

iture^ and scr
luishrtud', wli
:ned itself to tli
iiilormation < <
leans aj?reenl>i
n^; pleaded tli
3.ssed her drea
so dangerous
1 in that privai

ither than r«
hove all', of he
as prevailed ojj
evation was
iired for quee j
vain pageantr

fhap.

^Vai-rative Pieces,

ivatelife^ wit|
oyalty was tetj

en incapable
nove every pe'l
I apprehended^
e to prepare [J
id which the iij
es to which sl|

isd been cxix).>cd', re dered no iniwclcornc iiewH to her*.
Tu The (queen's bigoted /.eal', under colour o\' tender mercy
m the piiiioner's soul', induced her to send priests', who
||lolestcd her with perpetual disputation^; and even a reprieve
fi' three days was granted her', in hopes that she wiudd be
persuaded', during that time', to pay , by a tirnelv convei-
•ion to popery', some regard to her eternal welliire .

10 Lady Jane bad presence ot'niiud', in those melancholy
fircumstances', not only to delend her religion by solid ar-
^innents', but also to write a letter to her sister', in the

freek language', in which', besides sending her a co\)y ol
le Scriptures in that ton^^ue', she exhorted her to maintain'
every fortune', a like steady perseverancc\

11 On the day of her execution', her husband', lord Guil-
)rd', desired permi8sit)n to see her ; but she refiised hercon-
jnt', and sent him word', that the tenderness of their part-
ig' would overcome the Kirtitude of both''; and would too

^luch unbend their minds from that constancy', which their
fpproachin^ end required of them\ Their separation', she
iid', would be only lor a moment', and they would soon re-
>in each other in a scene', where their atiections would be
)r ever united', and where death\ disappointment\ and mis-
[)rtune', could no longer have access to them', or disturb
leir eternal felicit^\

12 It had been mtended to execute the lady Jane^ and
»rd Guilford' togetlier on the same scaffold', at Tower hilf;
[ut the council', dreading the compassion of the people lor
heir youth'. beauty\ innocence', and noble birth', changeil
heir orders , and gave directions that she should be beheatled
Vithin the verge of the T()wer\

13 She saw her husbrnil led to execution^; and', having
tiven him from the window some token of her remembrance',

waited with tranquillity till her own appointed hour
hould bring her to a like tiite\ She even saw his headless
iKly carried back in a cart^; and found herself more con-
Irmed by the reports which she heard of the ccmstancy of his
|nd', than shaken by so tender' and melancholy a spectacle\

14 Sir John Gage', constable of the Tower , when he led
lier to execution', desired her to bestow on him some small

resent', which ne might keep as a perpetual memorial of
|ier\ She gave him her table-book', in which she had just

The English Reader,

Pari

^hap.

youth\ at least^, and her imprudence',were worthy ol'excuse
and that God^ and posterity', she trusted', would show he
favour\" On the scaflbld she made a speech to the bj
standcrs', in which the mildness of her disposition' led lien
take the blame entirely on herself, without uttering one com
plaint against the severity with which she had been treated

16 She said', that her offence was', not that she had lai
her hand upon the crown', but that she had not rejected :
with sufficient constancy^; that she had less erred throuei
ambition', than through reverence to her parents', \vhom si
had been taught to respect' and^ obey^; that she willingly rt
ceived death , as the only satisfaction which she could nov
make to the injured state^; and though her infringement {
the laws had been constrained', she would show', by her vo
luntary submission to their sentence', that she was desirou
to atone for that disobedience' into which too much filia
piety had betrayed her^: that she had justly deserved thii
punishment', for being made the instrument', though th
t//iifi7/m£^ instrument', of the ambition of others': and that tk'
story of her life', she hoped', might at least he useful', b
proving that innocence excuses not great misdeeds', if the
tend any way to the destruction of the commonwealth\

17 After uttering these words', she caused herself to l)t
disrobed by her women', and with a steady',
tenance', submitted herself to the executioner

SECTION V.

Ortogml; or, the vanity of riches.

AS Ortogrul of Basra' was one day wandering along tin
streets of fiagdat', musing on the varietiis of merchandist
which the shops opened to his view', and observing the dil
ferent occupations which busied the multitude on every side
he was awakened from the tranquillity of meditation', bys
crowd that obstructed his passage\ He raised his eyes', ani!
saw the chief vizier', who's having returned from the divan
was entering his palace\

2 Ortogrul mingled with the attendants^ and being sup.
posed to have some petition for the vizier', was permitted to ]
enter\ He surveyed the spaciousness of the apartments" :,
admired the walls hung with golden tapestry\ and the floon?]
covered with silken carpets', and despised the simple neat'
ness of his own little haDitation\

3 " Surely'," said he to himself, " this palace is the seat
of happiness', where pleasure succeeds to pleasure', and dis-,
contend and sorrow' can h wve no admi83ion\ Whatever na-
ture has provided for the ddi fr Jt of sense', is here spread fortl; .j

serene coun

HUME.

be er
le mas
xury'
is bow
imd slee
. 4"H
liis wisl
liom h
thy c<
Ifunsat
wer'
5"T
vail wi
ave ve
surely
ves wi
ho haf
leratior
^; I wi
6Ful
r for s
e somi
ne oft
iamonc

7 One
fopink
reame(
lome 01
e stoo
oubt w
ludden i

I knov
n the

8 0rt
'^r()cks\ 1

i)am or

' behok

ooked',

vulet^,

ish foi

ounta

emblin

9 "I
en stn
is fath

the cha

:ii11nil

Pari]

orthyol'excuse
would show he
leech to the bj
sition' led hert
tiering one con!
id been treated
hat she had lai
I not rejected :
5 erred throuei
ents', whom si
she wilUngly re
she could nov
infring-ement c
low', by her vo
le was desiroii
too much filia
y^ deserved thii
nt', though th
rs': and that th< '
5/ be useful', b;
sdeeds', if the;
ionweaIth\
'd herself to b

jpAop. 2.

jWarralive Pieces.

be
le master

serene coun

HUME

\es.

er'mg along tlif 1
of merchandist
serving the dif
eon every side
editation'', bys
1 his eyes'', am;
rom the divan

enjoyed^ What can mortals hope^ or imngine', which

laster of this palace', has not obtained \' 'Ine dishes ol

ixury', cover his table^! the voice of harmony', lulls him in

^is bowers^; he breathes the liragrance of the groves of Java',

laid sleeps upon the down of the cygnets of the Ganges^

i 4 "He speaks', and his mandate is obeyed^; he wishes', and

lllis wish is gratified'; all' whom he sees', obey him', and all'

Jrhom he hears', flatter him\ How diflerent', O Orlogrul ,

* thy condition , who art doomed to the perpetual torments

'unsatisfied desire'; and who hast no amusement in thy

)wer', that can withhold thee from thy own reflections^

5 " They tell thee that thou arlwise^; but what does wisdom
Ivail with poverty^? N(me will flatter the poor'; and the wise
^ve very little power of flattering themselves\ That man
£ surely the most wretched of the sons of wretchedness', who
Ifves with his own faults^ and follies' always before him ; and

irho has none to reconcile him to himself by praise' and ve-
keration\ I have long sought content', and have not tbund
t^; I will from this moment endeavour to be rich\"

6 Full of his new resolution', he shut himsell" in his cham-
5r for six months', to deliberate how he should grow rich\
le sometimes purposed to oflTer himself as a counsellor to
ne of the kings in India'; and at others resolved to dig for
iamonds in the mines of Golconda\

. f 7 One day', after some hours passed in violent fluctuation

/■^f opinion', sleep insensibly seized him in his cliair\ Ht^

reamed that he was ranging a desert country', in search ol

lome one that might teach him to grow rich'; and',

and being sup-i
as permitted tc |
le apartments. I
\ and the floori;
le simple neat-

ilace is the seat!

asure',and dis,^

Whatever na- ■

ire spread fortli ,

e stood on the top of a hill', shaded with cypress', in

oubt whither to direct his steps', his father appeared on iv

ludden standing belbre him\ Ortogrul'," said the old man',

'I know thy perplexity^: listen to thy father^; turn thine eye

n the opposite mountains"

» 8 Ortogrul looked', and saw a torrent tumbling down the

|tocks\ roaring with the noise of thunder', and scattering i1.s

foam on the impending woods\ " Now'," said his latlier',

r behold the valley that lies between the hills'." Ortogrul

looked', and espied i little well', out of which issued a small

rivulet\ " Tell me', now'." said his father', " dost thou

ash for sudden affluence', tnat may pour upon thee like the

lountain torrent'; or for a slow and gradual increase', re-

jembling the rill gliding from the well'?"

9 " Let me be quickly rich\" said Ortogrur; " let the gol-

len stream be quick' and violent'." " Look round thee' ," said

. lis father', " once again\" Ortogrul looked', and perceived

lihe channel of the torrent dry' and dusty ^; but following the

4t',

Englislt Reader, Fart I |?Aap. 2

S" i i ''it''

'!'!•:

rivulet from the well', lie traced it to a wide lake', which the
supply , slow and constant', kept always fuir. He awoke',
and tfctermined to grow rich by silent profit', and persevering
industry \

10 Having sold his patrimony', he engaged in merchan-

oceede
d the
emed I
ippeared
4 As I

pecting to enjoy all the lelicity which he had imagined richu
able to aiibrd'. Leisure soon made iiim weary ol' himseli'',
and he longed to be persuaded that lie was great' and hap-
py\ He was courteous' and liberaP: he gave all that ap-
proached him', Jiopes of pleasing him', and all who should
please iiim', hoijes of being rewarded'. Every art of praise',
was tried', and every source of adulatory fiction', was ex
nausted\

1 1 Orto^rul heard his flatterers without delight', because
he Ibund himself unable to believe them\ His own heart
t(jld him its frailties^; fiis own understanding' reproached
him with his limits^ " How long'," said he', with a deen
fsigli', "have I been labouring in vain to amass wealth', which
at last is useless'! Let no man hereafter wish to be nc/t', who
is already too wise to be flattered^ dh. joHNSOfr.

SECTION VL

The hill of science.
IN that season of the year', when the serenity of the sky'J
the various fruits which cover the ground', the discoloured*
foliage of tlie trees', and all the svveet' but fading graces of
iuspiriiiii' autumn', open thie mind to benevolence , and dis-
pose it l(>r contemplation', I was wandering in a beautiful
and romantic country', till curiosity began to give way to
vvearuiess'; and I sai down on the fragment of a rock over-
grown Avith moss'; where the rustling of the iiilling leaves\ |||ual' and
the dashing of waters^ and the hum of the distant city ', ^ties of
soothed my mind into a most perfect tranquillity'; and sleep iiride', by
insensibly stole upon me', as I was indulging the agreeable '|§easures'

ay becai

len retu

)re seve

|d^; the

:med h{

jirfeet

19 I saw

smess vi

theasc

i veil of f
;r votar

5 Aftei
fe towa
Bcent', a
[piercing
lotions^
^e moun
ivy' and
Iterrupte

6 Whe

iin\ \

entured

id untri(

>ad', tha

served
uth oft

7 Whili
c flight!
jimed Aj
*tting pa
ntly ren

most
w' and

8 Indee

reveries , which the objects around me naturally inspired^

2 I immediately fuuiid myself m a vast extended plain', nil
the middle of which arose a mountain', higher than I had be-
tbre any conception of \ It was covered with a multitude A\
people^ chiefly youth', many of whom pressed forward with]
the liveliest expression of ardour in their countenance', thougii i
the way was', in many places', steep and difficult^

3 I observed', that those', who had just begun to climb the ,
hill'j thought themselves, not far from the top^; but as the^i

lllf!

•I

Parti

te', which the

lie awoke',

id persevering

I in iiierchan-
on which lie
of the vizier';
pleasure', ex
la^ined ricltei
r ot* himself,
eat^ and hap-
e all that ap-
1 who should
art of praise',
ion', was ex

^ht', because
lis own heart
r' reproached
, with a deep
vealth', which
be nc/t', who

El. JOHNSOK.

ty ofthesky',^
e discoloured'
11 n^ graces of
^ce , and dis-
in a beautiful

give way to
■ a rock over-
ailing leaves^,

distant city',

Narrative Pieces.

■ii

tv'; and sleep
the agreeable
ly inspired^ ,
(led plain', ill I
han I had be-
a multitude J
forward with
ance', though
ult\

n to climb the
^; but as they

jiroceeded^ new

End the summit

Itemed but the foot

ippeared to lose itself in the cloiids^

4 As I was gazing on these things with astonishment', a
Ifriendly instructer suddenly appeared^: " The inountam be-
Ij^re thee'," said he', " is the Hill of Science^ On the top',
H the temple of Truth', whose head is above the clouds', and

veil of pure light covers her lace\ Observe the progress of
r votaries^; be silent' and attentive^"

5 After I had noticed a variety of objects'^ I turned ray
e towards the multitudes who were climbino^ the steep
cent', and observed among them a youth of a lively look ,
piercing eye', and something fiery and irregular in all his
iotions\ His name was Genius\ He darted like an eagle up
,e mountain', and left his companions gazing after him witn
vy' and admiration'; but his progress was unequal', aikl

iterrupted bv a thousand caprices\

6 When Pleasure warbled in the valley', he mingled in lier
iin\ When Pride beckoned towards the precipice', he
ntured to the tottering edge\ He delighted in devious^
id untried paths', and made so many excursions from the
ad', that his feebler companions often outstripped him\ I
served that the Miises beheld him with partiality'; but

uth often frowned', and turned aside her face\

7 While Genius was thus wasting his strength in eccen-
c flights', I saw a person of very different appearance',
med Application\ He crept along with a slow and unro-

^tting pace', his eyes fixed on the top of the mountain', pa-
ntly removing every stone that obstructed his way', till lie
most of those below him', who had at first derided his
w' and toilsome progress'.

8 Indeed', there were few wno ascended the hill with

aial' and uninterrupted steadiness^; tor', besides the diffi-
^. ties of the way', they were continually solicited to turn
**'de', by a numerous crowd of Appetites^ Passions\ and
asures', whose importunity', when t)nce complied with',
y became less and less able to resist^: and though they
en returned to the path', the asperities of the road were
)re severely felt'; the hill appeared more steep', and nig-
d^; the fruits', which were wholesome^ and refreshin^-
med harsh' and ill tasted^; their sii^-ht grew dim'; an4

jir feet ti'ipped at every little obstruction\

19 I saw', with some surprise', that the Muses', who«r

siness was to cheer^ and encourage' those who were toi»-*

the ascent', would often smg in the bowers orPle&ii""^

-i

The English Reader.

Part I

■'i •

t [

ti'

I'.ii: .

Mi!''

ana accompany those who were enticed away at the call ol
the Passions^ They accompanied them', however', but a
little way^; and always fi)rs<)ok them when they lost sight ol
the hUr. The tyrants then doubled their chains upon fhe
unhappy captives'; and led them away', without resistance',
to the cells of Ignorance', or the mansions of Misery\

10 Among the innumerable seducers', who were endea-
vouring to draw away the votaries of Truth from the path o!
science', there was one', so little formidable in her appear-
ance\ and so gentle and languid in her attempts', that I
should scarcely have taken notice of her', but for the num-
bers she had imperceptibly loaded mth her chains\

1 1 Indolence', (for so she was called',) far from proceedinj
to open hostilities', did not attempt to turn their feet out o
the path', but contented herself with retarding their pro
gress^; and the purpose she could not force them to abandon
she persuaded them to delay\ Her touch had a power lik
that of the torpedo', which withered the strength of tlios
who came within its influence\ Her unhappy captives sti
turned their faces towards the temple', and always hoped t
arrive there^; but the ground seemed to slide from beneal
their feet', and they found themselves at the bottom', befcr
they suspected they had changed their place\

12 The placid serenity', which at first appeared in the |
countenance', changed by degrees into a melancholy lai |
guor', which was tinged with deeper and deeper gloom', 8|
they glided do\vn the stream of Insignificance', a dark an;!
sluggish water', which is curled by no breeze', and enlivenel
by no murmur', till it falls into a dead sea', where startle!
passengers are awakened by the shock', and the next ra
ment buried in the gulf of Oblivion\

13 Of all the unhappy deserters from the paths of Science J
none seemed less able to return than the followers of In(l|
lence\ The captives of Appetite^ and Passion' would oM
seize the moment when their tyrants were languid^ or asleej|
to escape from their enchantment^^ but the dominion of
dolence', was constant' and unremitted^; and seldom resl'l
ed', till resistance was in vain\

14 After contemplating these things', I turned my eyes
wards the top of the mountain', where tlie air was alwaj

pure' and exhilarating', the path shaded with laurels^ ai
evergreens', and the effulgence which beamed from the fa(
of Science', seemed to shed a glory round her votaries^. Hal
py', said I', are they who are permitted to ascend the moi
iain^' But while I was pronouncini^ this exclamation^

fivermg
les cau;

^lighter
care w

[3 Thus

\d the

>ked roii
saw',

shades
coolne
He di

/, but

uch ap

id^; am

had foi
the

Parti phap.2.

JVaiTattve Pieces.

at the call ol incommon ardour', I saw' standing beside me', a form ol

vever', but a iiviner features', and a more benign radiance\

y lost sight ol T 15 " Happier'," said she', " are they wlwin Virtue con

lins upon the iucts to tiie Mansions of Content'." " Wiiat'," said I'

Lit resistance', '^ does Virtue then reside in tlie vale'?"

lisery\
were endea-
im the path o!
I her appear-
;mpts', that 1
t for the nuiii-
iins\

om proceedin?
heir feet out '

ling their pro
im to abandon
id a power likt
ength of thos
r)y captives sti
Iways hoped t j
e frombeneal

said she', " in the vale', and I illuminate the

" I am found',
J mountain\ I

eer the cottager at his toil', and inspire the sage at his
editation\ I niingle in the crowd of cities', and oless the
rmit in his cell\ 1 have a temple in every heart that owns
y influence', and to him that wishes for me', 1 am already
esent\ Science may raise thee to eminence'; but I alone
n guide thee to felicity'!"

16 While Virtue was thus speaking', I stretched out my
ms towards lier', with a vehemence which broke my slum
r'. The chill dews were falling around me', and the shades
evening stretched over the landscaped I hastened home-
rd', and resigned the night to silence' and meditation^

AIKEN.

SECTION VII.

The journey of a day; a picture of human life.
OBIDAH', the son of Abensina', left the caravansera early
the morning', and pursued his journey through the plains
Indostan'. He was fresh' and vigorous with rest'; he was
imated with hope'; he was incited by desire'; he walked
iftly forward over the vallies', and saw the liills gradually
lin^ before him'.

2 As he passed along', his ears were delighted with tlic
rningsong of the bird of paradise'; he was fanned by the
t flutters of the sinking breeze', and sprinkled with dew
m groves of s}3ices\ He sometimes contemplated the
ivering height ot the oak', monarch of the hills'; and some-
^les caught the gentle fragrance of the primrose', eldest
athsof ScienwjBughter of the spring': all his senses were gratified', and
llowers of !"?■ care was banished from his heart',
ion' would oftfKs Thus he went on', till the sun approached his meridian',
iguid^ or aslee]j|d the increased heat preyed upon his strength'; he then
ked round about him for some more commodious path',
saw', on his right hand', a grove that seemed to wave
shades as a sign of invitation'; he entered it', and found
coolness' and verdure' irresistibly pleasant'.
He did not', however', forget wnither he was travel-
', but found a narrov^' way', bordered with flowers',
Ich appeared to have the same direction with the main
d'; and was pleased', that', by this happv experiment',
had found means to unite pleasure^ with ousinees', and
tiie rewards of diligence'^without suffering its iatisue8\

bottom', befcr
•

speared in the J
melancholy lar
eper gloom', i
e', a dark an i
', and enlivene
where startle I
1 the next raJ

riominion of IS

id seldom resi'

med my eyes
8 air was alwaj
nth laurels^ ai
led from the fa
: votaries^. Ha|
scend the mo«]
Kclamation',

'''!^:

'%■

..Si

The English Reader.

Part 1

5 He', therefore', still continued to walk for a time', with-
out the least remission ol* his ardour', except that he was
sometimes tempted to stop by the music of the birds', whicli
the heat had assembled in the shade'; and sometimes amus-
ed himself with plucking the flowers that covered the banks
oil each side', or the fruits that hung- upon the branches^

6 At last', the green path began to decline from its first
tendency', and to wind among hills^ and thickets', cooled
with ibuntains'^j and murraunng with waterliills\ Here
Obidah paused for a time', and began to consider whether ii
were longer safe to forsake the known and common track';
but remembering that the heat Avas now in its greatest vio-
lence', and that the plain was dusty^ and uneven , he resolved
to j)ursue the new path', which he supposed only to make 3
few meanders', in compliance Avith the varieties of thi
ground', and to end at last in the common road\

7 Having thus calmed his solicitude', he renewed hii
pace , though he suspected that he was not gaining ground
This uneasmess of his mind', inclined him to lay hold oi
every new object', and give way to every sensation tha
might sooth' or divert hiiir. He listened to every echo^; l;t
mounted every hill for a flresh prospect^: he turned aside ti
every cascade'; and pleased himself witli tracing the courst
of a gentle river that rolled among the trees', and watered ii|
large region Avith innumerable circumvolutions^

8 In these amusements', the hours passed aAvay unaci
coiuited^; his deviations had perplexed his memory', and li( |
knew not towards Avhat point to travef . He stood pensive
aiid confused^ afraid to go forward', lest he should gi

AATOng'

past^

'hap, i

Ihe dese
ihie min^
jbiration^
founded
rents tui
llTh

yet conscious that the time of loitering was nut
While he Avas thus tortured with uncertainty', ih
sky Avas overspread Avith clouds^; the day vanished from be |
t^)re him'; and a sudden tempest ffathered round hishead\

9 He Avas noAV roused bv his danger', to a quick and paiftj
fui remembrance of his folly^; he noAV saAV how happinesn\
lost', Avhen ease is consulted^; he lamenied the unmanly iiii|
patience that prompted him to seek shelter in the groyel
and despised the petty curiosity that led him on from trlli(|
to trifled While he was thus reflecting', the air grew blacken
and a clap of thunder broke his meditation^

10 He noAV resolved to do Avhat yet remained in his po)i||
er\ to tread back the ground which he had passed', and liT
Xa find some issue where the wood might open into tne plainl
He prostrated himsell'on the ground', and recommended hi
bfe to the Lord ofNature^ He rose Avith confidence^ affl
trajiauillity^, and pre»sed oil with resolution^ The beaststii

III ".

l;.'

Viap, 2.

JVa»Ya/ti'e Pieces*

tie desert were in motion', and on every hand were heard
16 raiiiffling howls of raffe^ and lear', and ravaffe' and ex-
piration . All the horrors ol' darkness^ and solitude', sur-
founded him^: the winds roared in the woods', and the tor-
tenVi tumbled from the hills\

11 Thus forlorn^ and distressed', he wandered throuffhthe
nid', without knowing whither he was going', or whether

\te was every moment drawing nearer to safety', or to de-
ktruction\ At length', not fear', but iabour\ began to over-
come him'; his breath grew short', and his knees trembled';
jnd he was on the point of lying down in resignation to his
fate', when he beheld', through the brambles', the glimmer of
tapcr\

12 He advanced towards the lighf ; and finding that it
J)roceeded from the cottage of a hermit', he called humbly at
[he door', and obtained admission^ The old man set belbre
lim such provisions as he had collected for himself, on which
%i<lah fed with eagerness' and gratitude\

13 When the repast was over , " Tell me'," said the lier-
liiit', "l)y what chance thou hast been brouglit liither'r I
lave been now twenty years an inhabitant of the Aviklerness',

which I never saw a man befbre\" Obidah then related
\\\(i occurrences of his journey', without any concealment' or
lalliation'.

14 '• Son'," said the hermit', "let the errors and follies',
llie dangers^ ani escape ol' this day', sink^ deep into tliy
|ieart\ Remember', my son', that human [ife is the journey

)f a day\ We nse in the morning of youth', lull of vigour'
uul full of expectation^; we set forward with spirit' and hojx)',
|lvith gayety^ and Avith diligence', and travel on a while in the
lirect road of piety', towards the mansions of rest\

15 In a short time', Ave remit our fervour', and endeavour
to find some mitigation of our duty', and some more easy

ueans of obtaining the same end\ We then relax our
vigour', and resolve no longer to be terrified with crimes at a
lislunce''; but rely upon our own constancy', and venture to
ipproach what we resolve never to touch^ We thus enter
the boAvers of ease', and repose in the shades of security^

16 Here the heart soflens', and vigilance subsides^; Ave are
then Avilling to inquire whether another advance cannot be

lade', and Avhether Ave may not', at least', turn our eyes up-
>n the gardens of pleasured We approach them with scruple'

nd hesitation^; we enter tliem , but enter timorous and
trembling''; and always hope to pass through them without
jiosing the road of virtue', Avhich , for a Avhile', Ave keep in our
light^, and to wliich we purpose to return\ But tempta

p':/'

The English Reader,

Part 1

tion^ succeeds temptation', and one conip)liance' i)repares
lor another^^ we in time lose tiie happiness of innocence', a
solace our disciuiet with sensual gratifications^

17 By degrees', we let lall the remembrance of our origi.
nal intention', and (juit the only adequate object of rational
desire\ We entangle ourselves in business', immerse our-
selves in luxury\ and rove through the labyrinths ot incon-
stancy'; till the darkness jf old age' begins to invade us', and
disease^ and anxiety' obstruct our way^. We then look back
upon our lives with liorror\ with sorrow', with repentance';
and wish', but too often vainly wish', that we had not lor-
saken the ways of virtue\

1 8 Happy are they', my son', who shall learn from thy ex-
ample', not to despair'; but sliall remember', that', though
the day is past\ and their strength is wasted', there yet re-
mains one effort to be made^: that reformation is never hope-
less', nor sincere endeavours ever unassisted'; that the wan-
derer may at length return, after all his errors'; and that he
who implores strength^ and courage' from above', shall find
danger' and difficulty' give way before him\ Go now', my
son , to thy repose''; commit thyself to the care of Omnii)o
tence'; and when the morning calls again to toil', begin anevi
tliy journey' and thy Ufe''." dr. johnson.

CHAP. III.

DIDACTIC PIECES. '

SECTION I.

The importance of a good education.

1 CONSIDER a human *soul , without education', like
marble in the quarry^: which shows none of its inherent oeau-
ties', until the skill of tlie polisher' fetches out the colours';
makes the surface siiine', and discovers every ornamenta
cloud\ spot\ and vein', that runs through the body of it'
Education', after the san»e manner', when it works upon a|^
.loble mind', draws out to view everv latent virtue^ and per- 1
lection', which', without such helps , are never able to makef
their appearance\

2 If my reader will give rae leave to change the allusion|
so soon upon him', I shall make use of the same instance toj
illustrate the force of education', which Aristotle has brought!
to explain his doctrine of substantial forms', when he tells us,|
that a statue lies hid in a block of marble'^ and that the artl
of the statuary only clears away the superfluous matter', and I

removes the rubbish\
seulptoronly finds it\

The figure is in the stone', and thel

3 Wha
human \
nse\ the

m , and
lies', we

!lli:,i!:vil;i!

Part 1

j)repares u*
)cerice', aiii

)f our oriffi-
;t of rational
nmer^e our-
tlis ot incon-
ratle us', and
en look back
repentance';
had notlbr*

from thy ex-
;hat', though
there yet re-
i never hope-
hat the wan-
; and that he
/e', shall find
Go now', my
; of Omiiipo
', begin ane^v

JOHNSON.

fhap, 3 Didactic Pieces* 41

,^ 3 What sculpture is to a block of marble', education is to
human souP. The philosopher^ the saint', or the hero\ the
'ise\ the ^ood\ or the ^reat man', very often lies hid and
Dncealed ui a plebeian , which a proi)er education might
lave disinterred , and brought to lights I am therelbre much
__ 'lighted with reading the accounts of savage nations', and
^ih contemplating those virtues which are wild' and uncuV-
' 'ated^: to see coura«"e exerting itself in fierceness\ resolu-
in in obstinacy^ wisdom in cunning', patience in suUenness'
fid despair^

*' 4 Men's passions operate variously', and appear in differ-

it kinds 01 actions', according as they are more or less recti-

id and swayed by reason^ When one hears of negroes',

Hio', upon the death of their masters', or upon changiuj^

eir service', hang themselves upon the next tree', as it

ucation', like
nherent oeau-
tlie colours',
y ornamental;!
le body of it'
ivorks upon a

^metimes happens in our American plantations', who can
(rbear admiring their fidelity', though it expresses itself in
dreadful a manner'?

5 What might not that savage greatness of soul', wliich

bpears in these poor wretches on many occasions', be raised

) , were it rightly cultivated'? And what colour of excuse

in there be', for the contempt with which we treat this part

our species', that we should not put them upon the oom-

)n footing of humanity'; that we should only set an insig-

icant fine upon the man who murdei's them'; nay', that

fi should', as much as in us lies', cut them off from the

fospects of happiness in another world', as well as in this';

)d deny them that which we look upon as the proper means

attaining it'?

16 It is therefore an unspeakable blessing', to be born in
)se parts of the world', where wisdom^ and knowledge'
lurish^; though', it must be confessed', there are', even in
pe parts', several poor uninstructed persons', who are but
tie above the inhabitants of those nations', of which I have
n here speaking'; as those who have had the advantages

'tue^ and per- Ma more lioeral education', rise above one another by seve-
: able to makeBl different degrees of perfection^

[7 For', to return to our statue in the block of marble', we

it sometimes only begun to be chipped', sometimes rough

vn', and but just sketched into a human figure^; som&-

les', we see the man appearing distinctly in all his limbs'"

[d features'; sometimes', we find the figure wrought up to

eat elegance^; but seldom meet with any to which the

1 of a Phidias^ or a Praxiteles', couU liot give several

touches' and fini8hing8\ addisom

e the allusioni
le instance toi
e has broughtj
en he tells us,[
d that the art!
s matter', andl
one', and thej

•!p{ IM','

The Englith Reader.

SECTION II.

On gratitude.

Ptni I

THERE is not a more pleasing exercise of the mind'
than gratitude''. It is accompanied with so great mwari!
satisfaction', that the duty is sufficiently rewarded by the
performance^ It is not^ like the practice of many other vir-
tiies^ difficult^ and painfuK, but attended with so much plea-
sure , that were there no positive command which enjoinec
it'^ nor any recompense laid up for it hereafter', a generm
mmd would indulge in it', for the natural ^o/i^ofton whict
it affords^

2 If gratitude is due from man^ to mar/, how much mon
from man' to Jiis Maker\* The Supreme Being', does noi
<wily confer upon us those bounties which proceed more im-
mediately from his own hand', but even those benefits whict
are conveyed to us by other8\ Every blessing we enjoy', bj
what means soever it mav be conferred upon us', is the giflo ^.a
Him who is tlie great Author of good', and the Father o |
mercies^ 1

3 If gratitude', when exerted towards one another', natih |
rally produces a very pleasing sensation inlthe mind of i|
grateful man', it exalts the soul into rapture', when it is em -f
filoyed on this great object of gratituae^; on this beneficen:
Being', who has given us every thing we alreadi^possess^ ani
from whom we expect every thing we yet liope tor\ addiso;

SECTION III.

On forgiveness.

7%. £

)ever a
hazard (
^he viol
ttie torm
'|nd desp
i 4 Thoi
Bepresent
#iat is gr
lency'ai
»r ages o
ipiety o;
5 His J
)th in hi
forgive
kto the hi

the privilege of remaining inexorable\ But let such as aii
conscious of frailties^ and crimes', consider for^veness asf
debt which the> owe to others\ Common failmgs', are M
strongest lesson of mutual forbearance\ Were this virtuf
unknown among men', order' and comfbrt\ peace^ and roj
pose', would be strangers to human life\ '

2 Injuries retaliated according to the exorbitant measiin
which p/imora prescribes', would excite resentment in return'j
The injured person', would become the injurer^; and thu
wrongs', retaliations^, and fresh injuries', would circulate ii
endless succession', till the world was rendered afield of bloodi

3 Of all the passions which invade the human breast', rq
venge is the most direful. When allowed to reign with fui
dominion', it is more than sufficient to poison the few plea
6ures which remain to man in his present 8tate\ How mut

Part 1 ^^P* '^*

Didactic Pieces,

f the mind'
great inwarc
arded by the
iny other vir-
}o much plea-
liich enjoinec
r', a generm
Hcation whid

w much mow
ing', does noi
ceed more m
benefits whict
•we enjoy', b;
;', isthe gifto
the Father o

mother', natu
;the mind of i
when it is em,
this beneficcK
ly possess', arc

iOT^. ADDISOJ

r equity^, con
of forgiveness J
ng', be allowe(|
let such as ait|
^iveness ass
lihngs^ are
rere this virti!|
peace^ and w.

. )ever a person may suffer from injustice', he is always in

^zard of suflering more from the prosecution of revenge'.

he violence of an enemy', cannot inHict wliat is equal to

le torment he creates to himself', by means of the fierce''

id desperate passions', which he allows to rage in his souf.

1 4 Those evil spirits that inhabit the regions of misery', are

lepresented as delighting in revenge' and cruelty^ But all

Ihat is great^ and good in the universe', is on the side of cle-

ency'and mercy\ The almighty Ruler of the world', though

r ages offended by the unrighteousness', and insulted bv the

piety of men', is " long-sullerin^' and slow to anger\

5 His Son', when he appeared in our nature', exhibited ,

th in his life^ and his death', the most illustrious example

* forgiveness', which the world ever beheld\ If we look

to the history of mankind', we shall find that', in every

e', they who have been respected as worthy\ or admired

' have been distmguished for this virtue^

A noble ^

bitant measui;
nentinretuml
Lirer^; and thu
►uld circulate il
afield of blood]
nan breast', r<|
reign with
n the few pleaj
e\ Howmufl

great ,

6 Revenge dwells in little minds^

lOUS

and ma^nsj-
s spirit'^ is always superior to it\ It suffers not', Itoiu
juries of n.'.Mi', those severe shocks which others

ie injuries ot n.-.Mi', those severe shocks which others feel'.

)llected within itself, it stands unmoved by their impotent
^saults^; and with generous pity"", rather than with anger' ,

>ks down on their unworthy conduct^ It lias been truly
id', that the greatest man on earth', can no sooner commit

injury'^ than a good man' can make liimself greater^ hy

rgiving it\

SLAIR.

SECTION IV.

Motives to the practice of gentleness.

[TO promote the virtue of gentleness', we ought to view

jir character with an impartial eye^; and to learn', from our

m failings', to give that indulgence which in our turn we

lllgo , W 6»»v^ lll»l, 1IXUUIC,V^1IV\> TYIlH^Il i»» WMl bulla .r »■

iim\ It is pride which fills the world with so much harsh
s' and severity\ In the fulness of self-estimation', we

l-get what we are\ We claim attentions to which we are
entitled\ We are rigorous to oflences', as if we had

we knew not

oflences',
as if

jver offended^; unfeeling to distress',

pat it was to suffer\ From those airy regions of pride'
folly', let us descend to our proper leveP.

12 Let us survey the natural=equality on which Providence
I placed man^ Avith man', and reflect on the infirmities com-
m to alP. If the reflection on natural equality^ and mutual
bnces', be insufficient to prompthumanity', let us at letut re-
buiber what we are in the sight of our Creator^. Have we
te of that forbearance to give one another', which we all »>
rnestly entreat flrom heaven'? Can we look fi)r clemency'
i> C 5

The English Readet^

Part 1.

or g-enllencss from our Judjje', whuii we are so backward to
show It to our own brethren''?

3 Let us also accustom ourselves to reflect on tlie small
moment of those thiui^s''. which are the usuail incentives to
violence' ami contentions In the rulllcd^ and angrv hour',
we view every ai)i)ourance through a false medium . The
most inconsitlerable point of intere8t\ or honour', swells into
a momentous ohject'i and the slightest attack', seems to
threaten immediate rum\

4 But alVer passion^ or pride' has subsided', we look around
in vain lor the mig-Jity mischiefs we dreaded\ The liibric'
which our disturhcd ima^i^ination had reared', totally disap-
pears\ But though ihe caune of contentitm has dwindled
iiway', its cnnsequehccs remain\ AVe have alienated a iriend\
we have imhittered an en(Mny\ we have sown tlie seeds oi
future suspicion^ malevolem-e ,or disgust\

5 Let \is suspend our violence lor a moment', when causes
of discord occur\ Let us anticipate that perio(l of coolness',
which', of itself will soon arrive\ Let us reflect how little
we have any prospect of gaining by fierce contention', but
how much of tlie true happiness of lite', we are certain of
tljrovving away\ Easily', and from the smallest chink', the
hitter waters of strife are let forth^; but their course cannot
he Ibreseeif: fi»'l /'^ seldom linls of suflering most from their
poisonous elVect', who flrst allows them to flow\ blair.

SECTION V.

A suspicious temper the source of misery to its possessor.

AS a suspicious spirit' is the source of many crirne8\an<l
calamities in the world', so it is the spring- of certain misery
to the pe/son who indulges it\ His friends will be few', ancl
small will be his comfort in those whom he possesses*" Be-
lieving others to be liis enemies', he will of course make theni
sucii^ Let his caution be ever so ereat', the asperity of his
thoughts will ollen break out in his behaviour', and in return
for suspecting^ and hating', lie will incur suspicion' and
hatred\

2 Besides the external evils which he draws upon himself,
arising from alienated friendship^ broken confidence^ and
open enmity', the suspicious temper itself is one of the worst
evils which any man can suffer^ if" in all fear there is tor-
ment," how miserable must be his state', who', by living in
perpetual /ea/ousy', lives in perpetual dread"!

3 Lookmg upon himself to be surrounded with spie8\ ene-
mies^, and designing men', he is a stranger to reliance' audi
trusO. He knows not to whom to open himself \ He dresses |

Chap,

his coi
within i

lulncss'
painful

4 So
picious
elig-ible
tliinkiiu
thinkini
imposed
too deal
to he ah
with ou

5 Til
the com
tion', w
dence di
suspicioi
charactt
he is lik
nature',

6Whi
filled wit
and tretj
who dis(|
dreary'
and beas

THE

and beai

season^

paired

tiieir frit

connexi

presents

does no

2 Ev
long ex
from w
dreamt
friendsh
away',
us^; tho
ofrife\

3W1I

m. |.i:l!i

Part 1,

ickward to

1 the small
centives to
rrv hour',
um\ The
swells into
, seeniB to

look around
Tlie fabric'
jtally Uisap-
18 dwindled
ed a lriend\
lie seeds ul

ivljen causes
i)i' coolness',
ct how little
Lcntion', but
e certain ol
t chink', the
:)urse cannot
st from their

BLAIR.

J possessor.
crimes'' and
»rt,ain misery
I be few', and
jesses'" Be-
m make therii
sperity of his
and in return
uspicion' and

pon himself,
fidcnce\ and
(J of the worst
r there is tor-

Chap. 3.

Didactic Pitcet*

his countenance in forced smiles', while liU heart throbf
within fruni apprehen-sions of secret treachery^ Hence fret-
fulness', and ill humour^ distrust at the world', and all iim
painful sensations of an irritated' and inibitterea mind\

4 So immerous^ and ^^reat' are the evils arising from a8u»>
picious dis|)08ition', that', of the two extremes , it is more
0111,^1)16 to expose tmrselves to occasional disadvantage from
tliinkin^ too well of others', than to suffer continual misery by
thinking always t//of tliem\ It is better to be sometimes
imposed upon^ than never to trust'. Safety is purchased at
too dear a rate\ when', in order to secure it', we are obliged
to he always clad in armour', and to live in perpetual hostility
with our lellows\

5 This is', lor the sake of living', to deprive ourselves of
tlie comlbrt of life\ The man of candour enjoys his situa-
tion', whatever it is', with cheerfulness' and peace\ Pru-
dence directs his intercourse with the world', and no black
suspicions haunt his hours of re8t\ Accustomed to view the
characters of his neighbours in the most favourable light',
he is like one who dwells amidst those beautiful scenes of
nature', on which the eye rests with pleasured

6 Whereas the suspicious man', having liis imagination
filled with all the shocking forms of human falsehood\ deceit\
and treachery', resembles the traveller in the wilderness',
who discerns no objects around him but such as are either
dreary' or terrible^; caverns that yavvn\ serpents that hiss',
and beasts of prey that howP.

SECTION VI.
ComfoHs of religion.

liieir friends\ their cliildren', and perhaps still more tender
connexions'. What resource can this world afford them'? It
presents a dark and drear)r waste', through which there
does not issue a single ray of comfort^.

2 Every delusive prospect of ambition' is now at an erld^;
long experience of mankind', an experience very different
from what the open and generous soul of youth had fondly
dreamt of. has rendered the heart almost inaccessible to new
friendships . The principal sources of activity' are taken
away', when those for whom we labour' are cut off from
us^: those who animated\ and who sweetened', all the toils
oflife\

3 Where then can the soul find refuge', but in the bosom

2%e English Reader.

Parti

of relia:ion\'' There she is admitted to those prospecta ol
Providence^ and futurity', which alone can warm and fill the
hearth I speak here of such as retain the feelings of hu-
manity'; whom misfortunes have soflened', and perhaps
rendered more delicately sensible^; not of sucli as possess
that stupid insensibility , which some are pltased to dignijy
with the name of Philosophy''.

4 It might therefore be expected', that tliose^ philosophers',
who think they stand in no need themselves of the assistance
of relig-ion to support their virtue', and who never feel the
want of its consolations', would yet have the humanity to
consider the very different situation of the rest of mankind'';
and not endeavour to deprive them of Vv-hat habit', at least',
ii'tliey will not allow it to be nature', has made necessary to
their morals', and to their happiness\

5 It might be expected', that humanity would prevent
them from breaking mto the last retreat of the unfortunate',
who can no longer oe objects of their envy^ or reseiiUnent',
and tearing from them their only remaiiiing comlbrt\ The
attempt to ridicule religion may be agreeable to some', by
relievmg them from restraint upon their pleasures^; and may
render o^/tcrs very lniseral)le', hy m.king them doubt those
truths'', in which they were most deeply interested^; but it
can convey real good and happiness' to no one individuaf.

SECTION VII.

GREGORY.

Diffidence of our abilities, a mark of wisdom.

IT is a sure indication of good sense', to be diffident of it\
We then', and not fi7i then , are growing idsc, when we
begin to discern how weak and unwise we are\ An abso-
lute perfection of understanding', is impossible^: he makes
the nearest approaches to it', who has the sense to discern^
and the humilitv to acknowledge' its imperfections\

2 Modesty always sits gracefully upon youth^; it covers a
multitude of faulty', and doubles the lustre of every virtue
which it seems to hide^: the perfections of men being like
those flowers which appear more beautiful', when their feavijs
are a little contracted and folded up', than when they are
full blown', and display themselves', without any reserve', to
the view\

3 We are some of us very fond of knowledge', and apt to
value ourselves upon any proficiency in the sciences^: one sci-
ence', however', there is', worth more than all the rest^; and
that is', the science of iiving welf; this shall remain', when
* tongues shall ceaije'," and knowledge shall vanish away \"

Chap, 3.

Didactic Pieces.

4 As to new notions^ and new doctrines', of which this
age is very fruitful', the time will come', when we shall have
no pleasure in them^: nay', the time shall come', when they
shall be exploded^ and would have oeen forgotten', if they
had not been preserved m those excellent books', which con
tain a confutation of them^; like insects oreserved for ages in
amber', which otherwise would soon have returned to the
common mass of thin^\

5 But a firm beliefof Christianity\ and a practice suitable
to it', will support and invigorate the mind to the last^; and
most of all', at last\ at that important hour', which must de-
cide our hopes' and apprehensions^: and the wisdom', which',
like our Saviour', cometh from above', will', through his
merits', bring us thither\ All our othe^' studies^ and pur-
suits', however different', ought to be subservient /o', and
centre i»', this g-rand point', the pursuit of eternal happiness',
by being good m ourselves' , and useful to the world\ seed.

SECTION VIII.

Oil the importance of order in the distribution of our time.

TIME', we ought to consider as a sacred irust\ commit-
ted to us by God', of which we are now the depositaries', and
are to render an account at the last\ That yjar/ton of it
which he has allotted to US'; is intended partly for the con-
cerns o£this world', partly for those of the next'^. Let each
of these occupy', in the distribution of our time', that space
which properlv belongs to it\

2 Let not the hours of hospitality^ and pleasure', interfere
with the discharge of our necessary affairs'; and let not what
we cM necessary affairs', encroach upon the time which is
due to devotion^ To every thing there is a season', and a
time for every purpose under the lieaven\ If we delay till
to-morrow what ought to be done to-day'^ we overcharse
the morrow with a burden which belongs not to it\ We
load tlie wheels of time', and prevent them from carrying us
along smoothly^

3 He who everv morning plans the transactions of the day\
and follows out that plan', carries on a thread Avhich will
guide him through the labyrinth of tne most busy life\ The
orderly arrangement of his time', is like a ray of light', which
darts itself through all his affairs^ 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 ono
chaos', which admits neither of distribution' nor review\

4 The first requisite for introducing order into the manage-
ment of time', is', to be impressed Avith a just sense of ita

:, i-A .

'i- I. lil

The English Reader.

Parth 1C%.2

• ^11

*f:^-i!

vaiue\ Let us consider well how much depende upon it^,
and hoMrfast it flies away\ The bulk of men are in nothing
more capricious^ and inconsistent', than in their appreciation
of Hme\ When they think of it', as the measure of their
continuance on earth , they highly prize it', and with the
greatest anxiety seek to lengthen it ouO.

5 But when they view it m separate parcels', they appear
to hold it in contempt', and squander it with inconsiderate
profusion\ While they complain that life is short', they are
often wishing its different periods at an end\ Covetous of
every otiier possession', of time only they are prodigal.
They allow every idle man to be master of this property',
and make every rrivolous occupation welcome that can help
liiem to consume it\

6 Among those who are so careless of time', it is not to be
expected that arder should be observed in its distribution^
But', by this latal neglect', how many materials of severe and
lasting regret', are they laying up in store for themselves^!
The time which they sutfer to pass away in the midst of con-
fusion', bitter repentance seeks afterwards in vain to recalf.
What was omitted to be done at its proper moment', arises to
be the torment of some future season\

7 Manhood is disgraced by the consequences of neglected
youth\ Old a^e', oppressed by cares that belonged to a for-
mer period', labours under a burden not its own\ At the
close of life , the dying man beholds with anguish that his
days are finishing', when his preparation for eternity is hardly
commenced^ Such are the effects of a disorderly waste of
time', through not attending to its value\ Every thing in
the life of ««c^ persons', is misplaced^ Nothing is performed
aright', from not being performed in due season\

8 But he who is orderly in the distribution of his time',
takes the proper method of escaping those manifold evils\

and his own soul', and', at the same'time'. attend to all the
lawful interests of the present world\ He looks back oa the
past',' and provides fi^r the future\

9 He catches^ and arrests' the hours as they fly\ They
are marked down for useful purposes', and their memory re-
mains\ Whereas those hours fleet by the man of confusion',
like a 8hadow\ His days^ and years', are either blanks', of
which he has no remembrance', or they are filled up with so
confused and irregular a successionof unfinished transactions'
that though he remembers he has been busy', vet he can

Part U m C^' 3.

Dtdactic Pieces,

ace^: mort

|nve no account of the business which has employed
him*. BLAIR.

SECTION IX.

The dignity of virtue amidst corrupt examples.
THE most excellent^ and honourable' character which
i can adorn a man^ and a Christian', is acquired by resisting
!the torrent of vice\ and adherin* to the cause of God^ and
virtue' against a corrupted multitude^ It will be Ibund to
hold in general', that they', who', in any of the great lines of
life', have distinguished themselves lor thinking profoundly \
and actuig nobly', have despised popular prejudices', and
[departed'jin several things', from the common ways of the
1 worlds

2 On no occasion is this more requisite for true honour',
I than where religion^ and morality' are concerned^ In times
[of prevailuig licentiousness', to maintain unblemished virtue\
and wniAn ■ iptad integrity', in a public^ or a private cause',
jto stand ^r u ' what is fair^ana just', amidst discourage-
ments' r,i V ij jsition^; despising groundless censure' and re-
proach^; 11. -i^uiing all compliance with public manners',
wiien they are vicious^ and unlawful'; and never ashamea of
the punctual discharge of every duty towards God' and man^;
thkiswhat shows true greatness of spirit', and will force ap-
probation even from the degenerate multitude themselves^
I 3 " This is the man'," (their conscience will oblige then)
Ito acknowledge',) " whom wc ai e unable to bend to mean
|Condescen8ions\ We see it in vrain either to flatter' or to
threaten him^ he rests on a principle within', which we can-
not shake\ To this man', we may', on any occasion', satelv
Icommit our caused He is incapable of betraying his trust ,
I or deserting his friend', or denying his faith\"

4 It is', accordingly', this steady inflexible virtue', this re
|gard to principle', superior to all custom^ and opinion', which

Eeculiarfy marked the characters of those in any age', who
aye shone with distinguished lustre'; and has consecrated
their memory to all posterity^ It was this that obtained to
[ancient Enoch', the most singular testimony of honour from
|heaven\

6 He continued to " walk with God'." when the world
[apostatized from him\ He pleased God , and was bek)ved
[of him^; so that living among sinners', he was translated to
fheaven \^thout seeing death': " Yea', speedily vvas he taken
away', lest wickedness should have altered his understand-
ling', or deceit beguiled his souP "

I save

6 When Sodom could not furnish ten righteous men to
ve it', Lot remained unspotted amidst the contagion\ He

(^:l

• ' I '

•5 i

:'• i^i'

The English Reader,

Jved like an angel among spirits of darkness^: and the da*
strojdng flame was not permitted to go ibrth^ till the good
man was called away'', by a heavenly messenger^, from his
devoted city\

7 When " all flesh had corrupted their wav upon the
earth^" then lived Noah', a righteous man', and a preacher
of righteousness\ He stood alone', and was scofied by the
profane crew^ But they by the deluge were swept away', ;
while on him', Providence conferred the immortal honour' o\
being a restorer of a better race', and the father of a new
world\ Such examples as these\ and such honours confer- ,
red bv God on them who withstood the multitude of evil ^
doers , should often be present to our minds\

8 Let us oppose them to the numbers of low^ and corrupt i
examples', which we behold around us^; and when we are ui i
hazard of being swayed by such', let us fi)rtify our virtue', ;
by thinking of those', who , in former times', shone like stars '
in the midst of surrounding darkness'^ and are now shining
in the kingdom of heaven , as the bnghtnes? of the firma-

ment', for ever' and ever^

BLAIR.

SECTION X.
The mortifications of vice greater tJuin those of virtue*
THOUGH no condition of human life', is free from unea-
siness', yet it must be allowed', that the uneasiness belong-
ing to a sinful course', is far greater' than what attends a j
course of well-doing-'^. If we are weary of the labours of
- virtue^, we may be assured', that the world', whenever we [
try the exchange', will lay upon us a much heavier load\

2 It is the outside only', of a licentious life', which is gay j
and smiling'. Within^ it conceals toil\ and trouble', and
deadly sorrow\ For vice poisons human happiness in the I
spring', by introducing disorder into the heart . Those pas- f
sions which it seems to indulge', it only feeds with imperfect |
gratifications', and thereby strengthens them for preyuig', in
tlie end', on their unhappy victims\

3 It is a great mistake to imagine', that the pain of self-
denial', is confined to virtue\ He wlio follows the world', as |
much as he who foHows Christ', must " take up his cross\"
and to him', assuredly', it will prove a more oppressive, bur-
den^ Vice allows all our passions to range uncontrolled^;
and where each claims to be superior', it is impossible to
gratify a/Z\ The predominant desire', can only be indulged
at the expense of its rivaP.

4 No mortifications which virtue exacts', are more severe
llian those' which ambition imposes upon the love of eaBe\

Part 1. mphap, 3.

Didactic Pieces.

Wde\ uponinlerest'. and covetousness', upon vamty\ Sell*
leniar, therefore'', belongs', in common', to vice^ and virltie^j
ut with this remarkable difiereiice\ that the passions which
iriue requires us to mortify'', it tends to weaken^; whereas^
jiose which vice obliges us to deny', it'', at the same time ,
Jrengthens^ The one diminishes the pain of self-denial'', by
Moderating the demand of passion'; the other increases it ,

rendering these demands nnperious' and violent^
5 What distresses that occur in the calm lile of virtue',
in be compared to t^ose tortures', which remorse of con
bience inflicts on the v/icked^; to those severe humiliations^,
rising from guilt', combined with misfortunes', which sink
kem to the dust-; to those violent agitations of shame^ and
^appointment', v^hich sometimes drive them to the most
[taf extremities', and make them abhor their existence**
low often', in the midst of those disastrous situations', intb
[hich their crimes have brought them', have they execrated
|e seductions of vice'; and', with bitter regret', looked back

the day on which they first forsook the path of innocencie''!

BLAIB

SECTION XI.

On contentment.
[CONTENTMENT produces', in some measure', all those
^cts which the alchymist usually .n scribes to what he calls
philosophers' stone^; and if it does not brin?^ ,'ichef', it
3S the same thing', by banishing the desire ofthem\ If it
Innot remove the disquietudes ai-ising from a man's mii)d\
|dy\ or fortune', it makes him easy under them^ It has
leed a kindly influence on the soul of man', in respect of
Bry hein^ to whom he stands reiated\
}^ It extmguishes all murmur\ repining\ and ingratitude',
^ards that Being who has allotted him his part to act in
world\ It destroys all inordinate ambition\ and every
idency to corruption', with regard to the community
jierein he is placed^ It gives sweetness to his conversa^
|n\ and a perpetual serenity to all his thoughts\

Among the many methods which might be made use of

Y acquiring this virtue', I shall mention only the two foUow-

^\ First of all', a man should always consider how much

[has more than ne wants'; and secondly', how much moce

lappy he might be', than he really w\

First', a man should alv/ays consider how much he has
kre than he want8\ I am wonderfully pleased with th)S
bly which Aristippus made to one', who condoled with him

m the bss of a farm^:

» Wl
C2

0'^"

said he', " I have thre€

M»'

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The Englith Reader.

PoHll

iknns «(t2I\ and you have but one'^; so that I ought rather i
be afflicted for you\ than vou for me\"

5 On the contrary^ foolish men are more apt to considd
what they have tort', than what they possess^ ^ and to fix the]
eyes upon those who are richer than themselves^, rather thaj
on those who are under greater d^tdties^. All the rA

gleasures^ and conveniences of life', lie in a narrow compass!
ut it is the humbur of mankind to be always looking fo|
ward', and straining after one who has got the start of the
in wealth' and honour\

6 For this reason', as none can be properly called rich\ wS
have not hiore than they want', there are few rich men(
any of the politer nations', but among the middle sort of i
pie', who keep their wishes within their fortunes', and haij
more wealth than they know howtoenjoy\

7 Persons of a higher rank', live in a kind of splendid .
verty''; and are perpetually wanting'^, because', instead [
acquiescing in the solid pleasures oflife', they endepvour j
outvie one another in shadows' and appearances\ Men|
sense have at all times beheld', with a great deal of mir
this silly game that is playing over their heads^; and',
contracting their desires', they enjoy all that secret satisfa
tion which of/iers are always in quest of \

8 The truth is', this ridiculous chase after imaginary pi
sures', cannot be sufficiently exposed', as it is the great so
of those evils which generally undo a nation\ Let a mi
estate be what it may', he is a poor man', if he does not 13
within it^; and naturally sets himself on sale to any one ♦"
can ffive him his price\

9 When Pittacus', after the death of his brother', who
left him a good estate', was offered a great sum of money]
the king of Lydia', he thanked him for his kindness', but t
him', he had already more by hedf than he knew wnat to
with . In short', content is equivalent to wealth', and UtixM
to poverty^; or', to give the tJiought a more agreeable tuij
" Content is natural wealth^" saw Socrates^; to which If
add', luxury is artificial poverty \

10 I shall therefore recommend to the consideratiool
those', who are always aiming at superfluous^ and imaj,
enjoyments', and who will not be at the trouble of contr
ing their desires', an excellent saying of Bion the philij
pher\ namely\ " That no man has so much care', as tie
endeavours after the most happiness^"

11 In the second place', everv one ought to reflect I
much more unhappy he migfu be', than tie really m\— 1
/on»5r consideration took in all those', who are'suflicie''

Didactic Pieces.

rided with tlie means to make themselves easy^; this

Lrds such as actually lie under some pressure or mis

hie\ These may receive great alleviation'', from such a

arison as tlie unhappy person may make Between him-

and others'; or between the mislbrtune which he suffers',

reater misfortunes which might have belallen him\

I like the story of the honest Dutchman'', who', upon

ing his leg by a fall from the mainmast', told the stand-

', it was a great mercy that it was not his neck\ To

', since I am got into quotations', give me leave to add

yin^ of an old philosopher', who', after having invited

of his friends to dine with him', was ruffled by a person

same into the roomin apassion', aiidthrewdown the table

stood before them\ " Every one'," says he', " has his ca-

ly^j and he is a happy man that has no greater than this\"

I We find an instance to the same purpose', in the life of
}r Hammond', written by bishop FeU\ As this good

was troubled with a complication of distempers', when
[d the gout upon him', he used to thank God that it wao
^e sione^; and when he had the stone', that he had not
these distempers on him at the same time\
[l cannot conclude this essay without observing*, that
never was any system besides that of Christianity ,

II could effectually produce in the mind of man', the vir-
jhave been hitherto speakh^g of \ In order to make us
(nted with our condition', many of the present philoso-

tell us', that our discontent only hurts ourselves', with-

leiiiff able to make any alteration in our circumstances^:

\\ tliat whatever evil befalis us is derived to us by a fatal

sity', to which superior beings themselves are subject';

others', very gravely ^ tell the man who is miserable',

is necessary he should be so', to keep up the lic^mony

universe^; and that the scheme of Providence would

lubled^ and perverted', were he otherwise'^.

JThese', and the like considerations', rather silence than

a man'. They may show him that his discontent is

»on«6Zc\ but they are by no means sufficient to relieve

|hey rather give despair^ than consolation'. In a word',

\ mi^ht reply to one of these comforters', as Augustus

I his Triend', who advised him not to grieve for the death

rson whom he loved', because his griejf could not fetch

^in^: " It is for that very reason',' said the emperor'',

grieve\"

the contrary', religion bears a more tender regard

lan nature\ It prescribes to every miserable man the

of bettering his condition^: nay', it shows hira' tliai

n. :, I

v.; I

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The English Reader.

Par

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Wy'l

kearinff his afflictions as he oug-ht to do', vnW naturally (
in the retnoval of them\ It makes him easy here\ hecau
can make hmi liappy hereafter", addisoiI

SECTION XII.

Rank and riches afford no ground for envy.
OF all the grounds of envy anioii^ men', superioritj|
raiik^ and fortune', is the most gcneraP. Hence', the mai
nity which the poor^. commonly bear to the n'c/i', as engr
ing to themselves all the conilorts of life^ Hence', the i
eye with which persons of inferior station', scrutinize tb
who are above them in rank"; and if they approach to i
rank', their envy is generally strongest against such asj
just one step higher than themselves .

2 Alas'! my Iriends', all this envious disquietude', wli
ngitates the world', arises from a deceitful n;^re which
jwses on the public vievv\ False colours are nung out^: [
real state of men', is not what it seems to be\ The ordeil
society', requires a distinction ofrankstotake plaCe^: buJ
point oiJiappiness'i all men come much nearer to equalil
than is commonly imagined^; and the circumstances', wl(
form any material difference of happiness among them',i
not of that nature which renders them grounds or envy \

3 The poor man possesses not', it is true', some ofl
conveniences' and pleasures of the rich^; but', in return'J
is free from an^ emnarrassmonts to which they are subjef
By the simplicity^ and unifrrmity of his life', he is delive
from that variety of cares', which perplex those who ra

variety
great affiiirs to manage

perpl(
irjtricate plans to pursue',

pnl

enemies', perhaps', to encounter in the pursuit\

4 In the tranquillity of his small habilation\ and _
Ihmily', he enjoys a peace which is often unknown atcouij
The gratifications of nature', which are always the n
satisfactory', are possessed by him to their full extent^; art
he be a stranger to the refined pleasures of the wealthy'!
IS unacquainted also with the desire of them', and', by coJ
quence', feels no want\

5 His plain meal satisfies his appetite', with a relish prol
bly higher than that of the rich man', who sits down to|
luxurious banquet\ His sleep is more sound^; his he
more firm^; he knows not what sp!ecn\ languor', and listlJ
ness are\ His accustomed employments^ or labouf <', f
not more oppressive to him', than the labour of attenda
on courts', and the great\ the labours of dre8s\ the fit
of amusement8\ the very weight of idleness', irequentlyj
to the rich

3p.

Didactic Pieces.

In the mean time'', all the beauty of the face ol nature^
the enjoyments of domestic society\ all the gayety ana
jrl'ulnessof an easy mind', are as open to him as to tliose
[lie highest rarik^. The splendour ol" retinue\ the sound
|tles\ the appearances of hi<?h respect^ are indeed sooth-
f, for a short time^ to the ej-reat'; hut', become familiar',
V are soon forgotten^— Custom effaces their impression^
by sink into the rank ol' those ordinary things', which
\' recur', without raisin.^ an^ sensation of joy\

Let us cease', therelbre', trom looking- up with discon-
*^ and envy to those', whom birth^ or fortune' has placed

ire us\ Let us adjust the balance of happiness lairly\ —
Jen we think of the enjoyments we ^vant', we should think

of the troubles i'rom Avliicii we are iree\ If we allow
just value to the comtbrts we possess', Ave shall find
on to rest satisfied', with a very moderate', though not an
lent and splendid cimdition of torturie\ Often y did we

■ the whole', we should be inclined to pity the state ot
whom we now envy'', blair.

SECTION XIIL

lattVnce under provocations our interest a^ toeU as duty.

IHE wide circle of human society', is diversified by an

ess variety of characters\ dispositions', and passions'.

[formity is', in no respect', the genius of the worlir.

ry man is marked by some peculiarity', which distin-

les him from another': and no where can two individu-

found', who are exactly \ and in all respects', alike'.

bre so much diversity obtains', it cannot but happen',

Jin the intercour??e which men are obliged to maintain',

r tempers will often be ill adjusted to mat intercourse';

■jar and interfere with each other\

ice', in every station', the highest^ as well as the

Ist'j and in every condition of life', public\ private\ and

jestic', occasions of irritation freciuently arise'. We are

toked , sometimes', bv the folly "^ and levity' of those with

In we are connected^; sometimes', by their indifference'

klect^: by the incivility of a friend\ the haughtiness of a

Jnor', or the insolent behaviour of one in lower station\

iHardly a day passes', without somewhat or other occur-

[, which serves to ruifle the man of impatient 8pirit\ Of

se', Slick a man', lives in a continual storm\ He knows

vhat it is to enjoy a train of good humour\ Servant8\

iiboursS friends', 8p)ouse\ and children', all', through the

strained violence of his temper', become sources of dis-

mce^ and vexation to him\ In vain is affluence^; in vain

;\ ft.

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The English Reader,

> W

lire health' and prosperitv^ The least trifle is suflficieiij
discompose his mind/ andi poison his pleasures^ His vj
amusemeiUB are mixed with turbulence^ and passion^

4 I would beseech this man to consider^ of what
moment the provocations which he receives^ or ai least A
gines himself to receive^ are really in themselves^; butj
what ^eat moment he makes thera', by suHerino- their
deprive him of the possession of himself \ I wouid bes^
him to consider', how many hours of happiness he thn
away', which a little more patience would allow him to|
joy^; and how much he puts it in the power of the
insignificant persons', to render him miserable'.

6 " But who can expect'," we hear him exfelaim', " thai
is to possess the insensibility of a stoned'' How is it poss
l<>r human nature to endure so many repeated provocatioj
fjr to bear calmly with so unreasonable behaviour\^"-
brother'! if thou canst bear with no instances of unreason
behaviour', withdraw thyself from the worlds Thou an
longer fit to live in it\ Leave the intercourse of men\
treat to the mountain^ and the desert', or shut thyself upl
ceir. For here', in the midst of society', offences must ca

6 We might as well expect', when we behold a calm ad
piiere\ and a clear sky', that no clouds were ever to rise\|
no winds to blow', as that our life were Ion"" to proceed', i
out receiving [)rovocations from human Irailty^ The card
and the imprudent', the giddy' and the fickle', the ungrati
and the interested , every where meet us\ They arel
briers^ and thorns', with which the paths of human lifej
besets He only', who can hold his course among them i
patience^ and equanimity', he who is prepared to bear '
he must expect to happen , is worthy of the name of a

7 If we preserved ourselves composed but for a momJ

have subsided^; the cause of our present impatience^ andj
turbance', will be utterly lbrgotten\ Can we not then i
cdpate this hour of calmness to ourselves'; and begin toe
the peace which it will certainly bring'.^

8 II' others have behaved improperly', let us leave thd
their own folly', without becoming the victim of thcirj
pnce', and punishing ourselves on their account''. — Patieil
m<At» exercise of it , cannot be too much studied', by all j
wish their life to flow in a sniooth stream^. It is the M
of a man', in opposition to the passion of a child\ It ii|
moment oS peace', in opposition to uproar' and cofnfu

Didactic Pieces,

SECTION XIV

Moderation in our withes recommended.
[THE active ithiuI ofman^ seldom or never rests satisfied

■o ever sending forth the fond desire ^ the aspiring wish';
ier Bomethiuff beyond what is enjoved at present^
|2 JJence', tliat restlessness which prevails so generally
hong manKind\ Hence^ that disgust ol' pleasures which
ly have tried^; that ]jassion lor novelty^; that ambition ol
ing to some degree ol* eminence^ or felicity', of which they
Ivu formed to themselves an indistinct idea\ All which may
[considered as indications of a certain native', original greaW
BS in the human soul', swelling beyond the limi^of its pre-
^t condition', and pointing to the higher objects for which
iras ma(^\ Happy', if these latent remains of our primi-
o „.«»» vv.^_' state', served to direct our wishes towards their proper
r id ^a cairn at^^*'"**^®'^^ ^"^ *® '^^^ "^ ^^^^ ^'^^ path of true hliss\

."^K gyj jj^ ijjjg dark^ and bewildered state', the aspiring ten-

icy of our nature', unfortunately takes an <)pnosite direc-
"', and feeds a very misplaced ambition\ The flattering
arances which here present themselves to sense^; the dV
itions which fortune conli^rs'; the advantages^ and plea-
is' which we imagine the world to be capable of bestow-
, fill up the ultimate wish of most men\ These are tlie
cts which engross their solitary musings', and stimulate
•• active labours^; which warm the breasts of the young\

ite the industry of the middle aged', and often keep
■ the passions of the old', until the very close of life\
Assuredly', there is nothing unlawful in our wishing to
eed from whatever is disagreeable', and to obtain a fuller
yment of the comforts jf lile\ But when these wishes
not tempered by reason', they are in danger of precipi-
'*", us into much extravagance' and My\ Desires^ and

a', are the first springs of action\ When they become
bitant', the whole character is likely to be tainted\ ^
If we suffer our fancy to create to itself worlds of ideal
^iness', we shall discompose the peace^ and o^der of our

i', and foment many hurtful passions\ Here', then', let
lei9,tion begin its reign'', by bringing within reasonable

da thj^ wishes that we tbnn\ As soon as they becoms

^va^lt's let U8 check them^ by proper reflectbns on tbt

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The English Reader

Pott I

fallacious nature ol' those objects^ whicli the world hangs out
to allure desired

6 You have strayed', my friends', from the road wliich
conducts to lelicity^: you have dishonoured the native dignity
of your souls', in allowing your wishes to terminate on nc-
thing higher than worldly ideas of (jreatness' or happines8\
Four imagination roves m a land o( shadows^. Unreal farm I
decei"e you\ It is no more than a phantom^ an illusion of I
Happiness', which attracts your lond admiration^; nay', an illu-
sion of happiness', which often conceals much real misery\

7 Do you imagine that all are happy', who have attained I
to those summits of distinction', towards which your wishes!
aspire'? Alas'! how frequently has experience shown', thatjl
where roses were suppr »sod to bloom', nothing but briers'^ and \'\
tiioms' g-rew^! ReputHtion\ beauty\ riches', grandeur\ nay',;
royalty itself ,vfou\d\ many a time', have been gladly ex-
dianged by the possessors', lor that more quiet^ and humble!
station'^ with which you are now dissatisfied^ f

8 With all that is splendid^ and shining in the world', it is!
decreed that there should mix many deep shades of wo\[
On the elevated situations of fortime', the great calamities of j
life chiefly falf . There', the storm sj>ends its violence', audi
there', the thunder breaks^; while, safe and unhurt', the in!
habitants of the vale remain below^; — Retreat', then', Ironif
those vain and pernicious excursions of extravagant desire\|

9 Satisfy yourselves with what is rational' and attainableVl
Train your minds to moderate views of human life'j and hu-
man happiness^ Remember', and admire' the wisdom ol

Amur's petition^ " Remove far from me vanity' and lies\-^
n,«i» T«« r.oUi^^» '^overty' nor riche3\ Feed me with foe*
^* lest I be full and deny thee', and saj

convenient for me

who is the Lord\^ or lest I be poor\ and steal', arid take tl

name of my God in vain\" blair.

SECTION XV.

Qmniscienee and omninresenee cfthe Deitt, the source ojl
consolation to good men. [

I WAS yesterday'^ about sunset',walking in the open fields;
tfll the night insensibly fell upon me\ I at first amused my)
self with all the richness^ and variety of colours', which ap
peared in the western parts of heaven\ In proportion as the|
laded away^and went out', several sfars^ ana planets'appearel
one after another', till the whole firmament' was in a glow]

2 The blueness of the ether was exceedingly heightei
smd enlivened', hy the season of the year'^ and the rays :
all those luminaries that passed through it\ The gat

Part L M Chap, 8.

Didactic Pieces,

appeared in ils mo6t beautiful white\ To complete tne
8<!ene^ the full moon rose^ at length', in that clouded majea-
ty^f wmch Milton takes notice of% and opened to the eye a
ne^v picture of nature^ which waa more finely shaded', and
disposed among softer lights than tliut which the sun had
beiore discovered to nie\

3 As I was surveying the moon walking in her brightness',
and taking her progress among the constellations', a thought
arose m me', wliicli I believe very often perplexes^ and dis-
turbs' men of serious and contemplative natures^ i^avid
/itwwe/ffell into it in that reflection': "When I considw the
heavens', the work of thy fingers'j the moon^ and the stars'
which thou hast ordained', what is man that thoii art mind-
ful of him', and the son of man that thou regardest himM"

4 In the same manner', when I consider that inflnite host
I of stars', or', to speak more philosophically', of suns', wliich

were then shining upon me'; with tnose innumerable sets of

planets^ or worlds', which were moving round their respective

guns'; when I still enlarged the idea', and supposed another

heaven of suns^ and worlds', rising still above this which I

Jdiscovered'; and these still enlightened by a superior firma-

jment of luminaries', which are planted at so great a dis-

Itance', that they may appear to the inhabitants of the ibrnier',

las the stars do to me': in short', while I pursued this thought',

could not but reflect on that little insignificant figure which

mysejf' bore amidst the immensitv of God's works\

5 Were the sun', which enlightens this part of the crea-
lon', with all tlie host of planetary worlds that move about
im', utterly extinguished^ and annihilated', they would not
e missed', more than a ^rain of sand upon the seashore\
'he space they possess', is so exceedingly- /i«^6 in compari-

Bon of the w/io/e , it would scarcely make a blank iii -.W. crea-
tion\ The chasm Avould be imperceptible to aii i e that
could take in the whole compass of nature', and pass from
)ne end of the creation to the other^; as it is possible there

lajr be such a sense in ourselves hereafter', r.; in creatures
^vhich are at present more exalted than ou'-Sr lves\ By the
lelp of glasses', we see many stars', which we do not disco-
ver with our naked eyes''; and the finer our telescopes are',

le greater still are our discover!' s\.
Huygenius carries this thought so lar', that he does not
Ihink it impossible there may be stars', whose light has nof
7et travelled down to us', since their first creation^ Then
no question that the universe has certain hounds set to iv
^nt when we consider that it is the work of Infinite Power

rompted by Infinite Goodness\ with an infimte spava
6* £

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Tlie English Reader,

Parti

§■

'in', how can our imagination set any bounds to itV
f 7 To return', therefore', to my first thouglit', I could not but

exert itself i

that was not

look upon myself with secret horror', as a being
worth thesuiiillest regard of one', who had so ^reat a work
under his care' and superintendency\ I was alraid of being
overlooked amid the immensity of nature,' and lost among
tliat infinite variety of creatures', which', in all probability',
Kwarm through all these immeasurable regions of matter\

8 In order to recover myselt] from this mortilying thought',
J considered that it took its rise from those narroiv concep-
tions', which we are apt to entertain of the divine Nature\
We ourselves cannot attend to many diflerent objects at the
same time\ If we are carellil to inspect some tilings', we
must of course neglect others'^. This imperlection which we
observe in ourselves', is an imperlection that cleaves', in
some degree', to creatures of the highest capacities', as they
are creatures , that is', beings of finite and limited natures\

9 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^ Tlie sphere in
which we move\ and act\ and understand', is of a wider cir-
cumference to one creature' tlian another^ according as we
lise one above another in the scale of existence^ But the
widest of these our spheres', has its circumference\

10 When', therefore', Ave reflect on the divine Nature', we
are so used and accustomed to this imperfection in ourselves',
ihat 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 attnbutes are infinite^;
but the poorness of our conceptions is such', that it cannot
forbear setting bounds to every thing it contemplates', till
our reason comes again to our succour', and throws down all
tliose little prejudices', wliich rise in us unawares', and are
natural to the mind of man\

11 We shall therefore utterly extinguish this melancholv
thought', of our being overlooked by our Maker', in the mul-
tiplicity of his works', and the infinity of those objects amon^
which he seems to be incessantly employed', if we consider ,
in the first place', that he is omnipresent^; and', m the so
cond', that he is omniscient^

12 If wo consider hmi in his omnipresence', his being
passes throu^h\ actuates\ and supports', the whole frame ol
nature\ 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 80 inconsiderable', that he does not essentially reside
in it\ His substance is within the substance of every being',

■,A

Part 1 I Chap, 3.

Argumentative Pieces,

whetiier material or immaterial, and as intimately present
to it', as that being is to itseii'\

13 It AVoulJ be an imperfection in him', were he able to
move out ol'one place into another'; or to withdraw himseL
Irom any thin.? he lias created', or from any part of that space
which he ditiused and spread abroad to infinity^ In short',
to speak of him in the language of the old philosophers', he
is a Being whose centre^ is every where', i.nd his ctrcunh-
ference't no where\

14 In the second place', lie is onmiscient' as well as omni-
present^ His omniscience', indeed', necessarily^ and natu-
rally' flows from his omnipresence^ He cannot but be con-
scious of every motion that arises in the whole material
world', which he thus essenti.illy pervades'; and of every
tlwught that is stirring in the intellectual world', to every
part of which he is thus intimately united^

15 Were the soul separated from the body', and should it
with one glance of thought start beyond the bounds of tlie
creation'; should it for millions of years', continue its progress
through infinite space', with the same activity', it would
still find itself within the embrace ol' its Creator', and encom-
passed by the immensity of tiia Godhead^

16 In this consideration of the Almighty's omnipresence^
and omniscience', every uncomfortable thought vanishes^
He cannot but regard eveiy thing that has being', especially
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 ne should overlook any of his crea-
tures', so we maybe confident that he^re^ar.ds within eye of
mercy', those who endeavour to recortimend themselves to his
notice', and in unfeigned Irumility of heart', think themselves
unworthy that he should be mindful of them\ adoison.

CHAPTER IV.

ARGUMENTATIVE PIECES.

SECTION I.

Happiness is founded in rectitude of conduct.

ALL men pursue good', and would be happy', if thev

knew how^: not happy for minute8\ and miserable for hours^;

I but happy', if possible', through every part of their exist-

i ence\ Either', therefore', there is a good of this steady^,

durable kind', or there is not"". If not', then aU good muttt bs

transient' and uncertain^; and if so', an object of the lowesi

value', which can little deserve our attention' or inquiry^

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in as much as', except these three', there is no other possi-
ble\ Now a steady'j durable good', cannot be derived from
nnextemat cause'; smce all derived irom externals' must
fluctuate as they fluctuate\

3 By the same rule', it cannot be derived from a mixture
of the two*; because the part which is external'^ will propor-
tionably destroy its essence^ What then remains nut the
cause internal' — the very cause which we have supposed'
when we place the sovereign good in mind in rectitude of

conduct^ HARRIS.

SECTION II.

Virtue and piety man^s highest interest.

1 FIND myself existing upon a little spot', surrounded every
way by an immense', unknown expansion\ — Where am T?
What sort of place do I inhabit\^ It is exactly accommodated
m every instance to my convenience'? Is there no excess ot
cold', none of heat', to oflend me'? Am I never annoyed by
animals', either of my oton', or a different kind'? Is every
thing subservient to me', as though I nad ordered gJl myself'?
No^ — nothing like it^ — the farthest from it possible^

2 The world appears not', then', originally made for the
private convenience of me aIone\'' — It does not\ But is it
not possible so to accommodate it', by my own particular m-
dustry'? If to accommodate man^ and beast', heaven** and
earth', if t/tis be beyond me', it is not possible^ What con-
sequence then follows^; or can there be any other than thisl''
If I seek an interest of my own', detached from that of others',
I seek an interest which is chimerical', and wiiich can never
have existence'.

3 How then must I determine \^ Have I no interest at all'?
If I have not', I am stationed here to no purposed But why
no irteresO? Can I be contented with none nut one separate
and detached'? I>« a social interest', joined with others , such
an absurd'ty as not to be admitted'? The bee\ the beaver\
and the tribes of herding animals', are sufficient to convince
me', that the thing is somewhere at least possible^

4 How', then', ;im I assured that it is not equally true of
man\'' Admit it', and what tbllovvs\'' If so', thca honour'' and
justice' are my interest'; then the whole train of moral i>tr-
tu£s are my interest\ without some portion of whi'jh', not
even thieves can maintain society\

5 But', fartiier still^— I stop nothere^— I pursue this social

idetl every
ere am T?
nimodated
) excess ot
nnoyedby p

Is every
[\\ myself \'
e\
ide for the

But is it
rticular m-
eaven'^ and
Wiiat con-

:haii thi3\^

of others',
I can never

rest at all?
But why
le separate
lers', such
le beaver\
:o convince

ally true ol
lonour" and
moral i>tr-
whi'ih', not

»this80ciai

C/iop. 4. Argumentative Pieces, 69

interest as far as I can trace my several relation8\ I pnss from
my own stock\ my own neiffhbourliood\ my own nation', to
the whole race of mankind', as dispersed throughout the
earth\ And am I not related to them all', by the mutual aids
of commerce', by the general intercourse of arts and letters',
by tiiat common, nature of which we all participate'?

6 Again^ — I must have food' and clothing^ Without a
proper g;enial warmtii', I instantly perisiO. Am I not related',
m tliis view', to tlie very earth itself: to the distant sun',
from whose beams I derive vigour ? to tJiat stujjeiidous
course and order of the infinite host of heaven', by which the
imes and seasons ever unif()rmly pass on'?

7 Were tliis order once conibunded', I could not probably
survive a moment*; so absolutely do I depend on tnis com-
mon general welfare\ What', then', have I to do', but to
enlarge virtue' into ]^iety\^ Not only honour^ and justice^ and.
what i ov/e to man\ is my interest''; but gratitude also^, acqui-
escence\ resignation\ adoration\ and all I owe to this great
polity', and its great Governor our common Parent\ harkis.

SECTION III.
llie injustice of an vnchantahle spint.

A SUSPICIOUS\ uncharitable spirit', is not only incon-
sistent with all social virtue^ and happiness', but it is also',
in itself, unreasonable' and unjust\ In orcler to form sound
opinions concerning pharacters^ and actions', two things are
especially reauisite^: information' and impartiality^ But such
as are most forward to decide unfavourably', are commonly
destitute of hotJi}. Instead of possessing', or even requiring ,
full information', the grounds on which they proceed are he-
quently the most slight' and frivolous\
I 2 A tale', perhaps', which the idle have invented^ the in-
quisitive have listened to', and the credulous have, propa-
gated^; or a real incident', which rumour', in carrying: it
along', has exaggerated^ and disguised', supplies them with
materials of confident assertion', and decisive judgment^
From an action', they presently look into the heart', and in-
Iferthe motive\ This supposed motive they conclude to be
Ithe ruling principle^; and pronounce at once concerning the
I whole characters

3 Nothing can be more contrary both to equity^ and lo
[sound reason', than this precipitate judf.Tment\ Any man
Iwho attends to what passes within liimself, may easi'y dis-
Icernwhat a complicated system the bun. an character is';
land what a variety of circumstances must be taken into the
laccount', in order to estimate it truly^. No single instance
[of conduct', whatever', is suflicient to determine lO.

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4 As from one worthy action', it were credulity\Tiot char-
ity', to conclude a person to be li-ee from ail vice'; so from
one which is censurable', it is perfectly unjust to infer that
the autiior of it is without conscience', and without merits
If we knew all the attending circumstances', it might appear
in an excusable light^; nay', perhaps', under a commenaahle
form\ The motives of the actor may have been entirely
different from those which we ascribe to him'; and where we
suppose him impelled by bad designs', he may have been
prompted by conscience', and mistaken principled

5 Admitting the action to have been in every view crimi-
nal^, he may have been hurried into it through madvertency'
axiJ surprised He may have sincerely repented^; and the
virtuous principle may have now refined its full vigour\
Perliaps this was the corner of frailty^; the quarter on which
he lay open to the incursions of temptation': while the othei'
avenues of his heart', were firmly guarded by conscience^

6 It is therefore evident', that no part of the government
of temper', deserves attention more', than to keep our minds
pure fVom uncharitable prejudices', and open to candour^
and humanity' in judging of others\ The worst conse-
quences', both to ourselves^ and to society', follow fi'om the
opposite spmi^, blair.

SECTION IV.

The misfortunes of men mostly chargeable on themselves.

"WE find man placed in a world', where he has by no
means the disposal of the events that happen^ Calamities;
sometimes befall the worthiest^ and the best', which it is not;
in their power to prevent', and where nothing is lefl them',|
but to acknowlcds'e\ and to submit/ to the high hand off
Heaven\ For such visitations of trial', many good^ and wisel
reasons', can be assigned', which the present subject leads!
me not to discus8\

2 But though those unavoidable calamities make a part',|
yet they make not the chief part', of the vexations^ and sor-'
rows' that distress human lite\ A multitude of evils Jaeset]
us', for the source of which', we must look to another quar-j
ter\ — No sooner has any thing in the health\ or in the cir 1
cumstances of men', gone cross to their wish', than they be-l

mn. to talk of the unequal distribution of the good tilings oil
tnis lifie^; thev envy the condition of others^; they repine at!
their own lot , and fret against the Ruler of the world . I
3 Full of these sentiments', one man pines under a brokeul
oOQiititution\ But let us ask him', whether he can', fairly^ andl

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»Arguinmiative Pieces,

honestly', assiffn no cause for tJiis', but the unknown decree
orheaven\'' Has he duly valued the blessing oi" liealth', and
always observed the rules cf virtue^ and sobriety''? Has he
been moderate in liis lile^ and temperate in all his pleasures^?
If now he is only paying the price of his Ibrmer', perhaps his
forgotten indulgences , has he any title to complain'', as if
he were sullering unjustly'?

4 Were we to surve:^^ the cliambers of sickness^ and dis-
tress'', we sliould often find them peopled with the victims of
intemperance^ and sensuality'', and with the children of vici-
ous indolence' and sloth\ Among the thousands who lan-
guish there'', we should find the proportion of innocent suf-
lerers to be smalP. We should see faded youth^, premature
old age^, and the prospect of an untimely grave*", to be the
portion of multitudes'', who*", in one^ way or other', have
j Drought those evils on tliemselves^; while yet these martyrs
of \ice^ and folly', have the assurance to arraign the hard
[fate of man', and to " fi:et against the _Lord\"

But you', perhaps', complain of hardships of another
Ikind^; of the injustice of the workf; of the poverty which
Ivou suffer', and the discouragements under which you la-
Ipour^; of the crosses^ and disai ^ointments'', of which your
life has been doomed to be full\ — Before you give too much
scope to your discontent', let me desire you to reflect impar-
tially upon your past train cf life\

6 Have not sloth^ or pride', ill temper\ or sinful passions',
lisled you often from the path of sound and wise conducf"?
lave you not been wanting to yourselves in improving those

)pportunities which Provi4e7ice offered you', for bettering
md advancing your state'? If you have chosen to indulge
k'ourhumour\ or your taste', in the gratifications of indolence'
y pleasure', can you complahi because others', in preference
lo you', have obtained those advantages which naturally be-
^ng to useful labours'', and honourable pursuits'?

7 Have not the consequences of some false steps', into
rtiich your passions\ or your pleasures', have betrayed you',
brsued you through much or your life'^; tainted', perhaps',
[our characters', involved you in embarrassments', or sunk
lou into neglect^'' — It is an old saying', mat every man is

le artificer of^ his own fortune in the worid\ It is certain',
lat the world seldom turns wholly against a man', unless
irough his own faults " Religion is ," "n general'', " pro-
|table unto all things\"

8 Virtue\ diligence^ and industry', joined with good tem-
\ and prudence', have ever been found the surest road to

rosiTenty"*; and where men fail of attaining it', their w^ant of

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success is far oftener owin;» to their having deviated from
that road', than to their having encountered insuperable bars
in it\ Some', bv being too artluK, Ibrleit the reputation o.
probity\ Some , by being too open', are accounted to lail
in prudence\ Others', by being fickle^ and changeable', are
distrusted by alP.

9 The case commonly is', that men seek to ascribe their
disappointments to any cause', rather than to tiieir own mis-
conouct^; and when tliey can devise no other cause', they
lay them to the charge of Providence\ Their folly leads
them into vices^; their vices into misiortunes'; and m their
misfortunes they " mui-mur against i*rovidence\"

10 They are ^/o«W// unjust towards their Creator^ In their
prosperity', they are apt to ascribe their success to their own
diligence', rather than to his blessing^: and in their adver-
sity', they impute their distresses to liis providence', not to
their own misbehaviour\ Whereas', the truth is the very
reverse of this^ " Every gt)()d^ and every perfect gift ,
cometh from aoove^;" and of evif and misery , man is the
author to himself ^

11 When', from the condition of individuals', we look
abroad to the public state of the world', Ave meet with more
proofs of the iriUh of this asserlJon\ We see great societies
of men', toi**! in pieces by intestine dissensions^ tumults', and
civil commotions^ We see mighty armies going forth', in
ibrmidahle array', against each otlier', to cover the earth
with blood', and to fill the air with the cries of widows' and
orphans\ Sad evils these are', to which this miserable workl
is exposed\

12 But are these evils', I beseech you', to be imputed to
God'f Was it he Avho sent forth slaughtering armies into the
field', or who filled the peaceful city with massacres and
blood'? Are these miseries any other than the bitter li-uit of
men's violent and disorderly passions'? Are they not clearly
to be traced to the ambition' and vices of princes', to the
quarrels of the great', and to the turbulence of the people'?—
jjCt us lay them entirely out of the account', in thirking of
Providence', and let us think only of the " foolishness of
man\

13 Did man control his passions\ and form his conduct
according to the dictates of wisdom\humanity\and\'irtue',
the earth would no longer be desolated by cruelty ; and human
societies would live in order\ harmony', and peace\ In those
scenes of mischief ^ and violence' which fill tlie world', let man
behold^ with shame', the picture of his vices', his igno-
rance', and iblly\ Let him be humbled by the mortiiying

Part 1. I Chap. 4.

Argumentative Pieces,

view of his own perverseness'; but let not his " heart fret
aguinst the Lord^ " blaie.

SECTION V.

On disinterested friendship.

1 AM informed that certain Greek writers', (philosophers',
it seems^ in the opinion of their countrymen',) have advanc-
ed some very extraordinary positions relating to friendship^;
as', indeed', wliat subject is there', which these subtle ge-
niuses liave not tortured with their sor)hi8try\^

2 The authors to whom I reter', dissuade their disciples
from entering into any strong attachments', as unavoidably
creating supernumerary disquietudes to those who engage in
them^; and', as every man has more than sufficient to call
forth his solicitude', ni the course of his own affairs', it is a
weakness', they contend', anxiously to involve himself in the
coucerns o£others\

3 They recommend it also', in all connexions of this kind',
to hold the bauds of union extremely loose', so as always to
have it in one's power to straiten^ or relax them', as circum-
stances^ and situations' shall render most expedient^ They
add', as a capital article of their doctrine', that', " to hve ex-
empt from cares.' is an essential ingredient to constitute
human happiness ; but an ingredient', however', which he',
who voluntarily distresses himself with cares', hi which iie
has no necessary and personal interest', must never hope to
possess^"

4 I have been told likewise', that there is another set of
pretended philosophers', of the same country', whose tenets',
concerning this subject', are of ;a still more illiber^ and un
generous cast\ The proposition which they attempt to estab
Ksh', is', that "friendship is an nffnir oi\^eif-interest entirely V;
and that the proper motive for engaging in it is', not in order
to gratify the kind and benevolent anections' out lor the
benefit of that assistance^ and support', whiwi are to be de
rived from the connexion^"

5 Accordingly they assert', fnat those persons are most
.ilis(K)sed to nave recourse to auxiliary alliances of this kind',

j who are least qualified by nature^ or fortune', to depend upon
their own strength' and powers': the weaker sex\ Cov in
stance', being generally more mclined to engage in friend-
ships', than the male part of our species^; and those who are
depressed by indigence\ or labouring under misfortunes',
than the wealthy', and the prosperous^

6 Exceflent and obliging sages', these', undoubtedly^! To
I strike out the friendlv affections from the moral world', would

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be like extinguishing" the sun in the natural', each of them
bein^the source of the best and most gratelul satisfactiong'.
that neaven has conferred on the sons ol'nien^ But I should
be glad to know', what tlie real value ol'thib boasted exemp-
tion from care', which they promise their disciples', justly
amounts to\'' an exemption flattering to sell-love . I coniess^;
b'lt whicli', upon many occurrences Li human lile', should
be rejected with the utmost disdain\

7 For nothing', surely', can be more inconsistent with a
i well-poised and manly spirit', than to decline engaging in any

laudable action', or to he discouraged from persevering in it ,
by an apprehension of the trouble^ and solicitude', with which
' it may probably be attended^

8 V irtue herself, indeed', ought to be totally renounced' , if
it be right to avoid every possible means that may be produc-
tive of uneasiness': lor who', that is actuated by her princi-
ples', can observe the conduct of an opposite character, with-
oiii being affected Avith some degree of secret dissatisfaction^^

Are not the just', the brave', and the good', necessarily
exposed to the disagreeable emotions of dislike and aversion ,
when they respectivelv meet witfi instances of fraud', of cow-
ardice', or ot' villany'? It is an essential property of every j
well-cunsiituled mind', to be affected with pain^ or pleasure,'
according u> the nature of those moral appearances thatpre-
seiit tlieuiscives to observation^

10 If sensibillly', therefore', be not incompatible with true
wisdom', (and it surely is not', unless we suppose that philo-
sophy deadens every finer feeling of our nature',) what just
reason can be assigned', why the sympathetic sufiijrings which
may resu»t from fHendsliip', should be a sufficient inducement
for banisiiing that generous affection from the human breast'.'

11 Exllnguibh all emotions of the heart', and what differ-
ence will remain', I do not say between man^ and brute', but
between man' and a mere inanimate clod? Away then with
those austere philosophers', who represent virtue as harden-
ing the soul against all the softer impressions of humanity^

12 The tact', certainly', is much otherwise^ A truly eood i
man', is', upon many occasions', extremely susceptible of|
tender sentiments^; and his heart expands with joy^ or shrinks j
with sorrow', as good or ill fortime accompanies his friend\ |
Upon the whole', then', it may fairly be concluded', that', asl
in the ca .e of virtue'', fw in that of liriendship'. those painful !
sensations which may sometimes be produced By theone\ as
well as bj^the other', are equally insufficient grounds for ex-f
eluding either of them fronj taking pjossession of our bosoms^

13 Tliey who insist that " utility is the first and prevailiitf I

Chap, 4,

,>irgumentative Pieces.

motive', which induces mankind toenter into particular friend-
ships'," appear to me to divest the associati^m ofits most amia-
ble and engaging principled For to a mind rightly disposed'
it is not so much the benefits received', as the aH'ectionatez^al
from which they flow', that gives tiiem their best and most
valuable recommendation^

14 It is so far indeed from being verified hy fact', that a
I sense of our wants', is the original causeof ibrniing these ami-
cable alliances^ ; that', on the contrary', it is observable', that
none have been more distinguished in their friendships', than
those whose power^ and opulence', but', above all', whose supe-
rior t>»ri?Me', (a much firmer support',) liave raised them aboviB
[every necessity of havingrecourse to the assistance of others^
I 15 The true distinction then', in the question', is', that " aU
Ithough friendship is certainly productive of utility', yet utility
Kh not the primary motive ol iriendship\" Those selfish sen-
jualists', therefore', who', lulled in the lap of luxury', pre-
jurae to maintain the reverse', have surely no claim to atten-
tion^ ; as they are neither qualified by reflection^ nor experi-
;uce', to be competent jua^es of the subject^

16 Is there a man upon the face of the earth', who would
!eliberately accept of all the wealth', which this world can
jestow', if oflfered to him upon the severe terms of his being
inconnected with a single mortal whom he could love', or by
kvhom he should be beloved' ? This would be to lead the
rretched life of a detested tynint', who,' amidst perpetual
iuspicions\ and alarms', passes his miserable days', a stranger
|o every tender sentiment' ; and utterly precluded from the
heart-felt satislactions of friendship^

MelmotKs translation of Cicero's Lodius.

SECTION VI.

On the immortality of the soul.

WAS yesterdav walking aione', in one of my friend's

woods', and lost myself in it very agreeably', as I was run-

|ing over , in my mind', the several arguments that establish

lis great point' ; which is the basis of morality', and the

lurce of all the pleasing hopes^ and secret joys', that can arise

I the heart of a reasonable creature\

2 I considered those several proofs drawn' — First', from the
^nre of the soul itself"^ and particularly its immateriality' ;
^hich', though not absolutely necessary to the eternity ofits du-
|ition', has', I think', been evinced to almost a demonstration^.

3 Secondly', from its passions' and sentiments^ ; as', p«r-
jularly', from its love of existence^ ; its horror of anninila
)n' ; and its hopes of immortality' ; with that secret iatit-

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/action which it finds in the practice o£virtue';^ and that uneik
nne$» which follows upon the commission oi' vice\ — Thirdly'
fram the nature of the Supreme Being^ whose justice', good
nessS wiBdoni\ and veracity'', are all concerned in this paint

4 But among theae^ and other excellent arguments for tlie
immortality of the soul', there is one drawn from the perpetual
progress of the soul to its perfljction', without a possibility
of ever arriving at it'; which in a huit that I do not remember
to have seen opened and improved by those wfio have writ-
ten on this subject', though it seems to me to carry a very
preat weight wiih it\

5 How can it enter into the thoughts of man', that the soul',
which is capable of immense perl'ections', and of receiving
new improveinents to all eternity', shall fall away into no-
tiling', almost as soon as it is created\'* Are such abilities made
for no purpose': A brute arrives at a point of perfection', thai
he can never pass^: in a few years he has all the endo\vmenij
lie is capable of^; and were fie to live ten thousand more
woiild be the same tiling he is at present^

6 Were a human soul thus at a stand in her accomplisli{
ments'; were her liiculties tt> be full blown', and incapable c:
flirt her enlarffeinents'; I could imagine she might fall away in-j
sensibly', and drop at once into a state of annihilation^ Bu|
can we believe a tliinking being that is in a perpetual progrea
of improvement', and travelling on from perfection^ to perfto
tion', after having just looketl abroad into the works of lie;|
Creator', ami made a lew diiicoveries of his infinite goodnesc^l
wisdom\ and power', must perish at herjirat setting out', and
in the very be^innin^ of fier inciuires'?

7 Man , considered only in his preaent state', seems senl
mto the world merely to propagate iiis kind\ He providej
himself with a successor', and immediately quits his post tj
make room for hiin\ He does not seem born to enjoy lif
but to deliver it dovvft to others*. This is not surprismglj
consider in animals', which are formed foi- our use', and whicT
can finish their business in a short life\ i

8 The silkworm', after liaving spun her task', lays ha
eggs' and dies\ But a man cannot take in his full measuif
OI knowledge^ has not time to subdue his paLsions\ establisl
his soul in virtue\ and come up to the perfection of his id
tuBe'jLbefore he is hurried off the stage\ Would an infinitel
wise jBeing', make such glorious creatures for so mean a puij
pose'? Can he delight in the productions of such abortive ii
telligences', such sliort-lived reasonable beings'? Would r
give us talents that are not to be exerted' ? capacities th
are never to be gratified'?

Chap, 4.

Argumentative Pieces,

9 How can we find that wisdom which shines throuj^h all

|hi3 works^ in the formation ol'man^ without l(H>kinff on thi§

world as only a nursery for the nexV; and witiiout Believing

that the several generations of rational creatures', which rise

dthatvnfO'^1
.—Thirdly'

slice', good _ . ... • , - ,

nthispotnt^ flup and disappear ni such quick successions , are only to re-
nents ibr tlie «ceiye their first rudiinents of existence here\ and aflerwards
the perpetusi
a possibilit}-
lot remember
la have writ-
carry a very!

to be transplanted into a more friendly climate', where they
nay spread and Hourish to all eternity\'

10 There is not', in my opinion', a more pleasing and tri-
imphant consideration in religion', than this of the f)erpetual

rogress', which the soul makes towards the perleotion of its

nature', without ever

arriving

at a period in it\ To look

U l^ij »»V.Il HJt.V VI. W WV^.iX#V.. ...» V.'%'>»V^ tA>^WVl.,<.. ^..^J.IIVT ,

the human soul shall be as perfect as he himself now

ay', when she shall look down upon that degree of per-

', as much as she now falls short of it\ It is true', the

jpon the soul as g'wngon from strengtn' to strength^; tocon-

lider that she is'io shine for ever with new accessions of

plory', and brighten to ail eternity^; that she will be still add-

ig virtue' to virlue\ an<l knowledge^ to knowledge'; carries

1 it something wonderfully agreeable to that ambition',

Hiich is natural to the mind of man\ Nay', it must be a

jrospect pleasing to God himself, to see his creatiim for ever

iautitying in his eyes', and drawing nearer to him', by

reater degrees of resemblance^

11 Methinks this single consideration', of the progress of a
lite spirit to perfection', will be sulHcient to extinguish ail
ivy in inferior natures', and all contempt in superior". That
lerub', which now appears as a god to a human soul',
lows very well that the period will come about in eternity',
Ihen * '

nay'
ction',

i^her nature
distance^
kows that',

jssessed at present', the inferior nature will', at length'
bunt up to it', and shine forth in the same degree of glory

|l2 With what astonishment^ and veneration', may we look

our own souls', Avhere there are such hidden stores of

Kue' and knowledge\ such inexhausted sources of perfec-

|n^! We know not yet what we shall be^; nor will it ever

jrinto the heart of man', to conceive the glory that will be

lys in reserve ft^r him\ The soul', considered with its

eator', is like one of those mathematical lines', that may

||w nearer to another for all eternity', without a possibility

)uchin^ it^: and can there be a thought so ♦ransporting',

Ito consider ourselves in these perpetual approaches to

*•', who is the standard not only of perfection , but of hap-

;ss'? APDISOir.

7* \ '

1 J

The Kn^liih Reader,

Part L

CHAPTEIl V. /

DESCIIIPTIVE PIECES.
SECTION I.
• The tenaons.

AMONG ihc great blcs.sinj^s^and wonders' of the crea-
tion', iMiiy lie I'Jii.sscd tfic regularities ol' times' and seasons^
linniediiiU'ly allcr tlie flood , tlie sacred promise was made
to man', tlial seedtime' and harvest\ cold' and heat^, sum-
mer' and winter', day^ and nitfhl'', sliould continue to the
very end of all tliini;s\ Accordingiy', in obedience to that
promise', the rolation is constantly prescntinff U3 with some
usofiil' and agreeahle alteration^: and all the ^leasing novelty
(if lite', arises IVoin these natural chanj^esV nor are we ksi
indeltted to thein l<)r many of its solid conilarts\

2 It has been freciuently the task of the moralist^ and poet',
to mark', in polished periods', tlie particular charms' and
conveniences of every chan,<re'; and', indeed', such discrimi-

Providence', Avhich regulates the glories of the year\ Wej
giow as we conteuipiate'; we feel a propensity to adore'i
whilst we enjoy\ I

8 In the tinie of seed-sowing', it is the season of coi\m
dencc: the grain \vhich the husbandman trusts to the bosonil

cessful vegetation\ The labourer observes the change', and!
Btiticipates the harvest'; he watches the progress of nature'.!
and srniles at her influence\* while the man of contemplation^!
walks forth with the evening', amidst the fragrance of flow!
ers', and promises of plenty'; nor returns to his cottage till!
darkness closes the scene upon his eye\ Then cometn thtl
harvest', when the large wish is satisfied', and the granaries!
of nature', are loaded with the means of life', even to a luxur
of abundance^

4 The powers of language' are unequal to the descriptioil
of this happy season\ It is the camwZ of nature^: sun' ani
diade\ coolness' and quietude^ cheerfulness' and melody'/
love^ ana gratitude', unite to render every scene of summe
delightful. The d ivision of light^ and darkness' is one of th
kindest efforts of Omnipotent Wisdom\ Day^ and nightJ
yield us contrary blessings^; and', at the same time', oin^
«ach other', by giving fresh lustre to the delights ofboth^

' Ws venh

'Wfutatloii:

►koftheejen

viibpaaae

Port k I Chap. 5.

Descriptive Pieces,

if the crea-
nd st'asons\
3 was made
'heat\ 8um-
tinuc to the
ence to that
j3 with some
using novelty
are we U»

Amidst the glare of day^ and bustle of life', how could we
Bleep'? Amidst tlic gloom of darkness , liow could we labour?
5 How wise\ how benignant^ then', is the proper divi
sionM The hours of light', are adapted to activity'; and those
of darkness', to rest\ Ere the day is passed', exercise^ aiul
nature' prepare us for the pillow^ an(l by the time tiiat tl»e
'uornini? returns', we areag:ainabie to meet it with a smile\

; and every

MELMOTH.

Tiius', every season lias a cliann peculiar to itsell
niomejit alibrds some interesting mnovation\

SECTION II.

The cataract of JViagam, in Canada, JSlorth America.

THIS amazing fall of water', is made by tl»e river St. Law^

rence'j, in its passage from lake Erie' into tlie lake Ontario^

The St. Lawrence is one of the largest rivers in the world\

31' aiiu ijuti i|«and yet the whole oi its waters', is discharged in this place ,

charms' anuHby a lall oi'one hundred and filly feet perpendicular^ It i»

uch discrimir|^not easy to bring the imagination to correspond to the great-

incssof the scene\

2 A river extremely deep^ and rapid', and that serves to

rain the waters of almost all Nortli America into the Ailan-

isV and poet',

be undelightr
28 along with
ounty of that
e year\ ^ We
sity to adore,

ic Ocean', is liere poured precipitately down a ledge of
k'ocks', that rises', like a wall', across the whole bed of its
fetream\ The river', a little above', is near three quarters
ason of coT^^Rf a mile broad^: and the rocks', where it grows narrower',
s to the bosonimre four hundred yards over\

old reward8\H 3 Their direction is not straight across', but hollowing m-

ation"* That^rards like a horse-shoe^: so that the cataract', which bends

signs of suc-w the shape of the obstacle', rounding inwards', presents a

B change', andBind of theatre'^ the most tremendous in nature\ Just in

ess of nature',»e middle of this circular wall of waters', a little island', that

ontemplatiowMas braved the fury of the current', presents one of its points',

ranee of flow md divides the stream at top into two parts^; but they unite

his cottage tillMgain long before they reach the bottom\

en cometn thtB4 The noise of the fall', is heard at the distance of several

L the granariaja^es^; and the fury of the waters', at the termination of

fen to a luxurAeir fall', is inconceivable^. The dashing produces a mist', i

^at rises to the very clouds'; and which forms a raodt beatH

Ivil rainbow', when the sun shines\ It will be readily sup-

|>sed', that such a cataract entirely destroys th<? navigation

I the stream^ and yet some Indians, in their canoes , as it

Isaid', have ventured down it with safety \* goldsmito.

This veiOurine doum in arfety, is a report, bearing: upon its front to
I rofutatlon: that it should ever have found a place in the brain o. th«
Vt, of the ele^rant historian, is a matter of surprise. Canoes and other vea
I viU) puaengers, are, indeed, sometimes unfortunately drawn down tht

the descriptioi
[ure^: sun' ani
and melodyj
ne of sumroj^
,s' is one of w
(y^ and nigntj
Ve time', a»f
Ihts of ootA •

The English Reader,

Partt

■II

SECTION III.

The grotto of ^Antiparos.
OF all the subterraneouB caverns now known', the grotto
oTAntiparos^, is the most remarkable^ as well for its extent',
as for the beauty of its sparry incrustations^ This cele-
brated cavern was fii-st explored by one Magni', an Italian
traveller', about one hundred years ago', at Antiparos', an
uiconsiderable island of the Archipelago\

2 " Having been informed V' says he', " by the natives ol
Paros', tliat^ in the little island of Antiparos', which lies
about two miles from the former', a gigantic statue was to
be seen at the mouth of a cavern', (in that placed) it was re-
solved that we' (the French consul and himself') should pay
it a visit\ In pursuance of this resolution', after we had I
landed on the island', and walked about lour miles through
the midst of beautiful plains\ and sloping woodlands', we at
length came to a little hill', on the side of which' yawned a
n)ost horrid cavern\ which, by its gloom', at first', struck us
vnth terror', and almost repressed curiosity \

3 Recovering the first surprise', however', we entered
boldly', and had not proceeded above twenty paces', when!
the supposed statue of the giant', presented itselt to our view\ I
We quickly perceived', that what the ignorant natives hadl
been terrified at as a giant\ was nothing more than a sparrjj
concretion', formed by the water tlropplng liom the roof oil
the cave', and by degrees hardening into a figure', whiclii
tlieir fears liad formed into a monster. [

4 Incited by this extraordinary appearance', we were in*!
duced to proceed stiJl tiirther', in quest of new adventures inl
this subterranean abode\ As we proceeded', new wondenl
offered themselves^; the spars', formed into trees'* and shrubs'J
presented a kind of petrified grove^; some wliite', some §reen\|
and all receding in due perspective^ They struck us with thq
more amazement', as we knew them to be mere production
of nature', who', hitherto in solitude'', had', in her playful mo
ments', dressed the scene', as if li)r heroiwn annisement\"

5 " We had as yet seen but a few of the wonders of th
place^; and we were introduced only into the portico of thij
amazing temple\ In one corner of this half illuminated rej
cess', there appeared an opening of about three leet wide'f
which seemed to lead to a jjlacc totally dark', and Avhichon

awful declivity, but seliloni a vesii^c of t-itiier u ever afterwards seen. TN
etnnly moniiii.iri 'uiU, iuid tl, i toworiny riii'); irtHiuenDy take the desperd
'cop, and tor ever disai iitjar--£(//<'.

1 •> ■ Mr

C/top. 5.

Descriptive Pieeei,

<^f

of the natives assured us contained nothing^ more than a re-
servoir of water\ Upon this infcrniation', we made an ex-
periment', b/ throwing down some stones', which rumbling
along the sides of tlie descent for some time', the sound
seemed at last quashed in a bed of water\

6 In order', however', to be niore certain', we sent in a
Levantine mariner', who', by the jrromise of a good reward',
ventured', with a flambeau in his hand', into this narrow
aperture^ After contini'-ng v»ithin it for about a quarter of
an hour', he returned', bearing in his hand' some beautiful

lual' nor imi-
lace was full
xn wiuo^ .L/^»«w.v.. ...v.»».,».,.wx.» , . ,vx.vu.v.vi xii with him',
about fifty paces', anxiously and cautiously descending', by
a steep and dangerous way \

I 7 Finding', however', that we came to a precinice which
led into a spacious amphitheatre', (if I may so call it',) stiil
[deeper than any other part', we returned', and being provid-
ed with a 'ladder^ flambeau\ and other things to expedite
lour descent', our whole company', man^ by man', ventured
[into the same opening^; and', descending one after another',
|we at last saw ourselves all together in uie most magnificent
3art of the cavern\"

SECTION IV. /
The grotto of Jlntiparos^ continued.
" OUR candles being now all lighted up', and the whole
3lace completely illuminated', never could tlie eye be pre-
sented with a more glittering' or a more magnificent scene\
The whole roof bung with solid icicle8\ transparent as glass',
vtt solid as marble\ The eye could scarcely reaJi the lofty
iind noble c-eiling^; the sides were regularly torn«pd with
s'; and the whole presented the idea of a magnificent
Kieatre', illuminated with an immense profusion of lights\

2 The floor consisted ol' solid marble''; and', in several
[(laces', magnificent columns', thrones\ altars\and other ob-
ects', appeared', as if nature had designed to mock the curi-
isities of art\ Our voices', upon speaking\ or singing', were
edoubled to an astonishing loudness^; and upon the firing of
i gun', the noise and reverberations', were almost deafening^

3 In the midst of this grand amphitheatre', rose a concre-
\ou of about fifteen feet hi^h'. that', in some measure', re-
frnbled an altar^; from which , taking the hint', we caused
^ass to be celebrated there\ The beautiful columns that
liot up round the altar', appeared like candlesticks^, and
bay other natural objects' represented the customary oma
|ients of this rite V „ 02

■ir^

if'^'.

S' j-'-i'."; i|

' -if' '

t ^'^

37te English Reader,

Part 1.

. 4 " Below even this spacious grotto' there seemed anoilier
cavern^; down which I ventured with my former mariner',
and desi:enued about fifty paces by means of a rope\ I at
laatu^i* v'eJ at a small spot of level ground', where the bot-
tom appeared different Irom that of the amphitheatre', being
composed of soil clay', yielding to the pressure', and into which
I thrust a stick to the depth of six feet\ In this', however'
as above', numbers of the most beautilul crystalb were Ibrrn-
e(A\ one of which', in particular', resembled a tabled

5 Upon our egress from tliis ama/ing cavern', we per-
ceived a Greek inscription upon a rock at the mouth', but so
obliterated by time', that we could not read it distinctly^ It
seemed to import that one Antipaler', in the time of Alex-
ander', had come hither^; but whether he penetrated into
the depths of the cavern', he does not think fit to inform ,
us^." — ^I'his account of so beautilul and striking a scene'
may serve to give us some idea of the subterraneous wondew |
ofuature\ goldsmith.

SECTION V.
Earthquake at Cutanea.

ONE of the earthquakes most particularly described Inj
iiistory', is that which happened in the year 1693^; the da-i
mages of which', were chiefly lelt in Sicily\ but ite motion
was perceived in Germany^ France', and En^land\ It ex-f
tended to a circumference of two thousand six hundreiij
leagues^; chiefly affecting the seacoasts'. and great riversJ
zuore perceivable also upon the mountains , than in the valleys j

2 Its motions were so rapid', that persons who lay at theil
length', were tossed from side^ to side', as upon a rolliii'r
biuow\ The walls were dashed from their Ibundations^; aull
no fewer i\vi.\iJi(ty-four cities', with an incredible number cj
villages^, were either destroyed' or greatly damaged^ Thel
city of Catanea'', in particular', was utterly overthrowiu
A traveller who was on his way thither', perceived', at the im
taiice of some miles', a black cloud', like night', hanging o\«il
the place\ f

3 The sea', all of a sudden", be^an to roar^; mount MAvd\
to send forth great spires of name'; and soon alter a she
ensued', with a noise as if all the artillery in the world .
been at once discharijed^ Our traveller being obliged
alight instantl^r', felt himself raised a foot from the ground]
auu tumhig his eyes to the city', he witli amazeaient sail
nothin? but a thick cloud of dust in the air\ 1

4 The birds flew about astonished^; the sun was darkened]
die beasts ran howling from the hills^; and altliough the sho
did not continue alH>ve three minutes', yet near niocf

Chap»

thousan
Catanes
the prin
and not
remainii

IN the

tnere arr

into exis

from all e

&nd', witJ

moment \

at once in

millions ol

2 No I

Jcircuit of I

|done^: he

It first wil

lace of the

ind fixed I

jaid' "Ld

.3 Then

ins rose',

•egan theij

lie ground]

Itored witli

lade after]

4 He apl

feived his"

wld\ T[

d prono!

- , this nl

ang togetl

'V. •

.'V

Part \\ I Chap. 5.

Descriplioe Pieces,

'■m

led ano(/t€r
• mariner',
ope\ I at
;re the bol-
ltre^ being
I into wiiicn
, however'
were ibrm-

5le\

n', we per-
mlh'jbutso
stinctly^ U
me of Alex-
etrated into
fit to inform
ng a scene',
ous wonder!) |

OLDSMITH.

described in
693^; the da-i
ut its motion]
and\ It ex-
six hundred
great rivers;
in the valleys.
10 lay at then
ipon a roUuw
idations^; auil
ible numb^jl
naged\ The
overthrown I
'ed^attheai^
, hanging ov^

mount iEtnaj

atler a she

the world .

ing obliged

n the groimQj

nazeaient mi

thousand of the inhabitants of Sicily', perished in the ruins

GOLDSMlTIfc

SECTION VI.

Creation.
IN the progress of the divine works^ and government',
tnere arrived a period', in Aviiich this eartli', was to be callea

into existence\ When the

signal

nioraent', predestined

was darkenedj
ough the sho
ninst

neat

from all eternity', was come', the Deity arose in his mi^ht',
and', with a word', created the world\— What an illustrious
moment was that', when', from non-existence', there sprang
at once into being', this mighty globe', on which so many
I millions of creatures now dwell !

2 No preparatory measures', were required\ No ong
circuit of means', was employed^ "He spake', and it was
done^: he commanded', and it stood l'b;st\ 'I'he earth was
|at first without form', and vqid^; and darkness was on the

face of the deep\" The Almighty surveyed the dark abyss';
ind fixed bounds to the several di visions. of nature\ He
said', " Let there be light'; and there was lights"

3 Then appeared the sea', and the dry land\ The^noim
lins rose', and the rivers flovved\ Tfie sun\ and moon',

aegan their course in the skies\ Herbs^ and plants' clo'hea
he ground\ The air\ ♦he earth\ and the waters', were
|tored with their respective inhabitants^ At last', man was
lade after the image of God\

4 He appeared', walldng with countenance erect', and re
leived his Creator's benediction', as the ionl of this new

irorld\ The Almighty beheld his work when it was finished',
d pronounced it good\ Superior bein£:s saw', with won-
this new accession to existence^ '* The morning stars
mg together', and all the sons of God', uhouicd lor joy\"

BLAIK.

SECTION VIl.

Charity.
IX!HARITY is the same whh benevok nee' or love\ and is
\e term uniformly employed in the New Testament', to clc-
3te all the good afiiictions wliich we ouj^ht to bear towaras
t.e another*. It consists not in speculative ideas of general
)nevolence', floating in the head', and leaving the heart', ss
eolations too often do', untouched^ and cold'. Neither s
confined to that indolent good nature', which makes us rcsi
^ti8fied with being free from inveterate malice' >r ill- will :t

mx 1

■■ ■ s'

ir-

The English Reader.

Portl.

Chap. 6

our fellow-creatures', without prompting us to be of eeyvice 1 5^£ !;
to anv\ ■ "^^SU8t

rn. u__:*„/ :„ * :_-:„i„v^ jj_ jg J^^^^ properly

jg in the heart', as a
fountain whence all the virtues of benignity\ candour', for-

asm,

2 rrue charity', is an active principled
tingle virtue'; biit a disposition residing

bearance\ generosity

conipassion\ and UberaUty', flow', asj

so many native streams'. From general good-will to all', it|

extends its intluence particularly to those with whom wel
stand in nearest connexion', and who are directly within the]
sphere of our good offices^

3 From the country^ or comrmmity to v/hich we belong',
it descends to the smaller associations of neighbourhood^ re-|
lations\ and friends'; and spreads itself over thf whole circle)
of social and domestic life\ I mean not that Ic imports a|
promiscMOus undistinguished afieetion', wJiich gives everyl
man an equal title to our love'. Charity', if we should en-l
deavour to carry it so far', would be rendered an impracti-[
cable virtue\ and would resolve itself hito mere words']
without affecting the heart\

4 True charity attempts not to shut our eyes to the dis-j
tinction between good'' and bad men'; nor to warm omj
hearts equally to tliose who befriend\ and those who injm\
us\ It reserves our esteem lor good men', and our compl*
cency for our iriends\ Towards our enemies', it inspirei|
forgiveness^, humanity', and a solicitude for their welfare\ '
breathes universal candour' and liberality of sentiment\
forms gentleness of temper', and dictates affability of rhannersj

5 It prompts corresponding sympathies with them win
rejoice',
spise no man'

protiictor of the oppressed\ tl
mtercessor for offenders^ It is
lie spirit in the magistrate^ equity' and patience

and them who weeq\ It teaches js to slight' anddi

Charity is the comforter of the afflicted^ tin
the reconciler of differences',

,piit)
m

the

is faithfulness in the friend^

sovereign

and loyalty in tJij

judge\ moderation
subject^

6 lu parent '', it is care' and attent'on^: in children', \\\
revenmce' and siibm''.f>i.MiV In a word , it is the sonl
social life\ It is the siui that enlivens' and cheers' Ihe abodJ
of meR\ It is " like the dew of Hermon'," says the PsalmL'tJ
" and the de^/ thdt descended on tlse mountains of Zy>i|
where the Lord commanded the blessing', even life for evej
more\" , . blaik.|

SECTION VIII.
Prosnerity is redoubled to a good man.

NONE but the temperate', the rea'ii!ar\ and the virtno'i
know how *o enjoy prosperity\ They bring to its coiij

forts the

stop at tf

stransfers
priced ar
While rio
Iraind', pu
Ifruitioir.
, 2FeebI(
The selfisi
|their circit
redoubled
reflected I
iappy\ I
ichment c
feem^ and
riultiplied (
3 When
[he eye san
he poor thj
lelp him\
ime upon
)y^ Iwas
^as a fathe
searched o
4 Thus'^
lanted by t
its season
me\ He
^rt', which
ites neithei
IJree in the
fords frien
lired by
le shaded

GREATS

rows of li^

J proport

d experie

could not

\fote\ wii

Chap* 6. Descriptive Pieces, ■ 85

part 1. 1 fy^ the manly relish of a sound' uncomipted mind\ The>
f, . I stop at the proper point'', belbre enjoyment degenerates into
e ol 8e!?vice ■ disgust', and pleasure is converted into paiir. They are

,y\ flow'; as
n\\ to all', It
;h whom we
ly within the

we belong,
[)urhood\ re-
p whole circle

Ic imports"

l&uitioir.

2 Feeble are all pleasures in which the heart has no share^.
[The selfish gratifications of the bad', are both narrow in
[their circle', and short in their duration\ But prosperity is
■redoubled to a good man', by his gcnerout, use of it\ It is

reflected back upon him from every one whom he make?

happy\ In the mtercourse of domestic afl'ection\ in the at-

es-
essmgs

cHiiient of lriends\ the gratitude of dependants', the
eem'* and good-will of all who know hhn , he sees blessi
I gives everjKjjjji^iplied on every side\
ve should en-B 3 ^hen the ear heard me', then it blessed me^; and when
[ an invpracti-^jjg gyg ^^^y j^q/^ it gave witness to me^: because I delivered
"le poor that cried\ the fatherless?', and hhn that had none to
lelp him\ The blessing of him that was ready to perish
roe upon me', and I caused the widow's heart to sing with
y\ 1 was eyes to the blind', and feet was I to the lame^: I
as a father to the poor^; and the cause which I knew not',
searched out\"
4 Thus'^while the righteous man flourishes like a tree

nere worus,

^es to the dis-l

to warm ouil

se who injun\

d our cQTa\

s', it in8i)ii«|

ir weliare .

entiment\ 11

yofrhanners

th them wb

Ught' anddi

flerences',
le friend\ p«
atience in t
►yalty in tl

children', M

is the soul

ers' the abodj

the Psalm'u't]

aina r^\^ Zvnl

in life for eva

BliAlR*

an.

d the virtno'iil

ig to its coiij

ianted by the rivers of ivater', lie brings li)rth also his/»*«t^
kits season"*: and that fruit he brings lorth'^

lone'. He flourishes', not like

not for himself
a tree in some solitary de-

bt', which scatter-; its blossoms to the wind, andcommuni
Jites neither fruit' nor shade' to any living thing': but like
[tree in the midst of an inhabited country', which to smne
|brds friendly shelter', to others fruit^; which is not only
lired by all for its beauty'; hut blessed by the traveller far
je shade' J and by the hungry <br tlie sustenance it hath
;ren\ bl/iir.

SECTION IX.
On the beauties of the Psalms
GREATNESS confers no exemptu)n from tne cares^ and
rows of life'; its share of the.Ti'. fremiently bears amelan-
y proportion to ils exaltat,ioii\ This the monarch of
d experienced\ He sought in p^ety', that peace which
could not find in empire''; and alleviated the disquietudes
ttate', with t!*? exercjses of devoti'm'' His invaluable
ilros', convey tliose comforts toothers y which they afibrded
hmmtf.

W^ I

',<■- . '

T^e English Reader,

Pari 1. I ^%'"

2 Composed upon particular occawwiw'. yet designed for

feneral use^; deliverea out as services i'or Israelites under the
Mw\ yet noicss aiiapted to the circQinstHnces of CVtmtiaHs
under the Gospel; they present religion to us in the most

eng-aging

dress^; coniniunicating trutlis which philosophy

, in a style wliich podnf can never

made tlie vi'iiicle of propffecy', and

ion lends all its charms to paint the jG:I()ries ol'r-'(iemption\

[Calculated alike to profir and to please', they intijrm the

the affections', and entertain tiie

could, never investigate
equai^; while history is
a'cati
3 C

elevate

understanding^

ima-?iiiaiion\ Indited under tiic inP.ue

nee ofH'M^

, to vvliom
all lie^rts are known\ and all evnts Ibreknown', they suilj
mankind in all situations^: g-ratclul as the mttiina w-liich de-
scended from ahove', and conformed itself to every palate*.
4 The fairest pro(hicliens of human wit', after a few peru-
sals', like gathered Howers', Avitiier in our iiands', and lose!
their iVagrancy^: hut ihr.se unflidinir plants of paradi.se', be-l
come', as vre are accustomed to them', still more^ andmore'l
beauiiiUr; their bloom appears to l)e daily heightened'; freshl
odours are emitted', and new sweets extracted Iroir. theml
He wJio has on(;c vasted their excellences', will desire to taslel

(Jiem

and lie wiio tastes tiiem oftenest', will relJsiil

again
tliem best\

5 And now', could the author flatter himself, tliat am
one would take halfiUc pleasure in rt'flf/jH5- his work', wliiclf
he lias taken in n'riting" it\ he would not fear theJoss of liif
lahour\ The employment detached him from tlie hustit
-tnd hurry of life\ the din of polities', and the noise of folly |

flew av;ay f()r a season'; (
ear his dwelling^ He aros

care'

Vanity^ and vexation

disquietude' came not near his dwelling^ He arose', fresi
as the morning', to his task'; the silence of the niglit', invil;
ed him to pursue it^; and he can truly say', that fbod^ am
rest', were not preferred befi)re it\

6 Eve 7 psiiai improved infinitely Tipon his acquaintan
■with it 'j an;, no one g;!ve him uneasiness but the last^: I
then he grieved tliatliir work wasdone\ Happier hours tliai
those which iiave been spent in tliese meditations on the son2|
of Sion', he never expects to see in this Avorld\ Very p!ei
santly did they pass'; they moved smoothly' and swilll
along': for vvdien thus engaged', he counted no time\" Tin
are gone'; but they have left a relish^ and a fragrance upon ti
mind', and ttie rememL'rance of them is sweet', hornk.

SBXTION X.
Character of Alfred, At/jj?" of England.

THE merit of this prince', botn in private^ and public lili
may', with advantage', be set in opposition to that of ai

monan

nation^

comple

denomi

been ib

tion', tl

happily

were tli

other fn

2 He

with the

ance', iv

with tJie

Iwith tlie

[pacity^ t

[talents ffl

3 Natl

jof her ski

Ion him al

jof shape^

jcountenaj

jprived of

(and we w

nid with

Derceive

^vhich', a

2inpted\

rhest

prd

pypersor
«S8 imperil
rould hav<

P/iW 1 I ^^P' ^* Descriptive Pieces,

been Ibnd of delineating^, rather as a hction of their imagina
lion'', tlian in hones of ever seeijig it reduced to practice^: so
happily igpre all his virtues tempered together'; so justly
were they blended'; and so powerfullv did each prevent the
other from exceeding- its proper boun(ls\

2 He knew how to conciliate the most enterprising- spirit',
i with the coolest rnoderation^j the mtist obstinate persever-
ance', with tlie easiest flexibility'; the most severe justice,

I with the greatest lenity'; tlie greatest rigour in command',
with the greatest atiiibility of deportment'; the higliest ca-
pacity^ and inclination for science', with the most shining

[talents for action\

3 Nature, also', as if dj3siroiis that so bright a production
lofher skill' should be set in the fairest light, had bestowed
Ion him all bodily accomplishmrnts'; vigour of limbs\ dignity
lof shape'* and air', and a pleasant^ engaging', and open
Icountenance^ By living in that barbarous age', lie was de-
Iprived of historians worthy to transmit his fiime to posterity';
land we wish to see him delineated in more lively colours',

)articular strokes', that we mie-ht at leant
}erceive some of those small specks^ and blemishes', from
jvvhich', as a man', it is impossible he could be enlirely ex-
smpted'. HUME.

SECTION XI.
Character of Queen Elizabeth.

THERE are few jjersonages in history', who have been
lore exposed to the calumny of enemies\ and the adulation
[)f friends', than queen Elizabeth^; and yet there scarcely is
lay'', whose reputation has been more certainly determined by
Ihe unanimous consent of posterity\ The unusual length of
lier administration\ and the stroivg featuresof her character',

3re able to overcome all prejudices'; and', obliging her de-
Irictors to abate much of their invectives\ and her admirers
lewhat of their panegyrics', have', at last', in spite of po-
litical factions', and', Avhatis more', of religious animosities',
•reduced i

2
tietration',

kighest praises^; and appear not to have been surpassed by
Iny person who ever filled a throne^; a conduct less rigorous',
■888 imperious^ more sincere\ more indulgent to her people',
rould have been requisite to form a yet feet character', ^y the

;ill ■ \

The English Reader,

Parti.

force of her mind', she controlled all her more active^ and
stronger qualities , and prevented them from running into
excess^
3 Her heroism was exempted from all temerity^; her fru

less infirmities^; the rivalship ot'beauty\ the desire of adrai-
ration\ the jealousy of love^ and the sallies ol'anger\

4 Her singular talents for government', were founded
equally on her temper' and on her capacity\ Endowed with
a great command over hersell', she soon obtained an uncon-
trolled ascendency over the peopled Few sovereigns of Eng-
land succeeded to the throne in more difficult circumstances';
and none ever conducted the govermnent with so uniform
svccess' and felicity^

5 Though unacquainted with the practice of toleration',
the true secret for managing religious lactions', she preserv-
ed her people', by her superioi' prudence', from those confu-
sions in which theological controversy had involved all the
neighbouring nations^; and thougli her enemies were the
most powerlul princes of Europe', the mostactive\ the most
enterprising\ the ieast scrupulous', she was able', by her vi-
gour', to make deep impressions on their state'; her own
greatness rneanwhile remaining untouched' and unimpaired.

6 The Avise ministers^ and brave men' who flourished dur-
ing her reign', share the praise oi'her success^; but', instead
of lessening the applause due to her', they make great addi
tion to it\ They owed', all ol'them', their advancement t(|
her choice^j they were supported by her constancy'; and'j
Avith all their ability', they were never able to acquire an un-
due ascendency over her .

7 In her Himily^ in her court^, in her kingdom', she re
mained equally mistress\ The force of the tender passions]
was great over her', but the force of her mind was still si

perior'': and the combat which her victory visibly cost herl
serves onlv to display the firmness of her resolution', and th|
loftiness oi her ambitious sentiments\

8 The fame of this princess', though it has surmounted th
prejudices both of faction^ and of bigotry', yet lies still expel
8ed to another prejudice', which is more durable , becaur
more natural; and which', according to the difierent viex
in which we survej^ her', is capable either of exalting beyonJ
measure', or diminishing the lustre of her character'. Thi!
prejudice is founded on the consideration of her 8ex\

9 When we contemplate her as a woman', we are apt

Pwt 1. I C/ia;). 5.

Descriptive Pieces,

be struck vnih the highest admiration of her qualities' and
extensive caparity^; but we are also apt to require some
more sotiiiesti ordisposition\ Moine greater lenity of temper^
sonieofthoiie amiable weaknesses b}^ which her sex is dis-
tinguished^ But the true metiiod ol' estimating her merit',
is', to lay aside all these considerations', and to consider her
merely as a rational being', placed in authority', and intrust-
ed with tte government of mankind^

HUMEU

SECTION XII.

The slavery of ince.

THE slavery produced hy vice ,appea

under which il brings the sinner', to circ

appears in the dependency
circumstances of exter-

)mp!iances', and abject subjectionV

is able to rest upon himseir; and while he regards liis supe-
riors Avith proi)er delerence', neither debases himself by
cringing to them', nor is tempted to purchase their favour by
dishonourable means\ But the siimer has Ibdeited every
privilege of this nature\

2 His passions^ and habits', render him an absolute dc
pendant on the world', and the world's favour^; on the un
certain goods of fortune', and the fickle humours of men'.
For it is by thcye he subsiBts\ and ainong these his happi-
ness is sought', according as his passions determine him to
pursue ]:)leasures\ riches , or preferments^ Having no fund
jnthin himself whence to draw enjoyment', his only resource
is in things without\ His hopes^ and fears' all hang upon
the worlcT. He partakes in all its vicissitudes'; and is slia-
ken bv every wind of fortune\ This is to be', in the strictest,
sense , a slave to the worlds

3 Religioii^ and virtue', on the other hand', confer on the
mind principles of noble independence^ " The upright man
is satisfied Irom bimseir." He despises not the advantages
of f)rtune', but he centres not his happiness in them\ With
a moderate share of them', he can be contented^; and con-
tentment' is felicity\ Happy in his own integrity\ conscious!
of the esteem of good men\, reposing firm trust in the provi-
(lence\ and the promises of God', he is exempted from ser-
vile dependence on other thini^8\

4 He can wrap himself up m a good conscience', and look

TTPrwfiT v^H^^l^ forward', without terror', to the change of the world\ • Let

itw WrinH ^^^ things fluctuate around him as they please', he believes
fainn^ De>on« ^^^^,^ ^y^^^^ ji^j^g ordination', they shall be made to work

together in the issue for his goodS and therefore', having
much to hope from God\ and little to fear from the world ,

rh:

The English Reader,

Part 1.

he can be easy in everv stated One who pnsoc8«es within
hiuiHelfsuch an establisfimentof min(K, is truly rree\

6 But shall I call that man free^ who has nothing that is
his own', no proijcrty assured'; wliose very heart is not Ids
own', but rendered the appendage of external things', and
the sport of'fijrtune' ? Is that man free^ let his outward con-
dition be ever so splendid', whom his imperious passions' de-
tain at their call', whom they send forth at their pleasure', to
drudg-c and toil', and to beg his only enjoyment Irom the ca*
sualties of the world'?

6 Is he Iree', who must flatter and lie to compass his ends ';
wlio must bear with this man's caprice', and that man's
scorn'; must profess friendship where, lie hates', and respect
where lie contemns'; who is not at liberty to appear in his
mvn colours', nor to speak his own sentiments ; who dares
not be honest', lest lie should he poor'!

7 Believe it', no chains bind so hard\ no fetters are so
heavy', as those which fasten the corrupted heart to tl^us
U'eaclierous world'; no dependence is more contemptible
than tliat under which the vohiptuous\ the covetous\ or the
ambitious man', Ues to the means of pleasure^ ^ain', or pow-
er\ Yet this is the boasted iilierty', which vice promises',
»R the recompense of setting us free from the salutary re
siraiiils ol'virtue\ blair.

SECTION XIII.

The man of integrity.

IT will not take much time to delineate the character of
die man of integrity, as by its nature it is a plain one, and
easilv understood. He is one who makes it his constant rule
to ft)llow the road of duty, according as the word of God, and
tlie voice of his conscience, point it out to him. He is not
gtiided merely by afiections, which may sometimes give the
colour of virtue to a looae and unstable character.

2 The upright man is guided by a fixed principle of mind,
vhich determines him to esteem nothing but what is honoura-
ble ; and to abhor whatever is base or unworthy, in moral con-
duct. Hence we find liim ever the same ; at all times, the trus-
ty friend, the affectionate relation, the conscientious man of
business, the pious worshipper, the public-spirited citizen.

3 He assumes no Iwrrowed appearance. He seeks no
mask to cover him ; for he acts no studied part ; but he is
indeed wliat he appears to be, full of truth, candour, and hu-
manity. In all his pursuits, he knows no-path but the fair
and direct one ; and would much rather fail of success, than
flUain it hv renroachful means.

Chap. 5.

DesLripiive Pieces.

4. He never shows us a smiling cou;>tenance, while h^^r,
meditates evil against us in his heart. He never praises us
among our friends, and then joins in traducing us among'
our enemies. We shall never find one part of his character
at variance with another. In his manners, ho is simple and un- «
aflbcted ; in all liis proceedings, open and consistent. — blaia.

SECTION XIV.

Gentleness.

1 BEGIN with distinguishing true gentleness im pnssive
tameness «)f spirit, and from unliniitcd conij > e with the
manners of others. That passive lameness, winch suhmits^
without opposition, to every encroachment ol"the violent ami
assuming, forms no part of Christian duty ; but, on the con
ti-ary, is destructive of general happiness and order. That
unlimited complaisance, which, on every occasion, falls in
with the opinions and manners of others, is so far from
being a virtue, that it is iiself a vice, and ihe parent of many
vices.

2 It overthrows all steadiness of principle ; and produces
that sinful conformity with the world, which taints the whole
cliaracter. In the present corrupted state of human mari-
ners, always to assent, end to comply, is the very worst maxim
we can adopt. It is impossible to support the purity and
dignity of Christian morals, wthout oi)})(>sing the world or
variov.s occasions, even thoiigh we should stand alone.

3 That gentleness therefore which belongs to virtue, is lb
be carefully distingiiished from tlie mean spirit of cowards,
and the ft^vning assent of sycophants. It renounces no just
right from fear, h, gives up no mijwrtant truth f "om flattery.

It is indeed not only consistent with a firm mind, but it n€»- "
cessarily requires a manly spirit, and a fixed principle, in or-
der to give it any real value. Upon this solid ground only,
tlie polish of gentleness can with advantage be superinduced.

4 It starids'opposed, not to the most determined regard for
virtue and truth, but to harshness and severity, to pride and
arrogance, to violence and oppression. It is, properly, that
part of the great virtue of charity, which makes us unwilling
to give pain to any of our brethren. Compassion prompts
us to relieve their wants. Forbearance prevents us from re*
laliating their injuries. Meel^ness restrains our angry pas-
sions ; candour, our -severe judgments.

5 Gentleness corrects whatever is oficnsive in our man-
ners ; and by a constant train of humane attentions, studies
to alleviate the burden of common misery. Its office, there-
fore, is extensive. It is not, like some, other virtues, calleJ

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ibHh only on peculiar emergencies ; but it Ls continuaDy in
action, when wc are engaged in intercourse with men. It
nusht to form our address, to reflate our speech, and to
dimise itself over our whole behaviour.

6 We must not, however, confound this gentle " wisdom
which is from above," with that artificiiil courtesy, that
studied smoothness of manners, which is learned in the school
of the world. Such accomplishments, the most frivolous and
empty may possess. Too often thev are employed by the
Artful, as a snare ; too often affected by the hard and un-
feeling, as a cover to the baseness of their nuuas. "We cannot,
at the same time, avoid observing the homage which, even
in such instances, the world is constrained to pay to virtue.

7 In order to render society agreeable, it is found necessary
to assume somewhat, tliat may at least carry its appearance.
Virtue is the universal charm. Even its shadow is courted,
when the substance is wanting. The imitation Of its form
has been reduced into an art ; and in the commerce of life,
tlie first study of all who would either gain the esteem, or
win the hearts of others, is to learn the speech, and to adopt
tlie manners, of candour, gentleness, and humanity.

8 But 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 fi-om the heart, can
render even external manners truly pleasing. ^ For no as-
sumed behaviour can at all times hide the real character. In
that unafiected civility which springs from- a gentle mind,
there is a charm infinitely more powerful, than in all tlie
studied manners of the most finished courtier.

9 True gentleness is founded on a sense of what we owe
to HIM who made us, and to the common nature of which we
all share. It arises from reflections on our o\Am failings and
wants ; and from just views of the condition, and the duty of
man. It is native leelingj heightened and unproved by prin-
ciple. It is the heart which easily relents; which feels for
every thing t' at is human ; and is backward and slow to in-
flict the least wound.

10 It is affable in its dress, and mild in its demeanour; ever
ready to oblige, and willing to be obliged by others ; breath-
ing habitual kindness towards friends, courtesy to strangers,
long-suffering to enemies. It Exercises authority with mode
ration; administers reproof with tenderness; confers favours
;vith ease and modesty. It is unassuming in opinion^ and
temperate in zeal. It contends not eagerly about trifles;
slow (o contradict, and still slower to blame ; but prompt to
aila^ dissention, and restore peace.

Part 1

nually in
nen. It
L, and to

'wisdom
;sy, that
he school
)l9iis and
id by the
and un-
e cannot,
ich, even
3 virtue,
necessary
pearance.
3 courted,
* its form
ce of life,
jsteem, or
i to adopt

•

ipfagood
eart; and,
leart, can
"or no as-
•acter. In
ntle mind,
in all tlie

at we owe
which we
lilings and
he duty oi
!d by prin-
1 feels for
slow to in-

nour;ever
; breathr
strangers,
vith mode
ers favours
)inion, and
mt tnfles;
prompt to

Chap. 6.

Patheiii^Pieces.

11 It neitlier intermeddles unnecessarily with the affairs^,
nor pries inguisitiveiv into tlie secrets of others. It delightH
above all things to alleviate distress ; and, if it caimot dry up
the falling tear, to sooth at least the grieving heart. Where
it has not the power of being useful, it is never burdensome.
It seeks to please, rather than to shine and dazzle ; and con-
ceals with care that superiority, either of talents or of rank,
which is oppressive to those who are beneath it.

12 In a word, it is that spirit, and that tenor of manners,
which the gospel of Christ enjoins, when it commands us,
** to bear one another's burdens; to rejoice with those who
rejoice, and to weep with those who weep; to please everv
one his neighbour for his good; to be kind and tender
hearted ; tol)e pitiful and courteous ; to support the weak,
»nd to be patient towards all men." / blair.

CHAPTER VI. V; ,

,^, , PATHETIC PIECES

SECTION I.
Trial and execution of the Earl o/" Strafford, isho fella

sacrifice to tlie violence
Charles the First.

of tlie Umes, in the reign of

THE earl of Strafford defended himself against the accu-
sations of the house of Commons^ with all tlie presence of
mind\ judjgment\ and sagacity', that could be expected from
innocence' and ability\ His children were placed beside
him' as he was thus delendin^ his life', and the cause of his
royal master^ After he had'j m a long and eloqlient speech',
delivered Avithout premeditation', confuted all tlie accusations
of his enemies', he thus drew to a conclusion^.

2 " But', 'my lords', I have troubled you too long^ : longer
tlian I should have done', but for the sake of these dear
pledges', which a saint in heaven has left me\" — Uptm this he
paused^; dropped a tear^ ; looked j^ipon his children', and pn>-
ceeded\— "What I forfeit for myself^, is a trifle^ : that my indis
cretions should reach my posterity', wounds me to the hearth

3 "Pardon my infirmity \ — Somcthin^Ishouldhaveadded',
but I am not able^ ; and therefore I let it pass\ And now',
my lords', for myself \ I have long been taught', that the
afflictions of this life' are overpaid bv that eternal weight oi
glory', which awaits the innocents And so', my lords',
even so', with the utmost tranquillity', I submit myself to
your jud^ent', whether that judgment be life' or death^ :
not mu will', but thine' s O God', be done^ t"

4 His eloquence^ and innocence', induced those judges to

i::*

p: . ' '/d

.'. i ■ i

tr4

7%e English Reader.

Parth

pity', who were the most zealous to condemn him^. Ths
Ming^ himself went to the house ol' lords^ and spoke for somoe
• time in his defence^ : but tiie spirit of vengeance', which had
been chained for eleven years', was now roused^; and no
thing but his blood could give the people satisfaction^ He
was condemned by both houses of parliament^ ; and nothing
remained but for the king to give his consent to the bill of
aU:ainder\

5 But in the present commotions', the consent of the king'
would very easily be dispensed with^ : and imminent danger
might attend his refus8il\ Charles', however', who loyed
Strafford tenderly', hesitated', and seemed reluctant^ ; trying
every expedient to put off so dread iul an office', as that of
signmg the warrant for his execution^ While he continued
m this agitation of mind\ and state of suspense', his doubts
were at last silenced by an act of great magnanimity in the
condemned lord^

6 He received a letter from that unfortunate nobleman',
desiring that his life might be made a sacrifice to obtain re-
conciliation between the king' and his people^ : adding', that
he was prepared to die^ j and that to a willing mind', there
could be no injury\ This instance of noble generosity' waa
out ill repaid by his master', who complied with his request^
He consented to sign the fatal bill by commission', and Straf-
ed was beheaded on Tower-hill'l behaving with all that
composed dignity of resolution', which was expected from

his character

GOLDSMITH.

SECTION II.

4^n eminent instance of tme fortitude.

ALL who have been distinguished as servants of God', or
benefactors of men^ ; all who', in perilous situations', have
acted their part with such honour as to render their names
illustrkws through succeeding ages', have been eminent for
fortitude of mind\ Of this we nave one conspicuous ex-
ample in the apostle Paul', whom it will be instructive for us
to view in a remarkable occurrence of his life\

2 Afler having long acted as the apostle of the Gentiles',
his mission called him to go to Jerusalem', where he knew
that he was to encounter the utmost violence of his eneniies\
Just before he set sail', he called together the elders of his
iavourite church at Epnesus'. and', in a pathetic speech',
which does great honour to his character, gave them his
last farewell^ Deepljf affected by their knowledge of tht
«ertam dangers to wmch he was exposing himself', all tht
aatQB)bly were filled with distress', and melted into tears^

Parth

m\ ThB
;e for sontt
which had
^ ; and no
itxon\ Hb
nd nothing
Q tlie bill 01

of the king'
lent danger
, who loved
ant^; trying
/, as that of
le continued
', his doubts
imity in the

nobleman',

obtain re-
idding', that
minds there
nerosity' was

1 his request .
a' and Straf-
with all that
cpected from

OLDSMITH.

Chap, 6

Pathetic Pieces,

«S

8 ol God', or
ations',
. their names
n eminent for
ispicuoua ex-
ructive for va

the Gentiles',
here he knew
his enemies'.
_^ elders of his
hetic speech',
jave them his
wledge of th#
jnseff', aU th«
into tears^

3 The circumstances were such', as mignt have conveyed
dejection even into a resolute mind ; and would have totaOy
overwhelmed the leeble\ " They all wept sore', and lell on
Paul's neck', and kissed him^; sorrowing most of all for the
words which he spoke', that they should see lus face no
more\"— What were then the seutiments\ what was the
language', of this great' and good man'? Hear the worda
wluch spoke his firm' and undaunted mind\

4 " Behold'. I go bound in the spirit', to Jerusalem', not
knowing the tnirigs that shall befall me there'; save that the
Holy Spirit witnesseth in every city', saving', that bonds^
and affiictions' abide me\ But none of these things move
iiie^; neither count I my life dear to myself, so that 1 might
finish my course with joy', and the ministry which I have
received of the Lord Jesus', to testify the gospel of the grace
ofGod\»

5 There was uttered the voice\ there breathed the spirit', >
of a brave' and virtuous man\ Such a man knows not what
it is to shrink from danger', when conscience points out his
path\ In that path he is determined to walk', let the conse-
quences be what thev may\ This was the magni^imous
behaviour of that great apostle', when he had persecution^ and
distress' full in view\

6 Attend now to the sentiments of the same excellent man'.

when the time of his last suffering approached'; and remark
the majesty^ and the ease', with which he looked on death^
" I am now ready to be offered', and the time of my deparW
ure is at hand\ I have fought the good %ht\ I have
finished my course\ I have kept the faith\ Henceforth
there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness^"
7 How many years of life does such a dying moment ovei^
have I ^^anceM Who would not choose', m this manner', to go of)
the stage', with such a song of triumph in his mputh', rather
than prolong his existence through a wretched old age',
stained with sin' and shame\'

BLAIR.

SECTION in.

The good man's comfort in affliction,

THE religion of Christ not only arms us with fortitude
against the approach of evil'; but', supposing evils to fall
upon us with their heaviest pressure', it lightens the load
by many consolations to which others are stranger8\ White
bad men trace', in the calamities with which they are visited',
the h^d of an offended sovereign', Christians are taught to
view them as the well-intended chastisements of a mereifiil
Father'.

.Ut

The English Reader,

Part 1.

conscience

t^ieeV . , , . .....

to themselves the comfortable promises with which the gos-
pel abounds\ Thev discover in these the happy issue de-
creed to their troubles', and wait with patience tillProvi-
xlence shall iiave accomplished its great' and good designs^

3 In the mean time', Devotion op^ns to them its blessed
and holy sanctuary^: that sanctuary in which the wounded
heart is healed', and the weary mind is at rest^; where the
cares of the world are forgotten^ where its tumults are hush-
ed', and its miseries disappear^; where greater objects open
to our view than any winch the world presents^: where a
more serene sky shines', and a sweeter and calmer light
l>eams on the atnicted heart\

4 In those moments of devotion', a pious man', pouring
out his wants^ and sorroAVs' to an Almighty Supporter^ feci
tliat he is not left solitary^ and forsaken' in a vale of wo\
God is with him ; Christ^ and the Holy Spirit' are with him^;
andtliough he should be bereaved of every friend on earth',
he can look up m heaven to a Friend that will never desert
him\ ^ ' BLAI&.

SECTION IV.
The close of life.
WHEN" we contemplate the close of life'; the termination
ot man's designs\and hopes'; the silence that^ now reigns

among

those who', a little" while ago' were so busy\ or so I

gay'; who can avoid being touched with sensations at once
awful' and tender^' What heart but then warms with the
glow of humanity \^ In whose eye does not the tear gather',
on revolving the fate of passing' and short-lived mair?

2 Behold the poor man who lays down at last the burden
of his wearisome life\ No more shall he groan under the
load of poverty' and toil\ No more shall lie hear the inso-
lent calls of tine master', from whom he received his scanty
wa^es\ No more shall he be raised from needful slumberj
on nis bed of straw', nor be hurried away from his hoinelVj
meal', to undergo the repeated labours of the day\

3 While his humble grave is preparing\ and a few poor]
and decayed neighbours are carrying him thither', it is gtHxl
for us to think', that this man too was our brother^; that fori
him the aeed' and destitute wife\ and the needy children',
noAV weejv: that', neglected as he was by the world', b|
possessed', perhaps', both a |ound understanding', and
worthy heart^; and is now carried by angels to rest in Abra
ham's bosom^

Pari 1.

ch a good
I am with
rhey apply
•h the gt>8-
w issue ae-
e till Provi-
d designs^
t its messed
he vvounded
• where the
its are hush-
objects open
ts^' where a
calmer light

^an', pouring
Dporter', feels

vale of wo .
ire with him ;
;nd on earth ,

never desert

BLAIB.

temunation
it now reigns
) husy\ or so
lations at once
ravms with the
e tear gather ,
edmair? ,
ast the burden
roan under the I
; hear the mso-l
ived his scaJityl
eedful slumbetl
rom his hoiflelyl

day\ L

md a few poor!

ther', it 18 gtf I
other^; that fot
needy childreni
the worlds w|
tanding/, and Jl
to rest m Abrai

Chap, 6.

Pathetic Pieeu,

4 At no great distance from him', the grave is opened to
receive the rich and proud man\ For^ as it is said with
>mphasis in the parable^ " the rich man also died^ and was

kiiiaiA/l^ " Ho alert /lio/l* T-Tio inoliaa *M>nir/an#'A/'l no^ \\iit

buried\" He also died\ His riches prevented not his

ing the same late with the poor man^; perliaps'',
Jixury , they accelerated his doom\ Then', indeed', " tRe

lliarins

', through

laourners go about the streets^;" and', while', in all the pomp
and magnificence of wo'j his funeral is preparing', his heirs ,
impatient to examine his will', are looking on one another
with jealous eyes', and already beginning to dispute about
the division of his substance'.

5 One day', we see carried along', the coffin of the smiling
infant': the flower just nipped as it began to blossom in tlie
parent s view': and the nextday^ we behold the^oung man\
or voung woman', of blooming form^ and promising hopes',
laid in an untimely graved While the funeral is attended by
a numerous' unconcerned company', who are disccmrsin^ to
one another about the news of the day\ or the ordinary aflairs
of life', let our thoughts rather follow tx) the house of mourn-
ing', and represent to themselves what is passing tliere\

6 There we should see a disconsolate famify', sittino* in
silent grief, thinking of the sad breach that is made in their
little society^; and with tears in their eyes', looking to the
chamber that is now left vacant', and to every memorial that
presents itself of their departed friend\ By such attention to
the woes of others', the sdfish hardness of our hearts will be
griidually sollened', and melted down into humanity^

7 Another day\ we follow to the grave', one who', in old
age\ and after a long career of life', has' in full maturity sunk
at last into rcst\ As we are going along to tlie mansion of the
dead', it is natural for us to think^ and to discourse', of all
the changes which such a person has seen during the course
ofhislife'^. He has passed', it is likely', through varieties of
fortune^ He has experienced prosperity' and adversity^
He has seen families^ and kindreds' rise and fall\ He has
seen peace' and war' succeeding in their turns^; the face of his
country undergoing many alterations'; and the very city in

I which he dwelt', rising', in a manner', new around him\

8 Afler all he has beheld', his eyes arc now closed for
I ever\ He was becoming a stranger in the midst of a new
I succession of men\ A race who knew hirn not', had arisen

\Th

and replenished *, by troops of succeeding pilgrims\
I vain' and inconstant world^! fleeting^ and transii

4 '.

vL.

-v^

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Tht English Reader.

Part 1.

Iire\ When will the sons of men learn to think of tliee as
they oughO? When will they learn humanity Irom the af-
flictions of their brethren'; or moderation^ and wisdom',
from tiie sense of their o\vn fugitive state\'' blaik.

SECTION V.
JE^aUed societi/i and the renetoal of virtuous connexiom, two
sources of future felicity .
BESIDES the felicity which springa IVom perfect love',
there are two circumstances which particularly enhance the
blessedness of that " multitude who stand before the throne^;"
these are', access to the most exalted society', and renewal
of the most tender connexions^ The former is pointed out
in the Scripture', by " joining the innumerable company of
angels', and the general assembly and church of the first-
born^ j by sitting down with Abraham\ and Isaac ^, and Ja-
cob', m the kingdom of heaven^;" a promise which opens the
sublimest prospects to the human mmd\

2 It allows good men to entertain the hoije', that', sepa-
rated from all the dre^s of the human mass', from that mixed
and polluted crowd m the midst of which they now dwell',
thev shall be permitted to mingle with prophets\ patriarchs',
ana apostles\ with all those great and illustrious spirits', who
have shone in former ages as the servants of God , or the be-
nefactors of men^; whose deeds we are accustomed to cele-
brate^; whose steps we now follow at a distance'; and whose
names we pronounce with veneration^

3 United to this high assembly', the blessed', at the same
time', renew those ancient connexions with virtuous friends',
which had been dissolved by death\ The prospect of this
awakens in ihe heart' the most pleasing, arid tender senti-
ment that perhaps can fill it', in thip mortal state\ For of all
the sorrows which we are here doomed to endure', none is
80 bitter as that occasioned by the fatal stroke which sepa
rates us', in appearance for ever', from those to which eitner
nature'' or friendship' had intimately joined our hearts\

4 Memory', from time to time',. renews the anguish^; opens
the wound which seemed once to have been closed'; and', by
recalling joys that are past^ and gone', touches every spring of
painful sensibility^ In these agonizing moments', how reliev-
ing the thought^ that the separation is only temporary\ mrt
eternal'; that th6re is a time to come of reunion with those
with whom our happiest da)r8 were spenO; whose joys^ and
lorrows'once were ours^; whose piety ^ and virtue'cheered'and
encouraged us': and from whom', afler we shall have landed
on the peaceful shore where they dweU', no revolutions ot

PaHl.

»f thee as
n the af-
wisdora',

xionSi two

feet love',
nlmnce the
,e throne^;
nd renewal
pointed out
company of
3f the first-
icS and Ja-
;h opens the

, that', sepa-
nthatmLxed

now dwelr ,
'patriarchs ,
i spirits', who
^,orthehe-
)med to cele-

; and whose

, at the same
uous friends ,
ospectofthis
tender senti-
te\ For of all
lure', none is
which sepa
which either
> hearts\
ftguisV; opens
sed'; and% hy
'very spring 01
rs'jhowreliev-

UpoTary\n«t
on with those

tiose joys' w»5
ie'cheered'and]

lUhavelandert,
frevoluti^Mw

CAop. 6.

Pathetic Piecet.

nature shall ever be able to part us moreM Such is the societv
of the blessed above\ Of such are the multitude composed ,
who " stand before the throne\" blair.

SECTION VI.
The elemeney and amiable character of the patnarch joseph.

NO human character exhibited in the records ofScripture,
is more remarkable and instructive than that ol* the patriarch
Joseph. He is one whom we behold tried iu all the vicien
fiitudes of fortune; from the condition of a slave, rising to be
ruler of the land of Egypt ; and in every station acquiring",
by his virtue and wisdom, favour with God and man. When '
overseer of Potiphar's house, his fidelity was proved by
stronff temptations, which he nonourably resisted.

2 When thrown into prison by the artifices ol' a false wo
man, his inte^ty and prudence soon rendered him conspi-
cuous, even m that dark mansion. When called into the
presence of Pharaoh, the wise and extensive plan which he
formed for saving the kingdom from the miseries of impend
in§ famine, justly raised him to a high station, wherein his
abilities were eminently (i.splayed in the public service.

3 But in his whole history, there is no circinnstance so
strikinw and interesting, as his behaviour to his brethren who
had sold him mto slavery. The moment in which he made
himself known to them, was the most critical one of his life,
and the most decisive of his character. It is such as rarely
occurs in the course of human events ; and is calculat -A to
draw the highest attention of all who are endowed witu nay
degree of sensibility of heart.

4 From the whole tenor of the narration, it apjwars, that
I though Joseph, upon the arrival of his brethren in Egypt,

made himself strange to them,,, yet, from the beginning, he
intended to discover himself; and studied so t«) conduct the
discovery, as might render the surprise of joy complete. For

[this end, by affected severity, he took measures for bringing

Idowft into Egypt all his father's children.

I 5 They were now arrived there ; and Benjamin among"

|tlie rest, who was his yoiuiger brother by the same mother,
uid was particularly beloved by Joseph. Him he threaten-
ed to detain; and seemed willing to allow the rest to depart-
This incident r<yiewe(i their disti^ess. They all knew their
lather's extreme ahj^ipt/ aljout'.t.l»e safety orBenjnmin, and
pith what diffici>lty:b(? ,had vield^d 'to* Ms ynde^taldng this
|oumey. •- . , .

6 Should 'ne bd pWveiit(»d fnwi, retijrnlnj:, they dwaded
bat grief would -ovefr^d-vTeiJ the'Qldman*^ 8jiir!t»,iindprovo

ll*.

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The English Reader,

Pmih

fatal to hia life. Judah, therefore, who had particularly urged
the necessity of Benjamin's accoinpanyins' his brothers, and
had solemnly p!ed<^e(i himseii' to their lather ibr his safe
return, craved, upon this occasion, an audience of the gover-
nor, and ^ave Inm a iiiil account ot' the circumstances of
Jacob's family.

7 Nothing can be more interesting and pathetic than this
discourse ol' Judaii. Little knowing to whom he spoke, he
paints in all the colours of simple and natural eloquence, the
distressed situation of the a^ed patriarchy hastening to the
close of life ; long afflicted lor the loss ol a favourite son,
whom he supposed to have been torn in pieces by a beast ot
prey; labouring now under anxious concern about his
youngest s-^n, the cliild of his old age, who alone was left
alive of his mother, and whom nothing but the calamities of |
severe famine could have moved a tender fiither to send from
home, and expose t() the dangers of a foreign land.

8 If we bring him not back with us, we shall bring do^vn I
tlie gray hairs of thy servant, our I'ather, with sorrow to the
grave. I pray thee therefore let thy servant abide, instead
of the young man, a bondman to jur lord. For how shall 1
go up to my father, and Benjamin not with me ? lest I 8ee|
uie evil that shall come on my father."

9 Upor. this relation, Joseph could no longer restrain him-
self. The tender ideas of his father, and his father's house,!
of his ancient home, his country, and his kindred, of the dis-l
tress of his family, and his own exahation, all rushed tool
strongly upon his mind to bear any farther concealmentj
" H*i cried. Cause every man to go out from me ; and hel
wept aloua." |

10 The tears which he shed were not tlie tears of griefl
They were the burst of affection. They were the efHisioml
of a heart overflowing with all the tender sensibilities of na-l
ture. Formerly he had been moved in the same manner!
when he first saw his brethren before him. " His boweJ
yearned upon them ; l.e sought for a place where to weepJ
He went mto iiis chamber ; and then washed his face ar '
returned to them."

11 At that period, his generous plans were not completed
But nrw, when there was no farther occasion for constralfl
ing liimself, he gave free vent to the styon^^f emotions of 1
hea^ t ' The JiBst' mWiijter t^ 'the;k\ng o''jffi3!ryi>t.4vas not ashaml
ed to

> ' The jiBst- mWiijter t^ 'tjie;k\ng o.''%yjxt4va
jhcw.'that he;ftlt^4i ipm\ ami H i)Wtht*r.

. . - 1 . . "Hewepl

ah Hir', a!nd iiai Egyptians *an(l tf le house of Pharaoh heati
l>iro,." ... r . , ;,s •• j*^;, 1; ;'i •••;; J

12^ llie jQtsfJvord's whicfh' hss^wciiiijg- vh^vr^allowed hii

m.t.

P«H1. I Chap. 6,

Descnptive Pieces,

101

Bulafly urged
brothers, and
Ibr his sale
ofthegover-
umstances ot

letic than this
lie spoke, he
sloqwence, the
stening to tlie
favourite son,
sbya-heastot
jrn about his
alone was lett ,
le calamines ot |
erto send from

land. , I
hallhringdoAW

1 sorrow to the

, abide, insteau

For how shall I

me? lest I see

rex restrain him-
3 father's house,!
lred,ofthedH
all rushed txwl
er concealmenti
>m me; and hel

le tears of grietl

ere the effusiowl

nsibilities of m

same manner!

"His boweisl

where to weepJ

ted his face ar^

re not completed
on for constrain
g emotions ot r
vt.ivas not ashaw]
tht»r. "HeW
Pharaoh heafl

I I** '*'* I

U^in^aUowed m

to pronounce, are the most suitable to such an afiecting situ*
ation that were ever uttered ;—" I am Joseph ; dotli my fa-
ther yet live?" — What could he, what ouffht he, in that im-
passioned moinent, to have said more? This is the voice of
nature herself, s|)eakin{^ her own language; and it Dcne-
tratcs the Iieart : no iM)n)p of expression ; no parade of Kind*
ness ; but strong aiii^ction hastening to utter what it strongly
ielt.

13 " His brethren could not answer lilm ; for tljey were
troubled at his presence." Their silence is as expressive of ,
those emotions ol' repentance and shame, which, on this
amazing discovery, filled their breasts, and stopped their ut-
terance, as the lew words which Joseph speaks are expres-
sive of the generous agitations which struggled lor vent
witbin him.

14 No painter could seize a more striking moment for dis-
playing the characteristical features of the human heart, than
what is here presented. Never was there a situation of more
tender and virtuous joy, on the one hand ; nor, on the other, '
of more overwhelminff confijsion and conscious guilt. In the
fiimple narration of the sacred historian, it is set before us

I with greater energy and higher efiect, than if it had been
wrought up with all the cok)uring of the most admired mo-
dern eloquence. blair.

SECTION VII.

ALTAMONT.

\ThefoUomnff account of an affecting; mournful exit, is rela-
ted hy Dr. Young; who was present at the melancholy scene.
I THE sad evening before the death of tiie noble youth,
jwhose last hours sus:gested the most solemn and awful re-
lllections, I was with him. No one was present, but his
physician, and an intimate whom he loved, and whom he
lad ruined. At my coming in, he said, " You and the phy
Bician are come too late. 1 have neither life nor hope. You
3th aim at miracles. You would ra,ise the dead !"

2 Heaven, I said, was merciful — "Or," exclaimed he, — " I
pould not have been thus guilty. What has it not done to

and to save me ! — I have been too strong for Onmipo-

ence! I have plucked down ruin." 1 said, the blessed

ledeemer. — " Hold ! hold ! yeu wound me '.—That is the
ck on which I split : I denied his name '."

3 Refusing to hear any thing from me, or take any thing '
.t)m the physician, he lay si'ent, as far as sudden darts of pain
ronld permit, till the clock struck : Then with vehemence he

Ixclaimed, "Oh! tune! time! it is fit thou shouldst thus
|trike thy murderer to the heart! —How art th,ou ^ed for

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Hie Englith Reader,

Part 1.

■ 1

i'!

'I'll!

ever ! — A month ! Oh, for a single week ! I ask not for veare!
thouffh an age were too little for the much I have to do.''

4 On my saying, we could not do too much: that heaven

Was a blessed place " So n;uch the worse. — 'Tis lost !

'tis lost !— Heaven is to me the severest pai't of hell !" Soon

afler, I proposed prayer. " Pray you that can, I never

prayed. I cannot i)rHy — nor need I. Is not heaven on my
side already? It closes with my conscience, lis severest
strokes but second niv own."

5 Observing that Ills friend was much touched at this,
even to tears— (who could forbear? I could not)— with a
most atrcclionate look, he said, " Keep those tears ibr thyself.
I have undone thee.— Dost thou weep lor nie? That is cruel.
What can pain nie more ?"

6 Here las friendj too much affected, \vould have lefl him.
" No, stay— thou still mayst hope; therefore hear me. How
madly have I talked! How madly hast thou listened and be
Hevcd ! but look on my present state, as a hill answer to thee,
'twid to nij'self. This body is all weakness and pain; but my
8oul, as it si'uiff up by torment to gjreater strength and spirit,
IS full powerhu to reason ; fidi mighty to suffer. And that
which thus iriuniphs within the jaws of immortalitj^ is,
doubtless, immortal— And, as lor a Deity, nothing less than
an Almighty could inflict what I feel."

7 I was about to congratulate this passive, involuntary
confessor, on his asserting the two prime articles of his creed,
extorted by the rack of nature, when lie thus, very passion-
ately exclaimed :— " No, no ! let me speak on. I have not
long to speak. — My much injured friend ! my soul, as my
body, lies in ruins; in scattered fragments of broken thought

8 " Remorse for the past throws my thought on the future.
Worse dread of the fiiture, strikes back on the past. I turn,
and turn, and find no rav. Didst thou feel half the mountain
that is on me, thou wouldst stru^-gle with the martyr for his
stake; and bless Heaven for the flames! — that is not an i
everlasting flame ; that is not an unquenchable fire."

9 How were Ave struck! yet soon after, still more. With I
what an e3ie of distraction, what a fiice of despair, he cried
out ' " My principles have poisoned my friend : my extrava-
gance has beggared my boy ! my unkmdness has murdered
my wife !— And is there another hell ? Oh ! thou blasphemed,
yet indulgent LORD GOD ! Hell itself is a refuge, U'it hide
me from thy firown !"

^ 10 Soon afler, his imderstanding failed. Hin terrified ima-
^nation uttered horrors not to be repeated, or ever forgotten.
And ere the sun (whichi I hope, has seen few like bun) arose-

Chap, 7,

Dialogwt,

103

the gay, young, noble, ingeMknis, accomplished, and most
wretched Altaniont, expired.

11 If this is a man of pleasure, what is a man of pain ? How

auick, how total, is the transit of such persons! In what a
ismal ^loom tliev set for ever ! How short, alas ! the day of ^
their rejoicing !— For u moment, they glitter— they dazzle ! In
a moment, where are they ? Oblivion covers their memorief?.
Ah ! would it did! Infamy snatches them from oblivion. In
the lon^-living annals of infamy, their triumphs are recorded.

12 Thy sufferings, poor Altamont ! still bleed in the bosom
of the heart-stricken friend — for Altamont had a friend. He
might have had many. His transient morning might have
been the dawn of an immortal day. His name mi^ht have
been gloriously enrolled in the records of eternity. His me-
mory might liuve left a sweet fraarance behind it, grateful to
the surviving friend, salutary to the succeeding generation.

13 With what capacity was he endowed ! with what ad
vantages, lor bein^ greatly good ! but with the talents of an
angel, a man may oe a fool. If he judges amiss in the supreme
pomt, judging right in all else but aggravates his folly ; as it
shows him wrong, though blessed with the best capacity of
being right.

DK. YOUNQ.

\ CHAPTER Vn. \ ,

• DIALOGUES.

SECTION I. ^

DEMOCRITUS AND HERACLITUS.*

Tlie vices and Jollies of men should excite compassion rather

than ridicule.

Democritus. I FIND it impossible to reconcile myself to a
melancholy philosophy \

Heraclitus. And I am equally unable to approve of that
vain philosophy ^ which teaches men to despise' and ridicule
one another*. To a wise and feeling mind', the world ap
pears in a wretched' and painful liffht\

Dcm. Thou art too much affected with the state of things',
and this is a source of misery to thee\

Her. And I think thou art too little moved by it\ Thy
mirth^ and ridicule', bespeak the bufroon\ rather than the phi-
losopher'. Does it not excite thy compassion to see mankind
60 frail', so blind', so far departed from the rules of virtue'?

Dem. I am excited to laughter\ wheii I see so much im-
pertinence^ and folly'.

* Democritus and Heraclitus were two ancient pliiloBophers, the farmer of
VbQiB lauf bed, and the latter wept at the errors and foUies of inanUud.

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Her. And yet', after all', tW^-;'who are the objects of thy
ridicule', include , not only mankind in general', but the per-
sons with whom thou livesO, thy Iriends^ thy family^ nay
even thyself \

Dem. I care very little for all the silly persons I meet with';
and tliink I am justifiable in divertmg myself with their
folly\

Her. If they are weak^ and foolish', it marks neither wis-
dom' nor humanity^ to insult' rather than pity them\ But is
It certain', that thou art not as extravagant as they are'?

Dem. I ]3resume that I am not^: since', in every point', my
sentiments are the very reverse of their8\

Her. There are follies of different kind8\ By constantly
amusing thyself with the errors^ and misconduct of others ,
thou mayst render thyself equally ridiculous'' and culpable^

Dem. Thou art at liberty to indulge such sentiments^; and
to weep over me too', if thou hast any tears to spare'. For
my part', I cannot refrain from pleasing myself with the levi-
ties'^ and ill conduct of the world about me\ Are not all
men foolish', or irregular in their lives'?

Her. Alas'! there is but too much reason to believe they
are so^: and on this ground', I pity and deplore their condi-
tion\ We agree in this point', that men do not conduct
themselves according to reasonable' and just principles^: but
I', who do not sutler myself to act as they do', must yet re-
gard the dictates of my understanding^ and feelings', which
compel me to love them^; and that love fills me with com-
passion for their mistakes' ^nd irregularities\ Caast thou
condemn me for pitying my own species', my brethren', per-
sons born in the same condition ot' lile', and destined to the
same hopes and privileges'? If thou shouldst enter a hospi-
tal', where sick and wounded persons reside', would their
wounds^ and distresses' excite tny mirth'? And yet', the evils
V)f the body', bear no comparison with those of the mind'.
Thou wouldst certainly blush at thy barbarity', if thou hadst
been so unfeelini?' as to laugh at or despise a poor miserable
being', who had lost one of his legs': and yet thou art so
destitute of humanity', as to ridicule those', who appear to
be deprived of the noble powers of the understanding', by the
little regard which they pay to itf- dictates^

Dem. He who has lost a leg', is to be pitied', because the
loss is not to be imputed to himself": but he who rejects the
dictates of reason^ and conscience', voluntarily deprives
kimseif of their aid\ The loss originates in his own folly\

Her. AhM so much the more is he to be oitied^! A furious

ilf

Part 1. I ^^"^P' '^'

Dialogues.

108

fjectsofthy
mt the per-
iamily\ nay

meet with';
with their

neither wis-
iem\ Butia
hey are'?
y point', my

W constantly
t of others',
d culpable',
timents'; and
spare'. For
with the levi-
Are not all

. believe they
le their condi-
not conduct
inciples': but
must yet re-
lings' , which
lc with corn-
Canst thou
rethren', per-
istinedto the
nter a hospi-
would their
I yet', the evil3
|of ■ the mind",
if thou hadst
i>or miserable
Jet thou art so
I'ho appear to
liding', by the

}, because the

Iho rejects the

Vily deprives

\ own folly^

bdM A furious

maniac', who should pluck out his own eyes', would deserve
more cointjassion than an ordinary blind man .

Dsm, Come\ let us accommodate the business\ There is

something- to be said on each side of the question^ There is

every where reason lor laughing', and reason lor weeping^

1 The world is ridiculous', and I laugh at it^: it is deplorable',

and thou lamcntest over it\ Every |)erson views it in his own

kvay', and according to his own temper^ One point is un-

mue8tionable\ that mankind are preposterous': to think .ight^

laiulto act well', we must think' and act'diflerently from them\

iTo submit to the authority'", and U)llow the example of the

kreater part of men', would render us foolish' and miserable\

[ Her. All this is', indeed', true'; but then', thou hast no real

love' or feeling for thy species'. The calamities of mankind'

Excite thy mirth^: and this proves that thou hast no regard

for men', nor any true respect for the virtues which they have

unhappily abandoned'. Fenelon, Archbishop of Cambray,

SECTION II.

DIONYSIUS, PYTHIAS, AND DAMON.

Pytl:

las
pos-

hjst

lible'. He is come to die', and to redeem his friend''

Pyihiaa. Yes', it is Pythias'. I left the place ol' my con-

Inement', with no other views', than to pay to heaven the

lows I had made'; to settle my family concerns according to

lie rules of justice'; and to bid adieu to my children', that I

|ii?ht die tranquil' and satisfied'.

Dto. But why dost thou return'? Hast thou no fear of
ealh'? is it not tlie character of a madman', to seek it thus
jluntarily'r

Py. I return to suffer', though T have not deserved death^.
Ivery principle of honour' and goodness', forbids me to allow
ly friend to die for me'.

J^ht'

j^thias whom thoi'i hadst decreed to clie\ It were not just
lat Damon should sufier', to deliver me from the death
[hich was designed', not for him', but for me on!y\
[Dto. But thou supposest', that it is as unjust to lAfliet
[ath upon thee', as upon thy friend'.
\Py. Very true'; we are both perfectly innocent'; and it ia
lually unjust to make either of us sufller\
[Pio. Whv dost thou then assert', that it were injustice to
kt him to death', instead of thee'?

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The English Reader,

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.'■ '

■i

,4v

1 i

V-:'*' ■!!

:-^'^:•^

■^■:-P ;, ■'"■ !

«^- ■ ■■■• t
* ■ ■

■■: '

h: ^ :^i

1" ■ .l

:>-;

[I ill!

f l/Kt I I

Pv. It is unjust^ in the same degree', to inflict death either
on Damon' or on myself^; but Fytiiias were highly culpablo
to let Daninu sufler that death', which the tyrant haa pre-
pared for Pythias onIy\

Dio. Dost thou tlicn return hither', on the day appointed'
with no other view', tiian to save the life of a mend', by
losing thy own'?

Py. I return', in regard to thee', to suffer an act of inju»
tice which it is conimon lor tyrants to inflict^; and', with re
spect ip Damon', to per(()rm my duty', by rescuing him from
the danger he incurred by his generosity to me\

Du). And now', Darnon', let me address myself to thee\
Didst thou not really fear', that Pythias would never return';
and that thou wouldst be put to death on his account'? I

Da. I was but too well assured', that Pytiiias would puno
tually return^; and that he would be more solicitous to keep
his promise', than to preserve his life\ Would to heaven,
that his relations^ and friends' had forcibly detained him'! He I
would then hsw, lived for the comfort' and benefit of good|
nien^; and I should have the satisfaction of dying for himM

Dio. What'! Does life displease thee'?

Da. Yes^; it displeases me when I see^ and feel' the powerl
of a tyrant\ I

Dio. It is welP! Thou shalt see him no more\ I will orderl
tlice to be nut to death inunediately^

Py. Pardon the feelings of a man who sympathizes witij
his dying friend\ But remember it was Pythias who Avasl
devoted by thee to destruction^ I come to submit to it',[
tliat I may redeem my friend^ Do not refuse me this consol
lation in my last liour\

Dio. I cannot endure men', who despise death', and sell
my power at defiance^

JJa. Thou canst not', then', endure virtue\

Dio. No': I cannot endure that proud\ disdainful virtue,!
which contemns life'; which dreads no punishment'; anil
which is insensible to the charms of riches and pleasure\ I

Da. Thou seest', however', that it is a virtue', which is nol
insensible to the dictates of honour\ justice', and friendship'!

Dio. Guards', take Pythias to execution . ' We shall i
whether Damon will continue to despise my authority''.

Da. Pythias', by returning to submit himself to thy pleaj
•are', has merited his life', and deserved thy favour^; DutJ
liave excited thy indignation', by resigning myself to m
power', in order to save him^; be satisfied', then', with
■acrifice^ and put ine todeath\

Py, Ilold'^ Dionysius'! remember', it was Pythias aloi
who ofiendea thee^; Damon could not^— —

Part 1. I Chap. 7.

DiaiogueSj,

107

St death eithci
lighiy culpabto
irrant had prc-

ay appointed'
f a mend^ by

mactofinjus-
; and', with re
cuing him from
ie\ , ,

nyself to thee\
d never return';
account'? .

ias would puno
licitous to keep
uld to heaven',
tainedhini't Hel
benefit of good
lying for himM

d feel' the powetl

ire\ Iwillordetl

irmpathizes withi

Pythias who wall

to submit to ill

36 me this consol

death', and sel

XKo. Alas'! what do I see' and hear\' where am T? fiow
niigerable^: and how worthy to be so\' I have hitherto known
nothing of true virtue'. I have spent my life in darkness'
and error\ All my power^ and honours', are insufficient to
produce love\ I cannijt boast of having acquired a single
friend' in the course of a reign of thirty years\ And vet
these two persons', in a private condition', love one another

isdainful virtue!
.nishment'; anil
nd pleasure\
Itue', which is noi
hand friendship f
". ' We shall i

authority'",
iself to thy plwl
ly i'avour^; but!
g myself to tlij
then', with

expect to have lriends\'* 11' thou hadst loved^ and respected
men', thou wouldsi have secured their love' and respect^
Thou hast feared mankind''; and they fear thee^; they detest
tliee\

Bio, Damon', Pythias', condescend to admit me as a third
friend', in a connexion so perfect^ I give you your lives',
and I will load you with richest

Da. We have no desire to be enriched by thee^; and'. In
regard to thy friendship', we cannot accept^ or enjoy it', till
thou become good' and just\ Without these qualities', tnou
canst be connected with none but trembling slaves', and base
flatterers\ To be loved"" and esteemed' by men of free^ and
generous minds', thou must be virtu<(us\ affectionate^ disin-
terested', beneficent^; and know how to live in a sort of
equality with those who share' and deserve thy friendship^

Fenelon. Arehimliop of Camhray.
SECTION ill.

*^ -! LOCKE AND BATLE.

Christianity defended as^aimt the cavils of skspticism.
Bayle. YES^', we btith were philosophers ; hut my philo-
phy was the (leepest\ You dogmatized^; I doubted\
Locke. Do you make doubting a proof of depth in philoSo-
hy'? It may be a good beginning of it'; but it is a bad end^
nayle. No^:— the more profound our searches are into the
ature of things', the more uncertainty we shall find^; and
lie most subtle minds', see objections^ and difficulties' in
very system', which are overlooked^ or undiscoverable' by
■dinary understand ings\

Locke. It would be better then to be no philosopher', and to
ntinue in the vulgar henl of mankind', that onemay have the
nvenience of thinking that one knows somethin^^ I find

f ^

■f:^

[as Pytluas alonBo slutrpen my sigh; , as to catry it farther than ordinary vi-

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Tilt English Reader,

Part 1.

non'; but would in the end put them out\' Your philosophy
is to the eyes of the mind', what I have supposed the doctor a
nostrum to be to those of the body\ It actually brought jrour
own excellent understanding', which was by nature guick-
eighted', and rendered more so by art^ and a subtlety or logic
peculiar to yourseir—- it brought', I say'^ your very acute

understanding to see nothing clearly^; ancl enveloped all the

only supposed I saw welP: but I was in an error' with all the
rest ol" mankind \ The blindness was real', the perceptions
were imaginary^ I cured myself first of those lalse imagina-
tions', and then I laudably endeavoured to cure other men\

Locke. A great cure indeed^!— and do not you think that',
in return for the service you did them', they ought to erect
yon a statue'?

Bayle. Yes^ it is good for human nature to know its own
wenkne.ss\ When we arrogantly presume on a strength we
liave not', we are always m great danger of hurting our-
selvt^', or at least of deserving ridicule^ and contempt', by
vain' and idle efforts^

Locke. I agree with you', that human nature should know
its own weakness^ but it should also feel its strength', and try
to improve rC. This was my employment as a philosophers
I endeavoured to discover the real powers of the mind^j to see
what it could do', and what it could not^; to rc'5train it from
efforts beyond its ability'; but to teach it how to advance as
far as the faculties given to it by nature', with the utmost ex«
ertion and most proper culture of them', would allow it to go\
In the vast ocean oi philosophy', I had the line^ and the plum- 1
met' always in my hands\ Many of its depths'j I found
myself unable to fathom^: but', by caution in soundmg\ and 1
the careful observations I made in the course of m)r vovage',
\ found out some truths', of so much use to mankind , mt
they acknowledge me to have been their benefactor'.

Bayle. Their ignorance makes them think so\ Some other I
philosopher will come hereafter', end show those trutiis to be
falsehoods^ He will pretend to discover other truths of equal
importance\ A later sage will arise', perhaps among men
now barbarous^ and unlearned', whose sagacious discoveries',
will discred! i the opinions of his admired predecessor^ In
philosophy', as in nature', all changes its form', and one|
tiling existR by the destruction of another^

Locke. Opinions taken up without a patient investigation-
depending on tcrnui not accurately defined and pnnci])lel|

Part 1.

philosophy
the doctor's
iroughtyour
ature guick-
tlety of logic
• very acute
loped all the
loubO.

inotjusr. 1
;ye-water ; I
'with all the
e perceptions
alse imagina-
; other men.
,u think thaV,
ught to erect

know its own
a strength we
f hurting pur-
contempts by

■e should know
ength',andtrv
a philosopher .
iemind\tosee
rotrain it from
to advance as
the utmost ex*
allow it to go.
^andthei^lum-
epths', I Jound
soundings and
ormyvovage,
mankind', that
jtbctor'.
io\ Some other
osetrutiistowi
truths of equal
LPS among men
jusdiRCOvenes,,
•edecessor. w
' form', and oae

Itinvestigatioir
and pnn«pl»

Chap, 7>

Dialogues.

begged without proof, like theories to explain the f^eno-
mena of nature , built on suppositions^ instead of experi-
ments', must perpetually change' and destroy one aMOtner\
But some opinions there are', even in matters not obvious
to the common. sense of mankind', which tiie mind has re-
ceived on sucti rational grounds of assent', that they are as
immoveable as the pillars of heaven^: or' (to speak philoso-
phically') as the groat laws of Nature', by which', under God',
the universe hi sustained\ Can you seriously think', that',
because the hypothesis of your countryman', Descartes',
which was nothing but an ing-enious', well-imaffined ro-
mance', has been lately exploded', the sysien: oi" Newton',
which is built on experiments^ and geometry', ihe two most
certain methods of discovering truth', will ever fail'; or that',
because the Avhims of fanatics', and the divinity of the school-
men', cannot now be supported', the doctrines of that reli-
gion', which I', the declared enemy of all enthusiasm' and
false reasoning', firmly believed^ and maintained', will «ver
be shaken'?

Bayle. If you had asked Descartes', w^hile he was in the
height of his vogue', whether his system would ever be con-
iiited by any other philosophers', as that of Aristotle had been
by his', what answer do you suppose he would have recurned\^
Loctee. Come\ come\ you yourself know the difference be-
tween the foundations on which the credit of those systems'
and that of Newton is placed^ Your skepticism is more
affected' than reaP. You found it a shorter way to a great re-
putation', (the only wish of your heart',) to object', than to de-
fend^; to pull down', than to set up\ And your talents were
jadmirable for that kind of workS Then your huddling to-
gether', in a Critical Dictionary', a pleasant tile' or obscene
|jest\ and a grave argument against the Christian religion\ a
[witty confutation of some absurd author\ and an artful sophism
) impeach some respectable truth', was particularly com-
lodious to all our young smarts and smatterers in free-think-
»g\ But what mischief have you iiotdone to human society\>
/ou have endeavoured', and with some degree of success', to
jshake those foundations', on which the whole moral worid\
and the great fabric of social happiness', entirely rest\ How
pould you', as a philosopher', in the sober hours of reflection',
[inswer for this to your conscience', even supposing you had
ioubts of^the truth of a system',' which gives to virtue its
ireetest hopes\ to impenitent vice its greatest fears', and to
Jrue penitence its best consolations^; which restrains even the
Bast approaches to guilt', and yet makes those allowances for
"le infirmities of our nature' which the Stoic pride denied to
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ii^':^

it', but which its real imperfection^j and the goodness of ita
infinitely benevolent Creator', so evidently require\''
. Bayk. The mind is free^; and it loves to exert its free-
dom\ Any restraint upon it', is a violence done to its na-
ture'', and a tyranny', against which it has a right to rebeP.

Locke. The mind', though free', has a governor within
itself, which may and ought to limit the exercise of its free-
dom\ That governor is reason^

Bayle. Yes : — but reason', like other governors', has a pa»
licy more dependent upon uncertain caprice', than upon any
fixed la\vs\ And if that reason', which rules my mind^ or
yours', has happened to set up a favourite notion', it not
only submits implicitly to it', but desires that the same respect
should be paid to it by all the rest of mankind^ Now 1 hold
tliat any man may lawfully oppose this desire in another',
and that if he is wise', he will use his utmost endeayoura to
clieck it in himself \

Locke. Is there not also a weakness of a contrary nature
to this you are now ridiculing'? Do we not often take a
pleasure in showing our own power', and gratifying our own |
pride', by degrading the notions set up by other men', and i
generally respected .''

Bayle. I believe we do^; and by this means it often hap-
pens', that', if one man builds and consecrates a temple to
foily'. another pulls it down\

Locke. Dt) you think it beneficial to human society', taj
have all temples pulled dbwn'?

Bayle. I cannot say that I do\

Locke. Yet I find not in your ^vritings any mark of dt9-|
tinction', to show us which you mean to save^. I

Bayle. A true philosopher', like an impartial historian',!
must be of no sect\
JLocke. Is there no medium between the blind zeal of a I
sectary', and a total indifference to all religion'?

Bayle. With regard to morality', I was not indifferent\

Locfee. How could you then be indifferent with regard to
the sanctions religion gives to morality \^ How could you pub-
lish what tends so directly and apparently to weaken in man-
kind the belief of those sanctions r Was not this sacrificing
the grei.t interests of virtue to the little motives of vanity'?

Bayh. A man may act indiscreetly', but he cannot dn
wrons; , by declaring that', which', on a fuH discussion of the
question', he sincerely thinks to be true\

Ltrtke. An enthusiast', who advances doctrines prejudicial
to soc.e*y\or opposes any that are useful to it',ha8 the strength
of opiiiion , and the heat of a disturbed imagination', to pleadj

PaHt I ^^P' '^'

Dialogues*

111

todness of its

ire^? r.
icert its free-
metoits na-
ght to reber.
rernor within
iseoi'itsfree-

)rs', hasapo*
Lhan upon any
; my mind^ or
notion', it not
e same respect
. Now 1 nold
e in another',
endeayoui-s to

lontrary nature
,t often take a
tifyingouTOwni
ther mens and

[IS it often hap- 1
,tesa temple to

society', to

^ny mark of d»-
trtial historian',!
Wind zeal of al

t indifFerent\
with regard to

in alleviation of his iault\ But your cool head^ and sound
judgment', can have no such «xcu8e\ I know very well lher«
are passages in all your works', and those not Cnw\ where you
talk like a rigid moralist\ I have also heard that your charao-
ter was irreproachably good\ But when', in the most laboured
parts of your writings', you sap the surest foundations of all
moral duties', what avails it that in others', or in the conduct
of your life', you appeared to respect them\'' How many', who
have stronger passions than you had ', and are desirous to get
rid of the curb that restrains them', will lay hold of your skep-
ticism', to set themselves loose from all obligations of virtueM
j What a misl()rtune is it to have made such a use of such ta-
lentsM It would have been better for you' and for mankind',
if you had been one of the dullest of Dutch theologians', or
the most credulous monk in a Portuguese convent^ The
[riches of the mind', like those of fortune', may be emploj'ed
ISO perversely', as to become a nuisance' and pest\ instead of
|an ornament^ and support to society'.
I Bayle. You are very severe upon me\— But do you count
ttt no merit', no service to mankind', to deliver them from the
jfrauds^ and fetters of priestcraft', from the deliriums of fanati-
ciam'. and from the terrors^ and follies of superstition'? Coi>-
^ider now much mischief these have done to the worldM Even
the last age', what massacres^ what civil wars\ what eott-
ilsions of government^ what confusion in society', did they
produceM Nay', in that we both lived in', though much more
fnlightened than the former', did I not see them occasion a
iolent persecution in my own country'? and can you blarne
ae for striking at the root of these evils'?
Locke.. The root of these evils', you well know', was liilac
eligion^: but you struckat the true\ Heaven^ and hell'are not
aore different', than the system of faith I defended', and that
^hich produced the horrors of which you speaks Why
^ould you so fallaciously confound tliem together in some of
[)ur writings', that it requires much more judgment\ and a
( diligent attention', than ordinary readers have', to sepa-
(itfi them again', and to make the proper distinctions\> This'

f 1 vnn t)ul>B "^^"* again , ana to maKe me proper aisiincuoiis r i ms ,

r could ^?"-^^y>.»eed', is the great art of the most celebrated free-thinkers\

weaken in Mtjjg^ recommend themselves to warm and ingenuous minds',

this sacn 8^ Ij^gly. gt^okes of wit', and by arguments really strong',

BS or vani y •, ■jainst superstition\ enthusiasm', and priestcraft^ But', at

e same time', they insidiously throw the colours of these

wn the fair face of true religion', and dress her out in their

Irines prejudicial!
hiasthestrengtw
lnation',topleaill

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Parti,

themselves', as well as other8\ Yet it is certain', no book thtt
ever was written by the most acute of these gentlemen', is so
repugnant to priestcruiV, to KpirHual tyruiiMy^ to all absurd
Buperstitions\ tx) nil Uiat can tend to disturbur injure society',
as that gortpel they so niMch ailect to desnise^

Bayle. Mankind are so nuide', that', when they have been
over-heated 'jthey cannot he broupiitlo a proper temper again'
till they have heen over-cooletl\ My skepticism mi^ht bene
cessary to a hate the lever^ and frenzy' oi'lalse religion^

Locke. A wise prescription', indeed', to hrhig en a paraiy-
tical state ol' the mind', (lor sMch a skepticism as yours isa
palsy, wliich deprives the nund of all vi^»)ur, and deadens its
natural and vital powers',) in order totakcolTa fever', whichi
tempeiance\ and the milk of the evangelical doctririe8,wouM|
prohably cureM

Bayle. I acknowledge that those medicines', have a greai
power\ But few doctors apply them untainted with the mb
ture of some harsljer drug?', or some unsafe and ridiculoi
nostrums of their own\

Locke. What you now say is too tnie\— God has given
a most excellent physic fl)r the soul'^ in all its diseases^; bi
"''and interested physicians\ or ignorant^ and concei*'

{
I

d
c
b
it
ca
a(j

bad'

quacks', administer it so ill to the rest of mankind', that mui

of the benefit of it is unhappily lost\ uord ltttleton.

CHAPTER VIII.
;,. PUBLIC SPEECHES. »

SECTION I.

' \ , - - iV.'-

Cicero against Verres.
THE time is come'. Fathers', when that which has
been wished for', towards allaying the envy your order
been subject to\ a nd removing the imputations against trii
is eflfectually put in your power\ An opinion has long pifl tion o
vailed', not only here at home', but likewae in foreign coifl We tk
tries', both dangrrous to 3'ou', and pernicious to the state'H 7 I
that', in prosecutions', men of wealth are always safe', h
ever clearly convicted^

w]
hcj
Jan
ow
des
and
5
W.
vfhi
Wh
thei
migi
bear
Lett
61
ednc!
miscl
three
many
besu
found
tyrani
omn

bythf

years^

Ident'^

2 There is now to be brought upon his trial before you'M unhea

i', I iiope', of the propagat9rs of this slandertjareno

the confusion , . ,

impiitation', one whose lile^ and actions', condemn him InB 8
opinion of unp»rtial persons'; but who', according to his (•been ..
reckoning* ,and declared dependenceuponhisriches',isalre«Deen p
acquitted^; I mean Caius Verres\ I demand justice of yJ^ninalB-
Fathers'jUpon the robber of the public treasury^,the opprcflpumshi

Ifcw'ec

Pali I* I ^^P* 8'

Public Speeches.

113

i' nobookthit
Ajnlleineii',1880
.> to all absurd
• injure Bocieiy',

\ I

they have been I
er temper again
smimgbtbeiie
se religion. I
ing en a paraly-l
smasi-oursmi
, and deadens lUl

,ffa lever' whic I
doctrinesSwouli

,e8\ bave a greij
,t.ed with the mixj
,te and ridicaloi^

-God baa givem
I its diseases ;bj
mO and conceit
ankind',tbatinud

ORD LYTXLETOK.

fhatwWcbhas

Invy your order
Itions against tn
Tipionbas longp'

Kse in foreign ^
lious to the state

. always safe , W

I trial before youl
Ucfthisslandert

condemn him inj
Iccordmg to bisg
IhisrichesVsaM
^and justice oty]

asury\theoprr^

of Asia Minor' and Pamphylia\ the invq,der of the rights^
and privileges of Romans', the scourge' and curse of Sicily\

3 If that sentence is passed upon him which his crimes
deserve^ your authority^ Fathers', Avill be venerable and sa
cred in the eyes of ilie public^: but if his great riches should
bias you in his lavour', 1 shall still gain one point',— to make
it apparent to all the world', that what was wanting in this
case , was not .i criminar, nor a prosecutor', but justice' and
adequate punishmeiit\

4 To pass over the shameful irregularities of his youth',
what does his questorship'. tiie first public employment he
held', what does it exhibit', but one continued scene of vil-
lanies\'' Cneius Carbo', plundered of the public money by his
own treasurer^ a consul stripped' and betrayed\ an army
deserted' and reduced to want , a province roobea', the civil
and religious rights of a peojile violated\

5 The employment he held in Asia Minor^ and Pamphy
lia', what did it produce but the ruin of those countries ? in
which houses^ cities\ and temples', were robbed by lnm\
What was his conduct in his pretorship here at home\^ Let
tiie plundered temples\ and public works neglected', that he
might embezzle the money intended lor carrying them on',
bear witness^ How did he discharge the office of a judge \'
Let those who suffered by his injustice' answer^

6 But his pretorship in Sicily' crowns all his works of -wick-
edness', and finishes a lasting monument to his infamy\ The
mischiefs done by him in that unhappy country', during the
three years of his iniquitous administration', are such', that
many years', under the wisest^ and best of pretors', will not
be sufficient to restore things to the condition in which he
found them^: for it is notorious', that', during the time of his
tyranny', the Sicilians neither enjoyed the protection of their
own ori^nal laws'; of the regulations made for their benefit

j by the Roman senate', upon their coming under the protec-
I tion of the commonwealth'; nor of the natural and unaliena-
ble rights of men\

7 His nod ha3 decided all causes in Sicily for these three
I years\ And his decisions have broken all law\ all prece-
dent', all ri^hO. The sums he has', by arbitrary taxes^ and
unheard-of impositions', extorted from the industrious poor',

I are not to be computed\

8 The most faithful allies of the commonwealth', have
I been treated as enemies\ Roman citizens have', like slaves',
I been put to death with tortures\ The racist atrocious cri-
minal', for money', have been exempted from ibe deserved

I punishments'; and men of the most unexceptionable charac-
I ten' condemned and banished unheard^
10* H

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Tlu English Reader.

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i.;t II,.

9 The harbours', though sufficiently fortified', and the gntes
of stron«' towns', have been opened to pirates' and ravagers^
The soldiery^ and sailors', beron<rin5 to a province under the
protection of the connnonwealtii', iiave been starved to
death'; whole fleets', to the great detriment of the province',
suflered to peri.sh\ The ancient nionurnents of either Sici-
lian' or Roman greatness', the statues of heroes^ and princes',
have been carried oii'; and the temples stripped ol' their
images^

10 Having', by his uiiquitous sentences', filled the prisons
with the most industrious^ and deserving of the people', he
then proceeded to order numbers of Roman citizens to be
strangled in the gaoIs\* so that the exclamation', " I am a citi-
zen ol'Rome'!" which hasotlen', in the most distant r9gion8\
and among the most barbarous people', been a protection',
was of no service to them^; but', on the contrary , brought a
speedier and a more severe punishment upon them\

11 I ask now', Verres', wnat thou hast to advance against
this charge \'' Wilt thou pretend to deny it'? Wilt thou pre-
tend that any thin^ false', that even any thing aggravated',
is alleged against thee'? Had any prince^ or any state', com-
mitted the same outrage against the privilege of Roman citi-
zens', should we not think he had sufficient ground for de-
manding satisfaction'?

12 What punishment ought', then', to be inflicted upon a
tyrannical and wicked prettir', who dared', at no greater dis-
tance than Sicily', within sii^ht of the Italian coast', to put to
the infamous death of crucifixion', that unfortunate and in-
nocent citizen'j Publius Gavins Cosanus', only for his having I
asserted his privilege of citizenship', and declared his inten- '
tion of appealing to the justice of his country', against the
cruel oppressor', who had unjustly confined him in prison at I
Syracuse', whence he had just made his escape \^

13 The unhappy man', arrested as he was going to em-
bnrk for his native country', is brought before the wicked
pretor\ With his eyes darting fury\ and a countenance
distorted with cruelty', he orders the helpless victim of his
rage to be stripped', and rods to be brought^: accusing him',
Tvathout the least shadow of evidence^ or even of suspicion'i
of having come to Sicily as a 8py\'

14 It was in vain that the unhappy man cried out', " I am
a Roman citizen^: I have served under Lucius Pretius', who
is now at Panormus', and wll attest my innocence^" The
bloodthirsty pretor'j deaf to all he could urge in his own de-
fence', ordered the miamous punishment to be inflicted^

15 Thus'. Fathers', was an innocent Roman citizen publicly
mangled with 8coui;ging', whilst the only words he uttered'.

Pari 1.

idthe gates
ilravftgera.
le under the
atarveil to
le province ,
• either Sici;
iind princes,
lied ol' their

a the prisons
ic people', he
itizens to be
"laniaciti-
kant regions^,
a protection ,
ry', brought a

them\ .
tvance against
\Vi\t thou pre-
ig aggravated,
uy state', com-
oTRoitvanciti-
ground for de-

mflicted upon a
no greater dis-
^oast',toputto
.itunate and in-
ly for his having
tlared his inten-
Iry', against the |
Um in prison at

^ going to em-
)re the wicked
a countenance
victim of his I
accusing, him^, I
»n of suspicion. I

Chap* 8,

Puhlic Speeches,

115

amidst his cruel sufTerings'. were', " I am a Roman" cilizcn^!"
With these he hoped lo (teli.'nd liimself from violence' and in-
famy\ But of so little service was this privilege lo lam',
that', while he wan tliusasscrtiiiir his citizenship , the order
was given Hor his execuiiou\ — lor his execution uijoti the
cross^!

16 liberty'!— sound once delightftil to every Roman
ear'! — sacred privile/ry of Roinaii riti/enship'! — once sa-
cred'! — now trampled upon'! — Hut wluit theii^! h it come
to this'? Shall an inlerior magistrate', a jxovernor', who holds
his whole power of the R(»nian people', iu a P.oman pro-
vince', within sight of Itrdv', bind', .scourte\ tortin-e with fire
and red-hot plates of iron , and at last put to the infamous
death of the cross', a Roman citizen'?

17 Shall neither the cries of innocence expiring in agony',
[nor the tears of pitying spectators', nor the majesty of the

Roman common wealtli', nor the fear of the justice of his
Icountry'. restrain the licentious and wanton cruelty ol" a
liuonster', who', in confidence of his riches', strikes at the
jroot of liberty', and sets mankind at defiance'?

18 I conclude with expressing my hopes', that your wis-
\om^ and justice'. Fathers', will not' \fy sufl<.'ring the atro-
pjous and unexampled insolence of Cains Verres to escape
me punishment', leave room to apprehend the danger ol a
total subversion of authority', and the introduction of general
parchy' and confaaion\ cicero's orations.

SECTION II.

fo«€cftof Adiierbal to the Roman Senate^ imploring thew
protection against Juourtha.

ITKERS!

I IT is known to you', that king Micipsa', my flither', on
Is death-bed', left in charge to Jugurtha', his adopted son',
pnjunctly with my unfortunate brother lliempsal anil iny-
blr, the children of his own body', the administration of the
li^dom of Numidia', directing us to consider the senate^
|ia people of Rome' as proprietors of it\ He chargeti us to

be serviceable to tiie Roman
that your protection would

our best endeavours to
fmmonwealth^;

assuring

us',

^ied out', "lam Bpve a defence against all enemies^; and would be instead

[is Pretius', who Barmies^ fortifications', and irea,sures\

locence^." The ^ While my brother\ and I', were thinking of nothings

fcp inhis*ownde-Ht how to regulate ourselves according to the directions
>e inflicted^. Hour deceask>d father' — Jugurtha' — the most infamous of
1 citizen pub^c^yM"''^*'^^'' — ^l^reaking through all ties of gratitude'' and ot
Irda he utteied iBnmon humanity', and trampling on the autliority of tlie

.'I ■■

fi.

'1' .

116

The Engliih Reader,

Parti.

Roman commonwealth', procured the munlcr of my unfor-
tunate brother'; aud has driven nie I'roiii my throne^ and
native country', thou;^h he knows I inherit'. Irom mv in*a"d-
iatlier Massinissa', and my latlier Micipsa , the Irfendship'
and alliance of the Uonians'.

3 F(»r !i prince to he reduced', by villany', to my distressful
circumstunccs', is calaniity enou{<h^: but my mislortunes are
heiirhtencil hy tiie consiileration' — that I find niysell" obliged
to solicit your assistance'. Fathers', li)r the services done you
hy my ancestors', not li)r any I have been able to render you
in my own person'. Ju;;3'urtha has put it out ol my {wwertu
desoi've any thin<r at vour hands'; and has ibrced me to be
buniensoTue', b(Ml)re I could be useful to you\

4 And 'yet', il* J had no plea' but my undeserved misery'
i once powcrllil prince', the descendant of a race of illustrious I
monarchs', now', Avithout any lault of my own', destitute ol
every support', and reduced to the necessity of begging fo-
reign assistance', against an enemv wlio has seized my throne' I
and my kini2:dom' — if my unequalled distresses were all I had
to plead' — It would become the greatness of the RomanI
commonwealth', to protect the injured', and to check thcl
triuniph of daring wickedness' over helpless innocence^ |

6 But', to provoke your resentment to the utmost', Juguri
tha has driven me from the very domhiions', which the 8^|
nate^ and people of Rome', gave to my ancestors'; and', froni|

• which', my grand father\ and my father', under your um-f
brage', expelled Syphax' and the Carthaginians^ Thus',
Fatners', your kindness to our family is defeated^: and Ju-|
gurtha', in injuring me', throws contempt upon you\

6 Oh wretched prince^! Oh cruel reverse of fortune^! Olij
father MicipsaM Is this the consequence of thy generosity'!
lliat lie'j whom thy goodness raised to an.equality with tnf
own chddren', should be the murderer of thy children"
Must', then', the royal house of Numidia always be a seer
of havoc and blood'?

7 While Carthage remained', we suffered', as was to
expected', all sorts of hardships from their hostile attacks']

' our enemy near^; our only powerful ally', the Roman con
monwealth', at a distance^. When that scourge of Afric
was no more', we congratulated ourselves on the prospect (
established peace\ But', instead of peace', behold the kin^
dom of Numidia drenched with royal blood^! and the onil
surviving son of its late king', flying from an adopted muf
derer', and seeking that safety in foreign parts', which '
eannot command in his own kingdom^

• 8 Whither'— Oh'! whither 3hall I fly\; If I return to tli|
Boyal palace of my an<*.estors', my father's throne is sea

^hom
jress',
ind his

13
leart^-
iment

rhtofl
■ison\

deten
:e', m;

Porll. I Cfcap.8.

JPublic Speechit»

117

of my unfoT-
f throne^ and
>m my gra«d-
he friendship'

) my distressful
nislortunes are
my self obligeil
•vices done you
^ to render you
ot my iwvver to
,vced me to be

*rved misery' ,
kce of Illustrious
^vn', destitute ol

y of begging f*>
eized my throne
es were all I haul
, of the Rpmanl
nd to check tliel
I innocence^ L
nltmo8t^ JuguT-l

Is', which the sc-I
stor8^;and',iroinl
under your um'l
Timans^ Thus'l
'feated': and JuT
ipon you\ L

e of fortune^l OhI
f thy generosity J
,equallty with thj
of thy childrenl!
always be a seen"

^ed', as was to
ir hostile attacks]
the Roman cotiH
scourge ot Ainc
on the prospect!
', behold the kins.
,iM. and the onl]
an adopted muff
parts', whicti «

If I return to J
throne is sew

by the murderer of my brother \ What can I there eipect^ i

but that Jugurtha should hasten U> imbrue', in my blood'. b I

those hands which are now reeking with my nrothcrV? Iff V

were
(Vom

to fly for r^l'uge^ or lor aHsistance' to anj^ other court'
what prince can I hope fur protection', if the Rouiac

commonwealth give me up\
friends', I have no expectatio

? From my own family^ or

ions'.

9 My royal father is no more\ He is beyond the reach of
violence', and out of hearing of the complaints of his unhap-

Ey 8on\ Were my brother auve', our mutual sympathy would
e some alleviati(>n\ But he is luirried out of^ life', in liis
early youth', by the very hand which should have been the
last to injure any of the royal family of Numidia^

10 The bloody Jugurtha has butchered all whom lie su»-
pected to be in my intere8t\ Some have been destroyed by
the lingering torment of the cross\ Others have been given
a prey to wild beasts-; and their anguish made the sport of
men more cruel than wild beasts^ If there he any yet alive',
they are shut up ia dungeons', there to drag out a life more

I intolerable than death itself \

11 Look down', illustrious senators of Rome'! from that
[height of power to which you are raised', on the unexampled
Idistresses of a prince', who is', by the cruelty of a wicked in-
Itruder', become an outcast from all mankind^ Let not the

Brafty insinuations of him who returns murder^ for adoption',
prejudice your judgmcnt\ Do not listen to the wretch who
iRS butchered the son^ and relations of a king', who gave him
)wer to sit on the same throne with liis own sons\

12 I have been informed', that he labc^urs by his emissaries

ence'
lor] ^

per the time comes', when the due ven^-eance li'om above
Ihall overtake him', he will then dissemble as I do\ 'I'hen
jie', who now', haraened in Wickedness', triumphs over those

irhom his violence has laid low', will', in his turn', feel dis-
Iress', and suffer for his impious ingratitude to my father',
|nd his blood-thirsty cruelty to my brother\
1 13 Oh murdered^ butchered brother^! Oh dearest to my
[eart^— now gone for ever from my sightM — but why should I
[lent his death\? He is', indeed', deprived of the blessed

?ht of heaven', of life\ and kingdom', at once', by the yeir

Bi^on who ought to have been the first to hazard his own lifes
defence of any one of Micipsa's fiimily\ But', as things

re', my brother is not so much deprived of ^hese comforts',

v.\

li ^'

t:l

I '

: 1 :i

}-y

1 I

1^ ■ ■': i "

118

T%e English Reader.

Part 1.

as delivered from terror\ from fliglit\ frpm exile', and the
endless train of miseries which render lile to me a burden\ i

14 He lies full low', gored with wounds', a»d lestering in hia
own blood\ But he lies in peace\ He teels nont of the miseries
which rend my soul Aviih a.irony^ and distraction', while I am
Bet up a spectacle to all mankind', of the uncertainty of human
affiiirs^ So far from liavin<^ it in my power to punish his
jnunlerer', I am not master of the means of securing my own
li{e\ So liir from bping in a condition to detend my kingdom
from the violence of the usurper', I am obliged to apply lor
(Lreign protection for my own person^

15 Fathers'! Senators of Rome'! the arbiters of nations'!
to you I fly for refuge from the murderous fury of Juj^urtha\
By your affection for your cliildren^; by your love for your
country^; by your own virtues^; by the majesty of the Roi^ian
commonwealth^; by all that is sacred\ and all that is dear to
you' — deliver a wretched prince from. undeserved' unpro-
v«)ked injury'; and save the kingdom of Numidia', which is
your own property', from being the prey of violence\ usur-
pation', and cruelty . sallust

SECTION III.
The Apostle Paul's nohle defence before Festus & Agrippa.
AGRIPPA said unto Paul', thou art permitted to speak for |
thyself '. — Tfien Paul stretched forth his hand', and answered i
for himself \ I think myself happy', king Agrippa', because
I shall answer lor myself this day before thec^ concerning: all
the things whereof I am accused by the JcvaV: especially', as
I know the* to be expert in all customs^ and questions' which
are among the Jews . Whereit)re I beseech thee to hear me |
pntiently\

2 My manner of life from my youth', which was at the first I
among my own nation at Jerusalem', know all the Jews', who
kne\v nie from the beginning', (if they would testify',) that
after the straitest sect of our religion', 1 lived a Pharisee\
And now I stand and am judged for the hope of the pronfise
made by God to our fathers^; to Avhich promise', our twelvel
tribes '.continually serving God day'' and night',hope to come^'f
and', fortius hope's sake', king Agrippa', I am accused by
the Jews\ ,. I

3 Why should it be thought a thing incredible with you',
that God should raise the deadV I verily thought with myself,
that I ought to do many things contrary to the name of Jesus
of Nazareth^: and this! did in Jerusalem\ Many of^ the saints I
I shut up in prison', having received authority from thel
chief priests^: and when they were put to death', I gave myl

Parth I chap.S.

Public Speeches,

119

exile', and the
ne a bu^Jen^ '

leistering in his
of the miseries
loii', while I am
aiiity of human
r to i)vmi«h hid
jciiring- my OAvn
ml my kingdom
red to apply ibr

ters of nations'!
ryof Ju!?urtha\
jr love for your
tyoftheRowian
,11 that is dear to
eserved' unpro-
imidia', which is
' violence\ usur-

SALLUST

isTUS &. Agrippa.
fitted to speak for |
(V, and answered
.srrippa', because 1
concerning all
especially^, as
questions' which |
thee to hear me

h w«s at the first
U the Jews', Avho
aid testify',) that
ved a Pharisee.
pe of the promise
nise', our twelve
it',hopetocoine:
am accused by

•edible with yoiiM
iffhi with myseli ,
_,he name of Jesus
^lany of the saints
thority from the
leath', I gave my

voice against thcm\ And I often punished then in every
Fvnagogue', iind compelled theju to blaspheme^; and being
exceedingly mad against tliem', 1 persecuted them ev^en unto
Birange cities \

4 But as I went t-i Damascus', with authority^ and com-
mission from the chief i>nests', at mid-day', O king'! I saw
in the»w^ay a light li-orii iieaven', above tli'e brightness of the
Bun', shining round ahout me', and them who joui'neyed with
me\ And when we were all fiillen to the earth', I heard a
voice speaking to me and saying', in the HebreAv tongue'',
Saul', Saul', why persecutest tiiou me\'' It is hard for thee to
kick against the pricks\ And I said', who art thou\ Lord'?
And he replied', I am Jesus whom thou persecutest\

5«But rise', and stand upon tiiv feet^: fori have appeared
to thee for this purpose', to make thee a minister\ and a
witness' both of these things which thou hast seen'^ and of
those things in wliich I Avill appear to thee^; delivenn^ thee
from the people^ and from the Gentiles', to whoml now
send thee', to open their eyes', and to turn them from dark-
I ness^ to light', and from the power of vSatan' to God^; tliat
I they may receive li)rgiveness of sins', and inheritance among
I them who are sanctitied by faith that is in me\

6 Whereupon', king Agrippa'! I was not disobedient to
lUie heavenly vision^; but showed first to them of Damascus^
land at Jerusalcm\ and through all the coasts of Judea\ and
Ithen to tlie Gentiles', that they should repent\ and turn to
iGodj and do works meet for repentance^ For these causes',
[the Jews caugiit me in the temple', and went about to kill
|me\ Having', however', obtained help from God', I con-
jtinue to this day', witnessing both to smair and great', say-
in" no other things than those which tlw; prophets"" and
Moses' declared should come^; that Christ should suffer^;

|tliat he would be the Hrst who should rise from the dead'; and
that he would show light to the people', and to the Gentiles''.

7 And as he thus ;^poke for himself, Festus said', with a
(oiid voice', "Paul', thou art beside thyself^; much learning

lath made thee mad ." But he replied', I am not mad', most
kioble FosUis'; but speak the words of truth' and soberness^
ror the king knoweth these things', before whom 1 also speak
rreely\ I am {)crsuadod that none of these things are hidden
I'rom him^: l()r this thing was not done in a corner'. King
Igrippa', believest thou tiie projihets'? I know that thou
ielievest\ Then Agrippa said to Paul', " Almost thou per
ladest me to be a Christian\" And Paul replied', " I would
God', tliat not only thou', but also all that bear me this

, I ' , , , ;

I'.. ' '

:■', I!

120

7%e English Reader.

Part 1.

day', were both almost', and altogether such as I am', ex-
cept these bonds\"* acts, xxvi.

SECTION IV.
Lord Mansfield's speech in the House of Peers, 1770, on
the hill for preventing- the delays of juslicey by claiming
the privilege of Parliament. ,

MY LORDS,

WHEN I consider the importance of this bill to your lord-
ships', I am not surprised it has taken up so much of your |
consideration^ It is a bill', indeed', of no common magni-
tude^; it is no less than to take away from two thirds of the
legislative body of this great kingdom', certain privileges^
and immunities' of which they have been long possessed\
Perhaps there is no situation the human mind can be placed
in', that is so difficult^ and so trying', as when it is made a|
judge in its own cause\

2 There is something implanted in the breast of man', so |
attached to seir, so tenacious of privileges once obtained',!
that in such a situation', either to discuss with impartialityU
or decide with justice', has ever been held the summit of alll
human virtue^ The bill now in question', puts your lord-f
ships in this very predicament^; and I have no doubt the!
wisdom of your decision will convince the world', that wherel
self-interest^ and justice', are in opposite scales', the latterl
will ever preponderate with your lordships\ |

3 Privileges have been granted to legislators in all ages',!
and in all countries^ The practice is founded in wisdom^;!
and', indeed', it is peculiarly essential to the constitution ol
this country', that the members of both houses should be freel
in their persons', in cases of civil suits^: for there may corneal
time when the safety^ and welfare' of this whole empire'J
may depend upon their attendance in parliament'. I am fan
from advising any measure that would m future endanger thel
state^: but the bill before your loi-dships has', I am confident']
no such tendency^: for it expressly secures the persons o|
members of either house in all civil suits\

4 This being the case', I confess', when I see many nobld
lords', for whose judgment I have a very great respecl'J
standing up to oppose a bill which is calculated merely tof
facilitate tlie recovery of just^ and legal debts', I am asto
nished' and ama'/ed\ ^^

* How happy was thia great Apostle, even in the most perilous circuinj
•tatices. Thouijh under bonds and oppression, his mind was free, and raisef
above every fear or man. With what dignity and composure does he defeni
hiiaaeir, and the noble cause he had espoused : whilst he display! the moi
eompauionate and rennrous feelings, for thoae who were strangers to the auU
UoM religion by which he was animated .

Part 1. I Chop. 8.

Puhlic Speeches.

121

They', I doubt not', oppose the bill upwii public principles^:
I would not wish to insinuate', that private interest had the
least weiffbt in their determination\

5 The bill has been frequently proposed', and as frequently
has miscarried^* but it was iilways lost in the lower house'.
Little did I think', when it had passed the commons', that it
possibly could have met with such opix)sition here\ Shall it

I be said', that you', my lords', tJie grand council of the na-
: tion', the highest judicial and legislative body of the realm',
endeavour to evade', bv privilege', those very laws which
you enforce on your fellow subjects'? Forbid it justice^! — I
am sure', were the noble lords as well acquainted as I am',
with but half the difficulties^ and delays' occasioned in the
courts of justice', under pretence of privilege', they would
I not', nay', they could not', oppose this bill\

6 1 have waited with patience to hear what arguments
[might be urged against this bilP; but I have waited in vain^:
jthe truth is', there is no argument that can weigh against it\
|The justice^ and expediency of the bill', are such as render
it self-evident\ It is a proposition of that nature', which
can neither be weakened by argument', nor entangled with
sophistry^ Much', indeed', has been said by some noble
[lords', on the wisdom of our ancestors', and how ditferently
fthey thought from us\ They not only decreed', that privi-
lege should prevent all civil suits from proceeding during the
Bitting of parliament', but likewise granted protection to the
[very servants of members\ I shall say nothing on the wis-
lom of our ancestors^; it might perhaps appear invidious^:
"lat is not necessary in the present case"\

7 I sha'i only say', that the noble lords who flatter them
Mves with the weight of that reflection', should remember',

r', things themselves should a!ter\
it was not so fashionable either for masters^

ihat as circumstances alter'

'ormerly', it was not so lasiiionabie eitner lor masters' or
Servants' to run in debt\ as it is at present'. Formerly', we
tvere not that great commercial nation we are at present':
nor formerly were merchants'* and manufacturers' members
of parliament as at present. The case is now very difTe-
hnt^: both merchants^ and manufacturers' are', with great
propriety', elected members of the lower house\

8 Commerce having thus got into the legislative body ot

[he kingdom', privilege must be done awav\ We all know',

fhat the very souf and essence' of trade , are regular'jj^ay-

aents^; and sad experience teaches us', tliat there are men',

rho mil not make their regular payments without the conw

jlsive power of the laAvs\ The law then ought to b«

U f

in.
■f. 'jif-'j

122

'*i'i!

ill

TAe English Reader,

Parti,

equally open to air. Any exemption to particular men\ or
to particular ranks of inen', is'', in a lice"' and commercial
country^, a solecism of the grossest nolure\

9 But 1 will not trouble your lordships with arg-uments for
tliat', which is sulficientiy evident wilhout any'. 1 shall only i
Bay a lew words to some noble lords', who loresee much in-
convenience', from the persons of their servants being liable
to be arrested\ One noble lord observes', That the coach-
man of a peer may be arrested'', while he is diivino' his mas-
ter to the House', and that'', consequently'', he will not be
able tOL'attend liis duty in parlianient\ II tnis were actually
to happen', there are so many methods by which the member
might still get to the House'', that I can hardly think the noblcj
lord is serious in his objection\ I

10 Another m)ble peer said', That', by this bill', one mightl
lose his most valuable'' and honest servants^ This I hold tol
be a contradiction in terms^: for he can neither be a valuablel
servant', nor an honest man', who gets into debt, which hel
is neither able nor willing to pay', tifl compelled by the law\l
If my servant', by unforeseen accidents', has got into debt',!
and I still wish to retain him', I certainly wouiil pay the de-l
mand\ But upon no principle of liberal legislation whatever',!
can my servant have a title to set his creditors at deliance',1
while', for forty shillings only', the honest tradesman maybel
torn from his family', and locked up in a gaol\ It is mon-F
Btrous hijusticeM I Hatter rnvself, however', the determina-l
tion of this day', will entirely put an end to all these partiaij
proceedings for the future', by passing into a law the billnovfj
under your lordships' .considerati()n\ I

11 I now come to speak upon what', indeed', I would havel
gladly avoided', had I not been particularly pointed at', fori
the part I have taken in this bill\ It has been said', by al
noble lord on my left hand', that I likewise am running the!
race of popularity^ If the noble lord means by popularity'!
that applause bestowed by after-ages on good and virtuouil
actions', I have long been struggling in that race^: to whal
purpose'', all-trying time can akme determine\ [
I 12 But if tlie noble lord means that mushroom popularity'!
which is raised without merit\ and lost Avithout a crime', hel
is much mistaken in his opinion\ I defy the no})le lord tol
point out a single action of ujy life', in which the popularity
of the times ever had the smallest influence on my deterniH
nations\ I thank God, I have a more permanent and 8teady|
rule fi>r my conduct^ — the dictates of my own breast^

. 13 Those who have foregone that pleasing ad viser\andffiveB
up tlieir mind to be the suive of every popular impulse', I slBJ

f. ■ • * ,

Fart L

Chap, 8.

Public Speeches.

123

cereljr pity^: I pity them still more', if their vanity leads them
«) mistake the shouts 'of a mob' for the trumpet of lame\—
Experience mii?ht itit()rm them', that many', wlio iiave been
jakited with the imzzas oi' a crowd one day', have received
their execrations the next'; and many', who', by iJie popularity
of their times', have been iield up as .spotless patriots', have',
nevertheless', appeared upon the historian's page', when truth
has triumphed ovx'r delusion', the assassins of liberty^

14 Why then the noble lord can tiiink I am ambitious of

livivin^ his n^a* ■present popularity', that echo of lblly\ and sjjadow of re-
he Avill not D*Bn,nvn', I am at a loss to determined Besides', I do not know
lis were actually ^l^jj^ ^i^q y^\[\ j^^^y belbre your lordships', ^vill be i)oi)ular^; it
lepends much upon tlie caprice of the day\ It m;i>' not be
pular to compel people to pay their debts^; and', in that
lase', the present must be a very unpopular bill\
15 It ma^ not be popular either to take away any of the
irivileges of parliamenr; for I very well remember', and many

icular men\ or
nd commercial

1 argviments for
y\ 1 shall only
uresee much in-
lilts being liable
That the coach-

hich the member
y think the noble

bill', one might

This I hold to
her be a valuable

ago

5 the po-
so tar did they

IS ?ot into debt, -

ouid pay '

station whate

tors at defiance|,«fjj3 undoubtedly an abominable doctrine\ I thought so tiien',

radesman may beBnj j think so stilf, but', nevertl.'eless', it was a popular doc-
aoP. It is Hion-K^g'^ and came immediately from tliose wlio are called the
\ the determina-Bjjjnds of liberty^; how deservedly', time will show\

lo all these par^^^B 16 True liberty', in my opinion'*, can only exist when justice

lalawthebillno\»l

and to the beffgar'

I equally administered to aii^; to the kin^' an
J^'here is the justice then', or where is the law', that protects
^ed'.I Avould naveB^guji,ei. of parliament', more than any other man', trom the
|-ly pointed at , lO'Bmishmcnt due to Ids crimes\'* The laws of this country allow
"been said, by &■ no place\ nor any employment', to l)e a sanctuary for
am running theBinfigg". ^y^^[ where I have the honour to sit as judge', neither:
.3 by popularity &'al favour\ nor popular applause', shall i)rotect the »uilty\
ood and virtuouJB'i7 j j^^ve now only to beg pardon for having employed so

kat race
le^

}: to what

ch of your lordships' time^; and I am sorry a bilr, fraught
. ,^th so many gmxi consequences', has not met with an abler
room popularity ,Bvocate^: but 1 doubt not your lordships' determination will
bout a crime ^ n^^vince the world', tJiat a \n\V, calculated to contribute so
ich to the equal distribution of justice as the present', re-
res with your lordships but very little supi^ort*.

J the noble lord to]
lich the populant
on my determi-
ianer;t and steady!
I)wn breast^
\dviser\andffive!

farimpulse',l8»»

■, r; u.

124

The English Reader,

Parti.

H.ilil

ill!

'II'

iifiijiiji

iiiiipi
•iiiii

SECTION V.

,An address to young persons.

1 INTEND, in this address, to show you the importance of
beginning early to give serious attention to your conduct
As soon as you are capable of reflection, you must perceive
that there is a rigiit and a wrong in human actions. You see,
that tiiose who are born with the same advantages of fortune,
are not all equally prosperous in the course ot life. While
some of them, by wise and steady conduct, attain distinction
in the world, and pass their days with comfort and honour;
others, of the same rank, by mean and vicious behaviour, Ibr-
feit the advantages of their birth ; involve themselves in much
misery ; and end in being a disgrace to their friends, and a
burden on society.

2 Early, then, may you learn, that it is not on the external
condition in which you find yourselves placed, but on the part
which you are to act, that your welfare or unhappiness, your
honour or inlhmy, depends. Now, wlien beginning to act that
3a rt, wliat can be ot greater mohient, than to regulate your
mn. of conduct with the most serious attention, before you
lave yet committed any fatal or irretrievable errors?

3 It", uistead of exerting reflection for this valuable pur-
pose, you deliver yourselves up, at so critical a time, to sloth I
and pleasures ; if you refuse to listen to any counsellor but
humour, or to attend to any pursuit except that of amuse-
ment; if you allow yourselves to float loose and careless onl
the tide of liiij, ready to receive any direction which the cur-
rent of fashion may chance to give you; what can you expect |
to follow from such beginnings?

4 While so many around you, are undergoing the sad con-
sequences of a like uidiscretion,lbr what reason shall not those]
consequences extend to you : Shall you attain success vsrith-
out that preparation, and escape dangers without that pre-
caution, which are required of others? Shall happiness growl
ii|j to you, of its own accord, and solicit your acceptance,!
when, to the restof mankiiid, it is the <'"utof long cultivation,!
and the acquisition of la hour and c.i'^e ;'

5 Deceive not yourselves with those arrogant hopes.— I
Whatever be your rank, Providence will not, for your sake,!
reverse its established order. The Author of your being hathi
enjoined you to " take heed to your wavs ; to ponder thel
paths of your ii^et ; to remember your Creator in the days ofl
your vouth." I

6 He hath decreed, that they only " who seek after wis-l

Parti'

Cluip. S.

Public Speeches.

125

importance of
your conduct
must perceive
ions. You see,
lo-es of fortune,
)!ufe. While
tain distinction
•tand honour;
behaviour, ior-
uselvesinmuch
r friends, and a

on the external
, but on the part
ihappiness, your
iningto act that
to regulate your
Aion, before you I
; errors ?
lis valuable pur-
I a time, to sloth
y counsellor but
that of amuse-
I and careless on
In which the cur-
,t can you expect I

ping the sad con-
on shall not those

Lin success witti-

Ivithout that pre-

|l happiness growl

•our acceptance,

'long cultivation,!

Crogant hopes.-
lot, for your sake.
If your being hath
h ' to ponder thel
Itorinthedaysol

io seek after wi»

dom, shall find it; that fools shall be afflicted, because of
their transgressions ; and that whoever refuseth instruction,
shall destroy his own soul." By listening to these admoni-
tions, and lempering tlie vivacity of youth with a proper
mixture of serious thought, you may ensure cheerfulness for
the rest of lile ; hut by delivering yourselves up at present to
giddiness and levity, you lay the loundation of^ lasting heavi-
ness of heart.

7 When you look forward to those plans of life, which
either your circumstances have suggested, or your friends
have proposed, yoU will not hesitate to acknowl»v1«rf»^ th:it :a
order to pursue them with advantage, some previous disci-
pline is requisite. Be assured, that whatever is to be your
profession, no education is more necessary to your success,
than the acquirement of virtuous dispositions and habits.—

1 This is the universal preparation for every character, and
I every station in lile.

8 Bad as the world is, respect is always paid to virtue. In
I the usual course of human affairs, it will be found, that a
Iplain understanding, joined with acknowledged worth, con-
jlributes more to prosperity, than the brightest parts without
jprobity or honour. Whether science or business, or public
llife, be your aim, virtue still enters, for a principal share, into
|all those great departments of society. It is connected with

eminence, in every liberal art; with reputation, in every
branch of fair and useful business ; with distinction, in every
jubUc station.

9 The vigour which it gives the mind, and the weight
phich it adds to character ; the generous sentiments which

ft breathes ; the undaunted spirit which it inspires ; the ardour
pf diligence which it quickens ; the freedom which it pro
cures from pernicious and dishonourable avocations ; are tl»e
foundations of all that is highly honourable, or greatly suc-
cessful among men.

10 Whatever ornamental or engaging endowments you
bw possess, virtue li a necessary requisite, in order to their
ihining with proper lustre. Feeble are the attractions of the
pirest form, if it be suspected that nothing within, corre
|{)onds to the pleasing appearance without. Short are tlic
Viumpha of wit, when it is supposed to be the vehicle o»

Qalice.

11 By whatever means you may at first attract the attention,
|ou can hold the esteem, and secure the hearts of others only
ly amiable dispositions, and the accomplishments of the mind
These are the qualities whose influence will last, when the

stre of all tiiat once sparlded and dazzled has passed away,

, 11*

#■

■' -\

126

♦;* .

Tlie English Reader.

Part 1.

-:,,,Mili!!|f!t!

12 Let not then the season of youth be barren of improve-
ments, so essential to ^our future felicity anil honour. Now
is the seed-time ol' lile ; and according to " what you sow,
you shall reap." Your character is now, under divine as
sistance, of your own fbrraing- ; your liite is, in some mea-
sure, put into your ovyn iiands.

13 Your nature is as yet pliant and soft. Habits have not
established their dominion. Prejudices have not pre-occu-
pied your understanding-. The world has not had time to
contract and debase vour affections. All your powers are
more vij^orous, disembarrassed, and free, than they will be
at any future period.

14 Whatever impulse you now give to your desires and
passions, the direction is likely to continue. It will form the
channel in which your lite is to run ; nay, it may determine
its everlasting issue. Consider, then, the employment ofl
this important period, as the highest trust which shall ever [
be committed to you; as, in a great measure, decisive of your
happiness in time, and in eternity.

15 As in the succession of the seasons, eac'n, bvthie inva-
Tisihle laws of nature, atfects the prodiictions of what is next I
in course ; so, in human life, every period of our age, accord-!
ing as it is well or ill spent, influences the happiness of thati
which is to follow. Virtuous youth, gradually brings for-|
ward accomplished and flourishing manhood j and such man-l
hood, passes of itself, without uneasiness, into respectabJej
and tranquil old age. r

16 But when nature is turned out of its regular course,!
disorder takes place in the moral, just as in the vegetablel
world. If the spring put forth no blossorns, in summer there!
will be no beauty, and in autumn, no fruit: so. if youth bel
trifled away without improvement, manhood will probably bel
contemptible, and old a;^e miserable. If the beginnings oil
life have been " vanity, its latter end can scarcely be anyl
other than " vexation of spirit." I

17 I shall finish this address, with calling your attention tol
that dependence on the blessing ol* Heaven, Avhich, amidst all
your endeavours after improvement, you ought continually tol
preserve. It is too common with the young, even when theyl
resolve to tread the path of virtue and lionour, to set out!
with presumptuous confidence in themselves. F

18 Trusting to their own abilities lor carrying them sum
cessfully through life, they are careless of applymg to GodJ
or of deriving any assistance from what they are apt tor
reckon the gloomy discipline of religion. Alas ! how little dflj
they know the dangers which await them ? Neither hui

Part 1. I CAop. 9.

Promiscuous Pieces,

127

n of improve-
onour. Now
^rliat. you sow,
lev divine as
in fiome mea-

[abits have not
not pre-occu-
it had time to
ur powers are
in they wul be

)nr desires and
It will form the

may determine

employment ol

ivhich shall evei

, decisive of youi

,cn,bvtheinva.

3 of what IS next
'ourage,accord-

lappiness of that
ually brinffs for-
iiandsuchraaii-
into respectablel

wisdom, nor human virtue, unsupported hy religion, is equal
to the trying situations which olten occur in lile.

19 By the shock of temptation, how li'equently Iiave the
most virtuous intentions been overthroAvn ? Under the pres-
sure of disaster, how often has the greatest constancy simk?
"Every good, and every perfect giit, is from above." Wis-
dom and virtue, as well as " riches and honour, come from
God." Destitute of his favour, you are in no better situation,
iwith all your boasted abilities, tlian orphans left to wander in
a trackless desert, without any guide to conduct them, or
any slielter to cover them irom the gathering storm.

20 Correct, then, this ill-founded arrogance. Expect not,
lat your happiness can be independent of Him wlio made

rou. By faith and repentance, apply to the Redeemer of
[he world. By piety and prayer, seek the protection of the
rod of Heaven.

21 I conclude -with the solemn words, in which a great
)rince delivered his dying change to his son : words, which
[very young person ought to consider as addressed to him-

!lf, and to engpave deeply on his heart : " Solomon, my son,
Inow thou the God of thy fethers ; and serve him with a
erfect heart, and with a willing mind. For the Lord search-
^h all hearts, and understandeth all the imaginations of the
loughts. If thou seek him, he will he found of tjiee ; but iJf
m forsake him, he will cast thee ofTfor ever." blair.

regular coui^eJ

in the vegetable!

in summer therel

If.sojifyouthbel

4 will probably bej

Ithe beginnings (JI

scarcely be anyl

I your attention tjl

I which, amidst 'J

o-htcontmuallvt*)

^ even when theyl

honour, to set out|

larryin? them sucj
^ applying to GodJ
they are apt
las' how little tl(

1? Neither hui

\ journey to visit Mount Etna', and the rest of
It lie towards the South of Italy\ Kircher is

CHAPTER IX.

PROMISCUOUS PIECES.

SECTION I.

Earthquake at Calahnay in the year 1638.

IN account of this dreadful earthquake', is given by the
lebrated father Kircher\ It happened whilst he was on

of the wonders
considered',
I scholars', as one of the greatest prodigies of learning^
laving hired a boat', in company with four more', (two
lirs of the order of St. Francis , and two seculars',) we
Inched from the harbour of Messina, in Sicily', and arri-
T, the same day', at the promontory of Pe!oru"s\ Our
Itination was for the city of Euphsemla', in Calabria',
ere we had some business to transact', and where we de-
led to tarry for some time\

"However', Providence seemed willing to cross our de-
^\ for we were obliged to continue three days at Pelorus'

?<.;

.i\ ,

'■!■

4 '

■, ■1!:^^'!

129

Hu English Reader,

Pari I,

sea

on account of the weather'; and though we often put out to

At length', wearied i
and',
we ven-

, yet we were as ollen driven back
with tiie delay', we resolved to pros«;cute our voya»e^;
although the sea seemed more than usually agitated , w
tured forward^

3 "Thegulf'of Charybdis', wliichwe approached', seemed
whirled round in such a niaiiiier', as to Ibrm a vast hollovv'.j
verging to a point in the centre\ Proceeding onward', anal
turnin;^ my eyes to Etna', I saw it cast forth larjre volumesl
of smoke', of mountainous sizes', which entirely covered the!
island', and blotted out the very shores from my view\ This'T
tigether with the dreadful noise\ an. I the sulphurous stenclil
which T"*is strongly perceived', filled n^so: with apprehensionsf
that some more dreadful calamity wa;) nnp ;ndiug\

4 " Tiie sea itself seemed to wear a yer/ unusual appear-
ance^: they who have seen a lake in a violent showetoi raiu'j
covered all over with bubbles', will conceive some idea of ii
agitations\ My surprise was still increased' by the calnmi
and serenity of the weather' ; not a breeze\ not a cloud', whii
might be supposed to put all nature thus into motion\
therefore warned my o.'>rnpani()ns', that an earthquake
approaching'; and', after some time', making lor the shoi
with ail jwssible diligence', we landed at Tropea', happy a
thankful lor havingescaped the threaten! ng dangers of the sei

5 " But our triumphs at land were of short duration''; (i
we had scarcely arrived at the Jesuits' College', in thatci
when our ears were stunned with a horrid sound', resembli
that of an infinite number of chariots', driven fiercely f(|
ward'; the wheels rattling', and the thongs cracking^ SoL
after this', a most dreadful earthquake ensued^; the whW'ote'
tract upon which we stood seemed to vibrate', as if we w
in the scale of a balance that continued wavering\
motion', however', soon grew more violent'; and being
longer able to keep my legs', I was thro^vn prostrate v\
the ground\ In the mean time', the universal ruin roi
me', redoubled my amazement'.

6 " The crash of falling houses', the tottering of towers'
the groans of the dying', all contributed to raise my tei
and despair'. On every side of me', I saw nothing k— r, -
scene or ruin'; and danger threatening wherever I should !W^* >
i recommended myself to God', as my last great refuge'.^®'* pi

7 " At that hour', O how vain was every sublunary ha^J® cifr
ness'! Wealth', honour\ empire', wisdom', all mere iisew^^o
aounds',andas empty as thebunblesof the deep'! JuststanW^c
onthfe threshold of eternity ',nothing butGod was mypleasiB *^ '
and the nearer I approached', I only loved him the moreB^ tur

hi
cc
Oi
roi

Paxils

often out out to i
ength^ weaned

voyage'; and,|
fiialedSwevenr

Chap, 9, Promiscmua Pieces, 12d

8 "After some time', however', finding that I remained un-
hurt', amidst the general concussion'. I resolved to venture for
saiety^; and running as lust as I could', I reached the stiore',
but almost terrified out of my reason^ I did not search long
PtnedB here's ^^'' ^ Ibund the boat in wnich I had landed', and my
iiacheo 5^*^»"| / 1 companions also', whose terrors were even greater than mine',
n a vast "?; j!.m Our meeting was not of that kind', where every one is desi-
ng ^^"^^^^^ u, «,J rous of telling his own happy escape^; it was all silence', and
th large ^'*''|^l ■ a gloomy dread of impending terrors^
tirely cover^i ■ g "Leaving this seat of desolation', we prosecuted our
my view . ^ ' iH voyage along the coast^; and the next day came to Rochetta',
4vilphuroas^sxe^^^^^j^gj.g^yg landed', although the earth still continued in violent
agitations^ But we had scarcely arrived at our inn', when
we were once more obliged to return to the boaf ; and', in
about half an hour', we saw the greater part of the town\ and
Ithe inn at which we had put uir, dashed to the ground's bu-
prying the inhabitants beneath tne ruin8\

10 " In this manner', proceeding onward in our little ves-
]', finding no safety at land', and yet', from the smallness of
lur boat', having but a very dangerous continuance at sea',

e at lenglh landed at Lopizium , a castle midway' between
'ropsea and Euphaemia', the city to which', as I said belbre',
e were boun4\ Here', wherever I turned my eyes', nothing
lut scenes of ruin' and horror' appeared'; toAvns' and cas-
les' levelled to the ground'; Stromooli', though at sixty miles
istance^ belching forth flames in an unusual manner', and
itli a noise which I could distinctly hear'.

11 "But my attention was quickly turned from more re-

h apprehensions

^^appe^
fnt shower of ray

ve some idea ol w
hV by the caimne
'notacloud,whi(
us into motion .
an earthquake T
.aking for the sh«
Tropea', happy ^
o-dangersofthese

Ihort duration'; I

d sound', resembli
r driven fiercely

Vo-s cracking'- ^
; ensued': the w

lote', to contiguous danger'. The rumbling sound of an

», ensucu , .V- --approaching earthquake', which we by this time were grown
hrate', as u we )jMcquainted with', alarmed us for the consequences'; it every

fd wavering .

dent'; and hemg
town prostrate y

universal ruin roi

Itering of towers'

Id to raise my tCT

I saw nothing ¥

IhereverlshouldS

last great refuge .1
^erv suhUinary baj
W,aUmereMS^

God was my «
ved him the more

onient seemed to grow louder', and to approach nearer^.

he place on which we stood now began to shake most

eadfully': so that being unable to stand', my companions

d I caught hold of whatever shrub grew next to us', ar '.

pported ourselves in that manner'.

12 " After some time', this violent paroxysm ceasing', we

ain stood up', in order to prosecute our voyage to Euphse-

a', which lay within sight*. In the mean time', while we

ere preparing for this purpose', I turned my eyes towards

je city', but could sec only a frightful dark cloud', that

^emed to rest upon the place'. This the more surprised us',

I the weather was so very serene'.

■ 13 "We waited', therefore', till the cloud had passed away',

kn turning to look for the city', it was totally sunk'. Wcm-

prful to tell'! nothing but a dismal and putrid lake' was seen

Hljif'"^'^

llatc
thoi

jrecc
jremi

Hijp

le y,

•ever

\oung

IfHi The EngHth Reader, Part 1

where it 8too(i\ We looked about to find some one that
could teil us uf'its sad catastrophe^ but could see no pcrsoh\
All was become a melancholy solitude^; a scene of .hideous
desolation^

14 "Thus proceeding pensively alon^', in quest of some hu-
man bein^ that could £r>ve us a little inlormatiun^ we at length
saw a boy sitting bv tne shore', and appearing' stiipified with
terror^ Of iiini , therelore', we inquired conceniin^y the liite
of the city^; but he could not be prevailed on to give us aii
answer\

15 " We entreated hlrn', with every expression of tender-
ness^ and plly' to tell us^; bi t his senses were (luite wrapped
up in the contemplation of t ie danger he had escaped^ We i
offered him some victuals', but he seemed to loath the sight\
We still persisted in our offices of kindness^; but he oniv
pointed to the place of the city', like one out of his senses , I
and then', running up into the woods', was never heard oil
ailer\ Such was the fate of the city of EuphiDmia\ |

16 "As we continued our melanchojy course along tliel
shore', the whole coast', for the space of two hundred miles'T
presented nothing but the remains of cities^ and men' scat-j
tered'. without a habitation', over the fields\ Proceeding thmj
along, we at length ende'!. our distressful voyage by arrivind
at Naples', after naving escaped a tliousand dangers botha|
sea' and iand\" goldsmith.

SECTION II.
Letter from Pliny to Germimus.
DO we not sometimes observe a sort of people', who'j
though they are themselves under the abject dominion ol
every vice', show a kind of malicious resentment against thi
errors of others', and are most severe upon those Whom the]
most resemble'? yet', surely ? '>enity or disposition', even iiB the te
persons who have the least occasion for clemency themseIvesC>ch m
is of all virtues the most becoming^

2 The highest of all characters', in my estimation', is his'j
who is as ready to pardon the errors of mankind', as if ne wei

the same time'

nce^

3Sh'e

enco

ngth

Fp'e vi;

|her jai

never forgave one|
upon all occasions', boti
private^ and public', most religiously observe': "to be inexi)
rable to our own failings', whife we treat those of the resti
the world with tenderness': not excepting even such as foij
give none but themselves^ '

3 I shall', perhaps'j be asked', who it 5s that has given
casion to these reflections^ Know tiien that a certain per

lar col

She

day

m Ft
pees to
h ^d

,.ne IS
M hii

M.<

Parti

Chop. til.

Promiacuou3 Pieces.

131

that

[)mc one
ee no persoi^
ue of >wieou8

-stofsomehu-
i', we at length

. stnpificil ^vlth
;ermng the late

;i to give us an

ssionoftender-
: quite wrapped
Uscaped^.We
loath the sight.

ifC\ hut he only
itorhisaensea,
3 never heard ol
pha5mia\. , I
bourse along thel
(, hundred nnles ,1
^, and men' scat-I
Proceeding thusl

[lately'— but of that when we meet'— though', upon second
thoughts', not even then'; lest', whilst I condemn and expose
liw conduct', I nhall act (»unftM- to that maxim I piirticularly
lrecon»mend\ W'ioever', f lioreli»re', and whatever he is', Khali
Iremain in silence': l()r thoui:^h there may be some use', por-
jliaps', in setting a mark upon I lie umn', (I»r the sake ol' ex-
ample', there will he more', hou'cvcr', in sparim,' hiih', Hir
^he sake ofhumanity^ FarewclP. melmoth's plixv.

SKC TION III.

jetterfroni Pliny to Marcellinus on the death of an ami'

able youn<^ wotiMU.

I AVRITE this under the utmost oppression of sorrow^:

le youngest daugiiter of my friend r undanus', is dead'!

fever surely was there a more nj^rceable', and more amiable

[oung person', or one ^vho better deserved to have enjoyed

long', I had almost said', an immortal lifeM She had all the
isdom of age' and discretion of a matron', joined with
lutliful sweetness' and virgin modesty^
2 With what an engaging Ibndticss did she behave to her
therM How kindly and respectfully receive his friends'! How
"ectionately treat all those who', in their respective otfircs',

, . -. . i^^d the care' and education of her^! She employed much of

pyage by ^I3!*^"l»'^*^'^® ^^ reading', in which she discovered ^reat strength of
d dangers hotria;M^|™^gn^\. gj^^ indulged herself in few diversions', and those

GOLDSMITH.

of people'., whoj
ject dominion 0^
tment against th
. those whom tne]
aposltion', evenw
:iency themselves

estimation', is his'
kind', as if he we
Ithe same time , \
ver forgave one
II occasions , oQ\
•ve': "tobeinexi

hose of the rest
even such as w

that has given '
It a certain per

ptfi much caution^ With what forbearance^ with what pa-

^nce\ with what courage', did she endure her last' illness'!

|3 She compiled with all the directions of her physicians';

encouraged her sister', and her father^; and', when all her

[ength of body was exhausted', supported herself by the

Wle vigour of her min(l\ That', indeed', continued', even

her last moments', unbroken by the pain of a long illnrss'',

|the terrors of approaching death^; and it is a reflection

lich makes the loss of lier so much the more to be lament-

^1 A loss infinitely severe'! and more severe by the par-

liar conjuncture in which it happened^!

She was contracted to a most worthy youtb\ tlie wed-

jday was fixed', and we were all invited\ — How sad a

jinffe from the liighest joy', to the deejiest sorrow^! How

kll I express the wound that pierced my heart', when I

pd Fundanus himself, (as grief is ever finding out circum-

Incesto aggravate its affliction',) ordering the money he nad

}ii 'd to lay out upon clothes^ and jewels', for h«r mar-

?e', to be employed in myrrh' and spices' for her 1unej»!l

' He is a man of great learning' and good sense^ :vho hSP

•lied himself, from his earliest youth' to the nt :««* Md

132

The English Reader*

Porn

■ iliiii

.1 ,

most elerated studies^; but all the maxims of fortitude which
he has received from Dooks\ or advanced himself'', he now!
absolutely rejects^; and every other virtue of his heart gives!
place to all a parent's tenderness^ We shall excuse', we shall!
even approve his sorrow', when we consider what he has lost\ j
He has lost a daughter who resembled him in his manners',!
as well as his person^; and exactly copied out all her father\l

G If his iHend Marcellinus shall think proper to write lol
him', uix)n the subject of so reasonable a griel , let me remin^l
liim not to use the rougher arguments of consolation', audi
such as seem to carry a sort of reproof with them'; butthose|
oi' kind and sympathizing humanity\

7 Time will render him more open to the dictates of reaJ
son^: for as a fresh wound shrinks back from the hand of thel
surgeon', but by degrees submits to, and even requires tbl
means ol its cure'; so a mind', under the first impressions oil
a misfortune', shuns and rejects all arguments of consolation!
but at length', if applied with tenderness', calmly and will
lingly acquiesces in them\ Farewelf. Melmoth's PLiinl

SECTION IV.
On discretion.

1 HAVE often thought', if the minds of men were la
open', we should see but little difference between that of i
w^ise man', and that of a fool\ There are infinite reveriesl
numberless extravagances^ and a succession of vanities'l
which pass through both\ The great difference is', thatl
first knows how to pick and cull nis thoughts for conven

tion', by suppressing some', and communicating others! ^

whereas the other lets them all indifferently fly out m wordsMjj^ p"^
This sort of discretion', however', has no place in privalBe At t
conversation between intimate friends\ On such occasioffi™''"* -
tlie wisest men very often talk like the weakest^j lor, inde
talking with a friend', is notiiing else than thinking aloui.\

2 Tully has therefore very justh' exposed a precept', del
vered by some ancient writers', That a man should liveTvi^
his enemy in such a manner', as might leave him room to li
come his fi iend'; and with his friend', in such a manner', thalj
if he became his enemy', it should not be in his power tohu
him\ The first part of this rule', which regards our behafl
our towards an enemy', is indeed very reasonable', as wellj
very prudential; hvX the latter part of it', which regards <
behaviour towards a friend', savours more of cunning^ than!
discretion'; and would cut a man off* from the greatest f I«f
lures of life', which are the freedoms of conversation wit!
#08om friend\ Besides that , when a friend is turned into I

Part 1 1 CA«jp. 7.

Promiscuous Pieces.

188

fortitude -which
mseir, he now

t^s heart gweB
.xcuse',weBhal
vhathehaslost.
in bis nianners ,
it all her iatheT\|
■oner to write tol
-iMetmerenunl
consolation', anil

then/; hut those

e dictates of m-
n the hand of tk
even requires tlK
irst impressions ol
[itsofconsolatioii,
, calmly and vii
taMOTH's Pliki

of men were \
[between thatol
•e infinite reventf
;ssion of vamtr
ierence is', that
jffhta for convei
rvunicatin§ othej
Iv fly out in words

,o place in pnval
Onsuchoccasiott
akesO-, lor, rndee

I enemy ^ the world is just enough to accuse the perfidiousneM
lof the iriend', rather tlian the uidiscretion of the person who
iconfided in him'.

3 Discretion docs not only show itself in words', but in all
the circumstances of action'; and is like an under-agent of
Providence', to guide and direct us in the ordinary concerns
of life\ There are many more shining qualities in the mind of

^ but there is none so useful as discretion\ It is this',
ideed', which gives a value to all the rest^; which sets them
It work in their proper times^ and places'; and turns them to
pie advantage ol the person who is possessed of them\ Wifh-
^ut it', learning is pedantry', and wit impertinence^; virtue
elf boks like weakness^; the best parts only qualify a man to
more sprightly in errors', and active to his own prejudice' .

4 Discretion does not only make a man tlie master of his

vm parts', but of other men's\ The discreet man finds out

lie talents of those he converses with', and knows how to ai>-

h them to proper uses\ Accordingly', if we look into parti-

lular communities^ and divisions of men', we may observe',

bat it is the discreet man\ not the witty', nor the learned\nor

&ebrave\ who guides the conversation', and gives measures

1 80ciety\ A man with ^reat talents', but void of discre-

pn', is like Polyphemus m the fabl(?\ strong' and blind';

pued witb an irresistible force', which', for want of sight',

of no use to }um\

1 5 Though a man has all other perfections', yet if he wants
jcretion', he will be of no ^reat consequence in the world^:
I the contrary', if he has this single talent in perfection', end
kt a common share of others', he may do what he pleases
I his particular station of hfe\

|6 At the same time that I think discretion the most useful
lent a man can be master of, I look upon cunning to be the
compiishment of little\ mean', ungenerous minds . Discre-

3ed

eave him room tot^ke' them succeed

fich a manner', tbaWr Discretion has large and extended views^; and', like a

lin his power tohwl-formed eye', commands a whole horizon^: cunning is a

regards our beliaMd of short-sightedness', that discovers the minutest objects

asonable', as wellBich are near at hand', hut is not able to discern things at a

f •xviiich regards (wance^ Discretion', the more it is discovered', gives a

leof cunningHhai*ater authority to the person who possesses it^: cunning',

|m the greatest p^en it is once detected , loses its force', and makes a man

1 conversation wiuBapable of bringing about even those events which i*e might

nid is turned intoB^e done', had he passed only for a plain man\

12 '

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Reader.

Part 1.

8
in nil

looks

lion is only found iit men of stron<jf sonse' and good under-
Btnndinfjfs'^: cunnin;;: is oflon to be niet with in brutes them- 1
selves^; and in persons who arc bnt llie lewest removes fronij
thcni\ In shorty cunninju^ is only the mimic of discretion];!
and it may pass upon weak men', in the same manner as vi-'
vacity is ollen mistaken lor wit', and gravity'' i()r wistlom\

I) Tiie cast of mind which is natural lo a discreet inan'||
makes him look forward into futurity'', and consider what will
lie liis coiulition millions of ages hence , as well as what it is atl

ippear iiiue lo mm oecause mey
considers that those pleasures^ and pains' which lie hid
eteriiity', approach nearer to hini every moment'; and will
presoiit wi*h hiin' in their full weight^ and
as those
staut\

measure , as miio

ai
li(

e pains'* and i)leasures' which he leels at this very ;
For this reason', he is careful to secure to liimsel
that wiiich is the proper happiness of his nature', and thei
riniate design of his being\

10 He carries his thoughts to the end of every action', aij
consider? the most distant,' as well as the most immediate a
tects of it\ He supersedes every little prospect ofgain^ acj
advantage' which otfers itself here', if he does not finJ! itca
sistent with his views of an herealler\ In a word', his hop
are full of inmiortality^; his schemes are large^ and ^lorioui
anil his conduct suitable to one who knows his true mteresl
a".id how to pursue it by proper methods^ addisoh.I

SECTION V.

On the government of our tlioughts.

A MUliTITUDE of cases occur, in which we are no
accountable for what we think, than lor what we do. As, fii
when the introduction of any train of thought depends iif
ourselves, and is our voluntary act, by turning our attentij
towards such objects, awai.ening such passions, or enga?L. „.^
in such employments, as we know nuist give a peculiar iBf mer]
termination to our thought-s. Next, when thoughts, by wiiBiey g
ever accident they nuiy have been originally suggested, ftogj j,
indulired with deliberation and complacency.

2 Though the mind has been j)assive in their recepti
and theretbre tree from blame; yet, if it be active in
continuance, the guilt becomes its own. They mav hi

8E
'mploy

Part 1. 1 ^^'^P- ^'

Promiacuous Pteces^

135

, and a guide to ua
instinct', that only
I wcirare\ Discre-
';uul sooduiuler-
til in brutes them-
west reuiovea irow
unic of discretion ;
r.une manner aavi-[
/ity' lor wisilom.
lo a discreet man|
tl consider what will
1 well us what it IS atl
ppiness' which IS rcf
liinffor its reality y
lum\ Theobjed
y ure remote . . m
W which he hid ij
iioinent'; and will tr
a\ measures as mud
leels at this very u
to secure to himsa
IS nature', and the r

of every action^aa
ic most immediate d
prospector gam art

(> does not nn«A it coi
In a word', his hop
large^ and ^lorioui
»ws his true intere^

g^. ADDISO»l

tJioughts.
I which we are no
Ivhatwedo. A8,ni:
Vouirht depends ui^
turning our attenti
i)assions, or enga?
It give a peculiar
In ihonghus, by v?li
Vinally suggested,

jency. . ,.

Ve in their recepti

it be active in u

\n. They m:'v hi

intruded at first, like unbidden f:jue.st.s ; but if, wlirn entered,
ihoy are mixdc. welcome, and kiiuilv entertained, the case is
the same as irtliey li;id been invited li'om the beginning.

3 ll' we are llms jic.coiiiilnble to (lod lor tbouglil.s eitbei
voluntarily inirixhiced, «ir deliberately indulged, we are no
less so, in tbe hist olace, lor those wliicii lind admittance into
our hearts from supine negligence, from total relaxation of
attention, from allowing our imagination to rove with entire
license, " like the eyes of the l()ol, towards the ends of the
earth."

4 Our minds are, in this case, thrown oi)en to lolly and va-
nity. Tliey are pro.stitutedto every evil thin"' which j)leaseH
to take possession. Tiie consequences must ali be charged to
our account; and in vain we plead excuse from Jiuman infir
jniity. Hence it appears, that the great object at which we
are to aim in governing our thoughts, is, to take the most
effectual measures lor j)reventin^ the introduction of such as
are sinful ; and for hastening their expulsion, if they sliall
Ihave introduced themselves without consent of the will.

5 But when we descend into our breasts, and examine
liow lar we have studied to keep this obj(jct in view, who can
tell, " how oft ho hath olfended.'"' In no article of religion or

lorals are men more cilpably remiss, than in the unrestrained
indulgence they give to fancy: and that too, for the most
)art, without remorse. Since the time that reason began to
!xert her powers, thouglit, during our waking hours, has been
ictive in every breast, without a moment's suspension or pause.

6 The current of ideas has been always flowing. The
rheels of the spiritual engine have circulated with perpetual
notion. Let me ask, what has been the fruit of this incessant
ictivity, with the greater part of mankind ^ Of the innumera-
)le hours that have been employed in thought, how few are
larked with any permanent or useful effect.^ How many
lave either passed away in idle dreams ; or have been aban-
loned to anxious discontented musings, to unsocial and ma-
fgnant passions, or to irregular and criminal desires?

7 Had I power to lay open that storehouse of iniquity which
le hearts of too many conceal ; could I draw out and read

them a list of ail the imaginations they have devised, and

the passions they have indulged in secret ; what a picture

|f men should I present to themselves ! What crimes would

ley appear to have perpetrated in secrecy, which to their

lost intimate companioas they durst not reveal !

8 Even when men imagine their thoughts to be innocently
Imployed, they too commonly suffer them to run out intoex-

ivagant imag^inations, and chimerical olans of what they

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:i:ii|!l,

'iiJir

would wish to attain, or choose to be, if* they could frame the
course of things according to their desire. Though such em-
plojanents of fancy come not under the same description with
those which are plainly criminal, j^et wholly unblamable they
seldom are. Besides the waste of time which they occasion,
and the misapplication which they indicate of those intellec-
tual powers that were given to us for much nobler purposes,
Hiich romantic speculations lead us always into the neighbour-
hood of forbidden regions.

9 They place us on dangerous ground. They are, for the
most part, connected with some one bad passion ; and they
ulways nourish a giddv and frivolous turn of thought. They
unfit the mind for appljdng with vigour to rational pursuits,
or for acquiescing in sober plans ofconduct. From that ideal
world in which it allows itself to dwell, it returns to the com-
merce of men, unbent and relaxed, sickly and tainted, averse
^0 discharging the duties, and sometimes disqualified even
for relishing tiie pleasures of ordinary lii'e.

SECTION VI.
On the evils which flow from unrestrained passions.

WHEN man revolted from his Maker^ his passions re* I
belled against himself \ and', from beinj; originally the
ministers of reason', have become the tyrants of the soul\— |
Hence', in treating of this subject', two things may be as-
sumed as principles^: first', that through the present weak-
ness of the understanding', our passions are often directed I
towards improper objects^; and next', that even when J;heirl
direction is just^, and their objects are innocent', they per- 1
petually tend to run into excess^; they always hurry us to- 1
wards their gratification'^ with a blind and ^ ingerous impetu-l
osity\ On these two pomts', then', turns the whole govern- 1
mentof our passions^: first', to ascertain the proper objects I
of their pursuit'; and next' to restrain Ihem in that pursuit',!
when they would carry us beyond the bounds of reason\ 1

2 If there is any passion which intrudes itself unseasonably!
into our mind', which darkens and troubles ourjudgment', or!
habitually discomposes our temper'; which unfits us for pro*!
perly discharging the duties', or disqualifies us for cheerfully!
«njoying the comforts of life , we may certainly conclude it!
to have gained a dangerous ascendant^ The' great object!
which we ought to propose to ourselves', is', to acquire a!
firm and steadfast mind , which the infatuation of passion!
shall not seduce', nor its violence shake^; which', resting on!
fixed principles', shall', in the midst of contending emotions',!
remain free', and master of itself^; able to listen calmly

Pari 1. I ^^P' ^'

Promiscuous Pieces,

137

could frame the
lough such era-
lescription with
inblamable they
1 they occasion,
if those intellec-
ftobler i)urpose3,
otheneighbour-

rheyare,forthe
ission; and they
f thought. They
rational pursuits,
, From that ideal
turns to the com-
id tainted, averse
disquaUfied even

ned passiom*
', his passions re- 1
ij; originally the'
Intsofthesour.—
things may be as-
;he present weak-
are often directed
\t even when ^heir
locent', they pet-
ays hxxny us to-
mgerousimpetu-
.he whole govern-
.he proper objectsl
1 in that pursuit.
id8ofreason\
Itself unseasonably
our judgment , ot
, unfits us for pro-]
fs us for cheerfullyl
hainlv conclude itl
1 The great object
i', is', to acquire a
Ituation of passion
Iwhich', resting on
(tending emotions I

Tto listen calmly

the voice of conscience', and prepared to obey its dictates
without hesitation^

3 Toobtain', if possible', such command of passion', is one
of the highest attainments of the rational nature^ Arguments
to show its importance', crowd upon us from every quarter\
If there be any fertile source of mischief to human lile', it is',
beyond doubt , the misrule of passion^ It is this which poisons
the enjoyment of individuals^, overturns the order of society',
and strews the path of life with so many miseries', as to ren-
der it indeed the vale of tears^

4 All those great scenes of public calamity'^ which we be-
hold with astonishment^ and horror', have originated from the
source of violent passion8\ These have overspread the earth

1 with bloodshed\ These have pointed the assassin's dagger',
and filled the poisoned bowP. These', in every age', have
furnished too copious materials for the orator's pathetic de-
clamation', and for the poet's tragical song^ . When from pub-
lic life we descend to pnvate conduct', though passion operates
not there in so wide and destructive a sphere', we shall find
its influence to be no less baneful.

5 I need not mention the black and fierce passions', such as
envy\ jealousy\ and revenge', whose effects are obviously

|noxious',and whose agitations are immediate misery': but take
lan^ of the licentious and sensual kird^ Suppose it to nave un-
llimited scope^; trace it throughout its course', and we shall find
Ithat gradually', as it rises , it taints the soundness^ and
jtroubles the peace', of his mind over whom it reigns^; tliat', in
lits progress , it engages him in pursuits which are marked
Jeither with danger' or with shame^j that', in the end', it
pastes his fortune^ destroys his healtn\ or debases his cha-
racter'; and aggravatesall the miseries in which it has involved
bim', with the conchiding pangs of bitter remorse\ Through
ill the stages of this fatal course', how many have heretofore
run\^ What multitudes do we daily behold pursuing it', with
Dlind and headkmg stcps\^ blair.

SECTION vn.

|0n the proper state of our temper^ with respect to one another,
IT is evident', in the general', that if we consult either pub-
welfare^ or private happiness', Christian charitv ought to
kgulate our disposition in mutual intercour8e\ But as this
Veat principle admits of several diversified appearances',
2t us consider some of the chief forms under which it ought
» show itself in the usual tenor of life\
2 What', first', presents itself to be recommended', is a
eaceable temper^; a disposition averse to giveo£knce s and
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desirous of cultivating harmony', and amicable intercourse

3 Such a temper is the first principle of self-enjoyment\
It is the basisof all order'' and happiness aniongmankma\ The
positive' and contentious\ the rude^ and quarrelsome'', are the
bane of society\ Tliey seem destined to blast the small share
of comfort'', wnich nature has here allotted to man\ Butthe^
cannot disturb the peace of others', more than they break their
own\ The hurricane rages first in their own bosom', before it
is let forth upon the world\ In the tempests which they raise',
they are always tossed', and frequently it is their lot to periflh\

4 A peaceable temper must be supported by a candid one',
or a disposition to view the conduct of others with fairness' I
and impartialitv\ This stands opposed to a jealous^ and sus-
picious temper , which ascribes every action to the worst mo-
tive', and throws a black shade over every character^ If we
would be happy in ourselves\or in our connexions with others',
let us guard against this malignant spirit^ Let us study that I
charity "which thinketh no eviP;" that temper which', with-l
out degenerating into credulity', will dispose us to be just'; and I
which can allow us to observe an error', without imputing it asl
a crime\ Thus we shall be kept free from that continual irri-l
tation', which imaginary injuries raise in a suspicious breast',!
and shall walk among men as our brethren', not as ourj
enemies'.

5 But to be peaceable\ and to be candid', is not all that isl
required of a good man\ He must cultivate a kind\ generous\|
and sympathizing temper'^ which feels for distress', wliereverl
it is beheld^; which enters mto the concerns of his friends witli|
ardour', and to all w^ith whom he has intercourse', is gentle',
obliging', and humane\ How amiable appears such a dispo-l
sition'', when contrasted with a malicious^ or envious temper','
which wraps itself up in its own narrow interest^ looks withl
an evil eye on the success of others', and', with an unnatura
satisfaction', feeds on their disappointments' or miseries'!
How little does he know of the true happiness of life', who is
a stranger to that intercourse of good offices^ and kind affec-
tions', which', by a pleasing charm', attaches men to one|
another', and circulates joy from heart' to heart^!

6 We are not to imagine', that a benevolent temper findij
no exercise', unless when opportunities offer of performing'
actions of high generosity', or of extensive utility'. TheM
may seldom occur\ The condition of ttie greater part of inin<l

Peril

ble intercourse
scending man-
uttrilles^,and',
ration of spirit.

ielf-enjoymenO.
mankinds Ine
elsome',arethe
the small share
man\ But the;
they break their
ttosom',heforeit
hich they raise,
ieirlottoperish\

)y a candid one',
rs with fairness'
jealous^ and sus-
to the worst mo-
jharacter\ If we
lions with others, I
Let us study that
perwhich^ with-l
ustobe3Ust';andl
out imputing it as
lat continual irri-
uspicious breast,!
iren', not as out

'is not all that isl
.kind\?enerous\l
fist^ess^ wherevetl
)f his friends withl
;ou^se^isgentle|
!ars such a dispo;!
• envious temper , I
|terest\ looks withl
with an unnatural
its' or miseries'l
less of life', who tfl
k^ and kind afleol
Iches men to onel
Iheart^! I

tlent temper find]
Iffer of performing
L utiUty'. Theii
eater part of Mttj

Chap. 9.

Promiacitottf Pieces,

139

kind', in a good measured precludes them\ But', in the or-

iiig their cheerfulness' or ease\ Such occasions may relate
to the smaller incidents of lire\

7 But Jet us remember', that of small incidents the system
of human lite is chiefly composeir. The attentions which re-
spect these', when suggested by real benignity of temper', are
often more material to the happiness of those around us', than
actions which carry the appearance of greater dignity' and
eplendour\ No wise^ or good man', ought to account any
rules of behaviour as below his regard', which tend to cement
the g-reat brotherhood of mankind in comfortable union^
Particularly amidst that lamiliar intercourse which belongs to
domestic life', all the virtues of temper find an ample range\

8 It is very unfortunate', that within that circle', men too
often think themselves at liberty to give unrestrained vent to
the caprice of passion' and huinour\ Whereas there', on
the contrary', more than any where else', it concerns them to
attend to the government of their heart\ to check what is
violent in their tempers', and to soften what is harsh in their
manners^ For there tlie temper is formed\ There', the
real character displays itselP. The forms of the world', dis
guise men when abroad'. But within his own family', every
man is known to be what he truly is\

9 In all our intercourse then with others', particularly in
that v/hich is closest' and most intimate', let us cultivate a
peaceable\ a candid^j a gentle', and linendly temper\ This
IS the temper to which', by repeated injunctions', our holy
relif^on seeks to form us\ This was the temper of Christ .
This is the temper of Heaven\

SECTION vin. '

Excelleiiee of the holy Scriptures.

IS it bigotry to believe the sublime truths of the Gospel,
with full assurance of faith? I glory in such bigotry. 1
would not part with it for a thousand worlds. I congratu-
late tho man who is possessed of it: for amidst all the vicis-
situdes and calamities of the present state, that man enjovs
an inexhaustible fund of consolation, of which it is not in tne
power of fortune to deprive him.

2 There is not a book on earth, so favourable to all the
kind, and all the sublime affections ; or so unfriendly to hatred
and persecution, to tyranny, to injustice, and every soit of

r. •

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1 If

•:;-:^iliiiill III

lillii

illilllilij!

ill'ili;iii:',i;';iH

iriiiii I'l

malevolence, as the Gospel. It breathes nothing throughout,
but mercy, benevolence, and peace.

3 Poetry is sublime, when it awakens in the mind any
great and ^ood a flection, as piety, or patriotism. Thb is one
of the noblest effects of the art. The Psalms arc remarka-
ble, beyond all other writings, for their power of inspiring de-
vout emotions. But it is not in this respect only, that they
are sublime. Of th j divine nature tliey contain the most
magnificent descriptions, that the soul of man can compre-
hend. The hundred and fourth Psalm, in particular, displays
the power and goodness of Providence, in creating and pre-
fi>ervmg the world, and the various tribes of animals in it, with
6uch majestic brevity and beauty, as it is in vain to look for
in any human composition.

4 Such of the doctrines of the Gospel as are level to human
capacity, appcjar to be agreeable to the purest truth, and tlie
soundest moralitv. All the genius and learning of the hea-
then world ; all the penetration of Pythagoras, Socrates, and
Aristotle, had never been able to produce such a system of
nionil duty, and so rational an account of Providence and of
man, as are to be found in the New Testament Compared,
iiideed, with this, all other moral and theological wisdom

Loses, discounteaanc'd, and like folly shows.

BEATTIE.

SECTION IX.

M^ctums occasioned hy a review of the blessings pronmmeed
by Christ on his disciples^ in hts sermon on the mount,

WHAT abundant reason have we to thank God', that this
large and instructive discourse of our blessed Redeemer', is
so particularly recorded by the sacred historian\ Let every
one that " hath ears to hear'," attend to it^: for surely no
man ever spoke as our Lord did on this occasion^. Let us
fix our minds in a posture of humble attention', that we may
" receive the law from his mouth\"

2 He opened it with blessings', repeated and most import-
ant bles8mgs\ But on whom are Ihey proneunced\? and
whom are we taught to think the happiest of mankind\? The
meek' and the humble^; the penitent' and the mercifUr; the

perse-
thy maxims from those of
the children of tLis worldM

^ 3 They call the proud happy^^ and admire the gay\ the
;rich\ the powerful', and the victorious^ But let a vain world
lake its gaudy trifles', and dress up the tbolish creatures that
pursue tnem\ May our souls share In that happiness'^ which

>ti. •

Parti.

hroughout,

! mind any
Thio is one
re remarka-
nspiring de-
y, that they
in the most
can compre-
ilar, displays
ing -and pre-
alsinitjWith
ji to look tor

vel to human
;ruth, and tlie
got* thehea-
bocrates, and
n a system of
idence and ol
. Compared,
al wisdom

B£ATTI£*

le thegay\thc

let a vain world

I creatures that

ppiness'i which

Chap» 9. Promjl^cuous Pieces, 1^1

the Son of God came to 'i'ecommend' and to procureM Mav
we obtain mercy of the /Lord^; may we be owned as his chi>»

4 liet us be animated to cultivate those amiable virtues',
which are here recommended to us^: this humility^ and meek-
ness^; tliis penitent sense of sin^; tiiis ardent desire after right-

salt of the earth^" and " the light of the world\"

5 Is there not reason to lament', that we answer the cha-
racter no better'? Is tliere not reason to exclaim with a good
man in former tijacs', " Blessed Lord'! either these are not
thy words', or we are not Christians^!" Oh', season our hearts
more effectuallv with thy grace^! Pour forth that divine oil on
our iamps^* Then shall the flame bri^hten^; then shall the
ancient honours of thy religion be revived'; and multitudes
be awakened^ and animated', by the lustre of it', " to glorify
our Fatiier in heaven^" doddridoe.

SECTION X.

Schemes of life often illusory.

OMAR, the son of Hassa^had passed seventy-five years
in honour and prosperity. The favour of three successive
califs had filled nis house with gold and silver; and whenever
he appeared, the benedictions of the people proclaimed his
passage.

2 Terrestrial happiness is of short continuance. The bright-
ness of the flame is wasting its fuel ; the fragrant flower is
passing away m its own odours. The vigour of Omar began
to fail; the curls of beauty fell from his head ; strength de-

Earted from his hands ; and agility from liis feet. He gave
ack to the calif the keys of trust, and the seals of secrecy :
I and sought no other pleasure for the remains of life, than the
converse of the wise, and the gratitude of the good.

3 The liowers of his mind were yet unimpaired. His cham
ber was fflled by visitants, eager to catch the dictates of ex
perience, and officious to pav the tribute of admiration.
Caled, the son of Hie viceroy of E^pt, entered every day early,
and retured late. He was beautiful and eloquent: Omar ad-

Imired his ^vit, and loved his docility. " Tell me," said Caled,
I" thou to whose voice nations have listened, and whose wis-
Mom is known to the extremities of Asia, tell me how I may
Ireaemble Omat the prudent The arts by which thou bast

(T ^i

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The English Reader,

PaHl.

gained power and preserved it, are to thee no longer neces-
sary or useful ; impart to me tiie secret oi' thy conduct, and
teach me the plan upon which ttiy wisdom has built thy
Ibrtune."

4 " Vounw man," said Omar, "itisofiittle use to form
plans ol' lile. Wlien I took my first survey of the world, in my
twentictli year, havinjj; considered tiie various conditions of
mankind, in the hour of solitude 1 said thus to myself, ieanin?
asrainst a cedar, which spread its brandies over my head,

allowed to man; I have yet ftlly re-

rkr<

* Seventy years
niainin^.

5 " ' Ten ^ears I will allot to the attainment of knowledge,
and ton I will pass in foreign countries ; 1 shall be learned,
ami therefore shall be honoured ; every cit^ will shout at my
arrival, and every student will solicit my friendship. Twen-
ty years thus passed, will store my mind with imageSj which
1 sliall be busy, through the rest of my life, in combimngand
comparing. I shall revel in inexhaustible accumulations of
intellectual riches ; I shall find new pleasures lor every mo-
ment ; and shall never more be weary of myself.

6 '* ' I will not, however, deviate too far from the beaten
track of life ; but will try what can be found in female deli-
cacy. I will marry a wife beautiful as the Houries, and wise
as Zobeide : with her I will live twenty years within the sub-
urbs of Bagdat, in every pleasure that wealth can purchase,
and fancy can invent.

7 " ' I will then retire to a rural dwelling, pass my days in ob-
scurity and contemplation, and lie silently down on the bed
of death. Through my life it shall be mv settled resolution. I
that I will never depend upon the smile or princes: that I will
never strnd exposed to the artifices of courts ; J will never
pant for public honours, nor disturb ray quiet with the affairs
of state.' Such was my scheme of Dfe, which I impressed [
indelibly upon my memory.

8 " The first part of niy ensuing time was to be spent ml
search of knowledge, and I know not how I was diverted from
my design. I liad no visible impediments without, nor any
uno-overnable passions within. I regarded knowledge as the
highest honour, and the most engaging pleasure^ yet day I
stole upon day, and month glided after month, tdl I found I
that seven yeai-s of the first ten had vanished, and left nothing I
behind them. ' I

9 " I now postponed my purpose of travelling • for whyl
should I ^o abroad, while so much remained to be learned atl
home ? I immured myself for four years, and studied the lawsl
of the empire. The fame of my skill reached the judges;!

Part 1. I Chap. 9.

Promiscuous Pieeef.

148

ongcr neces-
conduct, and
has built thy

» use to form
I world, in my
conditions ot
nyseli; leaning
)ver my head,
; yet nily

I was found able to sneak upon doubtful miestions; and
commanded to stand at tlie footstool or the calif. I wan
heard with attention; I was consulted with confidence; and
the love of praise fastened on my heart.

10 " I still wished to see distant countries; listened with rap-
ture to the relations of travellers ; and resolved some time to
ask my dismission, that 1 might least my soul with novelty :
but my presence was always necessary ; and the stream of

re-

business' hurried me along. Sometimes I was afraid lest I
should be charged with ingratitude : but 1 still proposed to
tiavel, and therefore would not confine myself by marriage.

11 "In my fifUeth year. I began to suspect that the time of
travelling was past; ancl thought it best to lay hold on the
felicity yet in my power, and indulge myself in domestic
I)!easures. But at hfty no man easilj^ finds a woman beauti-
iiil as the Houries, and wise as Zobeide. I inquired and re-
jected, consulted ancl deliberated, till the sixty-second vear
made me ashamed of wishing to marry. I had now nothing
left, but ^-etiiement ; and for retiroment I never found a time,
till diseai^M|)rced me from public employment.

12 " SttwT was m^ scheme, and such has been its conse-
[Uence. With an insatiable thirst for knowledge, I trifled
way the years of improvement ; with a restless desire ol
iecing different countries, I have always resided in the same
ity; with the highest expectation of connubial felicity, I
ave lived unmarried ; and with unalterable resolutions of
ontemplative retirement, I am going to die within the walls
fBafirdat." dr. johnson.

SECTION XI.

..f •-= The pleasures of virtuous sensibility. ,.

THE ^ood effects of true sensibility', on general virtue •
nd happiness', admit of no dispute'. Let us consider its
. ffect on the happiness of him who possesses it',^ and the va-
as to be spent iiBjougplgag^peg ^q which it gives him access\ If he is master
vas diverted irow^f fig^ggX q,. influence', it affords him the means of increasing
is own enjoyment', oy relieving the wants', or increasing
e comforts of others\ If he commands not these advan-
ces', yet all the comforts which he sees in the possession of

of knowledge,
all be learned,
ill shout at my
dship. Twen-
images, which
combining and
scumulations ol
, for every mo-

;elf. ^ ,
from the beaten

i in female deli-
ouries, and wise
3 within the sub-
h can purchase,

js my days in oh- 1
own on the bed |
ettled resolution, ,
•inces:thatl\vili
irts; J will never
;t with the affairs
hich I impressed

iwnthout. nor any

nowledge as the

yet day

easure y yex ""J^Biges , yet all the comforts which he sees in the possession ot
onth, tiU 1 •^'^^■le deserving', become in some sort his', by his rejoicing in
I, and left nothinoBie good which they cnjoy\

, ■ 2 Even the fiice of nature', yields a satisfaction to him', ■•''
Lvelling ; for wtiy»}ji,,}j ^j^g insensible can never know\ The profusion of
id to be learned ajBoodness', which he beholds poured forth on the universe',
d studied tne .awaWj^gg jjg j^^g^j^ ^^j^ ^^le thought', that innumerable nmlti-
ched the judges ,B,(|gg around him', are blest' and happy\ When he sees

) ■

^1 <

^i^.

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77ie Engliah Reader,

Part 1.

• n

III'' ■ I

'W'^

the labours of men appearin"^ to prosper , and views a conn,
try Houri«hinj.'' in wealth^ anil industry^; when he beholds the

great l
joices in the jreneral felicity' and joy\

3 It may indeed be objected', that ttie same sensibility lava I
open the heart lo be pierced wilii many wounds', from tfie
distresses which abound in the world^; exposes us to i'requenl
sudering from the participation which it communicates of the
sorrows', as well as of the joys of friendship^ But let it be
considered', that the tender melancholy of sympathy', is aoj
companied with a sensation', which they wno feel it wouldl
not exchange lor the gratifications of the 8elfi8h\ When the!
heart is strongly moved by any of the kind affections', evenj
■when it pours itself forth in virtuous sorrow', a secret attrac-J
tive charm mingles with the painful emotion^; there is a jojl
in the midst of grier. ^. I

4 liCt it be farther considered', that the ^tef^^ch sensil
bility introduces', are counterbalanced by pleasunHmich floi
Irom the same source^ Sensibility heightens in^t^ral
human powers', and is connected with acuteness in alPour h
ings' . If it makes us more alive to some painful sensations', ii
return', it renders the pleasing ones more vivid' and anunatedj

5 The selfish man', languishes in his narrow circle of pleif
snre8\ They are confined to what affects his own interest'

they"

/', mow
moreff
quently called forth into occupations of pleasing activity^

Numberless occasions open to him of indulging his favouril
taste', bj^ conveying satisfaction to others . Often it is in l|
power', in one way or other', to sooth the afflicted heart',!
carry some consolation into the house of wo\ I

6 In the Fccnes of ordinary life\ in the domestic^ and socij
intercourses of men', the cordiality of his affections cheeif
and gladdens him\ Every appearance^ every description
innocent happiness', is enjoyed by him\ Every native ej

Eression of kindness^ and anection amon^ others', is felt '
im', even though he be not the object of it^ In a circle
frllUds enjoying one another', he is as happy as the happies ^_^^^

7 fihi word', he lives in a different sort of^ world', from tjil iJi^j^]
-which we selfish man inhabits^ He possesses a new sense tifl inank1~
enables him to behold objects which the selfish cannot see\ ■ distini
the tame time', his enjoyments are not of tliat kind whip ^

tiem
' mirec
more
struc
nearl

3
rcput
fined
ande
tahet
talent

!■ 1

Part 1.

views a coun*
lie behoUW the
\<r the ilecaycd
[X^ loadea with
its'; he litta hi3
of alls aiul re-

Chap, 9.

PromMCttotM Piwti,

146

remain merely on the surface of the mind'. They penetrate
the heart\ They enlarge' and elevate^ thev refine' and en-
noble iO. To ail the pleasing emotions or aflection', they
add the dignified consciousness of virtue\

8 Children of mcn't men formed by nature to live^ and to
feel as brethren'! how long will ye continue to estrange your-
selves from one another by competitions^ and iesuousies',
■ when in cordial union ye might be so much more blestV How
; sensibility iay« ■ long will ye seek your happiness in se'fish gratifications a' iie',
unds', IVom ine ■ neglecting those purer^ and better sources of joy^, which flow

es us to trequenl
inunicatea ol the
y\ But let It be

ympathx^w^S

fi8h\ When the

affections', even

' a secret attrafr

n^; there is a jo)]

jns inTOferal
messinaUourie
inful sensations vl
rid'andanimatedl
rrow circle of plej

ilgingl.-. . ,
•'often it is in 1

afflicted heart, 1

lomestic' and soc]
,s affections cheel

every descnptioni
Every native el

,g others', is felt I
'it\ InacircleJ

jpyasthebappiej
of world', from J

Bsesanewsenset

ilfish cannot see.
of tliat kmd wh<

renderi
men,
won
Th

from the afiiictions' and the hear'' t blair.

SECTION XII.

On the true honour of man.

THE proper honour of man arises not from some of those
splendid actions and abilities, which excite high admiration.
Courage and prowess, military renown, signal victories, and
conc[uest9,^ay render the name of a man famous, without
character truly honourable. To many brave
y heroes renowned in story, we look up with
'eir exploits are recorded. Their praises are sung.
. as on an eminence, above the rest of mankind.
ThelTeminence, nevertheless, may not be of that sort, before
which we bow with inward esteem and respect. Something
more is wanted for that purpose, than the conquering arm,
and the intrepid mind.

2 The laurels of the warrior must at all times be dyed In
blood, and bedewed with the tears of the widow and the or-
phan. But if they have been stained by rapine and inhumanity;
if sordid avarice has marked his character ; or low^ and gross
sensuality has degraded fiis life; the great hero sjnks into a ht- ,
tJe man. What, at a distance, or on a superficial view, we ad-
mired, becomes mean, perhaps odious, when we examine it
more closely. It is like the colossal statue, whose immense size
struck the spectator afar off with astonishment; but when
nearly viewea, it appears disproportioned, unshapely, and rude.

3 Observations of the same Kind maybe applied to all the
reputation derived from civil accomplishments; from the re-
fined politics of the statesman, or the literary efw»rts of genius
and erudition. These bestow, and withm certain liounds ought
to bestow, eminence and distinction on men. They discover
talents which in themselves are shining ; and which become
highl3j^ valuable, when employed in advancing the good of
mankind. Hence, they frequently give rise to fame. But a
distinctJcr. id <o be made between fame and true fionour.

G K 13

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Parti

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wmmr

4 The statesman, the orator, or the poet, may be famous,
while yet the man himself is far from being honoured. We
envy his abilities. We wish to rival them. But we would
not choose to be classed with him who possesses them. In
stances of this sort are too often found in every record of an-
cient or modern history.

5 From all this it follows, that in order to discern where
man's true honour lies, we must look, not to any adventitious
circumstances of fortune; not to any single sparkling quality ;
hut to the whole of what forms a man ; what entitles nim, as
such, to rank high among that class of beings to which he
belongs ; in a word, we must look to the mind and the soul.

6 A mind superior to lear, to selfish interest and corruption ;
a mind governed by the principles of uniform rectitude and
integrity; the same in prosperity and adversity: which no
bribe can seduce, nor terror overawe ; neither by pleasure
melted into effeminacy, nor by distress sunk into dejection;
such is the mind which forms the distinction and eminence of
man.

7 One who, in no situation of life, is either ashai
of discharging his duty, and acting his proper pai'l.
ness and constancy ; true to the God whom he wor
true to the faith in which he professes to believe ; full olT affec-
tion to his brethren of mankind ; faithful lo his friends^ ge-
nerous to his enemies, warm with compassion to the unfortu-
nate ; self-denying to little private interests and pleasures, but
zealous for public mterest and happiness ; magnanimous, with-
out being proud ; humble, without being mean ; just, without
being harsh ; simple in his manners, but manly in his feelings ;
ou whose word we can entirely rely ; whose countenance
never deceives us ; whose professions of kindness are the ef-
fusions of his heart : one, in fine, whom, independently of an>
views of advantage, we should choose for a superior, could
trust in as a friend, and could love as a brother— this is the
man, whom, in ou; hearty above all others, we do, we must
honour. blaiu.

SECTION XIIL -

The influence of devotion on the happiness of life,

WHATEVER promotes and strengthens virtue, what
ever calms anrt regulates the temper, is a source of^ happi-
ness. ^Devotion produces these effects in a remarkable de
gree. it inspires composure of spirit, mildness, and benignity ;
weakens the painful, and chcrhhes the pleasing emotions *

Part 1

r be famouSj
)ured. We
it we would
} them. In
ecordof an-

scern where

adventitious
ding Quality ;
ititleshim,as

to which he
and the soul,
id corruption;
rectitude and
ty: which no
iv by pleasure
ito dejection;
id eminence of

iwor^ipCand
e;fuUofaflfec-
lis friends, ge-
totheunfortu-
l pleasures, but
lanimousjwith-
i ; just, without
in his feelings;
» countenance I
less are the et-
indentlyofanv
iuperior, could
ler— this is the
e do, we must

BLAIK.

{€88 of life.

virtue, what
puree or happi-
fremarkable de
land benignity;
sing emotions •

Chap. 9

Promiscuous Pieces,

and, by these means, carries on the life of a pious man in a
smooth and placid tenor.

2 Besides exerting this habitual influence on the mind, de-
votion opens a field of enjoyments, to which the vicious are
entire strangers ; enjoyments the more valuable, as they pe-
culiarly belong to retirement, when the world leaves us; and
to adversity, when it becomes our foe. I'hcse are the two
seasons, for which every wise man would most wsh to pro-
vide some hidden store of comfort.

3 For let him be placed in the most favourable situation
which the human state admits, the world can neither alwaj^s
amuse him, nor always shield him from distress. There will
be many hours of vacuity, and many of dejection, in his lile.
If he be a stranger to God, and to devotion, how dreary will the
gloom of solitude often prove! With what oppressive weight
will sickness, disappointment, or old age, fall upon his spirits !

4 But for those pensive periods, the pious man has a relief
prepared. From the tiresome repetition of the common va-
nities of life, or from the painful corrosion of its cares and sor-

i rows, devotion transports him into a new region ; and sur-
rounds him there with such objects, as are the most fitted to
cheer the dejection, to calm the tumults, and to heal tlie
Uvounds of his heart.

I 5 If the world has been empty and delusive, it gladdens
Ihim with tlie prospect of a higher and better order of things,
Lbout to arise. Ii men have been ungrateful and base, it dis-
Iplays before him the faithfulness of that Supreme Being,
vho, though every other friend fail, will never forsake him.

6 Let us consult our experience, and we shall find, that the
jtwo greatest sources of inward joy, are, tfie exercise of love
lirected towards a deservang object, and the exercise of hope

erminating on some high and assured happiness. Both theae
lire supplied by devotion ; and therefore we have no reason
[0 be surprised, if, on some occasions, it fills the hearts of good

len with a satisfaction not to be expressed.

7 The refined pleasures of a pious mind are, in many re-
lliects, superior to the coarse gratifications of sense. They
Ire pleasures which belong to the highest powers and Ijest
Iffections of the soul; whereas the gratifications of sense re-'
We in the lowest region of our nature. To the latter, the
M stoops below its native dignity. The former, raise it
jx)ve itself. The latter, leave always a comfortless, oflen a
tortifying, remembrance behind them. The former, are re-
lewed \^th applause and delight.

1 8 The pleasures of sense resemble a foaming torrent,
lliich, after a disorderly course, speedily runs out nnd leavei

148

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Part 1.

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liili

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Iftil i'll-'..'

'!vr I

i^:':^^r!l

an empty and ofTensive channel. But the pleasures of devo>
tion resemble the equable current of a pure river, which en-
livens the fields through which it passes, and diffuses verdure
and fertility along its banks.

9 To thee, O Devotion ! we owe the highest improvement
of our nature, and much of the enjoyment ol'our life. Thou
art the support of our virtue, and the rest of our souls, in thii
turbulent world. Thou composest the thoughts. Thou calm-
est the passions. Thou exaltest the heart. Thy communi*
cations, and thine only, are imparted to the low, no less than
to the high ; to the poor, as well as to the rich.

10 In thy presence, worldly distinctions cease : and under
thy influence, worldly sorrows are forgotten. Thou art the
balm of the wounded mind. Thy sanctuary is ever open to
die miserable : inaccessible only to the unrighteous and ira
pure. Thou oeginnest on earth the temper of heaven.-
In thee, the hosts of angels and blessed spirits eternally re-|

joice. BLAIR.

SECTIOI* XIV.

The planetary ana terrestrial worlds comparatively conHdcra

TO us', who dwell on its surface', the earth is by far tl
most extensive orb that our eyes cnn any where behold^ ij
Is also clothed with verdure\ distin^iished by trees', aiH
adorned with a variety of beautiful decorotions'; whereas
to a spectator placed on one of the jilanets , it wears a ui " ~
aspect^; looks all luminous', and no larger than a spot\ 1
ings who dwell at still greater distances',it entirel>^ disappears)

2 That wliich yve call alternately the mornin^^ and tH
evening star'j (as in one part of the orbit she rides foremost
the procession of night, in the other ushers in and anticipati
the dawn',) is a planetary worlds This planet', and the foi
others that so wonderfully vary their mystic dance', are
themselves dark bodies', and shine only by reflection^; ha
fields^ and seas', and skies of their OAvn^; are furnished wl
all accommodations for animal subsisience', and are suppoi
to be the abwSes of intellectual life^; ail which', together wil
our earthly habitation', are dependent on that grand dispei
ser of divine munificence', the sun\ receive their Mght irii
the distribution of his rays', and derive their comiort fri
his benign affency\

3 The sun', which seems to perform its daily stages throuj
the sky', is', in this respect', fixed', and imino'veable^: it ist
great axle of heaven', about which the globe we inhabit\j«
other more spacious orbs', wheel llieir stated courses^
sun', though seemingly sinaller tliasi the dial it illuniil

ith uns
most
e near
7 WJ
wne tn
terres

tious 8(

re oft
Je in t
8 It is

iselP,
iffuishe

uthin
e that
nagr
7 cons
•IyJittl(
roely](
1

pari 1.

suresofdevo-
;^er, which en-
iffuses verdure

t impTOvement
mrlife. Thou
ur souls, in thib
ts. Thou calm-
Thy communi-

Chap, 9.

Promiscuous Pieces,

149

ates', is more than a million times larger than this whole earth ',
on which so many lofty mountains nse', and such vast oceans
roir. A iine extending from side to side through the centre of
that resplendent orb', would measure more than eight hundred
thousand railes^: a girdle formed to go round its circumfe-
rence^ would require a length of millions\ Were its solid con
tents to be estimated', the account would overwhelm our ul
derstanding', and be almost beyond the power of language tc
I express\ Are Ave startled at these reports of philosophy'!

4 Arewereadyto cry out in a transport of surprise', "How
[mighty is the Being who kindled so prodigious a firs'; and

*"/ Ipsjo than B ° •'^ Arcing wnw mtiutcu ovf i^v^uigiuiio a luc , aim

)W, no less ui ■ijggps alive', from age to age', so enormous a mass of flame 'I"

Ilet us

'm>

"' 1 indeiH"^'' "** ^^^^'^d our philosophical guides', and we shall be

ase 1 and """^ ■brought acquainted with speculations more enlarged' and
. . Thou a^tiwHnore inflaming\

5 This sun', with all its attendant planets', is but a very little

f the grand machine of the universe^: every star', though

• ;'ance no bigger than the diamond that flitters upon

^^ . ing', is really a vast globe', like the sun in size', and

n gioi'y^; no less spaci()us\ no less luminous', than the radiant

^nurce of day\ So that every star', is not barely a world',

ut the centre of a magnificent system'; has a retinue of

Grids', irradiated by its ueams', and revolving round its at-

active influence', all which are lost to our sight in unmea-

rable wilds of ether\

6 That the stars appear like so many diminutive\ and
arcely distinguishable points', is owing to their immense and
conceivable distanced Immense and inconceivable indeed

', since a bail', shot from the loaded cannon', and flying
ith unabated rapidity', must travel', at this impetuous rate',
Imost seven hundred thousand years', before it could reach
le nearest of these twinkling luminaries^

7 While', beholding this vast expanse', I learn my own ex-
jme meanness', I would also discover the abject littleness of

terrestrial things\ What is the earth', with all her osten-
tious scenes', compared with this astonishing grand fumi-
re of the skies\'' What', but a dim speck', hardly perceiv-

^ is ever open tol
a-hteous and im
'er of heaven.- 1
irits eternally re-|

BLAIR*

atively coimdera

larthishyfarti^

where behold : '

ed by trees', a:

tions'; whereas

twearsaunitoi

naspot. lot

itirely disappears]

morning^ and t«
le rides loremostl

in and aiiticipati
anet',andthefo^
Stic dance', arej
>v reflection'; nal

are furnished w1

'."u/\'*^ottherwW^ '^^ the map of the uniVerse^
K t'ff nd dispfiB® m? observed by a very judicious \yriter', that if the sun

ve their M^ht
their comlort

selP, which enlightens this part of the creation', were ex-
iguished', and all the host of planetary worlds', which move
ouihim', were annihilated', tliey would not be missed by an
M jrps throvili® t^"*^ can take in the whole compass of nature', any more
ilailysiage ^ itisft'^ * Srain of sand upon the sea-shore\ The bulk of which
■f^moveapie . m„ consist^ and the space which they occupy', are so exceed-
,be weinnann ,^jy ^.^^j^ .^ comparison of the whole', that their loss would

lied courses

the <lial it ilUiwI

ircely leave a blank in the immensity ^)f God's works'.
13

■l!

4 -

160

!:'■!'

tJUPi,:;!

r ■ .' , i

:'li

1liiil:J,i::1:!i

|p- ■.

The English Reader,

Parti.

9 If then', not our globe only', but this whole sjrstem', be
80 very diminutive', wriat is a kingdom', or a country \^ What
are a few lordships , or the so much admired patrimonies of
those who are styled wealthy\' When I measure tliem with
ipy own little pittance', they swell into proud and bloated di-
mensions^: but when I take the universe for my standard',
how scanty is their size^! how contemptible their figured
They shrhik into pompous nothings\ addiso5.

SECTION XV.

On the power of custom, and the uses to which it may be

applied.

THERE is not a common saying, which has a better turn
of sense in it, than what we often hear in the mouths of the
vulvar, that " Custom is a second nature." It is indeed able
to form the man anew ; and give him inclinations and capa
cities altogether different from those he was born with.

2 A person who is addicted to play or gaming, though he took I
but little delight in it at first, by degrees contracts so strong an
inclination towards it, and gives himself up so entirely to it
tliat it seems the only end of his being. The love of a retired |
or busy life will grow upon a man insensibly, as he is conver
sant in the one or the other, till he is utterly unqualified for|
relishing that to which he has been for sometime disused.

3 Nay, a man may smoke or drink, or take snuff, till he isl
unable to pass away his time without it ; not to mention howl
our delight in any particular study, art, or science, rises and!
improves, in proportion to the application which we bestovl
upon it. Thus, what was at first an exercise, becomes a^l
length an entertainment. Our employments are changed inttl
diversions. The mind grows fond of those actions it is accus-l
tomed to ; and is drawn with reluctancy from those paths iii|
wliich it has been used to walk.

4 If we attentively consider thisproperty of human nature!
it mav instruct us in very fine moralities. In the first place,!
would have no man discouraged with that kind of life, or sef
ries of action, in which the choice of others, or his own neces
tities, may have engaged him. It may perhaps be very disaj
^•reeable to him at first; but use and application will certaiiilf
render it not only less painful, but pleasing and satisfactory.

5 In the second place, I would recommend to every oneJ
the admirable precept, which Pythagoras Is said to have giveJ
to his disciples. ;*/uj which that philosopher must have drum
from the observation 1 have enlarged upon: "Pitch upoij
that course of'.Ufa wjijch is the most excellent, and custon
will render ii the most delightful." .< i.i , ...

Part 1.

atrimoniea 01
ire Uiem with
nd bloated di-
my standard }
iieir figure!

ADDISOS.

Mh it may he

Chap,

Promiscuous Pieces,

as a better turn
> mouths of the
;t is indeed able
ttions and capa
born with.
^ though he took

acts so strong an

6 Men, whose circumstances will permit them to choose
their own way of life, are inexcusable if they do not pursue
that which their judgment tells them is the most laudable. —
The voice of reason is more to be regarded, than the bent ol
any present inclination : since, by the rule above mentioned,
inclination will at length come over to reason, tiiough we can
never force reason to comply with inclination.

7 In the third place, this observation may teach the most
sensual and irreligious man to overl(X)k those hardships and
difficulties, which arc apt to discourage him fi*om the prose-
cution of a virtuous life. " The gods," said Hesiod, have
placed labour before virtue ; the Avay to her is at first rough
and difficulty but grows more smooth and easy the farther we
advance in it." Tlie man Avho proceeds in it with steadiness
and resolution, will, in a little time, find that " her ways are
ways of pleasantness, and that all her paths are peace."

8 To enf()rce this consideration, we may further observe,
that the practice of religion will not only be attended with

,^„ _ . that pleasure which naturally accompanies those actions to

, so entirely to i^B which we are habituated, but with those supernumerary joys

;love of a retired ■ of heart, that rise from the consciousness of^such a pleasure ;

't as he is conver ■from the satisfaction of acting up to the dictates of reason ;

ly unqualified tot ■and from the prospect of a happy immortality.

etime disused. . ■ 9 In the fourth place, we may learn from this observation

iie snuff, till he isBvy^ich we have made on the mind of man, to take j)articular

tto mention ho^Bcare, when we are once settled in a regular course of* life, how

science, rises andmye too frequently indulge ourselves in even the most innocent

which we bestovrm|versions and entertainments ; since the mind may insensi-

rcise, becomes ^Bjlyfall off from the relish of virtuous actions, and, by degrees,^

are changed intt^xchange that pleasure which it takes in the performance of

Lctions it is accus-Bts duty, for delights of a much inferior and an unprofitable

om those paths wBature.

■ 10 The last use which I shall make of this remarkable pro

. of human natnreMerty in human nature, of being delighted with those actions to

n the first place, '^hich it is accustomed, is, to show how absolutely necessary

kind of lifej or seM is for us to gain habits of^ virtue in this life, if we Avould enjoy

or his own necesMe pleasures of the next. The state of bliss we call heaven,

haps be very disaMiH not be capable of affecting those minds v/hich are nf)t

atu>nwiU certainlMus qualified for "it: we must.in ithis world, gain a relish for

and satisfactory. »uth and virtue, if we would be able to taste that knowledge

lend to every oneMid perfection, which are to make us happy in the next. The

3saidtohavegivemeds of those spiritual joys and raptures, which are to rise

r must have drav*) and flourish in the soul to all eternity, must be planted in

^on: " Pitch upoWduring this its present state of probation. In short, heaven

client, and custoi^not to oe looked upon only as the reward, but as the natural

■^ect of a religious life. :.:.-• ^ ; j addmok.

152

The English Reader.

Part 1.

iuWhut :. Ill

;j;i:i|i

ti :. iiilliiiluiiiliiiilii

! El

It 'n:./fi!||!iiil:'fai|i
li U''': :r'!!!i!:!:;!!!!'i:r|

m. : '

SECTION XVI.

The pleasures resulting from a proper use of our facuUtes.
HAPPY that man', who', unembarrassed by vulgar cares',

derstanding', are the two ennobling faculties of the soul',
thinks himself not comjjlete', till his understanding is beautified
with the valuable furniture of knowledge', as well as his will
enriched with every virtue^; who has furnished himself witli
all the advantages to relish solitude', and enliven conversa-
tion^; who' when serious', is not sullen^; and when cheerful',
not indiscreetly gay^; Avhose ambition is', not to be admired
lor a talse glare of greatness', but to be beloved for the gentle
and s(^her lustre of iiis wisdom' and goodness\

2 The greatest minister of state', has not more business to
do', in a public capacity', than he , and indeed every other
man', may find in the retired and still scenes of life\ Even i
in his private walks', every thing that is visible', convinces
him there is present a Being invisible^ Aided by natural
philosophy', he reads plain', legible traces of the divinity', in
every thing he meets^: he sees the Deity in every tree', as
well as Moses did in the burning bush\ though not in so
glaring a manner^: and when he sees him', he adores him with |
tiie tribute of a grateful hearth seed,

SECTION XVII.

Description of candour,
TRUE candour is altogether diflerent from that guarded',!
inoffensive language',and thatstudied openness of behaviour',!
which we so frequently meet with among men of the world\l
Smiling', very often', is the aspect\ and smooth are the wordsl
of those '^Avho', inwardly', are the most ready to think evil oil
others\ That candour which is a Christian virtue', consists',!
not in fairness of speech', but in fairness of heart\ I

2 It may want the blandishment of external courtesy', butj
supplies its place with a humane and generous liberality of
sentimenf. Its manners afe uriftffected', and its professions!
cordiaP. Exempt', on one hand', from the dark jealousy ol|
a suspicious mind', it is no less removed', on the other', fron
that easy credulity which is imposed on by every specious pr(
tence\ It is perfectly consistent with extensive knowledg
of the world', and with due attention to our own safety^.

3 In thit various intercourse', which we ore obliged
carry on with persons of every different character', suspicioa]

Part !• I CAap. 9.

Promiscuous Pieces,

198

irfacvUtes,
Ailgar cares',
ds his time in
aking others'
wilrandun-
of the soul ,
jg is beautified

veil as his wiU
i himself wiUi
ven conversa-
vhcn cheerful',
to he admired
d for the gentle

lore business to
ed every other
oflife\ Even
lible', convinces
ided by natural
the divinity', in
I every tree', as
pugh not in so
adores him with

SEED.

to a certain degree', is a necessary guard\ It is only when
it exceeds the bounds of prudent caution', that it de^nerates
into vice\ There is a proper mean betxveen undistinguished
credulity\ and universal jealousy', which a sound understand-
ing discerns', and wliich the man of candour studies to pre-
8erve\

4 He makes allowance for the mixture of eviP with good',
j which is to be found in every human character^ He ex-
pects none to be faultless', and he is unwilling to believe that
tliere Ls any without some commendable qualities^ In the
midst of many defects', he can discover a virtue\ Under
the influence of personal resentment', he can be just to tb(»
jmerit of an enemy\

6 He never lends an open ear to those defamatory reports^
land dark suggestions', which', amon^ the tribes of the censo-
Irious', circulate with so much rapidity', and meet with so
ready acceptance^ He is not hasty to judge^; and he re
luires liill evidence beibre he will condemn^

6 As long as an action can be ascribed to different mo-
aves', he holds it 8S no mark of sagacity to imj)ute it always
|o the worst\ Where there is just ground for doubt', he
keeps his judgment undecided^; and', during the period of
Suspense', leans to the most charitable construction which an
ction can bear\ When lie must condemn', he condemns
irith regret^; and without those aggravations which the se-
verity of others adds to the crime\ He listens calmly to the
Ipoloi^y of the offender', and readily admits every exteaua
pg circumstance', which eciuity can suggest\

m that guarded ,
ess of behaviour,
,en of the world
[)th are the words
jy to think evil oil
■virtue', consists.

heart\ ,

nal courtesy', bul

lerous liberality ol
nd its profession!

le dark jealousy ol

7 How

ect^ or
lure'

V much soever he may blame the principles of any
I party', he never confounds', under one general cen-
all who belong to that party^ or seGt\ He charges
|ieni not with such consequences oi their tenets', as they re-
use' and disavow\ From one w^rong opinion', he does not
ifei* the subversion of all sound principles'; nor from one bad
lotion', conclude that all regard to conscience is overthrown^
8 When he " beholds the mrtte in his brother's eye'," he
jemembers " the beam in his own\" He commiserates hu-
jian frailtv', and judges of others according to the principles',
|f which he would think it reasonable that they should judge
'him'. In a word', he views men^ and actions' in the clear

m the other', (roiiBmshinc of charity^ and good nature'; and not in that dark

'very specious pi
'ensive knowledi
ir own safety .
we are obliged
racter',8usp»cioa

id sullen shade which jealousy^ and party-spirit' throw over
icharacters\ . ■ blair.

!»'•

154

The English Reader.
SECTION xviir.

Part 1.

'1
1

On the imperfection of that happiness which rests solely os

worldly pleasures.

THE vanity of human pleasures, is a topic which might be
embellished with liie pomp of much description. But I shall
studiously avoid exaggeration, and only point out a threefold
vanity in human life, which every impartial observer cannot
but admit; disappointment in pursuit, dissatisfaction in en*
joyment, uncertainty in possession.

2 First, disappointment in pursuit. When we look around
us on the world, we every where behold a busy multitude,
intent on the prosecution oi' various designs, which their |
wants or desires have suggested. We behold them employ-
ing every method which ingenuity can devise ; some the pa
lience of industry, some tlie boldness ef enterprise, others the I
dexterity of stratagem, in order to compass their ends.

3 Of this incessant stir and activity, what is the fruit? in
comparison of the crowd who have toiled in vain, how small
is the number of the successful ? Or rather, where is the man
who will declare, that in every point he has completed his
plan, and attained his utmost wish?

4 No extent of human abilities has been able to discover a I
path whichj in any hne of life, leads unerringly to success,!

The race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to thel
strong, nor riches to men of understanding." We may Ibrml
our plans with the most profound sagacity, and with the mostj
vigilant caution may guard against dangers on every side.1
But some unforeseen occurence comes across, which bafflesj
our wisdom, and lays our labours in the dust. [

5 Were such djsiippointments confined to those who as
pire at engrossing the nigher departments of life, the mislbr I
tune »vjuld be less. The humiliation of the mighty, and thel
lall of ambition from its towering height, littie concern thel
bulk of mankind. These are objects on which, as on distantl
meteors, they gaze from afar, without drawing personal in*'
stniction from events so much above them.

6 But, alas ! when we descend into the regions of privatel
life, we find disappointment and blasted hope equally preva-j
lent there. Neither the moderation of our views, nor thel
justice of our pretentions, can ensure success. But " timel
&nd chance liappen to all." Against the stream of events, bothi
the worthvaad the undeserving are obliged to struggle; and|
both are n«quently overborne alike by the current.

7 Besides disappointment in pursuit, dissatisfaction ml
enjoyment is a iarther vanity, to which the human state

Part I.

Ckap, 9.

Promisctuyus Pieces,

155

re3ts »oUly o»

which might be
)n. But! shall
, out a threefold
!>bserver cannoi
tisfactioii in en-

1 we look around
busy multitude,
■ns, which their
id them employ-
le ; some the pa
rprise, others the
their ends.
tt is the fruit? in
I vain, how small
where is the man
as completed his

subject. This is the severest of all mortifications; after havmj^
been successliil in the pursuit, to be baffled in the enjoyment
itself! Yet this is found to be an evil still more general than
the former. Some may be so fortunate as to attain what they
have pursued ; but none are rendered completely happy by
what they have attained.

8 Disapfjointed hope is misery; and yet successful hope is
only imperfect bliss. Look throuffli all the ranks of mankind.
Examine the condition of those wno appear most prosperous ;
and you will find that they are never just what they desire
to be. If retired, they languish for action; if busy, they com-
plain of fatig-ue. If in middle life, they are impatient for dis-
tinction ; if fn hig-h stations, they sigh after freedom and ease.
Something is still wanting to that plenitude of satisfaction,
which they expected to acquire. Together with every wish
that is gratified, a new demand arises. One void opens in th«
heart, as another is filled. On wishes, wishes grow ; and to
the end, it is rather the expectation of* what they have not-
than the enjoyment of what they have, which occupies ano
interests the most successful.

9 This dissatisfaction in the midst of human pleasure,
springs partly from the nature of our enjoyments themselves,
and partly from circumstances which corrupt them. No

ible to discover aHworldly enjoyments are adeouate to the high desires and pow-

ringly to succe^Bgrs of an immortal spirit. Fancy paints them at a distance

the battle to themyith splendid colours: but possession unveils the fallacy. The

We may lormj^agerness of passion bestows upon them, at first, a brisk and

nd with the mostMygiy relish. But it is their fate always to pall by familiarity,

rs on every swe-K^ud sometimes to pass from satiety into disgust.

iss, which DainesB lo Happy would the poor man think himself, if he could

it. Rnter on all the treasures of the rich; and liappy for a short

to those who as Kme he might be : but before he had long contemplated and

:)f Ule, the mistor ■dmired jjis state, his possessions would seem to lessen, and

» mighty, and theBiis cares would grow.

little concern the« n ^^^ to the unsatisfying nature of our pleasures, the at-
ich, as on distantBgnding circumstances which never fail to corrupt them.

ing personal in-BV)!- such as they are, they are at no time possessed unmixed.

Vo human lips it is not given to taste the cup of pure joy.

egions of privateBVhen external circumstances shoAV fairest to the world, the

pc equally preva-BnvJed mim jrmans in private under his own burden. Some

r views, nor tneBexjition disquiets, some passion corrodes him; some distress,

ess. But " timjBther felt or fi?ared, gnaws like a worm, the root of his feli-
lamof events,bothBity. When there is nothing from without to disturb the

to struggle » SL^^Wosperous, a secret poison operates within. For worldly

current. . ■a{)piiie.ss evr r tends to destroy itself, by corrupting the heart.

dissatisfaction in| lijsters the loose and the violent passions. It cngendera

,e human state *

5i" ■

156

;,1 1

■iiii'/ii(i

.:!

:i,.

^{■yf'W

TJie English Reader.

Pari 1.

noxious nabite; and taints tiie mind with false delicacy, which
makes it feel a thousand unreal evils.

12 But put the case in the must favourable li^ht. Lay aside
from human pleasures both disappuintmeut in pursuit, and
deceitfulness in enjoyment^ suppose them to be fully attain-
able, and completely satislactory ; still there remains to be
considered the vanity of uncertam possession and short dura-
tion. Were there in worldly things any fixed point of security
which we could gain, the mind would then have some basis
on which to rest.

1^ But our condition is such, that every thing wavers ^nd
totters around us. "Boast not thyself of to-morrow; for th<)U
knowest not what a day may brin^ IbrtL" It is much if,
during its course, thou hearest notoi somewhat to disquiet or
alarm thee. For lile never proceeds long in a uniform train.
It is continually varied by unexpected events.

1 4 The seeds of alteration are every where sown; and the
sunshine of prosperity commonly accelerates their growth. II
OUT enjoyments are numerous, we lie more open on different
sides to be wounded. If we have possessed them long, we
have greater cause to dread an approaching change. By slow
degrees prosperity rises ; but rapid is the progress of evil. It
requires no preparation to bring it forward.

15 The edifice which it cost much time and labour to erect,
one inauspicious event, one sudden blow, can level with the
dust. Even supposing the accidents of life to leave us un-
touched, human bliss must still be transitory; for man changes
ol" himself. No course of enjoyment can delight us long.
What amused our youth, loses its charm in maturer age. As
j^ears advance, our powers are blunted, and our pleasurable
leelin^ decline.

16 The silent lapse of time is ever carrying somewhat from
us, till at length the period comes, when all must be swept I
away. The prospect of this termination of our labours andl
pursuits, is sulficient to mark our state with vanity. " Ourj
duysure a hand's breadth, and our age is as nothing." With-j
in tliat little space is all our enterprise bounoed. We crowdl
it with toils and cares, with contention and strife. We proiect I
great designs, entertain hiirh hopes, and then leave our plaiisl
unfinished, and sink into oblivion. I

17 This much let it suffice to have said concerning the vanity!
of the world. That too much has not been said, must appearl
to every one who considers how generally mankind lean tol
the opposite side ; and how often, by undue attachment tol
the present state, thev both feed the most sinful passions, andj
" pierce themselves through with many sorrows." blaib.

Part 1.

lUcacy, which

ht Lay aside
\ pursuit, and
,8 fully aitam-
reniains tx) be
lid short dura-

nntol' security
ive some basis

[V wavers {-.ttd
xrow; for thou
It is much It,
It to disquiet or
I uniform train.

Chap* 9.

Promiscuoua Pieces*

157

SECTION XIX.
WluU are the real and solid enjoyments of human Ufe,

IT must be admitted^, that unmixed^ and complete happi-
ness', is unknown on earlh\ No regulation of conducf can
alt<)|ether prevent passions from disturbin;^ our peace', and
mislortunes from wounding our hearth But after this con-
cession is made', avIII it tbiiow', that tliere is no object on earth
which deserves our pursuit', or that all enjoyment becomes
contemptible which is not perlect'? Let us survey our state
with an impartialeye',and be just to the various gills of heaven\

2 How vain soever this lile', considered in itself, may be',
the comforts^ and hopes of religion', are sufficient to give so-

through the great Redeemer of mankind^; in the firm confi-
dence of being conducted through all the trials of life', by infi-
nite wisdom^ and goodness'; and in the joyful prospect of
arriving', in the end', at immortal felicity'; they possess a
happiness which', descending from a purer and more perlect
region than this world', partakes not of its vanity\

3 Besides the enjoyments peculiar to religion', there are
o*her pleasures of our present state', which', though of an in-
ferior order', must not be overlooked in the estimate of human
ife\ It is necessary to call the attention to these', in order
check that repining and unthankful spirit', to wnich man
s always too pre \

4 Some degree of importance must be allowed to the com
iiici I". -.- -= , , ^'orts of health^ to the innocent gratifications of sense', and to
i our pleasuraoic ^^^ entertainment afforded us by all the beautiful scenes of

.. f,«, Biature^; some to the pursuits*, and harmless amusements of
ff somewhat iroin^pj.|^l UP^z. ^^^ ^^^^ ^^ ^^^ internal enjoyments of thought^

11 must be ®^ PiBind reflection', and to the pleasures of affectionate intercourse
f our labours ^"JBvith those whom we love\ These comforts are oflen held in
th vanity^. .^Vi"Boo low estimation', merely because they are ordinary' and
nothing. ^ "jRommon^; although that is the circumstance which ought' in
'"^'^* x^^ ^^ >ctB^^^^'^'' ^ enhance their value\ They lie open', in some de-
rife. We P^-^r^-Bree', to alP; extend through every rank of life''; and fill up
n leave our piai ■greeably many of those spaces in our present existence ,

'♦.■■hich are not occupied with higher ol iects', or with serious
cerningthevanityF •

; sown; and the
their growth. 11
pen on different
them long, we
hange. By slow
ogress of evil, u

id labour to erect,]

dn level with the

to leave us un- 1

for man changes

delight us long.

maturerage. As I

ires

said, ™"5i^^P*^ ifli 5 From this reoresentation', it appears that', notwithstand-

mankind lean j Bjg ^^^ vanity of* the world', a considerable degree of comfort

attachmeni wj attainable m the present stated Let the recollection of thii

id to repress th<
rogance of complaints' and murmurs^ — What art thou'.

lue

lue aita^-;*" — ^M aiiauiauie m me preseni siaie . .ijciine recoiicciion oi uiw

inful passions, ann^jyg ^ reconcile us to our condition', and to repress the

,,«»wn.' BLiiB* Irrogance of complaints' and murmur8\ — What art thou',

eon of man'! who', bavins: sprung but yesterday out ot

Irrows." BLiiB.

:H;

'1 '

%^:m

158

TIu English Reader*

s PartL

the dust', darest to lid up thy voice against thy Maker', and
to arraign his provi(lence^ because all things are not oruered
according to thy wish\''

6 What title hast thou to find fault with the order of the
universe', whose lot is so much beyond what thy virtue^ or
merit'' gave thee ground to clainiM Is it nothing to thee to
iiave been introduced into this magnificent world'; to have
been athnitted as a spectator of the divine wisdom and
works': and to have had access to all the comforts which
nature , with a bountiful hand', has poured forth around
tiiee'? Are all the hours forgotten which thou hast passed in
ease', in complacency', or joy'?

7 Is it a small favour in thy eyes', that the hand of divine
mercy has been stretched forth to aid thee'; and', if thou re-
ject not its prollered assistance', is ready to conduct tfiee toa ,
nappier state of existence'? When thou compares! thy coiv
ditiou^ with thy desert', blush and be ashamed of thy com-
plaints\ Be silent\ be grateful', and adored Receive with
thankfulness the blessings which are allowed thee\ Revere!
tJiat government wliich at present refuses thee rnore\ Rest inl
tliis conclusion', that though there are evils in the world', it«l
Creator is wise\ and good', and has been bountiful to thee\|

, , BLAIH.

SECTION XX.

Sccde of beings.
THOUGH there is a great deal of pleasure in contemplat'J
mg the material world ; by which I meal, that system ofl
bt^ies, into which nature has so curiously wrought the mass!
©♦' dead matter, with the several relations that those bodiefl
bear to one another ; there is still, methinks, something morel
wonderful and surprising, in contemplations on the world oil
Uie ; by which I intend^ all those animals with which everjl
part or the universe is furnished. The material world is onljT
tke shell of the universe : the world of life are its inhabitanti

2 If we consider those parts of the material world, which iie|
the nearest to us, and are therefore subject to our observatioDi
and inquiries, it is amazing to consider the infinity of animal^
with which they are stocked. Everj^ part of matter is peopled
everv green leaf swarms with inhabitants. There is scarcely ij
single humour in the body of a man, or of any other animal,!
which our glasses do not discover myriads of living creatures
We find, even in the most solid bodies, as in marble itself, in
numerable cells and cavities, which are crowded with imperl
ceptible inhabitants, too little for the naked eye to discover.|

3 On the other hand, if we look inta the more bulky part
of mture, we see the seas, lakes, and rivers, teeming will

Part 1. I ^''''P' ^'

Pvomiscuvua Viecf-s.

159

MaVcr', and
e not ordered

e order of the
thy virtue or
,ing to thee to
rorld'; to have
; wisdom and
;omforta which
1 lortli around
^ hast passed in

hand of divine

md', if th^"/*-
onducttVieetoa

iparest thy conp
lied of thy coin.
Keceive with
lt\iee\, Revere
je more

numberless kln<ls <»f liviiinf crcitnres. Wo find ovory moun-
tain and niarfcih, wildornetss and wood, plentifully stocked
with birds and beasts ; and every part of matter aHi)rdin;i

proper necessaries an<i conveniences, lor the livcliiiood

A Rest in

conveniences, lor the livcliiiood in
tiie'multitudcs wh'wh inhabit it.

4 The author of " the Flurality of Worlds," draws a very

good argument iVom this considt^ration, lor tiie peopling of

every planet; as indetul it seems very probabi , from the

analogy of reason, that if no part of matter, wit>< which we

re aC(iuainted, lies vyaste and useless, those gieat bodies,

vhich are atfluch a distance from us, are not desert an I \ui-

opled; but rather, that they are lurnished with bein<r»

idajited to their respective situations.

6 Existence is a blessing to tliose beings only which are

ndowed with perception; and is in a manner thrown away

jxin dead matter, any larther than as it is subservient txi b«'-

which are conscious of their existence. Accordingly * vc

Ind, from the bodies which lie under our observation, t; at

latter is only made as the basis and support of animals ; and

lat there is no more of the one than what is necessary lor

le existence of the otlier.

in the world ) ^^M% Infinite Goodness is of so communicative a nature, that it

.•I'.A ♦« pp. -^pjjg ^Q delight in conferring existence upon every degree of

peptive being. As this is a speculation, which I have ol^en

pued with great pleasure to myself, I shall enlarge farther

bon it, by considering that part of the scale of beings, which

)ountiful to thee

BLAIK.

ireincontemplat
I, that system ol
^'rought the maa
1 that those bodia

is on

les within our knowledge.
[7 There are some living creatures, which are raised but just
"ive dead matter. To mention only that species of shell

. J, which is formed in tlie fashion of a cone ; ^bat grows to

jSomethmg ^?jB surface of several rocks; and inmiediately f^; r . on being

o nn the world <><Bered from the place where it grew. There are iuany other

iturea but one remove from these, which liave no other

than that of feeling and taste. Others have still an

itional one of hearing ; others of smt'li ; and others of

"— - r 1^ It is wonderful to observe, by what a ^adual progress tlie
infinity of aninia ji^j ^f j^g advances, through a prodi^ous variety of sfje-
'matterispeopw'i^befbre acreature is fbnn d, that is complete m all its
!S : and even among these, there is such a different de-
of perfection, in the sc;nse which one animal enjoys b«-
what appears in anotlier, that though the sense m difler-
nimals is distinguished by ^e same common denomina-

^„ it seems almost of a different nature.

d eye to discover^^ nj^^ ^j^jg^ ^^ ^^^^ into the several inward perfections
e more hulky P^nuung and sagacity, or what we generally call instinct,
vers, teeroin? ww^

with which even
terial world 18 on^^
areitsinhabilanj
ial world, which ir
toourobservatioi
infinity of aninja
finatteris people,
[There is scarce y J
iny other animal,!!
of- living creativr^
in marble i^eUVji
jwded with impeP

',■ I

160

The English Reader,

Partll /

we find them rising, after the 9ame manner, imperceptibly one]
above another ; and receiving additional improvements, ac I
cording: to the species in which they are implanted. ThisJ
progress in nature is so very gradual, that the most perfect of I
an inferior species comes very near to the most imperfect ^1
that which is immediately above it.

10 The exuberant and overflowing goodness of the Su-j
preme Being, whose mercy extends to allhis works, is plainki
seen, as I have before hinted, in his having made so very littlel
matter, at least what falls within our knovvledge, that doesnotf
swarm with life. Nor is his goodness less seen in the diverf
sity, than in the multitude of living creatures. Had
made but one species of animaJs, none of the rest would hanj
enjoyed the happiness of existence : he has, therefore, «p<d
fied, in his creation, every degree of life, every capacity i
being.

11 The whole chasm of nature, from a plant to a maD,j
filled up with divers kinds of creatures, rism^ one after i
other, by an ascent so gentle and easy, that the little tr
tions and deviations fi-oni one species to another, are aL
insensible. This intermediate space is so well husbanded a
managed, that there is scarcely a decree of perception, wiiJ
does not appear in some one part of the world or life. '
go(* Iness, or the wisdom of the Divine Being, more
Tested in this his proceeding?

12 There is a consequence, besides those I have aln ^ ^

mentioned, which seems ven' naturally deducible fronittoreslgj
foregoing considerations, ll the scale of being rises bffcort. f
regular a progress, so hisrh as man, we may. by parity ofiBhe knoi
son, suppose, that it still proceeds gradually through tM 5 [jij
beiujE^ wliich are of a superior nature to him ; since theiBBeino* 1
infinitely greater space and room for different degrees ot'^ ' '^'
fection, between the Supreme Being and man, than beti
man and the most despicable insect."

13 In this ^reat system of being, there is no creaturt
wonderful in its nature, and which so much deserves ourj
ticular attention, fes man ; who fills up the middle sf>aci
tween the animal and the intellectual nature, the visiWel
the invisible world ; and who is that link in the chain of I
wnich forms the connexion between both. So that hej
in one respect, is associated with angels and archangels
may look upon a being of infinite perlection as his fatheij
the highest order of spirits as his brethren, may, in
respect, say to " corruption, thou art my father, and
^vorm, thou art my mother and my sister." audis|

Parn.l Chap, 9,

\perceptiblyonel
srovementa, ac
nplant^d. This
emostperfecjo
iiost imperfectly

dness of the Su-l
iworks,i8piainl;l
tiadesoveryliltfel
d.re, that does noil
seeAmthedmj

jatures. Hadjf
merest would haul

,0, therefore, spea
every capacity*

Promiscttoua Pieces,
SECTION XXI.

ipianttoaman,!
ising one alter ai
S t!ie little ttai.
another, are ato
well husbanded a

i Being, more -

lose I ]have alru
deducible .fronj
of being rises .^

Tiay,bypantyo1

.dually thro^S'jJ
ohim;8mceth«

ferentdegi-eesofl
id man, than WM

lere is no create
tuch deserves ou
the middle sg
nature, the.visiW
kin the Cham ottt

;l8 and archanficB
ictionashisfathei

ithren, may, ma
my father, and

Trust in the care of Providence reeo»'imended.

MAN, considered in himself, is a very helpless, and a very
wretched beinff. He is subject every moment to the greatest
calamities and misfortunes. He is beset ivith dangers on
fall sides ; and may become unhappy by numberless casual-
ties, which he could not foresee, nor have prevented had he
Ibreseen them.

2 It is our comfort, while we artf obnoxious to so many ac-
cidents, that we are under the care of one who directs con-
tingencies, and has in his hands the management of every
thing that is capable of annoying or offending us ; who knows
the assistance we stand in need of, and is always ready to be-
stow it on those who ask it of him.

3 The natural homage, which such a creature owes to so
infinitely wise and good a Being, is a firm reliance on him for
the blessings an 1 conveniences of life ; and an habitual trust
in him, for deli erance out of aU such dangers and difficulties
as may befall us.

4 The man who always lives in this disposition of mind, hus
not the same dark and melancholy vieAvs of human nature,
as he who considers himself abstractedly from this relation to
the Supreme Being. At the same time that he reflects upi>n
lus own weakness and imperfection, he comforts himself with
the contemplation of those divine attributes, which are em-
Iployed for his safety, and his welfare. He finds his want of
|lbresight made up, b)^ the omniscience of him who ia his sup

)rt. He is not sensible of his own want of strength, when
le knows that his helper is almighty.

5 In short, the person who has a firm tnist in the Supreme
leing, is powerful in his power, wise by his wisdom, nappy
jy his happiness. He reaps the benefit of every divine attri-
)ute ; and loses his own insufiiciency in the fuhiess of infinite
erfection. To make our lives more easy to us, we are com
landed to put our trust in him, who is thus able to relieve and

fuccour us ; the Divine Goodness having made such a reli-
Wce a duty, notwithstanding we should have been ndserable,
id it been forbidden us.

6 Among several motives, which might be made use of to
^commend this duty to us, I shall only take notice of those
hat follow. The first and strongest is, that we are promised,
ke will not fail those who put their trust in him. But without
ansidering the supernatural blessing, which accompanies
lis duty, we may observe, that it has a natural tendency to

own reward ; or in other words, that this firm trust and
11* L

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sv >

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163

The English Rcadet

Part 1.

■;|"

tMl

■H I ll'

^l^

' i

/^-

eonfidence in the great Disposer of all things, contribute very
much to the getting clear ol any attiiction, or to the bearing oi
it numfiilly.

7 A person who believes he has his succour at hand, and
that he acts in the sight of his friend, often exerts himselt \
beyond his abilities; and does wonders, that are not to be
matched by one who is not animated with such a confidence
of success. Trust in the assistance of an Almighty Being
naturally produces patience, hope, cheerfuhicss, and all other
dispositions of mind, which alleviate those calamities that we
are not able to remove. I

8 The practice of this virtue administers great comfort tol
the mind of man, in times o poverty and affliction ; bull
most of all, in the hour of death. When the soul is hovering,!
in the last moments of its separation ; when it is just enteringi
on another state of existence, to converse with scenes, anal
objects, and companions, that are altogether new ; what caf
support her under such tremblings of thought, such fear, sud
anxiety, such apprehensions, but the casting _»f all her card
upon HIM, who first gave her being ; who has conducted heij
through one stage of it ; and who will be always present,
guide and comfort her in her progress through eternity ?

., ADDISON.

, SECTION xxn.

Piety and gratitude enliven prosperity.

PIETY, and gratitude to God, contribute, in a high u.,
ffree, to enliven prosperity. Gratitude is a pleasing emotioa
The sense of being distinguished by the kindness of anotheij
gladdens the heart, warms it with reciprocal affection, an
gives to any possession which is agreeable in itself, a doiibl
relish, from its being the gifl of a friend. Favours conferrel
by men, I acknowledge, may prove burdensome. For m
man virtue is never perfect; and sometimes unreasonabl
expectations on the one side, sometimes a mortif)dng senr
of dependence on the other, corrode in secret the pleasun
of benefits, and convert the obligations of friendship inlj
graunds of jealousy.

2 But nothing of this kind can affect the intercourse!
gratitude with Heaven. Its favours are wholly disinterestel
and with a gratitude the most cordial and unsuspiciousJ
good man looks up to that Almighty Benefactor, who air
at no end but t;^e happiness of those whom he blesses,
who desires no return from them, but a devout and than-.
heart While others can trace tneir prosperity to no high
■ouroe than a concurrence of worldly causes ; andj ofleiiii

ERnil

-♦>

part 1. 1 Chap. 9.

Promiscuous Pieces.

163

jntribute very
the bearing 01

mean or trifling incidents, wnich occasionally favoured their
designs ; with what superior satisfaction does the servant oi
God remark the hand of that gracious Power whicli haUi
raised him up ; which hath happily conducted him through
the various steps of life, and crowned him with the most fa
vourable distinction beyond his equals ?

3, Let us farther consider^ that not only gratitude for the
past, but a cheering sense oi divine favour at the present, en-
ters into the pious emotion. They are only the virtuous, who
in their prosperous days hear this voice addressed to them,
"Go thy way, eat thy bread with joy, and drink thy wine
with a cheerful heart ; for God now accepteth thy works."
He who is the author of their prosperity, gives them a title
to enjoy, with complacency, his own gift.

4 While bad men snatch the pleasures of the world as by
Btealth, without countenance from the great Proprietor of the
world, the righteous sit openly down to the feast of life, under
the smile of approving heaven. No guilty fears damp their
joys. The blessing of God rests upon all that thev possess ;
nis protection surrounds them ; and hence, " in the habita-
tions of the righteous, is found the voice of rejoicing and saW
vation." A lustre unknown to others, invests, in their sight,
the whole face of nature.

5 Their piety reflects a sunshine from heaven upon the
rosperity of the world ; unites in one point of view, the
miling aspect, both of the powers above, and of the objects

low. Not only have they as full a relish as others, for the

locent pleasures of life, but, moreover, in these they hoUl

iommunion with their divine Benefactor. In all that is g(5o(l

r fair, they trace his hand. From the beauties of nature.

om tne improvements of art, from the enjoyments of social

fe, they raise their affection to the source of all the happiness

^^ mch surrounds them ; and thus widen the sphere of their

imes unreasonaW^Ieasures, by adding intellectual, and spiritual, to earthly joys.
a mortifying sewB 6 For illustration of what I have said on this head, remark
ecret the pleasui^at cheerful enjoyment of a prosperous state, which king
of friendslup u'Wavid had when he wrote the twenty-third psalm ; and corn-
Bare the highest pleasures of the riotous sinner, with the
the intercourse »ppy and satisfied spirit which breathes throughout that
,holly disinterestfiiiBgalm. — ^In the midst of the splendour of royalty, with what
and unsuspiciousmQiable simplicity of gratitude does he look up to the Lord
nefactor, who aim "i^g Shepherd;" happier in ascribing all his success to
lom he blesses, Wvine favour, than to the policy of his councils, or to the
evout and thapKjjce of his anns !

iperity to i^®-PS"«7 How many instances of divine goodness arose before
.uses ; andj oiwBi^ in pleosin,,'' remembrance, when with euch relish, he

r at hand, aud
exerts himsdt
are not to be
'h a confidence
amighty Being
ss, and all other
lamitiesthatwe

great comfort to
f atHiction; but!
soul is hovering,
it is iust entering
with scenes, aiioi
rnew; whatca
,t such fear, suci
Iff jfallhercaie
las conducted hei
ilways present/
)ugh eternity i

ADDISOK

)sperity

3ute, in a high d
1 pleasing emotio^
indnessofanotbei

ocal affection, a'
J initself,adoul
■^ .«MV9 conferi
For b

Favours conferti
lensome.

1^,

'■■ ;,V.»K.: , ,

'Sr! ■llif.i.:

V 'i'

'5:!iii

■;i

' iiiiitiN'P

T '. > ■

t64

77te English Reader,

Part 1. 1 Cha^

Janff.
totha
rustic
|sceptr
houlc
wer
enr
4 A,
lion of
equesi
" ent
ilves, "
sobs(

speaks of the "green pastures and still waters, beside which
God had led hini ; oi'his cup Avhich he had made tr> overflow;
and of the table which he had prepared for him in the presence
of his enemies !" With what perfect tranquillity does he look
forward to the time of his passing through "the valley of the
shadow of death ;" unapj)alled by that sijectre, whase most
distant appearance blasts tlie prosperity of sinners ! He fean
no evil, as long as " the rod and the stafl"" of his divine Shep-
herd are Avith him ; and, through all the unknown periods (i||
this and of future existence, conmiits himself to Ms guidanw
with secure and triumphant hope : " Surely goodness M
mercy will follow me all the days of my life ; and I shi
dwell in the liouse of the Lord lor evei ."

8 What a purified, sentimental enjoyment of prosperity
here exhibited! How different from that gross relish of worli
ly pleasures, which belongs to those who behold only the terl
restrial side of things ; who raise their views to no hiffi
objects than the succession of human contingencies, ana i
weak efforts of human ability; who have no protector or
tron in the heavens, to enliven their prosperity, or to Wi
their hearts with gratitude and trust ! blaib.

SECTION XXIII.

Virtuei when deeply rooted, is not subject to the influence

fortune.

THE city of Sidon having surrendered to Alexander,
ordered Hephestion to bestow the crown on him whi
the Sidonians should think most worthy of that honoi
Hephestion being at that time resident with two young n
af distinction, offered them the kmgdom ; but they refui
it, telling him that it was contrary to the laws of their coi
try, to admit any one to that honour, who was not of
royal family.

2 He then, having expressed his admiration of their d
terested spirit, desired them to name one of the royal
who might remember that he had received the crown throi
their hands. Overlooking many, who would have been
bitious of this high honour, they made choice of Abdol
mus, whose singular merit had rendered him conspicu
even in the vale of obscurity. Though remotely relatedfcJpy,
the royal family, a series of misfortunes had reduced himB^nave
ttxe necessity of^ cultivating a garden, for a small stipend,
the suburbs of the city.

5 While Abdolonymus was busily employed in wee
nis garden, the two^ friends of Hephestion, bearing in t!
hands the ensigns of royalty, approached him, and sainted

nhi;

e pala

5 No

idean

lurmur;

fixand(

|nt for ;

d born

lymus,

derati^

se hai

answ

the

eda

Spet
'ynhu

ferof

Jyinfo
napp

lyowi

hast
fless

allrJiL
alsoi
shou
ntage
asm

• r I .'!i

PartlMChap.9,

Promiscuous Pteces.

166

beside which | Wnff. They informed him that Alexander had appointed him
p^ overflow;B to tnat office ; and required him immediately to exchange hk

n thepresenceBrustic garb, and utensils of husbandry, for the re^al robe and

t ' does helookBsceptre.^ At the same time, they admonished hun, when lie

lie valley of the

tre, whcxse mosli

nnersl Hefeaisl

his divine Shep-

:nown periods oil

ftolAsgiudanwl

,\v goodness anJi

i?fe ; and 1 shall

ihoiild be seated on the throne, and have a nation in his
iwer, not to forget the humble condition from which he had
en raised.
4 All this, at the first, appeared to Abdolonymus as an illu-

ion of the fancy, or an insult offered to his poverty. He

equested them not to trouble him farther with their imper-
nent jests ; and to find st)mc other way of amusing them-
Ives, which might leave him in the peaceable enjoyment of

lis obscure habitation. — At length, however, they convinced

f nrosoerityiiB'^' ^^^^ ^^^y ^^^''^ serious in their proposal ; and prevailed

rib of worliBp"^ hi'^ ^® accept the regal office, and accompany them to

*^u \^.^\^r ibetetBe palace,
ehold only ^nejji^ ^ f^^ ^^^

Bws to no nigr

jierencies, and t
,0 protector or '
perity, or to vi

to the infiuem\

d to Alexander,.

^vn on him wM

of that honoi^

ivhtwovoung

; but they refui

laws of their coi

was not 01

ation of their <
e of the Toyal
1 the crown tnroi
ould have been
boice of Abdoi
d him conspicu'
remotely related
had retedhitti
r a small stipend

5 No sooner was he in possession of the government, than
ide and envy created him enemies; who whispered their
[urmurs in every place, till at last they reached the ear of
exander. He commanded the new-elected prince to be
jnt for ; and enquired of Irru, with what temper of mind he
d borne his poverty. " Would to Heaven," replied Abdo
ymuSj " that I may be able to bear my crown with equal
deration : for when I possessed little, I wanted nothing :
se hands supplied me with whatever 1 desired." From

answer, Alexander formed so high an idea of his wisdom,
,t he confirmed the choice Avhich had been made ; antl an-

ed a neighbouring province to the government t)f Sidon.

QUINTUS CURTIUS.

SECTION XXIV.

Speech of Fabricius, a Roman ambassador, to Jiing
yrrhus, who attempted to bribe him to his interests, by the
fer of a gi'eat sum of money.

"ITH regard to my poverty, the king has, indeed, been

ly informed. My whole estate consists in a house of but

a appearance, and a little spot of groun<l : from which,

y own labour j I draw my support. But if j by any means,

hast been persuaded to think that this poverty renders

fless consequence in my own country, or in any degree

ippy, thou art greatly deceived.

1 nave no reason to com])lain of fo'tune : she supplies me
all that nature requires; and if I am without superfluities,

Lployed in ^yce|
hon, bearing in ]J
I him, and saluted I

Lalso free from the desire of them. With these, I con-
should be more able to succjour the necessitous^ the only
ntage for which the wealthy are to be envied: but
as my possessions are, I can still contribute something

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166

T^e English Reader.

Parti

n;',i-H

t:i.:^f -^

ml- -^

■iirii:" I'

to the support of the state, and the assistance of my friends.

3 Witli respect to honours, my country places me, poor as
I am, upon a level with the richest : for Rome linows no
qualifications for great (employments, but virtue and ability.
She appoints me to officiate in the most august ceremonies of
religion; she intrusts me with tlie command of her armies;
she confides to my care the most important negociations.
My poverty does not lessen the weight and influence of my
counsels in the senate.

4 The Roman people honour me for that very poverty,
which king Pyrrhus considers as a disgrace. They know the
many opportunities I have had to enrich myself, without cen-
sure ; tney are convhiced of my disinterested zeal for ^eir
prosperity : and if I have any thing to complain of, in the
return they make me, it is only the excess of their applause, i
What value, then, can I put upon thy gold and silver r What
king can add any thing to my fortune r Always attentive to I
discharge the duties incumbent upon me, I have a mind free!
tiom self-reproach ; and I have an honest fame.

SECTION XXV.
Character of 3 A2S.E8 I. king of England,
NO prince, so little enterprising and so inoflensive, was cveil
so much exposed to the opposite extremes of calumny audi
flattery, of satire and panegyric. And the factions whicil
began m his time, being still continued, have made his cha-f
racter be as much disputed to this day, as is commonly that|
(if princes who are our contemporaries.

2 Many virtues, however, it must be owned, he was pos-l
sessed of; but not one of them pure, or free from the contaT
gion of the neighbouring vices. His generosity bordered oir
3rofusion, his learning on pedantry, his pacific. disposition oi
:)usillanimity, his wisdom on cunning, his friendship on ligr
ancy and boyish fondness.

3 While he imagined that he was only maintaining
own authority, he may perhaps be suspected in some of 1
actions, and still more oi his pretensions, to liave encroachej
an the liberties of his people. While he endeavoured, byi
exact neutrality, to acquire the good-will of all his neighboi)
he was able to preserve fiilly the esteem and regard of non
His capacity was considerable, but fitter to discourse on j
neral maxims, than to conduct any intricate business.

4 His intentions were just, but more adapted to the
duct of orivate life, than to the government of kingdon
Awkwara in his person, and ungahily in his manners, ne
ill qualified to command respect: partial and undiscerningl

parti

of my friends,
jesmejpooras
ome linows no
tue and abmty.
3t ceremonies ot
of her armies;
it negociations.
influence ol my

Chap. 9.

Promiacuoua Pieces,

167

his affections, he was little fitted to acquire geheral love. Of
a leeble temper, more than of a frugal judgment; exposed to
our ridicule from his vanity, but exempt from our hatred by
his freedom from pride and arrogance.

5 And, upon the whole, it may be pronounced of his cha-
•acter, tliat all liis qualities were sullied with weakness, and
tmbelushed by humanity. Political courage he was certainly
devoid of; and from tlience chiefly is derived the sprung pre- ,
judicc, wnich prevails against his personal bravery : an in
I ference, however, which must be owned, iirom general expe-
rience, to be extremely fallacious. uume.

SECTION XXVI.

at very poverty,
They know the

ed zeal for tiieir ■Charles V. emperor of Germany, resigns his dominions^ and
nplain of, in the ■ retires from the world.

)f their s^PPjiK*^^: I THIS great emperor, in the plenitude of his power, and in
iiid sUverr jnfnat Jpoggesgion qj* ^\\ {[^^ honours which can flatter the heart of
man, took the extraordinary resolution, to resign his king-
doms ; and to witlidraw entirely from any concern in business
or the aflairs of this world, in order that he might spend the
[remainder of his days in retirement and solitude.

2 Though it requires neither deep reflection, nor extraor-
dinary discernment, to discover that the state of royalty is
pflensive, was ^^Wnot exempt from cares and disappiointments ; though moot of
■8 of csdumny ^J^hose who are exalted to a throne, find solicitude, and satiety,
and disgust, to be their perpetual attendants, in that envied
Dre-eminence ; yet, to descend voluntarily from the supreme
a subordinate station, and to relinquish the possession of
^wwer in order to attain the enjoyment of h ppiness, seems
Iwned, he was P^^Bo be an effort too great for the human minti.
ee from the conta-B 3 Several instances, indeed, occur in history, of monarchs
rosity bordered o^yyjQ jjj^yg quitted a throne, and have ended their days in re-
cific .disposition <jWirement. But they were either weak princes, who took this
friendslup on lig"Besolution rashly, and repented of it as soon as it was taken:

ways attentive to
have a mind tree I

ame.
\n^Und,

le factions whicli|
ve made his cha-
is commonly that]

Lly maintairang
Eted in some ot
to have encroach*
endeavoured, oy
ff all his neighbor

br unfortunate princes, from whose hands some strong rival
had wrested their sceptre, and compelled them to descend
Vith reluctance into a private station.
4 Dioclesian is, perhaps, the only prince capable of holding
lie reigns of government, who ever resided them from de-
Iberate choice ; and who continued, during many years, to

nd regard ot wojnjoy the tranquillity of retirement, witiiiout fetching one

to discourse on
late business.
Idapted to the

imentofkinffdoi]

ais manners, ne ^
landundiscermngi

enitent sigh, or casting back one look of desire, towards the

ower or dignity which he had abandoned.

5 No wonder, then, that Charles's resignation should fill

|il Europe with astonishment ; and give rise, both among his

dntemporaries, and among the liistorians or that period to

.■■■'■

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168

The English Reader,

Parih

various conjectures concerning the motives which determined
a prince, wliose ruhnff passion had been unitbrmly the love of
power, at tne ageoffiit)^-six, when objects of ambition operate
with full force on the mind, and are pursued with the greatest
a.rdour, to laKe a resolution so singular and unexpected.

6 The emperor, in pursuance of his determination, having
assemble^ tlie states or the Low Countries at Brussels, seated
himself, for the last time, in the chair of state : on one side of
which was placed his son, and on the other, his sister the
queen of Hungary, regent of the Netherlands, with a splendid
retinue of the grandees of Spain and princes of the empire
standing behind him.

7 The president of the council of Flanders, by his com-
mand, explained, in a few words, his intention in calling this
extraordinary meetinp; of the states. He then read the instru-
ment of resignation, by which Charles surrendered to his son
Philip all his territories, jurisdiction, and authority in the Low
Countries; absolving his subjects there from their oath of
allegiance to him^ which he required them to transfer to Phi
lip his lawful heir ; and to serve him with the same loyalty
and zeal that they had manifested, during so long a course of
years, hi support of his government.

8 Charles then rose from his seat, and leaning on the shoul-
der of the prince of Orange, because he was unable to stand I
without support, he addressed himself to the audience ; and,
from a paper which he held in his hand, in order to assist his
memory, ne recounted, with dignity, but without ostentation, |
all the great things which he had undertaken and performed,

, since the commencement of his administration.

9 He observed, that from the seventeenth year of his age, I
he had dedicated all his thoughts and attention to public ob-
jects, reserving no portion of his time for the indulgence of his I
Case, and very little for the enjoyment of private pleasure;!
that either in a pacific or hostile manner, he had visited Ger-I
many nine times, Spain six times, France four times, Italvl
seven times, the Low Countries ten times, England twice, Af-I
rica as oflen, and had made eleven voyages by sea ; that whilel
his health permitted him to discharge his duty, and the vigourl
of his constitution was equal, in any degree, to the arduous of'j
fice of governing dominions so extensive, he had never shun I
ned labour, nor repined under fatigue ; that now, when hisj
healtli was broken, and his vigour exhausted by the rage oil
an incurable distemper, his growing infirmities admonishedl
him to retire ; nor was he so fond of reigning, as to retain thel
•oeptre in an impotent hand, which was no longer able tol

part 1* I Chap. 9.

Promiscuous Pieces.

169

jhdetennined

Illy the love ot
ibition operate
th the greatest
expected.

nation, having
;ru8sels, seated

on one side ol
, his sister the
with a splendid

of the empire

I protect his subjects, or to render them liappy ; that instead
of a sovereign worn out with diseases, and scarcely half alive,
he gave them one in the prime of lile, accustomed already to
Uovern, and who added to the vigour of youth, all theatteik-
jtion and sagacity of maturer years ; that if during the course
lot' a long administration, he had committed any material er-
ror in government, or if, under the pressure ol so many and
reat afl'airs^ and amidst the attention which he had been
bliged to give to tiiem, he had either neglected or injured
.ny of iiis subjects, he now implored their forgiveness : that,
'or his part, he should ever retain a grateful sense or their
Welity and attachment, and would carry the remembrance of
jt along with him to the place of his retreat, as his sweetest con-
loiation, as well as the best reward for all his services ; ami
1 his last prayers to Almiglity God, would pour forth hia
rJent wishes lor their wellare.

10 Then turning towards Philip, who fell on his knees and

[issed his fatlier's hand, " If," says he, " I had left you, by my

eath, this rich inheritance, to which I have made such large

iditions, some regard would have been justly due to my

ingontheshoul-
s unable to stand
e audience *, and,
)rder to assist his

fl, by his com-
n in calling this

read the instru-
ideredtohisson
^rityintheLow
XI their oath qt
transfer to f m

lonff a course ot Beraory on that account ; but now, when I voluntarily resign

long ^ yQjj wliat I mi^ht have still retained, ! may well expect the

armest expressions of thanks on your part. With these,

wever, I dispeivse ; and shall consider your concern for the

[elfare of your subjects, and your love of them, as the best

d most acceptable testimony of your gratitude to me. It

in your power, by a wise and virtuous administration, to

hout ostentation, ^tjjy ^jjg extraordinary proof which I give this day of my

and performed, ■tgp^j^l aflection, and to demonstrate that you are worthy of

ion. He confidence which I repose in you. Prevserve an invioia-

year of his age, H regard for religion ; maintain the Catholic faith in its pu-

tion to public ob-Hy; let the laws of your coimtry be sacred in your eyes ;

, indult'ence of hisBcroach not on the rights and privileges of your people ; and

private pleasure ;Bllie time shall ever come, when you shall \yish to enjoy the

had visited Ger-Hnquillity of private lile, may you have a son endowed with

bur times, ItalvRh qualities, that you can resign your scei)tre to him, with

island twice, Ai-Bmuch satisfaction as I give up mine to you."

by ^^^iVugyjproutBl As soon as Charles had finished this long address to hia
ty,anau s ^j.»jgp^^ and to their new sovereign, he sunk into the chair,
^? 1 npver shun Jiausted and ready to faint with the fatigue of so extraordi-
i had "®^. gjj T^my an effort. During his discourse, the whole audience
at 'l^^'. g w.ge (^Bted into tears ; some from admiration of his magnanimity ;
ted by ^||^^„-°ue^ler8 softened by the expressions of tenderness towards hia
ities a^'^JJ^^ Jhel and of love to his people ; and all were affected with
'^'t^ ffer able tol deepest sorrow, at losing a sovereign, who had dis-

170

The English Reader*

Parth

i " -t

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':H

Mill

W'.

tinguished the Netherlands, his native country, with partieih
br marks of his regard and attachment.

SECTION XXVII.

The same auhject continued.
A FEW weeks after tiie resignation of the Netherlands,
Charles, in an assembly no less splendid, and with, a cere-
monial eciually pompous, resigned to his son the crowns of
Spain, with all tiie territories depending on them, both in the
old and in the new world. Of all these vast possessions, he
reserved nothing for himself, but an annual pension of a hun-
dred thousand crowns, to defray the charges of his family, and
to afford him a small sum for acts of beneficence and charity.

2 Nothing now remained to detain him from that retreat
for which he languished. Every thing having been prepared
Borne time lor his voyage, he set out for Zuitburgh in Zealand, i
wheTe the fleet had orders to rendezvous. In his way thither,
ue passed through Ghent: and after stopping there a few
days, to indulge that tender and pleasing melancholy, which
arises in the mind of every man in the decline of life on visit- 1
ing the place of his nativity, and viewing the scenes and ob-l
jects familiar to him in his early youth, ne pursued hisjour*!
ney, accompanied by his son Philip, his daughter the arch-
dutchess, his sisters the dowager queens of France and Hun-L
gary, Maximilian his son-in-law, and a numerous retinue ofl^nds.
uie Flemish nobility. Before he went on board, he dismis-Bof the
sed them with marks of his attention and regard ; and takingP
leave of Philip with all the tenderness of a father who em I
braced his son for the last time, he set sail under convoy of al
large fleet of Spanish, Flemish, ahd English ships. I

3 His voyage was prosperous and agreeable ; and he aw
rived at Laredo in Biscay, on the eleventh day after he lelil
Zealand. As soon as he landed, he fell prostrate on thd
ground ; and considering himself now as dead to the world
ho kissed the earth, and said, "Naked came I out of mi
mother's womb, and naked I now return to thee, thou com|
mon mother of mankind." From Laredo he proceeded
Valladolid. There he took a last and tender leave of his t\
Bisters ; whom he would not permit to accompany him tol
solitude, though they entreated it wkh tears : not only tha
they might have the consolation of contributing, by their all
tendance and care, to mitigate or to sooth his sufferings, bii(
that they might reap instruction and benefit by joining witi
him in those pious exercises, to which he had consecrated f
remainder of^his days.

4 From Valladolid, he continued his journey to Plazencij
in Estremadura. He had passed through that city a

|e enio
Fsolit

Pmril* I Chap. 9. Promiicuotu Piecet.

171

, with particu* I monr years before; and having^ been struck at that time with

e Netherlands,
1 wxth,a cere-
the crowns ol
em, both in the
possessions, he
ensionofahun-
fhis family, and
ice and charity,
om that retreat
g been prepared
urgh in Zealand,
his way thither,
ing there a few
elancholy, which
[leofUfeonyisit.

te scenes and on-
pursued his jour-
mghter the arch-
France and Hun-
[nerous retinue 01
board, he dismjs-
■gard ; and taking
a father who em
under convoy Ota

h ships.

eable; andheaH

h day after he left

prostrate on m
aead to the worlds
•ame I out ol m)
to thee, thou cornl
) he proceeded
ler leave of hist
;ompanyhimtond

.ars: not only, thai
buting,by.theiral

I his suilermgs, w
efit by joining vn
lad consecrated «

mrney to Plazenc]
rh. that city a grei

the deufhtful situation of the monastery of St Justus, t)eiong
ing to the order of St. Jerome, not many miles distant from
that place, he had then ohservcd to some of his attendants, that
this was a spot to wh.ch Dioclesian might have retired with
pleasure. The impression had remained so strong on iiis
nund, that he pitched upon it as tlie place of his retreat.

5 It was seated in a vale of no great extent, watered b^ a
small brook, and surrounded by rising grounds, covered with
lofty trees. From the nature of the soil, as well as the tem-
perature of the climate, it was esteemed the most liealildiil
and delicious situation in Spain.

6 Some months belijre his resignation, he had sent an archi-
tect thither, to add a new apartment to the monastery, lor his
accommodation : but he gave strict orders that the style of tlie
buildiiijg should be such as suited his present station, rather
than his former dignity. It consisted onlv of six rooms, four
of them in the form of friars' cells, with naked wal's ; the other
I two, each twenty feei scjuare, were hung with brown cloth. and
furnished in the most simple manner. They were ail on a level
with the ground ; with a door on one side into a garden, of
which Charles himself had given the plan, and had filled it with
various plants, which he proposed to cultivate with his own
hands. On the other side, they communicated with the chapel
pt'the monastery, in which he was to perform his devotions.
I 7 Into this Iiumble retreat hardly sufficient for the comfort-
lable accommodation ol'a private gentleman, did Charles enter,
[with twelve domestics only. He ouried there, in solitude and

Bilence, his grandeur, his ambition, together with all thise
rast projects, which, during half a century, had alarmed and
igitated Europe ; filling everv kingdom in it, by turns, with
Jhe terror of liis arms, and the dread of being subjected to

is power.

8 In tliis retirement, Charles formed such a plan of life for
iimself, as would have suited the condition of a private per-
»n of a moderate fortune. His table was neat but plain ; his
lomestics few ; his intercourse with them familiar ; all tlie
bumbersome and ceremonious forms of attendance on his-
person were entirely abolished, as destructive of that social
kase and tranquillity, which he courted, in order to sooth th«
jemainder of his days. As the mildness of the climate, to-
eether with his deliverance fi-om the burdens and cares of

Dvernment, procurad him, at first, a considerable remission

om the acute pains with which he had been long tormented,
be enjoyed, perhaps, more complete satisfaction in this hum-
ble solitud^ than ali his grandeur had ever yielded him*

.; ,M

s I

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!%• English Reader.

Parti.

9 The amhitious thou^^hts and projects which had so lon|^
engrossed and disquieted him, were quite effaced from hw
inind. Far from taking any part in the political transactions
of the princes of Europe, he restrained his curiosity even from
any inquiry concerning them ; and he seemed to view the
bus^ scene which he had abandoned, with all the contempt and
xndiiTercnce nrisin/; trom his thorough experience of its vanity,
as well asirom the pleasuig reflection of having disentangled
luroselfirom its cares. dr. bobertson.

[ :

I-

'■' :i:
1

, ■ '! ■ ■■;
' :::

■' !

f^.♦.

r
1

si^

PART II.
PIECES IN POETRY.

CHAPTER I.

SELECT SENTENCES AND FARAORAPHI

SECTION L

SHORT AND EAST SENTENCSf.

Education.
'TIS education forms the common mind^:
Just as the twig is bent', tlie tree 's inclin*d\

Candour.
With pleasure let us own our errors past'
And make each day a critic on the Ia8t\

Reflection. ,

A soul without reflection', like a pile '»?
M ithout inhabitant'', to ruin runs\

Secret virtue.
The private path', the secret acts of men',
If noble', far the noblest of their lives\

A^ecessary knowledge easily attained.
Our needful know)cd|s:e', like our needful food',
UnheJw'd', lies open in life's common field', ;
And bids all welcome to the \ntal feast\ ' ' , «'

Disappointment.
Disappointment lurks in many a prize',
As bees in flovv'rs', and .-stings us with success\

Virtuous elevation. ^

The mind that would be happy', must be great^ ;
Great in its wishes'; ffreat in its surveys^.
Extended viewd a narrow mind extend\

NOTE.— In the first chapter, the Compiler has exhibited a conaideraUfl ▼•-
rtety of poetical cunstructioti. Tor the young i eader>B preparatory ezerdaea

i^i" I :i!:.i

Forll I Chap.U

Select Senlertce»t ^c.

1 had M loM
ced from hiH
I transactions
jity even from
I to view the
contempt and
e of its vanity,
I disentangled

aOBEKTBON.

PHt

ned.

d'.

88\

reat^ ;

tedaconplderablet*-
paraiory exerclBe*

J>latural andfane\fui life.
Who lives to nature'', rarely can be poor^;
Wtio lives to fancy', never can be rich^

Charity,
In faith^ and hope' the world will disagree';
But all mankind d concern is charity^

The pnze of virtue.
What nothing earthly jrives\ or can destroy',
The soul's calm sunsniiu;^, and tiie heartfelt joy',
Is virtue's pri7.e\

Sense and modesty connected.
Distrustful sense with modest caution speaks^;
It still looks home', and short excursions makes';
But rattling nonsense ir full volleys breaks\

Moral discipline salutary.
Heav'n gives us friends to bless the present scene',
Resumes them to prepare us for the next^ '
All evils natural are moral gixxls^;
All discipline, indulgence', on tlie whoIe\

Present blessings undervalued.
Like birds', whose beauties languish', half conoeal'd}
TUl' mounted on the wing', their glossy plumes
Expanded', shine with azure\ green', and gold\
How blessings brighten as they take their flightM

Hojie.
Hope', of all passions', most befriends us here^;
Passions of prouder name befriend U8less\
Joy has her tears', and transport ha^ her death^;
Hope', like a cordial', innocent', thmigh strong',
Man's heart' at once' inspirits' and serenes^

Happiness modest and tranquil,

— ^Never man was truly blest',

But it composed and gave him such a cast',
As folly might mistake for want of joy^:
A cast unlike the triumph of the proud'; '
A modest aspect', and a smile at hearth ^

Ihie greatness.
Who noble ends by noble means obtams^ "
Or failing', smiles in exile^ or in chains'.
Like good AureKus'Jet hhn reign', or bleed
Like Socrates', that man is great indeed^

The tear of sympathy.
No radiant pearl'^ which crested fortune wears',
No gem', thattwmkling hangs from beauty's fats',
15*

'<■;'' \ :

i74

J%e English Reader,

Part 2,

;«

•II

^ivljk

'{-1;: , 'i

ifli? .; ■ ■ 1,:.

Nor the bright stars', which night's blue aich adom^
Nor rising suns that gild the vernal morn',
Shme with such lustre', as the tear that breaks^
For others' wo', down virtue's manly cheeks\

SECTION II.

TXRSES IN WHTCH TH£ LINES ARE OF DIFFERENT LEVOTR

Bliss of celestial origin,
RESTLESS mortals toil for nought';
Bliss in vain from earth is sought^
Bliss', a native of the sky'.
Never wanders^ Mortals', try';
There you cannot seek in vain';
For to seek her', is to gain\ i

The Passions,
The passions are a num'rous crowd^,
Imperious', positive', and Ioud\
Curb these hcentious sons of strife^;
Hence chiefly rise the storms of life':
If they grow mutinous', and rave'.
They are thy masters', thou their slave'.

Trust iti Providence recomniended,
T'is Providence alone secures',
In ev'ry change', both mine' and yours'.
Safety consists not in escape
From dangers of a frightful shape':
An earthquake may be bid to spare
The man that's strangled by a nair\
Fate steals along with silent tread'.
Found oiVnest in what least we dread';
Frowns in the storm with angry brow',
But in tlie sunshine' strikes the blow'.

Epitaph.
How lov'd', how valu d once', avails thee not';
To whom related', or by wKoiii begot':
A heap of dust alone remains of thee';
'Tisall thou art', and all the proud shall be'.

h ante.
All fame is f()reign', but of true desert';
Plan's round the head', but comes not to the heart'.
One self-approving hour', whole years outweighs
Of stupid starers', ami of loud hu/zas';
And more true joy Marcellus exil'*! feels'.
'' Than Cajsar wiih a senatx) at his lieels'.

Pari 2,

aich adorn',

breaks',
jeks^

Chop, I

Select SentenceSt ^c.

175

nded.

1.1

thee not ;
it^:

•

lallW.

t to the heart\
rs outwergha

Virtue the guardian ofyowth-
DoAvn the smooth stream of life the stripling darts'
Gay as the morn^; briglit glows the vernal sky',
Hope swells his sails', and Passion steers his coui8e\
Safe glides his little bark along the shore',
Where Virtue takes her stand^: but if too far
He launches forth beyond discretion's mark',
Sudden the tempest scovls^ the surges roar\
Blot his fair day', and jilunge him in the deep\

Sunrise.
But yonder comes the pow'rful kin^ of day',
Rejoicing in the east\ The less'ran^ cloud'.
The kindling azure', and the mountam's brow',
Illum'd with fluid gold', his near approach
Betoken glad*". Lo', now', apparent all
Aslant the dew-bright earth', and colour'd air',
J^e looks in boundless majesty abroad',
\nd sheds the shining day', that burnish'd plays
On rocks\ and hills\ and tow'rs^ and wana'ring streams',
I High gleaming from afar\

Self-government.
[May I govern my passions with absolute sway'.
And grow wiser^ and better' as life wears away\
I Shepherd.

[On a mountain', stretch'd beneath a hoary willow',
|I/ay a shepherd swain', and view'd the rolling biilow\

SECTION HI.

VERSES coNTAmma exclamations, INTERROGATIOITS, AlW

PARENTHESES. .

Comnetence. '

COMPETENCE is all we can enjoy^:
)h'! be content', where Heav'n can give no more\

Reflection essential to Jutppiness,
Much joy not only speaks small happiness',
3ut happiness that sixortly must expire\
^aii ioy', unbottom'd in reflection', stand'?
Ind , ill a tempest', can reflection live'?

Friendshij}.
Han gold gain friendship'? Impudence of hope^V
lis well mere man an angel might beget\
jOve', and love only', is the loan for love\
Lorenzo'! pride repress^: nor hope to find
i friend', but what has found a friend in thee^. ' ' ,^
i\\ like the purchase': few the price will pav^:. -u f
Lnd this muces friends such miracles below^

176

The English Reader,

Parti

^ 'i !J

.^•y

Paiienee,
Beware of desp'rate steps^ The darkest day'
(Live till to-morrowO Aviil Jiave passed away\

Luxury.
-O luxiiryM

iJRjie of elated iife\ of affluent states^
What dreary change', what ruin is not thiccM
How doth thy bowl intoxicate the mindM
To the soft entrance of thy rosy cave',
How dost tr.ou lure the tbrtunate and great'l
Dreadful attraction^!

Virtuous activity.
Seize', mortals'! seize the transient hour^;
Improve eacli moment as it flies^:
Life's a short siunnier^ — man a flow'r';
He dies'— Alas'!— how soon he dies'!

The source of happiness.
Reason's whole pleasure\ ail the jovs of sense ,
Lie in three words^; health\ peace , and competence^:
But health consists with temperance alone"^;
And peace', O virtue'! peace is all thy own^

Placid emotion.
Who can forbear to smile with nature\^ Can
The stormy passions in the bosom roll',
While ev'ry gale is peace', and ev'xy grove
Is melody'f

Solitude.*
O sacred solitude\ divine retreat^!
Choice of the prudent'! en»/y of the great^!
By thy pure ^reahi\ or in thy waving shade',
We court lair wisdom', that celestial maid :
The genuine offspring of her lov'd embrace'
(Strangers on earth',) are innocence' and pi ,'»\
There Trom the Avays of men laid safe ashore',
We smile to hear the distant tempest roar^;
There\ bless'd with health', with bus'ness unperplex'(i|
This liie we relish', and ensure the next\

Presume not on to-morrow.
In human hearts what bolder thoughts can rise'.
Than man'j presumntion on to-morrow's dawn^^
Where is to-morrow^? In another worlds
For numbers this is certain^; the reverse
bBuretonone\

' * Bf solitude here is meant, a lemoorary seclusion rrom the worM

Pari S I Chap. 1.

Select Sentences, ^e.

lay'

liccn

aVl

>.
1

r sense

d competence':

one';
own'

> Can
■rove

eatM.

shade',
maid:
ibrace' ^
and p«. '"* •

ashore',

roar^; ,^sm

,'ncs8\mperplexfl|

ext\

o«J. . ,
tscannse ,

^w's dawn''

rld\

terse

elusion from ibaWOiH

Dum Tivimus vivamus.— Fr%»/e tte /Jve, Utuab've.

"Live', while you live''," tlie epicure would say',
"And seize the pleasures of the present day\"

* Live', while you live'^" the sacred preacher cries',

* And §ive to God eacn moment as it flies'."
Lord ! m my views', let both united be ;

I live in pleasure', when I live to thee^' — ^doddbidqi.

SECTION IV.

VERSES IN VARIOUS FORMS.

The security of virtue*
LET coward guilt', with pallid fear'.

To shelt'rin,? caverns fly'j
And justlv dread the vengeful late',

That thunders through the sky^.
Protected by tliat hand , whose law',

Xhe threat'ning storms obey'.
Intrepid virtue srnilet; secure',

As in the blaze of day\

Resignation.
And oh'! by error's (brce subdu'd',

Since oft my stubborn Avill
Prepost'rous shuns the latent good',

And grasps the specious ill'3
Not to my wish', but to my want',

Do thou thy gifts apply^;
Unask'd'^ what good thou knowest grant';

What ill', though ask'd', deny\
Compassion.
I have found out a gift for my fair^;

I have found wliere the wood-pigeons breed^;
But let me that plunder forbear^!

She will say', 'tis a barbarous deed\
For he ne'er cr.n be true'^ she averr'd'.

Who can rob a poor bird of its yomig^:
And I lov'd her tlie more when I heard

Such tenderness fall from her tongue\

Epitaph. \ ,

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth', l,

A youth to fortune and to fame unknown';
Fair science frownM not on his humble birth'

And melancholy mark'd him for her own\
Larffe was his bounty', and his soul sincere^;

Heav'n did a recompense as largely send^:
He gave to misVj'-all he hnd^ — A»tear^;

Jw gain'd from Heav'n'C'tv/as all hewish'd')afriend^

Jtt iJy

• + . •

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T/ie English Reader,

Pari 2.

No further seek his merits to disclose',

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode',
(There they alike in trembling hope repose^)

The bosom of his Father' and his God^
Joy and sorrow connected.
Still', where ros)^ pleasure leads',
See a kindred grief pursue^;
Behind the steps that mis'ry treads'.
Approaching comlbrts view\
Tne hues ot bliss more brightly glow',
Chastis'd by sable tints of wo^:
And blended form', with artful strife'.
The strength' and harmony o^life\
The golden riman. ^
He that holds fast the golden mean',
And lives contentedly between'

The little and the great'j
Feels not the wants that pmch the poor\
Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door',

ImbitFring all his state\
The tallest pines', feel most the pow'r
Of wint'ry blast^; the loftiest tow r'.

Comes heaviest to the grounds
The bolts that spare the mountain's side',
His cloud-capt eminence divide';

And spread the ruin round\

Moderate views and aims recommended.
With passions unruffled^ untainted witji pride'^

By re£ soii my life let me square';
The wants of my nature', are cheaply supplied';

And the rest are but foUy and care .
How vainly', through infinite trouble and strife'.

The many their labours employM
Since all that is truly delightful in lile',

Is what all', if they please', may enjoy\
Attachment to life.

I'he tiee of deepest root is found'.

Least willing still to quit the ground*:
'Twas tlierefore said', bv ancient sages'.
That love of life increas d with years',

So much'j that in our later stages'.

When pams grow sharp\ and sickness rages',
The greatest love of life appears^

Virtue^s address to pleasure.*
Vast happiness er;joy thy gj^r allies^!

A youth of follies', an old age of cares*;

* Sensual pleasure.

Fori 2.

Chap. 1.

Select Sent ueSj ^c.

179

ibode',

t, •

3r\
J door',

Side',

with pride,

supplied'
and strife'

e, ,
enjoy'.

Ad':

ages',

rs',

Lckueas rages',
'cares';

Voung yet enervate^ old yet never wiae^j,

Vice wastes their vigour', and their mind impairs^
Vain', idle\ delicate\ in thoughtless ease',

Reserving woes for age', their prime they spend^;
All wretched\ hopeless^ in the evil days',

With sorrow to the verge of life they tend\
Griev'd with the present^ of the past asham'd',

They live and are despis'd'; they die', no more are
nam'd\

SECTION V.

VELSES IN WHICH SOUND CORRESPONDS TO SIGNIFICATION.

Smooth and rou^h verse.
SOFT is the strain' when zephyr gently blows',
And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows^;
But when loud surges lash tlie sounding shore',
The hoarse', rough verse', should like the torrent roar^ .

Slow motion imitated.
When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw',
The line too labours', and the words move slow\

Stvift and easy motion.
Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain\
Flies o'er th' unbending corn', and skims along the mam

Felling trees in a wood.
Loud sounds the axe\ redoubling strokes' on strokes^;
On all sides round', the forest hurls her oaks
Headlong^ Deep echoing groan the thickets browo';
Th^.'i rustling^ cracklmg\ crarshing', thunder down\

Sound of a ho y-stnng;

-The string let fly

' ^ ■■ 4

Twang'd short and sharp', Uke ilie shrill swallow's cry

The Pheasant.
See'! from the brake', the whirling pheasr.rt spruigs'
And mounts exulting on triumpliant wings".

Scylla and CharybcUs.
Dire Scylla there a scene of horror {l)nns',
And here Charybdis fills the deep with storms\
[When the tide rushes from her rumbling caves',
[The rough rock roars', tumultuous boil the waves

Boisterous and gentle sounds.
[Two craggy i-ocks proiecting to the main',
The roaring Avindstemie^tuous rage restrain
[Within', the waves in so''*pr murmurs glide',
lAnd ships secure witho:.- , ' Silvers -"de'.

180

T%e English Rmder,

. I'

Laborious and impetuous motion.
With many a weary eJtepS and many a groan',
Up the high hilK, he heaves a huge round stone^:
The huge round stone', resulting with a bound',
Tlmnders impetuous down', and smokes aiong the groundl

Regular and slow nutvement.
First march the heavy mules securely slow'.

o'er cratfs\

O'er hillsS o'er dales^

Motion filow and difficult,
A needless Alexandrine ends the sous:''

o'er rocks they go\

». J

Tiiat', like a wounded snake', drags its slow length along\

A rock torn from the brow of a mountain.
Still gatli'ring ibrce', u smokes', and urg'd amain', I

Whirls', leaps\ and tiiundersdovvn', impetuous to the plain]

Extent and violence of the waves.
The wnves behind impel the waves belbre'.

Wide-folling\

Ibamiiig high', and tumbling to the shore\

Pensive numbers.
In these deep solitudes and awful cells'.
Where heav'nly pensive contemplation dwells',
And ever-musing melancholy reigns\

Battle.
-Arms^ on armour', clashing', bray'd

Horrible discord^; and tlie madding wheels
or brazen fury', rag'd^

Sound imitating reluctance^
For who', to dumb f(>rgetfulness a prey',

This pleasinj5 anxious being e'er resign'd':
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful d'ly ,

Nor cast one longhiir', linuf'ring look behind^

SEXTION VI.

PARAGRAPHS OF GREATER LENGTH.

Connubial affection.
THE love that cheers lile's latest stage,
Proof ao'ainst sickness and old age,
Preserv d by virtue from declension.
Becomes not weary of attention :
But lives, when thiit exterior grace,
Which first inspired the flame, decaj^,
'Tis gentle, delicate, and kind,
To faults compassionate, or blind
And will witli sympathy endure
Those evils it would gladly cure.
But angry, coarse, and harsh expressioe,
Shows love to be a mere profession;

Virt
fstJ-
Tha
Kxa

Till

Can

M;r,i

Kiel
!Cut

Are
I Are
iThisB
Tos
lAndP

PorUlCAap. i.

Select Sentences^ ^c.

181

ion,
►an',

,N.

stone'

mnd', ,.

long the ground'J

^ they go\

ow length along\
n,ountain»
amain', i

tuous to the plain]

mvesn

ig'to the shore'.

wells'.

ray

"els

lli'd';

d-xy\

(elund^

CNGTIX.

Proves that the heart is none ol'his,
Or soon expels liim il it is.

Swanns of flying- insects.
Thick in yon stream ol'li^ht, a thousand wavs,
Upward and downward, tliwarting; and convolv'd,
The quiv'ring nations sport 5 till, tempest-wing'd,
Fierce winter sweeps them Ironi the lace of day.
Ev'n so, luxurious men, unheeding, pass
An idle summer liie, in fortune's shine.
A season's glitter ! Thus they flutter on,
From toy to toy, from vanity to vice ;
Till, blown awav by death, oblivion comes
Bemnd, and strikes thein from the book of life.

BeneflAience its men reward.
My fortune (for I'll mention all,
And more than you dare tell) is small ;
Yet ev'ry friend partakes my store,
And want goes smiling from my door.
Will forty shillings warm the breast
Of worth or industry distress'd !
This sum I cheerfully impart ;
'Tis fourscore pleasures to my heart :
And you may make, by means like these,
Five talents ten, Avhene'er you please.
'Tis true, mv little pm'se grows light;
But then I sleep, so sweet at night!
This grand specific will prevail,
When all the doctor's opiates iWu.

Virtue the best treasure.
\rirtue, the strenijjth and beaijty of the soul,
Is the Dcst gift of Heav'n : a happiness
That, even above the smilefj and frowns of fate,
Exalts great nature's liivou rites : a wealth
That ne'er encumbers ; nor to baser handu
Can be transterr'd. It is the only good
Mnn justly boasts of^ or can call his own.
Riches arc oft by guilt and baseness earn'd.
1 But for one end, one much-neglected use,
Are riches worth our care ; (lor nature's wants
Are fiiw. and without opulence supplied;)
This noole end is to produce the S(»ul ;
To show the virtues m their fairest light.
And make iiumanity the minister
Of bounteous Providence,

■-i 111

182

TIu English Reader.

Part 2,

■ :vV

■•:■■::«'?.

Contemplation.
As yet 'tis midnight deep. The weary cloudM,
Slow meeting-, mingle into solid gloom.
Now, while the drou'sy world lies lost in sleep,
Let me associate with the serious night,
And contemplation, her sedate compeer ;
Let me shake off th' intrusive cares of day,
And lay the meddling senses all aside.

Where now, ye lying vanities of life !
Ye ever tempting, ever cheating train !
Where are you now ? and what is your amount?
Vexation, dwappointment, and remorse.
Sad, sick ning thought ! And yet, deluded man,
A scene of crude disjointed visions past.
And broken slumbers, rises still resolv'd,
WI*h new flush'd hopes, to run the giddy rounds

Pleasure of piety,
A D.";tv believ'd, is joy begun ;
A • *e'ty ador'd, is joy advanc'd ;
A rVj'ty belov'd, is joy matur'd.
Ea'*iv bi-anch of piety delight inspires :
Faitn builds a bridge from this world to the nex^
O'er death's dark gulf, and all its horror hides ;
Praise, the sweet exhalation of our joy,
That joy exalts, and makes it sweeter still ;
Pray'r ardent opens heav'n, lets down a stream
Of glory^, on the consecrated hoifr
Of man m audience with the Deity.

CHAPTER II.

NARRATIVE PIECES.

SECTION I.

Tlie hears and the bees,

AS two young bears', in Avanton mood .
Forth issuing from a neighbouring wooa''.
Game where th' industrious bees had stord'y
In artful cells', their luscious hoard';
O'erjoy'd they seiz'd', with eager haste',
Luxurious on the rich repast\
Alarm'd at this', the little crew',
About their ears' . vindiciive flew*.
Tiie beasts', unable to sustain
Th' unequal combat', tjuit the nlain^:
Half-blind with rage\ and man with vamf,
Tlieir native shelter they regain^;

Part 2,

Ckap, 2.

JVarrative Pieces,

183

loudH,
sleepi

lay,

• amount ?

[edman.
Ay rouncL

Lo the next,
or hides ;

^stai;
laaaeain

1 Btord%
istc',

hT>ain',

There sit', and now', discreeter grown',
Too late their rashness they bemoan^;
And tiiis by dear experience gain'.
That pleasure's ever bought with i>ain\
( So when the gilded baits of vice',
Are plac'd belore our longing eyes'.
With greedy haste we snatch our fill',
And swallow down the latent iii^:
But when experience opes our eyes',
Away the fancied pleasure flies\
It flies', but oh'! too late we find'.
It leaves a real sting beliind\— merrick.

SECTION II.

The nigluingale and the gloio-worm.
A NIGHTINGALE', that all day long
Had cheer'd the village with his song',
Nor yet at eve his note suspended'.
Nor yet when eventide was ended',
Began to feel', as well he might',
T\ie keen demands of appetite^;
When', looking eagerly around',
He spied far off', upon the ground',
A something shining in the dark'.
And knev/ the glow-worm by his spark\
So', stooping down from hawthorn top',
He thought to put him in his crop\

The worm', aware of his intent',
Harangued him thus\ rigJit eloquent^ —
" Did you admire my lamp'," quoth he',
" As much as I your minstrelsy',
Vou would abhor to do me wrong',
As much as I to ,'^il your song^;
For 'twas the self-same Pow'r divine',
Taught you to sing' and me to shine^; ,,
That you -with music\ I with light',
Might beautify' and cheer the night^.'*

The songster heard his short oration',
And', warbling out his approbation',
Releas'd him', as my story tells',
And foimd a supper sjmewhere else\
Hence', jarring sectaries may learn'.
Their real int'rest to discern^:
That brother' should not war with brother'
And woiTy' and devour each other\

;84 • The Engluk Reader,

But sinff and shine hy sweet consent^ ^
Till life^ poor^, transient night' is spenO;
Respecting^ in eacJi other's case',
The gifts ofnature' and of graced
4 Those Christians best deserve the name^
Who studiously make peace their aim^:
Peace', both the duty^ and the prize'
Of hun that creeps', and liim that flies\

SECTION III.

The trials of virtue.

i PL A CD on the verge of youth', my mind
Life's op'ning scene survey'd^:
I view'd its ills of various kind',
Atliicted and afraid\

2 But chief my fear the dangers mov'd

That virtue's path enclose^:
My heart the wise pursuit appro v'd';
But O', what toils oppose !

3 For see'! ah see'! while yet her wnys

With doubtful step I iread',

A hostile Tvorld its terrors raife',

Its snares delusive spreatl\

4 O how shall I', with heart prepar'd'.

Those terrors .earn to meer?
How' from the thousar^J snares to guard
My unexperienc'd feet\'

5 As thus I mus'd', oppressive sleep'.

Soft o'er my temples drew
Oblivion's veir. — The wat'ry deep',
(A.n object strange^ and new',)

G Belbre me rose'*: on the wide shors
Observant as I stood',
The gathering storms around me roar',
And heave the boiling flood\

7 Near and more near the billows riseV

Ev'n now my steps they lave^;
And death', to my aflHghted eyes'
Approach'd in every wave\

8 What hope', or whither to retreat •

Each nerve at once unstrung^;
Chill fear had fetter'd fast my leet', <
And chained my speecliiess ton^fue .

0'".

Part 2.

COWPIB.

Part 2. I Chap, 2

JVmralive Pieces.

185

COWfl**

hid

ard

9 I felt my lieart within me die^;
When sudden to mine ear
A voice', desceniling from on high',
Reprov'd my erring ft'ar\

10 " What thougl) the swelling surge thou see

Impatient to devoiir';
Rest', mortal'', rest on God's decree',
And thankful own his pow'r\

11 Know', when he hade the deep >ear',

' Thus far',' th' Almighty s;,
Thus far', no farther', rage'; ami here
' Let thy proud waves be stay'd\' "

12 I lieard'; and lo'! at once controll'd'.

The waves', in wild retreat'.
Back on themselves reluctant roll'd',
And', murm'ring', lell my feet\

13 Deeps\ to assembling deeps', in vain

Once more the signal gave^:
The shores the rushing weight sustain',
And check th' usurping wave\

14 Convinc'd', in nature's volume wise'.

The imag'd truth I read';
And sudden from my waking eyes',
Th' instructive vision flecT.

15 Then why thus heavy', O my souP!

Say', why distrustllil still ,
Thy thoughts with vain impatience roll
O'er scenes of future ilf?

16 Let faith suppress each rising fear',

Each anxious doubt exclude^:
Thv Maker's will has plac'd thee here'',
A Maker wise' and good^!

17 He too thy ev'ry trial knows',

Its just restramt to give';
Attentive to behold thy woes',
And faithful to relieve\

18 Then why thus heavy', my soulM

Say', why distnistful still'.
Thy thoughts with vain impatience roll'.
O'er scenes of future ilf ?

19 Though griefs unnumber'd throng thee round,'
Still in thy God confide',

Whose finger mark^ the seas their bound',
And curbs the headlong tide\-- mkrb.

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186

The English Reader.

Part 2

• m

sfl

1 1

SECTION IV. »

The youth and the philosopher.
A GRECIAN youth of talents rare^
Whom Plato's philosoptiic care'.
Had form'd for virtue s nobler view',
By precept^ and example too'.
Would olten boast his matchless skiii ',
To curb the steed', and guide the wheel^;
And as he pass'd the gazing throng',
"With graceful ease\ and smack'd the thong',
The idiot wonder they express'cl'.
Was praise' and transport to his Dreast\

2 At length', quite vain', he needs would show
His master what his art could do^;

And bade his slaves the chariot lead
To Academus' sacred shaded
Tlie trembling grove conless'd its fright'';
The wood-nymph started at the sight^;
The muses drop the learned Ijo-e',
And to their mmost shadus retire\

3 Howe'er', the youth', with forward air',
Bows to the sage', and mounts the car\
The lash resounds\ the coursers spring

'a J

The chariot marks the rolling ring^;
And gath'ring crowds', with eager eyes',
And shouts', pursue him as he flies\

Triumphant to the ^oal return'd'.
With nobler thirst his bosom burn'd^;
> nd now along th' indented plain',
'i he self-same track he marks agam^;
Pursues with care the nice design',
No ever deviates from the line\
Amazement seiz'd the circling crowd^;
The youths with emulation glow'd^;
Ev'n bearded sages hail'd the boy',
And all but Plato gaz'd with joy\

For ne', deep-judging sage', beheld

With pain the triumphs of the field^:

And when the charioteer drew nigh',

And', flush'd with hope', had caught his eye',

" Alas'! unhappy youth'," he cry d',

" Expect no praise from me'," (and aigh'd',)

" With indignation I survey

Such skiir and judgment' thrown away^: . ,

'h\ ! u :

^^^-^ 2 I cf^p^ 2.

Narrative Pieces.

181

er.

heer;

le thong',

east^.
uld show

right";
?ht^;

a air',

car\

luring',

eyes',

'd^;

)wd^;
d;;

Id
;ld^:

iffht hi« eye',

%',

ind sighM',)

\ away':

The time profusely s(iuander'd there',
On vulgar arts heneath thy care',
If well emplov'd', at less expense'
Had taught thee honour^ virtue^
And rais'd thee from a coachman's iUte,
To govern men', and guide the state" '

5 virtue', sense

\ »

VHITEHEAD

SECTION V.

Discourse hetioeen Adam and Eve, retiring to rest.

1 NOW came still ev'ninj? on', and twilight gray
Had in her soher livVy , all things clad\
Silence accompanied^; lor heast^ and bird',
They to their grass}' couch\ these to their nests',
Were sunk^: all but the wakeful nightingale\

She', all nigl

litl

ong', her am'rous descant sung^:

Silence was pleas'd\ Now glow'd the firmament
With living sapphires': Hesperus', that led
The starry host', lode brightest', till the moon'.
Rising in clouded majesty', at length^
Apparent queen', unveil'd her peerless light',
And o'er the dark her silver mantle tiirew\

I2 When Adam thus to Eve^: " Fair consort', th' liour
Of night', and all things now retir'd to rest',
Mind us of like repose^; since God hath set
Labour^ and rest', as day^ and night', to men
Successive', and the timely dew of sleep',
Now liilling with soft slumb'rous Aveight', inclines
Our eyelids\ Other creatures all day long
Rove idle unemploy'd', and less need rest^:
Man hath liis daily workof body\ or of mind'
Appointed', which declares his dignity',
And the reg-ard of Heav'n on all his ways^:
While other animals unactive range'.
And of their doings God takes no account'.
To-morrow', ere fresh morning streak the efiet
With first approach of light', we must be risen',
And at our pleasant labour'; to reform
Yon flow'ry arbours\ yonder alleys g'reen\ ;;^ ,,

Our walk at noon', with branches overgrown', ' '^- '
That mock onr scant manuring'^ and require
More hands than ours to lop their wanton groAvth^.
Those blossoms also', and those dropping gums',
That lie bestrown', unsightly and unsmootn'.
Ask riddance', if we mean to tread with ease\
Meanwhile', as nature wills', night bids us rest'."

188

The English Reader,

Part 2.

h '.

!i! I

;-i

4 To whom thus Eve', with perfect beauty adora'd': ,
" My author^ and disposer', Avhat thou bidst',
Unargu'd', I obey^^ so God ordains\

With thee conversing', I forget all time\
All seasons^ and their change', all please alike^.
Sweet is the breath of morn', her rising sweet',
With charm of earliest birds^: pleasant the sun',
When first on this delightful land he spreads
-. His orient beams^ on herb', tree\ fruiv, and flowV
f^ Glist'ring with dew^; fragrant the fertile earth',
i' After soft sliow'rs^; and sweet the cominff on

Of grateful evening mild^; then silent night', -'%

W^ith this her solemn bird', and this fair moon',
And these', the gems of heav'n', her starry trainee

5 But neither breath of morn', when she ascends
AVith charm of earliest birds^; nor rising sun

On this delightful land^; nor herb\ fruit , flower',
Glist'ring with dew^; nor fragrance after show'rs^;
Nor grateful evening mild^; nor silent night'.
With this her solenm bird^; nor walk by moon^;
Or glitt'rina: star-light', — without thee is sweet\
But wherefore all night long shine these\'' for whom
This dorious sight', when sleep hath shut all eye8\''"

6 To whom our gen'ral ancestor reply'd^:

" Daughter of God and man', accomplish'd Eve',
These have their course to finish round the earth'.
By morrow ev'ning^; and from land to land',
In order', though to nations yet unborn',
Minist'ring light prepar'd', they set and rise';
Lest total darkness snould by night regain
Her old possession', and extinguish life
In nature and all things^; which these soft fires
Not «)nly enlighten', but', with kindly heat
Of various influence', foment\ and warm'.
Temper', or nourish^; or in part shed down
Their stellar virtue on all kinds that ^ow
On earth', made liereby apter to receive
Perfection from the sun's more potent ra^\

7 These then', though unbeheld in deep of night'
Shine not in vain^; nor think', though men were none',
That Heav'n would want s}X!ctator8', God want praise ;
Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth
Unseen', both when we wake', and when we sleep\

All these with ceaseless praise nis works behold',
Both day' and night\. How often', from the steep
Of echoing hill^ or thicket', have we heard

.? >':

I !

Part 2.

sun,

'flowV

th',

Chap, 2

Narrative Pieces,

189

ion ,

train

nds

)wer',

low'rs^;

loon^;
veet\
for whom

all eyes

>?»

_ Eve',
e earth'.

se';

fires

ight'

were none ,
^d want praise ;

pih

we sleep .

shold',
I the steep

Celestial voices to the midnight air',
Sole', or responsive each to others' note'.
Sinking their great Creator \'* Oft in bands',
While they keep watch', or nightly rounding walk
With heav'nly touch of instrumental sounds',
In full harmonic number join'd', their songs
Divide the night', and lift our thoughts to heayV."
8 Thus talking hand in hand alone they pass'd *

On to their blissful bow'r\

There arriv'd', both stood',

Bothturn\r; and under o])en sky', ador'd

The God tliat made the sky', air\ earth\ and heav'n',

Which they beheld', the moon's resplendent globe',

And starry f)ole\ " Tiiou also mad'st the night',

Maker Omnipotent', and thou the day'.

Which we', in our appointed work employ'd'.

Have finish'd', happy in our mutual help'.

And iputual love', the crown of all our bliss

Ordain'd by thee^; and this delicious place'.

For us tCH) large', wliere Ihv abundance wants

Partakew', and uncropt falls to the ground*.

But thoTi hast promis'd from us two a race'

To .^ the earth', who r hall with us extol

Thy goodness infinite', both when we wake,

And when we seek', as now', thy gift of sleep\" mii.tow.

SECTION VI.

Reliffion and death,
I LO'I a form', divinely bright'.

Descends', and bursts upon my sighf :
I A seraph of illustrious birth^!

(Religion was her name on earth^;)

Supremely sweet her radiant face ,
I And blooming with celestial grace^!
iThree shining cherubs Ibrm'd her train',
IWav'd their Ught Avings', and reach'd the plain\ -

ii'

IFaith'^ with sublime and piercing eye'
Hnd pmions flutt'rin^ lor the skjr;
lere Hope', that smiling angel stands',
;.nd golden anchors grace her hands^;
There Charity', in robes of white',
"^airest and fav rite maid of iight\
"he seraph spoke^— " 'Tis Reason's part
govern and to guard the heart^;
p lull the wayward soul to rest',
'hen hopes^ and fears', distract the breast

I-/

■ I ';?*', ' ■' i

190

The English Reader,

Part 2.

i'l '■■':

./.

Reason may calm this doubtful strile^. ^
And steer thy bark through various liie':
But when the storms of* death are niffh',
And midnight darkness veils the sky ,
Shall Reason then direct thv sail',
DisiJerse the clouds'", or sink the gale^^
Stranerer', this skill alone is mine'^,
Skill tTiat transcends his scanty line\"

3 " Revere thyself^ — thou'rt near allied
To angels on thy better side^

How various e'er their ranks^ or kinds',
Angels are but mibodied minds':
Wiien the partition-walls decay',
Men emerge angels Ironi their clay\
Yes', when the trailer body dies'.
The soul asserjts her kindred skies^
^ But minds', though sprung from heav'niy race',
I I\Iust first be tutor'd lor the place':
The joys above are understood'.
Anil relish'd only by the good'.
Who shall assume this guardian care';
Who shall secure their birthright there\^
Souls are my charge^— to me tis giv'n
To train them for their native heav'n'."

4 " Know then' — who bow the early knee',
And give the willingheart to me';
Who wisely', when^emptation waits',
Elude her frauds\ and spurn her baits';
Who dare to own my injur'd cause',
Though Ibols deride my sacred laws';

Or scorn to deviate to the wrong'.

Though persecution lifts her thong';

Though all the sons of hell conspire

To raise the stake^ and light the fire';

Know', that lor such superior souls',
, There lies a bliss beyond the poles':

W^here spirits shine with purer ray',

Atul brighten to meridian day'; ^

Where love', where boundless friendship rules ;

(No friends that change', no love that cools';)
. Where rising floods of knowledge roll',

And pour', tnd pour' upon the soul'!"

5 " But whore's the passag'e to the skies\'' —
Tlie road through death^s black valley lies
Nay', do not shudder at my tale':
Though dark the sliadcs', yet safe the vale

Port 2.

r'nly race

'n
nee',

tts',

•e';

jndshipvules;
'^that cools ;)
roll',

un"

sVies^?' —
ralley Ues

•

€theva\e

hap, 3.

Didactic Pieces,

191

This path the best of men have trocr; •

And who'd decline the road to God\^
Oii^! 'tis a glorious boon to dieM
This favour can't be priz'd too high\"

6 While thus she spoke', my looks express'd
The raptures kindling in my breast ;

My soul a fix'd attention gave^;
When the stern motiarch of the grave'.
With haughty strides approach'd/:— amaz'd
I stood', and trembled as I gaz'd\
The seraph calm'd each anxious fear',
And kindly wip'd the falling tear^;
Then hasten'd', with expanded wing'.
To meet the pale', terrific king\

7 But now what milder scenes arise^!
The tyrant drops his hostile ^ise^;
He seems a youth divinely fair^;

In graceful ringlets waves liis hair^;
His Avings their whit'ning plumes display',
His burnish'd plumes', reflect the day';
Light flows his shining azure vest',
And all the angel stands confess'd\

I view'd the change with sweet surprise';
And', oh"! I panted for the skies^:
Thank'd heav'n', that e'er I drew my breath'
And triumph'd in the thoughts of death\ cotton

CHAPTER III.

DIDACTIC PIECES.
SECTION I.

The vanity of wealth,

NO more thus brooding o'er yon heap',

With av'i'ice painful vigils keep^;

Still unenjoy'd the present store',

Still endless sighs are breath'd for more\

Oh'! quit the shadow\ catch the prize'

Which not all India's treasure buys''!

'I'o purchase heav'n has gold the pow'r'?

Can gold remove the mortal hour'?

In life', can loroe be bought with gold'?

km friendship's pleasures to be sold'?

No^ — all that s worth a wish^— a thought',

Fair virtue gives unbrib'd', unbou^ht .

Cease then on trash thy hopes to bmd^;

Let nobler views engage thy mind\ dr. johnsow

192

The English Reader.

•Par«2.

afMt-

m ^

unbounded scheme of things ,

SECTION II.

J^othing fomidd in vain,

1 LET no presumin,!? impious railer tax
Creative wisdom'', as it aujjht was form'd
In vain', or not fi)r admirable ends\
Shall little', haughty ignorance pronounce
His works unwise', of which the smallest part
Excee<ls the narrow vision of her mind'?
As if, upon a full proportion'd dome'.
On svyelline- columns heav'd the pride of art',
A critic fly', wliose feeble ray scarce spreads
An inch around', with blind presumptiim bold'
Sliould dare to tax the structure of the whole\

2 And lives the man', whose universal eye
Has swept at once th' unbounded schen;
Mark'd their dependence so', and firm accord',
As with unfault'rin^ accent 1o conclude'.
That this availelh n(>ug'ht'? Has any seen
The mi;?hty chain of beings', less'ning down
From infinite perltction'. to the brink

Of dreary nothing'; desolate abyss'!

From which astonishM thought', recoiling', turns'

Till then alone let zealous praise ascend',

And hymns of holy wonder to that, power',

Whose wisdom shmes as lovely in our minds'^

As on our smilmg eyes his servant sun\ thomsor

SECTION III.

On pride.

1 OF all the causes', which conspire to blind
Man's erring judgment^ and misguide the mind',
What the weak head with strongest bias ruies', -
Is pride^; the never-failing vice of foo's\
Wnatever nature has in worth deny'd'.
She gives in large recruits of needful pride^I
For', as hi bodies', thus in souls', we find
What wants in blood^ and spirits', swell'd with win< |
Pride', where wit fails', steps in to our defence',
And fills up all the mighty void of sensed

2 If once right reason drives that cloud away'.
Truth breaks upon us with resistless day\
Trust not yourself: but', your defects to know ,
Make use of ev'ry friend'— and ev'ry fi)e\
A little learning is a dang'rous thing^;
Drink deep', or taste not the Pierian sprmg^:

Didactic Pieces.

193

nee
est part

d'?

of art',
spreads
Lion bold'
! whole\
»ye

leme of things ,
u accord',
de',
seen
ig down

oiling', turns'
end',

OWER ,

ur minds ,

lin\ THOMSOB

pO blind .
ide the mind ,
bias rules , '

[)0's\

[x\ pride^!

ire find

swell'd with wiw

our defence',

iense\

id away',

ss day^

ects to know ,

ry foe^

an spring

Clmp, 3.

There slialloio drauglits intoxicate the brain',
And drinking largely sobers us again\
3 Fir'd at first sigtit with wiiat the muse imparts'.
In fearless youth', we tempt the heights of arts^;
While', from the boundedf level of our mind'.
Short views we take', nor see the lengths behind^;
But more advanc'd', behold', with strange surprise',
New distant scenes of endless science riseM
So', pleas'd at first the tow'ring Alps we try'.
Mount o'er the vales', and seem to tread the sky^
Th' eternal snows appear already past'.
And the first clouds^ and mountains' seem the lasO;
But', those attain'd', we tremble to survey
The growing labours of the lengthen'd way^;
Th' increasing prospect tires our wand'ring eyes^;
Hills' peep o'er hills', and Alps^ on Alps' arise\ popi.

SECTION IV.

Cruelty to brutes censured.

|l I WOULD not enter on my list of friends',
(Though grac'd with polish'd manners and fine sense.
Yet wanting sensibility',) the man
Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm\
An inadvertent step may crush the snail',
That crawls at evening in the public path^;
But he that has humanity', fbrewarn'd'.
Will tread aside', and let the reptile live\
The creeping vermin', loathsome to the sight'.
And charg'd perhaps with venom', that intrude
A visitor unwelconie into scenes
Sacred to neatness^ and repose', th' alcove\
The chamber^ or refectorv', may die\ ,,

A necessary act incurs no blame\
Not 8o'j when held within their proper bounds',
And guiltless of offence they range the air',
Or take their pastime in the spacious field\
There they are priviieg'd\ And he that hunts^
Or harms them tliere', is guilty of a wrong^;
Disturbs th' economy of nature's realm\
Who', when she fbnn'd', design'd them an abode^.
t The sum is this': if man's convenience^ health^
Or safety' interfere', his rights and claims'
I Are paramount', and must extinguish theirs^* . V

Else they are air — ^the meanest things tliat are ,
I As free to live^ and to enjoy that life ,

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' 1 4 >i

As God was free to form them at the first^,

Who', in his sovereign wisdom'', made them alP.

Ye', tnerefore', who love mercy', teach your eona

To love it too\ The spring time of our y/ears

Is soon dishonour'd and denied', in most'.

Bv budding ills', that ask a prudent hand

To check them\ But', alas', none sooner shoots',

If unrestrain'd', into luxuriant growth',

Than cruelty', most dev'lish of them alP!

Mercy to him that shows it', is the rule

And righteous limitation of its act'.

By which heav'n moves in pard'ning ^ilty man^;

And he that shows none', being ripe ni years\

And conscious of the outrage he commits',

Shall seek it', and not find it in his turn\ cowpkr.

SECTION V.

A paraphrase on the latter part of the 6th chapter of St,

Matthew.
WHEN my breast labours with oppressive care',
And o'er my cheek descends the fallmg tear';
While all my warring passions are at strife',
Oh'! let me listen to the words of life^!
Raptures deep-felt his doctrine did impart',
And thus he rais'd from earth the drooping heart\
" Think not', when all your scanty stores afford',
Is spread at once upon the sparing board^;
Think not', when worn the homely robe appears'',
While on the roof the howling tempest bears';
What farther shall this feeble life sustain', •
And what shall clothe these shiv'ring limbs again^.

3 Say', does not life its nourishment exceed'?
And the fair bodv', its investing weed'?
Behold'! and look away your low despairs-
See the light tenants of the barren air^:

To themC nor stores^ nor granaries', belong^;
Nought', out the woodland', and the pleasing song^;
YetCyour kind heav'nly Father bends his eye
On the least wing that flits along the sky\

4 To him they sing when spring renews the plain ;
To him they cry', in winter's pinching rei^^;
Nor IS their music', nor their plaint in vaiir:

He hears the gay\ and the distressful call': . ' ,

And with unsparing bounty', fills them allV
" Observe the rising lUy^s snowy grace^;
Ob6er?e the various vegetable racc^:

Pari 2 I Chap. 8.

Didactic Pieces,

195

m air.
ir sons
pars

shoots',

,y man ;

ears\
f

COWPl**

I chcfpter of Si.

ive care',

ear';

:ife^

rt', ,

ins heart .

afford',

appears ,
bears';

i
nbs again\
d'?

ong';

asingsong;
lis eye

he plain ;
reign^;
■raiir:
ill';
aUV' .

They neither toil', nor •pin\ but careless grow^;
Yet see how warm they blushM how bright they glowi
What regal vestments can with them comDareH
What king so shining'! or what queen so mirM"
6 " If ceaseless^ thus^ the fowls of heav'n he feeds';
If o'er Hie fields such lucid robes he spreads';
Will he not care for you'', ye faithless,' say\?
Is lie unwise'? or', are ye less than they'f thomfson.

SECTION VI.

The death of a good man a etrong incentive to virtw,
I THE chamber where the good man meets his fate
Is privileg'd bevond the common walk
Ofvirtuous life , quite in the verge of heav'n\
Fly', ye profane'! if not', draw near with awe\
Receive the blessing^, and adore the chance'.
That threw in this JSethesda your disease^:
If unrestor'd b>^ this', despair your cure\
|2 For', here', resistless demonstration dwells^;
A death-bed's a detector of the heart\
Here tir'd dissimulation drops her mask.'
Through life's grimace', that mistress of the scene^*
Here real\ andapparent', are the same\
You see tho man^; you see his hold on heav'n\
If sound his virtue', as Pliilander's sounds
Heav'n waits not the last mi)ment'; owns her friends
On this side death', and points them out to men';
A lecture', silent', but of sov'relgn pow'r^;
To vice', confusion': and to virtue', peace';
Whatever farce the boastf.il hero plays'.
Virtue alone has majesty in death';
And greater still', the more the tyrant frowns\ touko^

SECTION VII.

Reflections on a future state^ from a review of winter

TIS doneM dread winter spreads his latest glooms',

And reigns tremendous o'er the conqueit-'d year\

How dead the vegetable kingdom liesM

How dumb the tunefuP! Horror wide extends

His desolate domain\ Behold': fond man'!

See here thy pictur'd life^: pass some few years^.

Thy flow'ring sprine\ thy summer's ardent strength^.

Thy sober autumn lading into age'.

And pale concluding winter comes at last'.

And shuts the scene' f

i:^

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196 The English Reader,

2 Ah'! whither now are fled

Those dreams of greatness'? th<)8e uiisolid hopes
Ofhunnlnpfld'? tiuise lonirinira afti>r iame^?

P«rltl

gay-speiit', lestive nights'.'' those veerin<» thoughts', |
Lost heiween good and ill', that shar'd thy lile
All now are vanish'iP! Virtue sole survives',
Immortal'', ncver-liiiling Iriend of man'.
His guide to happiness on hig-ir. And see'!
'Tis come', the glorious morn"'! the second birth
Of heav'n' and earth'! awak'ning nature', heart
The new-creating word', and staits to life'.
In ev'ry heighten'd form , from pain^ and death'
For ever lree\ The great eternal scheme',
Involving all', and in a perfect whole
Uniting as the prospect wider spreads',
To reason's eye rcnn'd cleara up apace\
Ye vainly wise'! Ye blind presumptuous'! now'
C()nl«>unued in the dust', adore that Power^
And Wisdom', oft arralgn'd^: see now the cause
Why unassuming worth in secret liv'd',
And died neglected^: why the good man's share
In lil'e was gall', and bitterness of souf:
Why the lone widow^ and her orphans', pin'd
In starving solitude^; while luxury',
In palaces lay straining her low tnoucht',
To form unreal wants^: why heav'n-oom truth\
And moderation fair', wore the red marks
Of superstition's scourge^; why licens'd pain^,
I'hat cruel spoiler', that imbosom'd Ibe',
Imbitter'd all our bliss\

Ye good distress'd'!
Ye noble few'! who here unbending stand
Beneath life's pressure', yet bear up awhile'.
And what your bcunded view which only saw
A little part', deem'd evil', is no more^:
The storms of wint'ry time will quickly pass ,
And one unbounded spring encircle all . thomsoh.

SECTION VIII.
Adam^s advice to Eve, to avoid tempttUion,
" W^OMAN. best are all things as the will
Of God ordain d them; his creating hand
Notliin^ imperfect or deficient left
Of all that he created, much less man, ■<

Or aught that might ha happy state secure, >

PartV

Ihopet

eerinj; Ihoughta',
hy lile

\tjhap, 3.

Didactic Pities,

197

lee
id birth
>' heart
iie', ,
d death'

me',

is'! now'
wer^
the cause

in's share

•

*,pin'd

)m truth\
rks
pain',

pass ,

THOMSOH.

lemptatifin*

\\e will
ind

bcure,

Secure from outward force. Within hiniseif
The dan«rer liett, yet lies within his powV :
Against his will he can receive no harm.
But God led free the will ; lor what ohcva
Reason, is free, and reason he made rigiit ;
But bid her well beware, and still erect,
Lest, by some lair appearing good surpris'd,
She dictate false, and misinrarm the will
To do what God expressly hath forbid.
Not then mistrust, but tender love, enjoins
That I should mind thee oil : and mind thou roe*

3 Firm we subsist, yet possible to swerve,
Since reason not impi>ssibly may meet
Some specious object by the foe suborn'd,
And fall into deception unaware,
Not keeping strictest watch, as she was warn'd.
Seek not temptation then, which to avoid
Were better, and most likely if from me
Thou sever not ; trial will come unsought.

|4 Wouldst thou approve thy constarury ? approve
First thy obedience ; th' other who can know.
Not seemg thee attempted, who attest ?
But if thou think, trial unsought may find
Us both securer than thus warn'd thou soem'st,
Go ; for thy stay, not free, absents thee more :
Go in thy native innocence ; rely
On what thou hast of virtue, summon all ;
For God towards thee hath done his part ; do thine.

MILTON

SECTION IX.
On procrastination.
BE wise to-day; 'tis madness to defer :
Next day the fatJil precedent will plead ;
Thus oUj till wisdom is f)ush'd out of life.
Procrastination is the thief of time.
I Year af\er year it steals, till all are fled ;
And, to the mercies of a moment leaves
|The Vtist concerns of an eternal scene.

r man's miraculous misiakcs, this bears
[The palm, " That all men are about to live :"
|For ever on the brink of beinj? born.
dl pay themselves the compliment to think,
['hev one day, shall not drivel ; and their pride
)ft this reversion, takes up ready praise ;
It least their own ; their future selves apphuds ;

YJT.

I > it

( '

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li i'

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Tlie English Reader^

Parl2 I ^A

How excellent that life they ne'er will lead !
Time lodg'd in their own hamlM is folly's vails ;
That lodg'd in iate's, to wisdom they consij^;
The thinj? they can't but purpose, they postpone.
Tis not in lolly, not to scorn a fool ;
And scarce inhuman wisdom to do more. '

3 All promise is poor dilatory man ;
And that through ev'ry stage. When young, indeed.
In full content we sometimes nobly rest.
Unanxious lor ourselves ; and only wish,
As duteous sons, our fathers were more wise.
At thirty, man suspects himself a fool ;
Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan ;
At fifty, chides his infamous delay ;
Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve ;
In all the raagnauimitv of thought, ^
Resolves, and re-resolves, then dies the same.

4 And why ? Because he thinks himself immortal.
All men think all men mortal, but themselves ;
Themselves, when some alarming shock of fate
Strikes through their wounded hearts the sudden dread; |
But their hearts wounded, like the wounded air,
Soon close ; where, past the shaft, no trace is found.
As from the wing no scar the sky retains :
The parted wave no furrow from the keel ;
So dies in human hearts the thought of death.
Ev'n with the tender tear which nature sheds
O'er those we love, we drop it in their grave. touksI

SECTION X.
Tlmt philosophy, which slops at secondary causes, repr(n)ei\

1 HAPPY the man who sees a God employ'd
In all the good and ill that checker life !
Resolving^ all events, witli their effects
And manifold results, into the will
And arbitration wise of the Supreme.
Did not his eye rule all things^ and intend
The least of our concerns; (smce from the least
The greatest oft originate ;) could chance
Find place in his dommion, or dispose
One lawless particle to thwart his plan ;
Then God might be suprisM, and uni()reseea
Contingence might alarm I.im, and disturb
The smooth and equal course of his affairs.

2 This truth, philosophy, though eagle-ey'd
In nature's tendencies, oft overlooks ;

•'

Pari2

C^>. 8.

Didactic Pieces,

199

ails;
sign;
ostpone.

aung;

wise.

, indeedf

same.

nmortai.

selves ;

ik of fate

the sudden dread; I

inded air,
xace is found,
ns;

tee

death,
sheds
grave. iro'J'"!

■y causes,reprmi\
oy'd '

end

the least
nee

oreseeu

sturb

flairs.

ey'd

And having found his instrument, forgets
Or disregards, or, more presumptuous still,
Denies the pow'r that wields it. God proclaims
His hot displeasure against foolish men
That live an atheist lile ; involves the heav'n
In tempests ; quits his grasp upon the winds,
And gives them all their fury ; bids a league
Kindle a fiery boil upon the skin,
And putrefy the breath of blooming health ;
He calls for famine, and the meagre fiend
Blows mildew from between his shrivell'd lips,
^d taints the golden ear; h#springs his mines,
And desolates a nation at a blast :
Forth steps the spruce philosopher, and tells
Of homogeneal and discordant springs
And principles ; of causes, how they work
By necessary laws their sure effects,
Of action and re-action.

He has found
The source of the disease that nature feels :
And bids the world take heart and banish tear.
Thou fool! will thy discov'ry of the cause
Suspend th' effect, or heal it ? Has not God
Still wrought by means since first he made the world ?
And did he not of old employ his means
To drown it? What is his creation less
Than a capacious reservoir of means,
Form'd for his use, and ready at his will?
Go, dress tliine eyes with eye-salve ; ask of him.
Or ask of whomsoever he has taught ;
And learn, though late, the genuine cause of all. cowper.

SECTION XI.

\ndignafU sentiments on national prejudices and liatred; arid

on slavery.
1 OH, for a lodge in some vast wilderness.
Some boundless contiguity of shade,
Where rumour of oppression and deceit,
Of unsuccessful or successful war,
lilight never reach me more ! My ear is pain'd, i

Mv soul is sick with ev'ry day's report
Or wrong and outrage with which earth is fill'd.
There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart ;
It does not feel for man. The nat'ral bond
Of brotherhood is severM, as the flax
That falls asunder at the touch of fire. . ' ■ ^ '^

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t ,i-*M ;-';'»:

2 He finds his fellow ^ilty of a skin

Not colour'd like his own ; and having pow'r
T' enforce the wrong-j for such a worthy cauie
Dooms and devotes him as his lav/ful prey.
Lands intersected by a narrow frith
Abhor each other. Mountains interpos'd,
Make enemies of nations, who had else,
Like kindred drops, been mingled into one.

3 Thus man devotos his brother, and destroys ;
And worse than all, and most to be deplor'd,
As human nature's broadest, foulest blot,
Chains him, and tasks him, and exacts his sweat
With stripes, that mercy, with a bleeding heart,
Weeps when she sees inflicted on a beast.

4 Then what is man ! And what man seeing this,
And having human leehngs, does not blush
And hang his head, to think himself a man?

[ would not have a slave to till my ground,
To carry mc. to fan me while I sleep.
And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth
That sinews bought and sold have ever earn'd.

5 No : dear as freedom is, and in my heart's
J list estimation priz'd above all price ;

[ had much rather be myself a slave.
And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him.
We have no slaves at home— then why abroad ?
And they themselves once ferried o'er the wave
That parts us, are emancipate and loos'd.

6 Slaves cannot breathe in England: il' l^eir lungs
Receive our air, that moment they are iree ;
They touch our country, and their shackles fall.
That's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud
And jealous of the blessing. Spread it, then,
And let it circulate through ev'ry vein^

Of all your empire ; that where Britain's pow'r
Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too.

COWPfiR.

CHAPTER IV,

DESCRIPTIVE PIECES.

SECTION I.

37t€ morning' in summer.
THE mcek-ey'd morn appears', mother of dewi'.
At first faint gleaming in the dappled east';
Till far o'er ether spreads the wia'nmg glow'
And from before the lustre of her face

Part 2. 1 C/wp- 4.

Descriptive Pieces,

201

cause

%'
)ra,

is sweat

y heart,

»t.

ng this,

isn

lan?

id,

wealth
r earn'd.
:t's

on him.
• abroad ?
he wave
'd.

heir lungs
iree ;
ckles fall,
oud
then,

■}

's pow r

:s.

COWPER*

verof de\vi,
east';
g glow'

White break the clouds away\ With cjuicken'd step',
Brown night retires^: young day pours in apace',
And opens all the lawny prospect wide\
The dripping rock\ the mountain's misty top',
Swell on the sight', and brighten with the aawn\
Blue', through the dusk', the smoking currents sliine^;
And from the bladed field', the fearful hare
Limps'^ awkward^: while along the fbrest-glade
The wild deer trip', and often turning gaze
At early passenger^ Music awakes
The native voice of undis^embled joy',
And thick around the woodland hymns arise\
Rous'd by the cock', the soon-clad shepherd leaves
His mossy cottage', where with peace he dwells',
And from the crowded fold', in order', drives
His flock to taste the verdure of the morn\
Falsely luxurious', will not man awake'.
And', springing from the bed of sloth', enjoy
The cool', the fragrant', and the silent hour',
To meditation due and sacred song'?
For is there aught in sleep can charm the wise'?
To lie in dead oblivion', losing half
The fleeting moments of too short a life';
Total extinction of th' en) ighten'd soul'!
Or else to feverish vanity alive',
'Wilder'd, and tossing through distemper'd dreams?
Who would', in such a gloomy state', remain
Longer tlian nature craves.'; when ev'ry muse^.
And every blooming pleasure', waits without',
To bless the wildly devious', morning walk\^ THOM^

SECTION II.
Rural sounda, as well as niral sights^ deligUfuL
I NOR rural sights alone', but rural sounds
I Exhilarate the spirit', and restore
The tone of languid nature^ Mighty winds'.
That sweep the skirt of some far spreading wood',
Of ancient growth', make music', not unlike
iThe dash of ocean on his winding shore',
lAnd lull the spirit while they fill the mind^;
lUnnumber'd branches waving in the blast',
|And all their leaves fast flutt'ring al' at once^.

for less composure waits upon the roar
lOf distant floods^; or on the softer voice
lOf neighb'ring fountain^: or of rills that slip t ^'

whrough the clefl rock', and', chiming a.^ they fall ^'a

12 «

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202

The English RtatUr.

Port2.i Chi

'■■ "B

Upon loose pebbles^ lose themselves at length

In matted grass'', that', with a livelier ffreen',

Betrays the secret of their silent course^.

Nature inanimate employs sweet sounds';

But animated nature sweeter stilV;

To sooth and satisfy the human ear\ ^

3 Ten thousand warblers cheer the day', and one
The live-long night\ Nor these alone', whose notes

ie Nice-fin^er'dart must emulate in vain', .

But cawing rooks\ and kites' that swim sublime',

In still repeated circles', screaming loud^;

The jay\ the pye\ and ev'n the boding owl',

That hails the rising moon', have charms for me\

Sounds inharmonious in themselves', and harsh'.

Yet heard in scenes where peace for ever reigns ,

And only there', please highly for their sake\ covtper

' SECTION III.

The rose.
1 THE rose had been wash'd\ just wash'd in a show'r',
Which Mary to Anna convey'd^;
The plentiful moisture encumber'd the flow'r',
And weigh'd down its beautiful head\
'^' 2 The cup was all fill'd^ and the leaves were all wet\
And it seem'd to a fanciful view'.
To weep for the buds it had left with regret',
On the flourisliing bush where it grew^.

3 I hastily seiz'd it', unfit as it was

For a nosegay', so dripping and drown'd',
And swinj^ing it rudely', too rudely', alas'!
I snapp d it^ — it fell to the grounds

4 And such', I exclaim'd'. is the pitiless part',

Some act by the delicate niind^;
Regardless of wringing^ and breaking a heart'.
Already to sorrow resign'd\

5 This elegant rose', had I shaken it less',
Might have bloom'd with its owner awhile^:

And me tear that is wip'd with a little address',

:, GovrpBR.

May be loUow'd perhaps by a smile .

^*^^- SECTION IV.

Care of birds for their young,
AS thus the patient dam assiduous sits^
Not to be tempted from her tender task^,

Parti.

Chap. 4.

Descriptive Piecet,

203

™gth
en',

id one
whose notes

sublime',

owl',

s for me\

1 harsh'*

r reigns ,

ake\ cowPERi

i in a show'r',
flow'r',

•

;re all weO,
^ret',

m'd',
is".

art',
I heart',

iwhile^: ^
address ,

COWPEB.

ask'i

Or by sharp hunger', or bv smooth delight',
Though the whole loosen d spring ait)und her blows'.
Her sympathizing partner takes his stand
High on th' opponent bank^, and ceaseless sings
The tedious tmie away' ; or else supplies
Her place a moment'', while she suoden flits
To pick the scanty meai\

f Th' appointed time

With pious toil fulfill'd'. the callow young', ,
Warm'd^ and expanded into perfect life'.
Their brittle bondage break', and come to lighO,
A helpless family', demanding food
With constant clamour^ O what passions then',
What melting sentiments of kindly care', ■ '

On the new parents seized

S Away they fly

Affectionate', and undesiring bear
The most delicious morsel to their young^; •
Which equally distributed', again
The search begins\ Ev'n so a gentle pair'.
By fortune sunk', but fbrin'd of gen'rous mould',
And charm'd with cares beyond the vulgar breast '
In some lone cot amid the distant woods',
Sustain'd alone by providential Heav'n',
Oft', as they weeping eye their infant train',
Check tlieir own appetites', and give them aiP. thomsox.

SECTION V.

I Uberty and slavery contrasted. Part of a letter wntten from,

Italy, hyMdison.

HOW has kind Heav'n adorn'd this happy land' ,
And scatter'd blessings with a wasteful liandM
But what avail her unexhausted 8lores\
Her blooming mountains', and her sunny shores\
With all the i^ifts that heav'n^ and earth' impart\
The smiles of nature^ and the charms of art',
While proud oppression in her valleys reigns'.
And tyranny iisur^iS her happy plains\^
The poor inhabitant beholds m vain
The redd'ning orange', and the swelling grain^;
Joyless he sees the growing oils^ and wmes'.
And in the myrtle's fragrant shade', repines^
Oh', Liberty', thou pow'r supremely bright'.
Profuse of bliss', and pregnant with delight';
Perpetual pleasures m thy presence reign', • ;

A^^mying plenty leaSs thy wanton train'*

-■- • MT

s' I

■i

, J,

■.);li

i :

"Il

204

TAe English Readei\

J*art2,

Eas'd of* her load', subjection grows more light',
And poverty looks cheerl'ul in thy sight\
Thou mak'st the gloomy face of nature gay^;
Giv'st beauty to tlie sun'', ami pleasure to the day*.
On foreign mountains'', may the sun refine
The grape's soft juice , and mellow it to wine^:
With citron groves adorn a distant soil',
And the flit olive swell with fk)ods of oiP:
y. We envy not the warmer clime that lies
In ten degrees of more indulgent skies^;
Nor at the coarseness of our heav'n repine'.
Though o'er our heads the fro/en Pleiads shine^:
'Tis Liberty that crowns Britannia's isle',
And makes her barren rocks', and her bleak mountains smile .

SECTION VI.

CJiarity. A paraphrase on the 1 3th chapter of the first epistk

to the Corinthians.

1 DID sweeter sounds adorn my flowing trno^ue',
Than ever man pronounc'd^ or angel sung';
Had I all knowledge', humr.n^ and divine ,
That thought can reach\ or science can define';
And had I pow'r to ^We that knowledge birth',
In all the speeches of the babbling earth';

Did Shadrach's zeal my glowing breast mspire',
To weary tortures\ and rejoice in fire';
Or had I faith like that which Israel saw',
Wi'cn Moses gjive them miracles\ and law':
Yet', gracious charity', indulgent guest'.
Were not thv power exerted in my breast';
Those speeches would send up unheeded pray V;
Tliat scorn of life', would be but wild despair^:
A cYmbal's sound were better ihan my voxe^;
Mylfiith were form'; my eloquence were noise^

2 Charity', decent^ modest\ easy', kind\
Softens the high', and rears the abject mind^;

And much she suiters', as she mucn believes\
Soft peace she brings wherever she arrives';
She builds our quiet', as she forms our lives'; •
Lays the rough paths of peevish nature ev'n';
And opens in each heart a little heav'n\
Each other gift', which God on man bestows'.
Its proper bounds' and due rest^tion knows ;

):.% .

JPari2.

ht',
le day'.

line^:

untains smile .
the first epistU

efine';
nrth',

spire',

:)ray'r^;
)air':
ice';
[loise^

to guide

••es^.

es';
v'n';

ows;

,j.^

C/iop. 4.

Deacriplive Pieces*

205

To one fix'd purpose dedicates its poWi »
And finishing its act', exists no more\
obedience to wtiat Heav'n decrees'

Thus' in'

Knowledge shall fail ', and prophecy shall cease^;
But lasting charity's more ample sway',
Nor bound by time^ nor subject to decay',
In happy triumph shall I'or ever live';
And endless good diHuse', and endless praise receive
4 As through the artist's intervening glass',
Our eye observes the distant planets pass';
A little we discover'; but allow',
That more remains unseen' than art can show^;
So whilst our mind its knowledge would improve',

gts feeble eye intent on things above',)
igh as we may', vfe lift our reason up',
By faith directed , and confirm'd by hope';
Yet are we able only to survey'
Dawnings of beams', and promises o{ day^;
Heav'n's fuller eiiluence mocks our dazzled sight^;
Too great its swiftness', and too strong its light'.
But soon the mediate clouds shall be dispel I'd^j
The Sun shall soon be face to face beheld'.
In all his robes', vnth all his glory on', ^
Seated sublime on his meridian throne'.
Then constant faith\ and noly hope', shall die ;
One lost in certainty , and one in jov :
Whilst thou', more happy povv'r', fair charity',
Triumphant sister', greatest of the three',
Thy office^ and thy nature' still the same'.
Lasting thy lamp\ and iinconsum'd thy flame',
Shalt still survive^—
Shalt stand before the host of heav'n confest'.

,;;" . ill

.1:1,;

'i'V'":, ill

For ever blessing', and for ever blest^

SECTION VII.

Picture of a good man.

I SOME angel guide my pencil', while I draw',
What nothing else than angel can exceed',
A man on earth', devoted to the skies^;
Like ships at sea', while in', above the world\
With asisect mild\ and elevated eye',
iBehoid him seated on a mount serene',
I Above the fogs of sense', and passion's storm^;
|A}1 the black cares\ and tumults of this life',
[Like harmless Uiunders', breaking at his feet',
""'Xcite his pity', not impair his pea€e\

PRIOI^ '

206

The English Reader,

PariZ

2 Earth's ^nuine sons^, the sceptred\ and the slaved
A minified mob'! a wand'rini? herd'! he seea'
Bewil(fcr'd in the vale''; in allunlii^eM
His full revcirse in air! What higher praise^? .
What stronger demonstration of the rightV
The present all tlieir care': the /Mfurc/wa\
When public welfare calls , or private want',
2%€|/ give io fatne^; his bounty he eanceah\
Their nrtues varnish nature'; his eaNi2t\
J\Iankin<Vs esteem they court'; and he his oton\

; Theirs the wild chase o^ false felicities';
His', the compos'd possession of the fnie\
Alike throughout is his consistent piece\
Ail of one colour', and an even thread*;
While party-colour'd shades of happiness',
With hideous gaps between', patch up for them
A madman's robe^; each puff of fortune blows
The tatters by', and shows their nakedness\

4 He sees with other eyes than theirs': where thejr
Behold a sun', he spies a Deity^;
What makes them only smile', makes him adore\
Where they see mountains', he but atoms sees^;
An empire in his balance', weighs a grain^.
Thev tnin;^s terrestrial worship as divine^:
His hopes immortal blow them by', as dust',
That dims his sight and shortens his survey',
Which longs', in infinite', to lose all bouna\

5 Titles^ and honours', (if they prove his late',)
He lays aside to find his dignity^;
No dignity they find in aught besides^
They triumph in externals', (which conceal
Man's real glory',) proud of an eclipse^:
Himself too much he prizes to be proud';
And nothin.<f thinks so great in man', as man^.
Too dear he holds his int'rest', to neglect
Anotlier's welfare', or his ri^ht invade^; ....
Their int'rest', like a lion', lives on prey\ * "

6 They kindle at the shadow of a wrong^;
Wrong he sustains with temper\ looks on heav'n',
Nor stoops to think his injurer his fbe^:
Nought', but what wounds his virtue', wounds hia peae
A cover'd heart their character defends^;
A cover'd heart denies him half liis praise\

7 With nakedness his innocence agreesM
While tlieir broad foliage testifies their faU\

Pari X I Chap. 4.

Deacripiive Pteces*

207

lie slave',
et'

for them
blows

here they

lim adore\
ma sees ;

.V.

dust',
rvey',
lund .

fate',)

mceal ,

as man •
lect

,^. - . ■ •

"> • . ■. ' ^

*ey^

rsonheavV,
'wounds hia pea'

raise^*
i faU\

There no joys end', where his full feast begins^:

His joys create\ theirs murder' future bliss^.

To triumph in existence', his alonel:

And his alone triumphantly to thin*

His true existence is not yet begun\

His glorious couree was', yesterday', complete^:

Death', then\ was welcome'; yet life iiill is 8weet\ tovko.

SECTION VIII.

Tlie pleasures of retirement.

KNEW he but his happiness', of men
The happiest he'! who', far from public ra»e'.
Deep in the vale', with a choice few retir'd',
Drinks the pure pleasures of the rural life\

What though the dome be wanting', whose proud gate'

Each mormn^', vomits out the sneaking crowd

Of flatterers lalse', and in their turn abus'dV

Vile intercourse^! What though the glitt'ring robe',

Of ev'ry hue reflected liffht can give ,

Or floated loose', or stiff with mazy gold'.

The pride^ and jraze of fools', oppress him not\?

What though', from utmost land^ and sea' purvey'd',

1 For him each rarer tributary life
Bleeds not', and his insatiate table heaps

With luxury and death\' What though his bowl
Flames not with costly juice'; nor sunk in beds',
Oil of gay care', he tosses out the night',
I Or melts the thoughtless hours in idle state\^
IWhat though he knows not those fantastic joys',
jThat still amuse the wanton', still deceive^;
I A face of pleasure^ but a heart of pain',
iTheir hollow moments undelighted alf?
[Sure peace is his^; a solid life estranged
10 disappointment', and fallacious hope\
lich in content', in nature's bounty rich',
|n herbs^ and fruits'; whatever greens the spring',
'^hen heav'n descends in showers'; or bends tlie bough
Then summer reddens', and when autumn beams':
)r in the wintry glebe whatever lies
3onreal'd', and fattens with the richest sap':
These are not wanting'; nor the milky drove j
luxuriant', spread o'er the lowing vale^;
^or bleating mountains', nor the chide of streami
hum of bees', inviting sleep sincere . .

III

. .t

206

Tht English lUadcr.

Part2

Into the guiltless breast^ beneath the shaded
Or thrown at iar^e amia the I'ra^ant hay^;

■■?■■ !

Unsullied beauty^; sound luihrokeu youtli',

Patient of labour', with a little pleasM^;

Health ever blooniin'j^: uiiandiitious toiP;

Calm contenipiaiion ,and poetic ease\ Thomson.

SECTION IX.

Tlie pleasure and henefl of an improved and weU'dirt

imagination,

1 OH'! blestot'Heaven', who not the languid songs
01" luxury', the siren'! not the bribes

, Of'sordid wealth', nor all the gaudy spoils '
Of pageant Honour', can seduce to leave
l*hose ever blooming sweets', which', from the stort
Of nature', fair imagination culls',
To charm th' enliven'd souP! What though not all
Of mortal olfspring can attain the height
Of envied life\ though only lew possess
Patrician treasures\ or imf)erial state' ;
Vet nature's care', to al! her children just',
With richer treasures' and an ampler state*,
Endows at large whenever happy man
Will deign to use them^

2 His the city's pomp^
The rural honours his\ Whate'er adorns
The princely dome\ the column^ and the arch',

> The breathing marble^ and the sculptnr'd gold',
Beyond the proud possessor's narrow claim',
His tuneful breast enioys\ For him', the spring
' . Distils her dews', and from the silken gem
Its lucid leaves unfolds^; lor him', the hand
Of autumn tinges every fertile branch
With biooming gold', and blushes like the mom\
Each passing hour sheds tribute from her wii^^:
And still new beauties meet his lonely walk'.
And loves unfelt attract liim^

3 Not a breeze
FKes o'er the meadow^; not a cloud imbibes
The setting sun's eftiiigence^; not a strain
From all tlie tenants of the warbling shade

. Ascends'; but whence his bosom can p)artahc

I A

rf- ,,i^^l:;v -9:

Part2

8hade^
hay';

/, or 8ong\
ouiitains clear,
nnocence';

toir-,

THOMSON.

i and weU-direik
languid songs

spoils
leave
i', from the 8tor«

t though not aU

eight

iiSCSS

te'; ,
en just',
cr state',
fian

city's pomp',

■ndorns

md the arch;,

lpt\jr'd gold ,

>w claim',

im', the spring

ten gem

the hand

ich

like the morn\

pom her wings':

lelywalk',

)t a breeze -
id imbibes
a strain
iig shade
can partake

Chap, b.

Pathetic Pitcet.

200

Fresh pleasure', unrcprov'd\ Nor thence partaket

Fresh pleasure only'; for th' attentive mind',

By this harmonious action on her powers',

Becomes herself harmonious': wont so oft

In outward things to meditate the charm

Of sacred order'!, soon she seeks at home',

To find a kindred order'; to exert

Within herself this elegance of love'.

This fair inspir'd delight': her temper'd powers

Refine at length', and every passion wears

A chaster', milder', more attractive mien'.

But if to ampler prosuects', if to gaze

On nature's form', wnere', negligent of all

These lesser graces', she assumes the port

Of that Eternal Majesty that weigh'd

The world's foundations', if to these the mind

Exalts her daring eye'; then mightier far

Will be the change', and nobler'. Would the forma

Of servile custom cramp her gen'rous pow'rs'?

Would sordid policies', the barb'rous growth

Of ignorance and rapine', bow her down i

To tame pursuits', to indolenceand fear?

Lo ! she appeals to nature', to the winds

And rolling waves', the sun's unweaned course'.

The elements' and seasons': all declare

For what th' eternal maker has ordain'd

The pow'rs of man': we feel within ourselves

His energy divine'; he tells the heart'.

He meant', he made us to behold and love

What he beholds and loves', the general orb

Of life' and being^: to be great like Him',

Beneficent' and active'. Thus the men

Whom nature's works instruct', ^vith God himself

Hold converse'; ^row familiar', day bv day'.

With his conceptions'; act upon his plan';

And form to his', the relish of their soula^. AXBirsiofi.

CHAPTER V.

PATHETIC PIECES.

SECTION L

The HerinU.
AT the close of the day', when the hamlet is still'.
And mortals the sweets ot fbrgetfulness prove';
When nought but the torrent is beard on the hill',
And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove

IS*

2id

The English Reader.

Pwi%,

*^f

'Twos thus by the cave of the mountain aPar^

While his harp runs 8ymphonious^ a liermit began ;
No more with hiinseit , or with nature at war',

He thought as a sage^ though he lelt as a nian\
" Ah'! why', all abandon'd to darkness'' and wo^;

Why', lone Philomela', that laiii?iiisliin^ fhir?
For spring shall return', and a Iovlt bestow',

And sorrow no longer thy bosom inthral\
But', if pity inspire thee', renew the sad lay^;

Mourii', sweetest complainer', man calls thee to mourn^;
O sooth him whose pleasures like thine pass away^:

Full quickly they pass' — but they never return^
" Now gliding remote', on the ven?e of the sky',

The moon half extinguish'd', her crescent displays^:
But lately I mark'd'. when majestic on high

She shone', and the planets were lost in her blaze\
Roll on', thou lair orb', and with gladness pursue |

The path that conducts thee to splendour agaia
But man's faded gk)ry what change shall renewM

Ah, fool'! to exult in a glory so vainM

" 'Tis night', and the landscape is lovely no more^:

I mourn'; but', ye woodlands', I mourn not for you^;
For morn is approaching', your charms to restore',

Perfum'd with fresh fragrance', and glitt'ring with dew\|
Nor yet lor the ravage of winter I mourn^;

Kind nature the embryo blossom will save^:
But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn^!

O when shall day dawn on the night of the grave^!

" 'Twas thus by the glare of false science betray'd',

That leads', to bewilder\ and dazzles\ to blind',
My thoughts wont to roam , from shade onWard to shade

Destruction before me', and sorrow behind\
O pity', great Father of light', then I cried',

Thy creature who fain would not wander from thee^.
Lo', humbled in dust', I relinquish my pride^:

From doubt^ and from darkness' thou only canst firee^

" And darkness^ and doubt', are now flying away^;

No longer I roam in conjecture ft)rlorn*:
So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray',

The bright^ and tb^ balmy' effulgence of morn\
See truth\ love\ and mercy', in triumph descending',

And nature all gk)winff in Eden's first bloomM ^ ,
On the cold cheek of death' smiles^ and roses' are blending']

Aiid beauty immortal', awakes from the tomb\"

BBATTII*

And
T

A lit

But
M

Isca

Fell'
All

Pari a, IChtf. B.

PatheUc PUetif

Sll

ermit began;
war',
\3 a man .
anil wo';

ijr fair?
owS
■aP.

lay'; ,

lis thee to mourn ;
)us8 away':
rer relunr.

he sky', , ,
icent displays :

in her blaze\
;ss pursue ,
(lour agaiK.
ill renew'!

ly no more':
,rn not for you';
s to restore', i
;litt'ringwithaew.|

rn';
save':
.luf;- urn".
Df the grave".

ce betray'tl',
is', to blmdS I
5 onv^ard to shade |
behind'.

iried', , .

nder from thee\

pride': .

,u only canst iree .

lying away';

U^:

Jistray',

Ice of morn . ,

Tph descendmg ,

i-st bloom'l ,

[roses' are blendinf I

the tomV.

SECTION II.

Tlu heggar'a petition. \

PITY the sorrows of a poor old man',

Whose trembling limns have home him to your door';
Whose days arc dwindled to the shortest span^;

Oh ! give relief, and Heav'n will hless your 8tore\
These tatter'd clothes my poverty bespeak';

These hoary kxiks', proclaim my lenjftlien'd years';
And many a (urrow in my grief-worn clieek',

Has been the channel to a Hood of tears'.
Yon house', erected on tjie rising ground',

With temnting aspect drew me from my road';
For plenty tliere a residence has found',

And grandeur a magnificent abode'.
Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor'!

Here', as I cravM a morsel of their bread',
Apamper'd men'al drove me from the door'.

To seek a shelter in an humbler shed'.

Oh'! take me to your hospitable dome'j
Keen blows the wind', and piercing is the cold^.

Short is my passage to the friendly tomb';
For I am poor', and miserably old\

Should I reveal the sources of my grief,
If soft humanity e'er toucb'd your breast',

Your hands would not withhold the kind relieP;
And tears of pity' would not be represt\

Heav'n sends misfortunes'; wliy should we repine^;

'Tis Heav'n has br(>ught me to the state you see';
And your condition may be soon like mine',

The child of sorrow' and of misery'.

A little farm was my paternal lot';

Then', like the lark', I sprightly hail'd the morn';
But ah'! oppression forc'd me from my cot',

My cattle died', and blighted was my corn\ ^
My daughter', once tlie comfort of my age',

Lur'd by a villain from her native home'.
Is cast abandon'd on the world's wide stage',

And doom'd in scanty poverty to roam'.
My tender wife', sweet soother of my care',

Struck with sad anguish at the stern decree',
Fell', iing'ring fell', a victim to despair';

And left the world to wretchedness' and rae\

. Sip

■'u'.,^

^4; l!:

ki ; i

: '!■'

Cfi

'fS

m H'

• ^''^-^ ■■;•

212

Tlie English Reader

Pmi2\

11 Pity the sorro^vs of a poor old man ,

Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door;
Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span^;
Oh ! give relieP, and Heav'n will bless your 8tore\

SECTION III.

Unluipjyy dose of life.

1 HOW shocking must thy summons be'', O Death''
To him that is at ease in his possessions^'.
Who', counting on long years ol" pleasure here'
Is quite unfurnish'd for the world to come^l
In that dread moment'', how the frantic soul
Raves round the walls of her clay tenement^;
Runs to each avenue', and shrieks ibr help^;
But shrieks in vainM How wishfully she looks
On all she's leaving', now no longer hers"!

2 A little longer^; yet a little longei-^;
O miffht she stay to wash away her stains';
And lit her for iier passaged JVlourntlil siglit^!
Her very eyes weep blood^; and ev'ry groan
She heaves is big Avith horror\ But the ^oq\
Like a staunch murd'rer', steady to his purjpose'.

Pursues her-close', through ev'ry lane of lile
Nor misses once the track'; but presses on'.
Till', forc'd at last to the tremendous verge ,
At once she sinks to everlastin,? ruin\

R. BLAIB

SECTION IV.
Elegy to pity.

1 HAIL, lovely pow'r'! whose bosom heaves a sigh',

When fancy paints the scene of deep distress";
Whose tears', spontaneous', crystallize the eye',
When rigid fate', denies the pow'r to bless\

2 Not all the sweets Arabia's gales convey

From flow'ry meads', can with that sigh compare ;
Not dew-drops glitt'ring in the morning ray',
Seem near so beauteous as that liilling tear\

3 Devoid of fear', the fawns around thee play^j

Emblem of peace', the dove before thee flies^;
No blood-stain'd traces', mark thy blameless way';
Beneath thy leet', no hapless insect die8\

4 Come', lovely nymph', and range the mead witii me',

To spring the partridge from the guileful Ibe^:

From secret snares the struargling bird to free':

And stop the hand uprais'd to give the h\ovr.

"Jhap* 0.

Pathetic Pieces,

318

im to your door^;

!t span^;

58 your store .

' Death''

ire here'

me'*'.

c soul

ment^;

help^;

e looks

;rsl

tains';
il sight'!
i groan^
the toe', .
is purpose',
f of hie';

!es on
verge

;

R. BLAIR

neaves a sigh',
ep distress^',
:e the eye',
to bless\

,/ey

Lt sigh compare ;

fng ray',
|iiig tear\

I thee flies';
lameless way';
It dies'.
1 mead with me',

tuileful ibe':

rd to free':

^ the blow\

And when the air with heat meridian glows',
And nature droops beneath the conqu'rinff ^leam',

Let us', slow wand ring where the current news',
Save sinking flies that float along the stream'

I Or turn to nobler', greater tasks thy care',

1 To me thy sympathet'c gifts impart':

I Teach me in friendship's griefs to hear a share ,

And justly boast the gen'rous feeling heart'.
I Teach me to sooth the Jielpless orphan's grief;
I With timely aid', the widow's woes assuage';
I To mis'ry's moving cries to yield relief:

And be the sure resource of drooping age'.
iSo when the genial spring of life shall fkde',
I And sinking nature own the dread decav',
|Some soul congenial then may lond its aid ,

And gild the close of life's eventful day \

SECTION V.

rses supposed to be written by Alexander Selkirk,durtng
his solitary abode iti the Island of Juan Fernandez,

I AM monarch of all I survey',
My right there is none to dispute';

From the centre' all round to the sea'.

I am lord ol* the fowl' and the brute .
Oh solitude'', where are the charms',

That sages have seen in thv face ?
Better dwell in the midst of alarms\

Than reign in this horrible place'.

I I am out of humanity's reach';
I must finish my journey alone';

I Never hear the sweet music of speech';

I start at the sound of my own'.
I The beasts that roam over the plain',

My form with indiflerence see':
|Thev are so unacquainted with man',

Their tameness is shocking to me\

|Society', frienrlship', and love',
Divinely bestow'd upon man',
)h, had 1 the wings of a dove',
How soon would 1 taste you again'!
h sorrows I then mi^ht assuage *

In the ways of religion' and truth';
light learn from the nnsdom of a^', " -*-•

And be.cheer'd by the sallies ofyouth

.: I

■ ■(.'-.' -

I'-i

' 'i! 'JI'JL

114 !Zl^e English Reader, Part sj

4 Religion", what trfiasure untold',

Resides in that heav'nlv word^!
More precious than silver' or gold',

Or all that this earth can anord\
But the sound of the church-going: bell'.

These vailies^ and rocks' never heara^;
Ne'er si^h'd at the sound of a knell',

Or smil'd when a sabbath appear d\

5 Ye winds that have made me your sport',

Convey to this desolate shore',
Some cordial endearing report

Of a land I shall visit no more\
My friends', do they now and then send

A wish^ or a thought after me'?
O tell me I yet have a friend',

Though a friend I am ncer to see\

6 How fleet is a glance of the mind^!

Compar'd with the speed of its flight',
The tempest itself lags behind',

And the swift-winged arrows of lighO. , <
When I think of my own native land'.

In a moment I seem to be there^; s
But', alas'! recollection at hand',

Soon hurries me back to despair^.

7 But the sea-tbwl is gone to her nest'.

The beast is laid down in his lair^;
Even here is a season of rest'.

And I to my cabin repair\
There's mercy in every piace^;

And mercy'-^-encouragin": thought'!
Gives even affliction a grace'.

And reconciles man to his lot^. cownij

SECTION VI.
Gratitude.

1 WHEN all thy mercies', O my God'!

My rising soul survej^s',
Transported with the view', I'm lost
In wonder*^, love', and praised

2 how shall words', with equal warmth',

The gratitude declare'.
That glows within my raviah'd hearO?
But thou canst read it there'.

3 Thy providence my life sustained',

And all my wants redrest',

|3T1

Pari 2I Chap. 6.

Pathetic Pieces,

215

heard^

ar^d\
r sport',

!n send

see^.
s flight',

ofUght\
; land',

air.
est',
lair^;

ught'l

COWPII^

God'l
mlost
I warmth',
dhearO?
nM',

When in the silent womb I lay',
And hung upon th(i breasO.

4 To all my weak complaints^ and cries'

Thy mercy ler't an ear'.
Ere ^t my ieeble thoughts nad leam'd'^
To form themselves m pray'r^

5 Unnumber'd comforts to my soul',

Thy tender care bestow'd',
Before my infant heart conceiv'd

From whom those comforts flow'd\

6 When J in the slipp'ry paths of youth',

With heedless steps', I ran',
Thine arm', unseen', convev'd me safe', •
And led me up to man\

7 Through hidden dangers\ toils^ and deaths',

It gentlv clear'd my way^;
And through the pleasing snares of vice'.
More to be fear'd than they\

8 When worn with sickness', oft hast thou',

With health renew'd my face^;
And', when insins^ and sorrows sunk',
Reviv'd my soul with grace^.

9 Thy bounteous hand', with worldly bliss'.
Has made my cup run o'er^;

And', in a kind^ and faithful friend',
Has doubled all my stored

^0 Ten thousand' thousand precious gifts'.
My daily thanks employ^;
Nor is the least a cheerful heart',
That tastes those gifts with joy\

|ll Through ev'ry period ot'my life'.
Thy goodness I'll pursue^;
And', after death', in distant worlds',
The glorious theme renew\

|2 When nature fails', and day\ and night'
Divide thy works no more'.
My ever-gratelul heart'. O Lora''
Thy mercy shall adore^.

|3 Through all cternitv', to thee' , . ' u

A ioyful song I'll 1 aise^; r! . .

For O'f eternity's too short jn*'

To utter all thy praise^ .. .' j. ADWioir.

i'fr

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SECTION VII.

A tnaa perishing' in tiie snow ; from whence rtfiecHoms are
raised on the miseries of life*

AS thus tlie snows arise ; and foul and fierce,

All \mter drives alon^ the darken'4 air ;

in his own loose-revolving field, the swain

Disaster'd stands ; sees other hills ascend,

Of unknown joyless brow ; and other scenes,

Of horrid prospect, shag the trackless plain ;

Nor finds the river, nor the forest, hid*

Beneath the formless wild ; but wanders on,

From hill to dale, still more and more astray ;

inpatient flouncing through the drifted heaps.

Stung with the thoughts of home ; the thoughts of home |

Rush on his nerves, and call their vigour forth

In many a vain attempt.

How sinks his soul !
What black despair, what horror fills his heart!
When, tor the dusky spot, which fancy feign'd
His tufted cottage rising through the sm)w,
He meets the roughness of the middle waste,
Far from the tracK, and blest abode of man;
While round him night resistless closes fast,
And ev'ry tempest howling o'er his head.
Renders the savago wilderness more wila.
Then throng the busy shapes into Iiis mind,
Of cover'd pits, unfaihomably deep,
A dire descent, beyond the pow'r of frost !
Of liiithless bogs ; of precipices huge,
Smooth'd up with 3ii:ow ; and what is land, unknown
What w^ater, of the stiil unfrozen spring,
In the loose mai-sh or solitary lake,
Where the fresh fountain from the bottom boils.
These check his fearful steps ; and down he sinlis
Beneath the shelter of the shapeless drift,
Thinking o'er all the bitterness of death,
Mix'd with the tender anguish nature snoots
Through the wnmg bosom of the dying man,
His wife, his children, and his friends unseen.
In vain fJjr him th' officious wife prepares
The fi''e fair-blazing, and the vestment warm ;
In vain his little children, peeping out
Into the mingled storm, demand their sire,
With tears of artless innocence. Alas !
Nor wife, nor children, more shall he behold ;

I '

Port 2. 1 Chap. 5.

Palhdic Pieces,

217

ice reJUeUom atre

fe.
fierce,

•

1.
un

nd,

senes,

plain;

rs on,
istray;
I lieaps.

thoughts of noinc |
ar forth

is soul!
his heart'.
5y feign'd
snow,

waste,
fman;
;s fast,
ead,
Id.

mind,

wii

irost I

land, unknown
ing,

■>ttoin boils,
wn he sinliS
ril't,
ath,

re shoots
ing man,
unseen,
ares
nt, warm ;

r sire,

^ behold;

Nor friends, nor sacred home. On every nerve
The deadly winter seizes ; shuts up sense ;
And, o'er his inmost vitals creepinff cold,
Lays him along the snows a stitfeird corse,
Stretch'd out. and bleaching in the northern blast.

6 Ah, little think the gay licentious proud.
Whom pleasurei, pow'r, and affluence surround ;
They who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirtli.
And wanton, often cruel riot, waste ;

Ah, little think they, while they dance along.

How many feel, this very moment, death,

And all the sad variety of pain !

How many sink in the devouring flood.

Or more devouring flame ! How manv bleed,

By shameful variance betwixt man and man !

7 How many pine in want, and dungeon glooms,
Shut fiom the common air, and common use
Of their own limbs ! How many drink the cup
Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread

Of misery ! Sore pierc'd by wintrv winds.
How many shrink into the sordid hut
Of cheerless poverty ! How many shake
With all the fiercer tortures of the mind,
Unbounded passion, madness, guilt, remorse !

8 How many, rack'd with honest passions, droop
In deep retir'd distress ! How many stand
Around the death- bed of their dearest friends,

And point the parting anguish ! Though, fond man,.

Of these, and all the thousand nameless ills.

That one incessant struggle render life.

One scene of toil, of sulierinor. and of fate.

Vice in his high career would stand appall'd,

And heedless rambling impulse learn to think;

The conscious heart of charity would warm,

And her wide wish benevolence dilate ;

The social tear would rise, the social sigh ;

And into clear perfection, gradual bliss.

Refining still, the social passions work. Thomson.

SECTION VIII.

A morning hymn.
1 THESE are thy ^'n-ious works, parent of good.
Almighty thine tuid universal frame,
Thus wond'rous fair; thyself how wond'roua the'xl
Unspeakable, who sitt'st above these hesvcmi^
To us invisible, or dimly seen

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i i

In these thy lower works ; yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought, and pow'r divine.

2 Speak ye who best can tell, ye sons of light,
Angels ; for ye behold him, and with songs
And choral symphonies, day without night,
Circle his throne rejoicing; ye. in heaven,
On earth, join all ye creatures to extol

Him first, Him last, Him midst, and without end.

Fairest of stars, last in the train of night,

If better thou belong not to the dawn,

Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smihng morn

With thy ori^ht circlet, praise him in thyspiiere.

While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.

Thou sun, of this great world, both eye and soul.

Acknowledge him thy greater, sound his praise

In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st,

And when high noon hast gain'd, and when thou fall'at

3 Moon, that row meet'st the orient sun, now fly'st,
With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that flies ;
And ye five (»ther wand'ring fires that move

In mystic dance, not without song, resound

His praise, who out of darkness cail'd up light.

Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth

Of nature's womb, that in quaternion run

Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix

And nourish all things ; let your ceaseless change

Vary to our great maker still new praise.

4 Ye mists and exhalations that now rise
From hill or steaming lake, dusky or ^ray,
Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gola^
In honour to the world's great author rise !
Whether to deck with clouds th' uncolour'd sky.
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling show'rs,
Rising or falling, still advance his praise.

5 His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow,
.Breathe soft or loud ; and wave your tops, ye pines,
With ev'ry plant, in sign of worship wave.
Fountains, and ye that warble as ye flow
MelodioMS murmurs, warbling tpia' it's praise.
.Join voices, all ye living souls ; ye birds,
That singing, up to heaven's gate ascend,
Bear on your wmgs and in your notes his praise.

6 Ye thatin waters glide, and ye that walk
The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep ;
Witness if I be silent, morn or even,

Part 2.

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Promtscuous Pieces,

219

declare
)ow'r divine.

flight,
songs
night,
aven,

without end.
ghl,

smihng morn
ti thy sphere,
prime,
ye and soul,
[ his praise
u cliiub'st,
d when thou fall'at,

in, now fly'st,
h that flies ;
it move
esound
d up light.
1
1 run

eless change
'aise.
ise

, ?ray,
with gola^
OR rise !
olour'd sky,
show'rs,
aise.

quarters blow,
r tops, ye pines,
wave,
flow
s praise,
irds,
icend,
38 his praise.

walk
y creep;

To hill, or valley, fi)untain, or fresh shade,
Made vocal by my son^, and taught his praise.
Hail, UNIVERSAL LobdT be bounteous st:ll
To give us only good ; and if the night
Has gather'd aught of evil, or conceal'd.
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.

MILTON. <

CHAPTER VI.

PROMISCUOUS PIECES.

SECTION I.

Ode to content.

1 O THOU', the nymph with placid eye'!
O seldom found', yet ever nigh'!

Receive my temp'rate voav^:
Not all tlie storms that shake the nole',
Cun e'er disturb thy halcyon soul ,

And smooth', unalter'd brow\

2 O come', in simplest vest array'd'.
With all thy sober cheer dispray'd'.

To bless my longing sight^;
Thy mien compos'd\ zhy even pace\
Thy meek regard\ tliy matron grace'.

And chaste subdu'cj delighO.

3 No more by varying '^:assions beat',
O gently guide my pLgrim feet

To find thy hermit celP ;
Where in some pure and equal sky',
Beneath thy soil indulgent eye'.

The modest virtues uAvelf.

4 Simplicity', hi attic vest'.

And Innocence', with candid breast'.

And clear undaunted eye'j
And Hope', who ptiints to distant years'.
Fair', op'ning through this vale of tears ,

A vista to the sky^.
6 There Health', through whose calm bosom glide',
The temp'rate jovs in even tide'.

That rarely ebV or flow';
And Patience there', thy sister meek', «

Presents her mild', unvarying cheek'.

To meet the offer'd blow\
6 Her influence Uiught the Phrygian sage'
A tyrant master's wanton rage'.

With settled smiles', to mcet^: hi

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PJjV I

iEJil

Inur'd to toiP and bitter bread'.
He bow'd his ineek', submitted head^
And kiis'd thy sainted feet'.

7 Bui thou', O nymph', retir'd^ and coy'!
In what brown hamlet dost thou joy

To tell thy tender tale\?
The lowliest children of the ground',
Moss-rose^ and violet', blossom round',

And lily of the vale\

8 O say whai soft propitious hour

I best may choose to hail thy pow'r',

And court thy gentle sway\^
When autumn', friendly to ihs muse'.
Shall thy own modest tuits diffuse',

And shed thy milder day'?

9 When eve', her dewy star beneath',
Thy balmy spirit loves to breathe',

And evry storm is laid'?
If such an hour was e'er thy clioice'.
Oft let me hear thy soothing \roice'.

Low whisp'ring through the shaded barbauld.

SECTION II.

The sliephcrd and the philosopher

REMOTE from cities lived a swain',
Unvex'd with all the cares of gain^;
His head was silver'd o'er with age'j
And long experience made him sage ;
In summer's heat^ and winter's cold'.
He fed his flock', and penn'd the fcld^;
His hours in cheerlul labour flew',
Nor envy^ nor ambition' knew^:
His wisdom^ and his honest fame',
Through all the coimtry', rais'd his name\

A deep philosopher' (whose rules
Of moral life were drawn from schools')
The shepherd's homely cottage sought'.
And thus explor'd his reach of thought\
" Whence is thy learning\^ Hath thy toil
O'er books consum'd the midnight oil'?
Hast thou old Greece and Rome sui-vey'd',
And the vast sense of Plato weigh'd'?
Hath Socrates thy soul refin'd' *

And hast thou fathom'd Tally's mind'? - ■

Or', like the wise Ulysses' thrown'?
By various lates', on realms unknown',

PIS. I ^W* ^* Promitcuotu Pieces.

Hast thou through many cities stray'd^
Their customs', la ws^ and manners weigh'
The shepherd modestly replied',
" I ne'er'the paths ol' learning tried^;
Nor liave I roani'd in foreign parts'.
To read mankhid\ their laws' ""''

2S1

. BARBAULD.

ae'

bil

d'?"

, t.iu.i .»..» and arts*^;
For man is practis d in disguise^;
He clieats tlie most discerning eyes\
Who by that search sliail wiser grow\^
By that ourselves we never know\
The little knowledge I have gain'd'.
Was all from simple nature drain'd^;
Hence my hfe's maxims', took their rise',
Hence ^rew jny settled Hate of vice\

4 The daily labours oi'the bee'.
Awake my soul to industry^
Who can observe the careful ant',
And not provide for future want\'
My dog' (the trustiest of his kind'^
With gratitude inflames my mind^;
I mark his true', his faithful way'.
And', in my service', copv Tray\
In constancy and nuptial love'.

I learn my duty from the dove^
The hen'; who from the chilly air'.
With pious wing', protects her care',
And ev'ry fowl that flies at large'.
Instructs me in a parent's charge\

5 From nature too I take m^ rule',
To shun contempt' and ridicule^;
I never', with important air',

In conversation overbear^
Can grave and formal pass l(>r wise ',
When men the solemn owl despise',
My tongue within my lips I rein^;
For who talks much' must talk in vain^.
We from the wordy torrent fly^:
Who listens to the chatt'ring pye?
Nor would I', with felonious flight'j
By stealth invade my neighbour's nght^.

6 Rapacious animals we hate^;

Kites\ hawks\ and wolves', deserve iheir filte\
Do not we ^ust abhorrence find' v

Against the toad and serpent kind ?
But envy\ calumny\ and spite',
Bear stronger venom in their bite\

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Thus ev'ry object of creation',
Can furnish hints to contemplation^;
And^ li-om the most minute' and mean',
A virtuous mind can morals glean' "

Ports.

\ »

" Thy iame is jusl\" the sage replies',
" Thy virtue proves tiiee t''uly wise\
Pr:de olien jsjuides the author s pen\
Books as afiected are as nieii^:
But he Avhq studies nature's laws',
From certain truth liis maxims draws^;
And tiiose', wilhout or.r tliiools', suffice
To make men moral\ good', and \vise\"

GAT

SECTION III.

The road to happiness open to all men,

1 OH happiness'! our heing's end' and aim'*!

Good\ pleasure\ ease', contentM wliate'er thy name^;
That somethintr still which prompts th' eternal sigh',
For which we hear to live', or dare to die^:
Which still so near us', yet beyond us Jies^;
0'erlook'd\ seen double', by the fool' and wise^;
Plant oi' celestial seed', ifdropt below',
Say', in what mortal soil I'jou deign'st to ^rowV

2 Fair op'ning to some court's propitious shrme',
O^" deep with diamonds in the liaming nune\^
Twin'd with the wreaths Parnassian laurels yield'',
Or reap'd in iron harvests of the fiekr? ^

Where grows'? v/here grt)ws it not\? if vain our toil',

We ought to blame tlie culture\ not the soil '.

Fix'd to no spot is happiness sincere';

'Tis no where to be found', or cvWy where^;

'Tis never to be bought', but always free^:

And', fled lirom monarchs'. St. John'! dwells with thee^.

3 Ask of tiie learn'd the wav\ The learn'd are bliud^;
Tliis bids v. serve, and that to shun mankind^:
Some place the bliss in acticm', some in ease^;
Those call it pleasure', and contentment these^:
Some sunk to beasts', find pleasure end in pain^;
Some swell'd to gods , confess ev'n virtue vuin^:

Or indolent', to each extreme they fall'.

To trust in ev'ry thing', or doubt of alP. . ,

4 Who thus define it', say they more\or less
Than this', that happiness' is happiness?
Take nature's path', and mad opmions leave\
Ail states can reach it', and all heads conceive';
Obvious her floods', in no extreme they dwell^;

Pari % I Chap, 6.

Promiscuoiu Pieces.

228

n'.

8^;

fice

GAT

er thy name ;

eternal sign ,

ie^:

id wise ;

Lo ^row\^

shrine^

iiine'? .
urels yield ,

vain OUT toUS
[e soil '.

Jiere^;

kvek with theeV

|n'd are blind ;
lanldnd':
i ease';
|nt these':

„ in pain ;

L-tue vttin :

less

s.? ,
leave ,,

jnceive;

ty dwer;

There needs hut thinking ri»ht', and meaninjr well\
And mourn our various portions as we please ,
Equal is common sense', and common ease\
Remember', man', " the universal cause',
Acts not by partial', but by g-en'ral lavvs^;"
And makes what happiness we justly call',
Subsist not in the good ot'one', but all\ popb

SECTION IV.

The goodness of Providence.

1 The liord my pasture sluill prepare'.
And feed me with a shepherd's care^;
His presence shall my wants supply',
And guard me with a watchful eye^;
My noonday walks he shall attend',

And all my midnight hours defend'. .

2 When in the sultry ;^^lehe I faint\
Or on the thinsty iiioinitains panf*;
To fertile vales\ and dewy meads',
My weary wancl'riu;!: steps he leads',
Where peacetul rivers', soft^ and slow'.
Amid the verdant landscape flow\

3 Tliough in the paths of death I tread',
With gloomy horrors overspread'.
My steadlast heart shall lear no ill'.
For thou', Loi'd', art with me stiif :
Thy friendly crook shall give me aid'.
And guide me through the dreadful shaded

4 Though in a bare and rugo-ed way',
Through devious lonely wilds I stray'.
Thy bounty shall my pains beguile^;
The barren wilderness shall smile'.

With sudden greens^ and herbage crown'd',

And streams shall murmur all around\ aduisoit

SECTION V.

TJie Creator's loorks attest his greatness.
THE spacious firmament on high'.
With all the blue ethereal sky'.
And spangled heav'ns', a shining frame',
Their great Original jproclaim^:
Th' unwearied sun', trom day^ to day',
Does his Creator's pow'r display^,
And publishes to ev'ry land',
The work of an Almighty huid\

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2 Soon as the ev'niiig shades prevail',
The moon takes op the woiurnHiH tule';
And', nigfhtly', to the list'oiiiij eariii',
Repeats the story of her hirlh';
Whilst all the stars that round her l)urn',
And all the planets in their turn'.
Confirm tlie tidings as llicy roll'

And spread the truth IVoni pole to pole\

3 What thoui^'h', in solemn silence', all
Move round the dark terrestrial balP!
What thougli nor real voice^ nor sound',
Amid their radiant orhs be ti)undM

In reason's ear they all rejoice'.
And utter lorth a glorious voice^;
For ever singing as they shine',
" The liand tiiat made us', is divine\" addisoit.

SECTION VI.
.^n address lo the Deity,

1 THOU'! whose balance does the mountains weigh ,|
Whose will the wild tumultuous seas obey'; I
Whose breath can turn those wat'ry worlds to flame', |
That flame to tempest', and that tempest tame';
Earth's meanest son', all trpuihling', prostrate falls',
And on the bounty of thy goodness calls\

2 0'! give the winds all past ofience to sweep',
To scatter wide', or bury in the deep\
Thy pow'r\ my weakness', may I ever see',
And wholly dedicate my soul to thee\
Reign »'er my wilP; my passions ebb and flow
At tliy command', nor human motive knowM
'If anger boil', let anger be my praise'.
And sin the graceful indignation raised
My love be warm to succour the distress'd',
And lift the burden from the soul oppress'd\

3 O'may my understanding ever read
This glorious volume which thy wisdom made^! I
May sea' and land\ and earth^ and heav'n', be join'(i|
To brmg th' eternal author to my mindM
When oceans roar\ or awful thunders rolK,
May thoughts of thy dread vengeance', shake my i
Wiien earth's in bloom\ or planets proudly shine',
Adore', my heart', the Majesty divineM

4 Qrant I may ever', at the morning ray',
Open with pray'r the consecrated day^;

! Tl

part 2. 1 Chap, 0. ^ Proniiscttoua Pieces,

236

)\e\

ADD180K.

; mountains weigh,

IS obev'; _ , ,
y worlds to flame , |
.mpesttame;
\ prostrate tails i
calls\
to sweep',

ep\ ,
ever see ,

;bl) and flow
ive know''.

se',

listress'd;,
)ppre8S d .

isdom made''- . ,
idheavV.bejoindl

mind",
iders rolls
ance'jshakemy^i
ts proudly stune ,
jivine'l

= ray',
day';

Tune thy jrrcat praise\ and bid my soul arif?e',
And witl> < le mounting sun ascend thcskics^;
As that advances', let my zeal im|)rove',
And glow witli ardour orct)nsnmmate love';
Nor ceaso at eve', but with the setting sun ,
My endless worship shall be still begun\

And oh'! permit the gloom of solemn night',
To sacred thou'^ht may forcibly invite\
When this worKl's sliuV, and awful planets rise',
Gall on our minds', and raise them to the skics^;
Gom|M)se oiir souls with a less dazzling sight^,
And show all nature in a milder light';
How ev'ry boiat'rous thought in calm subsides^;
How the smooth'd spirit into goodness glides'!

Oh, how divine'! to tread the milky way'.
To the bright palace of the Lord of Day';
His court admire', or for his favour sue',
Or leagues of friendship with his saints renew\
Pleas'd to look down and see the world asleep';
While I long vigils to its founder keep'!

Canst thou not shake the centrp'? Oh control',
Subdue bv force', the rebel in my soul';
Thou', who canst still the raging of the flood',
Restrain the various tumults of my blood';
Teach me', with equal firmness', to sustain
Alluring pleasure', and a(«aulting pain\

Oh, may 1 pant far thee in each desire'!
And with strong faith foment the holy fire'!
Stretch out my soul in hone', and grasp the prr/ie' ,
Which in eternity's deep bosom lieb!
At the great diiy of recompense behold'.
Devoid of tear', the lata! book unfold'!
Then', wafted upward to the blissful seat'.
From age' to age' my grateliil song repeat':
My Light', my Life', my God', my Saviour see',
And rival angels in the praise of thee'! youho.

SECTION VIL

The pursuit of happiness often ill directed.
THE midnight moon serenely smiles

O'er nature's sofl repose';
No low'rin^ cloud obscures the sky', ' -

Nor rullhng tempest blows'.

■A Now ev'ry passion sinks to rest',
The throbbing heart lies still';

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>'m.'

226 The English Reader. Part 2.

And varying schemes of life no more
Distract the iab'ring will\

3 In silence hush'd to reason's voiced

Attends each mental powV:
Come', dear Emilia^ and enjoy
Reflection's fav'rite hour\

4 Come', while the peaceful scene invites',
Let 's search this ample roimd^;

Where shall the lovely fleeting form
Of happiness be found\^

5 Does it amidst the frolic mirth
Of gay assemblies dwell';

Or hide oeneath the solemn gloom',
That shades the hermit's cell'?

6 How oft the laughing brow of joy',
A sick'ning heart conceals^!

And', through the cloister's deep recess',
Invading sorrow steals\

7 In vain', through beauty\ fortune^ wit',
The fugitive we trace^;

It dwells not in the faithless smile'.
That brightens Clodia's face'.

8 Perhaps the joy to these deny'd'.
The heart in liiendship finds^:

Ah'! dear delusion^ gay conceit'
Of visionary mindsM '

9 Howe'er our varying notions rove'.
Yet all agree in one'.

To place its bein^ in some state'.
At distance from our own\ '

1 O blind to each indulgent aim'.

Of power supremely wise',
Who fancy happiness in au^ht
The hand orHeav'n demesM

11 Vain is alike the joy we seek\

And vain what we possess'.
Unless harmonious reason tunes
The passions mto peace\

12 To tempered wishes\ just desires^

Is happiness confin'd^:
And', deaf to foUy's call', attends
The music of the nund^ caktsr.

part 2. I Ohap, 6

Promiscuous Pieces.

227

cumiu

SECTION VIII.

The Jire-side.

1 DEAR Chloe', while the busy crowd',
The vain\ the wealthy\ and the proud',

In folly's maze advance';
Though singularity and pride
Be call'd our choice', we 11 step aside',

Nor loin the giddy danced

2 From the gay world', we'll oft retire
To our own family^ and fire',

Where love our hours employs^;
No noisy neighbour enters here\,
No intermeddling stranger near'.

To spoil our heartfelt joys^

3 If solid happiness we prize'.
Within our breast this jewel lies^;

And they are fools who roam\*
The world has nothing to bestow';
From our own selves oui> joys must flow ,

And that dear hut our home\

4 Of rest was Noah's dove bereft',
When with impatient wing she left

That safe retreat\ the ark^;
Giving her vain excursion o'er',
The disappointed bird once more

Expior'd the sacred bark\

5 Though fools spurn Hymen's gentle pow'r»'.
We', who improve his golden hours',

By sweet experience Know',
That marriage rightly understood'.
Gives to the tender^ and the good',

A paradise below\
1 6 Our babes shall richest comfort bring^;
If tutor'd right', they'll prove a spring

Whence pleasures ever rise^:
We'll form their minds', with studious care',
To all that's manly\ good\ and fair',

And train them for'the skies\
While they our wisest hours engage ,
They'll joy our youth\ support pur age ,

And crown our hoary hairs\'
They'll grow in virtue ev'ry day\
And thus our fondest loves repay',

And recompense our cares'.

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Tlie English Reader,

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i r; t

8 No borrow'd joys'! they 're ail our own .
While to the world we live unknown'

Or by the world forgot^:
Monarchs'! we envy not your state^;
AVe look witii pity on the great',

And bless our humbler lot\

9 Our portion is not large', indeed'!
But then how little do we need^!

For nature's calls are few^:
In this the art ol' living lies',
To want no more than may suffice',

And make that little do\

10 We'll therefore relish', with content',
Whate'er kind Providence has sent',

Nor aim beyond our pow'r^:
For if our stock be very small',
'Tis prudence to enjoy it all',

Nor lose the" present hour\

11 To be resign'd', when ills betide'.
Patient when favours are denied ,

And pleas'd with favours giv'n':
Dear Chloe', i his is wisdom's part^;
This is that incense of the heart'.

Whose fragrance smells to heav'n

12 We'll ask no long protracted treat'.
Since winter-life is seldom sweei';

But when our feast is o'er'.
Grateful from table we'll arise'.
Nor grudge our sons', with envious eyes',

The relics of our store\

13 Thus', hand^ m hand', through life we'll go^
Its checker'd paths of joy "^ and wo'.

With cautious steps', we'll treaa^;
Quit its vain scenes without a tear\
Without a trouble^ or a fear',

And mingle with the dead\

14 While conscience', like a iaithful friend',
Shall through thfe gloomv vale attend',

And cheer our dying breath^;
Shall', when all other comforts cease',
Like a kind angel whisjier peace',

And smoo^i the bed of dcath\ ; ,,

COTfOR.

Part 2.

^ea',

?Ugo>

\Chap, 6.

Promiscuous Pieces*

SECTION IX.

229

4
if .

If ,

iii'

Providence vindicated in the present stale of man,

HEAV'N from all creatures', hides the book of fate ;
All but the page prescrih'd', their present state^;
From brutes' what nien^ Irom men'' what spirits know^
Or who could suffer being here belovv\^
The lamb thy riot doonjs to bleed to-day'.
Had he thy reason', would he skip and play'?
Pleas'd to the last', he crops the now'rv food ,
And licks the hand just rais'd to shed his blood^.
Oh blindness to the future'! kindly giv'n'.
That each may fill the circle rnark'd by IleavV;
Who sees wth equal eye', as God of ail',
A hero perish', or a sparroiw liilP;
Atoms^ or systems' into ruin hurl'd'.
And now a bubble burst', and now a world\
|3 Hope humbly, then^; with trembling pinions soar\
Wait the great teacher', Death'; and God adore\
What future bliss he gives not thee to know'.
But ^ves that hope to be thy blessing now\
Hope springs eternal in the liunian breast':
Man never is', but aways to be blest\
The soul', uneas>\ and conlln'd ironi home',
Rests^ and expatiates' in a lile to come\

Lo', the poor
Sees God in c

COTtOli*

ndian'I whose untutor'd mind
ouds\ or hears him in the wind' ;
His soul proud science never taught to stray
Far as the Solar Walk^ or Milky Way' ;
Vet', simple nature to his hope has giv'n'.
Behind the cloud-topt hill', a humbler heav'n\
Some saler world in de; th of woods euibrac'd
Some happier island in the Avat'ry v/yste';
Where slaves once more their native land bohold
I No fiends torment', no Christians tliirst lor goid^
To be', contents his natural desire^:
He asks no angel's wing', no seraph's fire^:
But thinks', admitted to that equal sky'.
His faithiiil dog shall bear liim company\ '
I Go', wiser tnou'! and in thy scale of sense',
iWei^h thy opinion against Providence^;
jCall imperfection what thou fanciest such^;
Say here he gives too little', there too much\ —
Iti pride', in reas'ning pride', our error lies';
'ill quit their sphere , and rush into the sides .

VV\

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230 The English Reader. Part 2. 1

Pride still is aiming: at the blest abodes';

Men would be an^els^ angels would be gods\

Aspiring to be gods ^ if angels felK,

Aspiring to be angels', men reber:

And who but wshes to invert the laws

O^ORD£R^ sins against th' eternal cause^ fops.

SECTION X.

Selfishness reproved.

1 HAS God'', thou fooF! work'd solely lor thy good'.
Thy py, thy pastime', thy attire', thy food'?
Who for thy table feeds the wanton fawn'.
For him as kindly spreads the flow'ry lawn'.
Is it for thee the lark ascends and sings'?
Joy tunes his voice', joy elevates his wings\
Is it for thee the linnet pours his throat'?
Loves of his own', and raptures swell the note\

2 The bounding steed you pompously bestride'.
Shares with his lord the pleasure', and the pnde^
h thine alone the seed that strews the plain'?
The birds of heav'n shall vindicate their grain^
Thine the full harvest of the golden year'?
Part pays', and justly', the deserving steer\
The hog', that ploughs not', nor obeys thy call',
J^ive^ on the labours of this lord of aU\

3 Know', nature's children all divide her care^;
The fur that warms a monarch', warm'd a bear\
While man exclaims'. " See all things lor my use^'"
" See man for mine';! replies a pan.per'd goosed
Aik\ just as short of reason he must fall',
W ho thinks all made for one', not one for all*

4 Grant that the pow'rful still the weak control';
Be man the wit' and t3n'ant of the whole^;
Nature that tyrant checks^: he only knows,
And helps another creature's wants' and woes\
Say', will the falcon', stooping from above',
Smit with her varying plumage', spare the dove''
Admires the jay' the insect's gilded wings'?
Or hears the hawk when Philomela sings'?

5 Man cares (or alP: to birds he gives his woods\
To beasts his pastures', and to fish his floods^;
For some his int'rest prompts him to provide^
For more his pleasures', yet for more his prided
All led on one vain patron'^ and enjoy
Th' extensive biessiuir of lus luxury^

Parts.

Chfip»^6»

Promiscuotis Pieces.

231

je god8\

cause'. '<»«•

ibr thy good ,
hyfood'r
fawn', ,
:y lawn .
igs;?
1 wings',
oat'?

ell the note',
bestride',
indthepnde
the plain'? ^
tb3ir grain .
L year'?
ng steer\
beys thy call',
•aU\

her care'; ^
(rarm'dabear.
ngslbrmyuscM

n.per'd goose .

one for all
eak controV;
whole';
ily knows, ^
,ts' and woes .
)m above',
spare the dove'?
jd wings'?
la sings'? ^
^es his woods ,
jh his floods^;
n to provide ,
nore his pnde -
enjov
ury'.

6 That very life his learned hunffer craves',
He saves from famine^ from the savage saves^:
Nay', feasts the animal he dooms his feast';
And', till he ends the being', makes it blest':
Which sees no more the stroke\ nor feels the pain^
Than favour'd man by touch ethereal slain'.
The creature had his feast of life before^;
Thou too must perish', when thy feast is o'er'!

FOEE.

; bent\ and smart the spring',
already slain';

SECTION XL

Human frailty.

1 WEAK and irresolute is man';

The purpose of to-dav'.
Woven with pains into his plan',
To-morrow rends away'.

2 The bow well bent^

Vice seems
But passion rudely snaps the string',
And it revives again*.

3 Some foe to his uprieht intent',

Finds out his weaker part';
Virtue engages his assent',
But pleasure wins his heart'.

4 'Tis here the folly of the wise'.

Through all his heart we view';
And while his tongue the charge denies'.
His conscience owns it true'.

5 Bound on a voyage of awful length',

And dangers little known',
A stranger to superior strength',
Man vainly trusts his owir.

6 But oars alone can ne'er prevail

To reach the distant coast';
The breath of heav'n must swell the sail'
, Or all the toil is lost'.

SECTION xn.

Ode to peace.

COME', peace of mind', delightful guest
Return', and make thy downy nest ,

Once more in this sad heart':
Nor riches f, nor pow'r pursue'.
Nor hold forbidden joys in view';

We therefore need not part'.

I'.il! i

COWFBS.

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The English Reader Part 2.

Where wilt thou dwell', if not with me',
From av'rlce^ and ambition free',

And pleasure's fatal wiles^; (

For whom', alasM dost thou prepare
The sweets that ! was wont to share',

The banquet of thy smiles^;

The ^reat', the gay', shall they partake
The heav'n that thou alone canst make';

And wilt thou quit the stream',
That murmurs throu«?h the dewy mead',
The grove and the sequester'd shade'.

To be a guest with tliem'?

For thee I panted\ thee I priz'd\
For thee I gladly sacrific'd
Whate'er I lov'd before^;
And shall [ see thee start away',
And helpless', hopeless', hear thee say'

Farewell', we meet no more'?

COWPEB*

SECTION XIII.

Ode to adversity,

1 DAUGHTER of Heav'n', relentless power',
Thou tamer of the human breast'.

Whose iron scourge\ and tott'rlng hour',
The bad affright', afflict the bestM
Bound in thy adamantine chain'.
The proud are taught to taste of pain ,
A.nd purple tyrants vainly ^roan
With pangs unfelt before', unpitied' and alone^.

2 When first thy sire to send on earth
Virtue', his darling child', design'd',

T To thee he gave the heav'nly birth',

2 ' And bade to form her infant mind\

Stern rugged niirse'! thy rigid lore
With patience many a year she bore^
What sorrow was', thou bad'st her know^;
And fi-om her own she learn'd to melt at others wo^.

3 Scar'd at thy frown terrific', fly
Self-pleasing folly's idle bro'^d^

Wila laughter\ noise\ and thoughtless joy'.
And leave us leisure to be good\
Light they disperse^; and with them go
- The summer friend', the flatt'ring foe^.
By vain prosperity receiv'd'.
To her they vow their truth', and are again bcUev'd^

Part 2.

Cha/p* 6.

Promiscuous Pieces.

fi88

thme',

are
lare',

tartake
I make';

' lnead^
lade^

ee say'

COWPKB.

ess power',
■ hour',

)am

d alone\
th

)re^

»r know^;

It others wo\

hlless joy',

em go
jfoe^.

again bcUev*d^

4 Wisdom', in saole garb array'd'',
Immers'd in rapt'rous thought profound'.
And melancholy', silent maid',

With leaden eye that loves the ground'.
Still on thy solemn steps attend ;
Warm charity', the gen'ral friend',
With justice to herseir severe',
And pity', dropping soft the sadly pleasing tear^ ^

5 Oh', gently', on thy suppliant's head',
Dread power', lay thy chast'ning haadM
Not in thy gorgon terrors clad'.

Nor circled with a vengeful band',
(As by the impious thou art seen',)
With thund'ring voice', and threat'ning mien^
With screaming horror s fun'ral cry'.
Despair', and felt disease', and ghastly poverty'

6 Thy form benign', propitious', wear'.
Thy milder innuence in^part^;

Thy philosophic train be there'.
To soften\ not to wound my heart'.
The gen'rous spark extinct revive^ ;
Teach me to love'', and to forgive^ ;
Exact ray own delects to scan' ;
What others are to feel'; and know myself a man*, orat.

SECTION XIV.

The creation required to praise iis Author.

1 BEGIN', my souK, th' exalted lay'!
Let each enraptur'd thought obf.y'.

And praise th' Almighty's name^:
Lo'! heaven', and earth\ and seas\ and skies't
In one melodious concert rise^.

To swell th' inspiring theme\

2 Ye fields of light', celestial plains',
Where gay transporting beauty reigns',

"Ve scenes divinely fair 'I
Your Maker's wond'rous pow'r proclaim^;
Ti.. how he form'd your shining frame',

And breath'd the fluid air*.

3 Ye angels', catch the thrilling soundl
While all tli' adoring thrones around',

His boundless mercy sing^:
Let ev'rv list'ning saint above',
Wake all the tuneful soul of love',

And touch the sweetest string^

",' '

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4 Join', ye loud spheres', the vocal choir^;
Thou dazzlinff orb of liquid fire^

The mighty chorus aid^:
Soon as gray ev'ning gilds the plain',
Thou', moon', protract the melting strain'',

And praise him in the shaded

5 Thou heav'n^ of heav'ns', his vast abode';
Ye clouds', prrclaim your forming God',

Who call'd yon worlds from night^:
« Ye shades dispel'!"— th' Eternal said';
At once th' involving darkness fled'.

And nature sprung to light\

6 Whate'er a bloommg world contains'.
That wings the air\ that skims the plains',

United praise bestow^:
Ye dragons', sound his awful name
To heav'n aloud'; and roar acclaim',

Ye swelling deeps below\

7 Let ev'ry element rejoice^;

Ye thunders burst with awful voice'.

To HIM who bids you rolP:
His praise in soi'ter notes declare'.
Each whispering breeze of yielding air'.

And breathe it to the soul\

8 To him', ye grateful cedars', bow^;
Ye tow'ring mountains', bending low',

Ycur great Creator o'wn^;
Tell', when affrighted nature shook',
How Sinai kindled at his look'.

And trembled at his f rown^ .

9 Ye flocks that haunt the humble vale\
Ye insects flutt'ring on the gale'.

In mutual concourse rise^;
Crop the ^ay rose's vermeil bloom^,
And waft its spoils', a sweet perfiime',

In incense to the skies^^
10 Wake all ye mountain tribes 'j and sing^;
Ye plumy warblers of the spring'.

Harmonious anthems raise'
To HIM who shap'd your finer mould^,
Who tipp'd your glitt'ring wings with goId'»

And tun'd your voice to praise\
Let man', by noDler passions ST^ay'd'.
The feeling heart\ the judging head',

In heav'nly praise employ^;

PoHS

Chap, 6.

Promiscuous Pieces,

235

Spread his tremendous name around',
Till heav'n's broad arch rings back the sound'-
The gcn'ral b'lrst of joy\

12 Ye whom the charms of grandeur please',
Nurs'd on the downy lap of ease',

Fall prostrate at his throne^:
Ye princes\ rulers', all adore^;
Praise him', ye kin^', who makes your pow'r

An image of his own\

13 Ye lair', bv nature fbrm'd to move',
O praise th' eternal source of love',

With youth's enliv'ning fire^:
Let age take up the tuneful lay\
Sigh his bless'd name'' — then soar away',

And ask an angel's lyre\ ' ooiLVib

SECTION XV.

The universal prayer,

1 FATHER OP all'! m ev'ry age',

In ev'ry clime', ador'a'.
By saint\ by savage^ and by sage',
Jehovah\ Jove', or Lord*!

2 Thou GREAT FIRST CAUSp/, least understood',

Who all my sense confin'd
To know but this', that Thou art good'.
And that myself am blind^;

3 Yet gave me', in this dark estate',

To see the good from ilf;
And binding nature fast in fate',
Left free the human wilf.

4 What conscience dictates to be done ,

Or warns me not to do'.
This teach me more than hell to shun'.
That more than heav'n pursue\

5 What blessings thy free bounty gives',

Let me not cas^ away^;
For God is paid\ when man receives',
T' enjoy', is to obey'.

6 Yet not to earth's contracted span',

Th^ goodness let me bound',
' Or thmk thee Lord alone of man',
When thousand v/orlds are rounds

f Let not this weak\ unknowing hand',
Presume thy bolts to throw';

't/y

I'll

r.'

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Pari 2.

And deal damnation round the land' *■
On each 1 judge thy foe\

8 If I am ri.?ht', thv grace impa.'t',

Still in tlie right lo stay^;
If I am wrong', oh teach my heart
To find that better wayM

9 Save me alike from foolish pride',

Or impious discontent',
At auglit thy wisdom has denied',
Or aught thy goodness lent\

10 Teach me to leel another's wo^;

To hide the fault 1 see^:
That mercy I to others show'.
That mercy show to me\

11 Mean though I am', not wholly so',

Suice quicken'd by thy breath':
O lead me wheresoeer f ^o'.
Through this day's lile'^ or death\

12 This day', be bread^ and peace' my lof;

All else beneath the sun',
Thou know'st if best bestow'd or not':
And let thy will be done\

13 To thee', whose temple is all space\ '

Whose altar', eHrlh\ sea\ sides''.
One chorus let all beings raise'!
All nature's incense rise\ ' pope

SECTION XVI.

Conscience.
treach'rous conscience^ while she seems to sleep

to drop

And give us up to license', unrecall'd',
Unmark'd';— see', from behind her secret stand',
The sly inwrmer minutes every fault',
And her dread diary with horror fills\
Not the gross act alone employs her pen';
She reconnoitres fancy's airy nand^
A ^vatchful foe'! the lorniidalile sp^',
List'ning o'^rhears the whispers ol our camp^;
Our dawning purposes of heart explores'
And steals our embryos of iniquity\
As allrapacious usurers conceal' ^ -

Their doomsday-book from all-consunung heirs'

\
Ii
A
T

Porta.

POPC

ns to sleep
,'lo drop

itand^

^p';

Mira^

Chap* 6. ' P%'om%acuom Piece9,

Thus', with indulgence most severe', she treatf
Us Rpendthrirts <»l inestimable time^;
Uniioted', notes each moment niisapplv'd^;
In leaves more ilur;ible than lepves ol* brass'.
Writes our wliole bistorv'; which death sliaU read
In ev'ry pale delinfiuent s private ear'';
And judgment piibiisli^; publisli to more worlds
Than tjus'; and endless age hi groans resound^

SECTION XVII.

On an infant.

1 TO the dark and silent tomb',
Soon I hasten'd from the womb^;
Scarce the dawn of lite began',
Ere I measur'd out my span\

2 I no smiling pleasures knew^:
I no gay delights could viewS
Joyless sojourner was I',
Only born to weep' and die\ —

3 Happy infant', early bless'd''
Rest', in peaceful slumber', resO;
Early rescu'd from the cares',
Which increase with growing years

4 No delights are worth thy stay'.
Smiling', as they seem', and gay^;
Short and sickly are they all'.
Hardly tasted ere they palP.

5 All our gayety is vain\
All our laughter is but pain^^
Lasting only', and divine'
Is an innocence hke thine^

SECTION xvm.

The cuckoo.

1 HAIL', beauteous stranger of the wood'
Attendant on the springM

Now heav'n repairs tny rural seat', »
And woods tny welcome sing\

2 Soon as the daisy decks the ffreen',
Thy c( rtain voice we hear:

Hast thou a star to guide thy path',
Or mark the rolling yeaf'r

Delightful vioitant'! with thee
I nail the time of fiow'rs',

387

TOUKO.

» > '!ir.

ass Tlie English Reader

When heav'n is fill'd with music sweet
Of birds among the bow'rH.

4 The school-boy', wand'ring in the wood'.

To pull the flow'rs so gay',
Starts , thy curious voice to hear',
And imitates thy lay\

5 Soon as the pea puts on the bloom',

Thou fly'st the vocal vale\
An annual guest', in other lands'.
Another spring to haiP.

6 Sweet bird'', thy bow'r is ever green'.

Thy sky is ever clear^:
Thou nast no sorrow in thy song',
No winter in thy yearM

7 could I fly', I'd fly with thee';

We'd make', with social wing'.
Our annual visit o'er the globe'
Companions of the spring'.

SECTION XIX.
Day. A pastoral in three parts.

MORNING.

1 IN the barn the tenant cock'.

Close to partlet perch'd on high'.

Briskly crows' (the shepherd's clock'!)

Jocund that the morning's nigh\

2 Swiftly', from the mountain's brow',

ShadoAvs'j nurs'd by night', retire';
And the peeping sunbeam', now',
Paints with gold tlie village 8pire\

3 Philomel forsakes the thorn'.

Plaintive where she prates at night'.
And the lark to meet the morn'.
Soars beyond the shepherd's sight'.

4 From the low-rooPd cottage ridge',

See the chatt'ring swallow sprin»\

Darting through the one-arch'a bridge'

Quicic she dips her dappled wing\

5 Now the pine-tree's waving top',

Gently greets the morning gfale ,
Kidliiig^'j how', begin to crop
Daisies', on the dewy dale'

6 From the balmy sweets', uncloy'd'j

(Restlesa till her task be done',)

PaH % I Ch

LOOAV.

19 :

16 1

P<xH ^ I ^f^^p* ^*

Promiicwnu Pieee$,

S89

LOOAir*

ts.

I'.

ge'

Now the busy bee 's employed',
Sipping dew beibre the 8un\

7 Trickling through the crevicM rock',

Where the limpid stream distils'.
Sweet refreshment waits the flock'.
When 'tis sun-drove from the hill8\

8 Colin 's for the promis'd corn',

(Ere the harvest hopes are ripe'.)
Anxious^; — whilst the huntsman's horn',
Boldly sounding', drowns his pipe\

9 Sweet' — sweet', the warbling throng'.

On the white emblossom'd sprayM
Nature's universal song',
Echoes to the rising day\

NOON.

10 Fervid on the glitt'ring flood'.

Now the noontide radiance glowed
Drooping o'er its infant bud',
Not a dew-drop 's left the rose\

11 By the brook the shepherd dines'.

From the fierce meridian heat',
Shelter'd by the branching pines',
Pendent o'er his grassy seat\

12 Now the flock forsakes the glade',

Where', uncheck'd', the sunbeams fall\
Sure to find a pleasing shade'
By the ivy'd abbey waU\

13 Echo', in her airy round',

O'er the river\ rock\ and hill',
Cannot catch a single sound'.
Save the clack of yonder miU\

14 Cattle court the zephvrs bland',

W^here the streamlet wanders cooP;
Or with languid silence stand'
Midway m the marshy pool\

19 But from mountain\ dell\ or stream'.
Not a flutt'ring zephyr sprin^^;
Fearful lest the noontide beam'7
Scorch its soft', its silken wing8\

16 Not a leaf ha^ leave to stir^;

Nature's lull'd^ — serene' — and stiM^j
Quiet e'en the shepherd's cur'.
Sleeping on the neath-clad hill\

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17 Languid is the landscape round',

Till the fresh descending showV,
Gratefu! to the thirsty ground',
Raises ev'ry fainting flow'r\

18 Now the hiir — the hedge''-

are green\

Now the warbler's throat's in tune';
Blithesome is tiie verdant scene',
Brighten'd by the beams of Noon^!

EVENING.

19 O'er the heath the heiler strays

Fre.e^; (the fiirrow'd task is done^;)
Now the village windows blaze',
Burnish'd by the setting suii\

20 Now he sets behind the liilK,

Sinking from a golden sky^:
Can the pencil's mimic skill',
Copy the refulgent dye'?

21 Trudging as the ploughmen go',

(To tha smoking hamlet bound',)
Giant-like their shadows grow',
Lengthen'd o'er the level ground^^

22 Where the rising forest spreads

Shelter for the lordly dome'!
To their high-built airy beds'.
See the rooks returning homeM

23 As the lark', with vary'd tune',

Carols to the ev'ning loud';
Mark the mild resplendent moon',
Breaking through a parted cloud\

24 Now the hermit owk;t peeps'.

From the barn' or twisted brake^;
And the blue mist slowlv creeps',

Curling on the silver lake^.
23 As the trout in speckled pride', •'

Playful from its bosom springs';
To the banks a ruffled tide'.

Verges in successive rings^.

26 Tripping through the silken grass'.

O'er the path-divided dale ,
Mark the rose-comfjlexion'd lass',
With her well-pois'd milking i»il'

27 Linnets with unnumber'd notes'.

And the cuckoo bird with two',

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Promiscuous Pieces,

241

Tuning sweet their mellow throats',
Bid the setting sun adieti^

CCHIflNaHAM.

SECTION XX.

T/te order of nature,

1 SEE, through this air, this ocean, and this earth,
All matter quick, and bursting into birth.
Above, how high progressive life may go !
Around, how wide ! how deep extend below ;
Vast chain of being ! which irom God began,
Nature ethereal, human ; angel, man ;

Beast, bird, fish, insect, what no eye can see,
No glass can reach ; from infinite to thee,
From thee to nothing.— On superior pow'rs
Were we to press, inferior might on ours ;
Or in the full creation leave a void.
Where, one step broken, the great scale's destroy'd :
From nature's chain whatever link you strike,
Tenth or ten-thousandth, breaks the chain alike.

2 And, if each system in gradatioil roll.
Alike essential to the amazing whole.
The least confusion but in one, not all
That system only, but the whole must fall.
Let earth, unbalanc'd. from her orbit fly.
Planets and suns run lawless through the sky ;
Let ruling anyels from their spheres be liurFd,
Being on oeing wreck'd, and world on world ;
Heav'n's whole foundations to their centre nod,
And nature trembles to the throne of God.

All this dread order break— for whom ? for thee ?
Vile worm ! Oh madness ! pride ! impiety !

3 What if the foot ordain'd the dust to tread,
Or hand, to toil, aspir'd to be the head ?
What if the head, the eye, or ear repin'd
To serve mere engines to the ruling mind ?
Just as absurd for any part to claim

To be another, in this gen'ral frame :

Just as absurd, to mourn the tasks or pains>

The great directing mind of all. ordains.

4 All are but parts of one stupendous whole,
Whose body nature is, and God the soul :

That, chang'd through all, and yet in all the some.
Great in the earth, as in th' ethereal fiAme ;
Warms in tlie sun, refreshes in the breeze,
Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees ; ' '
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lives throuffh all life, extends through all extent,
Spreads undivided, operates unspent ;
Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part.
As fu<l, as perfect, in a hair as heart ;
As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns,
As the rapt seraph that adores and burns :
To him no high, no low, no great, no small ;
He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all.
5 Cease ihen, nor order imperfection name :
Our proper bliss depends on what we blame.
Know tny own point : this kind, this due degree
Of blindness, weakness, Heav'n bestows on uiee.
Submit. — In this, or any other sphere,
Secure to be as blest as thou canst bear:
Safe in the hand of one disposing Pow'r,
Or in the natal, or tlie mortal hour.
A.11 nature is but art, unknown to thee ;
All chance, direction, which thou canst not see )
All discord, harmony not understood ;
All partial evil, universal ^ood ;
And, spite of Pride, in erring j^^on's spite,
One truth is clear — ^whatever 1j^ is right. POFli

SECTION XXI.

Confidence in divine protection.

1 HOW are tny servants blest, O Lord/

How sure is their defence !
Eternal wisdom is their guide.
Their help Omnipotence.

2 In foreign realms, and lands remote.

Supported by thy care.
Through burning climes I pass'd unhurt,
And breath'd m tainted air.

3 Thy mercy sweeten'd ev*ry soil,

Made ev'ry region please ;
The hoary Alpine hills it warm'd.
And smoothed the Tyrrhene seas.

4 Think, my soul, devoutly think.

How, witn affrighted eyes.
Thou saw'st the wide extended deep
In all its liorrors rise !

5 Confusran dwelt in ev'ry fkce,

And fe«r in ev'ry heart.
When waves on waves, and gulfii in gulfi,
O'eroame the pilot's art

Part 2.
:tent,

egrec
I thee.

tseo)

T. WW.

Cb4ip,B.

PromiscuouB Pieeet,

6 Yet then, from all my ffriefs, O Lord 1

Thy mercy set me free ;
While in the confidence of pray'r,
My soul took hold on thee.

7 For though in dreadful whirls we hung

High on the broken wave,
I knew thou wert not slow to hear,
Nor impotent to save.

8 The storm was laid, the winds retir*d.

Obedient to thy will;
The sea that roar'd at thy command,
At thy command was still.

9 In midst of dangers, fears, and deaths.

Thy goodness I'll adore ;
A.nd praise thee for thy mercies past.
And humbly hope for more.

\i L ~.v ife, if thou preserve my life,
i" hv sacrifice shall be ;
And death, if death must be my doom.
Shall join my soul to thee.

SECTION xxn.

tlltl

ADDISOV.

Hymn on a review of the seasons,

ll THESE, as they change, Almighty Father! these.
Are but the varied God. The rolhng year
Is full of thee. Forth in the pleasing spring
Thy beauty walks. Thy tenderness and love.
Wide flush the fields ; the soil'ning air is balm;
Echo the mountains round ; the forest smiles.
And ev'ry sense, and ev'ry heart is joy.
Then comes Thy glory in the summer months.
With light and heat refulgent. Then Thy sun
Shoots full perfection through the swelling year ;
And oil Thv voice in dreadful thunder speaks ;
And oil at dawn, deep nuon, or falling eve.
By brooks and groves, in hollow-whisp*ring gales.
Thy bounty shines in autumn unconfin'd.
And spreads a common feast for all that uvea.
In winter, awful Thou ! with clouds and storms
Around Thee thrown, tempest o'er tempest roU'd,
Majestic darkness ' On the whirlwind's wing,
Riding sublime. Thou bidst the world adore ;
And humblest nature with Thy nortliem blast.
j Mysterious round ! what skUl, what force divine.
Deep felt in these appear ! a simple train.

i.;ii"

244

The English Rf4ider,

Part 2

Yet so delightful mix'd, with such kind art,
Such beauty and beaencence combined;
Shade, unperceiv'd, so soiTnin^ into shade,
And all so forming an harmonious whole^
That as they still succeed, they ravish still.

5 But wand'ring oft. with brute unconscious gaze,
Man marks not Thee, marks not the mighty hand,
That, ever busy, wheels the silent spheres ;
Works in the secret deep ; shoots, steaming, thence
The fair profusion that o'erspreads the spring ;
Flings from the sun direct the flaming day ;
Feeds every creature; hurls the tempest forth ;
And, as on earth this grateful change revolves,
With transport touches ail the springs of life.

6 Nature, attend! join ev ry living soul,
Beneatli the spacious temple ofthe sky,
In adoration join ! and, ardent, raise
One general song !

Ye, chief, for whom the whole creation smiles,
At once the head, the heart, and tongue of all.
Crown the great hymn !

7 For me, when I forget the darling theme.
Whether the blossom blows ; the summer ray
Russets the plain ; inspiring autumn gleams ;
Or winter r'ses in the olack'ning east ;

Be my tongue mute, my fancy paint no more.
And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat !

8 Should fate command me to the farthest verge
Ofthe green earth, to distant barb'rous climes,
Rivers unknown to song ; where first the sun
Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting bean;
Flames on th' Atlantic isles ; 'tis nought to me ;
Since God is ever present, ever feli>

In the void waste as in the city full ;

And where he vxtai oreathes ^here must be joy.

9 When e'en at last the solemn hour shall come.
And winff my mystic flight to future worlds,

I cheerful win obey ; there with new pow'rs,

Will rising wonciers sing : I cannot go

Where universal love not smiles around,

Sustainmg all yon orbs, and all their suns;

From seeming evil still educing good.

And better thence again, and better still, .•:

In infinite progression. But I lose

Pari 2

Promiscuous Pieces.

245

Chap. 6.

Myself in r:m, in H^ht ineffable!

Come then, expressive silence, muse his praise.

THOMSON.

SECTION XXIII.
On solitude.

1 O SOLITUDE, romantic maid !
Whether by noddinff towers you tread.
Or haunt the desert^ trackless gloom,
Or hover o'er the yawning tomb,

Or climb the Andes' clifted side,
Or by the Nile's coy source abide.
Or, starting from your half-year's sleep,
From Hecla view the thawmg deep.
Or, at the purple dawn of day,
Tadmor's marble waste survey ;

You, recluse, again I woo.

And again your steps pursue.

2 Plum'd conceit himself surveying,
Folly with her shadow playing.
Purse-proud elbowing insolence,
Bloatea empiric, puflrd pretence,
Noise that through a trumpet speaks,
Laughter in loud peals that breaks,
Intrusion, with a lopling's face,
(Ignorant of time and place,)
Sparks of fire dissension blowing.
Ductile, court-bred flattery bowmg,
Restraint's stiff neck, grimace's leer,
Squint^y-'d censure's artful sneer,
Ambition's busking steep'd in bloody
Fly thy presence, Solitude !

) Sage reflection, bent with years,

Conscious virtue, void of fears,

Muffled silence, wood-n)nmph shy,

Meditation's piercing eye,

Halcyon peace on moss reclin'd, ^

Retrospect that scans the mind,

Rapt earth-razing revery,

Blushing artless modesty,
. Health that snuffs the morning air,

Full-ey'd truth with bosom bare.

Inspiration, nature's child.

Seek the solitary wild.
I When all nature's hu8h*d asleep,

Nor love, nor guilt, their vigils keep»

(39 g)

■^>^'

I: I

246 The Engltah Reader.

Soft you leave your cavern'd den,
And wander o'er the works of men ;
But when Phospiior brings the dawn,
By her dappled coursers drav,^n,
Again you to your wild retreat,
And ^e early huntsman meet, '
Where, as you pensive pass along,
You catch the distant shepherd's song,
Or brush from herbs the pearly dew.
Or the rising primrose view.
Devotion lends her heav'n-plum'd wings,
You mount, and nature with you sings.

5 But when the midday fervours glow,
To upland airy shades you go,
Where never sunburnt woodman came.
Nor sportsman chas'd the timid game :
And there, beneath an oak recliird,
With drowsy waterfalls behind,

You sink to rest^

Till the tuneful bird of night.

From the nei^hb'ring poplar s height.

Wake you with her solemn strain^

And teach pleas'd echo to complain.

6 With you roses brighter bloom,
vSweeter ev'ry sweet perfume ;
Purer ev'ry fountain flows.
Stronger ev'ry wilding grows;
Let those toil for gold who please,
Or lor fame renounce their ease.
W^hat is fame ? An empty bubble :
Gold? A shining, constant trouble.
liCt them for their countrj^ bleed !
What was Sidney's, Raleigh's meed ?
Man's not worth a moment's pain;
Base, ungrateful, fickle, vain.

7 I'hen let me, sequester'd fair.
To your sybil grot repair ;
On yon hanging cliff it stands,
Scoop'd by nature's plastic hands,
Bosom'd in the gloomy shade

Of cypress not with age decay'd ;
Where the owl still hootin* sits.
Where the bat incessant flits ;
There in loftier strains I'll sing '
Whence the changing seasons spring;

Porlf.

'- ''.-I

Parti.

Chop* 6.

Promiacuotu Pieces,

247

■- ?.i

Tell how storms deform the skies^
* "Whence the waves subside and nse,
Trace the comet's blazing tail,
Weigh the planets in a scale ;
Bend, great God, before thy shrine ;
The Dournless macrocosm's thine.

8 Since in each scheme of lile I've fail'd,
And disappointment seems entail'd ;
Since all on earth I valu'd most,
My guide, my stay, my friend is lost ;
O Solitude, now give me rest,
And hush the tempest in my breast.

gently deign to guide my feet

To your hermit-trodden seat ; "

Where I may live at last my own,
Where I at last may die unknown.

1 spoke ; she turn'd her magic ray ;
And thus she said, or seem d to say :

9 Youth, you 're mistaken, if you think to find
In shades, a med'cine jbr a troubled mind :
Wan grief wih haunt you wheresoe'er you go,
Sigh in the breeze, and in the streamlet How.
There pale inaction pines his life away :
And satiate mourns the quick return of day :
There, naked frenzy laughing wild with pain,
Or bares the blade, or plungts in the main :
There superstition broods o'er all her lears.
And yells of demons in the zephyr hears.
But if a hermit you 're resolv'd to dwell.
And bid to social life a last farewell ;
'Tis impious. —

10 God never made an independent man ;
'Twould jar the concord of his general plan.
See every part of that stupendous whole,
"Whose body nature is, and God the soul ;"
To one great end, the general good, conspire,
From matter, brute, to man, to seraph, fire.
Should man through nature solitary roam,
His will his sovereign, every where his home,
What force would guard him from the lion's jaw.?
What swiftness wing him from the panther's paw .?
Or, should late lead him to some safer shore.
Where panthers never prowl, nor lions roar.
Where liberal nature all her charms bestows.
Suns shine, birds sing, flowers bloom, and water flows;

(31 g)

!ir

248

The English Reader.

Partt,

v'i I

'':■;]■ .|;

i 1^

Fool, dost thou think he 'd revel on the store,
Absolve the care of Heav'n, nor ask for more ?
Though waters flow'd, flovv'rs bloora'd, and Phcebusshooet
He 'd sigh, he 'd murmur, that he was alone.
For know, the Maker on the human breast
A sense of kindred, coxmtry, man, impressed.

1 1 Though nature's works the ruling mind declare,
And well deserve inquiry's serious care,
The God, (whate*er misanthropy may say,)

Shines,^ " '""^ " — r^-j-/

Whsi

Ha.„

What boots through space's iartfiest bourns to roam ?

H'thou, O man, a stranger art at home.

Tlicn know thyself, the human mind survey;

The use, the pleasure^ will the toil repay.

12 Nor study only, practice what you know;
Your life, your knowledge, to mankind you owe.
With Plato's olive wreath the bays entwine ;
Those who in study, should in practice shine.
Say, does the learned lord of Ha^Iey's shade,
Ciinrni man so much by mossy fountains laid.
As when arous'd, he stems corruption's course,
And shakes the senate with a Tully's Ibrcer
When freedam gasp'd beneath a Csesar's feet.
Then public virtue might to shades retreat :
But where she breathes, the least may useful be,
And freedom, Britain, still belongs to thee.

13 Though man 's ungrateful, or though fortune frown,
Is the reward of worth a song^ or crown ?
Nor yet imrecompens'd are virtue's pains ;
Good[ Allen lives, and bounteous Brunswick reigns.
On each condition disappointments wait,
Enter the hut and force the guarded gate.

,Nor dare repine, though early friendship bleed,
From love, the world, and all its cares, he 's freed.
But know, adversity 's the child of God :
Whom Heav'n approves of most, must feel her rod.
When smooth ola Ocean, and each storm 's asleep,
Then ignorance may plough the watery deep ;
But when the demons of the tempest rave.
Skill must conduct the vessel through the wave.

14 Sidney, what good man envies not thy blow?
Who would not wish Anytus* — for a foe ?
Intrepid virtue triumphs ov6r fate ;

* One or the accuse*^ o'' Socrates.

Senc.

Sect.

»ect.

■t '

Partt,

re,

•re?

Phcebiushonei

«.

clare,

CONTENTS.

249

Iray.

►U?

IS to roam ?

The good can never be unibrtunate.
And be this maxim graven in thy mind ;
The height of virtue is to serve mankind.
But when old age has silver'd o'er thy head,
When memory Tails, and all thy vigour's fled,
Then mayst thou seek the stilbiess of retreat,
Then hear aloof the human tempest beat;
Then ^vill I greet thee to my woodland cave,
Allay the pangs of age, and smooth thy grave.

GRIINGER.

CONTENTS.

jy;

I owe.

le;

ne.

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id,
|urse,

eet,

•

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ae frown,

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eed,
s freed.

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PART I.
PIECES IN PROSE.

CHAPTER I. r«f«

Select Sentences and Paragrapht. . . • 17
CHAPTER II. ,

Narrative Pieces.
Secc. 1. No rank or possessions can make the guilty mind happj • > 33

3. Change or external condition after adverse to virtue • • 83

8. Hamah ; or tiie misery of pride ...••*>34

4. Lady Jane Grey ., ..S3

0. Ortogrul; or tlie vanity of ricliea • ... 83

fi. Tlie hill of science ......».40

7. The journey of a day ; a picture of human life • -43

CHAPTER III.

Didactic Pieces.
Sect. 1. The importance of a good education . • • • • > 46

2. On gratitude ^ 48

3. On lorgivencf?s ..........49

4. Motives to the practice of gentleness ..... 49
.5. A suspicious temper the source of misery to its possessor ■ .60

6. Comforts of religion --61

7. Diffidence of our abilities a mark of wisdom * • . .62,
3. On the importance of ordnr in the distribution of our time . 63

9. The dignity of virtue amidst corrupt exiimples • • . .63

10. The mortifications of vice greater tuan those of virtue . • 66

11. On contentment ...67

12. Rank and riches afford no ground for envy ... 60

13. raticnce under provocations our interest as well as duty • .61

14. Moderation in our wishes recommended .... 03
> -li. Omniscience an<l omnipresence of the Deity, the source uf con.

solacion to good men ..64

CHAPTER IV.
.», t ts^rgHm'inMivfiiPifce^., : - „, ,

hect. 1. Happine§a»a ^itjpitei^in ijiivltiifle-ofoonduct '• ' ' „ * ^
2. Virtue at\d ^Jiety maik's liwrhess interest ' * - <• * ," . • 69

' 3. The injustice W^rti miUhaii'iiuui'c spiriv '•• •••'.' . - QB

.-.".' • « • ' ','■'• ' • . ' •

■Ui

i I.

I.I-

250 CONTENTS.

Pan

Sect 4. The misrurtunes of men moatly chargeable on themaelrea > 70

5. On disinterested friendship ^^

6. On the immortality of the Boul 75

CHAPTER V.

Deaeriptive Pieeea.

Sect 1. The aeaaons 78

3. The cataract ofNiagara, in Canada, North America • •79
8. The grotto of Antiparos .80

4. Tiie grouo of AmiparoB, continued 81

a. Earthqudice at Catanea • • . . • 82

6. Creation -.- .......83

7. Charity ....89

8. Pruspority is redoubled to a good man ..... 84

9. On tne beauties of the Psalms .... .85

10. Character of Alfred, king of England .... 86

11. Character of Q,uoen Elizabeth ... . . 87

12. The slavery of vice 89

13. The man of integrity ...... .90

14. Gentleness .....91

CHAPTER VI.

Pathetic Pieces.
Sect. 1. Trial and execution of the Earl of Strafford .... 93

2. An eminent instance of true fortitude of mind • • • .94

3. The good man's comfort in aflliction ... 9a

4. Theclose-oflife 96

5. Exalted society, and the renewal of virtuous connexions, two

sources of future felicity 98

6. The clemency and amiable character of the patriarch Joseph • 99

7. Altamoiit 101

CHAPTER VII.

Dialcguea.
Sect. 1. Democritus and Heraclitus ....... W3

2. bionysius, Pythias, and Damon 105

3. Locke and Bayle • • 107

CHAPTER Vni.

Public Speech"^

Seel. 1. Cicero against Verres 112

2. Speecli of Adherbal to the Roman Senate, imploring their

protection aga'nstJugurtha 115

3. The Apostle Paul's noble defence before Festus and Agrippa US

4. Lord Mansfield's Bi)eech in tlie House of Lords, 1770, on the bill

for preventing the delays of justice; by claiming llie privilege

of parliament -...120

6. An address to young persons .•..-.. 124

CHAPTER IX.

Promiscftoua Pieeea.
Sect. 1. Earthquake at Calabria, in the year 1688 .... 127
2. Letter from Pliny to Geminius . • . . 130

5. Letter from Pliny to Marcellinus, on the death of an amiable

young woman ........ 131

4. On discretion ..........ISS

' 5. On the government of our thoughts ..... IM

6. On the evils which flow from unrestrained Dassions . . . 136
7 On 'he proper i<>jte.of.oiir te.n.per witli i ttfpliB^t lo t*ne another 137

8. Exoel)'?nce of tlit;IJoiy Scriptures .' - !. - . . .133

9. ]Bprtecfjo«ft(>ccaficnet{ by al'evifew of ih^.^l^s^ing^^ pronounced

.w by Chfist on iai^ diSci|fles, In his'sefmon on the mount • 140

smielTM

irica

.'To

. 76

03
94
95
96

connexions, two
triarch Joseph •

98
99
101

\03
IOj
107

loring their

IS and Aarippa
a, 1770, on the bill
tning the privilege

:i2

115

lis

120
124

eah of an amiable

sions . . •
, ;o (^ne another

, • ' • • •
lingfi pronounced
I the mount •

127

130

131
133
134

136
137
13i)

€)•

COM'ENTa 251

PtM

■««(. 10. Schcmea of lire often Ulueorf 141

U. ThapleatureaorTirtuousaenfibilUy I4S

13. On the true honour of man 'llfi

18. The influence of devotion on the happinesa of life • • •146

14. The planetary and terrestrial worlds comparatively considered 148
li. On the power of custom, and the uses to which it may be applied 160

. 16, The pleasures resulting from a proper use of our faculties ■ 163

17. Description of candour - • 133

18. On the imperfection of that happiness which rests solely on

> worldly pleasures 154

* 10. What are the real and solid enjuymenta of human life - 157

30. Scale of beings 158

31. Trust in the care of Providence recommended • • - 161
33. Piety and gratitude enliven prosperity 163

33. Virtue, when deeply rooteu, is not aubject to the influence of

fortune 164

34. The speech of Fabriciua, a Roman ambassador, to king Fyrrhua 165

35. Character of James I. king of England 166

36. Charlea V. emperor of Germany, russigna his domlniona, and

retirea from the world ....... 167

97. The aame aubject continued 170

9ect. 1.
3.
3.
V 4.
6.
6.

Sect. 1.
2.
8.
<- 4.
6.
C.

Sect

9.
10.
11.

PART II.
PIECES IN POETRY

CHAPTER I.

Select SenteiKca and Paragrafha.

Short and easy sentences 173

Verses in which the lines are of different length • • • 174
Verses containing exclamations, interrogations, and parentheses 175

Verses in various forms 177

Verses in which sound corresponds to signification ... 179
Paragraphs of greater length 180

CHAPTER II.
Narrative Pieces.
The bear and the bees ........]83

The nightingale and the glow-worm 183

The trials of virtue -184

The youth and the philosopher - 1S6

Discourse between Adam and Eve, retiring to rest • - .187
Religion and death 189

CHAPTER III.

Didactic Pieces.

The vanity of wealth -191

Nothing formed in vain - - 19-i

On pride IPS

Cruelty to brutes censured - 193

Aparaphraseontlic latter part of the dth chapter of Matthew • 194
The death of a good man o strong incentive to virtue - - 195
Reflections on a future stnte, froui a review of winter - - 195
Adam's advice to Eve, to avoid temptation • - - • 196

On procrastination •- |97

That philosophy which stops at secondary causes, reproved 108

Indignant sentiments on national prejudices and hatred ; and OH
slavery - - . - - • - - 198

- I

■n

:"»''

S62 COMTEIfTS.

CHAPTER lY.
Dueriptivt Piteu, Pift

UtH. 1. Themominf Iniummer aoo

3. RuflI ■ounoi, u well m rural ligbis, dtlightful • • •301

8. The roee 303

«. Care or birds for their young 303

A Liberty and elayerv contraaied 303

0. Charity. A paranliraae on the 13th chapter of the First Epiitla

to the Corintmana 304

7. Picture of a good man 305

8. The pleasure! of retirement 307

9. The pleasure and benefit of an improved and wen<dlrscted

imagination 309

CHAPTER V.

Pathetic Piece$,

•ect. 1. The hermit 309

3. The beggar's petition 311

& Unhappy close of life ••■313

4. Elegy to pity 313

6. Vers'is supposed to be written bv Alexander Selkirk, during

his solitary abode in the Island of Juan Femandei • • 313

6. Gratitude 314

7. A man perishing in the snow ; flrom whenca reflections are

raised on the miseries of Ufa ••••.. 316

Si A morning hymn 317

CHAPTER VI.
Promitcwms Ptecea.

Sect. 1. Ode to content '..••••
3. The shepherd and the philosopher • . •

3. The road to happiness open to all men •

4. The goodness of Proryence ...
6 The Creator's works attest his greatness

6. Address to the Deity

7. The pursuit of happiness often ill-directed

8. The fire-side

9. Providence vindicated in the present state of man

10. Selfishness reproved .....

11. Human frailty ....
13. Ode to peace ^ . • . .

13. Ode to adveruity ....

14. The Creation required to praise ita Author

15. The universal prayed ...

16. Conscience .....

17. On an infant . . . > •

18. The cuckoo .....

19. Day. A pastoral in three parts •

50. The order of nature ...

51. Confidence in divine protection
tS. Hymn, on a review of the seasons •
98. On soUtuda

V - THEENR

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333
333
333
334
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339
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