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 ESSAYS 
 
 O N 
 
 FRIENDSHIP AND OLD-AGE, 
 
 B Y T H E 
 
 MARCHIONESS DE LAMBERT. 
 
 -
 
 ESSAYS 
 
 O N 
 
 FRIENDSHIP AND OLD-AGE, 
 
 B Y T H E 
 
 MARCHIONESS DE LAMBERT. 
 
 Que tout ce qu'elle dit eft grace ; 
 
 Tout ce qu'elle penfe, raifon. LA MOTTE. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH, 
 
 BY A ' L A D Y. 
 
 WITH AN 
 
 INTRODUCTORY LETTER 
 T o 
 
 WILLIAM M E L MOT H, ESQ.. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR J. DODSLEY, PALL-MALL. 
 M. DCC. LXXX.
 
 INTRODUCTORY LETTER, 
 
 T o 
 
 WILLIAM MELMOTH, ESQ. 
 
 DEAR SIR, 
 
 AS you have led me, though 
 not intentionally, intothofe 
 perils, that attend a novice in 
 publication, I flatter myfelf you 
 will pardon the liberty I take in 
 recommending the two following 
 little efiays to your prote&ion. 
 
 AS In 
 
 -f > ." .- 
 
 J
 
 6 INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 
 
 In perufing your elegant tranf- 
 lation of Laelius, iwas mortified to 
 find, that in fpeaking of the dif- 
 tinguiflied modern writers on 
 Friendfhip, you had omitted the 
 name of the amiable Marchionefs 
 de Lambert, whofe effay on the 
 fubjed: I had read with infinite 
 pleafure, and perhaps with that 
 partiality, which, women gene- 
 rally difcover towards an author 
 of their own fex. 
 
 My regard for this excellent 
 moralift, tempted me, upon this 
 occafion, to enquire in what 
 drefs fhe had been prefented to 
 our country ; and the only tranf- 
 lation of tjiefe treatifes that I 
 could difcover, appeared to me fo 
 very unworthy of the original, 
 
 that
 
 INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 7 
 that I could not help feeling a 
 defire to give the Englifh reader 
 a more adequate idea of their 
 merit. How far I have been able 
 to fucceed, I am now to learn 
 from the Public, as I dare not 
 utterly confide in the approba- 
 tion of a few partial friends. 
 Let me honeftly confefs, that I 
 not only engaged in a new verfion 
 of the eflays in queftion, becaufe 
 they appeared to me not fo well 
 tranflated as fome of her other 
 works, but from an ambition of 
 placing her treatifes on Friendship 
 and Old- Age by the fide of your 
 Laelius and Cato : happy, were I 
 able to enrich my tranflation with 
 fuch biographical and critical re- 
 marks, as give to your's fo confi- 
 derable a portion of original me- 
 A 4 rit I
 
 8 INTRODUCTORY LETTER, 
 rit! but I muft content myfelf 
 with barely relating, in this pre- 
 face, the few particulars, which I 
 have been able to colled: concern- 
 ing my author, from the writers 
 of her country. 
 
 The Marchionefs de Lambert 
 was the only daughter of Ste- 
 phen de Marguenot, Seigneur 
 de Courcelles, and born in the 
 year 1647: fhe loft her father 
 when {he was yet an infant; a 
 circumftance that proved, in its 
 confequences, the ocean* on of her 
 early and uncommon progrefs in 
 literature ; for by the fecond 
 marriage of her mother fhe fell 
 under the care of the celebrated 
 Bachaumont, who wrote, in con- 
 junction with the fprightly poet 
 LaChappelle, the pleafant motley 
 
 compofition 
 9
 
 INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 9 
 competition in profe and verfe, 
 which bears the name of thefe 
 lively friends. He was, as Vol- 
 taire has remarked, one of the 
 moft amiable and accomplifhed 
 characters of his age, and culti- 
 vated, with great pleafure and 
 affedion, that early paffion for 
 letters, which his little daughter- 
 in-law foon began to difplay. 
 Under the care of fo engaging a 
 preceptor, fhe acquired that fund 
 of elegant and ufeful knowledge, 
 which afforded her fuch confi- 
 derable fupport in all the viciffi- 
 tudes of a long life, and which 
 has fecured to her a lafting re- 
 putation in the republic of let- 
 ters. 
 
 -At the age of nineteen flie was 
 
 married
 
 io INTRODUCTORY LETTER, 
 married to Henry de Lambert, 
 Marq ns de Saint Bris, lieutenant- 
 general, and governor of Luxem- 
 burg, who died in 1686, leaving 
 her a fon and daughter, on 
 whofe education fhe exerted the 
 utmoft powers of her affectionate 
 mind, which are beautifully dif~ 
 played in her two eflays of 
 advice, addreiGTed to her chil- 
 dren. 
 
 On the death of her hufband, 
 fhe was perfecuted with long 
 and vexatious law-fuits, in which 
 her whole fortune was at ftake, 
 and in the conduct of which fhe is 
 faid to have given moft ftriking 
 proofs of a mafculine underftand- 
 ing. As thefe were happily ter- 
 minated in her favor, fhe pafied 
 
 the
 
 INTRODUCTORY LETTER. n 
 
 the remainder of her life in great 
 
 affluence, and chiefly in Paris, 
 
 where fhe died at the age of 
 
 Weighty-fix, in the year 1733. 
 
 It is fingular, that this lady, who 
 in general pofTefied fuchfolidityof 
 judgment, fhould, in one inftance, 
 be under the influence of a vulgar 
 prejudice, and confider it as un- 
 becoming a woman of her rank 
 to appear in the character of an 
 author. Her admirable efTays to 
 her children were firfl publifhcd 
 in a clandeftine manner, and their 
 appearance in the world gave her 
 fo much difquietude, that, as fhe 
 declares herfelf, in one of her 
 letters, fhe exerted her utmoft 
 efforts to fupprefs them ; and we 
 may juftly fay of her, what Pope 
 
 fays
 
 12 INTRODUCTORY LETTER, 
 fays of Shakefpeare, though on a 
 very different occafion, 
 
 ** She grew immortal in her own defpite." 
 
 Her extreme defire to prevent the 
 circulation of her writings, was 
 owing, indeed, in fome degree, to 
 the great (hare of natural modefty 
 which flie pofierTed, and ftill more, 
 I apprehend, to a painful dread 
 of that raillery to which every 
 French lady was expofed, who 
 ventured to engage deeply in any 
 literary purfuits, after the ap- 
 pearance of Moliere's admirable 
 comedy of the Femmes Savantes, 
 in 1672, which was, indeed, 
 fuppofed to glance a little at the 
 
 hotel de Lambert *. 
 
 Our 
 
 * This is aflerted in a few remarks pre- 
 nxed to the Femmes Savantes, in the laft oc- 
 tavo
 
 INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 13 
 Our author had, however, 
 the fpirit to become the cham- 
 pion of her fex, in a little eflky 
 which fhe compofed for the pe- 
 rufal of her friends, entitled, 
 "New Reflections on Women." 
 She here combats, with great 
 vivacity and judgment, the dan- 
 gerous ridicule of Moliere ; and 
 obferves, that the wit of this 
 comic writer had proved as pre- 
 judicial to female underftanding 
 in France, as the pleafantry of 
 Cervantes had to heroic valour in 
 
 tavo edition of Moliere j but the circumflance 
 appears to me improbable, as this comedy 
 was firft reprefented a few years after the 
 marriage of Madame de Lambert and her 
 literary affemblies did not, I believe, attract 
 the notice of the public till towards the latter 
 period of her life, 
 
 Spain.
 
 i 4 INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 
 Spain. Nor does fhe feem to 
 have exaggerated the ill effe&s 
 of that ridicule which {he fo 
 warmly oppofed, and of which 
 fhe was fo perfect a judge. A 
 living French author, of confi- 
 derable reputation, has repre- 
 fented this comedy of Moliere in 
 the fame point of view, in a very 
 entertaining effay concerning the 
 character, manners, and under- 
 Handing of women in different 
 ages. Having alluded to the 
 play of Moliere, he proceeds with 
 the following remarks : " Some 
 < c women, after this, applied 
 " themfelves to letters, and fome 
 * c cultivated the fciences; but the 
 f< example was far from general. 
 
 "In
 
 INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 15 
 c< In the moft enlightened of 
 " ages, knowledge was deemed 
 <c unpardonable in females. A 
 <c tafte for letters was considered 
 <c as a kind of incongruity in 
 " the Great, and as pedantry in 
 " Women. This fecret contempt, 
 worthy of our moft barbarous 
 anceftors, muft have impofed 
 particular reftraint on that fex, 
 " which is moft under the influ- 
 " ence of opinion. Some women 
 <c braved this prejudice, but fuch 
 " conduct was even cenfured as 
 " criminal. As all things that 
 " are excellent have their ex- 
 cc cefles, and as a bon mot fails 
 Cl not to operate as a reafon, in 
 <c blending what is ridiculous 
 * c with what is ufefuj, it became 
 
 <c 
 
 cc 
 
 CC
 
 1 6 INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 
 <c an eafy matter to difcredit 
 <c knowledge in women. Boi- 
 <c leau and Moliere fortified the 
 <c prejudice, by the authority of 
 " their genius. * . 
 
 " Thus, in the age of Lewis the 
 <c XlVth, women were reduced 
 * c to conceal themfelves in the 
 " purfuit of inftru&ion, and to 
 c be as much afliamed of know- 
 <c ledge, as they would have been 
 " of an intrigue in ages lefs po~ 
 <c liflied. Some, however, had 
 " the refolution to free them- 
 <c felves from that ignorance 
 " which was impofed on them 
 " as a duty ; but the greater 
 " number concealed this hardi- 
 <c nefs of fpirit, or, if they were 
 " fufpeded, took every meafure 
 
 " to
 
 INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 17 
 lc to avoid convi&ion, and al- 
 " lowed Friendfhip only to be 
 " their confident or their accom- 
 " plice." 
 
 This was particularly the cafe 
 with Madame de Lambert; who, 
 having defended her fex with 
 great fpirit, in the effay I have 
 mentioned, could not be pre- 
 vailed on to publifh that defence; 
 and in a letter to Monlieur de 
 St. Hyacinthe, then in London, 
 fhe exprefles her concern at its 
 having ftolen into the world. 
 She thanks him, at the fame time, 
 for an Englifh tranflation of her 
 work which he had fent her, and 
 juftifies herfelf in the following 
 manner, in anfwer to a very fin- 
 gular obfervation of her trarifla- 
 B tor,
 
 <c 
 cc 
 
 18 INTRODUCTORY LETTER, 
 tor, Mr. Lockman. " He fays 
 " in his preface, that what I have 
 written on women is my apolo- 
 gy I have never had occalion 
 " to make any. He accufes me of 
 " having a tender and a feeling 
 " foul. I deny not the charge ; 
 " it remains only to enquire to 
 cc what I have applied it." 
 
 I muft obferve, for the honor 
 of my author, that few perfons, 
 of any country, could have lefs 
 reafon to apprehend fuch an en- 
 quiry, as it is univerfally allowed 
 that her whole life was animated 
 by that fpirit of tendernefs and 
 virtue, which ftill charm us in 
 her writings. One of the moft 
 ftriking proofs of the high efteem 
 in which fhe was held by her 
 
 con-
 
 INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 19 
 Contemporaries, is found in a 
 letter of the amiable Fenelon, to 
 their common friend Monfieur 
 de Sacy, in which he fpeaks both 
 of her competitions and her cha- 
 racter in terms of the warmeft 
 admiration. 
 
 Voltaire happily obferves, 
 fpeaking of our author, in his 
 Age of Lewis the XlVth, " her 
 cc treatife on Friendship proves 
 " that he deferved herfelf to 
 tc have friends." There are alfo 
 many paflages in her letters, 
 which equally prove what ex- 
 alted ideas fhe entertained of this 
 noble fentiment, and how truly 
 formed her own heart was, both 
 to feel and infpire it. 
 
 B 2 One
 
 20 INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 
 
 One paflage in particular I 
 cannot help mentioning, as it pre- 
 fents a ftriking picture of her own 
 feelings, and preferves a pleafing 
 anecdote of an amiable Prince, 
 the accomplished but fhort-lived 
 difciple of the virtuous Fenelon. 
 In writing to her friend, on the 
 death of the Duke of Burgundy, 
 (he exclaims, " How great is 
 * your private lofs, my dear 
 " Sacy ! I muft acquaint you 
 <e with a circumftance that re- 
 * c lates to you, and which, per- 
 cc haps, you are yet to learn. I 
 <c had a friend in the houfliold 
 " of the Prince, who, enchanted 
 <c with his virtues, was continu- 
 " ally fpeaking of them to me. 
 
 "He
 
 INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 21 
 
 " He has told me, that as the 
 <c Prince was one day coming out 
 " of his chamber, where he had 
 " ready our treatife on Friendship, 
 cc he faid to him I have juft 
 " been reading a book, which has 
 " made me feel the misfortune 
 " of our rank. We cannot hope 
 <c to have friends ! We muft re- 
 " nounce the moft engaging fen- 
 timent in life. He felt, my 
 dear Sacy, the neceflity of 
 friendship. The fentiments of 
 <c nature had their full influence 
 tc over his heart, and majefty dif- 
 " appeared before them. He 
 " would have had friends, and 
 " he would not have chofen them 
 " from the crowd of his flatter- 
 
 cc 
 cc 
 
 cc 
 
 " ers/ 
 
 83 I hare
 
 22 INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 
 
 J have inferted this paffage, 
 both becaufe the letter is omitted 
 in the common Englifli tranfla-, 
 tion of my author's works, and 
 becaufe it (hews fhe was fuperior 
 to the little meannefs of jealoufy 
 towards a rival, who had written 
 on the fame fubje& with herfelf. 
 In her intimacy with Monfieur de 
 Sacy, fhe difplayed all the delicacy 
 of the moft refined friendfhip ; 
 and Monfieur d'Alembert makes 
 fuch pleafing mention of their 
 mutual regard, in his eulogy on 
 this writer, that I am tempted to 
 hazard a tranflation of the paf- 
 fage. 
 
 " The talents of Monfieur de 
 " Sacy, the reputation which he 
 " had acquired, the mildnefs of 
 
 "his
 
 INTRODUCTORY LETTER.' 23 
 " his character, and his manners, 
 c< procured his admiflion into an 
 " enchanting fociety, which is 
 " ftill remembered in our days, 
 " after a period of more than 
 " forty years; I mean that of the 
 " Marchionefs de Lambert. This 
 " lady aflembled at her houfe 
 " many celebrated writers, at the 
 " head of whom were Fontenelle 
 " and LaMotte, who united phi- 
 lofophy to the charms of lite- 
 rature, politenefs to talents, 
 and reciprocal efteem to emu- 
 lation. Madame de Lambert, 
 who was accufed of an excef- 
 five partiality for wit, and who 
 honored this reproach of fools, 
 " with an attention it hardly de- 
 <c ferved from her, anfwered it, 
 
 B 4 
 
 u 
 
 
 
 (C
 
 24. INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 
 
 " by admitting into this little 
 <c academy, more fplendid than 
 " numerous, fuch characters of 
 c< the court, as were moft diftin- 
 cc guifhed by their ftation and 
 <c their birth. In this aflembly 
 ** they did not liften to, or rather 
 c - { they were not acquainted with 
 that rigid and unjuft philofo- 
 phy, which, by imposing on 
 women a filence humiliating 
 to themfelves, and melancholy 
 to us, obliges them to conceal 
 cc their underftanding and their 
 <c knowledge, with as much foli- 
 c * citude as their moft fecret fenti- 
 <c ments and affections. They be- 
 <c lieved,on the contrary ^ and they 
 cc had the good fortune to expe- 
 ^ rience perpetually, in the pre~ 
 
 " fence 
 
 cc 
 cc 
 <c 
 <c
 
 cc 
 cc 
 cc 
 
 CC 
 
 cc 
 
 INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 25 
 <c fence of Madame de Lambert, 
 c< that a woman of virtue, deli- 
 <c cacy, and fentiment, animated 
 with genius, and every pleafing 
 accomplishment, was the prin- 
 cipal tie, and the moft at- 
 tradtive charm of a fociety fo 
 happily compofed ; a rare af- 
 " femblage of elegance and 
 " knowledge, of imagination and 
 " judgment, of politenefs and 
 " learning. It was in the midft 
 <c of this fociety that Monfieur 
 " de Sacy compofed his eflay on 
 c< Friendfhip. He addrefTed it 
 <c to Madame de Lambert ; and 
 " he was, indeed, much more her 
 * c friend, than the other men of 
 " letters whom fhe aflembled. 
 ic The intimacy of thefe were 
 
 only
 
 26 INTRODUCTORY LETTER. : 
 cc only agreeable to her, that of 
 cc Monfieur^ die Sacy was much 
 " more, it was neceffary to her 
 " happinefs. If the wit of Fon- 
 " tenelle and La Motte afforded 
 " her more refources of amufe- 
 " ment, fhe found in Monfieur 
 " de Sacy a fenfibility more con- 
 <c genial with her heart, and a 
 " foul more in unifon with her 
 <c own. Under the eyes of this 
 " worthy friend, fhe principally 
 cc compofed her excellent book, 
 <c entitled, Advice from a Mother 
 <c to her Son and Daughter ; a 
 " work in which delicacy of tafte 
 " is united to that of fentiment ; 
 " knowledge of the world, to the 
 " moft touching leffons of vir- 
 <c tue; and the lively graces of 
 
 ftile, 
 

 
 INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 27 
 * ( ftile, to the moft natural ex- 
 u prefllons of maternal tender- 
 " nefs." 
 
 Among the fmaller productions 
 of our author, there are three 
 very pleafing portraits of Mon- 
 fieur de Sacy, Fontenelle, and 
 La Motte, drawn with equal de- 
 licacy and difcernment ; and 
 among the Letters of the latter, 
 in the loth volume of his works, 
 there are feveral which give a 
 lively picture of the chofen foci- 
 ety which frequented the houfe 
 of my author, particularly one 
 from herfelf to the Duchefs of 
 Maine, who had exprefled the 
 moft eager defire to be admitted 
 into her weekly aflembly. Fon- 
 tenelle fuggefted the pleafantry
 
 a g INTRODUCTORY LETTER, 
 of addreffing the Duchefs, before 
 flie was admitted to their parties, 
 in the name of the day in which 
 the company afTembled. La 
 Motte, who had received parti- 
 cular compliments from her, was 
 
 prevailed on to write as their 
 
 * . 
 
 fecretary ; and to his letter Ma- 
 dame de Lambert added the fol- 
 lowing : 
 
 cc MADAME DE LAMBERT TO THE 
 
 A _ff 
 
 " DUCHESS OF MAINE. 
 
 ' jr 
 
 " BEHOLD, Madam, the ho- 
 
 T y^_ *y^-* 
 
 <c norable Tuefday, which comes 
 
 4 
 
 c to pay its homage to your Se- 
 " reneHighnefs. The great Fon- 
 c< tenelle, adorned with all his 
 " talents, equally the favorite of 
 " the ferious and the fportive 
 
 " Mufe,
 
 INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 29 
 
 <c Mufe, whofe reputation is un- 
 " bounded; fecretary, and almoft 
 " prefident of our academies, 
 " throws himfelf at your feet. 
 
 " The inflexible La Motte, 
 " who has endeavored to abolifh 
 " the adoration of Homer, and 
 " who has never burnt a grain of 
 " incenfe on his altar, throws a 
 " profufion of flowers on your's. 
 
 <c The Mentor of a great 
 4C Prince, who inftruds better 
 <c than Minerva, who has lent 
 
 new graces to Cicero, and is 
 
 lefs his tranflator than his rival, 
 u proftrates himfelf before your 
 " Serene Highnefs. 
 
 " The amiable Abbe de Brage- 
 " lonne, cherifhed by the Graces 
 " and the Mufes, and fo extolled 
 
 "by 
 
 <C 
 
 cc
 
 <c 
 cc 
 
 30 INTRODUCTORY LETTER; 
 
 " by you, is received into that 
 " band which celebrates your 
 " praifes. 
 
 " The exacl:, the precife, of 
 " rather precifion itfelf ; in 
 <c fhort, the great geometriciarij 
 " Moniieur de Mairan, comes to 
 <c renew that homage which he 
 has already had the honor to 
 pay you. 
 " You fee, Madam, that all 
 cc our great men place theif 
 glory in honoring you. It is 
 but jufl that the academy, 
 which is fo deeply indebted 
 to you, fhould make to your 
 Serene Highnefs their acknow-^ 
 ledgments in form. Our lan- 
 " g ua g e improves only when you 
 cc fpeak it, or when it fpeaks of 
 <c you. 
 
 " I (hall 
 
 . t 
 
 C( 
 
 cc 
 
 it 
 
 cc 
 
 cc
 
 INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 31 
 
 " I {hall expect you, Madam, 
 
 " with all the folicitude of that 
 
 " refpe&ful attachment, with 
 
 " which I am, 
 
 i ,4 o4^^^ 
 
 " MADAM, 
 
 
 
 " Your moft humble, and 
 
 " Moft obedient Servant." 
 
 % 
 " Paris y Auguft 23, 1726." 
 
 The anfwer of the Duchefs 
 expreffes, in a lively manner, 
 the moft flattering efteem for our 
 author. Thus pofTefTed of ge- 
 neral regard, and equally honor- 
 ed by the applaufe of grandeur 
 and of wit, fhe pafled her latter 
 days in the moft refined pleafures 
 
 of
 
 3* INTRODUCTORY LETTER, 
 of feled fociety, and thofe fu- 
 perior delights which attend the 
 exercife of every generous virtue. 
 All thefe, however, were much 
 checquered by the infirmities of a 
 tender conftitution by the com- 
 mon maladies of old-age, and ftill 
 more by the death of her daugh- 
 ter, which happened two years 
 before her own. 
 
 I have now given you the beft 
 account that I have been able to 
 colled:, of an author whom I ne- 
 ver review without enthufiaftic 
 admiration : but I can affure you, 
 I am fo far from being vain of 
 the performance, that I have ftill 
 an earneft defire to fee more 
 juftice done to her inftrudive 
 2 character,
 
 INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 33 
 
 character, by a much abler 
 
 hand. 
 
 As you have mentioned her 
 
 friend Monfieur de Sacy with ho- 
 nor, in the advertifement to your 
 Laelius, allow me to hope, that 
 in your next edition of that 
 work, you will not omit the 
 name of the Marchionefs de 
 Lambert. 
 
 I am not Singular in this wifh, 
 but fhare it with many friends, 
 who are equally admirers with 
 me, both of your writings and 
 of her's ; and particularly one, 
 who has given me leave to clofe 
 my preface with the following 
 Stanzas but before I tranfcribe 
 them, allow me to allure you, 
 C that
 
 34 INTRODUCTORY LETTER. 
 
 that I am, with the trueflLefleem 
 for your literary talents, and ftill 
 more for your private virtues, 
 
 DEAR SIR, 
 
 Tour Jincere friend, 
 and obedient Servant, 
 
 
 E. H. 
 
 1 O
 
 ...... ..,.___.. 
 
 ' Dflfi ,23JH 
 lliV 3Ji 
 
 T O 
 WILLIAM MELMOTH, Efq; 
 
 On his omitting the name of the Marcbionefs 
 de Lambert, in his account of the celebra- 
 ted Modern Writers on Friendlhip. 
 
 HASTE, gentle MELMOTH, 
 Beauty's friend, 
 Whofe fpirit glories to commend 
 
 Each talent {he difplays ; 
 And nobly fcorns that Cynic pride, 
 Which oft to Woman has deny'd 
 The palm of letter'd praife : 
 
 C 2 O hafte !
 
 "\} f i Q'^ ftsv* 1 1 * fnofi i A/ -. Y-J-J'^ 
 O haile ' thy hard neglect retrieve, 
 
 For which the wounded Graces grieve. 
 
 And mourn their LAMBERT'S lot: 
 . 
 
 To think her page, to them fo dear, 
 
 jHpnrliJQi Jorusq 3m n 
 Is, by the critic they revere, 
 
 
 Contemptuoufly forgot. 
 
 But, as the voice of Fame will own, 
 
 oiib e x x 
 
 For fuch offences to alone 
 
 ^i i n i i noxH 
 
 Thou haft the happy power : 
 
 , . . M TCl333i 
 
 As the poor annual decays, 
 This rhyme may perifh, but thy praife 
 Is a perennial flower. 
 
 Then in thy foft Virgilian profe, 
 That with poetic fweetnefs flows, 
 Whofe beauties will outlive 
 The ruder verfe I vainly frame, 
 
 To 'lovely LAMBERT'S injur'd name 
 
 
 
 Full retribution give ! 
 i Thv
 
 W. MELMOTH, ESCL 37 
 
 Thy TULLY, whom all eyes confefs 
 So graceful in thy Englifh drefs, 
 
 To Man confines his aim, 
 When he makes age forget its ills, 
 Or in the patriot foul inftills 
 
 True Friendfhip's kindred flame : 
 
 But LAMBERT, Learning's fofter pride, 
 Her fex's unafTuming guide, 
 
 Exerts a nicer art -, 
 Her precept from Caprice withdraws, 
 And forms to philofophic laws 
 
 The lighter female heart. 
 
 'Tis her's to teach the vain coquette 
 To bear, unwounded by regret, 
 
 The lofs of youthful grace j 
 And in the cultur'd mind difplay 
 Charms, that compenfate and o'erpay 
 
 The ruins of her face : 
 
 C 3 FOJ?
 
 38 STANZAS TO 
 
 For well file eftimates, above 
 
 The fcorching beams of blazing Love, 
 
 Friendfhip's ferener fires -, 
 Wifely fhe moulds the mind of youth ; 
 Sweet moralifl ! who teaches truth, 
 
 Yet teaching never tires. 
 
 Oh Eloquence ! we own thy power : 
 Thy Tully is the richer! flower, 
 
 That can the fenfe regale : 
 Butmuft the Rofe engrofs our eye ? 
 And can we pafs unheeding by 
 
 The Lily of the vale ? 
 
 No, MEL MOTH ! tho' a rival coaft, 
 Tho' Gallia may this Lily boaft, 
 
 Its fweets thou wilt not wrong : 
 Open to Merit's juft complaint, 
 Thou wilt in happier colours paint 
 
 The fubjeft of my fbng; 
 
 
 That
 
 \Y. 
 
 That mind, where, tender as the dove$ 
 The fpirit of maternal love 
 
 Was fondly feen to brood, 
 And with foft Virtue's fweeteft tone, 
 With gentle grace, to Man unknown, 
 
 The Moralift endu'd. 
 
 ' 
 
 To generous admiration fir'd, 
 Contemporary Wits confpir'd 
 
 To praife her glowing page : 
 And France, exulting, ranks her name 
 With thofe who conftitute the fame 
 
 Of her Auguftan age. 
 
 Britain applauds fo juft a meed : 
 
 Let Female worth, fhe cries, fucceed, 
 
 Where'er that worth may fhine I 
 Let France unenvy'd boafl her ihare 
 Of glory from her letter'd Fair, 
 
 Since MONTAGU is mine ! 
 
 C 4 ESSAY
 
 I I ft 8 a M -3.IJI 
 
 
 1 
 
 gCL 1 , 
 
 IISO 
 
 
 
 -'I 
 
 T -i c 
 
 11
 
 ESSAY 
 
 O N 
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 YO U are under fome obli- 
 gation, my dear Sir, to 
 confole me for the lofs of our 
 female friend. I efteem as a lofs 
 every diminution in friendfhip ; 
 fince, in general, every fenti- 
 ment that begins to languifh, 
 expires. I examine myfelf with 
 feverity, and I am perfuaded 
 that I give more to friendship 
 
 than
 
 2 ESSAYON 
 
 than others, and yet it ratitfli- 
 es. Do, therefore, I entreat 
 you, tell me, without referve, to 
 whom I am to impute it, as my 
 complaints muft certainly have an 
 object. Is the fault in myfelf, or 
 in my friends, or in the manners 
 of the times ? In fhof t, correct me 
 where I fail, and confole me for 
 what I lofe. 
 
 The farther we advance in life, 
 the more we feel the neceffity of 
 friendfriip. In proportion as rea- 
 fon improves, as the imagination 
 encreafes in brilliancy, and as the 
 heart becomes pure and refined, 
 the more the fentiment of friend- 
 fhip appears requifite to our hap- 
 pinefs. Behold, therefore, fuch 
 reflections as the leifure of my 
 2 retirement
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 43 
 retirement has led me to throw 
 together on the fubjed. In all 
 ages friendfhip has been confider- 
 ed as one of the firft bleffings of 
 life : 'Tis a fentiment which is 
 born with us, and the firft move- 
 ment of every heart is to unite 
 itfelf to fome other ; neverthelefs, 
 it is a general lamentation, and 
 all the world exclaims " There 
 are no friends." The whole cir- 
 cle of paft ages hardly furnifhes 
 three or four examples of a per- 
 fect union. Since then all men 
 are agreed concerning the charms 
 of friend/hip, why do they not 
 comprehend their common inte- 
 reft, and unite to enjoy it ? Man- 
 kind, in growing depraved, be- 
 come blind to their own ad vantage. 
 
 Wifdom
 
 44 ESSAYON 
 
 H 3 yji i 
 
 Wifdom and truth, in e,nlight- 
 
 , ,3fmEffo oT72i 
 
 enmg our underltandings, make 
 
 our felf-love more adroit and pe- 
 netrating, and teach us that it 
 
 is our real intereft to attach our- 
 HT>B !Ld3qi3q or b3riTL6T ? 
 felves to virtue, and that vir- 
 
 , . nu". 911. .dtotemphb hn 
 tue brings with it all the gentle 
 
 and engaging pleafures of friend- 
 
 ,, . , t tn3i3nB,nA .arn? 
 
 imp. Let us examine, then, what 
 
 are the charms and the advantages 
 of friendfliip, that we may feek 
 them ; what its true characlerif- 
 tic, that we may know it ; and 
 
 what its duties, that we may dif- 
 
 t SfifqlrflnnbiTi oJ flsilii 
 charge them. 
 
 The advantages of friendfliip 
 
 manifeft themfelves fufficiently ; 
 
 ., . . n3^no ^?on: 
 
 all nature exclaims with one voice, 
 
 that they are of all blefiings the 
 moft defirable : without it, life 
 
 has
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 45 
 giiha nx < .JJI& -; 
 
 has no charms. Man is made up 
 
 of wants, and when left to him- 
 felf, feels a void, which friend- 
 fhip only is capable of filling. 
 Harrafled in perpetual agitation 
 and difquietude, he can find re- 
 pofe only in the bofom of friend- 
 {hip. An ancient fays, that Love 
 is the fon of Poverty and the God 
 of Riches : of Poverty, becaufe he 
 is by profeffion a beggar ; and of 
 the God of Riches, becaufe he is 
 naturally profufe : why may we 
 not aflign to Friendfhip the fame 
 origin ? When fhe is lively, fhe 
 requires fympathy ; tender and 
 delicate characters feel the wants 
 of the heart more than others 
 feel the common neceffities of 
 life. On the other hand, from her 
 
 generolity
 
 4 6 E S S A Y O N 
 
 generofity of nature ftie deferves 
 to be acknowledged asi:he daugh- 
 ter of the God of Riches ; for 
 thofe have no pretenfions to the 
 noble name of friend fhip, who 
 fhrink from her feverer duties in 
 the hour of advedity. In fhort, 
 feeling minds feek to unite them- 
 felves by fentiment ; for as the 
 heart was made for affection, it 
 becomes lifelefs the moment you 
 refufe it the pleafure of loving 
 and being beloved. Load men 
 with pofleffions, with riches, and 
 honors, and deprive them of the 
 fweets of friendship ; all the 
 charms of life difappear. 
 
 Your reafonable characters de- 
 ny themfelves to love : women, 
 from attachment to duty men, 
 
 from
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 47 
 from the fear of chufing un- 
 wifely. You are attracted to~ 
 wards friendfhip ; you are hur- 
 ried into love. Friendfhip is of- 
 ten built upon the ruins of love ; 
 and fuch friend/hip is moft ten- 
 der, moft lively, and moft aflidut- 
 ous. All the delicacies of love 
 are found in the connection of 
 which I fpeak. Friendfhip, in its 
 infancy, 13 fubjecl: to illufion : 
 Novelty pleafes by promifing 
 much, and whatever awakens 
 hope is of high eftimation. II- 
 lufion is a fentiment which tranf- 
 ports us beyond the truth, by 
 obfcuring our reafon. You fee in 
 the perfons that begin to pleafe 
 you, every perfection ; and the 
 
 
 
 imagination, which always acls 
 
 under
 
 4 S ESSAY ON 
 
 under the dominion of the heart, 
 lends to the beloved "object the 
 merit which it wants. We love 
 our friends much more for the 
 qualities that we give them cre- 
 dit for, than for thofe which they 
 have difplayed. There are alfo 
 friendfliips which feem to depend 
 on the ftars ; fympathetic con- 
 ne&ions, and undifcovered ties, 
 which unite and bind us fo firm- 
 ly that we neither want vows 
 nor proteftations : Confidence 
 takes the lead of language. 
 When Montaign defcribes to us 
 his fentiments towards his friend, 
 we fought each other" fays he, 
 upon report, and our names 
 had already embraced before 
 
 we became acquainted. It 
 
 was 
 
 <c 
 
 (C 
 
 cc
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 49 
 
 cc Was on a feftival that I firft 
 <c faw him, and we both found 
 <c ourfelves in an inftantfo united, 
 cc fo well known, and fo intimate, 
 " that nothing could be more 
 <c dear than we were to each 
 <c other ; and when I afk myfelf 
 <c whence arifes that joy, that 
 " eafe, that repofe, which I feel 
 cc when I fee him ? all I can fay 
 " is, 'Tis he 'tis I." We enjoy 
 in friendfhip the pureft fweets 
 of love : the pleafure of con- 
 fidence, the charm of expofing 
 our foul to our friend to read 
 in his very heart to fee it 
 without a fhadow of difguife ; 
 to difcover our own weaknef- 
 fes, for we muft think aloud 
 before our friend. Thofe only 
 D who
 
 5 o ESSAY ON 
 
 who have enjoyed the en- 
 chanting pleafure of friendship, 
 know what delight there is in 
 pafiing whole days together * 
 how light, how rapid, the 
 hours in the prefenee of thofe 
 we love ! what a refource is the 
 afylum of friendship ! By her 
 we efcape from the world> 
 which is generally deceitful, 
 falfe, and inconftant. 
 
 But one of the great advanta- 
 ges of friendfhip, is the aid of 
 good counfels : however rational 
 we may be, we have ftill occafion. 
 for a director, as we ought to 
 diftruft our reafon, which fre- 
 quently delivers as its own lan- 
 guage, the mere dictates of paf- 
 lion. 'Tis a great fupport to 
 
 know
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 51 
 know we have a guide to correct 
 and reform us. The ancients un- 
 derftood all the advantages of 
 friendfhip ; but they have fo o- 
 vercharged their portraits of it, 
 that they are looked upon merely 
 as fine ideas, which exift not in 
 nature. As men love to fly from 
 great models, and to rejecl great 
 examples, becaufe they require 
 much from us, they agree to treat 
 them as chimeras ; but in this 
 we mifunderftand our own inte- 
 reft. In withdrawing ourfelves 
 from the obligations of friendfhip, 
 we lofe all its advantages : it is a 
 commerce, it is a kind of part- 
 nerfhip, in which the moft wor- 
 thy advances the largeft fum, and 
 thinks himfelf happy in propor- 
 D 2 tion
 
 52 ESSAY ON 
 
 A 1 
 
 tion to that advance. We divide 
 our fortune with our friend ; 
 riches, credit, attentions, fervices, 
 all belong to him, except our ho- 
 
 ; f/lJ(.'.' ~^) y/J} TIJ 2fj' Q33^{ 
 
 nor. It has appeared to me, to 
 
 >3 11/p 311/1; 
 
 the difgrace of our age, that of- 
 
 l\I: I/ I O UjJ^ZV 1 l\JJ^fi 
 
 fering our fortune to our friend 
 is confidered as the laft effort of 
 friendfhip ; there are trials far 
 
 %erior to this. 
 Jjr?Jj);V/J : 5^1 flfJT 
 
 But one of the greateft advan- 
 tages of friendfhip, is to find in 
 
 our friend a juft model ; for we 
 
 * 
 
 defire the efteem of thofe we love, 
 and that defire leads us to imi- 
 tate thofe virtues which may in- 
 fure it. Seneca recommends to his 
 friend, to chufe from amongft the 
 great men the moft refpedtable 
 
 character, to ad always as if he 
 
 117 /IF rra^iQ'Bli 
 
 * was
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 53 
 
 aW SDn^fa^ te. i t . 
 was prelent, and to render him 
 
 an account of every adtion. Our 
 friend is this exalted character to 
 keep us in awe nothing can in- 
 fure our conduct fo effectually, 
 both with regard to ourfelves and 
 
 others, as a refpectable friend. 
 
 jo Jiorb jh i i b*M 
 
 It is not allowed us to be imper- 
 
 '.ilk i 2 Liii "Li *^ 
 
 feet in his eyes ; neither do we 
 
 often fee virtue connected with 
 vice. We do not love to fee 
 thofe who conftantly fcrutinize 
 and condemn us-^-we muft be 
 certain of our own integrity, to 
 dare to give ourfelves certain 
 friends. Pyrrhus faid, " Save me 
 " from my friends, I fear only 
 
 F|T% |- r\rri & _Tfsf\t4 
 
 <c them." Pliny having loft his 
 
 friend, I fear," faid he, c< I (hall 
 
 < c flacken in the road of virtue ; 
 
 D 3 "I have
 
 54 ESSAY ON 
 
 <C T I. 1/1 -J- J ^.-t 
 
 " I have loit my guide, and the 
 <c witnefs of my life." In fhort, 
 perfect friendship puts us under 
 the neceffity of being virtuous ; 
 as it can only be maintained be- 
 tween eftimable perfons, it .forces 
 us to refemble them, that we 
 may preferve their regard. You 
 will find then in friendfhip the 
 fecurity of good advice, the emu- 
 lation of good example, fympathy 
 in yourforrows, afliftance in your 
 wants, without being afked, wait- 
 ed for, or purchafed. 
 
 Let us now fee what are the 
 true charadleriftics of friendfhip, 
 that we may know it. The prin- 
 cipal merit which fhould be re- 
 quired in our friends, is virtue : 
 It is that which aflures us they 
 
 are
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 55 
 
 are capable of friendfhip, and 
 worthy of it : expedl nothing 
 from your connections, when they 
 have not this foundation. In 
 thefe days, it is not our taftes, 
 but our wants, which unite us. It 
 is not the union of hearts, or of 
 the underftanding, that is fought 
 for in thefe intimacies. Thus we 
 fee them at an end as foon as they 
 are begun. There can be no 
 rupture without fome degree of 
 difgrace, as there muft be fome 
 fault on one fide or the other : 
 there is no efcaping the mame of 
 being miftaken in our opinion, 
 and of being obliged to retract 
 it. We form intimacies without 
 any exertion of our judgment, 
 and we diffolve them without re- 
 D 4 fledtion ;
 
 5 5 ESSAY OF 
 
 flelion ; what can be more con- 
 temptible ? Chufe your friend out 
 of a thoufand ; nothing is more 
 important than fuch a choice, 
 fince upon it your happinefs de- 
 pends : as, on the contrary, no- 
 thing is more melancholy than to 
 be connected with the unworthy, 
 to have all the fhame of a fepa- 
 ration to undergo, or the mortifi- 
 cation of continuing united with 
 perfons of no merit. We fhould 
 alfo remember, that our friends 
 (lamp our characters ; we are dif- 
 covered in them, and we thus 
 prefent a kind of portrait of our- 
 felves to the public, and a con- 
 feffion of what we are. We 
 fhould tremble, if we reflected 
 what we hazard in acknowledg- 
 ing
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 57 
 
 ing a friend. Would you be 
 efteemed ? live with perfons that 
 are eftimable ; we fhould there- 
 fore be well acquainted before we 
 engage ourfelves. 
 
 The firft mark, which affures 
 us that any perfon is worthy of 
 friendfhip, is virtue ; after that, we 
 muft feek for friends that are free, 
 and unenflaved by the pafiions : 
 thofewhom ambition poflefies, are 
 little capable of this tender fenti- 
 ment; ftill lefs capable are thofe 
 who are in the chains of love. 
 Love carries away with him all 
 the vivacity of friendfhip ; it is a 
 turbulent pailion, and friendfhip 
 is a gentle and well-regulated 
 
 fentiment. Love gives the foul 
 v on;b~ 
 
 goi
 
 58 ESSAY ON 
 
 an intoxicating kind of joy, which 
 is fometimes followed by extreme 
 difcontent. j The other is a rea- 
 fonable delight, always, pure and 
 always equal ; nothing can ob- 
 ftruct or weary it it nourishes 
 the foul. 
 
 Moreover, if you are attached 
 to a perfon of merit, has not 
 that perfon all your confidence ? 
 The friendship of a lover is too 
 inlipid; he may, indeed, afford 
 you fome degree of attention, and 
 fome fervices ; but as to fenti- 
 ment, he has none left to beftow. 
 
 The recompence of virtuous 
 love is friendfhip; it is not, how- 
 ever, a common paffion, but love 
 of the pureft and moft exalted na-
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 59 
 ture, which leads to this reward. 
 Perfons of a frivolous and difli- 
 pated turn are by no means fuited 
 to friendfliip ; for every objed 
 with them carries away fome 
 portion of that fentiment and fo- 
 Jicitude which fhould be the 
 property of friendfliip. 
 
 Though it has been always 
 faid, that we fhould give to 
 friendihip a foundation more fo- 
 lid than mere fenfibility, yet if 
 inclination is not concerned, we 
 are not deeply engaged. The 
 fancy admits not of conviction. 
 If the heart is not affeded, we 
 advance neither rapidly nor far* 
 Virtue and inclination united to 
 form thofe ancient friendships, 
 whofe memory has defcended to 
 
 our
 
 60 . 
 
 ji/ii pvil-p.vsa.9W - % bn- 
 our days. Montaign, who de- 
 &3 . ,^3fi3bni>q3biji to, 33iipT>., 
 icribes to us the rife of his fijnti- 
 
 ments towards his friend, fays he 
 
 33XBO .DOGS ;jX>fljiltrB DJ3 
 
 was imitten as one in love : he 
 o, r n^m woUoj jyuQit) 
 was in a lituation to reliih fnend- 
 nv.]-' -r, , r s-qinlbn^m 
 
 Jhip. rreed from paliionsj and 
 
 devoted to reafon, there remained 
 
 t . 3fi , 
 to him no other enjoyment. 
 
 T* r i r -JtOICl 
 
 Perions recovered from violent 
 paffions, and who are reftored 
 
 * .-cjOJ 3r ' ' 2^^^ 
 
 to themfelves, from a convidlion 
 ^ /^^ little value of things in ge- 
 neral, are moft proper for true 
 friendiliip. Thofe who are free, 
 and difengaged from the million 
 of frivolous amufements, attach 
 
 themfelves to you by fentiment ; 
 
 ^c -itTi^J 1 3nl yoin 
 
 but however infenfible to their 
 
 own wants, they fail not to feel 
 and to alleviate tjiofe of their 
 
 friend?,
 
 F R I.E N D SHIP. 61 
 friends. We never live in fuch 
 a degree of independence, as to 
 be able tp difpenfe with recipro- 
 cal affiftance; but good offices 
 fhould follow friendfliip, not 
 friendfliip good offices. Friend- 
 fliip alfo requires conformity, 
 
 equality of age, or what ap- 
 
 i r ^i j r -i r 
 proaches to it, and a iimilanty of 
 
 inclinations and purfuits. Per- 
 fons elevated to a fplendid ftation, 
 and intoxicated with profperity ; 
 thofe diffipated minds which are 
 carefled by fortune, are by no 
 means proper for friendfliip. 
 
 - iii JT1O3 ! 
 
 Kings are alfo deprived of this 
 
 r iioi ,?jn3m r . 
 
 iweet lentiment ; they can never 
 
 inonilfi3T VQ 
 
 enjoy the certainty of being be- 
 loved for their own fakes : it is 
 always the king, and feldom the 
 
 man : 

 
 62 ESSAY ON 
 
 1 
 man : I would not accept the 
 
 firft of dignities at this price. 
 All things are a burthen, without 
 the fuccour of friendfhip. There 
 never was a king, except Agefi- 
 laus, who fuffered for having 
 made himfelf too much beloved. 
 It is a noble dominion, to reign 
 over every heart. Perfons of dif- 
 tin&ion are more eager to amafs 
 riches, than to acquire friends. 
 Where is the perfon who thinks 
 of gaining hearts by effential 
 fervices; of feeking after, and 
 affifting neglected merit ; of 
 preparing, in the heart of a 
 friend, an afylum for himfelf in 
 the feafon of difgrace ? The 
 greater part of our acquisitions 
 are for others ; this alone is for 
 ourfelves. 
 
 9 A purity
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 63 
 
 A purity of morals is alfo ne- 
 cefTary in friendfliip. The rifque 
 is too great in uniting ourfelves 
 with a perfon of an irregular 
 conduct. 
 
 You fee clearly that all the 
 virtues are effential to perfecl 
 friendfliip. Retirement is pro- 
 per to cultivate this fentiment. 
 Solitude is the friend of wifdom. 
 The habitation of peace and 
 truth is within ourfelves. " It 
 " is the mark of a well-formed 
 " mind," fays one of the an- 
 cients, " to know how to live 
 1 c well with one's felf. How plea- 
 fant is this fyftem of life, when 
 it is thoroughly underftood, 
 and fuccefsfully purfued !" 
 Friendfliip demands an entire 
 
 poffefiion 
 
 cc 
 
 (C 
 
 cc
 
 6 4 fc S $ A Y tf 
 
 pofieflion of the whole milid i 
 in retirement, this fentiment be- 
 comes more neceffary and lefs 
 divided. Moreover, we are ge- 
 nerally fuch to others as we are 
 to ourfelves. The wife know 
 how to eftablifh peace within 
 themfelves, and can communi- 
 cate it to others. Seneca fays> 
 " I have advanced fo far in im- 
 " provement, that I have learnt 
 " to be a friend to myfel" 
 Whoever can live with them- 
 felves, may live with others. 
 Mild and gentle characters diffufe 
 a foft charm over all that ap- 
 proach them. Retirement fecures 
 innocence, and renders friendship 
 more requifite. Some witnefs 
 of our conduct is neceflkry, to 
 
 eftimate
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 65 
 eftimate our good qualities, as 
 without fuch, we advance faintly 
 in the road of virtue. When you 
 efteem your friend to a certain 
 degree, you place all your glory 
 in his approbation. If you are 
 happy, you would divide your 
 happinefs with him: and indeed, 
 all valuable porTeffions become 
 infipid when unobferved. 
 
 I believe that extreme youth is 
 by no means fuited to the plea- 
 fures of perfect friendship : we 
 fee many young perfons fancy, 
 and call themfelves friends ; but 
 the bonds of their union are 
 pleafures, and pleafures are not 
 ties worthy of friendship. " You 
 <c are at the age," fays Seneca to 
 his friend, " when the violent 
 E " paffions
 
 66 ESSAY ON 
 
 " paffions are no more; only the 
 " gentler ones remain : we can 
 " now enjoy the noble pleafure of 
 " friendfhip." 
 
 What renders friendfhip moft 
 certain and moft folid, is virtue ; 
 abfence from the world ; love of 
 folitude; and purity of manners ; 
 a life which reftores us to wifdom 
 and to ourfelves ; an elevated fpi- 
 rit (for there is a refinement and 
 dignity in perfect friendfhip, to 
 which minds of an ordinary level 
 can never rife) ; but, above all, a 
 purity of heart. The qualities 
 of the heart are much more ne- 
 ceflary than thofe of the un- 
 derftanding. The underftanding 
 may amufe, but it is the heart 
 that attaches. Thofe who are 
 
 influenced
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 6? 
 
 influenced by felf-love, are un- 
 worthy of it : they only think of 
 taking from the fund of friendfliip, 
 whereas the virtuous are only de- 
 firous of adding to it. The ava- 
 ricious are unacquainted with a 
 fentiment fo noble. True friend- 
 fhip is liberal : avarice forms 
 an unfurmountable obftacle to 
 every virtue. The fentiment of 
 avarice retards, or$ to fpeak more 
 properly, ftifles every good incli- 
 nation. There is not a virtue 
 which does not exacl: fomething 
 from its pofieffor ; but the ava- 
 ricious mind is always inclined to 
 draw every thing from others. 
 We muft give without a chance 
 of return ; we muft rifque the 
 E 2 danger
 
 68 E S S A Y O N 
 
 j c hJUKuf 
 
 danger or encountering ingrati- 
 tude. 
 
 There are three feafons in 
 friendfhip ; the beginning, the 
 continuance, and the end. As 
 the commencement of friendfhip 
 abounds with fentiments, and as 
 a rifing amity is fupported by 
 fome illufion nothing is pain- 
 ful in thefe firft moments ; all 
 is pleafure : but it often hap- 
 pens that fancy dies away, 
 and this energy of fentiment is 
 impaired by habitude. The il- 
 lufion difappears, and we are re- 
 duced to call reafon to our 
 
 port, a dry and cold counfellor, 
 at beft. 
 
 Of our friendfhip, as of our 
 
 love,
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 69 
 
 love, we fhould not be too la- 
 vi{h. There is a degree of al- 
 lowable ceconomy ; but how is it 
 poffible to reftrain ourfelves in 
 the enjoyment of a pleafure that 
 has the fandion of innocence? 
 However, as there is nothing in 
 life fo pleafing as a lively friend- 
 fhip, the parties fhould equally 
 co-operate towards the prefer- 
 vation of a ftate fo defirable ; 
 for happinefs is nothing more 
 than a conftant fucceflion of 
 pleafing fenfations and agreeable 
 ideas. We feel the prefent we 
 imagine the future. Friendfliip 
 fills both thefe periods, and 
 fupports both the fentiments. 
 To the prefent, fhe gives per- 
 ceptible delight; to the future, 
 E 3 the
 
 70 ESSAY ON 
 
 the brilliant vifions of hope: but as 
 it has been obferved, that all fen- 
 fibility is liable to decay, and that 
 the pureft hearts cannot engage 
 to prefer ve always the quicknefs 
 of a growing friendship ; they 
 may therefore be fometimes in- 
 conftant, but never unfaithful. 
 The vivacity of inclination fades 
 away, but the love of duty re- 
 mains. Such are to be pitied, 
 for they have loft a pleafing fen- 
 timent. Why have we not the 
 power of infuring it ? Let us 
 therefore give to friendship the 
 more folid foundation of efteem, 
 which, built on the knowledge 
 of merit, is not liable to change. 
 The bandage on the eyes of love, 
 fhoujd be ever removed from 
 
 thofe
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 71 
 thofe of friendship : it is her na- 
 ture to be quick-fighted, to exa- 
 mine before me forms her en- 
 gagements, and to attach herfelf 
 only to perfonal merit ; for thofe 
 alone are worthy of her regard, 
 who poflefs in themfelves a juft 
 title to her affe&ion. 
 gybjAfter having made a proper 
 choice, we muft be fteady ; not 
 efteem our friends with a variable 
 regard, but with an unfhaken at- 
 tachment ; for when fenfibility 
 would efcape, and carry efteem 
 away with it, juftice fhould in- 
 terfere to retain it. We muft 
 not allow ourfelves to pry into 
 the defccls of our friends ; ftill 
 lefs to fpeak of them. We Should 
 refpecl: friendfhip but as me is 
 E 4 given
 
 72 ESSAY ON 
 
 given us as an affiftant to virtue, 
 and not as the companion of vice. 
 We muft caution thofe we re- 
 gard, when we fee them led 
 aftray ; if they refift, we muft for- 
 tify ourfelves with that ftrength 
 and authority which arife from 
 the prudence of wife counfel, 
 and the purity of honeft inten- 
 tions. We fhould hazard even 
 the offending them, by our refo- 
 lution in fpeaking truth : though 
 the terms of it fhould be foftened 
 according to the nature of their 
 necefiity ; for few have ftrength of 
 mind fufficient to fubmit to that 
 truth which is to reform them. 
 But while we blame them in pri- 
 vate, we muft defend them in 
 public, and not fuffer, if poffible, 
 
 their 

 
 FRIENDSHIP. 73 
 their reputation to be doubt- 
 ful. 
 
 What then, it may be afked, is 
 the boundary of friendfhip ? It 
 extends to the utmoft pale of re- 
 ligion ; duty and honor are the 
 only bounds which ought to con- 
 fine it ; and there are many 
 things, which the delicacy of ho- 
 nor allows us not to execute for 
 ourfelves, which are yet permit- 
 ted, and even laudable, in the 
 fervice of our friends. Diogenes 
 ufed to fay, " When I borrow of 
 " my friend, it is my own money 
 " that I afk him for." Such a 
 confidence is the nobleft panegy- 
 ric on both the parties. 
 
 Whatever your advantages may 
 be, in the articles of virtue, ta- 
 lents,
 
 74 ESSAY O tf 
 
 Icnts, or fortune, they give you 
 no claim to an oftentatious fupe- 
 riority. It has been made a quef- 
 tion, if we may.entruft another 
 with the fecret of our friend. 
 The cafe admits not of delibera- 
 tion ; a fecret is a truft of which 
 we cannot difpofe, becaufe it is 
 not our own. 
 
 It now remains to enquire, in 
 what manner we ought to con- 
 duel: ourfelves when friendfhip 
 begins to languish and change. 
 As this union is formed between 
 human beings, we muft make an 
 allowance for the failings of hu- 
 manity. Many things muft be 
 overlooked on both fides, if we 
 wifli to give permanency . to 
 friendfhip. The moft virtuous 
 
 are
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 75 
 
 are moft inclined to pardon - 
 ** You will render your friend 
 <c faithful," fays one of the an- 
 cients, " in believing him to be 
 " fo. We give fome title to of- 
 * c fend, to that perfon whom we 
 ** think capable of offence. " 
 
 Ordinary friendship is never 
 willing to confefs itfelf in the 
 wrong; delicate friendfhip im- 
 putes every failing to herfelf ; 
 happy in being able to fave our 
 friend from every painful fenfa- 
 tion, we would indulge him in 
 the pleafure of forgiving us, and 
 fave him from the humiliating 
 neceflity of afldng pardon. But 
 for this purpofe we muft be con- 
 nected with a noble fpirit, pof- 
 fefling refolution to bear the in- 
 
 fpection
 
 ;6 ESSAY ON- 
 
 fpedion of its own failings, and 
 even to affume fuch as do not 
 belong to it. 
 
 If your friend ftands in need 
 of being guided and governed 
 for his own advantage, you muft 
 preferve a gentle hand, and never 
 fuffer him to feel his dependence. 
 Nothing is more at variance with 
 friendfhip, than thofe felf-fuffici- 
 ent characters, who endeavour to 
 pry into your defects, and delight 
 to difplay them ; fuch a difcovery 
 is a triumph to them, as it forti- 
 fies their fway, and encreafes your 
 dependence. Avoid every thing 
 that irritates, and in expoftula- 
 tions beware of ufing any afperity 
 of language : there are terms of 
 reproach which ought never to be 
 
 admitted,
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 77 
 admitted, fince they give fuch 
 wounds to the heart as no time 
 can clofe. 
 
 From the moment you find 
 your anger begin to kindle, have 
 a guard upon yourfelf ; recoiled 
 that paffion always commits a 
 trefpafs upon juftice. But there 
 are fome, who have no fooner 
 committed one offence, than they 
 perfevere to an hundred, and 
 know not where to flop ; they 
 punifli you for faults which they 
 themfelves have committed, and 
 are incapable of forgivenefs : when 
 fuch have been deficient, you 
 muft not fancy that you can con-' 
 vince them of it; their under- 
 ftanding is the flave of their in- 
 juftice : you muft not reproach 
 
 them;
 
 7 $ ESSAY ON 
 
 them ; but if you would punifli 
 them, and avenge yourfelf with 
 dignity, obferve a ftill greater 
 nicety of behaviour ; feek occa- 
 fions to fhew them kindnefs ; as 
 it is your conduct which fliould 
 reproach them, and not your dif- 
 courfe. 
 
 However ingenious felf^love 
 may be in concealing our failings 
 from us, there are moments fa- 
 cred to truth, in which fhe makes 
 herfelf vifible. The kindnefs we 
 have fhewn in the feafon of 
 friendfliip, muft be forgotten at 
 the time of feparation ; and thofe 
 who do not feel themfelves paid 
 for their fervices by the pleafure 
 which they have had in perform- 
 ing them, cannot be faid to have 
 
 given 5
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 79 
 given ; they have only lent, or 
 fold. In fhort, we muft fly in 
 the purfuit of friendfhip, and the 
 efteem of our friends, and not be 
 apprehensive of doing too much. 
 If we are fo unfortunate as to 
 have made an improper choice, 
 we muft fupport it, and by that 
 means punifh ourfelves for our 
 imprudence, and for the raflinefs 
 of our attachment. Difagree- 
 ments are difadvantageous to all 
 parties. After having done all in 
 your power to prevent them, as 
 it will often happen that you are 
 connected with obftinate perfons, 
 who only fee you through the me- 
 dium of their own per verfity, all 
 is ineffectual. Nothing is more 
 diftreffing, than to encounter thofe 
 2 violent
 
 Jo feSSAY ON 
 
 Violent and inflammatory cha* 
 racters, who have only juft un- 
 derftanding fufficient to defend 
 their own abfurdity ; whatever 
 fteps you purfue, you will receive 
 from them nothing but reproach. 
 Let it not be the object of your 
 ambition to reduce them to rea- 
 fon; but to fubdue yourfelf: you 
 muft retire, and let your inno- 
 cence tranquillize and confole 
 you. 
 
 Do not think, that when a fe- 
 paration has taken place, you have 
 no further duties to fulfil ; here 
 begin the moft difficult of duties, 
 and thofe in which integrity 
 alone can fupport you : refpect 
 is due to paft friendfhip, call not 
 the world to be witnefs of your 
 3 quarrels,
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 81 
 
 quarrels, and never fpeak of 
 them but when you are forced to 
 it in your own juftification ; even 
 then, we ought not to aggravate 
 the failings of our faithlefs friend. 
 It is an ill fight to the public, and 
 a difgraceful part to yourfelf, to 
 appear in open diffenfion. Re- 
 flect that all eyes are upon you 
 that your judges are all your 
 enemies, either from ignorance of 
 your real worth, or from envy, if 
 they are acquainted with it, or 
 from prejudice and natural ma- 
 lignity. Whatever has been im- 
 parted to your confidence in the 
 feafon of friend {hip, muft never 
 be revealed ; remember that a fe- 
 cret is a debt of ancient friend- 
 ftiip, which you owe to ycurfelf. 
 
 F In
 
 82 ESSAY ON 
 
 In fhort, the duties which you 
 difcharge in the feafon of friend - 
 thip, are -for the perfon beloved ; 
 but after a rupture <they are, Jbr 
 yourfelf. In the feafon of affec- 
 tion, we all know how to coo- 
 duel: ourfelves ; we need only to 
 follow pur feelings .: but. wixen 
 this is at an end, it is the voice 
 .of duty and reafon which we 
 muft attend to and obey. 
 
 Few perfons know how to con- 
 duel themfelves in anger ; the ge- 
 nerality preferve no moderation. 
 How melancholy is it to give lef- 
 fons upon fuch a misfortune to 
 contemplate, amidft the enjoy- 
 ments of friendfhip, the danger of 
 their efcaping us ! neverthelefs, 
 we ihould refled: that we are 
 
 threatened
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 83 
 
 threatened with fuch a calamity, 
 and that the moft valuable friends 
 may pofiefs fuch difpofitions as 
 have a ftrong tendency to pro- 
 duce diflenfion. We muft pafs 
 lightly over ideas of this kind, or 
 they would ruin the pleafures of 
 the moft perfect amity. 
 
 Some perfons think there are 
 no duties to difcharge beyond 
 the grave ; very few are capable 
 of being friends to the dead : tho' 
 there is no funeral fo truly noble 
 as the tears and lamentations of 
 our friends ; and the moft glo- 
 rious fepulchre is in their hearts : 
 neverthelefs, we are not to believe 
 that the tears which we flied 
 through fenfibility, and frequent- 
 
 F 2 ly
 
 4 ESSAY ON 
 
 ly from the bitter fenfe of our 
 own lofs, can acquit us towards 
 them. There are duties which 
 we ftill owe to their name, their 
 reputation, and their family ; 
 they muft live in our hearts by 
 tendernefs, in our memory by 
 recollection, in our difcourfe by 
 commendations, and in our con- 
 dud: by an imitation of their 
 
 virtues ' m vinfb' aril 1o 
 
 If I have given precepts for 
 
 behaviour, when thefe ties are 
 either broke or flackened, I am 
 by no means of opinion that we 
 ought to love our friend as if we 
 
 were one day to hate him : my 
 / * - / 
 
 heart has never liftened to the 
 
 do&rines of Machiavel, it is very 
 
 2 far
 
 END SHI P. 85 
 far from conducing itfelf by his 
 maxims. Thofe who know me, 
 are convinced, that in friendship 
 I have hardly the proper degree of 
 referve ; never am I cautioned by 
 my own feelings to diftruft my 
 friends : thofe who think after 
 the fafhion of the vulgar, confi- 
 der me as a kind of dupe : I only 
 fave myfelf from the humiliation 
 of the character, by rejoicing in 
 the comfort which it affords. 
 Thus the prudence from which 
 I have hitherto collected thefe 
 maxims, has not yet paffed into 
 my heart ; but cuftom, the world, 
 and my own experience, have but 
 too well inftru&ed me, that in 
 friend/hip the beft acquired, and 
 F 3 the
 
 86 E ; $ S A V ON 
 
 the moft deferved, we muft trea~ 
 fure up a fund of conftancy and 
 virtue, to be able to fupport the 
 lofs of it. 
 
 It has been afked, if friendship 
 can fubftft between - perfons of 
 different fexes ? This is indeed 
 rare and difficult, but it is the 
 kind of friendllup which affords 
 the higheft delight ; moft diffi- 
 cult, becaufe it requires moft 
 virtue and circumfpedtiom Wo- 
 men who have only the com- 
 mon ideas of love, are 'not wor- 
 thy of it : and men who only feek 
 in women the ordinary pleafures 
 of the fex, without fuppofing that 
 they may poffefs qualities of the 
 jnind and heart more attra&ive 
 jo than
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 87 
 than thofe of beauty ; fuch men 
 are' not formed for the friendship 
 of which I fpeak. Let us there- 
 fore attach ourfelves by the ties- 
 of virtue and of perfonal merit ; 
 connections of this kind fome- 
 times begin in love, and termi- 
 nate in friendfhip. When wo- 
 men are faithful to the virtue of 
 their fex, friendship being the re- 
 coinpence of virtuous love, they 
 may flatter themfelves with the 
 hopes of it. From the manner 
 in which love is treated at this 
 time, it frequently terminates in 
 an open quarrel, lhame being ge- 
 nerally the punifhment of vice. 
 When women oppofe their duty 
 to their affe&ion, and offer you 
 F 4 the
 
 88 : E S S A Y ON 
 
 the charms and fentiments of 
 friendfhip ; when, moreover, you 
 difcover in them the fame merit 
 as in men, can you do better 
 than connect yourfelf with them ? 
 It is certain, that of all unions it 
 is the moft enchanting ; there is 
 always a degree of vivacity, which 
 is not to be found between per- 
 fons of the fame fex above all, the 
 failings that difunite, fuch as en- 
 vy or competition, of whatever 
 nature it may be, is not to be 
 found in this fore of connexion. 
 Women have the misfortune of 
 not being able to depend on 
 friendfliip with each other ; the 
 multiplicity of their failings forms 
 an infurmountable impediment j 
 
 they
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 89 
 they unite from neceflity, and 
 never from inclination. To what 
 account, then, may they venture 
 to turn that fund of fentiment 
 which they pofTefs ? Thofe who 
 have denied themfelves to love, 
 are naturally led into friend- 
 fhip, and men are confiderable 
 gainers by this meafure ; for 
 when women have not exhauft- 
 ed the fenfibility of their hearts 
 by the paffions, their friend- 
 flrip is peculiarly interefting 
 and tender ; for it muft be con- 
 feflfed (to the glory, or to the 
 difgrace of women) that they 
 alone are capable of giving all 
 that poignancy to fentiment, 
 
 which
 
 9 o ESSA'Y ON 
 
 which they generally give.-^ 
 Met* fpeak to the underftand- 
 ing, Wbmen to the heart. More- 
 over,- as nature Kas placed invi- 
 
 *^ * v "\ 
 
 fible attractions and' ties be- 
 tween perfons of different fex, 
 we find every preparation for 
 friendfhip. The works of na- 
 ture ard always the moft per- 
 fe& ; thofe in which fhe has 
 not the principal fhare, are the 
 leaft engagirtg. In the friend- 
 fhip of which I fpeak, we feel 
 that it is her work ; thefe fe- 
 cret ties, thefe fympathies, this 
 fWet inclination, which there 
 is no refitting; all are comprized 
 in it. A blefling fo defirable, 
 
 is
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 91 
 
 is always the recompence of me- 
 rit ; but we ought to watch 
 over ourfelves, left a virtue 
 fhould change imperceptibly in- 
 
 
 ESSAY
 
 2 a 
 
 H O 
 
 o A -a J o 
 
 ! nam oi nsvi nsad 2.d 
 
 noi:&0ift0i tbHi idi 
 HI f Blentqqif lo 300310! 
 
 ,3vil ibritlo agaft ^ 
 
 jft JB m 
 ^Jasvb amol 
 
 ,-t-
 
 o 
 
 E 
 
 L 
 
 s s 
 
 o 
 
 D- 
 
 A Y 
 
 N 
 
 AGE. 
 
 EVERY neceffary affiftancc 
 has been given to men for 
 the improvement of their reafon, 
 and for their inftrudtion in the 
 great fcience of happinefs, in 
 every ftage of their lives. Cicero 
 has written a treatife on Old- 
 Age, to put them in a fituation 
 to ex trad fome advantages from 
 
 a period,
 
 94 ESSAY ON 
 
 a period, in which every,, thing 
 
 feems to defert us! 
 
 Attention is directed to the 
 improvement of men alone; but 
 
 as to women, at all feafons of life 
 
 i. 
 
 they are left to themfelves : their 
 education is , neglected in their 
 youth ; in the fequel they are de- 
 prived of coalbktion and fupport 
 for their old-age. 
 
 Thus the greateft part of wo- 
 men Hve without thought,- with- 
 
 O * 
 
 out felf-examination : in youth 
 
 they are vain and diflipated, in 
 
 old-age weak and forfaken. We 
 
 '-arrive at' each feafon, without 
 
 knowing either how to conduct 
 
 ourfelves in it, or to enjoy it: 
 
 when it is paft, we fee the ufe 
 
 we might have made of it; but 
 
 as
 
 O L D - A JG E. 9$ 
 
 as regret is unprofitable when it 
 ferves not to reform us, let us 
 turn to our advantage the time 
 that remains. I fupport myfelf 
 by my own refle&ions, and as 
 I approach that age when all 
 things forfake us, I wifh my 
 reafon ,to afford me a compenfa- 
 tion for what I lofe. 
 
 All the world has a dread of 
 old-age ; it is regarded as a fea- 
 fon given up to pain and vexa- 
 tion, in which all pleafures dif- 
 appear. Every one lofes in ad- 
 vancing in life, and the women 
 more than the men. As all their 
 merit confifts in exterior graces, 
 and as time deftroys them, they 
 are left entirely deftitute; for 
 there are very few women whofe 
 
 merit
 
 9 6 ESSAY ON 
 
 merit is more lafting than their 
 beauty. Let us try if it be not 
 poflible to replace it ; and, fince 
 there is no bleffing fo trivial that 
 it may not be turned to fome ad- 
 vantage in the hands of a dex- 
 trous perfon, let us endeavour 
 to render the feafon of old-age 
 profitable, by making it condu- 
 cive to our happinefs and perfec- 
 tion. 
 
 Let us examine the duties of 
 old-age ; the refpecl: and pro- 
 priety which are due to that pe- 
 riod : and let us enquire into the 
 advantages which may be drawn 
 from it, that we may enjoy 
 them. Life does not confift fo 
 much in the fpace of time, as in 
 the ufe we are able to make of 
 
 it.
 
 O L D - A G E. 97 
 
 it. ' We fhbuld lay clown a plan, 
 and follow it with exadtnefs ; for 
 to be ever chanonno; our refolu- 
 
 o o 
 
 tions and our conduct, is man- 
 gling our exiftehce. We fhort- 
 en it by our instability, and 
 lengthen it by an uniformity, of 
 conduft. 
 
 Thefe reflections, my child, 
 which belong to my fituation at 
 prefent, will be one day your's. 
 Prepare for yourfelf an happy 
 old-age, by a youth of innocence. 
 Recollect that the pleafurable 
 age is but a flower, which you 
 will fee faded. The graces will 
 defert you, and health will dif- 
 appear. Old-age will come, and 
 deftroy the rofes in your cheeks. 
 Young as you are, that which 
 G travels
 
 9-8 E S S A Y O N 
 
 travels with fuch rapidity, is not 
 
 far from. you. ,3iirtwt 
 
 We have, in growing old, the 
 common evils of humanity. The 
 infirmities of the body and the 
 mind are attendants on advanced 
 life. Old-age, fays Montaign, 
 imprejjes more wrinkles on the mind 
 than on the face. The paflions 
 may be faid to lie in wait for 
 us during the whole courfe of our 
 lives. There feem to be ambuf- 
 cades of them, through which we 
 muft neceflarily pafs. From the 
 torrid paeons, fays Montaign, we 
 retreat to the temperate. 
 
 Melancholy refle&ions are in 
 
 the train of old-age. They dry 
 
 up the foxirces of joy and plea- 
 
 fure. They make us difgufted 
 
 9 with
 
 OLD-AGE. 99 
 
 with the prefent, and dread the 
 future. They render us infenfible 
 to every thing but pain. 
 
 All thefe misfortunes are com- 
 mon to both fexes ; but there 
 are fome which are peculiar to 
 women. As there are different 
 characters, there are different 
 kinds of pain to fuffer, and mea- 
 fures to purfue. Women are ei- 
 ther libertine or virtuous. Thefe 
 two characters are varied with 
 infinite difcriminations, and there 
 are many {hades and degrees in 
 both. As to thofe, who are born 
 without tendernefs or attractions, 
 and who have neither made nor 
 received any impreffion ; they 
 enjoy a tranquillity and a regu- 
 larity of life, and have lefs to 
 G 2 lofe,
 
 ioo ESSAY ON 
 
 o 
 
 . 
 
 lofe, as they advance m years, 
 
 H 1LH ... x,& r / 7 
 
 than thofe who are fufceptible of 
 fentiment, and calculated to in- 
 fpire it. Neverthelefs, thefe have 
 many uneafinefles to fuffer, and 
 
 r n *f r V>tIJ5 
 
 imperfections to ltrup;p;le with. 
 
 r & . vn 
 
 They ought to be on their guard 
 
 n i i 
 
 againft melancholy. We become 
 enemies to joy, which our intereft 
 fhould lead us to cherifli in our- 
 felves, and which we ought not 
 to cenfure in others. But we muft 
 chufe our pleafures, or rather our 
 amufements ; what is allowable 
 
 iiOJ JO oUOiyi jfI^"l3iTll"i *3 f B *^T^Ti ^ 
 
 and graceful at one age, is unbe- 
 
 coming at another. 
 
 . on nwofil sysd 
 Avarice is alio one of the 
 
 i rr t_ i - 3d ^VBfi Odw 
 
 weaknelies belonging to the lat- 
 ter period of life. As every 
 thing fails, we wifli for fome- 
 
 thing
 
 OLD-AGE. 101 
 
 thing to lean on ; and we attach 
 
 r i i_ r 
 
 ourielves to riches as our lupport. 
 
 Neverthelefs, if we could reafon 
 properly, we fhould fee that we 
 have no real occafion for them, 
 and that we enfure more comfort 
 by fharing them with others, 
 than by amaffing them for our- 
 
 felves. 
 
 ^niLro ri 
 
 But let us return to women 
 too nr.dlnano.n . bl^H 
 
 or gaiety ; they have molt to 
 
 lofe in growing old, and a more 
 difficult part to acl:. As there 
 are various forts of them, fo 
 there are different kinds of con- 
 duct to obferve. For thofe who 
 have fhown no difcretion, and 
 who have been unfaithful to the 
 
 prejudices, and to the virtues 
 
 i j 
 
 of their fex, they lofe infinitely 
 03 on
 
 E S AY Cf Q; N 
 
 on the Jaiiwfc 
 thefe being the only 
 united them to 
 ne&ion muft be 
 thofe who have known how,t;o 
 refpecl: themfelves, who have 
 been able to join probity and 
 friendfhip to love; thefe are ftill 
 connedled with men by the vir- 
 tues of fociety ; for virtue alone 
 has a tight to unite us. Feel- 
 ing characters have more to un- 
 dergo. The heart does not ex- 
 hauft itfelf like the fenfes. At- 
 tachment to our duties is often 
 followed by a long and painful 
 fenfibility. Love indemnifies 
 himfelf on the fentiments of the 
 heart, for what the fenfes have 
 refufed him. The more the 
 
 fentiments
 
 OLD-AGE. 103 
 
 fentlments are reftrained, the 
 more lively they become. In- 
 clination grows weaker by in- 
 dulgence, and the paffions 6f 
 women wear out like thofe of 
 men. In fhort, there is a pe- 
 riod in the lives of women, 
 which becomes a criris. It is 
 the conduct which they obferve, 
 and the part that they take at 
 that time, which gives the; laft 
 finifh to their reputation, and 
 upon which depends the re* 
 pofe of their whole lives. 
 
 Women fupport themfelves in 
 youth by a vivacity of confti- 
 tution, which hurries them to- 
 wards fuch objects as gratify 
 their fenfes, and which deli- 
 vers them to the paffions, either 
 G 4 allowable
 
 IQ4 ESSAY ON 
 
 allowable or forbiddenui} 
 novelty/ pf:; -the fcene,:>i'Tfrfuiaii 
 excites and nourifhes their cu- 
 riofity, fupports them. For 
 thofe who have beauty and at- 
 tradHons, they enjoy the ad- 
 vantage of their own figure, 
 and the impreffion which they 
 make on others. Their felf- 
 love is always gratified by what 
 they find in themfelves, and by 
 the afTedtion which they in- 
 fpire. 
 
 What authority is more inftan- 
 taneous, more fweet, and more 
 abfolute, than that of beauty? 
 Majefty and power have domi- 
 nion only over external objecls> 
 that of beauty reaches the foul. 
 There is hardly an amiable WOT- 
 
 man
 
 OLD-AGE. 105 
 
 man that has not enjoyed thefe 
 triumphs. Moreover, what a 
 fund of amufements does not the 
 defireof pleafing fupply? All the 
 apparatus of gallantry, allowable 
 in a young perfon, drefs, diver- 
 verfions ; all thefe pleafures are 
 the occupations of a certain age. 
 What a&ivity do the paffions not 
 infpire ? Gan we be agitated more 
 forcibly than by their power ? 
 The events of female life depend 
 on them, and great eftablifh men ts 
 have often been the confequence 
 and the reward of a fentiment. 
 All thefe things are connected 
 with each other ; they relate to 
 the heart, and conftitute an active 
 and bufy life, even for thofe who 
 have not made an improper ufe 
 
 of
 
 ESSAY ON 
 of their liberty. All this vanishes 
 at an after-period, when, if you 
 wifh to try the fenfibility of the 
 heart, you find it alive only to 
 pain. There comes a feafon in 
 which you rauft lead a fort of life 
 fuitable to the decency and dig- 
 nity of your age. You muft give 
 up all: that is called lively plea- 
 fure. It often happens that you 
 have loft all tafte for amufements: 
 they can no longer employ your 
 hours ; you have even loft your 
 real friends, and the time is paft 
 for you to make others. The 
 eftate of beauty is love, and the 
 recompence of virtuous love is 
 friendship ;. and you are -very 
 fortunate, when all your beft 
 years have procured you one, or 
 
 two
 
 OLD-AGE. 107 
 
 two real friends. In fliort, you 
 quit each feafon of life as foon as 
 you begin to be acquainted with 
 it, and you enter quite a novice 
 into another. All exterior obje&s 
 afford you no further fupport, or 
 are prohibited to you. Within 
 yourfelf you find nothing but in- 
 firmities of body, and melancholy 
 reflexions in the mind, nothing 
 but difguft. You muft break all 
 commerce with fentiment. We 
 feel our ties when they ought to 
 be diflblved. Devotion has been 
 called the play- thing, but I con- 
 fider it as the ftaff of age ; it is 
 a becoming fentiment, and the 
 only one neceffary. The yoke of 
 religion is not a burden, but a 
 fupport, 
 
 But
 
 ESSAY ON 
 
 f ^"*< .* 
 
 But let us proceed to the du- 
 ties of old-age. In all the fea- 
 fons of life we have duties to 
 difcharge, both to others and 
 to ourfelves, and thofe which 
 we owe to others double as we 
 
 -*** X, MM I <* 1 ** ' OOJ3 f 3vT5r 
 
 grow old. When we can no 
 longer diffufe the charm of chear- 
 fulnefs over fociety, it has a 
 ftronger claim on us for intrin- 
 fic virtues. In youth others will 
 attend to you. In old-age you 
 muft attend to others : participa- 
 tion is expeded from us, and 
 our failure is not forgiven. With 
 our youth we lofe the privilege 
 of erring. It is no longer per- 
 mitted us to be in the wrong. 
 We have no longer that fedu- 
 cing charm, and we are judged 
 with feverity. The firft graces of 
 
 youth
 
 109 
 
 rr\ ^rf'<i- fs~1 "j^Vf J^rtTf" ?ffe ^"^f "ffrfJ 
 
 youth have a lultre which covers 
 every thing. The errors in judg- 
 ment are pardoned, and have the 
 merit of fimplicity. 
 
 t r *\ J+ L r *\ 
 
 In growing old, we muft ob- 
 ferve, above all, propriety in our 
 converfation and in our drefs. 
 Nothing is more ridiculous than 
 making it appear, by ftudied or- 
 naments, that you wifh to recall 
 the departing graces. An avowed 
 old-age is leaft old. The greateft 
 misfortune of women who have 
 been lovely, is their forgetting 
 that they are fo no more. 
 
 We muft alfo plan out for 
 ourfelves a fuitable mode of 
 life. It is not living as we 
 ought to live, under the do- 
 minion of our paflions and fan- 
 tafies j we only live as becomes 
 
 us.
 
 ESSAY ON 
 
 us, when we live according to 
 reafon. We muft alfo pay at- 
 tention to our fociety, and only 
 unite with perfons of fimilar age 
 and difpoiitions. Shews and pub- 
 lic places ought to be prohi- 
 bited, or at leaft we fhould vifit 
 them but rarely. Nothing is lefs 
 decent, than to difplay there a 
 countenance which has loft its 
 graces. When you can no longer 
 adorn thofe fcenes, it is time to 
 quit them. The advantages of 
 underftanding are but ill fup- 
 ported, when contrafted with the 
 brilliancy of youth. They ferve 
 but to make you feel too fcverely 
 what you have loft : nothing 
 fuits us then fo well as home ; 
 our felf-love fuffers lefs there than 
 in other places. There are, how- 
 
 ever*
 
 ever, -allowable amufements, and 
 all -that is called pleafure is not 
 forbidden. f ^psbol mo ot noi:/ 
 
 Let us examine what we owe 
 to ourfelves ; our fentiments 
 and our conduct ought to be 
 different from what it has been 
 in our earlieft years. You owe 
 to the world the obligations 
 of politenefs ; but you owe to 
 yourfelf fuch fentiments as arq 
 allowable and innocent, from a 
 fenfe of your own dignity ; for we 
 muft live upon good terms with 
 ourfelves. It is neceflary alfo for 
 our own repofe ; but it ought tQ 
 be coniidered, that there are fen- 
 timents, from which- tp be di- 
 vorced, aftedls the very foul. 
 You neither^ know their price, 
 
 nor
 
 ESSAY ON 
 
 nor the ufe which fhould be made 
 of them, till they are to be given 
 up. In a more advanced age, the 
 tafte becomes more delicate upon 
 thofe points which wound, and 
 more exquifite upon thofe which 
 pleafe. Love is the firft of plea- 
 fures, and the fweeteft of errors ; 
 but when youth has forfaken you, 
 the pains double, and the plea- 
 fures diminifh. 
 
 What conftitutes the misfor- 
 tune of a certain feafon is, that we 
 wifh to preferve, and to carry fen- 
 timents into an age in which they 
 ought not to appear. Is that the fault 
 of the feafon? is it not rather our 
 own? Our manners make the mif- 
 fortune, not old-age. Every fea- 
 fon muft be a burden to thofe who 
 10 have
 
 OLD-AGE. ii3 
 
 have not within themfelves the 
 powers of rendering life happy. 
 We muft with docility fubmit 
 ourfelves to the pains of our age, 
 and of our Situation. Nature^ 
 makes a kind of agreement with 
 men ; me only gives them life 
 upon conditions : (he gives us 
 nothing as our property ; me does 
 no more than lend. We muft 
 not revolt at the natural progrefs- 
 of humanity. A philofopher who 
 had lived to a hundred and feven 
 years, was aflced if he did not 
 find life tirefome ? Ke replied, 
 have no reafon to complain of my 
 old-age, as I never made an ill 
 ufe of my youth. When the mo- 
 rals are pure and innocent in ear-* 
 ly life, old-age is mild and tran- 
 H quiL
 
 folation of anadvanced age. Wfcn 
 
 yga h^mK 
 
 you reap the 
 fea^S^ 
 
 fpn the misfortunes which, our 
 
 u PP. n :Sfe e^wk 21 ftfi ftfil 
 , v The wants of the heart are 
 
 infinite, thofe of nature are li- 
 rmted. Happy is that old-age 
 in which, the heart is devoted to 
 heaven. Devotion is a proper 
 fentiment for women, and becom- 
 ing to both fexes. Old-age, with- 
 
 i iJOJ v>J i/Aii i!vlJ JUIIiJi CEuif lyi ii Joi-l . 
 
 out religion, is burdenfome. All 
 the exterior pleafur,es abandon us. 
 
 beft of bleffings, health aj^.yo 
 
 3 are
 
 yWPBremblifc N*i& infidel fees 
 only pains prepared for him : tBe 
 philofopher, only annihilation. 
 Behold the termination" of the 
 
 The laft a<5l is always tragical ; 
 but how great the gain, to change 
 the idea of annihilation for that 
 of eternity ! If we live in a manner 
 to render it blefled, how beauti- 
 ful the profpeft of an eternity 
 ofblifs! but the greateft part of 
 mankind fuffer their life to pafs 
 away without a thought of afcer- 
 taining their real fituation. Who 
 would believe that t^iefe very 
 men, who are fo zealous upon 
 H 2 that
 
 n6 E S S A 
 
 T ^ bnii .;37ii jiaHl ,e,-YniJiis. 
 that which regards their glory 
 
 or their fortune, when they think 
 it in danger, are tranquil and in- 
 dolent concerning the knowledge 
 of their being; that they will fuf- 
 fer themfelves to be effeminately 
 led on to death, without inform- 
 ing themfelves whether what they 
 have been told are chimaeras or 
 truths ; that they fhould travel 
 on their road, and fee advancing 
 towards them death, eternity, 
 and everlafting punifhments and 
 rewards, without refle&ing that 
 thefe great truths concern and 
 intereft them ? Can we, with- 
 out forefight and without fear, 
 proceed to the trial of fo great 
 an event ? This is, neverthe- 
 kfs > the ftate in which the ge- 
 2 nerality
 
 OLD-AGE. 117 
 
 >. C i A > 
 
 nerality of men live ; and for 
 thofe few who have taken the 
 good or the bad fide, how many- 
 are there who never think of it? 
 For thofe who are fo happy as to 
 be affected by religion, their piety 
 
 confoles them. It is alfo moft 
 r if?{. v < t" 
 
 ealy to pradtiie. 
 
 ' r 3flw s^vbtffDrfj onr 
 All the chains that attach us 
 
 to life are nearly broken. It 
 is the work of nature, more 
 than that of our reafon, to 
 detach us from it. The ban- 
 dage of illufion is fallen, and we 
 fee things as they are. A know- 
 ledge of the world is dearly pur- 
 chafed, and thofe who are beft 
 acquainted with It know, that it 
 is only good to take leave of. 
 H 3 Subftan-
 
 we 
 
 even in tranfient pleafures. We 
 flaall draw nothing fo valuable 
 from the world as we {hall from de- 
 votion. . She has many refqurces. 
 
 Refignation 
 every period 
 pra&ice of it is moft neceflary in 
 old-age;, as we are fuflaining loffes 
 continually. But as fentiment is 
 lefs lively, we Attach ourfelves 
 lefs to things. We muft follow 
 nature imperceptibly, without 
 revolting againft h$r. c .*uSk ifr<$hf 
 beft guide we can have. We live 
 but .to lofe, and to wean ourfelves 
 from , the objects of our regard t 
 
 H We
 
 . 119 
 
 We tnuft exped a change both in 
 ourtelves and in others, and on 
 mhfe$3&c<&fiMs we 'fhotrld fKew 
 fiftch indulgence to others as we 
 wiili to receive on the appearance 
 of a iimilar change in ourfelves. 
 
 o 
 
 But our lofles are frequently to 
 our advantage. Worthy minds 
 will rejoice in being freed from 
 the fetters of voluptuoufnefs. 
 We are to blame therefore our 
 morals, and not our period of life, 
 for what we fuffer. We iliould 
 fubmit mildly to the laws of our 
 condition : we are all made to 
 grow weak, to grow old., and to 
 die. Nothing is ^rritfre idle than 
 to #f uggte againft the effeds of 
 $M?i ttHe^ciscidur fuperior in 
 II 4 ftrength.
 
 E S S A Y O N 
 ftrength. In youth we all live as 
 it were in the future. Life is 
 ipent in defire> and to the future 
 we truft for our joys and repofe. 
 In old-age we muft feize them 
 in the inftant. Montaign fays, 
 that he turns every thing to ad- 
 vantage* I feel, fays he, as other 
 men do, but not quite in fo tran- 
 fient a rnanner. In proportion 
 as life becomes fhpjrter, I would 
 encreafe my reliih for what re- 
 mains. I would flop the rapidi- 
 ty of its flight by the eagernefs 
 of my grafp. We muft fupport 
 old-age by every prop. I make 
 all things contribute to my aid, 
 and both wifdom and folly will 
 have enough to do in affi
 
 <0 L D*- A G E. 
 
 me with their alternate good offi- 
 ces under this latter period of life. 
 
 One of the duties of old- 
 age, is the management of time. 
 The lefs that remains to us, the 
 more valuable we ought to con- 
 fider it. The time of Chriftkns 
 is the price with which they puf-* 
 chafe eternity. Without wafting 
 it, therefore, in the purfuitof vain 
 fciences, which are above us, let 
 us make the proper ufe of our fi~ 
 tuation, and juftly eftimate the 
 reach of our underftanding. 
 
 We are lefs limited in the article of 
 enjoyment, than in that of know- 
 ledge : we have iftdeed as much 
 light as is neceflary and proper 
 for OUT well-being ; but we en- 
 gage
 
 E3 SiAOrj ,0 N 
 
 which were not defigned for our 
 saJipbeheBfion .? JbiitsbBfoie ore 
 temqhitb inquiries! 
 
 know the 
 
 ftanding. What is the rule that 
 
 fion ? We muft learn to feparafe 
 opinion from real knciwJedge/^^) 
 have the ftrength to pauie- amlt^) 
 doubt, when we fee nothing 
 clearly ; and to have the refolu- 
 tion to bear the ignorance of 
 truths which are beyond our 
 Qfcmprehenfion. ioBut>ii0>qchecfa 
 our prefumption, and to weaken 
 our ccmfidence, let us reflect that 
 the two principles of our know- 
 noFHrqo
 
 t> L D-A G E. 123 
 
 ledge, our reafon and our fenfes, 
 are deficient in fincerity, and very 
 apt o to /mlfleadjdi^ noSftfae fenfes 
 overpower reafon by furprize, 
 andiit^e (reafon deceives them in 
 its turn. Behold our two guides, 
 who both lead us aftray 1 Re- 
 flections like thefe infpire us 
 with difguft for mere fpecu^- 
 lative truths, let us then em- 
 ploy our time in attainments 
 which will contribute to our 
 happinefs and perfe&ion. - 
 
 There is hardly any age, which 
 has not in its difpofal a cer- 
 tain portion of bleffings :^^to 
 the firft period, belong the live- 
 ly pfefcfores of the fenfes and 
 imagination ; to the fecond, thofe 
 of ambition and opinion ; and to 
 
 the
 
 124 ESSAY ON 
 
 the laft, the poifeffion of reafon 
 and tranquillity. SfjTn4jy 3 $ 
 foul- is the moft neceffary difpofi- 
 tion for happinefs. When the 
 foul is not fhaken by a multitude 
 of fenfations, it is in a better 
 ftate to make the moft of thofe 
 bleffings which prefent them- 
 felves, and gains as much by the 
 improvement of its relifh, as it 
 lofes by the failure of its ob- 
 jects. 
 
 It has been confidered as the 
 duty of old-age to think of death. 
 I believe it is ufeful to reflect 
 upon it, for the regulation of our 
 lives, and to detach ourfelves 
 from the world. But it is not 
 neceflary to have it always in 
 
 contemplation,
 
 OLD-AGE. 125 
 
 contemplation, to afflict us. The 
 idea is afflicting from the firft 
 opening of the fcene. How 
 beautiful foever the drama, the 
 curtain rnuft fall. The nobleft 
 lives terminate in the 'fame man- 
 ner. A little duft is thrown 
 over us, and we are plunged into 
 eternity. Montaign does not 
 agree with me. He would ra- 
 ther difarm death, by familiar- 
 izing the mind to its terrors. 
 We muft hope that Heaven will 
 fupport us in our clofing fcene. 
 It fhould be our only aim to en- 
 gage its protection, by a life of 
 innocence and virtue. We fhould 
 alfo b3 careful 'not to fet too 
 high a value on life. It has al- 
 ways
 
 126 E 5 S >f'Y ON 
 
 ways- 
 
 tach m, and misfortunes enough 
 to reconcile uSP^tf* its ^^6{s? n ^K 
 philofophcr anfwered a man, 
 who afked him if he fliould de- 
 ftroy himfelf You have no re- 
 fle<5fcion upon a point of fo much 
 importance. Great men do not 
 meafure life by the duration in 
 point of time, but by its propor- 
 tion of glory. An exemplary 
 death throws a luftre upon life ; 
 a weak one difhonors it. To 
 form a complete judgment of 
 any one, we ought to have feen 
 
 Lite is in itfelf ihort, and we 
 make it more fo, by our levijty and 
 irregularities; The fliorf
 
 OLD-AGE. 
 
 for- 
 
 went glflp. 8 3i WJiqe,yer i j fubftrads 
 f?h%ir^ift^e te portioa 
 of; time allotted for fleep, and 
 other necefiities, for the difor- 
 ders of mind and body, will 
 difcover, that little remains to 
 us for happinefs ; and out of a 
 long life, we fhall with difficulty 
 extrad fome years of it. , 
 
 It has been faid, we ought to fi- 
 nifh our lives before our death, that 
 is- to fay, our projefls. To finifli 
 our life, is to have worn out our 
 inclination; for it; for with re- 
 fpeft to our projects, as long as 
 we liv* we muft amufe ourfelves 
 with hopes, and we exift lefs 
 
 in
 
 t-28 S 5 A Y ON 
 
 in the prefent than in the future* 
 Life would be fliort, if hopg did 
 &ot give it 'extent. The prefect, 
 fays- afcal,- is never our aim: 
 the p&ft and the prefent are our 
 means ; the future alone is- oiir 
 object Thus we do not exift, but 
 we hope to do fo. WV fhould, 
 however, make hafte to live. 
 It is not wife to fay, I flmll live 
 to-morrow. The Philofophers 
 fay, Learn to live ; and the Chrif- 
 tians, Learn every day how to die. 
 - One- of the advantages ,bf old- 
 age is liberty. Pififtratus afked 
 Solon, who- eppofed him, on what 
 he grounded his liberty ? Upon 
 my old-age, he replied, which 
 has- no longer any- thing to fear-; 
 
 The
 
 OLD-AGE. 129 
 
 latter feafon fets us free 
 from the tyranny of opinion. 
 When we are young, we think 
 only pf living in the conceit g{ 
 Others. We muft eftablifh our 
 reputations, and give ourfelves 
 an honorable place in the ima- 
 gination of others ; and we muft 
 even be happy in their idea. 
 Such happinefs is not real ; it 
 is not ourfelves we confult, but 
 others. In a later period, we 
 return to ourfelves, and this re- 
 tura jias its fweets. We begin 
 to confult and to confide in our- 
 felves. We efcape from fortune 
 an4 from illufion. Men have 
 loft their prerogative of deceiving 
 us. We have learn: to know 
 I them,
 
 1 30 ESSAY ON 
 
 them, and to know ourfelves j to 
 profit from our own faults, which 
 inftru us as- much as thofe 
 of others. We begin to fe^'our 
 'error, in having fet fo high a va- 
 lue upon men. Often do tjiey 
 teach us, to our coft, to place 
 no dependence upon arty thing. 
 Infidelity difengages us ; the 
 falfity of pleafure undeceives 
 us. 
 
 Old-age delivers u-s alfo from 
 the tyranny of the paffions, and 
 convinces us, that there is a con- 
 fiderable pleafure in difcovering 
 that we-ean e^ift without them, 
 and a high degree of deliglit, in 
 feeling ourfelves fuperipr to their 
 controul. Nature fupplies us 
 
 with
 
 OLD-AGE. 13 * 
 
 with taftes and defires conform- 
 able to our prefent fituation. In 
 youth, we conceive a falfe idea 
 of old-age : thefe are fears which 
 w^ contract burfelves. It is not 
 nature that infpires them, be- 
 caufe, during the period we are in, 
 we dread the paffions of another 
 period, which is a ftranger to us. 
 
 Nature is full of admirable re- 
 fources : flie conducts and go- 
 verns us almbft without our 
 
 . 
 
 knowing it, and has the art of 
 afTifting- us under every incon- 
 venience. Deprivations are no 
 longer felt?, when defire is ex- 
 tinguiflied; All our inclinations 
 pafs away, even to that of life 
 itfelf. It is to be wifhed that 
 I 2 all
 
 ON 
 
 " ; iV" 5w3i 3fiDjdbiw 4 . , 
 the pafuons mould expire be- 
 fore us this is to have finished 
 our life before we die. In this 
 feafon, reifqn is reftored to us. 
 She refumes all her rights. We 
 begin to live when we begin 
 to obey her for they whole 
 thoughts, whofe hopes, and even 
 whole reafon, is at the mergy of 
 fortune, and of their own fan- 
 talies, they can affure themfelves 
 of nothing, having nothing for 
 their fupport. It is melancholy 
 to arrive at the end of life with- 
 out having made any provifion of 
 real bldTmgs, which never decay. 
 Never thelefs, men errfploy them- 
 felves entirely in arriafljrig fuch 
 j o 
 
 pofleffions as" they muft necef- 
 
 farily
 
 <XL D - A G E._ 
 
 farily lofe, \?ithout reflecting, that 
 thofe perifhable commodities do 
 pot belong to us. Experience is 
 alfo one of the advantages of the 
 
 .eU CJ ;2 \ iQJI3i 3f J7O1.S57 */!<.- 
 
 laft feafon. Vfe are inftruded by 
 
 - . . - 
 
 the paft even our .errors .reform, 
 and reftore to us our reafon, 
 which is feldom preferved in prof- 
 perity ; for thofe perfons, who 
 have been always happy, have 
 
 V-J - Ar~>A.3. ^ *^ 
 
 feldom deferved to be fo. But 
 
 Tt^Tu " ' 
 
 there are troubles that arife/rom 
 fortune and from chance, and 
 others, which flow from irregu- 
 larity of morals. Thefe corrupt 
 the mind and deftroy the health; 
 for the fequel of an irregular 
 youth, is a miferable old-age, and 
 frequently we employ the firft 
 I 3 part
 
 I 34 E S S A Y O N 
 
 part of our lives to render the 
 
 remainder of them wretched. 
 
 The flavery of the paffions is a 
 kind of imprifonment, in which 
 the foul is impaired and weakened. 
 When we are delivered from them, 
 the foul enlarges and expands. At 
 a certain age, we are no longer to 
 be enfnared by the pleafuresof the 
 imagination. We know how de- 
 ceitful they are, and that all the 
 paflions promife more than they 
 give. Thofe which are only fup- 
 ported by illufion, are mifplaced 
 and odious at a certain age. Am- 
 bition, extended too far, degene- 
 rates into folly ; and love, by dif- 
 play ing itfelf to public view, be- 
 comes the objed: of ridicule. 
 
 There
 
 OLD-AGE. 
 
 There comes a feafon in our 
 liveSj which is facred to truth. 
 which is j deftincd to ' make 
 things appear according to their 
 juft value* Youth, and the paf- 
 fions, give a falfe colouring to 
 every thing we are then reftor- 
 ed to pleafures of genuine fim- 
 plicity we begin to confult 
 and to rely on our own fenti- 
 ments concerning happinefs. We 
 muft in fome degree, accommo- 
 date ourfelves to the cuftoms of 
 life but we fhould not furren^ 
 der to them either our liberty or 
 our judgment. 
 
 Nothing is more glorious than to 
 
 make an honourable retreat, and 
 
 to fecure to ourfelves an interval of 
 
 I 4 leifure
 
 E s S A * o *r 
 
 Ieifur6 between life and deatn. 
 Death, fays Montaign, is no focial 
 bufinefs, but the ad: of an indivi^ 
 dual. In old-age, we ought rather 
 to be avaricious than prodigal of 
 dur fociety. It has been faid of a 
 man, that he took the counfel 
 of his old-age, and retired. We 
 owe the firft and the fecond fea- 
 fon to our country, and the la ft 
 to ourfelves. To live in per- 
 petual employment, is to travel 
 rapidly through life. Tranquil- 
 lity lengthens our exiftence. The 
 world fteals us from ourfelves and 
 folitude reftbres us.-^-The world 
 is compofed of a herd, which are 
 ever flying from themfelves. So- 
 litude, lays an exalted character, 
 
 is
 
 O'-L ft- A G E 
 
 is the infirmary of fouls $ t etite 
 then within yourfelf, but prepare 
 for yourfelf a good reeepttaift 
 Unite the oppofite tenements of 
 {hame and refped, and, 
 ing the Iktlenefs ; of 
 learh to reverence your own 
 
 The general pralice is 
 thereverft; but how mekiicholy 
 to retairi this felf-love, arid tti fee 
 bAirfelves dying every inft^nt ! fa 
 is eflentfel to our intereft* t 
 wean ourfelves from tMs- felf- 
 ifli affedion, to break part of 
 thefe fetters, and make at leaft 
 fome advancestowardsfreedom*-^^ 
 to clofe every avenue that might; 
 condu'd: us back into the world, 
 
 and
 
 I 3 8 ESS AY ON 
 
 and not even caft a look towards 
 it. O happy exiftence, which 
 finds itfelf delivered from every 
 fpecies of flavery ! in which, we re- 
 linquifli all things not from. a 
 tranfitory difguft, ;but from a 
 confirmed judgment, fupported 
 by the conviction of the . fmall 
 value of things in general* It is 
 this knowledge which reconciles 
 us with wifdom, which makes 
 old-age palatable to us, if I may 
 hazard fuch an expreflion. 
 
 It belongs only to liberal fouls 
 to make a proper eftimate of life 
 andjdeath fuch alone as are full 
 of refqurcescan extract enjoyment 
 from thefe declining years. Weak 
 minds endure them ; but minds 
 
 of
 
 OLD-AGE. 139 
 
 of fuperior ftrerigth convert them 
 to advantage. It has been faid, 
 that there was no fpe&acle more 
 worthy of a God, than a virtuous 
 man ftruggling with adverfity. 
 We may fay the fame thing of a 
 man abandoned to himfelf, ftrug- 
 gling with old-age, infirmity, 
 and death. In retirement, which 
 is the afylum of age, we en- 
 joy an uninterrupted calm. In- 
 nocent days bring with them 
 nights of tranquillity, and while 
 you affociate with the dead, they 
 inftrucl, direct, and confole you 
 thefe are certain and conftant 
 friends, devoid of caprice or jea- 
 loufy. In fhort, it has been faid, 
 that the moft pleafing period in 
 2 the
 
 i 4 o ESSAY ON 
 
 the life of man is the clofe of 
 it. 
 
 As we advance, we learn alfo 
 to fubmit ourfelves to the laws 
 ofneceflity: that free-will, fo 
 ftrong and unruly, becomes weak, 
 and is infenfibly extinguiflied. 
 We have too often proved, that 
 refiftance is ineffe&ual, and leaves 
 us nothing but the diflionor of 
 unfuccefsful rebellion. We often 
 wifti for what is contrary to our 
 intereft, and it frequently hap- 
 pens, that what we have fuppofed 
 prejudicial, turns out to our 
 advantage. We no longer know 
 what we ought to wifli for. We 
 have no longer the ftrength to 
 defire. We find it much eafier 
 
 to
 
 O L P- A G E, 141 
 
 to fubmit, than to change the 
 order of the world. Internal 
 peace does not refide in the 
 fenfes, but in the will. It is pre- 
 ferved in the midft of affliction, 
 as long as the will remains firm 
 and fubmiflive. Our peace does 
 not confift fo much in an ex- 
 emption from fufferings, as in a 
 mild resignation under them. We 
 ought to consider every paflef- 
 fion, which is out of our reach;, 
 as ftrangers to us. It isiS-etii 
 regarding things as our due and 
 property, that we fuffer by their 
 deprivation. Impoflibility alone, 
 can fix the imagination of man. 
 
 -; 
 
 Perfons of judgment employ them- 
 
 {elves in confidering the limits 
 
 9 which
 
 x 4 2 ESS A Y, 
 
 which are prefcribed by reafon 
 and nature. 
 
 In fhort, all things are at peace, 
 when they are in their natural or- 
 der. The foul of man can repofe 
 only in the bofom of his God. 
 When we refign ourfelves to his 
 guidance, resignation and regula- 
 rity reftore us to that peace which 
 our refiftance had deprived us of. 
 The only fecure afylum for man, 
 is in the love and in the fear of 
 his Creator. 
 
 FINIS, 

 
 LETTERS 
 
 TO AND FKOM 
 
 THE COUNTESS DU BARRY, 
 
 The laft Miftrefs of L E w i s XV. of France; 
 
 CONTAINING 
 
 Her Correfpondence with the PRINCES OF THE BLOOD, 
 MINISTERS OF STATE, and Others: 
 
 INC L V D I X G 
 
 Several curious ANECDOTES of the Court of VERSAILLES 
 during die Laft fix Years of that Reign. 
 
 EXPLANATORY NOTES. 
 
 Tranflated from the FRENCH. 
 
 The FOURTH EDITION. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 Printed for G. KEARSLY, No. 46, FJeet-flreet. 
 
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