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THE 
 YOUNG GJEWTJLEMJJV AND 
 
 M O N I T O 
 
 AND 
 
 ENGLISH TEACHER'S ASSISTANT : 
 
 BEING 
 
 A COLLECTION OF SELECT PIECES- 
 
 FROM OUR BEST 
 
 MODERN WRITERS: 
 
 Calculated to eradicate vulgar Prejudices and Rusticity of 
 Manners ; Improve the Understanding ; Rectify the 
 Will ; Purify the Passions ; Direct the Minds of Youth 
 to the Pursuit of proper Objects ; and to facilitate thru- 
 Heading, Writing, and Speaking the English Lancuaee 
 with Elegance and Propriety. 
 
 Particularly adapted for the Ufe of our eminent Schools and Acad- 
 emies as well ss private Perfons, who have not an Opportunity 
 of perufing the Works of thcfc celebrated Authors, from whence 
 this Collection is made. 
 
 DIVIDED INTO 
 
 Smdl Portions for the Ease of. Reading in Classed. 
 
 BY J. HAMILTON MOORE, 
 
 Author of the Practical Mmggfyr : apd Seaman's JVcw Daily 
 
 THE SECOND HARTFORD EDITION. 
 
 HARTFORD : 
 
 PRINTED If OR O. jD. COOKE, 
 
 LINCOLN 8v GLEASONj PRINTERS. 
 1804. 
 
r\ i* j 
 
 oJ *s*>)w* t r**"'^*y 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 AS the deftgn f Learning is to render perfins agreeable companions fo 
 fhemfelves, and ufeful members of fid ty ; t fupport folitude tviti pleafurf, 
 ana t.< faft through prom'ifcunus temptations "with prudence ; 'tis prefumed 
 this compilation will not 6t unac-eptablc ; being compofid of pieces ftlefted 
 from the mojl celebrated mo at iv itsrs in the Englijb languagt, equally cal- 
 culated to promote the principle* <f religion, and to render youth vigilant in 
 dif:ha- y'tg the facial and relative duties in the fever al Jlations of life ; by in- 
 JlUUr ^ into their minds fuch wdxims of virtue and good breeding, as tend to 
 eradicate local prejudices and rufiicity of manners ; and at the fame time, Lai" 
 ituate them' to an elegant manner of exprcffing themfelves either in Writing 
 or ^p.aking. 
 
 And as tbefrfi imprffion made on tie minds efyiutb is the mofl lafling, 
 gr*st carejbould he taken to furnijb them ivith fuch feeds of reafon and phi- 
 Ivj tihy, as m.iy refl'fy and fiveeten every pirt of their future lives ; by mark- 
 i*\r ;>ut a proper behavior bt>th -with refp?ff to tbemftlvcs and others, and ex- 
 hibiting ever t virtue to their vie^u "which claims their attention , and every vice 
 ivhicb they ought to avoid. Injicad of this , i&r generally fee youth fujfered to 
 read romances, ivbich imprefs on their minds fuch notions of Fairies > uw/'*/j 
 t3*tf. that cxijl snly in the imagination, and being firongly imbibed \ take muck 
 time to eradicate , and very often bajjle all the fattier of fibilofopby. If books 
 abounding ivith moral inftrutficns, conveyed in a proper manner ^ 'were given 
 in their Jtead^ the frequent reading of them ivould implant in their minds fuel 
 ideas andfentiments^as would enable them to guard againjl tbefe prejudices fz 
 frequently met toitb amongst the ignorant. 
 
 Nor is itpojjible that any perfon canfpeak or ivriie ivith ehgance and 'pro- 
 priety ii ho has not been taught to read <wel! y and in fuib books where the 
 fttntitneiits are jufi and the language pure. 
 
 An injipid jlatnefs and lunguor is almoft the universal fault in reading , 
 tjten iitteting their words ft faint and feeble^ that they appsar neither tofesl 
 or underhand ivbat they read, nor have any dejire it favuld be undejjiooi or 
 felt by others. In order io acquire a forcible manner of pronouncing words % 
 let the pupils inure tfctfftfifveSj ivbile rcadinv, to draiv in as much air as their 
 lungs can contain ivith eafe, and to expel it ivith vehemence in uttering thofe 
 founds ivbich require an cmplaii^al pronunciation, and to read aloud ivith alt 
 the exertion they c <n command ; let all the confonant founds be exf re/fed ivitL 
 a full impulfe of the breath^ and a forcible aftion of the organs emp'oyed in 
 forming them ; and all the voivel founds Lave a full and bold utterance* 
 
 Thefe reafons, and to infytre youth ivith noble fcnt'ements,jnjl expreffion, to 
 fjfe the teacher, and to render a book chejp and convenient for fcbools, as ivell 
 as private perfons ivbo h ive neither time nor opportunity to pernfe the "works 
 oftboje celebt at ed authors from whence this collection is made, ivas the cavfc 
 of thefoHoiviKg compilation. 
 
 And as fpeecbes in both boufes of parliament, pleadings at the bar, inflrui- 
 tions in the falpit, and commercial correspondence, are delivered and carried en 
 in the Envlijb language : the clotbing-our theugbts ivith proper exprejfions, 
 *nd conveying our id?as, either in writing or fpe -iking, agreeably, cannot fail 
 t>f making an imprejjion upon the bearer or reader, for, a man's knoiv edge 
 'is cj little vf? to t&e ivorld, ivben be is not able to convey it propetfly to oth- 
 f rs ; ivhicb is the cafe of many uuho art endowed with excellent parts, but 
 are either afraid or ajbamcd of writing, or fpeaking in public, being fsnfctQus 
 *f their own deficiency of exprejjing tbemjelves in proper Urws* 
 
PREFACE.. 
 
 In order to remedy tltfe defcfls, and to eafe the teacher, I ivculd advif^ 
 that feveral young gentlemen read in a c/afs, e.ach a fentence in this book, (it 
 being divided into fmall portions for that purpofij as often as convenient : and 
 let him iuLo reads bejl be advanced /<? the lead, or lave fume pecuniary reivard; 
 and every inferior one according to bis merit ; this tuill create emulation 
 among thtm^ and facilitate their improvement much more than threats or cor- 
 rcSlions, iih'uh fttpifies and intimidates them, and often ends in contempt of 
 their teachers, and learning in general. This ivill draw forth thofs latent 
 abilities , which other'ivife might lie' dormant for ever. 
 
 It may not le improper far the teacher, or fame good reader, to read a fenv 
 tence or t-vj&.jirjl, that the learners may gain the proper etnphafis, and read 
 without that monotony fe painful to a gocd ear: for they ivill improve more 
 by imitating a good reader, than any rulet that can be laid duivn to them. 
 When they come to read gracefully, let thim Jland up in the fchool and read 
 a'oud, in order to tale cff that bajhfulnefs generally attending thofe ivho are 
 called upon either ti read or fpeak ir, public. 
 
 T/JS next tLi.ng I tuould reeomm^nd, is the Englifo Grammar, (tie bcjl 
 I know of is Buchanan's fynt,ixj ibe knowledge of luhicb is abfolutely neccjfa~ 
 ty, as it is the f did foundation upon which all zther Jcience ref.s. Sifter tbay 
 have run over the rules offyntax, the teacher may d>6i>ite to them one or more 
 fsntenccs in fa?fs Englijl, ivhich thty may correct liy their grammar rules , 
 and afi find out the various Jignrjications of each icord in the diff lottery ; by 
 ivhich means they ivill foon acquire s copious -vocabulary , and become acquaint- 
 ed net iviih ivorJs only, but ivith things ihcvnf elves. Let them gst thofe fen " 
 fences by heart to fpeak extempore ; ii-hi;h 'will, in fane me<ifure y be deliver- 
 ing their oivn compoftiiensy and may be repeated as ojten as convenient. This 
 ivill f von give tie young gentlemen au idea of the force, elegance, and beauty of" 
 the Englifb Language. 
 
 'The next thing I ivould gladly tecommcnd, is that of lctter-*writing, a 
 Iranch of t ducat tt/n, iuhich feems to me of tie utrnojl utility, and in which mcft 
 of our youth are deficient at their leaving Jcbool ; beir.g fuffered to form their 
 GIVH Jlyle by chance, or imitate the firjl iu> etched model that falls in their ivay % 
 Itf ore they knoiv ivhat is faulty, or can relijh the beauties of a jujljimpliciiy. 
 
 For their improvement in tLis particular ,ihe teacher may caufe every young 
 gentleman to have ajlatc or paper before him, on Saturdays, and then diffate 
 a letter to them, either of his own tompojition, or taken out of fome book, and 
 turn it into fjlfe Englifo, to exercife them in the grammar rules , if he thin! s 
 proper, -which they Jbould all -write doivn, and then corrtftandtravfcribc it 
 fairly in their books. 
 
 lifter the young gentlemen have been accufloKied to this fome time, a fitppuftd 
 eorrefpondence may befixt between every tivo of tbcm, and ivritc to one another 
 under the infpeSlion of the teacher, ivbo may cor reft end jkoiv their faults 
 when lie fees occvfion ; by fuch a method be ivi!l foon find them improve in 
 fpijldary writing. The fims vuy be ohfirvcd ivith regard to young laJ;es t 
 who are very often deficient, not only in orthography, but every other part of 
 grammar. 
 
 IffemetbingfinHat to this method le purfued, it will foon rcf ft 1 cnor on 
 the teacher, give the bigbeflfatiifa&ion to judicious parents and cnt.iil upon 
 tbefcholar a ptcajing and loping advantage. 7'UE EDO QR. 
 

 YOUNG GENTLEMAN AND LADY'S 
 
 MONITOR 
 
 Pursuit of Knowledge recommended to Youth.. 
 
 1. T AM very much concerned when I see young gen- 
 JL tlemen of fortune and quality so wholly set upon 
 pleasure and diversions, that they neglect all those im- 
 provements in wisdom and knowledge which may make 
 them easy to themselves and useful to the world. The 
 greatest part of our British youth lose their figure, and 
 grow out of fashion, by that time they are five and twenty. 
 2. As soon as the natural gaiety and amiableness of the 
 young man wears off, they have nothing left to recommend 
 them, but lie by the rest of their lives, among the lumber 
 and refuse of the species. 
 
 It sometimes happens, indeed, that for want of apply- 
 ing themselves in due time to the pursuits of knowledge*, 
 they take up a book in their declining years, and grow 
 very hopeful scholars by that time they are threescore. 
 I must therefore earnestly press my readers who are in the 
 flower of their youth, to labor at those accomplishments 
 which may set off their persons when their bloom is gone, 
 and to lay in timely provisions for manhood and old age. 
 In short, I would advise the youth of fifteen to be dressing 
 up every day the man of fifty ; or to consider how to- 
 make himself venerable at threescore. 
 A S 
 
\\ 
 
 6 The Young Gentleman and Lady's M< 
 
 -3. Young men, who are naturally ambitious, would do 
 well to observe how the greatest men of antiquity made it 
 their ambition to excel all their cotemporaries in knowL 
 t edge. Julius Cesar and Alexander, the most celebrated'' 
 instancese of human , greatness, took a particular care to 
 distinguish themselves by their skill in the arts and scien- 
 ces. We have still extant, several remains of the former, 
 which justify the character given of him by the learned 
 men of his own age. 
 
 4. As for the latter, it is a known saying of his, that 
 he was more obliged to Aristotle, who had instructed him, 
 than to Philip, who had given him life and empire. There 
 is a letter of his recorded by Plutarch and Aldus Gellius, 
 which he wrote to Aristotle, upon hearing that he had pub- 
 lished those lectures he had given him in private. This 
 letter was written m the following words, at a time when 
 he was in the height of his Persian conquests. 
 
 5. Alexander to Aristotle, greeting. 
 
 " YOU have not done v/ell to publish your books of 
 " select knowledge J ..for what is there now in which I can 
 " surpass others, if those things which I have been in- 
 a structed in are communicated to every body ? For my 
 " own part I declare to you, I would rather excel others 
 " in knowledge than power. FaretvcL" 
 
 6. We see by this letter that the love of conquest was 
 but the second ambition in Alexander's soul. Knowledge 
 is indeed that, which, next to virtue, truly and essentially 
 raises one man above another. It furnishes one half of the 
 human soul. It makes being pleasant to us, fills the mind 
 with entertaining views, and administers to it a perpetual 
 series of gratifications. 
 
 It gives ease to solitude, and gracefulness to retirement, 
 It fills a public station with suitable abilities, and adds a 
 lustre to those who are in the possession of them. 
 
 7. Learning, by which I mean all useful knowledge, 
 whether speculative or practical, is in popular and mixt 
 governments the natural source of wealth and honor. 
 If we look into most of the reigns from the conquest, we 
 shall find, that the favorites of each reign have been those; 
 who have raised themselves. The greatest men are 
 generally the growth of that particular age in which they 
 flourish. 
 
and English Teacher's A s s I s T A.N T. 7 
 
 8. A superior capacity for business, and a mere ex- 
 tensive knowledge, are the steps by which a new man 
 often mounts to favor, and outshines the rest of his co- 
 temporaries. But when men are actually born to titles, 
 it is almost impossible that they should fail of receiving 
 an additional greatness, if they take care to accomplish 
 themselves for it. 
 
 9. The story of Solomon's choice, does not oaly instruct 
 us in that point of history, but furnishes out a very finp 
 moral to us, namely, that he who, applies his heart to 
 wisdom, does at the same time take the most proper 
 method for gaining long life, riches. and reputation, which 
 are very often not only the rewards, but. the effects of 
 wisdom. 
 
 10. As it is very suitable to my present subject, I shall 
 first of all quote this passage in the words of sacred writ, 
 and afterwards mention an allegory, in which this whole 
 passage is represented by a famous French Poet : net 
 questioning but it will be very pleasing to such of my rea- 
 ders as have a taste for fine writing. 
 
 11. In Gibson the Lord appeared to Solomon in a dream 
 by night : and God said, " Ask what I shall give thee." 
 And Solomon said, " Thau hast shewed unto thy servant 
 " Da-vidy ray father, great mercy, according as he walked 
 " before thee in truth, and in righteousness, and in up- 
 " rightness of heart with thee, and. thou has kept for- him 
 " this great kindness, that thou hast given him a son to 
 " sit on his throne, as it is this day. And now, O Lord 
 " my God, thou hast made thy servant King instead of 
 " David my father ; and I am but a little child ; I know 
 " not how to go out or come in. 
 
 12. " Give therefore thy servant an understanding 
 " heart to judge thy people, that I may discern between 
 u good and bad, for who is able to judge this thy so great 
 " a people ?" And the speech pleased the Lord, that 
 Solomon had asked this thing. And God said unto him, 
 " because thou hast asked this thing, and hast not asked 
 " fo" 4| "self long life, neither hast asked riches for thy- 
 " selt, iiOr hast asked the life of thine enemies, but hast 
 u asked for thyself understanding to discern judgment 
 ** behold^ I have done according to i.hy words, so I have 
 (< given thee a wise and understanding heart, so that 
 
9 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR. 
 
 a there was none like thee before thee, neither after thee 
 " shall any arise like unto thee. 
 
 13-. " And I have also given thee that which thou hast 
 " not asked, both riches and honor, so that there shall 
 " not be any among the kings like unto thee all thy days. 
 " And if thou wilt walk in my ways, to keep my statutes 
 a and my commandments as thy father David did walk, 
 " then I will lengthen thy days/* And Solomon awoke>. 
 and behold it was a dream. 
 
 14. The French poet has shadowed this story in an alle- 
 gory, of which he seems to have taken the hint from 
 the fable of the three goddesses appearing to Paris, or 
 rather from the vision of Hercules recorded by XenopJivn, 
 where Pleasure and Virtue are represented as real persons 
 making their court to the hero with all their several 
 charms and allurements,. 
 
 15. Health, wealth, victory and honor are introduced 
 successively in their proper emblems and. characters, 
 each of them spreading her temptations, and recom- 
 mending herself to the young monarch's choice. Wisdom 
 enters last, and so captivates him with her appearance, 
 that he gives himself up to her. Upon which she informs 
 him, that those who appeared before her were nothing but 
 her equipage, and that since he had placed his heart upon 
 wisdom, health, wealth, victory and honor should always 
 wait on her as her handmaids. 
 
 Directions how to sjiend our time. 
 
 LTTTEall.of us complain of the shortness of time, 
 V V saith Seneca^ and yet have much more than we 
 know what to do with. Our lives, says he, are spent 
 either in doing nothing at all, or in doing nothing to the 
 purpose, or in doing nothing that we ought to do : we are 
 always complaining our days are few, and acting as though 
 there would be no end- of them... That noble philosopher 
 has described our inconsistency with ourselves in this 
 particular, by all those various turns of expression and 
 thought which are peculiar to his writings. 
 
 2. I often consider mankind as wholly inconsistent with 
 itself in a point that bears some affinity to the former, 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 9 
 
 Though we seem grieved at the shortness of life in gen- 
 eral, we are wishing every period of- it at an end. The 
 minor longs to be at age, then to be a man of business, 
 then to make up an estate, then to arrive at honors, 
 then to retire. Thus, although the whole of life is al- 
 lowed by every one to be short, the several divisions of it 
 appear long and tedious. 
 
 5. We are for lengthening our span in general, but 
 would fain contract the parts ef which it is composed. The 
 usurer would be very well satisfied to have all the time 
 annihilated that lies between the present moment and 
 next quarter day. The politician would be contented to 
 lose three years in his life, could he place things in the 
 posture which he fancies they will stand in after such a 
 revolution of lime. 
 
 4. The lover would be glad to strike out of his exist- 
 ence all the moments that are to pass away before the 
 happy meeting. Thus, as far as our time runs, we 
 should be very glad in most parts of our lives, that it ran 
 much faster than it does. Several hours of the day hang 
 upon our hands, nay we wish away whole years ; and 
 travel through time as through a country filled with many 
 wild and empty wastes, which we would fain hurry over, 
 that we may arrive at those several little settlements or 
 imaginary points of rest, which are dispersed up and 
 down in it. 
 
 5. If we may divide the life of most men into twenty 
 parts, we shall find, that at least nineteen of them are 
 mere gaps and chasms, which are neither filled with 
 pleasure nor business. I do not however include in this 
 calculation the life of those men who are in a perpetual 
 hurry of affairs, but of those only who are not always 
 engaged in scenes of action : sml I hope I shall not do an 
 unacceptable piece of service to those persons, if I point 
 out to them certain methods for the filling up their empty 
 spaces of life. The methods I shall propose to them are 
 as follow : 
 
 6. The first is the exercise of virtue, in the most gen- 
 eral acceptation of the word. That particular scheme 
 which comprehends the social virtues, may give employ- 
 ment to the most industrious temper, and find a man in 
 business more than the most active station of life. To 
 
ib The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 advise the ignorant, relieve the needy, comfort the afflkt- 
 ed, are duties that fall in our way almost every day of our 
 lives. 
 
 7. A man lias frequent opportunities of mitigating the 
 fierceness of a party : of doing justice to the character of 
 a deserving man ; of softening the envious, quieting the 
 angry, and rectifying the prejudiced; which are all of 
 them employments suited to a reasonable nature, and 
 bring great satisfaction to the person who can busy himself 
 in them with discretion. 
 
 8. There is another kind of virtue that may find em- 
 ployment for those retired hours in which we are altoge- 
 ther left to ourselves, and destitute of company and con- 
 versation ; 1 mean that intercourse and communication 
 which every reasonable creature ought to maintain with 
 the great Author of his being. 
 
 9. The man who lives under an habitual sense of the 
 divine presence, keeps up a perpetual cheerfulness of tem- 
 per, and enjoys every moment the satisfaction of thinking 
 himself in company with his dearest and best of friends. 
 The time never lies heavy upon him ; it is impossible 
 for him to be alone. 
 
 10. His thoughts and passions are the most busied at 
 such 'hours when '-those of other men are the most unac- 
 tive ; lie no sooner steps out of the world, but his heart 
 burns with devotion, swells with hope, and triumphs in 
 the consciousness of that presence which every where 
 surrounds him ; or, on the contrary, pours out its fears, 
 its sorrows, its apprehensions, to the great supporter of its 
 existence. 
 
 1 1. I have here only considered the necessity of a man's 
 being virtuous, that he may have something to do ; but if 
 we consider further, that the exercise of virtue is not only 
 an amusement for the time it lasts, but that its influence 
 extends to- those parts of our existence which lie beyond 
 the grave, and that our whole eternity is to take its color 
 from those hours which we here employ in virtue or in 
 vice, the argument redoubles upon us, for putting in prac- 
 tice this method of passing away our time. 
 
 12. When a man has but a little stock to improve, and 
 has opportunities of turning it all to good account, what 
 shall we think of him. if he suffers nineteen parts of it to 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 1 1 
 
 lie dead, and perhaps employs even the twentieth to his 
 ruin or disadvantage ? But because the mind cannot be al- 
 ways in its fervor nor strained up to a pitch of virtue, it 
 is necessary t0 find out proper employments for it in its 
 relaxations. 
 
 13. The next method therefore that I would propose to 
 fill up our time, should be useful and innocent diversion. 
 I must confess I think it is below reasonable creatures to 
 be altogether conversant in such diversions as are merely 
 innocent, and having nothing else to, recommend them but 
 that there is no hurt in them. 
 
 14. Whether any kind of gaming has even thus much 
 to say for itself, I shall not determine ; but I think it is 
 very wonderful to see persons of the best sense, passing 
 away a dozen hours together in shuffling and dividing a 
 pack of cards, with no other conversation but what is made 
 up of a few game phrases, and no other ideas but those of 
 black or red spots ranged together in different figures. 
 Would not a man laugh to hear any one of his species 
 complaining that time is short ? 
 
 15. The stage might be made a perpetual source of the 
 most noble and useful entertainments, were it under prop- 
 er regulations. 
 
 But the mind never unbends itself so agreeably as in 
 the conversation of a well chosen friend. There is indeed 
 no blessing of life that is any way comparable to the en- 
 joyment of a discreet and virtuous friend. It eases and 
 unloads the mind, clears and improves the understanding, 
 engenders thought and knowledge, animates virtue 
 and good resolution, sooths and allays the passions, and 
 linds employment for mosjt of the vacant hours of 
 life. 
 
 16. Next to such an intimacy with a particular person, 
 one would endeavor after a more general conversation, 
 with such as are able to entertain and improve those with 
 whom they converse, which are qualifications that seldom 
 go asunder. 
 
 There are many other useful amusements of life, which 
 one would endeavor to multiply, that one might on all 
 occasions have recourse to something rather than sufier 
 the mind to lie idle, or run adrift with any passion that 
 chances to rise in it. 
 
]2 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 17. A man that has a taste in music, painting, or archi- 
 tecture, is like one that has another sense when compared 
 with such as have no relish of those arts. The florist, the 
 planter, the gardener, the husbandman, when they are on- 
 ly as accomplishments to the man of fortune, are great 
 reliefs to a country life, and many ways useful to those 
 who are possessed of them. 
 
 SPECTATOR, NO. 93. 
 
 18. T WAS yesterday busy in comparing together the 
 JL industry of man with that of other creatures ; in 
 which I could not but observe, that notwithstanding we 
 are obliged by duty to keep ourselves in constant employ, 
 after the same manner as inferior animals are prompted 
 to it by instinct, we fall very short of them in tiris partic- 
 ular. 
 
 19. We are here the more inexcusable, because there 
 is a greater variety of business to which we may apply 
 ourselves. Reason opens to us a large field of affairs, 
 which other creatures are not capable of. Beasts of prey, 
 and I believe all other kinds, in their natural state of be- 
 ing, divide their time between action and rest. They are 
 always at work or asleep. In short their awaking hours 
 are wholly taken up in seeking after their food, or in con- 
 suming it. 
 
 20. The human species only, to the great reproach of 
 our natures, are filled with complaints. That the day 
 hangs heavy on them, that they do not know what to do 
 with themselves, that they are at a loss how to pass away 
 their time, with many of the like shameful murmurs, 
 which we often find in the mouth of those who are stiled 
 reasonable beings. 
 
 2 1. How monstrous are such expressions among crea- 
 tures who have the labors of the mind, as well as those 
 of the body, to furnish them with proper employments ; 
 who besides the business of their proper callings and pro- 
 fessions, can apply themselves to the duties of religion, to 
 meditation, to the reading of useful books, to discourse ; 
 in a word, who may exercise themselves in the unbounded 
 pursuits of knowledge and virtue, and every hour of their 
 lives make themselves wiser or better than they \veie be- 
 fore. 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT- 13 
 
 22. After having been taken up for some time in this 
 course of thought, I diverted myself with a book, according 
 to my usual custom, in order to unbend my mind before I 
 went to sleep. The book I made use of on this accasion 
 was Luciari) where I amused my thoughts for about an 
 hour among the dialogues of the dead, which in all prob- 
 ability produced the following dream. 
 
 23. I was conveyed, methought, into the entrance of 
 the infernal regions, were I saw Rhadamanthus^ one of 
 the judges of the dead, seated in his tribunal. On his left 
 hand stood the keeper of Erebus, on his right the keeper 
 of Elysium. I was told he sat upon women that day, there 
 'being several of the sex lately arrived, who had not yet 
 heir mansions assigned them. 
 
 24. I was surprised to hear him ask every one of them 
 the same question, namely, What they had been doing ? 
 Upon this question being proposed to the whole assembly, 
 they stared upon one another, as not knowing what to 
 answer. He then interrogated each of them separately. 
 Madam, says he, to the first of them, you have been upon 
 the earth about fifty years ; what have you been doing 
 there all this while ? Doing, says she, really I do not 
 know what I have been doing : I desire I may have time 
 given me to recollect. 
 
 25. After about half an hour's pause, she told him that 
 &he had been playing at crimp ; upon which Rhadaman- 
 thus beckoned to the keeper on his left hand, to take her 
 into custody. And you, Madam, says the judge, that 
 look with such a soft and languishing air ; I think you 
 set out for this place in your nine and twentieth year ; 
 what have you been doing all this while ? I had a great 
 deal of business on my hands, says she^being taken up 
 the first twelve years of my life, in dressing a jointed 
 baby, and all the remaining part of it in reading plays 
 and romances. 
 
 26. Very well, says he, you have employed your time 
 to good purpose. Away with her. The next was a plain 
 country woman : Well, mistress, says Rhadamanthiis, and 
 what have you been doing ? An't please your worship, 
 says she, I did not live quite forty years ; and in that 
 time brought my husband seven daughters, made him 
 nine thousand cheeses, and left my eldest ghi with him to 
 
 B 
 
14 The Young Gentleman and Ladifs MONITOR, 
 
 look after his house in my absence, and who, I may ven- 
 ture to say, is as pretty a housewife as any in the country. 
 
 27. Rhadamanthus smiled at the simplicity of the good 
 \voman, and ordered the keeper of Elysium to take her 
 into his care. And you, fair lady, says he, what have you 
 been doing these five and thirty years ? I have been doing 
 no hurt, I assure you sir, said she. That is well, says he, 
 but what good have you been doing ? The lady was iu 
 great confusion at this question, and not knowing what 
 to answer, the two keepers leaped out to seize her at the 
 same time : the one took her by the hand to\onvey her 
 to Eli/siirm ; the other caught hold of her to carry her 
 away to Erebus. 
 
 28. But Rhadamanthus observing an ingenious modesty 
 in her countenance and behavior, bid them both let her 
 loose, and set her aside for a re-examination when he was 
 more at leisure. An old Woman, of a proud and sour 
 look, presented herself next at the bar, and being asked 
 what she had been doing ? Truly, says she, I lived three 
 score and ten years in a very wicked world, and was so 
 angry at the behavior of a parcel of young flirts, that I 
 past most of my last years in condemning the follies of 
 the times. 
 
 29. I was every clay blaming the silly conduct of peo- 
 ple about me, in order to deter those I conversed with 
 from falling into the like errors and miscarriages. Very 
 well, says Rhadamanthus, but did you keep the same 
 watchful eye over your own actions ? Why truly, says 
 she, I was so taken up with publishing* the faults of others, 
 that I had no time to consider my -own. 
 
 30. Madam, says Rhadamantkits, be pleased to file off 
 to the left, and make room for the venerable matron that 
 stands behind you. Old ;;entlewoman, says he, I think 
 you are four score : You have htarcl the question, what 
 have you been doing so long in the world ? Ah ! sir, says 
 she, I have been doing what I should not have done, but 
 I had made a firm resolution to have changed my life, if 
 I had not been snatched off by an untimely end. 
 
 31. Madam, says he, you wiM please to follow your 
 leader, and spying another of the same age, interrogated 
 her in the same form. To which the matron replied, I 
 have been the wife of a husband who was as dear to me in 
 
and English Teacher' 1 s ASSISTANT. 15 
 
 his old age as in his youth. I have been a mother, and 
 very happy in my children, whom I endeavored to bring 
 up in every thing that is good. 
 
 32. My eldest son is blest by the poor, and beloved by 
 every one that knows him. I lived within my own fami- 
 ly, and left it much more wealthy than I found it. 
 
 RhadamanthuSjVi\iQ knew the value of the old lady, smil- 
 ed upon her in such a manner, that the keeper of Elysium^ 
 who knew his office, reached out his hand to her. He no 
 sooner touched her but her wrinkles vanished, her eyes 
 sparkled, her cheeks glowed with blushes, and she ap- 
 peared in* full bloom and beauty. 
 
 33. A young woman observing that this officer, who 
 conducted the happy to Elysium, was GO great a beautifier^ 
 longed to be in his hands, so that pressing through the 
 croud, she was the next that appeared at the bur, and be- 
 ing asked what she had been doing the five and twenty- 
 years that she had passed in the world, I have endeavor- 
 ed, says she, ever since I came to years of discretion, to 
 make myself lovely, and gain admirers. 
 
 34. In order to it I passed my time in bottling up May 
 dew, inventing white-washes, mixing colors, cutting out 
 patches, consulting my glass, suiting my complexion, tear- 
 ing off my tucker, sinking my stays. Phadamanthus r \\\\k- 
 out hearing her out, gave the sign to take her off. Upon 
 the approach of the keeper of Erebus her color faded, her 
 face was puckered up with wrinkles, and her whole per- 
 son lost in deformity. 
 
 35. I was then surprised with a distant sound of a whole 
 troop of females that came forward laughing, singing, and 
 dancing. I was very desirous to know the reception they 
 would meet with, and withal was very apprehensive, that 
 Rhadamanthus would spoil their mirth ; but at their nearer 
 approach the noise grew so very great that it awakened 
 me. 
 
 36. Employ m ent of time is a subject that, from its im- 
 portance deserves your best attention. Most young gen- 
 tlemen have a great deal of time before them, and one 
 hour well employed, in the early part of life, is more val- 
 uable and will be of greater use to you, than perhaps four 
 and twenty, some years to come. 
 
 37. Y7hatever time you can steal from company and 
 
16 The Young Gentleman and Ladifs MONITOR,. 
 
 from the study of the world (I say company, for a know- 
 ledge of life is best learned in various companies) employ 
 it in serious reading. Take up some valuable book, and: 
 continue the reading of that book till yoti have got through 
 it ; never burden your mind with more than one thing at 
 a time : and in reading this book don't run it over superfi- 
 cially, but read*'every passage twice over, at least do not 
 pass on to a second till you thoroughly understand the 
 first, nor quit the book till you are master of the subject ; 
 for unless you do this, you may read it through, and nor 
 remember the contents of it for a week. 
 
 38. The books I would particularly recommend, are 
 Cardinal Retzs maxims^ Rochefaucault's moral reflections, 
 JBmyere's characters^ Pont endless plurality of worlds, Sir 
 Josiah Child on trade, Bolingbroke's works ; for style, his 
 remarks on the history cf England, under the name of Sir 
 John Oldcastle ; Puffcndorfs Jus Gentium, and Grotius 
 t'e Jure Belli ct Pads : the last two are well translated by 
 .Earbeyrac. For occasional half hours or less, read the 
 best works of invention, wit and humor ; but never waste 
 your minutes on trifling authors, either ancient or modern* 
 
 39. Any business you may have to transact, should be 
 done the first opportunity, and finished, if possible, without 
 interruption : for by deferring it, we may probably finish it 
 too late, or execute it indifferently. Now, business of 
 any kind should never be done by halves, but every part of 
 it should be well attended to : for he that does business ill, 
 had better not do it at all. And, in any point which dis- 
 cretion bids you pursue, and which has a manifest utility 
 to recommend it, let not difficulties deter you ; rather let 
 them animate your industry. If one method fails, try a 
 second and a third. Be active, persevere, and you will 
 certainly conquer. 
 
 40. Never indulge a lazy disposition, there are fet? 
 things but are attended with some difficulties, and if you 
 are frightened at those difficulties, you will not complete 
 itfiy thing. Indolent minds prefer ignorance to trouble ; 
 'they look upon most things as impossible, because perhaps 
 they are difficult. Even an hour's attention is too labo- 
 rious for them, and they would rather content themselves 
 \vith the first view of things than take the trouble to look 
 any farther into them. Thus, when they come to talk 
 
and English Ttacher'x ASSISTANT. 17 
 
 upon subjects to those who have studied them, they be- 
 tray an unpardonable ignorance, and lay themselves open 
 to answers that confuse them. Be careful then, that you 
 do not get the appellation of indolent ; and, if possible, 
 avoid the character of frivolous. For, 
 
 41. The frivolous mind is. busied always upon nothing-. 
 It mistakes trifling objects for important ones, and spends 
 that time upon little matters, that should only be bestowed 
 upon great ones. Knick-knacks, butterflies, shells, and 
 such like, engross the attention of the frivolous man, and 
 fill up all his time. He studies the dress and not the 
 characters of men, and his subjects of conversation arc 
 no other than the weather, his. own domestic affairs, ; liis 
 servants, his method of managing his family, the little 
 anecdotes of the neighborhood, and the fiddle-faddle 
 stories of the day ; void of information, void of improve- 
 ment. These he relates with emphasis, as interesting 
 matters ; in short he is a male gossip. I appeal to your 
 own feelings now, whether such things do not lessen a 
 man in the opinion of his acquaintance, and instead ef at- 
 tracting esteem, create disgust. 
 
 Modestij. 
 
 MODESTY is the citadel of beauty and virtue, 
 first of all virtues is innocence ; the second is nice" 
 
 1. Modesty is both in its source, and in its cc 
 quence, a very great happiness to the fair possessor of it ; 
 it arises from a fear of dishonor, and a good conscience? 
 and is followed immediately, upon its first appearance, 
 with the reward of honor and esteem, paid by dl those 
 who discover it in any body living. 
 
 2. It is indeed, a virtue in a woman (tha ; : 
 -wise be very disagreeable to one) so exquisite; 
 
 that it excites in any beholder, of a generous and manly 
 disposition, almost all the passions, that he would be apt 
 to conceive for the mistress of his heart, in variety oi" 
 circumstances. 
 
 3. A woman that is modest creates in us an awe in 
 her company, a wish for her welfare, a joy in her being 
 actually happy, a sore and painful sorrow if distress should 
 
 13 2 
 
18 The Yctmg Gentfeman and Ladifs MONITOR, 
 
 come upon her, with a ready and willing- heart to give her 
 consolation, and a compassionate temper towards her,. 
 in every little accident of life she undergoes ; and, to- 
 sum up all in one word, it causes such a kind of angelical 
 love, even to a stranger, as good natured brothers and 
 sisters usually bear towards one another. 
 
 4. It adds wonderfully to the make of a face, and I 
 have seen a pretty well turned forehead, fine set eyes, 
 and what your poets call a row of pearl set in coral, 
 shown by a pretty expansion of two velvet lips that cover- 
 ed them (that would have tempted any sober man living of 
 tny own age, to have been a little loose in his thoughts, 
 and to have enjoyed a painful pleasure amidst his impo- 
 tency) lose all their virtue, all their force and efficacy, by 
 having an ugly cast of boldness very discernibly spread out 
 at large over all those alluring features. 
 
 5. At the same time modesty will fill up the wrinkles 
 of old age with glory ; make sixty blush itself into sixteen ; 
 and help a green-sick girl to defeat the satyr of a false 
 waggish lover;, who might compare her color, when she 
 looked like a ghost, to the blowing of the rose-bud, by 
 blushing herself into a bloom of beauty ; and might make 
 what he meant a reflection, a real compliment at any hour 
 of the day, in spite of his teeth. It has a prevailing power 
 with me, whenever I find it in the sex. 
 
 6. I who have the common fault of old men, to be 
 very sour and humorsome, when I drink my water-gruel 
 in a morning, fell into a more than ordinary pet with a 
 maid, whom T call my nurse, from a constant tenderness, 
 that I have observed her to exercise towards me beyond 
 all my other servants ; I perceived her flush and glow in 
 the face, in a manner which I could plainly discern pro- 
 ceeded not from anger or resentment of correction, but 
 from a good natured regret, upon a fear that she had of- 
 fended her grave old master. 
 
 7. I was "so heartily pleased, that I eased her of the 
 honest trouble she underwent inwardly for my sake ; and 
 giving her half a crown, I told her it was a forfeit due to 
 her because I was out of humor with her without any 
 reason at all. And as she is so gentle hearted, I have 
 diligently avoided giving her one harsh word ever since ; 
 and I find my o^vn reward in it : for not being so testy at 
 
&xd Eng luh Teacher 1 * ASSISTANT. IS 
 
 \ used, has made me much haler and stronger than I was 
 before. 
 
 8. The pretty, and witty, and virtuous- Simfilida^- was, 
 the other day, visiting with an old aunt of her's, that I 
 verily believe has read the Atalantis ; she took a 'story 
 out there, and dressed up an old honest neighbor in the 
 second-hand clothes of scandal. The young creature hid 
 her face with her fan at every burst and peal- of laughter, 
 and blushed for her guilty parent ; by which she atoned, 
 methought, for every scandal that ran round the beautiful' 
 circle. 
 
 9. As I was going home to bed that evening, I could 
 not help thinking of her all the way I went. I repre- 
 sented her to myself as shedding holy blood every time 
 she blushed, and as being a martyr in the cause of virtue. 
 And afterwards, when I was putting on my night-cap, I 
 could not drive the thought out of my head, but that I 
 was young enough to be married to her ; and that it 
 would be an addition to the reputation I have in the study 
 of wisdom, to marry to so much youth and modesty, even 
 in my old age. 
 
 10. I know there have not been wanting many wicked 
 objections against this virtue ; one is grown insufferably 
 common. The fellow blushes, he is guilty. I should 
 say rather, He blushes, therefere he is innocent. I be- 
 lieve the same man, that first had that wicked imagin- 
 ation of a blush being the sign of guilt, represented 
 good-nature to be folly ; and that he himself, was the 
 most inhuman and impudent wretch alive. 
 
 11. The author of Ca(o, who is known to be one of 
 the most modest, and most ingenious persons of the age 
 we now live in, has given this virtue a delicate name 
 in the tragedy of Cato, where the character of Marcia is 
 first opened to us. I would have all ladies who have a 
 mind to be thought well-bred, to think seriously on this 
 virtue, which he so beautifully calls the sanctity of man- 
 ners. 
 
 12. Modesty is a polite accomplishment, and generally 
 an attendant upon merit. It is engaging to the highest 
 degree, and wins the hearts of all our acquaintance. On 
 the contrary, none are more disgustful in company than 
 the impudent and presuming;. 
 
20 Ths Young- Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 The man who 'is, on all occasions, commending and 
 speaking* well of himself, we naturally dislike. On the 
 other hand, he who studies to conceal his own deserts, 
 who does justice to the merit of others, who talks but lit* 
 tie of himself, and that with modesty, makes a favorable 
 impression on the persons he Ts conversing with, captivates 
 their minds, and gains their esteem. 
 
 13. Modesty, however, widely differs from an .-awkward 
 bashfulness, which is as much to be condemned as the 
 other is to be applauded. To appear simple is as ill-bred 
 as to be impudent. A young man ought to be able to 
 come into a room and address the company without the 
 least embarrassment. To be out of countenance when 
 spoken to, and not to have an answer ready, is ridiculous 
 to the last degree. 
 
 14. An aukward country fellow, when he comes into 
 company better than himself, is exceedingly disconcerted. 
 He knows not what to do with his hands or his hat, but 
 either puts one of them in his pocket, and dangles the 
 ether by his side. ; or perhaps twirls his hat on his fingers, 
 or fumbles with the button. If spoken to he is in a much 
 worse situation ; he answers with the utmost difficulty, and 
 nearly stammers ; whereas a gentleman, who is acquainted 
 with life, enters a room with gracefulness and a modest 
 assurance, addresses even persons he does not know, in an 
 easy and natural manner, and without the least embarrass- 
 ment. 
 
 15. This is the characteristic of good-breeding, a very 
 necessary knowledge in our intercourse with men : for 
 one of inferior parts, with the behavior of a gentleman,, 
 is frequently better received than a man of sense, with - 
 the address and manners of a clown. Ignorance and vice 
 are the only things we need be ashamed of; steev slear of 
 these, and you may go into any company you will : not 
 that I would have a young man throw off all dread of 
 appearing abroad, as" a fear of offending, or being discs- 
 teemed, will make him preserve a proper decorum. 
 
 1.6. Some persons, from experiencing of false modesty, 
 have run into the other extreme, and acquired the charac- 
 ter of impudent. This is as great a fault as the other. 
 A well-bred man keeps himself within the two, and steers 
 the middle way. lie is easy and firm in every company ; 
 
&nd English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 21 
 
 is modest, but not bashful ; steady, but not impudent- He 
 copies the manners of the better people, and conforms to 
 their customs with ease and attention. 
 
 17. Till \ve can present ourselves in all companies with 
 coolness and unconcern, we can never present ourselves 
 \vell ; nor will a man ever be supposed to have kept good 
 company, or ever be acceptable in such company, if he 
 cannot appear there easy and unembarrassed. A modest 
 assurance, in every part of life, is the most advantageous 
 qualification we can possibly acquire. 
 
 18. Instead of becoming insolent, a man of sense, un- 
 der a consciousness of merit, is more modest. He be- 
 haves himself indeed with firmness, but without the least 
 presumption. The man who is ignorant of his own mer- 
 it, is no less a fool than he who is constantly displaying it. 
 A man of understanding avails himself of his abilities, 
 but never boasts of them \ whereas the timid and bashful 
 can never push himself in life, be his merit as great as it 
 will ; he will be always kept behind by the forward and 
 the bustling. 
 
 19. A man of abilities, ai>d acquainted with life, will 
 stand as firm in defence of his own rights, and pursue his 
 plans as steadily and unmoved as the most impudent man 
 alive ; but then he does it with a seeming modesty. Thus, 
 manner is every thing ; what is impudence in one is prop- 
 er assurance only in another ; for firmness is commenda- 
 ble, but an overbearing conduct is disgustful. 
 
 20. Forwardness being the very reverse of modesty, 
 follow rather than lead the company ; that is 5 join in dis- 
 course upon their subjects rather than start one of your 
 own ; if yon have parts, you will have opportunities 
 enough of showing them on every topic of conversation* 
 and if you have none, it is better to expose yourself upon 
 a subject of other people's, than one of yctir own. 
 
 21. But be particularly careful not to speak of your- 
 self if you can help it. An impudent fellow lugs in him- 
 self abruptly upon all occasions, and is ever the hero of 
 his own story. Others will color their arrogance with, 
 " It may seem strange indeed, that I should talk in this 
 " manner of myself ; it is what I by no means like, and 
 " should never do, if I had not been cruelly and unjustly 
 '* accused ; but when my character is attacked it is a 
 
22 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 " justice I owe to myself to defend it." This veil is too' 
 thin not to be seen through on the first inspection. 
 
 22. Others again, with more art, will modestly boast 
 of all the principal virtues, by calling these virtues 
 weaknesses, and saying, they are so unfortunate as to 
 fall into those weaknesses. " I cannot see persons suffer," 
 says one of this cast, " without relieving them ; though 
 " my circumstances are very unable to afford it I cannot 
 " avoid speaking truth ; though it is often very impru- 
 dent ;" and so on. 
 
 23. This angling for praise is so prevailing a principle, 
 that it frequently stoops to the lowest object. Men will 
 often boast of doing that, which if true, would be rather 
 a disgrace to them than otherwise. One man affirms that 
 he rode twenty miles within the hour : 'tis probably a lie j 
 but suppose he did, what then ? He had a good horse 
 under him, and is a good jockey. Another swears he 
 has often at a sitting, drank five or six bottles to his own 
 share. Out of respect to him, I .will believe him a liar , 
 for I would not wish to think him a beast. 
 
 24. These and many more are the follies of idle people, 
 which, while they think they procure them esteem, in 
 reality make them despised. 
 
 To avoid this contempt, therefore, never speak of 
 yourself at all, unless necessity obliges you ; and even 
 then take care to do it in such a manner, that it may 
 not be construed into fishing for applause. \ Whatever 
 perfections you may have, be assured, people will find 
 them out ; but whether they do or not, nobody will take 
 them upon your own word. The less you say of yourself 
 the more the world will give you credit for ; and the 
 more you say, the less they will believe you* 
 
 Affectation. 
 
 1. /\ LATE conversation which I fell into, gave me 
 jfJL an opportunity of observing a great deal of beauty 
 in a very handsome woman, and as much wit in an in- 
 genious man, turned into deformity in the one, and 
 absurdity in the other, by the -mere force of affectation. 
 The fair one had something in her person upon which 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 2S 
 
 her thoughts were fixed, that she attempted to show to ad- 
 vantage in every look, word or jesture. 
 
 2. The gentleman was as diligent to do justice to his 
 fine parts, as the lady to her beauteous form : you might 
 see his imagination on the stretch to find out something 
 uncommon, and what they call bright, to entertain her ; 
 while she writhed herself into as many different postures 
 to engage him. When she laughed, her lips were to sever 
 at a greater distance than ordinary to show her teeth. 
 
 3. Her fan was to point at somewhat at a distance, that 
 in the reach she may discover the roundness of her arm ; 
 then she is utterly mistaken in what she saw, f^tlls back, 
 smiles at her own folly, and is so wholly discomposed, 
 that her tucker is to be adjusted, ker bosom exposed, and 
 the whole woman put into new airs and graces. 
 
 4. While she was doing all this, the gallant had time 
 to think of something very pleasant to say next to her, 
 or make some unkind observation on some other lady to 
 feed her vanity. These unhappy effects of affectation 
 naturally led me to look into that strange state of mind, 
 which so generally discolors tfye behavior of most people 
 we meet with. 
 
 5. The learned Dr. Burnet, in his Theory of the Earth, 
 takes occasion to observe, that every thought is attended 
 with consciousness and representativeness ; the mind has 
 nothing presented to it, but what is immediately followed 
 by a reflection of conscience, which tells you whether that 
 which was so presented is graceful or unbecoming*. 
 
 6. This act of the mind discovers itself in the gesture, 
 by a proper behavior in those whose consciousness goes no 
 farther than to direct them in the just progress of their 
 present thought or action ; but betrays an interruption in 
 every second thought, when the consciousness is employed 
 in too fondly approving a man's own conceptions ; which 
 sort of consciousness is what w r e call affectation. 
 
 7. As the love of praise is implanted in our bosoms as 
 a strong incentive to worthy actions, it is a very difficult 
 task to get above a desire of it for things that should be 
 wholly indifferent. Women, whose hearts are fixed upon 
 the pleasure they have in the consciousness that they are 
 the objects of love and admiration, are ever changing the 
 air of their countenances, and altering 1 the attitude of 
 
2 4 The Young Gentlan&n and Lady '$ M.Q N.I T o R , 
 
 their bodies, to strike the hearts of their beholders with a 
 new sense of their beauty. 
 
 8. The dressing part of our sex, whose minds are the 
 same with the sillier part of the other, are exactly in the 
 like uneasy condition to be regarded for a well tied cravat, 
 an hat cocked with an unusual briskness, a very well chosen 
 coat, or other instances of merit, which they are impatient 
 to see unobserved. 
 
 9. But this apparent affectation, arising from an ill 
 governed consciousness, is not so much to be wondered at 
 in such loose and tivial minds as these. But when you 
 see it reign in characters of worth and distinction, it is 
 what you cannot but lament, not without some indigna- 
 tion. It creeps into the heart of the wise man, as well as 
 that of a coxcomb. 
 
 10. When you see a man of sense look about for ap- 
 plause, and discover an itching inclination to be com- 
 mended ; lay traps for a little incense, even from those 
 whose opinion he values in nothing but his own favor ; 
 vrho is safe against this wakness ? or who knows whether 
 he is guilty of it or not ? The best way to get clear of 
 such a light fondness for applause, is, to take all possible 
 care to throw off the love of it upon occasions that are 
 not in themselves laudable ; but, as it appears, we hope 
 for no praise from them. 
 
 11. Of this nature are all graces in men's persons, dress, 
 and bodily deportment ; which will naturally be winning 
 and attractive if we think not of them, but lose their 
 force in proportion to our endeavor to make them such. 
 
 When our consciousness turns upon the main design of 
 life, and our thoughts are employed upon the chief pur- 
 pose either in business or pleasure, we should never betray 
 an affectation, for we cannot be guilty of it, but when we 
 give the passion for praise an unbridled liberty, our plea- 
 sure in little perfections robs us of what is due to us for 
 great virtues and worthy qualities. 
 
 12. How many excellent speeches and honest actions 
 are lost, for want of being indifferent where we ought ! 
 Men are oppressed with regard to their way of speaking 
 and acting, instead of having their thoughts bent upon 
 what they should do or say ; and by that means bury a 
 capacity for great things, by their fear of failing in indif- 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 25 
 
 ft rent things. This, perhaps, cannot be called affecta- 
 tion ; but it has some tincture of it, at least so far, as that 
 their fear of erring in a thing of no consequence argues 
 they would be too much pleased in performing it. 
 
 13. It is only from a thorough disregard to himself in 
 such particulars, that a man can act with a laudable suf- 
 ikiency ; his heart is fixed upon one point in view ; and 
 he commits no errors, because he thinks nothing an error 
 but what deviates from that intention. 
 
 The wild havoc affectation makes in that part of the 
 world which should be most polite, is visible wherever 
 we turn our eyes : it pushes men not only into imperti- 
 nences in conversation, but also in their premeditated 
 speeches. 
 
 14. At the bar it torments the bench, whose business 
 it is to cut off all superfluities in what is spoken before it 
 by the practitioner ; as well as several little pieces of injus- 
 tice which arise from the law itself. I have seen it make 
 a man run from the purpose before a judge, who was, 
 when at the bar himself, so close and logical a pleader, 
 that with all the pomp of eloquence in his power, he never 
 spoke a word too much. 
 
 15. It might be borne even here, but it often ascends 
 the pulpit itself ; and the declaimer, in that sacred place, 
 is frequently so impertinently witty, speaks of the last day 
 itself with so many quaint phrases, that there is no man 
 who understands raillery, but must resolve to sin no more : 
 nay, you may behold him sometimes in prayer, for a. 
 proper delivery of the great truths he is to utter, humble 
 himself with so very well turned phrase, and mention his 
 own unworthiness in a way so very becoming, that the 
 air of the pretty gentleman is preserved, under the low- 
 liness of the preacher. 
 
 * 6, I shall end this with a short letter I wrote the other 
 day to a very witty man, over-run with the fault I am 
 speaking of. 
 
 * DEAR SIR, 
 
 ]{ Spent some time with you the other day, and must 
 * JL take the liberty of a friend to tell you of the insuffer- 
 < able affectation you are guilty of in all you say and do. 
 
 17. * When I gave you a hint of it, you asked me wheth- 
 er a man is to be cold to what his friends think of him ? 
 C 
 
26 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 No, but praise is not to be the entertainment of everv 
 
 * praise worthy, contemn little merits ; and allow no man 
 
 4 to be so free with you, as to praise you to your face. 
 
 18. 4 Your vanity by this means will want its food. At 
 c the same time your passion for esteem will be more 
 ' fully gratified ; men will praise you in their actions : 
 
 < where you now receive one compliment you will then 
 
 < receive twenty civilities. Till then you will never have 
 ' of either, further than, 
 
 SIR, 
 
 ' Your humble servant.' 
 
 SPECTATOR, Vol. I. NO. 33. 
 
 19. "X.TATURE does nothing in vain ; the Creator of 
 JL/N the universe has appointed every thing to a 
 certain use and purpose, and determined it to a settled 
 course and sphere of action, from which, if it in the least 
 deviates, it becomes unfit to answer those ends for which 
 it was designed. 
 
 20. In like manner it is in the dispositions of society ; 
 the civil ceconomy is formed in a chain as well as the 
 natural ; and in either case the breach but of one link 
 puts the whole in some disorder. It is, I think, pretty 
 plain, that most of the absurdity and ridicule we meet 
 with in the world, is generally owing to the impertinent 
 affectation of excelling in characters men are not fit for, 
 and for which nature never designed them. 
 
 21. Everyman has one or more qualities which may 
 make him useful both to himself and others : Nature 
 never fails of pointing them out, and while the infant 
 continues under her guardianship, she brings him on in 
 his way, and then offers herself for a guide in what re- 
 mains of the journey ; if he proceeds in that course, he 
 can hardly miscarry : Nature makes good her engage- 
 ments ; for as she never promises what she is not able to 
 perform, so she never fails of performing what she 
 promises, 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 27 
 
 22. But the misfortune is, men despise \vhat they may 
 be masters of, and affect what they are not fit for ; they 
 reckon themselves already possessed of what their genius 
 inclines them to, and so bend all their ambition to excel 
 'in what is out of their reach : thus they destroy the use 
 of their natural talents, in the same manner as covetous 
 men do their quiet and repose ; they can enjoy no satis- 
 faction in what they have, because of the absurd inclina- 
 tion they are possessed with for what they have not. 
 
 23. Clcanthes had good sense, a great memory, and a 
 constitution capable of the closest application : in a word, 
 there was no profession in which Cleanthes might not 
 have made a very good figure ; but this won't satisfy 
 him ; he takes up an unaccountable fondness for the char- 
 acter of a fine gentleman ; all his thoughts are bent upon 
 this, instead of attending a dissection, frequenting the 
 courts of justice, or studying the fathers. 
 
 24. Clcanthes reads plays, dances, dresses, and spends 
 his time in drawing-rooms, instead of being a good lav/- 
 ye r, divine, or physician ; Clcanthes is a downright cox- 
 comb, and will remain to all that knew him a contempti- 
 ble example of talents misapplied. It is to this affecta- 
 tion the world owes its whole race of coxcombs : Nature 
 in her whole drama never drew such a part ; she has 
 sometimes made a fool, but a coxcomb is always of a 
 man's own making, by applying his talents otherwise 
 than nature designed, who ever bears an high resentment 
 for being put out of her course, and never fails of taking 
 revenge on those that do so. 
 
 25. Opposing her tendency in the application of a 
 man's parts, has the same success as declining from her 
 course in the production of vegetables : by the assistance 
 of art and a hot bed, we may possibly extort an unwilling 
 plant, or an untimely sallad : but how weak, how tasteless^ 
 and insipid ? Just as insipid as the poetry of Valeria. 
 
 26. Valeria had an universal character, was genteelj 
 had learning, thought justly, spoke correctly ; 'twas be- 
 lieved there was nothing in which Valeria did not excel ; 
 and 'twas so far true, that there was but one : Valeria had 
 no genius fjr poetry? yet was resolved to be a poet : he 
 write* versus, and takes great pains to convince the town, 
 that Valerio is not that extraordinary person he was taken 
 for* 
 
The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 27. If men would be content to graft upon nature, 
 assist her operations, what mighty effects might we ex- 
 pect ? Tully would not stand so much alone in oratory, 
 Virgil in poetry, or Cesar in war. To build upon nature, 
 is laying the foundation upon a rock ; every thing dis 
 poses itself into order as it were of course, and the whcl 
 work is half done as soon as undertaken. Cicero's genius 
 inclined him to oratory, Virgil's to follow the train of 
 the muses ; they piously obeyed the admonition? and were 
 rewarded. 
 
 28. Had Virgil attended the bar, his modest and in- 
 genious virtue would surely have made but a very indif- 
 ferent figure ; and Tully' s declamatory inclination would 
 have been as useless in poetry. Nature, if left to herself, 
 leads us on in the best course, but will do nothing by com- 
 pulsion and constraint ; and if we are not satisfied to go 
 her way, we are always the greatest sufferers by it. 
 
 29. Whenever nature designs a production, she always 
 disposes seeds proper for it, which are as absolutely ne- 
 cessary to the formation of any moral or intellectual exist- 
 ence, as they are to the being and growth of plants ; and 
 I know not by what fate and foliy it is, that men are 
 taught not to reckon him equally absurd that will write 
 verses in spite of nature, with that gardener that should 
 undertake to raise a jonquil or tulip, without the help of 
 their respective seeds. 
 
 30. As there is no good or bad quality that does not 
 affect both sexes, so it is not to be imagined but the fair 
 sex must have suffered by an affectation of this nature, at 
 least as much as the other ; the ill effect of it is in none so 
 conspicuous as in the two opposite characters of Celia and 
 Iras ; Celia has all the charms of person, together with an 
 abundant sweetness of nature, but wants wit, and has a 
 very ill voice ; Iras is ugly and ungenteelj but has wit and 
 good sense. 
 
 31. If Celia would be silent, her beholders would adore 
 her ; if Iras would talk, her hearers would admire her ; 
 but Celia' $ tongue runs incessantly, while Iras gives her- 
 self silent airs and soft languors ; so that it is difficult to 
 persuade one's self that Cdia has beauty, and Iras wit ; 
 each neglects her own excellence, and is ambitious of the 
 
znd English Teacher's ASSUTAN.T. -9 
 
 <H)iet-''s character ; Iras would be thought to have as much 
 beauty as O/zVz, and Celia.as much, wit as Iras. 
 
 32. The great misfortune of this affectation ir>, thrt 
 men not only lose a good quality, but also contract a bad 
 one ; they not only are unfit for what they- were designed, 
 but they assign themselves to what they are no* fit for ; 
 ^nd instead of making a very good figure one way, make 
 a very ridiculous one another. 
 
 33. If Semanthe would have been satisfied with" her na- 
 tural complexion, she might still have- been celebrated fey 
 the name of the olive beauty ; but - Se-mant-he has taken- up 
 an ?.3Vctation to white and red, and is now distinguished 
 by the character of the lady that paints so welK 
 
 34. In a word, could the world be reformed to the i 
 dience of that famed dictate, Follow xatu re, whk'h the 
 oracle of Ddphos pronounced to Cicero when he consulted' 
 what course of studies he should pursue, we should r-/ 
 most every man as eminent in his proper sphere as Tully 
 was in his, and should in a very short time find imperti- 
 nence and affectation banished from among the women, 
 and coxcombs and false characters from among the men* 
 
 35. For my part, I could never consider tliSs prepos- 
 terous repugnancy to nature any otherwise, tlum not only 
 as the greatest folly, but also one of the most heinous 
 crimes, since it is a direct opposition to the disposition of 
 providence, and (as Tully expresses it) like the sin of the 
 giants, an actual rebellion against heaven. 
 
 SPECTATOR, Vol. VI, NO. 404* 
 
 Good Humor and Nature* 
 
 A MAN advanced in years that thinks fit to look 
 back upon his former life, and calls that only life 
 which was passed with satisfaction and enjoyment, exclud- 
 ing all parts which were not pleasant to him, will find 
 himself very young, if not in his infancy. Sickness, ill- 
 humor, and idleness, will have robbed him of a great share 
 of that space we ordinarily call our life. 
 
 2. Ii is therefore the duty of every man that would be 
 true to himself, to obtain, if possible, a disposition to h? 
 C2 
 
30 The Yvung Gentleman find Lady's 
 
 pleased, and place himself in a constant aptitude for the 
 satisfactions of his being. Instead of this, you hardly see 
 a man who is not uneasy in proportion to his advancement 
 in the arts of life. 
 
 3. An affected delicacy is the common improvement 
 we meet with in those who pretend to be refined above 
 others : they do net aim at true pleasure themselves, but 
 turn their thoughts upon observing the false pleasures 
 of other men. Such people are valetudinarians in society, 
 and they should no more come into company than a sick 
 man should come into the air. 
 
 4. If a man is too weak to bear what is a refreshment 
 to men in health, he must still keep his chamber. When 
 ^ny one in Sir Roger's company complains he is out of 
 order, he immediately calls for some posset drink for him ; 
 for which reason that sort of people, who are ever bewail- 
 ing their constitutions in other places, are the cheerfulest 
 imaginable when he is present. 
 
 5. It is a wonderful thing that so many, and they not 
 reckoned absurd, shall entertain those with whom they 
 converse, by giving them the history of their pains and 
 aches ; and imagine such narrations their quota of the 
 
 conversation. This is of all other the meanest help to 
 
 iiscourse, and a man must not think at all, or think him- 
 
 ielf very insignificant, when he finds an account of his 
 
 head aeh,e answered by another asking, what news in the 
 
 Jast mail ? 
 
 6. Mutual good humor is a dreas we ought to- appear- 
 in wherever we meet, and we should make no mention 
 of what concerns ourselves, without it be of matters 
 wherein our friends ought to rejoice : but indeed there 
 are crowds of people who put themselves in no method 
 of pleasing themselves or others ; such are those whom 
 v/e usually call indolent persons. 
 
 7. Indolence is, methinks, an intermediate state between 
 pleasure and pain, and very much unbecoming any part 
 
 ir life after we are out of the nurse's arms. Such an 
 3 ion to labor creates a constant weariness, and one 
 .vciud think should make existence itself a burden. 
 
 8. The indolent man descends -from the dignity of 
 his nature, and makes that being v/hich was rational, 
 merely vegetative; his life consists only in the mere 
 
ngtitih Teacher's Ass i STAN T 3 1 
 
 increase and decay of a body, which with relation to the 
 rest of the world, might as well have been uninformed, as 
 the habitation of a reasonable mind, 
 
 9. Of this kind is the life of that extraordinary couple 
 Harry Terse tt and his lady. Harry was in the clays of his 
 celibacy one of those pert creatures who have much viva- 
 city and little understanding ; Mrs. Rebecca Quickly, whom 
 he married, had all that the fire of youth and a lively man- 
 ner could do towards making an agreeable woman. 
 
 10. These two people of seeming merit fell into each 
 other's arms ; and passion being sated and no reason or 
 good sense in either to succeed it, their life is now at a 
 stand ; their meals are insipid, and time tedious ; their 
 fortune has placed them above care, and their loss of taste 
 reduced them belo\v diversion. 
 
 11. When we talk of these as instances of inexistence, 
 we do not mean, that in order to live it is necessary we 
 should always be in jovial crews, or crowned with chap- 
 lets of roses, as the merry fellows among the ancients 
 are described ; but it is intended by considering these 
 contraries to pleasure, indolence and too much delicacy to 
 show that it is prudence to preserve a disposition in our- 
 selves to receive a certain delight in all we hear and see. 
 
 12. This portable quality of good humor seasons all 
 the parts and occurrences we meet with, in such a man- 
 ner, that there are no moments lost ; but they all pass 
 with so much satisfaction, that the heaviest of loads (when 
 it is a load) that of time, is never felt by us.. 
 
 13. Varilas has this quality to the highest perfection* 
 and communicates it wherever he appears : the sad, the 
 merry, the severe, the melancholy, show a new cheer- 
 fulness when he comes amongst them. At the same time 
 no one can repeat any thing that Farilas has ever said 
 that deserves repetition; but the man has that innate 
 goodness of temper, that he is welcome to every body, 
 because every man thinks he is so to him. 
 
 14. He does not seem to contribute any thing to the 
 mirth of the company ; and yet upon reflection you find 
 it all happened by his being there. I th aught it was whim- 
 sically said of a gentleman, That if Varilas had wit, 
 it would be the best wit in the world. It is certain, when 
 a >vell corrected lively imagination und good breeding 
 
32 The Ywng -Gentle-Mian: and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 are added to a sweet disposition, they qualify it to be one 
 qf the greatest blessings, as well as pleasures of life. 
 
 15. Men would come into company with ten limes the 
 pleasure they do, if they were sure of hearing nothing 
 which should shock them, as well as expected what would 
 please them. When we know every person that is spoken 
 of is represented by one who has no ill will, anil every 
 thing that is mentioned described by one that is apt to set 
 it in the best light, the entertainment must be delicate, 
 because the cook has nothing bought to his hand, but what 
 is most excellent in its kind. 
 
 1 6. Beautiful pictures are the entertainments of pure 
 minds, and deformities of the corrupted. It is a degree 
 towards the life of angels, when we enjoy conversation 
 Vv herein there is nothing present but in its excellence ; 
 and a degree towards that of demons, wherein nothing is 
 shown but in. its degeneracy. 
 
 SPKCTATOK, Vol. II. NO. 100. 
 
 Friendship. 
 
 1. f V^E would think that the larger the company is> 
 \^f in which we are engaged, the greater variety of 
 thoughts and subjects would be started in discourse ; but 
 instead of this, we find that conversation is never so much 
 straitened and confined as in numerous assemblies. 
 
 2. When a multitude meet together upon any subject 
 of discourse, their debates are taken up chiefly with forms 
 and general positions ; nay if we come into a more con- 
 tracted assembly of men and women, the talk generally 
 runs upon the weather, fashions, news, and the like public 
 topics. 
 
 3. In proportion as cenversation gets into clubs and 
 knots of friends, it descends into particulars, and grows 
 more free and communicative ; but the most open, instruct- 
 ive, and unreserved discourse, is that which passes be- 
 tween two persons who are familiar and intimate friends. 
 
 4. On these occasions, a man gives a loose to every pas- 
 sion, and every thought that is uppermost, discovers his 
 most retired opinions of persons and things, tries the 
 beauty and strength of his sentiments, and exposes his 
 whole soul to the examination of his friends. 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 33 
 
 5. Tully was the first \vho observed, that friendship 
 improves happiness and abates misery, by the doubling 
 of our joy and dividing of our grief; a thought in which 
 he hath been followed by all the essayers upon friendship, 
 that have written since his time. Sir Francis Bacon has 
 finally described other advantages, or, as he calls them, 
 fruits of friendship : and indeed there is no subject of 
 morality which has been better handled and more exhaust- 
 ed than this. 
 
 6. Among the several fine things which have been spo- 
 ken of, I shall beg leave to quote some out of a very 
 ancient author, whose book would be regarded by our 
 modern wits as one of the most shining tracts of morality 
 that is extant, if it appeared under the name of a Con- 
 fucius, or of any celebrated Grecian philosopher ; I mean 
 
 the little Apocryphal Treatise, entitled, The Wisdom of 
 the Son of Sirac/i. 
 
 7. How finely has he described the art of making 
 friends, by an obliging and affable behavior ! And laid 
 down that precept which a late excellent author has de- 
 livered as his own, < That we should have many well wish- 
 ers, but few friends/ Sweet language will multiply 
 friends ; and a fair-speaking tongue will increase kind 
 greetings. Be in peace with many, nevertheless have 
 but one counsellor of a thousand. 
 
 8. With what prudence does he caution us in the choice 
 of our friends ? And with what strokes of nature (I could 
 almost say of humor) has he described the behavior of 
 a. treacherous and self-interested friend ? ' If thou wonkiest 
 c get a friend, prove him first and be not hasty to credit 
 
 * him : for some man is a friend for his own occasion, and 
 
 * will not abide in the day of thy trouble. 
 
 9. 4 And there is a friend, who being turned to en- 
 < mity and strife, will discover thy reproach.' Again, 
 4 Some friend is a companion at the table, and will not 
 
 * continue in the day of thy affliction : but in thy pros- 
 
 * perity he will be as thyself, and will be bold over thy 
 1 servants. If thou be brought low, he will 'be against 
 4 thee v and hide himself from thy face.' 
 
 10. What can be more strong and pointed than the 
 following verse ? 4 Separate thyself from thine enemies, 
 
 * pnd take heed of thy -friends.' 1 In the next words he 
 
34 The Young Gentlemen and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 particularizes one of those fruits of friendship which is 
 described at length by the two famous authors above 
 mentioned, and falls into a general eulogium of friend- 
 ship, which is very just as well as very sublime. 
 
 1 1. ' A faithful friend is a strong defence : and he that 
 4 hath found such a one, hath found a treasure. Nothing 
 i doth countervail a faithful friend, and his excellency is 
 ' invaluable. A faithful friend is the medicine of life ; 
 
 * and they that fear the Lord shall find him. Whoso 
 4 feareth the Lord shall direct his friendship aright : for 
 
 * as he is, so shall his neighbor (that is, his friend) be 
 
 * also/ 
 
 12. I do not remember to have met with any saying 
 that has pleased me more than that of a friend's being 
 the medicine of life, to express the efficacy of friendship 
 in healing the pains and anguish which naturally cleave 
 to our existence in this world ; and am wonderfully pleas- 
 ed with the turn in the last sentence, That a virtuous man 
 shall as a blessing meet with a friend who is as virtuous as 
 himself. 
 
 13. There is another saying in the same author, which 
 would have been very much admired in an heathen wri- 
 ter ; { Forsake not an old friend, for the new is not com- 
 < parable to him : a new friend is as new wine ; when it 
 Vis old thou shalt drink it with pleasure/ 
 
 14. With what strength of allusion, and force of 
 thought, has he described the breaches and violations of 
 friendship ? ' Whoso casteth a stone at the birds frayeth 
 
 them away ; and he that upbraideth his friend, break- 
 eth friendship. Though thou drawest a sword at a friend, 
 yet despair not, for there may be a returning to favor ; 
 if thou hast opened thy mouth against thy frkncl, fear 
 not, for there may be a reconciliation ; except for up- 
 braiding, or pride, or disclosing of secrets, or a treach- 
 erous wound ; for, for these things, every friend will 
 depart.' 
 
 15. We may observe in this and several other precepts 
 in this author, those little familiar instances and illustra- 
 tions which are so much admired in the moral writings of 
 Horace and Ejiictetus. There are very beautiful instances 
 of this nature in tha following pages, which are likewise 
 written upon the same subject : 
 
end English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 55 
 
 16. c Whoso cliscovereth secrets, loseth his credit and 
 shall never iind a friend to his mind. Love thy friend, 
 and be faithful unto him ; but if thou bewrayest his se- 
 crets, follow no more after him : for as a man hath de- 
 stroyed his enemy, so hast thou lost the love of thy 
 friend ; as one that letteth a bird go out of his hand, so 
 hast thou let thy friend go, and shall not get him again : 
 follow after him no more, for he is too far ofY ; he is as a 
 roe escaped out of the snare. As for a wound, it may be 
 bound up, and after reviling, there may be reconciliation ; 
 
 * but he that bewrayeth secrets, is without hope.' 
 
 17. Among the several qualifications of a good friend 
 this wise man has very justly singled out constancy and 
 faithfulness as the principal : to these, others have added 
 virtue, knowledge, discretion, equality in age and fortune, 
 and as Cicero calls it, morum comitas, a pleasantness of 
 temper. 
 
 18. If I were to give my opinion upon such an exhaust- 
 ed subject, I should join to these other qualifications a cer- 
 tain sequibility or evenness of behavior. A man often 
 contracts a friendship with one whom perhaps he does net 
 find out till after a year's conversation : when on a sudden 
 some latent ill humor breaks out upon him, which he 
 never discovered or suspected at his first entering into an 
 intimacy with him. 
 
 19. There are several persons who in some certain pe- 
 riods of their lives are inexpressibly agreeable, and in 
 others as odious and detestable, Martial has given us a 
 very pretty picture of one of these species in the following 
 epigram : 
 
 DifficiliS)facilis, jucttndus^ acerbus, es 
 
 JVec tecum possum vrvtre, ncc sine te, Epig. 47. I. 1 2, 
 
 In all thy humors, whether grave or mellow, 
 Thou'rt such a touchy, testy, pleasant fellow ; 
 Hast so much wit and mirth, and spleen about thee, 
 There is no living with thee, nor without thee. 
 
 20. It is very unlucky for a man to be entangled in a 
 friendship with one, who by these changes and vicissitudes 
 of humor, is sometimes amiable, and sometimes odious : 
 
3 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 and as most men are at some times in an admirable frame 
 and disposition of mind, it should be one of the greatest 
 tasks of wisdom to keep ourselves well when we are so 
 and never to go out of that which is the agreeable part 
 of our character. 
 
 SPECTATOR, Vol. L No. 68. 
 
 21. * Friendship is a strong and habitual inclination 
 1 in two persons to promote the good and happiness of 
 one another. 1 Though the pleasures and advantages of 
 friendship have been largely celebrated by the best moral 
 writers, and are considered by all as great ingredients of 
 human happiness, we very rarely meet with the practice 
 of this virtue in the world. 
 
 22. Every man is ready to give a long catalogue of 
 those virtues and good qualities he expects to find in the 
 person of a friend, but very few of us are careful to culti- 
 vate them in ourselves. 
 
 Love and esteem are the first principles of friendship, 
 which always is imperfect where either of these two is 
 wanting. 
 
 23. As, on the one hand, we are soon ashamed of lov- 
 ing a man whom we cannot esteem ; so on the other, 
 though we are truly sensible of a man's abilities, we can 
 never raise ourselves to the warmths of friendship, with- 
 out an affectionate good will towards his person. 
 
 24. Friendship immediately banishes envy under all its 
 disguises. A man who can once doubt whether he 
 should rejoice in his friend's being happier than himself, 
 may depend upon it, that he is an utter stranger to this 
 virtue. 
 
 25. There is something in friendship so very great and 
 noble, that in those fictitious stories which are invented to 
 the honor of any particular person, the authors have 
 thought it as necessary to make their hero a friend as a 
 lover. Achilles has his Patroclus, and j&neashis Achates. 
 
 26. In the first of these instances we may observe, for 
 the reputation of the subject I am treating of, that Greece 
 was almost ruined by the hero's love, but was preserved by 
 his friendship. 
 
 27. The character of Achates suggests to us an observ- 
 ation we may often make on the intimacies of great men, 
 \Yko frequently choose their companions rather for the 
 
..end English Teacher's ASSISTANT. S'f 
 
 qualities of the heart, than those of the head : and pre- 
 fer fidelity, in an easy .inoffensive complying temper, io 
 those endowments wmch . iriuke a .much greater iigure 
 - .among mankind.. ... 
 
 28/ I.do nut remember that Achates, who .is represejp.t- 
 ecl as the first -favorite, either gives his advice, or strikes 
 a blow through the .whole -Mndd. 
 
 A friendship, which makes the least 'noi^e, is very, often 
 most useful : "for which re^oi) I should prefer a prudent 
 friend to a zealous one. , 
 
 29. Attune one of the best t .ra.en of, ancient Rome, was 
 a very remarkable instance of what I am here speaking. 
 This .extraordinary person, amidst the civil. wars of lib 
 Gauntry, When he,saw the designs of all parties equally 
 tended to the sub version of liberty, by constantly preserv- 
 ing the esteem and affection of bofa the competitors, 
 found, txieans to surve his friends on either side ; and 
 while he sent money to "young Marius, whose father was 
 declared aa tviemy of 'th,e com mon wealth,. he ,was himself 
 ons. of fyya's | chuif .favput.es, and always near that 
 general. 
 
 CO. During the war between Cesar aa^d fomfiey, he 
 
 gpo oiice^ to 
 
 v, r hen tae party Deemed ruined. . Lastly, even in that bloo- 
 dy war between Anthvnij and Augustus, Atticus still kept 
 his place in both. their friendships; insomuch, that the 
 firs^-*ary>s Cornelius , J^e/ios,, whcncvpr lie v/as absent from 
 Rome in any part of the empire, \vrit punctually to him 
 what Ue, Tij^s d^ipg, ; ;wl*at he rc,-d, and whither he -iiiL* -. 
 to go ; and the kvUer gave'him constanUy, m exact ac- 
 count of all his affairs. 
 
 31. A likeness of 43X<Ji^tipns jn every particular is so 
 far from being requisite to form a benevolence in two 
 minds towards each other, as. it is generally imagined, 
 that I believe we shall fmd some of the firmest friendships 
 to have beep contracted between persons of different hu- 
 mors ; the mind being 'often pleased with . those. jjerfpo 
 lions which are new to it, and \vhich .it doss not find among 
 UsoAvivaccomplishmejit, 
 
 32. Uesides tha,t a naajj IR f$$ measure supiilic 
 
 B ' 
 
38 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 own defects, and fancies himself at second hand possessed 
 of those good qualities and endowments, which are in the 
 possession of him who in the eye of the world is looked 
 on as his other self. 
 
 33. The most difficult province in friendship is the 
 letting a man see his faults and errors, which should, if 
 possible, be so contrived, that he may perceive our ad- 
 vice is given him not so much to please ourselves, as for 
 his own advantage. The reproaches, therefore, of a friend 
 should always be strictly just, and not too frequent. 
 
 34. The violent desire of "pleasing in the person re- 
 proved may otherwise change into despair of doing it, 
 while he finds himself censured for faults he is not con- 
 scious of. A mind that is softened and humanised by 
 friendship, cannot bear frequent reproaches ; either it 
 must quite sink under the oppression, or abate considera- 
 bly of the value and esteem it had for him who bestows 
 them. 
 
 35. The proper business of friendship is to inspire life 
 and courage ; and a soul thus supported, out-does itself ; 
 whereas if it be unexpectedly deprived of those succors, 
 it droops and languishes. 
 
 36. We are in some measure more inexcusable if we 
 violate Our duties to a friend, than to a relation ; since 
 the former arise from a voluntary choice, the latter from 
 a necessity to which we could not give our own consent. 
 
 37V As it has been said on ofie side, that a man ought 
 not to break with a faulty friend, that he may not expose 
 the weakness of his choice ; it will doubtless lioltl mtfch 
 stronger with respect to a worthy one, that he may never 
 be upbraided for having lost so valuable a treasure ivhich^ 
 was once in his- possession. 
 
 
 
 Detraction and Falsehood. 
 
 l.T HAVE not seen you lately at any of the places where 
 JL I visit, so that I am Afraid you are wholly uriac- 
 
 suainted with what passes among my part of the world, 
 ho are, though I say it, without controversy, the most 
 otrlpUsried and best bred of tiie town* 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 3$ 
 
 2. Give me leave to tell you, that I am extremely 
 discomposed when I hear scandal, and am an utter enemy 
 to all manner of detraction, and think it the greatest 
 meanness that people, of distinction can be guilty of; how- 
 ever, it is hardly possible to come into company, where 
 you do not find' them pulling one another to pieces, and 
 that from no other provocation but that of hearing any 
 one commended. 
 
 3. Merit, both as to wit and beauty, is become no 
 other than the possession of a few trifling people's favor, 
 which you cannot possibly arrive at, if you have really any 
 thing in you that is deserving. 
 
 4. What they would bring to pass is, to make all good 
 and evil consist in report, and with whisper, calumnies, 
 and impertinence, to have the conduct of those reports. 
 
 5. By this means innocents are blasted upon their first 
 appearance in town ; and there is nothing more required 
 to make a young woman the object of envy and hatred, 
 than to deserve love and admiration. 
 
 6. This abominable endeavor to suppress or lessen 
 every thing that is praise worthy, is as frequent among 
 the men as women. If I can remember what passed at. a 
 visit last night, it will serve as an instance that the sexes 
 are equally inclined to defamation, with equal malice, : 
 with equal impotence. ...... 
 
 7. Jack Trifilett came into my Lady Airy's about eight 
 of the clock. You- know the manner we sit at a visit, 
 and I need not describe the circle ; but Mr. Trifilett" 
 came. in, introduced by two tapers supported by a spruce 
 servant, whose hair is under a cap till my lady's candles : 
 are all lighted up, and the hour of ceremony begins. 
 
 8. I say Jack Trifilett came in, and singing- (for he is 
 really good company) * Every feature, charming crea- 
 ture' he went on. It is a most unreasonable thing that 
 people cannot go peaceably to see their friends, but these 
 murderers are let loose. 
 
 9. Such a shape ! such an air ! what a glance was that 
 as her chariot passed by mine 1 My lady herself inter- 
 rupted him : Pray, who is this fine thing ? I warrant, 
 says another, 'tis the creature I was telling your ladyship 
 D* just now* 
 
 10. You were telling of? says Jack ; I wish I had 
 
40 The Yb'ttng- Qsntfanan-and Ladifs MONITOR, 
 
 been so happy as to have come in and heard you, for I 
 have not words to Say what she is : but if an agreeable 
 liei^ht; a modest air, a virgin shame, and impatience of 
 being beheld, amidst a blaze often thousand charms - 
 The wiaoie room flew out - -Oh< Mr. Triplett ! When 
 Mrs. Lofty, a known prude, said slie believed she kne\t 
 whom the gentleman meant ; but she was indeed, c<s he 
 civilly represented her, impatient of being beheld. Then 
 turning to the lady next her The most imbred creature 
 you ever s-aw. 
 
 11. Another pursued the .discourse : As utibrec', 
 Madam, as you may think her, she is extremely belied if 
 she is the novice she appears ; she was last week at a ball 
 till tWo in the m'ornin*?; :' Mr. Triplet t knows whether he 
 was the happy man that 'took care of her home ; but 
 
 This was followed by some 'particular exception that 
 each woman 'in the room made 1 to $orne pc< .\\oe- ? 
 
 advantage ; so that Mr. Triplet t. was beaten ffom oni 
 limb and feature to another, till Ue V/RS forced to re si git 
 the whole woman. 
 
 12. In the end, I took notice -Triplet* iv rented all this 
 malice in his heart ; and Saw in his countenance, and a 
 certain waggish shrill-that he designed to repeat the con- 
 versation : I therefore let tlie discourse die,- and soon after 
 took an occasion to commend a certain gentleman of rny 
 acquaintance for a person" of singular modesty, courage, 
 integrity, and witlilal, as a man of an entertaining con- 
 versation,-^ which advantages he had a shape and manner 
 peculiarly graceful. 
 
 13. Mr. Tri/ikit, who is a woman's inan, seemed to 
 hear me with enough, 1 the qualities 
 t^f his mind; he never heard, indeed, but ihat he was a 
 very honest man, and no fool ; but fr" -;tmleman$ 
 he must ssk- pardon. Upon no other foundation than 
 this, Mr. -Triplet i took occasion to gi mans 
 "pedigree, by what methods some part "of the estate was 
 Acquired, ho'w much it w?ts btrliolrkn to a m?Hiage for 
 the pFesent circMmsv^uces of it : uld see-no- 
 
 thing 'but a common man in his person, i-io brt-ediijg or 
 
 -. 
 
 !4. Thus,-- Mr. Spectator, this impertinent -humor ef 
 .Ishing evoi-y one wli is-'froclucwl in conY^rsatk'i5 : 
 
and English Teachers ASSISTANT. 41 
 
 to their advantage, runs through the world ; and I am, I 
 confess, so fearful of the force of ill tongues, that I have 
 begged of all .those who are my well wishers, never to 
 commend me, for it will but bring my frailties into exam- 
 ination, and I had rather be unobserved, than conspicuous 
 for disputed perfections. 
 
 1 5.. I am confident a thousand young people, who would 
 have been ornaments to society, have, from fear of scan- 
 dal, never dared to exert themselves in the polite arts of 
 life. Their Jives have passed away in an odious rustici- 
 ty y . in spite of great advantages of person, genius, and 
 fortune. 
 
 16. There is a vicious terror of being blamed in some 
 well inclined people, and a wicked pleasure in suppressing 
 them in others ; both which I recommend to your specta- 
 torial wisdom to animadvert upon ; and if you can be suc- 
 cegsful in it, I need not say how much you will deserve of 
 the town ; but new toasts will owe to you their beauty, 
 and new wits their fame. 
 
 17. Truth and reality have all the advantages of ap- 
 pearance and many more. If the show of any thing be 
 good for any thing, I am sure sincerity is better : for 
 
 "why does any man dissemble, or seem to be that which 
 he is not, but because he thinks it good to have such a 
 quality as he pretends to : for to counterfeit and dissemble, 
 is to put on the appearance of some real excellency 
 
 18. Now the best way in the world for a man to seem 
 to be any thing, is really to be what he would seem to be* 
 Besides that, it is many times as troublesome to make 
 good the pretence of a good quality, as to have it ; and if 
 a man have it not, it is ten to one but he is discovered to 
 want it, and then all his pains and labor to seem to have 
 it is lost. There is something unnatural in painting, 
 which a skilful eye will easily discern from native beauty 
 and complexion. 
 
 19. It is hard to personate and act a part long; for 
 where truth is not at the bottom, nature will always Ue 
 endeavoring to return-, and will peep out and betray her- 
 self one time or other. Therefore, if any man think it 
 convenient to seem good, let him be so indeed, and then 
 |iis goodness will appear to every body's satisfaction ; sp 
 that upon all accounts sincerity is true wisdom,. 
 
 D 2 
 
42 The Young- Ocd&ema^ avd.l^djs' MONITOR, 
 
 20. Particularly as to the affairs of this world, i 
 
 ty hath many advantages over the fine and artificial ways 
 of dissimulation and deceit ; it is much the plainer and 
 easier, much the safer and more secure way of dealing in 
 the world ; it has less of trouble and difficulty, of entan- 
 glement and perplexity, of danger and hazard in it : it 
 is the shortest and nearest way to our end, carrying us 
 thither in a straight line, and will hold -out and last 
 longest. 
 
 21. The arts of deceit and cunning da continually 
 grow weaker and less effectual and serviceable to them 
 that use them ; whereas integrity gains strength by use, 
 and the more and longer any man practiseth it, the 
 greater service it does him, by confirming his reputa- 
 tion, and encouraging those with whom he hath to do, 
 to repose the greatest trust and confidence in him, which 
 is an unspeakable advantage in the business and affairs 
 of life. 
 
 22. Truth is always consistent with itself, and needs 
 nothing to help it out ; it is always near at hand, and sits 
 vipon our lips, and is ready to drop out before we are 
 aware ; whereas a lie is troublesome, and sets a man's in- 
 vention upon the rack, and one trick needs a great many 
 more to make it good. 
 
 9,3. It is like building upon a false foundation, which 
 continually stands in need of props to fchoar it up, and 
 proves at last more chargeable, lhan to have raised a sub- 
 stantial building at first upon a true and solid foundation ; 
 for sincerity is firm and substantial, and there is nothing 
 "hollow and unsound in it, and because it is plain and open, 
 fears no discovery : 
 
 24. Of which the crafty man is always in danger, and 
 when he thinks he walks in the dark, all his pretences are 
 io transparent, that he who runs may read them ; he is 
 the last man that finds himself to be found out, and whilst 
 he takes it for granted that he makes fools cf others, he 
 renders himself ridiculous. 
 
 25, Add to all this, that sincerity is the most compen- 
 dious wisdom, and an excellent instrument for the speedy 
 dispatch of business, it creates confidence in those we have 
 io deal with, saves the labor of many inquiries, and brings 
 things to an issue in a fe\Y Words, 
 
find English Tcacher y s ASSISTANT. 43 
 
 26. It is like travelling in a plain beaten road, which 
 commonly brings a man sooner to his journey's end than 
 by-way s> in which men often lose themselves. In a- word, 
 whatsoever convenience may be thought to be in falsehood 
 and dissimulation, it is soon over ; but the inconvenience 
 of it is perpetual, because it brings a man under an ever- 
 lasting jealousy and suspicion , so that he is not believed 
 when he speaks truth, nor trusted when perhaps he means 
 honestly ; when a man hath once forfeited the reputation 
 of his integrity, he is set fast, and nothing will then serve 
 his turn, neither truth nor falsehood. 
 
 27. And I have often thought, that God hath, in his 
 great wisdom, hid from men of false and dishonest minds, 
 the wonderful advantages of truth and integrity to the 
 prosperity even of our worldly affairs ; these men are so 
 blinded by their covetousness and ambition, that they can^- 
 not look beyond a present advantage, nor forbear to seize 
 upon it, though by ways never so indirect ; they caxmo.t 
 see so far, as to the remote consequences of a steady in- 
 tegrity, and the vast benefit and advantages which it will 
 bring a man at last. 
 
 28. Were but this sort of men wise, and clear sighted 
 enough to discern this, they would be honest out of very 
 knavery ; not out of any love to honesty and virtue, but 
 with a crafty design to promote and advance more effect- 
 ually their own interests ; and therefore the justice of the 
 Divine Providence hath hid this truest point of wisdom 
 from their eyes, that bad men might not he upon equal 
 terms with the just and upright, and serve their own wick- 
 ed designs by honest and lawful means. 
 
 29. Indeed if a man were only to deal in the world for 
 a day, and should never have occasion to converse more 
 with mankind, never more need their good opinion or good 
 word, it were then no great matter (speaking as to the 
 concernments of this world) if a man spent his reputation 
 all at once, and ventured it at one throw. 
 
 30. But if he be to continue in the world, and would 
 have the advantage of conversation whilst he is in it, let 
 him make use of truth and sincerity in all his words and 
 actions ; for nothing but this will last and hold out to the 
 end ; all other arts will fail, but truth and integrity will 
 carry a man through, and bear him out to the last, 
 
44 The Young Gentleman and Ladifs MONITOR, 
 
 31. When Aristotle was once asked, what a man could 
 gain by uttering falsehoods ? he replied, " not to be cred- 
 ited when he shall tell the truth." 
 
 The character of a liar is at once so hateful and con- 
 temptible, that even of those who have lost their virtue it 
 might be expected, that from the violation of truth they 
 should be restrained by their pride. Almost every other 
 vice that disgraces human nature, may be kept in counte- 
 nance by applause and association. 
 
 S2. The corrupter of virgin innocence sees himself 
 envied by the men, and at least not detested by the wo- 
 men ; the drunkard may easily unite with beings, devoted 
 like himself to noisy merriment or silent insensibility, who 
 will celebrate his victories over the novices of intempe- 
 rance, boast themselves the companions of his prowess, 
 and tell with rapture of the multitudes whom unsuccess- 
 ful emulation has hurried to the grave : even the robber 
 and the cut-throat have their followers, who admire their 
 address and intrepidity, their statagems of rapine, and 
 their fidelity to the gang* 
 
 33. The liar, and only the liar, is invariably and uni- 
 versally despised, abandoned and disowned : he has no do- 
 mestic consolations, which he can oppose to the censure 
 of mankind ; he can retire to no fraternity where his crimes 
 may stand in the place of virtues, but is given up to the 
 hisses of the multitude*, without friend and without apolo- 
 gist. It is the peculiar condition of falsehood, to be equal- 
 ly detested by the good and bad ; " The devils," says Sir 
 Thomas Brown, " do not tell lies to one another ; for 
 " truth is necessary to all societies ; nor can the society 
 " of hell subsist without it." 
 
 34. It is natural to expect, that a crime thus generally 
 detested should be generally avoided ; at least that none 
 should expose himself to unabated and unpitied infamy, 
 .without an adequate temptation ; and that to guilt so ea- 
 sily detected, and so severely punished, an adequate tempt- 
 ation would not readily be found. 
 
 35. Yet so it is, that in defiance of censure and con- 
 tempt, truth is frequently violated ; and scarcely the most 
 vigilant and unremitted circumspection will secure him 
 that mixes with mankind, from being hourly deceived 
 t>y men of v/hon\ it can scarcely be imagined, that they 
 
and English Teacher's AS-SIS.TAN-T. 4'5 
 
 mean, an injury to him or profit to themselves f even 
 where the subject of conversation could not have been 
 expected to put the passions in motion, or to have excited 
 tiither hope or fear, or zeal or malignity, sufficient to 
 induce any man to put his reputation in hazard, however 
 Httltt he might value it, or to overpower the love of truth, 
 however vr^ak might be its influence. 
 
 36, The casuists have very diligently distinguished lies 
 into their several classes, according to their various de- 
 grees of malignity : but they have, I think, generally 
 omitted that which is most common, and perhaps, not 
 less mischievous ; which, since the moralists have not 
 given it a name, I shall distinguish as the lie of vanity. 
 
 To vanity may justly be imputed most of the falsehoods, 
 v.'hich every man perceives, hourly playing upon his ear, 
 and perhaps most of those that are propagated with success. 
 
 37. To the lie cf commerce, and the lie of malice, 
 the motive is so apparent, that they are seldom negli- 
 gently or implicitly received : suspicion is always watchful 
 over the practices of interest ; and whatever the hope of 
 g$ft, or desire of mischief, can prompt one rsian to assert, 
 another is by reasons equally cogent incited to refute. 
 But vanity pleases herself with such slight gratifications, 
 and looks forward to pleasure so remotely consequential, 
 that her practices raise no alarm, and her stratagems are 
 not easily discovered. 
 
 53. Vanity is, indeed, often suffered to pass unpursned 
 by suspicion ; because he that would watch her motions, 
 \\n never be at rest ; fraud and malice are bounded in. 
 iheir influence : some opportunity of time and place is 
 rccessary to their agency ; but scarce any man is al> 
 'td one moment from his vanity ; and he, to whom 
 I'vuh aiTordsno gratifications, is generally inclined to seek 
 t h ;: ni i n fa! s e'hoocls. 
 
 39. It is remarked by Sir Kenclm Dighy " that every 
 ;i has a desire to appear superior to others, though 
 *- it were only in having seen what they have not seen." 
 
 Such an accidental advantage, since it neither implies 
 ! v^rit, nor confers dignity, one would think should not 
 t.-c desired so much as to be counterfeited ; yet even thfe 
 vanity, trifling as it is, produces innumerable narratives, 
 r.ll equally false, but 'more or k's* credible, in proportion 
 to the skill or confidence of the relate rJ 
 
46 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 40..; How many may a man of a diffusive conversation 
 count among his acquaintances, whose lives have been 
 signalized by numberless escapes ? who never cross the 
 river but in a storm, or take a journey into the counuy 
 without more adventures than befel the knight-errants 
 of ancient times in pathless forests or enchanted castles ! 
 How many must he know, to whom portents and prodi- 
 gies are of daily occurrence ; and for whom nature is 
 hourly working wonders invisible to every other eye, only 
 to supply them with subjects of conversation ! 
 
 41. Others there are who amuse themselves with the 
 dissemination of falsehood, at greater' hazard of detection 
 and disgrace : men marked out by some lucky planet for 
 universal confidence and friendship, who have been con- 
 sulted in every difficulty^ entrusted with every secret, and 
 summoned to every transaction : it is the supreme felicity 
 of these men, to stun all companies with npisy informa- 
 tion ; to still doubt, and overbear opposition, with certain 
 knowledge or authentic intelligence. 
 
 42. A liar of this kind, with a strong memory or brisk 
 imagination, is often the oracle of an obscure club, and, 
 till time discovers his impostures, dictates to his hear- 
 ers with uncontroled authority : for if a public question 
 be started, he was present at the debate ; if a new fashion 
 be. mentioned, he was at court the first day of its appear- 
 ance ; if a- new performance of literature draws the atten- 
 tion of the public, he has patronized the author, and seen 
 his work in manuscript ; - if a criminal of eminence be con- 
 demned to tiie, he often predicted his fate, and endeav- 
 ored his reformation : and who that lives at a distance 
 from the scene of action, will dare to contradict a man, 
 who reports from his own eyes arid ears, and to whom all 
 persons and affairs are thus intimately known ? 
 
 43. This kind of falsehood is generally successful for 
 a time, because it is practised at first with timidity and 
 caution ; but the prosperity of the liar is of short dura>- 
 tion ; the reception of one "story is always an incitement 
 to the forgery of another less probable ; and he goes on 
 to triumph over tacit credulity, till f>ride or reason rises 
 up against him, and his companions will no longer endure 
 to see him wiser than themselves. 
 
 44. It is apparent, that the inventors of all these 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 47* 
 
 fictions intend some exaltation of themselves, and are led 
 off by the pursuit of honor from their attendance upon 
 truth: their narratives always imply some consequence 
 in favor of their courage, their sagacity, or their activity, 
 their familiarity with the learned, or their reception among 
 the great ; they are always bribed by the present pleas- 
 ure of seeing themselves superior to those that surround 
 them, and receiving the homage of silent attention and 
 envious admiration. 
 
 45. But vanity is sometimes excited to fiction by less 
 visible gratifications ; the present age abounds with a race 
 of liars who are content with the consciousness of false- 
 hood and whose pride is to deceive others without any 
 gain or glory to themselves. Of this tribe it is the su- 
 preme pleasure to remark a lady in the play-house or the 
 park, and to publish, under the character of a man sud- 
 denly enamored, an advertisement in the news of the 
 next day, containing a minute description of her person 
 and her dress. 
 
 46. From this artifice, however, no other effect can be 
 expected, than perturbations which the writer can never 
 see, and conjectures of which he can never be informed : 
 some mischief, however, he hopes he has done ; and to 
 have done mischief, is of some importance. He sets his 
 invention to work again, and produces a narrative of a 
 robbery, or a murder, with all the circumstances of time 
 and place accurately adjusted. This is a jest of greater 
 effect and longer duration. If he fixes his scene at a prop- 
 er distance, he may for several days keep a wife in terror 
 for her husband, or a mother for her son ; and please him- 
 self with reflecting, that by his abilities and address some 
 addition is made to the miseries of life. 
 
 47. There is, I think, an ancient law in Scotland by 
 which Leaning-making was capitally punished. I am, 
 indeedj far from desiring to increase in this kingdom 
 the number, of executions ; yet I cannot but think, that 
 they who destroy the confidence of society, weaken the 
 credit of intelligence, and interrupt the security of life ; 
 harass the delicate with shame, and perplex the timorous 
 with alarms; might very properly be awakened to a 
 sense of their crimes, by denunciations of a whipping 
 post or a pillory : since, rnany. are so sensible of right and 
 
48 The Young Gentleman and Lady 's Mox i T n , 
 
 wrong, that they have no standard of actioa butllie 
 nor feel guilt, but as they dread punishment. 
 
 The Importance of Punctuality. 
 
 1. TT is observed in the writings of J3.oifle 9 that the 
 A excellency of manufactures and facility of labor 
 would be much promoted, if the various expedients and 
 contrivances which lie concealed in private hands were 
 by reciprocal communications made generally known ; 
 for there are few operations that are not performed by 
 one or other -with -some peculiar advantages, which, 
 though singly of little importance, would by conjunction 
 and concurrence open ne-w inlets to knowledge, and give 
 new powers to diligence. 
 
 2. There are in like manner several moral excellencies 
 distributed among the various classes of mankind, which 
 he that converses hi the world should endeavor to assem- 
 ble, in himself. It wa$ said by the learned Cujftciufi^ that 
 he never read more than one book, by which he was. not 
 instructed ; and he that shall inquire after virtue with ar- 
 dor and attention, will seldom find a man by whose exam- 
 ple or sentiments he may not be improved. 
 
 3. Every profession has some essential and appropriate 
 virtue, without which there" can be no hope of honor or 
 success, and which, as it is more or less cultivated, con- 
 fers within its sphere Off .activity different degrees of merit 
 and reputation. As thr Astrologers range, the subdivis- 
 ions of mankind under the planets which they, suppose to 
 influence their lives, the moralist may distribute them 
 according to the virtues which they necessarily practise, 
 and consider them as distinguished by prudence or forti- 
 tude, diligence or patience* 
 
 4. So much are the modes of excellence settled by 
 time and place, that men maybe beard boasting in one 
 street of that which they would anxiously conceal in ano- 
 ther. The grounds of scorn and esteem, the topics of 
 praise and satire are varied according tq the several virtues 
 or vices which tfa course of otir lives has dis.po$et-us to 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 4-9 
 
 admire or abhor ; but he who is solicitous for his own 
 improvement, must not sulTer his afrairs to be limited by 
 local reputation, but select from every tribe of mortals 
 their characteristical virtues, ami constellate in himself 
 the scattered graces which shine single in other men. 
 
 5. The chief praise to which a trader generally aspires 
 is that o, punctuality, or an exact rigorous observance of 
 commercial promises and engagements ; nor is there any 
 vice of which he so much dreads the imputation, as of 
 negligence and" instability. This is a quality which the 
 interest of mankind requires to be disused through all 
 the ranks of life, but which, however useful and valuable 
 may seem content to want ; it is considered as a vulgar 
 -and ignoble virtue, below the ambition of greatness or 
 attention- of wit, scarcely requisite among men of gaiety 
 arid spirit, and sold at its highest rate when it is sacrificed 
 -to a frolic or a jest. 
 
 6. Every man has daily occasion to remark what vex- 
 ations and inconveniencies arise from this privilege of de- 
 ceiving one another. The active and vivacious have so 
 long disdained the restraints of truth, that promises and 
 appointments have lost their cogency, and both parties 
 iiegiect their stipulations, because each concludes that 
 they will be broken by the other. 
 
 7. Negligence is first admitted in trivial affairs, and 
 strengthened by petty indulgences. He that is not yet 
 hardened by custom, ventures not on the violation of im- 
 portant engagements, but thinks himself bound by his 
 word in cases of property or danger, though he allows 
 himself to forget at what time he is to meet ladies in the 
 park, or at what tavern hi-s friends are expecting him. 
 
 3. This laxity of honor would be mo-re tolerable, if 
 it could be restrained to the play-house, the ball-room, or 
 the card-table ; yet even there it is siviikkntly trouble- 
 some, and darkens those moments with expectation, sus- 
 pence, uncertainty and resentment, which are set aside for 
 the softer pleasures of life, and from which we naturally 
 hope for unmingied enjoyment, and total relaxation. 
 But he that suffers the slightest breach in his moraiity, 
 can seldom tell what shall enter it, or how wide it shall 
 be made ; when a passage is opened, the influx of cor- 
 ruption is every moment wearing down opposition, and by 
 slow degrees deluges the heart. E 
 
!!k) The Young Gentkntanand.JLady's ' 
 
 . 9. jffiger entered the world a youth .of. lively imagina- 
 tion, extensive views, and untainted ''principles. ' His 
 curiosity incited him to range From place to place, and 
 try all the varieties of conversation ; hrs elegance .of ad- 
 dress and fertility of ideas gained hir.i friends wherever 
 he appeared ; or at least he found l\ie general kindness of 
 reception always shown to a young man whose birth, and 
 fortune gave him a claim to notice, and who has neither 
 by vice or.folly destroyed his privileges. 
 
 10. Aligcr was pleased with this general smile of man* 
 kind, and being naturally gentle and flexible, was indus- 
 trious to preserve it by compliance and officiousness, but 
 did not suffer his desire of pleasing to vitiate his integrity. 
 It was his established maxim, that a promise is never to 
 be broken ; nor was it without long reluctance that he 
 once suffered himself to be drawn away from a festal en- 
 gagement by the importunity of another company. 
 
 i 1. He spent the evening, as is usual in the rudiments 
 of vice, with perturbation and imperfect enjoyment, and 
 met his disappointed friends in the morning with confu- 
 sion and excuses. His companions, not accustomed to 
 such scrupulous anxiety, laughed .at his uneasiness, com- 
 pounded the offence for a bottle, gave him courage to 
 break his word again, and again levied the penalty. 
 
 12. He ventured the same experiment upon another 
 society ; and found them equally ready to consider it as a 
 venial fault, always incident, to a man of quickness arid 
 gaiety ; till by degrees he began to think himself at liber-s- 
 ty to follow the last invitation, and was no longer shock- 
 ed at the turpitude of falsehood. He- made no difficulty 
 to promise his presence at distant places, and if listless- 
 
 entrance. 
 
 13. He found it so pleasant to live in perpetual vacan- 
 cy, that he soon dismissed his attention as an useless in- 
 cumbrance, and resigned himself to carelessness and dis- 
 sipation, without any; regard to the future or the past,, or 
 a:,y ether motive of action than the impulse of 'a sudden 
 desire, or the .attraction of immediate pleasure. The 
 absent were, immediately forgotten, and the hopes ov 
 
and English 'f'edcher's' ASSISTANT, 51 
 
 fears of others had no tn'fiiience upon .Ills' conduct. He 
 vvas in speculation completely .just, but never kept fcis 
 promise to a creditor ; lie was benevolent, but always de- 
 ceived those frienrls whom he undertook to patronize or 
 assist ; he was prudent, but suffered his affairs to be embar- 
 rassed for want of settling his accounts at stated times. 
 
 1.4. He Courted a young lady, and when the settle- 
 ments were drawn, took a ramble into the country on 
 the day appointed to sign them. ' He resolved to travel, 
 and sent his chests on ship-board, but delayed to follow 
 .them till he lost his passage. He was summoned as 'an 
 evidence in a cause of great importance, and loitered in 
 the way till the trial was past. It is said, that 'when- Ire 
 had with great expense formed an interest in a borough, 
 his opponent contrived by some agents, who knew his 
 temper, to lure him away on the day cf election. 
 
 15. His benevolence draws him into the commission 
 , cf a thousand crimes, which others, less kind or civil, 
 
 would escape. His courtesy invites application, his pro- 
 mises produce dependence ; he has bis pocket filled with 
 petitions, which he intends sometime to deliver and en- 
 force ; and his table covered with letters of request, with 
 which he promises to cc- nply ; but time slips impercepti- 
 bly away, while he is either idle or busy : his friends lose 
 their opportunities, and charge upon him their miscar- 
 riages and calamities. 
 
 This character, however contemptible, is not peculiar 
 to dUger. 
 
 16. They whose activity of imagination is often shift- 
 ing the scenes of expectation, are frequently subject to 
 such sallies of caprice as make all their actions fortuitous, 
 destroy the value of their friendship, obstruct the efficacy 
 of their virtues, and set them below the meanest of those 
 that persist in their resolutions, execute 'what they design, 
 and perform what ti*ey have promised. 
 
 Exercise end Temperance the best Preservative of Health. 
 
 I'TQODILY labor is of two kinds, either that which 
 jLJ a man submits to for his livelihood, or that which 
 
52 The Young Gentleman -and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 he undergoes for his pleasure. The latter of them gen- 
 erally changes the name of labor for that of exercise, 
 but differs only from ordinary labor as it rises from an- 
 other motive. 
 
 A country life abounds in both these kinds of labor, 
 and for that reason gives a man a greater stock of health, 
 and consequently a more perfect enjoyment of himself, 
 than any other way of life. 
 
 2. I consider the body as a system of tubes and glands, 
 or to use a more rustic phrase, a bundle of pipes and strain- 
 ers, fitted to one another after so wonderful a manner, 
 as to make a proper engine for the soul to work with. 
 This description does not only comprehend the bowels, 
 bones, tendons, veins, nerves and arteries^ but every mus- 
 cle and every ligature, which is a composition of fibres, 
 that are so many imperceptible tubes or pipes interwoven 
 on all sides with invisible glands or strainers. 
 
 3. This general idea of a human body, without con- 
 sidering it in its niceties of anatomy, let us see how abso- 
 lutely necessary labor is for the right preservation of it* 
 There must be frequent motions and agitations, to mix, 
 digest, and separate the juices contained in it, as well as 
 to clear and disperse the infinite le of pipes and strainers 
 of which it is composed, and to give their solid parts a 
 more firm and lasting tone. Labor or exercise fer- 
 ynents the humors, casts them into their proper channels, 
 throws off redundancies, and helps nature in those secret 
 distributions, without which the body cannot subsist in its 
 vigor, nor the soul act with cheerfulness. 
 
 4. I might here mention the effects which this has 
 upon all the faculties of the mind, by keeping the under- 
 standing clear, the imagination untroubled, and refining 
 those spirits that are necessary for the proper exertion of 
 our intellectual faculties, during the present laws of union 
 between soul and body. It is to a neglect in this particu- 
 lar that, we must ascribe the spleen, which is so frequent 
 in men of studious and sedentary tempers, as well as the 
 vapors to which those, of the other sex are so often subject* 
 
 Had not exercise been absolutely necessary for our 
 well being, nature would not have made the body so prop- 
 er for it, by giving such an activity to the limbs, and 
 
 a pliancy to every part, as necessarily produce those 
 
and English Teachers ASSISTANT. 53 
 
 compressions, extentions, contortions, dilatations, and all 
 other kinds of motions that are necessary for the preserv- 
 ation of such a system of tubes and glands as has been 
 before mentioned. And that we might not want induce- 
 ments to engage us in such an exercise of the body as is 
 proper for its welfare, it is so ordered, that nothing 
 valuable c?,n be procured without it. Not to mention 
 riches and honor, even food and raiment are not to be 
 come at without the toil of the hands and sweat of the 
 brow?. 
 
 6* Providence furnishes materials, but expects that we 
 should work them up ourselves- The earth must be labor- 
 ed before it gives his increase, and when it is forced into its 
 several products, how many hands must they pass through 
 before they are fit for use ? Manufactures, trade, and ag- 
 riculture, naturally employ more than nineteen parts of 
 the species in twenty : and as for those who arc not obli- 
 ged to labor, by the condition in which they arc born, 
 they are more miserable than the rest of mankind, unless 
 they indulge themselves in that voluntary labor which 
 goes by the name of exercise. 
 
 7. My friend Sir Roger hath been an indefatigable man 
 in business of this kind, and has hung several parts of his 
 house with the trophies of his farmer labors. The wails 
 of his great hall are covered with the horns of several 
 kinds of deer that he has killed in the chace, which he 
 thinks the most valuable furniture of his house, as they 
 a fiord him frequent topics of discourse, and show that he 
 has not been idle. 
 
 8. At the lower end of the hall is a large otter's skin 
 stuffed with hay, which his mother ordered to be hung- up 
 in that manner, and the knight looks upon it with great 
 satisfaction, because it seems he was but nine years old, 
 when his dog killed him. A little room adjoining 1 to the 
 hall is a kind of arsenal filled with guns of several sizes 
 find inventions, with which the knight has made great 
 havock in the woods, and destroyed many thousands of 
 pheasants, partridges and woodcocks. His stable doors 
 are patched with noses that belonged to foxes of the 
 knight's own hunting down. 
 
 9. Sir Roger showed me one of them that, for distinct- 
 ion sake ; has a brass nail struck through it, which cost 
 
 E 2 
 
54 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, - 
 
 him about fifteen hours riding, carried him through half a 
 dozen counties, killed him a brace of geldings, and lost 
 about half his dogs. This the knight looks upon as one 
 of the greatest exploits of his life. 
 
 10. The perverse widow, whom I have given some 
 account of, was the death of several foxes ; for Sir Roger 
 has told me, that in the course of his amours he patched 
 the western door of his stable. Whenever the widow was, 
 cruel, the foxes were sure to pay for it. In proportion as 
 his passion for the widow abated and old age came on, he 
 left off fox hunting ; but a hare is not yet safe that sits 
 within ten miles of his house. 
 
 1 1. There is m; kind of exercise which I would so re- 
 commend to my readers of both sexes as this of riding, 
 as there is none which so much conduces to health, and is 
 every way accommodated to the body, according to the 
 idea which I have given of it. Dr. Sydenham is very lav- 
 ish in his praises; and if the English reader will see the 
 mechanical effects of it described at length, he may find 
 them in a book published not many years since, under the 
 title of Meclicina Gymnastica. 
 
 12. For my own part when I am in town, for want of 
 these opportunities, I exercise myself an hour every morn- 
 ing upon a dumb bell that is placed in a corner of my 
 loom, and pleases me the more because it does every 
 thing I require in the moat profound silence. My landla- 
 dy and her daughters are so well acquainted with my 
 hours cf exercise, that they never, come, into my room to 
 disturb me whilst I am ringing. 
 
 13. When I was some years younger than I am at pres- 
 ent, I used to employ myself in a more laborious diversion, 
 v/hich I learned from a Latin treatise of exercise, that id. 
 written with great erudition : It is there called the Scioma- 
 thia or the fighting with a man's own shadow, and consists 
 in the brandishing cf two short sticks grasped in each 
 hand, and loaded with plugs of lead at either end. This 
 opens the chest, exercises the limbs, and gives a man all 
 the pleasure of boxing, without the blows. 
 
 14. I could wish that several learned men would lay 
 out that time which they employ in controversies, and 
 disputes about nothing, in this method of fighting with their 
 own shadows. It might conduce very much to evaporate 
 
end English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 55 
 
 the spleen, which makes them uneasy to the public as 
 wall as to themselves. 
 
 As I am a compound of soul and body, I consider my- 
 self as obliged to a double scheme of duties ; and think I 
 have not fulfilled the business of the day when I do not 
 thus employ the one in labor and exercise, as well as the 
 other in study and contemplation. 
 
 1 5. There is a story in the Arabian Nights Tales, of a 
 king- who had long languished under an ill habit of body, 
 and had taken abundance of remedies to no purpose* 
 At length, says the fable, a physician cured him Uy the 
 following method : he took an hollow ball of wood, and 
 filled it with several drugs ; after which he closed it up 
 so artificially tbat nothing appeared. He likewise took a 
 mall, and after having hollowed the handle, and that part 
 which strikes the ball, inclosed in them several drugs af- 
 ter the same manner as in the ball itself. 
 
 16. He then ordered the sultan who was his patient, to 
 exercise himself early in the morning with these rightly 
 prepared instruments, till such time as he should sweat ; 
 when as the story goes, the virtue of the medicaments 
 perspiring through the weed, had so good an influence on 
 the sultan's constitution that they cured him of an indis- 
 position which all the compositions he had taken imtardly 
 had not been able to remove. 
 
 17. This eastern allegory is finely contrived to show us 
 how beneficial bodily labor is to health, and that exercise 
 is the most effectual physic. 1 have described in my hun- 
 dred and fifteenth paper, from the general structure and 
 mechanism of an human body, how absolutely necessary 
 exercise is for its preservation ; I shall in this place re- 
 commend another great .preservative of health, which in 
 many cases produces the same effects as exercise, and 
 may in sowie measure, supply its place, where opportuni- 
 ties of exercise are wanting. 
 
 38. The preservative I am speaking of is Temperance, 
 which Las those particular advantages above all other 
 means of health, that it may be practised by all ranks and 
 conditions, at any season^ or in any place. It is a kind of 
 regimen into which every man may put himself, without 
 interruption tcr business, expense of money, or loss of time.' 
 If exercise thro AYS off all superfluities, temperance, pre- 
 
56 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 vents them : if exercise clears the vessels, temperance 
 neither satiates nor over-strains them : if exercise raises 
 proper ferments in the humors, and promotes the circula- 
 tion of the blood, temperance gives nature her full play, 
 and enables he? to exert herself in all her force and vigor: 
 If exercise dissipates a growing distemper, temperance 
 starves it. 
 
 19. Physic, for the most part, is nothing' else but the 
 substitute of exercise or temperance. Medicines are in- 
 deed absolutely necessary in acute distempers, that cannot 
 \vait the slow operations of these two great instruments of 
 health : but did men live m an habitual course of exercise 
 and temperance, there \vorJd be but little occasion for 
 them. Accordingly we find that those parts of the world 
 are the most healthy, where they subsist by the chace ; 
 and that men lived longest when their lives were employ- 
 ed ia hunting, and when they hadlittle food besides what 
 they caught. 
 
 20. Blistering, cupping, bleeding,' are seldom of use 
 to any but to the idle and intemperate ; as all those in- 
 ward applications, which are so much in- practice among 
 us, are, for the most part, nothing else but expedients 
 to make luxury consistent with health. The apothecary 
 is perpetually employed in countermining the cook and 
 the vintner. It is said of Diogenes, that meeting a young 
 iwan who was going to a feast, he took him up in the 
 street, and carried him home to his friends, as one who 
 was running into imminent danger, had he not prevented 
 hina. 
 
 21. What would that philosopher have said, had he- 
 been present at the gluttony of a modern meal I would not 
 he have thought the master of a family mad, and hcivo 
 begged his servant to tie down his hands, had he seen him 
 devour fowl, fish, ami flesh ; swallow oil and vinegar, wines 
 and spices ; throw down salads of twenty different herbs, 
 sauces of an hundred ingredients, confections and fruits of 
 numberless sweets and flavors ? what unnatural motions 
 and counter-ferments must such a medley of intemperance 
 produce in the body ? For my part, when I behold a fash- 
 ionable table set out in all its magnificence, I fancy, that I 
 See gouts and dropsies, fevers and lethargies, with other 
 innumerable distempers, lying in ambuscade among the 
 dishes. 
 
nglish Teticfar's A s % I s T XN r . &? 
 
 %*2. Nature delights in the most plain and simple diet. 
 Every animal, -but man, keeps to one dish. Herbs are 
 the food of this species, fish of that, and flesh of a third. 
 Man falls upon jevery tiling that comes in his way ; not 
 the smallest fruk or excrescence of the earth, scarce a ber- 
 ry, or mushroom can escape him. 
 
 It is impossible to lay down any determinate rule for 
 temperance, because what is luxury in one may be tempe- 
 rance in another } but there 'are few that have lived any 
 time in the world, who are not judges of their own con- 
 stitutions, so far as to know what kinds and what propor- 
 tions of food do best agree with them. 
 
 23. Were I to consider my readers as my patients, and 
 to prescribe such a kind of temperance as is accommoda- 
 ted to all 'persons* and such as is particularly suitable to 
 our climate and way of4ivingv! would copy the following 
 rules of a very -eminent physician. Make your whole* 
 repast out of one dish. If you indulge in a second, avoid 
 ng any thing strong 1 till you have finished your 
 meal : at the same time abstain from a)l sauces, or at least 
 such as are not the most plain and simple; 
 
 24. A man could not be well guilty of gluttony, ifhe' 
 stuck to these few obvious and easy rules.- In the first : 
 ease, there would be no variety of tastes to solicit his palate, 
 and occasion excess j nor in the second any artificial pro- 
 vokatives to relieve satiety, and create a false appetite. : 
 Were I to prescribe a rule for drinking, k should be r 
 formed upon. -a snying quoted by Sir William Temple : T/ie 
 Jirst glass for my self y the second for my friends^ the third 
 for goad humor, and* the fourth for my enemies* But be- 
 cmise i.t is impossible for one who lives in the world to diet 
 hims'elf always hv so philosophical a'prianner, I think every 
 man shot ild have his days of abstinence, according asliis 
 constitution will permit. 
 
 25; -These 1 are reat relieves to nature, as they qualify 
 her far struggling with 1 hunger and thirst, whenever any' 
 distemper;or duty of life rrtay pvk her upon such diificul- 
 tiv.s ; and at the same time give her an opportumty of 
 extricating herself from her oppressions, and recovering' 
 the several tones and springs of her distended vessels. 
 Besides that, abstinence well timed often kills a sickness in 
 embryoj and destroys the iir.st seeds of aii ind 
 
, . . .... 
 
 58 . J%<? Fa:^ Gentleman ancfLadtfs MONITOR, 
 
 26. It is observed. by two or three ancient authors* that 
 ^ccrate^ notwithstanding he lived in Athens during that, 
 great plague, which has made so. much- noise .through all 
 ages, and has been celebrated at diffcr.e^t times by sucf 
 ^'minent hands ; I say, notwithstanding Ihat he lived in the 
 time of this devouring pestilence, he never oaugfat tlje least 
 infection, which those writers .unanimously, ascribe to that 
 uninterrupted temperance whicji he always observed. 
 
 27. And here I cannot but mention an obseryatiort 
 which I have often made, upon reading the lives of the 
 philosophers, and comparing them with any series of kings 
 or great men of the same number. If >ve consider these 
 ancient sages, a great part of whose philosophy consisted 
 in a temperate and abstemious course of life, cue would 
 think the life of a philosopher and the life of a man were 
 of two different dates. For we find, that the generality 
 ef these wise men were nearer a hundred than sixty years, 
 of age at the time of their respective deaths. 
 
 28. But the most remarkable instance of the efficacy 
 of temperance towards the procuring of long life, is what 
 we meet with in a little book published by Lewis Cornaro 
 the Venetian; which I the rather mention^ because it is 
 of undoubted credit, as the late Venetian ambassador 3 
 who was of the same family, attested more than once 
 in conversation, \vhen he resided in- England. Cornaro^ 
 who was the author of the little treatise I am mentioning', 
 was of an infirm constitution, till about forty, when by 
 obstinately persisting in an exact course of temperance, 
 he recovered a perfect state of health ; insomuch that at 
 fourscore he published his book which has been translated 
 into E?ilishi under the title of, Sure and certain, methods 
 of attaining a long and healthy life. 
 
 29. He lived to give a third or fourth edition of it. 
 and after having passed his hundredth year, died without 
 pain or agony, and like one who falls asleep. The trea- 
 tise I mention has been taken notice of by several 
 eminent authors, and is written with such a spirit of 
 cheerfulness^ religion and good sense,, as are the natural 
 concomitants of temperance and sobriety. The mixture^ 
 of the old man in. it h> rather a recommendation than, a f| 
 discrecth t 
 
and .English TeacAer's ASSISTANT* 59 
 
 The Duty of 
 
 1. TT is f elated 1 by Quintus Curtius^ that the Pe'rtian* 
 JL always conceived a lasting and invincible contempt 
 of a man ifc'ho had violated the laws of secrecy : for they 
 thought, that however he might be deficient in the qual- 
 ities requisite to actual excellence, the negative virtues at 
 least were always in his power, and though he perhaps 
 could not speak well jf he was to try, it was still easy for 
 him not to ! speak. 
 
 2. In this opinion of the easiness of secrecy, thejr 
 seem to have considered it as opposed, not to treachery, 
 but loquacity, .and to have conceived the man, whom 
 they thus .censured, not frighted by menrces to reveal, 
 or bribed by promises to 'betray, but incited by the mere 
 pleasure of tailing, or some other motive equally trivial, 
 to lay open Ins heart without reflection, and to let whatev*- 
 er he knew slip from him, only for want of power to 
 retain it. 
 
 3. Whether, by their settled and avowed scorn of 
 thoughtless -talkers, the Persians were able to diffuse to 
 any great extent, the virtue of taciturnity, we arc hin- 
 dered by the distances of those times from being able to 
 discover, there being very few memoirs remaining of 
 the court of Pcrsefiolis, nor any distinct accounts handed 
 down to us of their office-clerks, their ladies of the bed- 
 chamber, their attornies, their chamber-maids, or their 
 footmen^ 
 
 4. In these latter ages 1 , though the old animosity 
 against a prattler is still, retained, it appears wholly to 
 'have lost its effects upon the condutt of mankind; for 
 secrets are so seldom kept, that it may with some reason 
 be doubted, whether the ancients were not mistaken in 
 their first postulate, Whether the quality of retention be 
 so generally bestowed, and whether a secret has not some 
 subtle volatility, by Which it escapes almost impercepti- 
 bly at the smallest vent ; or some power of fermentation, 
 by which it expands itself so as to burst the heart that 
 will not give it way. 
 
 5. Those that study either the body or the mind of 
 very often find the most specious and pleasing the- 
 
60 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 ory falling under the weight of contrary experience : 
 and instead of gratifying their vanity by inferring effects 
 from causes, they are always reduced at last to conjecture 
 causes from effects. That it is easy to be secret the 
 speculatist can demonstrate in his retreat, and therefore 
 thinks himself justified in placing confidence ; the man 
 of the world knows, that, whether difficult or not, it is 
 uncommon, and therefore finds himself rather inclined to 
 search after the reason of this universal failure in one of 
 the most important duties of society. 
 
 6. The vanity of being known to be trusted with a se- 
 cret is generally one of the chief motives to disclose it ; 
 for however absurd it may be thought to boast an honor, 
 by an act that shows that it was conferred without merit, 
 yet most men seem rather inclined to confess the want of 
 virtue than of importance, and more willingly show their 
 influence and their power, though at the expense of their 
 probity, than glide through life with no other pleasure 
 than the private consciousness of fidelity : which, while it 
 is preserved must be without praise, except from the sin- 
 gle person who tries and knows it. 
 
 7. There are many ways of telling a secret, by which 
 a man exempts himself from the reproaches of his con- 
 science, and gratifies his pride without suffering himself 
 to believe that he impairs his virtue. He tells the pri- 
 vate affairs of his patron, or his friend only to those from 
 whom he would not conceal his own ; he tells them to 
 those, who have no temptation to betray their trust, or 
 with a denunciation of a certain forfeiture of his friend- 
 ship, if he discovers that they become public. 
 
 8. Secrets are very frequently told in the first ardor 
 of kindness, or of love, for the sake of proving by so im- 
 portant a sacrifice, the sincerity of professions, or the 
 warmth of tenderness ; but with this motive, though it 
 be sometimes strong in itself, vanity generally concurs, 
 since every man naturally desires to be most esteemed by 
 those whom he loves, or with whom he converses, with 
 whom be passes ft is hours of pleasure, and to whom he 
 retires from busr ess and from care. 
 
 9 When the Discovery of secrets is under considera- 
 tion, there is always a distinction carefully to be made 
 between our sown and those of another, those of which 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 61 
 
 we are fully masters as they effect only our own interest, 
 and those which are repositecl with us in trust, and in- 
 volve the happiness or convenience of such as we have 
 no right to expose to hazard by experiments upon then* 
 lives, without their consent. To tell our own secrets 
 is generally folly, but that folly is without guilt; to 
 communicate those with which we are entrusted is always 
 treachery* and treachery for the most part combined 
 with folly. 
 
 10. There have, indeed, been some enthusiastic and 
 irrational zealots for friendship, who have maintained, 
 and perhaps believed that one friend has a right to all 
 that is in possession of another : and that therefore in is a 
 violation of kindness to exempt any secret from his bound- 
 less confidence ; accordingly a late female minister of 
 state has been shameless enough to inform the world, that 
 she used, when she wanted to -exact any thing from her 
 sovereign, to remind her of Montaigne's reasoning, who 
 has determined, that to tell a secret to a friend is no breach 
 of fidelity, because the number of persons trusted is not 
 multiplied, a man and his friend being virtually the same. 
 
 11. That such a fallacy could be imposed uj|n any 
 human understanding, or that an author could have been 
 imagined to advance a position so remote from truth and 
 reason any otherwise than as a declaimed, to show to what 
 extent he could stretch his imagination, and with what 
 strength he could press his principle, would scarcely have 
 been credible, had not this lady kindly shown vis how far 
 weakness maybe deluded, or indolence amused. 
 
 12. But since it appears, that even this sophistry has 
 been able, with the help of a strong desire to repose in 
 quiet upon the understanding of another, to mislead hon- 
 est intentions, and an understanding not contemptible, it 
 may not be superfluous to remark, that those things which . 
 are common among friends are only such as either pos- 
 sesses in his own right, and can alienate or destroy with- 
 out injury, to any other person. Without this limitation, 
 confidence must run on without end, the second person 
 may tell the secret to the third upon the same principle 
 as he received it from the first, and the third may hand 
 it forward to a fourth, till at last it is told in the round of 
 friendship to thevn from whom it was the first intention 
 chiefly to conceal it. F 
 
62 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 13. The confidence which Caius has of the faithful- 
 ness of Titus is nothing more than an opinion which him- 
 self cannot know to be true, and which Claudius, who first 
 tells his secret to Caius, may know, at least may suspect to 
 be false ; and therefore the trust is transferred by Cains, 
 if he reveal what has been told him, to one from whom 
 the person originally concerned would probably have with- 
 held it ; and whatever may be the event, Caius has haz- 
 arded the happiness of his friend, without necessity and 
 without permission, and has put that trust in the hand of 
 fortune which was given only to virtue. 
 
 14. All the arguments upon which a man who is tell- 
 ing the private affairs of another may ground his confi- 
 dence in security, he must upon reflection know to be un- 
 certain, because he finds them without effect upon himself* 
 When he is imagining that Titus will be cautious from a 
 regard to his interest, his reputation, or his duty, he ought 
 to reflect that he is himself at that instant acting in oppo- 
 sition to all these reasons, and revealing what interest, rep- 
 utation and duty direct him to conceal. 
 
 15. Every one feels that he should consider the man 
 incap^le of trust, who believed himself at liberty to tell 
 whatever he knew to the first whom he should conclude 
 deserving of his confidence : therefore Caius, in admitting 
 Titus to the affairs imparted only to himself, violates his 
 faith, since he acts contrary to the intention of Claudius, 
 to whom that faith was given. For promises of friend* 
 ship are, like all others, useless and vain, unless they are 
 made in some known sense, adjusted and acknowledged by 
 both parties. 
 
 16. I am not ignorant that many questions may be 
 started relating to the duty of secrecy, where the affairs 
 ar<p of public concern ; where subsequent reasons may 
 arise to alter the appearance and nature of the trust ; that 
 the manner in which the secret was told may change the 
 degree of obligation ; and that the principles upon which 
 a man is chosen for a confident may not always equally 
 constrain him. 
 
 17. But these scruples, if not too intricate, are of too 
 extensive consideration for my present purpose, nor are 
 they such as generally occur in common life ; and though 
 casuistical knowledge be useful in proper hands, yet it 
 
and English Teac/ter's ASSISTANT. 63 
 
 ought by no means to be carelessly exposed, since most will 
 use it rather to lull than awaken their own consciences ; and 
 the threads of reasoning, on which truth is suspended, are 
 frequently drawn to such subtlety, that common eyes can- 
 not perceive, and common sensibility cannot feel them. 
 
 18. The whole doctrine as well as practice of secrecy 
 is so perplexing and dangerous, that, next to him who is 
 compelled to trust, I think him unhappy who is chosen 
 to be trusted ; for he is often involved in scruples without 
 the liberty of calling in the help of any other understand* 
 ing ; he is frequently drawn into guilt, under the appear- 
 ance of friendship and honesty ; and sometimes subjected 
 to suspicion by the treachery of others, who are engaged 
 without his knowledge in the same schemes ; for he that 
 has one confident has generally more, and when he is at 
 last betrayed, is in doubt on whom he shall fix the crime. 
 
 19. The rules therefore that I shall propose concerning 
 secrecy, and from which I think it not safe to deviate, 
 without long and ^fxact deliberation, are Never to so- 
 licit the knowledge of a secret. Not willingly nor with- 
 out many limitations, to accept such confidence When it is 
 offered. When a secret is once admitted, to consider the 
 trust as of a very high nature, important to society, and 
 sacred as truth, and therefore not to be violated for any 
 incidental convenience, or slight appearance of contrary 
 fitness. 
 
 Of Cheerfulness. 
 
 t.T HAVE always preferred cheerfulness to mirth. The 
 A latter I consider as an act, the former as a habit of 
 the mind. Mirth is short and transient, cheerfulness 
 fixed and permanent. Those are often raised into the 
 greatest transports of mirth, who are subject to the greatest 
 depressions of melancholy ; on the contrary cheerfulness 
 though it does not give the mind such an exquisite glad- 
 ness, prevents us from falling into any depths of sorrow. 
 Mirth is like a flash of lightning that breaks 'through a 
 gloom of clouds, and glitters fora moment ; cheerfulness 
 keeps up a kind of day light in the mind, and fills it with 
 a steady and perpetual serenity. 
 
64 The Young Gentlemen and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 2. Men of austere principles look upon mirth as too 
 vrantoa and dissolute for a state of probation, and 13 filled 
 v~ith a certain triumph and insolence of heart that is in- 
 consistent with a life which is every moment obnoxious 
 to the greatest dangers. Writers of this complexion have 
 observed, that the sacred person who- was the great pattern 
 of perfection, was never seen to laugh. 
 
 3. Cheerfulness of mind is not liable to any of these 
 exceptions ; it is of a serious and composed nature ; it 
 does not throw the mind into a condition improper for the 
 present state of humanity, and is very conspicuous in the 
 characters of those who are looked upon as the greatest 
 philosophers among the heathens, as well as among those 
 who have been deservedly esteemed as saints and holy 
 men among Christians. 
 
 4. If we consider cheerfulness in three light?-, with: 
 regard to ourselves, to those we converse with, and to the 
 great Author of our being, it will not a little recommend 
 itself on each of these accounts. The man who is pos- 
 sessed of this excellent frame of mind, is not only easy in 
 his thoughts, but a perfect master of all the powers and 
 faculties of the soul : his imagination is always clear, and 
 his judgment undisturbed : his temper is even and unruf- 
 fled, whether in action or solitude. He comes with a 
 
 relish to all those goods which nature has provided for 
 him, tastes all the pleasures of the creation which are 
 poured about him, and does not feel the full weight of 
 those accidental evils which may befal him. 
 
 5. If we consider him in relation to the persons whom 
 he converses with, it naturally produces love and [good- 
 will -towards him. A cheerful mind is noVonly disposed 
 to be affable and obliging, but raises the same good humor 
 in those who come within its influence. A man finds 
 himself pleased he does not know why, with the cheerful- 
 ness of his companion : it is like a sudden sun shine 'that 
 awakens a secret delight in the mind, without her attend- 
 ing to it. The heart rejoices of its own accoi 4 d, and 
 naturally flows out into friendship end benevolence towards 
 the person who has so kindly an effect upon it. 
 
 6. When I consider this cheerful state cf mind in its 
 ' relation, I cannot but, look upon it as a constant 
 
 al gratitude to the great Author of i^luie. An 
 
und English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 65 
 
 Inward cheerfulness is an implicit praise and tbanksgivinr 
 to Providence under all its dispensations. It is a kind 
 of acquiescence in the state wherein we are placed, and a 
 secret approbation of the Divine will in his conduct to- 
 wards man. . 
 
 7. There are but t-vo t.hrnf;s, which, in my opinion, can 
 reasonably deprive us of this cheerfulness of heart. The 
 first of these is the sense of guilt. A man who lives in a 
 state of vice and impenitence can have no title to that 
 evenness and tranquillity of mind which is the health of 
 the soul, and the natural effect of virtue and innocence. 
 Cheerfulness in an ill man deserves a harder name than 
 language can furnish us with, ar.tl is many degrees be- 
 yond what .we commonly call fc! T y or madness. 
 
 8. Atheism, by v/hich I mean a disbelief of a Supreme 
 Being, and consequently of a future state, under whatso- 
 ever til!: <:rf, may likewise very reasonably 
 deprive a man of this cheerfulness of temper. There is 
 
 ;r so particularly gloomy and offensive to human 
 nature i:i the prospect of non-existence, that I cannot but 
 v. ry.ukr, with i-mrsy excellent writers, how it is possible for 
 -\ man to outlive the expectation of it. For rny own part, 
 I think the* being of a God is so little to be doubted, that it 
 is pjriio3t the only truth we are sure of, and such a truth 
 as %ve meet with in eve; y object, in every occurrence, and 
 
 , ^vy thought. 
 
 '}. Jf we look into the characters of this tribe of infi- 
 we generally find they are made up of pride, spleen ? 
 and cavil, it is indeed no wonder, that men, who are 
 vi n easy to themselves, should be so to the rest of the 
 ^vorld ; and how is it possible for a man to be other- 
 wise than uneasy in himself, who is in danger every 
 moment of losing his entire existence, and dropping into 
 j*otMr 
 
 IQ/ The vicious man and Atheist have therefore no pre- 
 tence to cheerfulness, and would act very unreasonably, 
 should they endeavor after it. It is impossible for any 
 one to live in good humor, and enjoy his present exist- 
 <:rxc, who is apprehensive either of torment or ofanhihil- 
 Ki ; of being miserable, or of not being at all. 
 
 'or having mentioned these two great principles, 
 wr.irh are destructive of cheerfulness, in their own nature, 
 F 2 
 
66 The Young' Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 as well as in right reason, I cannot think of any other that 
 ought to banish this happy temper from a virtuous raind. 
 Pain and sickness, shame and reproach, poverty and old 
 age, nay death itself, considering the shortness of their 
 duration, and the advantage we may reap from them, do 
 not deserve the name of evils. 
 
 11. A good mind may bear up under them with forti- 
 tude, with indolence, ai>d with cheerfulness of heart- the 
 tossing of a tempest does not discompose him, which he 
 is sure will bring him to a joyful harbor. 
 
 A man who uses his best endeavors to live according- 
 to the dictates of virtue and right reason, has two perpet- 
 ual sources of cheerfulness, in the consideration of his 
 own nature and of that Being on whom he has a depend- 
 ance. 
 
 12. If he looks into himself, he cannot but rejoice in 
 that existence, which is so lately bestowed upon him, and 
 which, after millions of ages, will still be new, and still 
 in its beginning. How many self-congratulations natural- 
 ly arise in the mind, when it reflects on this its entrance 
 into eternity, when it takes a view of those improvable 
 faculties, which in a few years, and even at its first set- 
 ting out, have made so considerable a progress, and which 
 will be still receiving an increase of perfection, and con- 
 sequently an increase of happiness ? 
 
 13. The consciousness of such a being spreads a per- 
 petual diffusion of joy through the soul of a virtuous man, 
 and makes him look upon himself every moment as more 
 happy than he knows how to conceive. 
 
 The second source of cheerfulness to a good mind r-3, 
 its consideration of that Being on whom we have ourde- 
 pendance, and in whom, though we behold him as yet 
 but in the first faint discoveries of his perfections, we see 
 every thing that we can imagine as great, glorious, or 
 amiable. We find ourselves every where upheld by his 
 goodness, and surrounded by an immensity of love and 
 mercy. 
 
 .14. In short, we depend upon a Being, whose power 
 qualifies him to make us happy by an infinity of means, 
 whose goodness and truth engage him to make those hap- 
 py who" desire it of him, and whose unchangeabkness will 
 secure us in this happiness to all eternity. 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. . 67 
 
 Such considerations, which every one should perpetu- 
 ally cherish in his thoughts, will banish from us all .that 
 secret heaviness of heart which unthinking men are sub- 
 ject to when they lie under no real affliction, all that an- 
 guish which we may feel from any evil that actually op- 
 presses us, to which I may likewise add those little crack- 
 lings of mirth and folly, that are apter to betray virtue 
 than support it ; and establish in us such an even and 
 cheerful temper, as makes us pleasing to ourselves, to 
 those with whom we converse, and to him whom we are 
 made to please. 
 
 On the Advantages of a cheerful Temper* 
 
 [Spectator, NO. 387.] 
 
 1. /CHEERFULNESS is in the first place the best 
 V^i promoter of health. Repining and secret mur- 
 murs of heart give imperceptible strokes to those delicate 
 fibres of which the vital parts are composed, and wear 
 out the machine insensibly ; not to mention those violent 
 ferments which they stir up in the blood, and those irre- 
 gular disturbed motions, v/hich they raise in the animal 
 i pints. 
 
 2. I scarce remember, in my own observation, to have 
 met with many old men, or with such who (to use our En- 
 glish phrase) were well, that had not at least a certain in- 
 dolence in their humor, if not a more than ordinary gaiety 
 ind cheerfulness of heart. The truth of it is, health and 
 cheerfulness mutually beget each other ; with this difter- 
 tnce, that we seldom meet with a great degree of health 
 which is not attended with a certain cheerfulness, but 
 very often see cheerfulness where there is no great degree 
 of health. 
 
 3. Cheerfulness bears the same friendly regard to the 
 mind as to the body : It banishes all anxious care and dis- 
 content, soothes and composes the passions, and keeps 
 the soul in a perpetual calm. But, having already touch- 
 ed on this last consideration, I shall here take notice, that 
 the world, in which we are placed, is filled with innumera- 
 ble objects that are proper to raise and keep- alive this 
 l.appy ten-; per of nmicU 
 
6& The Ycttxg Gentleman a?id Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 4. If we consider the world in its subserviency to man, 
 one would think it was made for our ust ; but if we con- 
 sider it in its natural beauty and harmony, one would be 
 apt to conclude it was made for our pleasure. The sun, 
 which is as the great soul of the universe, and produces 
 all the necessaries of life, has a particular influence in 
 cheering the mind of man, and making the heart glad, 
 
 5. Those several living creatures which are made for 
 our service or sustenance, at the same time either fill the 
 woods with their music, furnish us with game, or raise 
 pleasing ideas in us by the delightfulness of their appear- 
 ance. Fountains, lakes, and rivers, are as refreshing to 
 the imagination, as to the soil through which they pass. 
 
 6. There are writers of great distinction, who have made 
 it an argument for Providence, that the whole earth is 
 covered with green, rather than with any other color, as 
 being such a right mixture of light and shade, that it corn- 
 forts and strengthens the eye instead of weakening or 
 grieving it. For this reason several painters have a green 
 cloth near them, to ease the eye upon, after too great an 
 application to their coloring. 
 
 7. A famous modem philosopher accounts for it in the 
 following manner; all colors that are more luminous, 
 overpower and dissipate the animal spirits which are em- 
 ployed in sight : on the contrary, those that are more ob- 
 scure do not give the animal spirits a sufficient exercise ; 
 whereas the rays that produce in us the idea of green, full 
 upon the eye in such a due proportion, that they give the 
 animal spirits their proper play, and, by keeping up the 
 struggle in a just balance, excite a very pleasing and agree- 
 able sensation. Let the cause be what it will, the effect 
 is certain ; for which reason, the poets ascribe to this par- 
 ticular color the epithet of cheerful. 
 
 8. To consider further this double end in the works of 
 nature, and how they are, at the same time, both useful and 
 entertaining, we find that the most important parts in the 
 vegetable world are those which are the most beauti- 
 ful. These are the seeds by which the several races of 
 plants are propagated and continued, and which are 
 alw?ys lodged in flowers or blossoms. Nature seems to 
 hide her principal design, and to be industrious in making 
 the earth gay and delightful, while she is carrying on 
 
and -English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 69 
 
 her great work, and intent upon her own preserration. 
 The husbandman, after the same manner, is employed 
 in laying out the whole country into a kind of garden or 
 landskip, and making every thing smile about him, 
 whilst, in reality, he thinks of nothing but of the harvest 
 and increase which is to arise from it. 
 
 9. We may further observe how Providence has taken 
 care to keep up this cheerfulness in the mind of man. by 
 having formed it after such a manner, as to make it 
 capable of conceiving delight from several objects which 
 see mi to have very little use in them ; as from the wild- 
 ness of rocks and deserts, and the like grotesque parts of 
 nature. Those who are versed in philosophy may still 
 carry this consideration higher by observing, that, if 
 matter had appeared to us endowed only with those real 
 qualities which it actually possesses, it would have made 
 but a very joyless and uncomfortable figure : and why has 
 Providence given it a power of producing in us such 
 imaginary qualities, as tastes and colors, sounds and 
 smells, heat and cold, but that man, \ihile he is conver- 
 sant in the lower stations of nature, might have his mind 
 cheered and delighted with agreeable sensations? In short, 
 the whole universe is a kind of theatre filled with objects 
 that either raise in us pleasure, amusement, or admiration. 
 
 10. The reader's own thoughts may suggest to him the 
 vicissitude of day and night, the change of seasons, with 
 all that variety of scenes which diversify the face of na- 
 ture, and fill the mind with a perpetual succession of 
 beautiful and pleasing images. 
 
 I shall not here mention the several entertainments of 
 art, with the pleasures of friendship, books, conversation, 
 and other accidental diversions of life, because I would 
 only take notice of such incitements to a cheerful temper, 
 as offer themselves to persons of all ranks and conditions, 
 and which may sufficiently show us, that Providence did 
 not design this world should be filled with murmurs and 
 repinings, or that the heart of man should be involved in 
 gloom and melancholy. 
 
 1 . I the more inculcate this cheerfulness of temper, 
 as it is a virtue in which our countrymen are observed to 
 be more deficient than any other nation. Melancholy is 
 a kind of demon that haunts our island, and often con- 
 
TO The Young Gen t lemon and Lady 9 s MONITOR, 
 
 veys herself to us in an easterly wind. A celebrated 
 French novelist, in opposition to those who begin their 
 romances with a flowery season of the year, enters on his 
 story thus: In the gloomy month of November, when the 
 peofile of England Jiang and drown themselves, a disconsolate 
 lover walked out into the fields, Sec. 
 
 12. Every one ought to fence against the temper oF his 
 climate or constitution, and frequently to indulge in him- 
 self those considerations which may give him a serenity 
 of mind, and enable him to bear up cheerfully against 
 those little evils and misfortunes which are common to- 
 human nature, and which by a right improvement of 
 them, will produce a satiety of joy and an uninterrupted 
 happiness. 
 
 13* At the same time that I would engage my reader 
 to consider the world in its most agreeable lights, I must 
 own there are many evils which naturally spring up 
 amidst the entertainments that are provided for us ; but 
 these, if rightly considered, should be far from overcast- 
 ing the mind with sorrow, or destroying that cheerfulness 
 of temper which I have been recommending* 
 
 14. This interspersion of evil with good, and pain with 
 pleasure, in the works of nature, is very truly ascribed 
 by Mr. Locke in his Essay upon Human Understanding, 
 to a moral reason, in the following words : 
 
 Beyond all this, we may find another reason why God hath 
 scattered ufi and down several degrees of pleasure and 
 pain, in all the things that environ and effect us, and blended 
 them together in almost all that our thoughts and senses have 
 to do with : that we finding imperfection, dissatisfaction, and 
 want of complete happiness in all the enjoyments which the 
 creatures can afford us, might be led to seek it in the enjoy- 
 ment of him with whom there is fulness of joy, and at 
 whose right hand are pleasures for evermore* 
 
 Discretion* 
 
 1.T HAVE often thought if the minds of men were laid 
 
 JL open, we should see but little difference between 
 
 that of the wise man and that of the fool. There -are 
 
 infinite riveries, numberless extravagancies, and a per- 
 
and English Teacher's As s I s T AN T. 71 
 
 petual train of vanities, which pass through both. The 
 great difference is, the first knows how to pick and cull 
 his thoughts for the conversation, by suppressing some, 
 and communicating others ; whereas the other lets, them 
 all indifferently fly out in words. This sort of discretion, 
 however, has no place in private conversation between 
 intimate friends. On such occasions the wisest men very 
 often talk like the weakest ; for indeed the talking with a 
 friend is nothing else but thinking aloud. 
 
 2. Tully has therefore very justly exposed a precept 
 delivered by some ancient writers, that a man should live 
 with his enemy in such a manner, as might leave him 
 room to become his friend ; and with his friend in such 
 a manner, that if he became his enemy, it should not 
 be in his power to hurt him. The first part of this rule, 
 which regards our behavior towards an enemy, is indeed 
 very reasonable, as well as prudential ; but the latter part 
 of it which regards our behavior towards a friend, savors 
 more of cunning than of discretion, and would cut a man 
 off- from the greatest pleasures of life, which are the free- 
 doms of conversation with a bosom friend. Besides, 
 that when a friend is turned into an enemy, and (as the 
 son of Sirach calls him) a betrayer of secrets, the world 
 is just enough to accuse the perfidiousness of the friend^ 
 rather than the indiscretion of the person who confided 
 in him. 
 
 3 Discretion does not only show itself in words but in 
 all the circumstances of action ; and is like an under- 
 agent of Providence, to guide and direct us in the ordinary 
 concerns of life. 
 
 There are many more shining qualities in the mind of 
 man, but there is none so useful as discretion ; it is this 
 indeed which gives a value to all the rest, which sets them 
 at work in their proper times and places, and turns them 
 to the advantage of the peason who is possessed of them. 
 Without it, learning is pedantry, and wit impertinence ; 
 virtue itself looks Iik weakness ; the best parts only 
 qualify a man to be more sprightly in errors, and active 
 to his own prejudice. 
 
 4. Nor does discretion only make a man the master of 
 his own parts, but of other men's. The discreet mart 
 finds out the talents of those he converses with, and knows 
 
72 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 how to apply them to proper uses. Accordingly, if we 
 look into particular communities and divisions of men 3 
 \ve may observe, that it is the discreet man, not the witty, 
 nor the learned, nor the brave, who guides the conver- 
 sation, and gives measures to the society. A man with 
 great talents, but void of discretion, is like Polyphemus in 
 the fable, strong and blind, endued with an irresistible force, 
 which for want of sight, is of no use to him. 
 
 5. Though a man has all other perfections, and wants 
 discretion, he will be of no great consequence in the world ; 
 but if he has this single talent in perfection, and but a 
 common share of others, he may do what he pleases in 
 his station of life. 
 
 At the same time that I think discretion the most useful 
 talent a man can be master of, I look upon cunning to be 
 the accomplishment of little, mean, ungenerous minds. 
 Discretion points out the noblest ends to us, and pursues 
 the most proper and laudable methods of attaining them : 
 cunning has only private selfish aims, and sticks at no- 
 thing which may make them succeed. 
 
 6. Discretion has large and extended views, and like 
 a well-formed eye commands a whole horizon : cunning 
 is a kind of short-sightedness, that discovers the minutest 
 objects which are near at hand, but is not able to discern 
 things at a distance. Discretion, the more it is discov- 
 ered, gives a greater authority to the person who pos- 
 sesses it : cunning, when it is once detected, loses its 
 force, and makes a man incapable of bringing about even 
 those events which he might have done, had he passed, 
 only for a plain man. Discretion is the perfection of rea- 
 son, and a guide to us in all the duties of life : cunning is 
 a kind of instinct, that only looks out after our immediate 
 interest and welfare* 
 
 7. Discretion is only found in men of strong sense and 
 good understanding : cunning is often to be met with in 
 brutes themselves, and in persons who are but the fewest 
 removes from them. In short, cunning is only the mimic 
 of discretion, and may pass upon weak men, in the same 
 manner as vivacity is often mistaken for wit, and gravity 
 for wisdom. 
 
 The cast of mind which is natural to a discreet man, 
 makes him look forward into futurity, and consider what 
 
and English' Teacher's ASSISTANT. 73 
 
 will be his condition millions of ages hence, as well aii 
 what.it 15 at present. 
 
 8. He' knows, that the misery or happiness which are 
 reserved for him in another world, lose nothing of their 
 reality by being placed at so great a distance from him. 
 The objects do not appear little to him because they are 
 remote. He considers that those pleasures and pains 
 which lie hid in eternity, approach nearer to him every 
 moment, and will be present with him in their full weight 
 and measure, as much as those pains and pleasures which 
 lie feeJs at this very instant. For this reason he is careful 
 to secure to himself that which is the proper happiness of 
 his nature, and the ultimate design of his being. 
 
 9. He carries his thoughts to the end of every action, 
 and considers the most distant as well as the mostimme* 
 diate effects of it. He supersedes, every little prospect of 
 gain and advantage which offers itself here, if he does 
 Xiot find it consistent with his views of an hereafter. In 
 a \vord, his hopes are full of immortality, his schemes 
 sre large and glorious, and his 'conduct suitable to one 
 who knows his true interest, and how to pursue it by 
 proper methods. 
 
 10. I have -in this essay upon discretion, considered 
 it both as an accomplishment and as a virtue, and have 
 therefore described it in its full extent : not only as it is 
 conversant about worldly affairs, but as it regards our 
 whole existence ; not only as it is the guide of, a 
 raortal creature, but as it is in general the director of a 
 reasonable being. It is in this light that discretion is rep- 
 resented by the wise man, who sometimes mentions it 
 tinder the name of discretion, and sometimes under that of 
 wisdom. 
 
 11. It is indeed (as described in the latter part of this 
 paper) the greatest wisdom, but at the same time in the 
 power of every one to attain. Its advantages are infinite, 
 but its acquisition ea?>y ; or, to speak of her in the words 
 of the apocryphal writer, " Wisdom is glorious and never 
 " fadeth away, yet she is easily seen of them that love 
 " " ier, and found of such as seek her. 
 
 12. " She proven teth them that desire her, in making 
 " herself first known unto them. He that seeketii her early 
 s( shall have no great travel : for he shall find her sitting 
 
Qtntteman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 i-?. his doors. To think therefore upon her is perfec- 
 tion of wisdom, and whoso watcheth for her, shall 
 : quickly be without care. For she goeth about seeking 
 ; such as are worthy of her, shevveth herself favorably 
 : unto them in the ways, and meeteth them in everv 
 ; thought." 
 
 Pride 
 
 IJ | ^HERE is no passion which steals into the heart 
 JL more imperceptibly, and covers itself under more 
 disguises, than pride. For my own part, I think if there 
 is any passion or vice which I am wholly a stranger to, it 
 33 this ; though at the same time, perhaps, this very judg- 
 ment which I form of myself, proceeds in some measure 
 from this corrupt principle. 
 
 2. I have been always wonderfully delighted with that 
 sentence in holy writ, Pride was not made for max. There 
 is not indeed any single view of human nature under its 
 present condition, which is not sufficient to extinguish in 
 us all the secret seeds of pride ; and, on the contrary, to 
 sink the soul into the lowest state of humility, and what 
 the schoolmen call self-annihilation. Pride was not made 
 for man, as he is, 
 
 1. A sinful, 
 
 2. An ignorant, 
 
 o. A miserable being. 
 
 There is nothing in his understanding, hi his will, or 
 in his present condition, that can tempt any considerate 
 creature to pride or vanity. 
 
 3. These three very reasons why he should not be proud, 
 are notwithstanding the reasons why he is so. Were not 
 he a sinful creature, he would not be subject to a passion 
 which rises from the depravity of his nature : were he 
 not an ignorant creature, he would see that he has no- 
 thing to be proud of ; and were not the whole species 
 miserable, he would not have those wretched objects be- 
 fore his eyes, which are the occasions of this passion, i:\id 
 which make one man value himself more than another. 
 
 4. A wise man will be contented that his glory be de- 
 furred till such time as he shall be truly glorified j when 
 
and English Teacher* 3 ASSISTANT. 
 
 his understanding shall be cleared, his will rectified, <md 
 his happiness assured ; or in other words, when he 
 be neither sinful, nor ignorant, nor miserable. 
 
 5. If there be any thing which makes human nature 
 appear ridiculous to beings of superior faculties, it must be 
 pride* They know so well the vanity cf these imagina- 
 ry perfections that swell the heart of man, and of those 
 little supernumerary advantages, whether in birth, for- 
 tune, or title, which one man enjoys above another, that 
 it must certainly very much astonish, if it does not very 
 much divert them, when they see a mortal puffed up, and 
 valuing himself above his neighbors on any of these ac- 
 counts, at the same time that he is obnoxious to all the 
 common calamities of the species 7 . 
 
 6.- To set this thought in its true light, we will fancy, 
 if you please, that yonder mole-hill is inhabited by reason- 
 able creatures, and that every pismire (his shape and way 
 of life only excepted) is endowed with human passions, 
 how should we smile to hear one give Us an account of the 
 pedigrees, distinctions, and titles that reign among them ! 
 
 7. Observe how the whole swarm divide and make way 
 for the pismire that passes through them ! You must un- 
 derstand he is an emmet of quality, and has better blood 
 in his veins than any pismire irr the mole-hill, Don't you 
 see how sensible he is of it, how slow he marches forward, 
 how the whole rabble of ants keep their distance ? 
 
 8. Here you may observe one placed upon a little emi- 
 nence, and looking down on a long row of laborers. 
 He is the richest insect on this side the hillock, he has a 
 walk of half a yard in length, and a quarter of an inch in 
 breadth, he keeps an hundred menial servants, and has at 
 least fifteen barley-corns in his granary. He is now chid- 
 ing, and beslaving the emmet that stands before him, and 
 who, for all that we can discover, is as good an emmet 
 as himself. 
 
 9. But here comes an insect of figure ! don't you take 
 notice of a little white straw that he carries in his mouth ? 
 That straw, you must understand, he \vou!d not part with 
 for the longest tract about the mole-hill : did you but 
 know what he has undergone to purchase it ! See how 
 the ants of all qualities and conditions swarm about him ! 
 Should this straw drop out of his mouth, foil would see 
 
76 The Young- Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 all this numerous circle of attendants follow the nex, 
 that took it up, and leave the discarded insect, or run over 
 his back to come at his successor. 
 
 10. If r.ow you have a mind to see all the ladies of the 
 mole-hill, observe first the pismire that listens to the em- 
 met on her left hand, at the same time that she seems to 
 turn away her head from him. He tells this poor insect 
 that she is a goddess, that her eyes are brighter than the 
 sun, that life and death are at her disposal. She believes 
 him, and gives herself a thousand little airs upon it. 
 
 11.* Mark the vanity of the pismire on your left hand. 
 She can scarce crawl with age ; but you must know she 
 values herself upon her birth ; and if you mind, spurns at 
 every one that comes within her reach. The little nim- 
 ble coquette that is running along by the side of her, is a 
 wit. She has broke many a pismire's heart. Do but ob- 
 serve what B, drove of lovers are running after her. 
 
 12. We will here finish this imaginary scene ; but first 
 of all to draw the parallel closer, will suppose, if you 
 please, that death comes down upon the mole-hill, in the 
 shape of a cock sparrow^ who picks up without distinction, 
 the pismire of quality and his flatterers, the pismire of 
 substance and his day laborers, the white straw officer and 
 his sycophants, with all the goddesses, wits, and beauties 
 of the mole-hill. 
 
 1 3. May we not imagine that beings of superior natures 
 and perfections regard all the instances of pride and vanity, 
 among our own species, in the same kind of view, when 
 they take a survey of those who inhabit the earth ; or, in 
 the language of an ingenious French poet, of those pi&- 
 inires that people this heap of dirt, wkiich human vanity 
 has divided into climates and regions. 
 
 GUARDIAN, Vol. II. NO. 153* 
 
 Drunkenness. 
 
 O vices are so incurable as those which men arc 
 apt to glory in. One would wonder how drunk- 
 enness should have the good luck to be of this number. 
 Anar char sis, being invited to a match of drinking at Co- 
 rinth, dematided the prize very humorously, because 
 
an d Jbigli&h Teacher 's A s s I s T A N r . 
 
 he was drunk before any of the rest of the company ; for 
 says he, when we run a race, he who arrives at the goal 
 first, is entitled to the reward : 
 
 2. On the contrary, in this thirsty generation, the hon- 
 or falls upon him who carries off the greatest quantity 
 of liquor, and knocks down the rest of the company. I 
 was the other day with honest Wilt Funnell, the West- 
 Saxon, .who .was reckoning^ up how much liquor had past 
 through him in tbe last twenty years of his life, which, 
 according to his computation, amounted to twenty-three 
 hoghsheatls of October, four ton of port, half a kiklerkin 
 of small beer, nineteen barrels of cyder, and three glasses 
 of champaigne ; besides which he had assisted at four 
 hundred bowls of punch) not to mention sips, drams, .and 
 whets without number. 
 
 3. I question not but every reader's memory -will sug- 
 gest to him several ambitious young men, who are as vain 
 in this particular as ll-Tu Funncil, and can boast of as glo- 
 rious exploits.. 
 
 Our modern philosophers observe, that there is a gen* 
 eral decay of moisture in the globe of the earth. This 
 they chiefly ascribe to the growth of vegetables, which in- 
 corporate into their own substance many fluid bodies that 
 never return again to their former nature. 
 
 4. But with submission, they ought to throw into their 
 account, those innumerable rational beings which fetch 
 their nourishment chief!} 7 out of liquids ; especially whui 
 \ve consider that men, compared with theirfellow crea- 
 tures, drink much more than comes to their share. 
 
 5. But however highly this tribe of people may think 
 of themselves, a drunken man is a greater monster thau 
 any that is to be found among all the creatures which God 
 has made ; as indeed there is no character which appears 
 more despicable and de formed, i.i the eyes of ail reasona- 
 ble persons, than that of ?. drunkard. ^ - 
 
 6. BcnositS) one of our own countrymen, who was ad- 
 dicted to this vice, having set up for a share in the Kom:;n 
 empire, and being- defeated in a great -battle, hanged hi in- 
 self. When he was seen by the army in this melancholy 
 Niiuation, notwithstanding he had behaved himself very 
 bravely, the common jest was, that the thiny; they saw 
 hanging upon the tree before their), was not a nun. hut -\ 
 bottle, G 2 
 
78 Tfis Young GeciL. Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 7. This vice has very fatal effects on the mind, the bo- 
 dy, and fortune of the person who is devoted to it. 
 
 In regard to the mind, it first of all discovers every flaw 
 in it. The sober man, by the strength of reason, may 
 keep under and subdue every vice or folly to which he is 
 most inclined ; but wine makes every latent seed sprout 
 tip in the soul, and show itself : it gives fury to the pas- 
 sions, and force to those objects which are apt to produce 
 them. 
 
 8. When a young fellow complained to an old philoso- 
 pher that his wife was not handsome. Put less water in 
 your wine, says the philosopher, and you'll quickly make 
 her so. Wine heightens indifference into love, love into 
 jealousy, and jealousy into madness. It often turns the 
 good-natured man into an idiot, and the choleric into an 
 assassin. It gives bitterness to resentment, it makes van- 
 ity insupportable, and displays every little spot of the soul 
 in its utmost deformity. 
 
 9. Nor does this vice only betray the hidden faults of 
 a man, and show them in the most odious colors, but of- 
 ten occasions faults to which he is not naturally subject. 
 There is more of turn than of truth in a saying of Senaca y 
 that drunkenness does not produce, but discover faults. 
 Common experience teaches the contrary. 
 
 10. Wine throws a man out of himself, and infuses 
 qualities into the mind, which she is a stranger to in her 
 sober moments. The person you converse with, after the 
 third bottleps not the same man who at first sat down at 
 the table with you. Upon this maxim is founded one of 
 the prettiest sayings I ever met with, which is inscribed 
 to Publim Syrus, He who jests upon a man that is drunk, 
 injures the absent. 
 
 1 1. Thus does drunkenness act in direct contradiction 
 to reason, whose business it is to clear the mind of every 
 vice which is crept into it, and to guard it against all the 
 approaches of any that endeavor to make its entrance. 
 But besides these ill effects which this vice produces in 
 the person who is actually under its dominion, it has 
 also a bad influence on the mind, even in its sober mo- 
 ments, as it insensibly weakens the understanding, im- 
 pairs the memory, and makes those faults habitual which 
 are produced by frequent excesses : it wastes the estate. 
 
&nd English Teacher's ASSISTANT. T9 
 
 banishes reputation, consumes the body, and renders a 
 man of the brightest parts the common jest of an insig- 
 nificant clown. 
 
 12. A method of spending one's time agreeably is a 
 .thing so little studied, that the common amusement of our 
 young gentlemen (especially of such as are at a distance 
 from those of the first breeding) is drinking. This way 
 of entertainment has custom on its side ; but as much as 
 it has prevailed, I believe there have been very few com- 
 panies that have been guilty of excess this way, where 
 there have not happened more accidents which make 
 against, than for the continuance of it. 
 ' 1 3. It is very common that events arise from a debauch 
 which are fatal, and always such as are disagreeable. 
 With all a man's reason and good sense about him, his 
 tongue is apt to utter things out of a mere gaiety of heart, 
 which may displease his best friends. Who then would 
 trust himself to the power of wine, without saying more 
 against it, than that it raises the imagination and depresses 
 the judgment ? 
 
 14. Were there only this single consideration, that we 
 are less masters of ourselves when we drink in the least 
 proportion above the exigencies of thirst ; I say, were 
 this all that could be objected, it were sufficient to make us 
 abhor this vice. But we may go on to say, that as he 
 who drinks but a little is not master of himself, so he who 
 drinks much is a slave to himself. 
 
 15. As for my part, I ever esteemed a drunkard of all 
 vicious persons the most vicious : for if our actions are to 
 be.weighed and considered according to the intention of 
 them, what can we think of him who puts himself into a 
 circumstance wherein he can have no intention at all, but 
 incapacitates himself for the duties and offices of life, by 
 a suspension of all his faculties. 
 
 16. If a man considers that he cannot, under the op- 
 pression of drink, be a friend, a gentkman, a roaster, or 
 a subject ; that he has so long banished himself from ail 
 that is dear, and given up. all that is sacred to him, he 
 would even then think of a debauch with horror ; but 
 when he Iboks still further, ;ancl acknowledges that he is 
 not only expelled out of all the relations of life, but also 
 liable to offend against them all, what words can express 
 
80 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR^ 
 
 the terror and detestation he would have of such a con- 
 dition ? And yet he owns all this of himself who says he 
 was drunk last night. 
 
 17. As I have all along persisted in it, that all the 
 vicious in general are in a state of death, so I think I may 
 add to the non-existence of drunkards, that they died by 
 their own hands. He is certainly as guilty of suicide who 
 perishes by a slow, as he that is dispatched fcy an immedi- 
 ate poison. 
 
 18. In my last lucubration I proposed the general use 
 of water-gruel, and hinted that it might not be amiss at 
 this very season : but as there are some, whose cases, in 
 regard to their families, will not admit of delay, I have 
 used my interest in several wards of the city, that the 
 wholsome restorative above mentioned may be given in 
 tavern kitchens to all the mornings draughtmen within the 
 walls when they call for wine before neon. 
 
 19. For a further restraint and mark upon such per- 
 sons, I have given orders, that in all the offices where 
 policies are drawn upon lives, it shall be added to the ar- 
 ticles which prohibits tlv.it the nominee should cross ths 
 sea, the words, Provided also^ that the above mentioned, A* 
 B. shall not drink before dinner during the term mentioned 
 in this indenture* 
 
 20. I am not without hop^s that by this method I shell 
 bring some unsizeable friends of mine into shap:- 
 breadth, as well as others who are languid aiy-1 consump- 
 tive into health and vigor. Most of the self-murderers 
 whom I yet hinted at, are such as preserve a certain re- 
 gularity in taking their poison, and make it mix pretty 
 well with their food ? 
 
 21. But the most conspicuous of those who destroy 
 themselves, are such as in their youth fail into this sort of 
 debauchery, and contract a certain uneasiness of spirit, 
 which is not to be diverted but by tippling as often as they 
 can foil into company in the day, and conclude with down- 
 right drunkenness at night. These gentlemen never keep 
 the satisfaction of youth, but skip the years of manhood, 
 and are decrepit soon after they are of age. 
 
 22. I was godfather to one of these old fellows* He is 
 now three and thirty, which is the grand climacteric of 
 a young drunkard. I went to visit the, crazy wretch- tliks 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 81 
 
 morning with no other purpose but to rally- him, under the 
 pain and uneasiness of being sober. 
 
 But as our faults are double when they affect others 
 besides ourselves, so this- vice is still mare odious in a 
 married than a sine^e man. 
 
 23. He that is a husband of a woman of honor, and 
 comes home overloaded with wine, is still more contempt- 
 ible, in proportion to the regard we have to the unhappy 
 consort of his beastiality. The imagination cannot shape 
 to itself any thing more monstrous and unnatural, than 
 the familiarities between drunkenness and chastity. The 
 wretched Astrca, who is the perfection of beauty and inno- 
 cence, has long been thus condemned for life. The ro- 
 mantic tales of virgins devoted to the jaws of monsters, 
 have nothing in them so terrible, as the gift of Astrea to 
 that bacchanal. 
 
 24. The reflection of such a match as spotless inno- 
 cence with abandoned lewdness, is what puts this vice 
 in the worst figure it can bear with regard to others ; but 
 when it is looked upon with respect only to the drunkard 
 himself, it has deformities enough to make it disagree- 
 able, which may be summed up in a word, by allowing, 
 that he who resigns his reason, is actually guilty of ail 
 that he is liable to fiorn the /want of reason. 
 
 TATLER, Vol. IV. NO. 241. 
 
 Gaming. 
 SIR, 
 
 1* ' AS soon as you have set up your unicorn, there 
 JL\. * is no question- but the ladies will make him 
 < push very furiously at, the men ; for which reason-, I 
 c think it is good to be beforehand with them, and make 
 'the lion roar aloud at female irregularities. Among 
 ' these I wonder how their gaming has so long escaped 
 
 * your notice. 
 
 2. 4 You who converse with the sober family of the 
 
 * Lizards^ are, perhaps, a stranger to these viragos ; but 
 
 * what would you say, should you see the Sparkler shaking 
 4 her elbow for a whole night together, and trumping 
 
 * the table with a dice-box ? Or- how would you like to 
 
32 Tlie Young Gentleman and 'Lady's MONITOR', 
 
 4 hear the good widow lady herself returning to her House 
 * at midnight, and alarming 1 the whole street with a 
 ; most enormous rap, after having set up till that time 
 4 at crimp or ombre ? Sir, I am the husband of one of 
 4 these female gamesters, and a great loser by it both in- 
 4 my rest and my pocket. As my wife reads your papers, 
 ' one upon this subject might be of use both to her, aivd 
 
 ' Your humble servant** 
 
 3. I should ill deserve the name of Guardian, did I not 
 caution all my fair wards against a practice, which, when 
 it runs to excess, is the most shameful, but one, that the 
 female world can fall into. The ill consequences of it 
 are more than can be contained in this paper. How- 
 ever, that I may proceed in method, I shall consider them, 
 First, as they relate to the mind : Secondly, as they relate 
 to the body. 
 
 4. Could we look into the mind of a female gamester? 
 we should see it full of nothing but trumps and matta- 
 dors. Her slumbers are haunted with kings, queens, 
 and knaves. The clay lies heavy upon her 'till the play- 
 season returns, when for half a dozen hours together, all 
 her faculties are employed in shuffling, cutting, dealing 
 and sorting out a pack of cards ; and no ideas to be dis- 
 covered in a soul which xalls itself rational, excepting lit- 
 tle square figures of painted and spotted paper. 
 
 5. Was the understanding, that divine part in our 
 composition, given for such an use ? Is it thus that we 
 improve the greatest talsnt human nature is endued with ? 
 What would a superior being think, were he shown this 
 intellectual faculty in a female gamester, and at the same 
 time told, that it was by this she was- distinguished from 
 brutes, and allied to angels ? 
 
 6. When our women thus fill their imaginations with 
 pips and counters, I cannot wonder at the story I have 
 lately heard of a new-born child that was marked with the 
 five of clubs I 
 
 Their passions suffer no less by this practice than their 
 understandings and imaginations. What hope and frnr, 
 }oy and anger, sorrow and discontent, break out all at 
 once in a fair assembly upon so noble an occasion zt 
 of turning up a card ? 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT, 83 
 
 7. Who can consider, without a secret indignation, that 
 all those affections of the mind which should be conse- 
 crated to their children, husbands, and parents, are thus 
 vilely prostituted and thrown away upon a hand at loo ? 
 For my own part, I cannot but be grieved, when I see a 
 fine woman fretting and bleeding inwardly from such triv- 
 ial motives : when I behold the face of an angel, agitated 
 and discomposed by the heart of a fury. 
 
 8. Our minds are of such a make, that they naturally 
 give themselves up to every diversion which they are 
 much accustomed to, and we always find that play, when 
 followed with assiduity, engrosses the whole woman. She 
 quickly grows uneasy in her own family, takes but little 
 pleasure in all the domestic innocent endearments of life, 
 and grows more fond of Pam than of her husband. 
 
 6. My friend Theofihrastus, the best of husbands and 
 of fathers, has often complained to me, with tears in his 
 .eyes, of the late hours, he is forced to keep if he would 
 enjoy his wife's conversation. When she returns to me 
 with joy in her face, it does not arise, says he, from the 
 bight of her husband, but from the good luck she has had 
 at cards. 
 
 10. OB the contrary, says he, if she has been a loser, 
 I am doubly a sufferer by it. She comes home out of 
 humor, is angry with every body, displeased with all I 
 can do o<r say, and in reality for no other reason but be- 
 cause she has been throwing away my estate. What 
 charming bed-fellows and companions for life are men 
 likely to meet with, that choose their wives out of such 
 women of vogue and fashion ? What a race of worthies, 
 what patriots, what heroes must we expect from mothers 
 of this make ? 
 
 11. I come in the next place to consider the ill conse- 
 quences which gaming has on the bodies of cur female 
 adventurers. It is so ordered, that almost every thing 
 which corrupts the soul decays the body. The beauties 
 of the face and mind are generally destroyed by the same 
 means. This consideration should have a particular 
 weight with the female world, who are designed to please 
 the eye and attract the- regards of the other half of the 
 specie s, 
 
 12. Now there is nothing that wears out a fine face 
 
84 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 like the vigils of the card table, and those cutting passions 
 \vhich naturally attend them. Hollow eyes, haggard 
 looks, and pale complexions, are the natural indications 
 of a female gamester. Her morning sleeps are not able 
 to repair her midnight watchings. 
 
 13. I have known a woman carried off half dead from 
 bassette, and have maity a time grieved to see a person 
 of quality gliding by me in her chair at two o'clock in the 
 morning, and looking like a spectre amidst a glare of Hani- 
 beaux : in short, I never knew a thorough-paced female 
 gamester hold her beauty two winters together. 
 
 14. But there is still another case in which the body is 
 more endangered than in the former. All play-debts must 
 be paid in specie, or by an equivalent. The man that 
 plays beyond his income pawns his estate ; the woman 
 must find out something else to mortgage when her pin- 
 money is gone. The husband has his lands to dispose *f, the 
 wife her person. Now when the female body is once dip- 
 ped, if the creditor be very importunate, I leave my reader 
 to consider the consequences. 
 
 15. It is needless here to mention the ill consequences 
 attending this passion among the men, who are often bub* 
 bled out of their money and estates by sharpers, and to 
 make up their loss, have recourse to means productive of 
 dire events, instances of which frequently occur: for strict- 
 ly speaking, those who set their minds upon gaming, can 
 hardly be honest ; a man's reflections, after losing, render 
 him desperate, so as to commit violence either upon him* 
 self or some other person, and therefore gaming should 
 be discouraged in all well regulated communities. 
 
 Whisperers. 
 SIR, 
 
 rS the ladies are naturally become the immediate 
 objects of your care, will you permit a complaint 
 to be inserted in your paper, which is founded upon a mat- 
 ter of fact? They will pardon me, if by laying before you 
 a particular instance I was lately witness to of their im- 
 proper behavior, I endeavored to expose a reigning cvv'j 
 which subjects them to many shame fill in?! 
 
mid English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 85 
 
 2. I received last week a dinner card from a friend, 
 with an intimation that I should meet some very agreea- 
 ble ladies. At my arrival, I found that the company 
 consisted chiefly of females, who indeed did me the hon- 
 or to rise, but quite disconcerted me in paying my res- 
 pects, by their whispering each other, and appearing to 
 stifle a laugh. When I was seated, the ladies grouped 
 themselves up in a corner, and entered into a private ca- 
 bal, seemingly to discourse upon points of great secrecy 
 and importance, but of equal merriment and diversion. 
 
 3. The same conduct of keeping close to their ranks 
 v/as observed at table, where the ladies seated themselves 
 together. Their conversation was here also confined 
 wholly to themselves, and seemed like the mysteries of 
 the Bona Dea, in which men were forbidden to have any 
 share. It was a continued laugh and a whisper -from" the 
 beginning to the end of dinner. A whole sentence was 
 source ever spoken aloud. 
 
 4. Single words, indeed, now and then broke forth ; 
 such as, odious, horrid, detestable, shocking, HUMBUG. 
 This last new-coined expression, which is only to bo 
 found .in the nonsensical vocabulary, sounds absurd an 
 disagreeable, whenever it is pronounced ; but from the 
 mouth of a lady it is, " shocking, detestable, horrible and 
 " odious." 
 
 5. My friend seemed to be in an uneasy situation at 
 his own table ; but I was far more miserable. I was 
 mute, and seldom dared to lift up my eyes from my plate, 
 or turn my head to call for small beer, lest by some auk- 
 ward posture I might draw upon me a whisper or a laugh. 
 Zancho, when he was forbid to eat of a delicious banquet 
 set before him, could scarce appear more melancholy. 
 
 6. The rueful length of rny face might possibly increase 
 the mirth of my tormentors : at least their joy seemed to 
 rise in exact proportion with my misery. At length, 
 however, the time of my delivery approached. Din- 
 ner ended, 'the ladies made their exit in pairs, and went 
 off hand in hand whispering like the two kings of Brent- 
 ford* 
 
 7. Modest men, Mr, Town, are deeply wounded when 
 they imagine themselves the objects of ridicule or con- 
 tempt ; aBd the pain is the greater, when it is given by 
 
36 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 those whom they admire, and from whom they are ambi- 
 tious of receiving any marks of countenance and favor. 
 Yet we must allow, that affronts are pardonable from la- 
 dies, as they are often prognostics of future kindness. 
 
 8. If a lady strikes our cheek, we can very willingly 
 follow the precept of the gospel, and turn the other cheek 
 to be smitten : even a blow from a fair hand conveys plea- 
 sure. But this battery of whispers is against all legal 
 rights of war ; poisoned arrows, and stabs in the dark, are 
 Dot more repugnant to the general laws of humanity. 
 
 9. Modern writers of comedy often introduce a pert 
 titling into their pieces, who is very severe upon the rest 
 of the company ; but all this waggery is spoken aside. 
 These gigglei;s and whisperers seem to be acting the same 
 part in company, that this arch rogue does in the play. 
 Every word or motion produces a train of whispers ; the 
 dropping of a snuff-box, or spilling the tea, is sure to be 
 accompanied with a titter ; and, upon the entrance f any 
 one with something particular in his person or manner, I 
 ha i /e seen a whole room in abuzz like a bee-hive. 
 
 10. This practice of whispering, if it is any where 
 allowable, may perhaps be indulged the fair sex at 
 Church, where the conversation can only be carried on by 
 the secret symbols of a curtsy, an ogle, or a nod. A 
 whisper in this place is very often of great use, as it serves 
 to convey the most secret intelligence, which a lady would 
 be ready to burst with, if she could not find vent for it by 
 this kind of auricular confession. A piece of scandal 
 transpires in this manner from one pew to another, then 
 presently whizzes along the channel, from whence it 
 crawls up to the galleries, till at last the whole church 
 hums with it. 
 
 1 1. It were also to be wished, that the ladies would be 
 pleased to confine themselves to whispering in their tete-a- 
 tete conferences at an opera or the pluy-house ; which 
 would be a proper deference to the rest of the audience. 
 In France^ we are told, it is common for the parterre to 
 join with the performers in any favorite air ; but we seem- 
 to have carried this custom still further, as the company 
 in our boxes, without concerning themselves in the least 
 with the play, are even louder than the players. 
 
 12. The wit and humor of a Vanbrugh or a 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 87 
 
 is frequently interrupted by a brilliant dialogue between 
 two persons of fashion : and a love scene in the side-box 
 has often been more attended to, than that on the stage. 
 As to their loud bursts of laughter at the theatre, they 
 may very well be excused, when they are excited by any 
 lively strokes in a comedy: but I have seen our ladies 
 titter at the most distressful scenes of JRo?neo and Juliet, 
 grin over the anguish of a Monomia or Belvidera, and 
 fairly laugh king Lear off the stage. 
 
 13. Thus the whole behavior of these ladies, is in di- 
 rect contradiction to good manners. They laugh when 
 they should cry, are loud when they should be silent, and 
 are silent when their conversation is desirable. If a man 
 in a select company was thus to laugh or whisper me out 
 of countenance, I should be apt to construe it as an af- 
 front, and demand an explanation. 
 
 14. As to the ladies, I would desire them to reflect 
 how much they would suffer, if their own weapons were 
 turned against them and the gentlemen should attack them 
 with the same arts of laughing and whispering-. But, 
 however free they may be from our resentment, they are 
 still open to ill natured suspicions. They do not consider, 
 what strange constructions may be put on these laughs snd 
 Whispers. 
 
 15. It were indeed, of little consequence, if we only 
 imagined, that they were taking the reputation of their 
 acquaintance to pieces, or abusing the company round ;; 
 but when they indulge themselves in this behavior, some 
 perhaps may be led to conclude, that they are discoursing 
 upon topics, which they are asfcamed to speak of in a less 
 private manner. 
 
 16. If the misconduct, which I have described, had 
 been only to be found, Mr. Totuti, at my friend's table, 
 I should not have troubled you with this letter : but the 
 same kind of ill breeding prevails too often, and in too 
 many places. The gigglers and the whisperers are innu- 
 merable ; they beset us wherever we go ; and it is observ- 
 able, that after a short murmur of whispers, out comes the 
 burst of laughter : like a gun-powder serpent, which, af- 
 ter hissing about for some time, goes off in a bounce. 
 
 17. Some excuse may perhaps be framed for this ill 
 timed merriment in the fair sex. Venus the goddess of 
 
88 The Yoiing 'Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 beauty, is frequently called the laughter-loving dame : and 
 by laughing, our modern ladies may possibly imagine, that 
 they render themselves like Venus* I have indeed re- 
 marked, that the ladies commonly adjust their laugh to- 
 their persons, and are merry in proportion as it sets off 
 their particular charms. 
 
 18. One lady is never further moved than to a smile 
 or a simper, because nothing else shows her dimples to so 
 much advantage ; another who* has a fine set of teeth, 
 runs into a broad grin ; while a third, who is admired for 
 a well turned neck and graceful chest, calls up all her 
 beauties to view by breaking into violent and repeated 
 peals of laughter. 
 
 19. I would not be understood to impose gravity or too 
 great a reserve on the fair sex. Let them laugh at a fea- 
 ther ; but let them declare openly, that it is a feather 
 which occasions their mirth. I must confess, that laugh- 
 ter becomes the young, the gay, and the handsome : but 
 a whisper is unbecoming at all ages, and in both sexes ; 
 nor ought it ever to be practised, except in the round gal- 
 lery at St Paul's, or in the famous whispering place in 
 Gloucester "cathedral, wKere two whisperers hear each oth- 
 er at the distance of five and twenty yards. 
 
 t) Sir) 
 Your hu 
 
 J&tittyl 
 
 I. npHOCGH the danger of d iment 
 
 ' JL in proportion to the height of expect 
 I this day claim the attention of the ladies, and 
 teach an art by which all may obtain v, ' 
 been deemed the prerogative of a '&*,*/: an 
 their predominant passion may 'fee gr? 
 quest not only extended, but secured : " '1 
 " PRETTY." 
 
 2. But though rny subject may in" ladies, it 
 
 may, perhaps, offend those profound moralists, who ha* e 
 long since determined/ that b- 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 89 
 
 despised than desired ; that, like strength, it is a mere 
 natural excellence, the effect of causes \vholly out of our 
 power, and not intended either as the pledge of happiness 
 or the distinction of merit. 
 
 3. To these gentlemen I shall remark, that beauty is 
 among those qualities, which no effort of human wit could 
 ever bring into contempt : it is therefore to be wished 
 at least, that beauty was in some degree dependant upon 
 sentiment and manners, that so high a privilege might 
 not be possessed by the unworthy, and that human reason 
 might no longer suffer the mortification of those who are 
 compelled to adore an idol, which differs from a stone or 
 a log only by the skill of an artificer : and if they can- 
 not themselves behold beauty with indifference, they 
 must, surely, approve an attempt to show that it merits 
 their regard. 
 
 4. I shall, however, principally consider that species 
 of beauty which is expressed in the countenance : for this 
 alone is peculiar to human beings, and is not less compli- 
 cated than their nature. In the countenance there are 
 but two requisites to perfect beauty, which are wholly- 
 produced by external causes, color and proportion ; and 
 it will appear, that even in common estimation these arc 
 not the chief ; but that though there may be beauty with- 
 out them, yet there cannot be beauty without something 
 
 ,more. 
 
 5. The finest features, ranged in the most exact sym- 
 metry, and heightened by the most blooming complexion, 
 must be animated before they can strike ; and when they 
 are animated, will generally excite the same passions 
 which they express. If they are fixed in the dead calm 
 of insensibility, they will be examined without emotion ; 
 and if they do not express kindness, they will be beheld 
 without love. 
 
 6. Looks of contempt, disdain, or malevolence, will be 
 reflected, as from a mirror, by every countenance on which 
 they are turned ; and if a wanton aspect excites desire, it 
 is but like that of a savage for his prey, which cannot be 
 gratified without the destruction of its object. 
 
 7. Among particular graces the simple has always been 
 allowed the pre-eminence, and the reason is evident ; 
 dimples are produced bv a smile, and a smile is an expres- 
 
 H 2 
 
90 The Young Gentleman and -Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 sion of complacency : so the contraction of the brows in- 
 to a frown, as it is an indication of a contrary temper, has 
 always been deemed a capital defect. 
 
 8. The lover is generally at a loss to define the beauty, 
 by which his passion was suddenly and irresistibly deter- 
 mined to a particular object ; but this could never happen, 
 if it depended upon any known rule of proportion upon the 
 shape and disposition of the features, or the color of the 
 skin': he tells you that it is something which he cannot 
 fully express, something not fixed in any part, but diffus- 
 ed over the whole ; he calls it a sweetness, a softness, a 
 placid sensibility, or gives it some other appellation which 
 connects beauty with sentiment, and expresses a charm 
 which is not peculiar to any set of features, but is perhaps 
 possible to all. 
 
 9. This beauty, however, does not always consist in 
 smiles, but varies as expressions of meekness and kindness 
 vary with their objects : it is extremely forcible in the si- 
 lent complaint of patient sufferance, the tender solici- 
 tude of friendship, and the glow of filial obedience ; and 
 in tears, whether of joy, of pity, or of grief, it is almost 
 irresistible. 
 
 i(X This is the charm which captivates without the 
 aid of nature, and without which her utmost bounty isin^ 
 cffecual. But it cannot be assumed as a mask to conceal 
 insensibility or malevolence ; it must be the genuine 
 effect of corresponding sentiments, or it will impress up- 
 on the countenance a new and more disgusting deformity, 
 affectation : it will produce the grin, the simper, the stare, 
 the languish, the pout, and innumerable other grimaces?, 
 tbat render folly ridiculous, and change pity to contempt. 
 
 1 1. By some, indeed, this species of hypocrisy has been 
 practised with such skill as to deceive superficial observ- 
 ers, though it Can deceive even these but fora moment. 
 Looks which do not correspond with the heart cannot be 
 assumed without labor, nor continued without pain ; the 
 motive to relinquish them must, therefore, soon prepon- 
 derate, and the aspect and apparel of the visit will be laid 
 by together : the smiles and Janguishments of art wilt 
 vanish, and the fierceness of rage, or the gloom of discon- 
 tent will either obscure or destroy all the elegance of sym- 
 TBetry and complexion. 
 
and English Teacher's -ASSISTANT. 9 1 
 
 12. The artificial aspect is, indeed, as wretched a sub- 
 stitute for the expression of sentiment, as the smear of 
 paint for the blushes of health : it is not only equally tran- 
 sient, and equally liable to dejection ; but as paint leaves 
 the countenance yet more withered and ghastly, the pas- 
 sions burst out with more violence after restraint, the fea- 
 tures become more distorted and excite more determined 
 aversion. 
 
 13. Beauty, therefore, depends principally upon the 
 mind, and consequently, may be influenced by education. 
 It has been remarked, that the predominate passion may 
 generally be discovered in the countenance ; because the 
 muscles by which it is expressed, being almost perpetu- 
 ally contracted, lose their tone, and never totally relax ; so 
 that the expression remains when the passion is suspend- 
 ed : thus an angry, a disdainful, a subtil and a suspicious 
 temper, is displayed in characters that are almost univer- 
 sally understood. 
 
 14. It is equally true of the pleasing and the softer pas- 
 sions, that they leave their signatures upon the counte- 
 nance when they cease to act : the prevalence of these pas- 
 sions therefore produces a mechanical effect upon the as- 
 pect, and gives a turn and cast to the features which 
 makes a more favorable and forcible impression upon the 
 mind of others, than any charm produced by mere exter- 
 nal causes. 
 
 15* Neither does the beauty which depends upon tem- 
 per and sentiment, equally endanger the possessor : " It 
 is," to use an eastern metaphor, " like the towers of a city, 
 u not only an ornament but a defence ;" if it excites de- 
 sire, it at once controls and rennes it ; it represses with 
 awe, it softens with delicacy, and it wins to imi&tior). 
 The love of reason and virtue is mingled with the love of 
 beauty ; because this beauty is little more than the ema- 
 nation of intellectual excellence, which is not an object of 
 corporeal appetite. 
 
 16. As it excites a purer passion, it also more forcibly 
 engages to fidelity : every man finds himself more power- 
 fully restrained from giving pain to goodness than to beau- 
 ty ; and every look of a countenance in which they are 
 Blended, in which beauty .is the expression of goodness, 
 'is a silent reproach of the first irregular \viah ; and th? 
 
92 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR 
 
 purpose immediately appears to be disingenuous and 
 cruel, by which the tender hope of ineffable affection 
 would be disappointed, the placid confidence of unsuspect- 
 ed simplicity abused, and the peace even of virtue endan- 
 gered by the most sordid infidelity, and the breach of the 
 strongest obligations. 
 
 17. But the hope of the hypocrite must perish. When 
 the fictitious beauty has laid by her smiles, when the 
 lustre of her eyes and the bloom of her cheeks have lost 
 their influence with their novelty ; what remains but a 
 tyrant divested of power, who will never be seen without a 
 mixture of indignation and disdain ? The only desire which 
 this object could gratify, will be transferred to another, 
 not only without reluctance, but with triumph. 
 
 18. As resentment will succeed to disappointment, a 
 desire to mortify will succeed to a desire to please : and 
 the husband may be urged to solicit a mistress, merely by 
 a remembrance of the beauty of his wife, which lasted ' 
 only till she was known. 
 
 Let it> therefore, be remembered, that none can be 
 disciples of the Graces, but in the school of Virtue ; and 
 that those who wish to be lovely, must learn early to be 
 good. 
 
 19. \ Friend of mine hns two daughters, whom I will 
 JL\. call Letilia and Daphne* The former is one of 
 the greatest beauties of the age in which she lives, the 
 latter no way remarkable for any charms in her person. 
 Upon this one circumstance of their outward form, the 
 good and ill of their life seem to turn. JLstitia has not 
 frem her very childhood heard any thing else but corn- 
 meliations of her features and complexion, by which 
 means she is n-o other than nature made her, a very beau- 
 tiful outside. 
 
 20. The consciousness of her charms has rendered' her 
 insupportably vain and insolent towards all who have to 
 do with her. Daphne, who* was almost twenty before on 
 civil thing had ever been said to her, found herself obliged 
 to acquire some accomplishments to make up for the want 
 of those attractions which she saw in her sister. 
 
 21. Poor Daphne xvas seldom submitted to in a debate 
 wherein she was concerned j her discourse had nothing 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 93 
 
 to recommend it but the good sense of it, and she was 
 always under a necessity to have very well considered what 
 she was to say before she uttered it ; while Letitia was 
 listened to with partiality, and approbation sat in the coun- 
 tenances of those she conversed with before she communi- 
 cated what she had to say. 
 
 22. These causes have produced suitable effects, and 
 Letitia is as insipid a companion, as JDafifineis an agreeable 
 one. Letitid) confident ' of favor has studied no arts 
 to please : Daphne, despairing of any inclination towards 
 her person, has depended only on her merit. Letitia has 
 always something in her air that is sullen, grave, and dis- 
 consolate. 
 
 23. Daphne has a countenance that appears cheerful, 
 open, and unconcerned. A young gentleman saw Letitia 
 this winter at a play, and became her captive. His fortune 
 v/as such that he wanted very little introduction to speak 
 bis sentiments to her father. The lover was admitted 
 with the utmost freedom into the family, where a con- 
 strained behavior, severe looks, and distant civilities were 
 t-i-2 highest favors he could obtain of Letitia ; while 
 Da/ihne used him with the good humor, familiarity, and 
 innocence of a sister. 
 
 24. Insomuch that he would often say to her, Dear 
 
 Daphne, ivert thou but as handsome as Letitia ! She 
 
 received such language with that ingenious and pleasing 
 mirth, which is natural to a woman without design. He 
 still sighed in vain for Leiiiia, : but found certain relief in 
 the agreeable conversation of Daphne. At length, 
 ''veorlily tired with the haughty impertinence of Letitia, 
 
 :h armed with 'repeated instances of good humor he 
 had observed in Daphne, he one day told the latter, that 
 be had something to say to her he hoped she would be 
 sed with. 
 
 25. Faith Daphne, continued he, lam in Icrve with 
 and despise thy sister sincerely. The manner of 
 
 his declaring himself gave his mistress occasion for a very 
 
 hearty laughter.-*- Az/, says he, / knew you would laugh 
 
 "' >?v.> but I'll ask'- your father. He did so ; the father 
 
 ved his intelligence with no less joy than surprise, and 
 
 cry glad he had now no care left but for his beauty, 
 
 thought he would carry to market at his leisure* 
 
94 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 26. I do not know any thing that has pleased me so 
 much a great while, as this conquest of my friend Dajihne's. 
 All her acquaintance congratulate her upon her chance 
 rnedly, and laugh at that premeditating murderer, her 
 sister. As it is an argument of a light mind, to think 
 the worse of ourselves for the imperfections of our persons, 
 it is equally below us to value ourselves upon the advanta- 
 ges of them. 
 
 27. The female world seem to be almost incorrigibly; 
 gone astray in this particular ; for which reason, I shall 
 recommend the following extract out of a friend's letter 
 to the profess'd beauties, who are a people almost as in- 
 sufferable as the profess'd wits. 
 
 * Monsieur St. Evremont has concluded one of his 
 c essays with affirming, that the last sighs of a handsome 
 ' woman are not so much for the loss of her life, as her 
 
 * beauty. 
 
 28. < Perhaps this raillery is pursued too far, yet it is 
 
 * turned upon a very obvious remark, that woman's strong- 
 4 est passion is for her own beauty, and that she values it 
 4 as her favorite distinction. From hence it is that all 
 
 * hearts, which intend to improve or preserve it, meet with 
 ' so general a reception among the sex. 
 
 29. < To say nothing of many false helps, and contra- 
 
 * band wares of beauty, which are daily vended in this 
 
 * great mart, there is not a maiden gentlewoman^ of a good 
 
 * family in any county of South Britain, who has not heard 
 
 * of the virtues of may-dew, or is unfurnished with some 
 4 receipt or other in favor of her complexion ; and I have 
 
 * known a physician of learning and sense, after eight years 
 1 study in the university, and a course of travels into most 
 
 * countries of JEuro/ie, owe the first raising of his fortune 
 
 * to a cosmetic wash. 
 
 30. < This has given me occasion to consider how so 
 < universal a disposition in womankind, which springs 
 ' from a laudable motive, the desire of pleasing, and pro- 
 
 * ceeds upon an opinion, not altogether groundless, that 
 
 * nature may be helped by art, may be turned to their 
 ' advantage. And, methinks, it would be an acceptable 
 c service to take them out of the hands of quacks and pre- 
 ' tenders, and to prevent their imposing upon themselves, 
 
 * by discovering to them the true secret and art of impro- 
 ' ving beauty. 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 95 
 
 31.. c In order to this, before I touch upon it directly, it 
 4 will be necessary to lay down a few preliminary max- 
 4 ims, viz. 
 
 * That no woman can be handsome by the force of fea- 
 4 tures alone, any more than she can be witty only by the 
 4 help of speech. 
 
 4 That pride destroys all symmetry and grace, and af- 
 
 * fectation is a more terrible enemy to fine faces than the 
 
 * small-pox. 
 
 * That no woman is capable of being beautiful, who is 
 
 * not incapable of being false* 
 
 * And, That what would be odious in a friend, is de- 
 4 formity in a mistress. 
 
 S3. 4 From these few principles thus laid down, it will 
 4 be easy to prove, that the true art of assisting beauty con- 
 4 sists in embellishing the whole person by the proper or- 
 4 naments of virtuous and co-mm end able qualities. By this 
 4 help alone itls, that those who are the favorite work of 
 
 * nature, or as Mr. Dryden expresses it, the porcelain 
 4 clay of human kind, become animated, and are in a 
 4 capacity of exerting their charms ; and those who seem, 
 4 to have been neglected by her, like models wrought in 
 4 haste, are capable, in a great measure, of finishing what 
 
 * she has left imperfect. 
 
 S3. 4 It is, methinks, a low and degrading idea of that 
 4 sex, which was created to refine the joys, and soften the 
 
 * cares of humanity, by the most agreeable participation* 
 4 to consider them merely as objects of sight. This is 
 4 abridging them to their natural extent of power to put 
 4 them upon a level with their pictures at the pantheon* 
 4 How much nobler is the contemplation of beauty height- 
 
 * ened by virtue, and commanding our esteem and lovej 
 4 while it draws our observation ? 
 
 34. 4 How faint and spiritless are the charms of a co- 
 
 * quette, when compared with the real loveliness of Sofih- 
 4 ronia's innocence, piety, good humor, and truth ; virtues 
 
 * which add a new softness to her sex, and even beautify 
 4 her beauty ! That agreeableness, which must other* 
 4 wise have appeared no longer in the modest virgin, is 
 4 now preserved in the tender mother, the prudent friend 
 4 and faithful wife. 
 
96 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 35. c Colors artfully spread upon canvass may entertain 
 4 the eye, but not affect the heart ; and she, who takes no 
 4 care to add to the natural graces of her person, any excel- 
 4 ling qualities, may be allowed still to amuse as a picture, 
 4 but not to triumph as a beauty. 
 
 4 When Mam is introduced by Milton describing Eye 
 4 in Paradise, and relating to the angel the impressions he 
 4 felt upon seeing her at her first creation, he does not 
 
 * represent her like a Grecian Venus, by her shape of fea- 
 6 lures, but by the lustre of her mind which shone in them, 
 4 and gave them their power of charming. 
 
 26. Grace tvas in all her steps, Heaven in her eye, 
 In all her gestures dignify and love : 
 
 * Without this irradiating power, the proudest fair one 
 4 ought to know, whatever her glass may tell her to the 
 * contrary, th*at her most perfect features are uninformed 
 
 * and dead. 
 
 4 I cannot better close this moral, than by a short epi- 
 ' taph, written by Ben Johnson, with a spirit which nothing 
 
 * could inspire^ but such an object as I have been describ- 
 6 ing. 
 
 Underneath this stone doth lie, 
 jis much -virtue as could die ; 
 Which when alive did vigor give 
 To as much beauty as could live. 
 
 lam, SIR, 
 
 Your most humble servant. 
 
 R, B. 
 
 SPECTATOR, Vol. I. NO. 33. 
 
 Honor. 
 
 1. T7 1 VERY principle that is a .motive to good actions, 
 SL A ought to be encouraged, since men are of so dif- 
 ferent a make, that the same principle does not work 
 equally upon all minds. What some men are prompted 
 to by conscience, duty, o 3 religion, which are only clif- 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 9? 
 
 ferent names for the same thing, others are prompted to 
 by honor. 
 
 2. The sense of honor is of so fine and delicate a na- 
 ture, that it is only to be met with in minds which are 
 naturally noble, or in such as have been cultivated by 
 great examples, or a refined education. This paper 
 therefore is chiefly designed for those who by means of 
 any of these advantages, are, or ought to be, actuated by 
 this glorious principle. 
 
 3. But as nothing is more pernicious than a principle 
 or action, when it is misunderstood, I shall consider hon- 
 or with respect to three sorts of men. First of all, with 
 regard to those who have a right notion of it. Secondly, 
 with regard to those who have a mistaken notion of it. 
 And thirdly, with regard to those who treat it as chimer- 
 ical, and turn it into ridicule. 
 
 4. In the first place, true honor, though it be a dif- 
 ferent principle from religion, is that which produces the 
 same effects. The lines of action, though drawn from 
 different parts, terminate in the same point. Religion 
 embraces virtue, as it is enjoined by the laws of God ; 
 honor, as it is graceful and ornamental Co human na- 
 ture. 
 
 5. The religious man/rars, the man of honor scorn? 
 to do an ill action. The former considers vice as some- 
 thing that is beneath him, the other as something that is 
 offensive to the Divine Being. The one 'is what'is unbe- 
 coming^ the other is what is forbidden. Thus Seneca 
 speaks in the natural and genuine language of a man of 
 honor, whea he declares that were there no God to see 
 or punish vice, he would not commit it, because it is of 
 so mean, so base, and so vile a nature* 
 
 6. I shall conclude this head with the description of 
 honor in the part of young Jula. 
 
 Honor's a sacred tie, the law of kings, 
 
 The noble mind 's distinguishing perfection, 
 
 That aids and strengthens -virtue where, it meets /;??% 
 
 slnd imitates her actions where she is not. 
 
 It ought not to be sported with CATC, 
 
 7. In the second place we are to consider those who 
 have mistaken notions of honor, and thes<3 are such an 
 establish any thing to themselves for a point of honor 
 
98 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 which Is contrary either to the laws of God, or of their 
 country ; who think it is more honorable to revenge than 
 to forgive an injury ; who make no scruple of telling a 
 lie, but would put any man to death who accuses them 
 of it ; who are more careful to guard their reputation by 
 their courage than by their virtue. 
 
 8. True fortitude is indeed so becoming in human na- 
 ture, that he who wants it scarce deserves the name of a 
 man ; but we find several who so much abuse tins notion, 
 that they place the whole idea of honor in a kind of .bru- 
 tal courage ; by which means we have had many among 
 us who have called themselves men of honor, that would 
 .have been a disgrace to a gibbet. 
 
 9. In a word, the man who sacrifices any duty of a 
 reasonable creature to a prevailing mode of fashion, who 
 looks upon any thing as dishonorable that is displeasing 
 u> his Maker, or destructive to society, who thinks himself 
 obliged by this principle to the practice of some virtues 
 and not to others, is by no means to be reckoned among 
 crue men of honor. 
 
 10. Timogenes was a lively instance of one actuated by 
 false honor. Timogenes would smile at a man's jest who 
 ridiculed his Maker, and at the same time run a man 
 through the body that spoke ill of his friend. Thnoger.es 
 would 'have scorned to have betrayed a secret, that was 
 intrusted with him, though the fate of his country de- 
 pended upon the discovery of it. 
 
 11. Timogenes took away the life of a young fellow in 
 a duel, for having spoken ill of Belinda, a lady whom he 
 Iiimself had seduced in her youth, and betrayed into 
 "vant and ignominy. To close his character, Timogenes y 
 after having ruined several poor tradesmen's families, who 
 had trusted him, sold his estate to satisfy his creditors ; 
 but like a man of honor disposed of all the money he 
 could make of it, in paying off his play-debts, or to speak' 
 n his ov n language, his debts of honor. 
 
 12. In the third place, we are to consider those persons 
 ~vho treat this principle as chimerical, and turn it into 
 ridicule. Men who are professedly of no honor, are of 
 a more profligate and abandoned nature, than even those 
 who are actuated by false notions of it, as there is more 
 i-o-)? o r * b 'n of an atheist. These sons of infamy 
 
iptf4^Sf4pi TVtff&rV ASSISTANT, 
 :cr honor viih old SjAojt% : 
 
 : 
 
 . 
 
 ey are engager i shadow 
 
 13. These are generally persons, who, in S&: 
 > e% are *w* cnrf fodbiey*rf m M* y* ^T iss^fif : - 
 TAtknis are grown callous, and hare lost all 
 delicc ..tare 
 
 innocent and utidep old battei^ed raise: 
 
 lidici. i hat comes r 
 
 tion with their present interest, and treat those persons as 
 visionaries who dare stand t:: rrupt agt:. 
 
 ot its immediate rewai\. 
 
 make tbt<- 
 
 . Bu: whatever 
 arrive 
 
 e annals of his cou 
 
 temple of fsxtor bjr aujr other way ihan . 
 ; 
 
 . 
 
 T 
 
 JL * sp 
 
 f it pleasant and t 
 
 x oaiv * 
 
 i th i ck pronounced *&- 
 
 stof: 
 P bur,: 
 
 :n as m . am- 
 
 tnir 
 
100 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 * nature and measures of right and wrong, than to settle 
 ' the distance of the planets, and compute the times of 
 ' their circumvolutions. 
 
 3. One good effect that will immediately arise from 
 4 a near observation of human nature, is, that we shall cease 
 ' to wonder at those actions which men are used to reckon 
 4 wholly anaccountable ; for as nothing is produced with- 
 ' out a cause, so by observing. the nature and course of the 
 ' passions, we shall be able to trace every action from its 
 ' first conception to its death. 
 
 4. ' We shall no more admire at the proceedings of 
 4 Cataline and Tiberius, when we know the one was actua-r 
 
 * ted by a cruel jealousy, the other by a furious ambition ;. 
 4 for the actions of men follow their passions as naturally 
 ' as light does heat, or as any other effect flows from its 
 
 * cause ; reason must be employed in adjusting the pas- 
 1 sions, but they must ever remain the principles of action.- 
 
 5. ' The strange and absurd variety that is so apparent 
 'in men's actions, shows plainly they never proceed 
 
 * immediately from reason ; so pure a fountain emits no 
 
 * such troubled waters ; they must necessarily arise from 
 ' the passions, which are to the mind as the winds to a 
 4 ship ; they only can move it, and they _ too often 
 4 destroy it : if fair and gentle, they guide it into the 
 ' harbor ; if contrary and furious, they overset it in the 
 
 * waves. 
 
 6. ' In the same manner is the mind assisted or endan- 
 
 < gered by the passions ; reason must then take the place 
 
 < of pilot, and can never fail of securing her charge if 
 f she be not wanting to herself; the strength of the pas- 
 
 get the upper 
 ' trays the liberty of his own soul. 
 
 7. < As nature has framed the several species of beings 
 ?,' as it-were in a. chain, so man' seems to be placed as the 
 'middle link between angels raid brutes ; hence he par- 
 < ticipatea both of flesh and spirit by an admirable tye, 
 ''which in hirh occasions perpetual war of passions; 
 'I and as a man inclines to the angelic cr brute part of liis 
 * constitution, he is then denominated good or bad, vjr- 
 4 tuous or wicked : if love, mercy, and good nature 
 
and English Tcac/ier's ASSISTANT, 101 
 
 < prevail, they speak him of the angel ; if hatred, cruelty., 
 
 * and envy predominate, they declare his kindred to the 
 
 * brute. 
 
 8. ' Hence' it was that some ancients imagined, that as 
 
 < men in this life inclined more to the angel or the brute, 
 
 * so after their death they should transmigrate into the one 
 
 * or the other ; and it would be no unpleasant notion 10 
 4 consider the several species of brutes, into which we may 
 
 * imagine that tyrants, misers, the proud; malicious, and 
 
 < ill natured, might be changed. 
 
 9. ' As a consequence of this original, all passions are 
 
 < in all men, but appear not in all : constitution, educa- 
 
 * tion, custom of the country, reason, and the like causes 
 4 may improve or abate the strength of them, but still the 
 
 * seeds remain, which are ev^r ready to sprout forth upon 
 s the least encouragement. 
 
 10. * I have heard a story of a good religious man, who 
 
 * having been bred with the milk of a goat, was very 
 ' modest in public, by a careful reflection he made on his 
 ( actions, but he frequently had an hour in secret, wherein 
 4 he had his frisks and capers ; and, if we had an oppor- 
 4 tunity of examining the retirement of the strictest phi- 
 4 losophers, no doubt but we should find perpetual return? 
 ' of those passions they so artfully conceal from the public- 
 
 11. * I remember Alachicrjol observes, that every state 
 'should entertain a perpetual jealousy of its neighbors, 
 c that so it should never be unprovided when- an emer- 
 4 gency happens ; in like manner should reason be per- 
 ' petually on its guard against the passions, and never 
 ' sufferthem to carry on any design that may be destruc- 
 
 * tive of its security ; yet, r.t the vune time, it must be 
 ' careful, that it don't so far break their strength as to 
 
 * render them contemptible, and, consequently, itself un- 
 
 * guarded. 
 
 12. 6 The understanding being of itself too slow and 
 ( lazy to exert itself into action, it is necessary it should 
 
 * be put in motion by the genile gales of passions, which 
 ' may preserve it from stagnating and corruption ; for 
 
 * they are necessary to the health of the niind, as the 
 1 circulation of the animal spirits is to the health of the 
 4 body ; they keep it in life, and strength, and vigor ? 
 
 * nor is it possible ibr the mind to perform its 'office? 
 
 I ?, 
 
102 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 4 without their assistance; these motions are given us 
 
 * with our being- ; they are little spirits, that are bora 
 4 and die with us ; to some they are mild, easy and gen- 
 4 tie ; to others wayward and unruly ; yet never too 
 4 strong for the reigns of reason, and the guidance of 
 4 judgment. 
 
 13. ' We may generally observe a pretty nice proper- 
 ( tion between the strength of reason and passion ; the 
 4 -greatest geniuses have commonly the strongest afFec- 
 
 * tions, as on the other hand, the weaker understandings 
 4 have generally the weaker passions : and 'tis fu the 
 4 fury of the coursers should not be too great for the 
 
 * strength of the charioteer. 
 
 14. 4 Young men whose passions are not a little unru- 
 4 ly, give small hopes of their ever being considerable ; 
 4 the fire of youth will of course abate, and is a fault, if it 
 4 be a fault, that mends every d&y ; but surely, unless a 
 
 * man has fire ia youth, he can hardly have warmth in 
 i old age. 
 
 15. 4 We must therefore be very cautious, lest while 
 4 we think to regulate the passions, we should quite ex- 
 
 * tingui&h them which is putting out the light of the 
 
 * soul ; for to be without passion, or lobe hurried away 
 4 with it, makes a man equally blind. The extraordina- 
 4 ry severity used in most of our schools has this fatal 
 4 cSect ; it breaks the spring of the mind, and most cer- 
 4 tainly destroys more good geniuses than it can possibly 
 4 i mprove. 
 
 16. * And surely 'tis a mighty- mistake that the passions 
 4 should be so entirely subdued ; for little irregularities 
 4 are sometimes not only to be bore v/ith, but to be culti- 
 4 vated too since they are frequently attended with the 
 4 greatest perfections, All great geniuses have faults 
 1 mixed with their virtues, and resemble the flaming bush 
 4 which has thorns amongst lights. 
 
 17. * Since therefore the passions are the principles of 
 4 human actions, we must endeavor to manage them so 
 c as to retain their vigor, yet keep them under strict com- 
 4 mand ; we must govern them rather like free subjects 
 
 < than slaves, lest, while we intend to make them obedient, 
 
 < they become abject, and unfit for those great purposes 
 
 * to which they were designed* 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 10S 
 
 18, ' For my part, I must confess, I could never have 
 any regard to that sect of philosophers, who so much in- 
 sisted upon an absolute indifference and vacancy from all 
 passion ; for it seems to me a thing very inconsistent 
 for a man to divest himself of humanity, in order to ac- 
 quire tranquillity of mind, and to eradicate the very prin- 
 ciples of action, because it is possible they may produce 
 ill effects. 
 
 / am SIR, 
 
 Your affectionate admirer, 
 
 T. B." 
 
 SPECTATOR, Vol. IV. NO. 408. 
 
 The advantages of representing Human Nature in its proper 
 Dignity. 
 
 TATTLER, NO. 198. 
 
 IT is not to be imagined how great an effect well dis- 
 posed lights, with proper forms and orders in assem- 
 blies, have upon some tempers. I am sure I feel it in so 
 extraordinary a manner, that I cannot in a day or two get 
 out of rny imagination any very beautiful or disagreeable 
 impression which I receive on such occasions. For this 
 reason I frequently look in at the play-house, in' order to 
 enlarge my thoughts, and warm my mind with some new 
 ideas, that may be serviceable to me in my lucubrations 1 . 
 
 1. In this disposition I entered the theatre the other 
 day, and placed myself in a corner of it, very convenient 
 for seeing, without being myself observed. I found the 
 audience hushed in a very deep attention, and did not 
 question but some noble tragedy was just then in its crisis, 
 or that an incident was to be unravelled which would de- 
 termine the fate of an hero. While Iwas in this suspence, 
 expecting every moment to see my old friend Mr. Bitter- 
 ton, appear in all the majesty of distress, to rny unspeak- 
 able amazement, there came up a monster with a face be- 
 tween his feet : and as I was looking on, hs raised him- 
 self on one leg in such a perpendicular posture/that the 
 other grew in a direct line above his head. 
 
104 The Young Gentleman and Lady's 
 
 2. It afterwards twisted itself into the motions and 
 wreathings of several different animals, and after grt'at 
 variety of shapes and transformations, went off the stage, 
 in the figure of a human creature. The admiration, the 
 applause, the satisfaction of the audience, during this 
 strange entertainment, is not to be expressed. I was very 
 much out of countenance for my dear countrymen, and 
 looked about with some apprehension, for fear any for- 
 eigner should be present. 
 
 3. Is it possible, thought I, that hivman nature can re- 
 joice in its disgrace, and take pleasure in seeing its own 
 figure turned into ridicule, and distorted into forms that 
 raise horror and aversion 1 There is something disingen- 
 uous and immoral in the being able to bear such a sight. 
 Men of elegant and noble minds are shocked at the seeing 
 characters of persons who deserve esteem for their virtue, 
 knowledge, or services to their country, placed in wrong 
 lights, and by misrepresentation made the subject of buf- 
 foonery. 
 
 4. Such a nice abhorrence is not indeed to be found 
 among the vulgar ; but methmks it is wonderful, that 
 those who have nothing but the outward figure to distin- 
 guish them as men, should delight in seeing it abused, 
 vilified and disgraced* 
 
 I must confess there is nothing that more pleases me, 
 in all that I read in books, or see among mankind, than 
 such passages as represent human nature in its proper 
 dignity. 
 
 5. As man is a creature made up of different extremes, 
 he has something in him very great and very mean : a 
 skilful artist- may draw an excellent picture of him in ei- 
 ther of these views. The finest authors of antiquity have 
 taken him on the more advantageous side. They culti- 
 tivate the natural grandeur of the soul, raise in her a gen- 
 erous ambition, feed her with hopes of immortality and 
 perfection, and do all they can to widen the partition be- 
 tween the virtuous and the vicious, by making the differ- 
 ence betwixt them as great as between gods and brutes, 
 
 6. In short, it is impossible to read a page in Plato, 
 Tally, and a thousand other ancient moralists, without 
 being a greater and a better man for it. On the con- 
 trary, I could never read any of our modish French 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 105 
 
 authors, or those of our own country who are the imitators 
 and admirers of that trifling nation, without being for 
 some time out of humor with myself, and at every thing 
 about me. 
 
 7. Their business is, to depreciate human nature, and 
 consider it under its worst appearances. They give mean 
 interpretations and base motives to the worthiest actions ; 
 they resolve virtue and vice into constitution. In short, 
 they endeavor to make no distinction between man and 
 man, or between the species of men and that of brutes. As 
 an instance of this kind of authors, among many others, 
 let any one examine the celebrated Rochefaucault, who 
 is the great philosopher for administering of conso- 
 lation to the idle, the envious, and worthless part of man- 
 kind. 
 
 8. I remember a young gentleman of moderate under- 
 standing, but great vivacity, who, by dipping into many 
 authors of this nature had got a little smattering of 
 knowledge, just enough to make an Atheist or a free- 
 thinker, but not a philosopher or a man of sense. With 
 these accomplishments, he went to visit his father in the 
 country, who was a plain, rough, honest man, and wise 
 though not learned. The son, who took all opportunities 
 to show his learning, began to establish a new religion in 
 the family, and to enlarge the narrowness of their country 
 notions ; in which he succeeded so well, that he had sedu- 
 ced the butler by his table talk, and staggered his eldest 
 sister. 
 
 9. The old gentleman began to be alarmed at the 
 schisms that arose among the children, but did not yet 
 believe his son's doctrine to be so pernicious as it really was, 
 till one day talking of his setting-dog, the son said, he did 
 not question but Trey was as immortal as any one of the 
 family ; and in the heat of the argument told his father, 
 that for his own part he expected to die like a dog. Upon 
 v/hlch, the old man starting up in a very great passion, 
 cried out, Then, sirrah, you shall live like one ; and 
 taking his cane in his hand, cudgelled him out of hid 
 system. This had so good an effect upon him, that he 
 took up from that day, fell to reading good books, and .is 
 15 ow a bencher in the Middle Temple. 
 
 10. I do not mention this cudgelling part of the stcry 
 
106 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 vrith a design to engage the secular arm in matters of this 
 nature ; but certainly, if it ever exerts itself in affairs 
 of opinion and speculation, it ought to do it on such 
 shallow and despicable pretenders to knowledge, -who 
 endeavor to give man dark and uncomfortable prospects 
 of being, and destroy those principles which are the sup- 
 pbit, happiness and glory of all public societies, as well as 
 private persons, 
 
 11. I think it is one of Pythagoras' s golden sayings, 
 that a man should take' care above all things to have a due 
 respect for, himself 'j and it is certain, that this licentious 
 sort of authors, who are for depreciating mankind, en- 
 deavor to disappoint and undo what the most refined 
 spirits have been laboring to advance since the begin- 
 ning of the world. The very design of dress, good- 
 breeding, outward ornaments and ceremony, were to lift 
 \Tp human nature, and set it oft" to advantage. Archi- 
 tecture, painting and statuary, were invented with the 
 same design ; as indeed every art and science that contri- 
 butes to the embellishment of life, and to the wearing off 
 and throwing into shades the mean and low parts of our 
 nature. 
 
 12. Poetry carries on this great end more than all the 
 rest, as may be seen in the following passages taken out of 
 Sir Francis Bacon's advancement of learning, which gives 
 a true and better account of this art than all the volumes 
 that were ever written upon it. 
 
 " Poetry, especially heroical, seems to be raised alto- 
 " gether from a noble foundation, which makes much 
 " for the dignity of man's nature. For seeing this sen- 
 " sible world is in dignity inferior to the soul of man, 
 " poesy seems to endow human nature with that which 
 " history denies ; and to give satisfaction to the mind, 
 "with at least the shadow of things, where the substance 
 "' cannot be had. 
 
 13. " For if the matter be thorcng'^y ron^drrec!, 
 ** a strong argument may .be drawn from poesy, that a 
 " more stately greatness of things, a more perfect order 
 " and a more beautiful variety, delights the sou] of man 
 " than uny way can be fourscl in nature since the fall. 
 " Wherefore, seeing the acts and events, which are the 
 " subjects of -true, history, ure not of that amplitude . as 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 107 
 
 u to content the mind of man, poesy is ready at hand to 
 u feign acts more heroical. 
 
 H* " Because true history reports the successes of 
 " business not proportionable to the merit of virtues and 
 " vices, poesy corrects it, and presents events and fortunes 
 " according to desert, and according to the law of Provi- 
 " dence : because true history, through the frequent sa- 
 " tiety and similitude of things, works a distaste and mis- 
 " prision in the mind of man ; poesy cheereth and re- 
 4i fresheth the soul, chanting things rare and various, and 
 " full of vicissitudes. 
 
 15. " So as poesy serveth and conferreth to delectation, 
 " magnanimity and morality ; and therefore it may seem 
 " deservedly to have some participation of divineness, 
 " because it doth raise the mind, and exalt the spirit 
 " with high raptures,*proportioning the shows of things 
 " to the desires of the mind, and not submitting the mind 
 " to things as reason and history do. And by these alt 
 " lurements and congruities, whereby it cherisheth the 
 41 soul of man, joined also with comfort of music, where- 
 " by it may more sweetly insinuate itself ; it hath won 
 " such access, that it hath been in estimation even in rude 
 " times, and barbarous nations, when our learning stood 
 " excluded." 
 
 16. But there is nothing which favors and falls in with 
 this natural greatness and dignity of human nature so 
 much as religion, which does not only promise the entire! 
 resignment of the mind, but the glorifying of the body, 
 and the immortality of both. 
 
 Custom a second JVaturc. 
 
 1. r T"^HER'E is not a common saying which has a bet- 
 JL ter turn of sense in it than what we often hear 
 in the mouths of the vulgar, that Custom is a second Na- 
 ture. It is indeed able to form the man anew, and give 
 him inclinations and capacities altogether different from 
 those he was born with. 
 
 2. Dr. Plot, in his history of Staffordshire, tells of an 
 idiot, that chancing to live within the sound of a clock, 
 and always amusing himself with counting the hour of 
 
108 The Young Gentleman and Ladifs MONITOR, 
 
 the day whenever the clock struck : the clock being spoil- 
 ed by some accident, the idiot continued to strike and 
 count the hour without the help of it, in the same manner 
 as he had done when it was entire. 
 
 3. Though I dare not vouch for the truth of this story, 
 it is very certain that custom has a mechanical effect up- 
 on the body at the same time that it has a very extraordi- 
 nary influence upon the mind. 
 
 4. I shall in this paper consider one very remarkable 
 effect which custom has upon human nature ; and which, 
 if rightly observed, may lead us into rery useful rules of 
 life. What I shall here take notice of in custom, is its 
 wonderful efficacy in making every thing pleasant to us. 
 
 5. A person who is addicted to play or gaming, though 
 he took but little delight in it at first, by degrees contracts 
 so strong an inclination towards it, and gives himself up 
 so entirely to it, that it seems the only end of his being. 
 The love of a retired or busy life will grow upon a man 
 insensibly, as he is conversant in the one or the other, till 
 he is utterly unqualified for relishing that to which he has 
 been for some time disused. 
 
 6. Nay a man may smoke or drink, or take snuff, till 
 he is unable to pass away his time without it ; not to 
 mention how our delight in any particular study, art, or 
 science, rises and improves in proportion to the applica- 
 tion which we bestow upon it. Thus "/what was at first 
 an exercise becomes at length an entertainment. Our 
 employments are changed into diversions. The mind 
 grows fond of those actions it is accustomed to, and is 
 drawn with reluctancy from those paths in which it has 
 been used to walk. 
 
 7. Not only such actions as were at first indifferent to 
 us, but even such as were painful, will by custom and 
 practice become pleasant. 
 
 8. Sir Francis Bacon observes in his natural philoso- 
 phy, that our taste is never better pleased than with those 
 things which at first create a disgust in it. He gives 
 particular instances of claret, coffee, and other liquors, 
 which the palate seldom approves upon the first taste ; but 
 when it has once got a relish of them, generally retains 
 it for life. The mind is constituted after the same man- 
 ner, and after having habituated itself to any particular 
 
and English teacher's ASSISTANT. 
 
 exercise or employment, not only loses its first av 
 towards it, but conceives a certain fondness and at|eccio;< 
 for it. 
 
 9. I have heard one of the greatest geniuses this ac;t- 
 has produced, who had been trained up in all the polite 
 studies of antiquity, assure me upon his being obliged to 
 search into several rolls and records, that notwithstand- 
 ing such an employment was at first very dry and irksome 
 to him, he at last took an incredible pleasure in it, and 
 preferred it even to the reading of Virgil or Cicero. 
 
 10. The reader will observe, that I have not here con- 
 sidered custom as it makes things easy, but as it renders 
 them delightful ; and though others have often made the 
 same reflection, it is possible they may not have drawn 
 those uses from it, with which I intend to fill the remaining 
 part of this paper. 
 
 11. If we consider attentively. this property of human 
 nature, it may instruct us in very fine moralities. In the 
 first place, I would have no man discouraged with -that 
 kind of life or series of actions, in which the choice of 
 others or his own necessities may have engaged him. It 
 may perhaps be very disagreeable to him at first ; but use 
 and application will certainly render it not only less pain- 
 ful, but pleasing and satisfactory. 
 
 12. In the second place, I would recommend to every- 
 one the admirable precept which Pythagoras is s; 
 have given to his disciples, and which that philosopher 
 must have drawn from the observation I have en'. 
 upon : Qfitimum ~uiie genus eligito, nam cGntuetud 
 jucundissinmm, pitch upon that course oflife- which \ 
 
 raost excellent, and custom will render it the most de- 
 lightful. 
 
 13. Men, whose circumstances will permit them to 
 chuse their own way of life, are inexcusable if thty do 
 not pursue that which their judgment tells them is the 
 most laudable. The voice of reason is more to be re- 
 garded than the bent of any present inclination, since by 
 the rule above mentioned, inclin ition will at length come 
 over to reason, though we can n^ver force reason to com- 
 ply with inclination. 
 
 14. In the third place, this observation may teach the 
 ?s ! -ions man to overlook those hard- 
 
,HO The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 ships and difficulties, which are apt to discourage him 
 from the prosecution of a virtuous life. The Gods, said 
 Hesiod, have placed labor before virtue; the way to her 
 is at first rough and difficult, but grows more smooth and 
 easy the farther you advance in it. The man who pro- 
 ceeds in it, with steadiness and resolution, will in a little 
 time find that her ways are ways of pleasantness, and that 
 all her paths are peace. 
 
 35. To enforce this, consideration, we may further 
 observe, that the practice of religion will not only be at- 
 tended with that pleasure which naturally accompanies 
 those actions to which we are habituated but with ttyase 
 supernumerary joys of heart, that rise from the conscious- 
 ness .of such a pleasure, from the satisfaction of acting up 
 to the dictates of reason, and from the prospect of an hap- 
 py immortality.. 
 
 15. In the fourth place, we may learn from this ob- 
 servation which we have made on the mind of man, to 
 take particular care* when we are once settled in a reg- 
 \i] ir course of life, how we too frequently indulge our- 
 selves in any of the most innocent diversions and enter- 
 tainments, since the mind may insensibly fall off from the 
 relish cf virtuous actions, and by degrees, exchange that 
 pleasure which it takes in the performance of it's duty, 
 .lights of a much more inferior and unprofitable 
 nature. 
 
 17. The last use which I shall make of this remarka- 
 ble property inhuman nature, . of being delighted with 
 those actions to which it is accustomed, is to show how 
 absolutely necessary it is for us to gain habits of virtue m 
 t//is life, if we would enjoy the pleasures of the next. 
 
 18. The state of -bliss we call heaven, will not be capa- 
 ble of affecting those minds, which are not thus qualified 
 lor it ; we roust in this world gain a relish of truth and 
 virtue, if we would be able to taste that knowledge, and 
 perfection which are to make us happy in the next. The 
 seeds of those spiritual joys and raptures, which are 
 to rise up and flourish in the soul to all eternity, must be 
 planted in it, during this its present state of probation. 
 In short, heaven is not to be looked upon only as the re- 
 ward, but os the natural effect of a religious lite. 
 
 19* On '.he other hand, thos- evil spirits, who by long 
 
&nd English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 1 1 i 
 
 custom, have contracted in the body, habits oflust, sen- 
 suality, malice and revenge, and aversion to every thing 
 that is good, just, or laudable, are naturally seasoned and 
 prepared for pain and misery. Their torments have al- 
 ready taken root in them ; they cannot be happy \>*hen 
 divested of the body, unless we may suppose, that Provi- 
 dence will in a manner create them anew, and work u 
 miracle in the rectification of their faculties. 
 
 20. They may, indeed, taste a kind of malignant plea- 
 sure in those actions to which they are accustomed whilst 
 in this life ; but when they are removed from all those 
 objects which are here apt to gratify them, they will natur- 
 ally become their own tormentors* and cherish in them- 
 selves those pafnful habits of mind which are called in 
 scripture phrase, the worm which never dies* 
 
 21. This, notion of heaven and hell is so very cor form- 
 able t the light of nature, that it was discovered by sev- 
 eral of the most exalted heathens. It has been finely im- 
 proved by many eminent divines of the last age, as in par- 
 ticular by Archbishop Tillotson and Dr. Sherlock ; but 
 there is none who has raised such noble speculations upon 
 it as Dr. Scott, in the first book of his Christian Life, 
 which is one of the finest and most rational schemes of 
 divinity, that is written in our tongue, or any other. That; 
 excellent author has shown how every particular custom 
 and habit of virtue will, in its own nature, produce the 
 heaven, or a state of happiness in him who shall hereafter 
 practise it : as on the contrary, how every custom or 
 habit of vice will be the natural hell of him in whom it 
 subsists. 
 
 On Cleanliness. 
 
 SPECTATOR, No. 63 U 
 
 I. T HAD occasion to go a few miles out of town, some 
 JL days since, in a stage coach, where I had for my 
 fellow travellers, a dirty beau, and a pretty young Qua- 
 ker woman. Having no inclination to talk much at that 
 time, I placed myself backward, with a design to survey 
 thtm, and pick a speculation out of my two companions* 
 
1-112 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 Their different figures were sufficient of themselves to 
 draw my attention. 
 
 2. The gentleman was dressed in suit, the ground 
 whereof had been Wack, as I perceived from some few 
 spaces that had escaped the powder, which was incorpo- 
 rated with the greatest part of his coat ; his periwig, 
 which cost no small sum, was after so slovenly a manner 
 cast over his shoulders, that it seemed not to have been 
 
 'combed since the year 1712; his linen, which was, not 
 much concealed, was daubed with plain Spanish from the 
 chin to the lowest button, and the diamond upon his fin- 
 ger, (which naturally dreaded the water) put me in mind 
 how it sparkled amidst the rubbish of the mine where it 
 was first discovered. 
 
 3. On the other hand, the pretty Quaker appeared in. 
 all the elegance of cleanliness. Not a speck was to be 
 found on her. A clear, clean, oval face, just edged about 
 
 'with little thin plaits of the purest cambrick, received great 
 advantages from the shade of her black hood ; as did the 
 whiteness of her arms from that sober-colored stuff in 
 which she had clothed herself. The plainness of her 
 dress was well suited to the simplicity of her phrases, all 
 which put together, though they could not give me a 
 great opinion of her religion, they did of her innocence. 
 
 4. This adventure occasioned my throwing together 
 a few hints upon cleanliness, which I shall consider as one 
 of the half virtues, as Aristotle calls them, and shall re- 
 commend it under the three following heads: As it is a 
 mark of politeness ; as it produceth love ; and as it bears 
 analogy to purity of mind. 
 
 5. First, it is a mark of politeness. It is universally 
 agreed upon, that no one, unadorned with this virtue, 
 can go into company without giving a manifest offence. 
 The easier or higher any one's fortune is$ this duty- rises 
 proportionally. The different nations of the world are 
 as much distinguished by their cleanliness., as by their 
 arts and sciences. The more any country is civilized, 
 the more they consult this part of .politeness. We need 
 but compare our ideas of a female Hottentot with an Eng- 
 lish beauty, to be satisfied of the truth of what hath- been 
 advanced. 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 
 
 5. In the next place, cleanliness may be said to be the 
 foster-mother of love. Beauty, indeed, most commonly 
 produces that passion in the mind, but cleanliness pre- 
 serves it. An indifferent face and person, kept in perpet- 
 ual neatness, hath won many a heart from a pretty slat- 
 tern. Age itself is not unamiable, while it is preserved 
 clean and unsullied : like a piece of mettle constantly kept 
 smooth and bright, we look on it with more pleasure than 
 on a new vessel that is cankered with rust. 
 
 7. I might observe further, that as cleanliness renders 
 us agreeable to others, so it makes it easy to ourselves ; 
 that it is an excellent preservative of health ; and that 
 several vices, destructive both to mind and body, are in- 
 consistent with the habit of it. But these reflections I 
 shall leave to the leisure of my readers, and shall observe 
 in the third place, that it bears a great analogy with puri- 
 ty of mind, and naturally inspires refined sentiments and 
 passions. 
 
 8. We find, from experience, that through the preva- 
 lence of custom, the most vicious actions lose their horror, 
 by being- made familiar to us. On the contrary, those 
 who live in the neighborhood of good examples, fly from 
 the first appearance of what is shocking-. It fares with us 
 much after the same manner as our ideas. Our senses, 
 which are the inlets to all the images conveyed to the 
 mind, can only transmit the impression of such tilings 
 as usually surround them ; so that pure and unsullied 
 thoughts are naturally suggested to the mind, by those 
 objects that perpetually encompass us, when they are 
 beautiful and elegant in their kind. 
 
 9. In the East, where the warmth of the climate makes 
 cleanliness more immediately necessary than in colder 
 countries, it is made one part of their religion ; the Jewish 
 law (and the Mahometan, which in some things, copies 
 after it) is filled with buthir,gs, purifications, and other 
 rites of the like nature. Though there is the above nam- 
 ed convenient reason to be assigned for these ceremonies* 
 the chief intention, undoubtedly, was to typify inward pu- 
 rity and cleanliness of heart by those outward washings. 
 
 10. We read several injunctions of this kind in the 
 book of Deuteronomy, which confirm this truth, and 
 which are but ill accounted for by saying, as some do, that 
 
 K 2 
 
1 14 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 they were only instituted for convenience in the desert, 
 which otherways could not have been habitable for so 
 many years. 
 
 1 1 . I shall conclude this essay with a story which I 
 have somewhere read in an account of Mahometan super- 
 stition. A Dervise of great sanctity one morning had the 
 misfortune, as he took up a crystal cup, whkflf%as conse- 
 crated to the prophet, to let it fall upon the ground, and 
 dash it in pieces. His son coming in some time after, he 
 stretched out his hand to bless $im, as his manner was 
 every morning ; but the youth going out stumbled over 
 the threshold and broke his arm. As the old man wonder- 
 ed at these events, a caravan passed by in its way from 
 Mecca. The Dervise approached it to beg a blessing ;. 
 but as he stroked one of the holy camels, he received a 
 kick from the beast that sorely bruised him. His sor- 
 row and amazement increased upon him, till he recollect- 
 ed, that, through hurry and inadvertency, he had that, 
 morning come abroad without washing his hands. 
 
 The Advantages of a good Education. 
 
 CONSIDER a human soul without education like 
 marble in the quarry, which shows none of its inhe- 
 rent beauties, until the skill of the polisher fetches out the 
 colors, makes the surface shine, and discovers every or- 
 namental cloud, spot and vein, that runs through the body 
 cfit. Education, after the same manner, when it works 
 upon a noble mind, draws out to view every latent virtue 
 and perfection, which, without such helps, are never able 
 to make their appearance. 
 
 2. If my reader will give me jeave to change the allu- 
 sion so soon upon him, I shall make use of the same in- 
 stance to illustrate the force of education, which Aristotle- 
 has brought to explain his doctrine of substantial forms, 
 when he tells us that a statue lies hid in a block of mar- 
 ble ; and that the art of the statuary only clears away 
 the superfluous mattery and removes the rubbish. The 
 figure is in the stone, the sculptor only finds it. What 
 sculpture is to a block of m;u>ble ? education is to a hu- 
 soul. 
 
, at i d English Tea cker's ASSISTANT. 115 
 
 3. The philosopher, the saint, or the hero, the wise, the 
 good, or the great man, very often lie hid and concealed 
 in a plebean, which a proper education might have dis- 
 interred, and have brought to light. I am therefore much 
 delighted with reading the accounts of savage nations, and 
 with contemplating those virtues which are wild and un- 
 cultivated ; to see courage exerting itself in fierceness, 
 resolution in obstinacy, wisdora in cunning, patience in 
 sullenness and despair. 
 
 4. Men's passions operate variously, and appear in dif- 
 ferent kinds of actions, according as they are more or less 
 rectified and swayed by reason. When one hears of ne- 
 groes, who upon the death of their masters, or upon 
 changing their service,, hang themselves upon the next 
 tree, as it frequently happens in our American plantations, 
 who can forbear admiring their fidelity, though it express- 
 es itself in so dreadful a manner ? 
 
 5. What might not that savage greatness of soul which 
 appears in these poor wretches on many occasions, be 
 raised to, were it rightly cultivated ? and what color of 
 excuse can there be for the contempt with which we treat 
 this part of our species ? that we should not put them up- 
 on the common foot of humanity ; that we should only set 
 an insignificant fine upon the man who murders them ; 
 nay, that we should, as much in us lies, cut them off from 
 the prospects of happiness in another world, as well as in 
 this, and deny them that which we look upon as the prop- 
 er means for attaining it. 
 
 6. It is therefore an unspeakable blessing to be born in 
 those parts of the world where wisdom and knowledge, 
 flourish ; though it must be confessed there are, even in 
 these parts, several poor uninstructed persons, who are but. 
 little above the inhabitants of those nations of which I 
 have been here speaking : as those who have had the ad- 
 vantages of a more liberal education, rise above ope an- 
 other by several different degrees of perfection. 
 
 7. For to return to our statue in the block of marble, 
 we see it sometimes only begun to be chipped, sometimes 
 rougn hewn, and but just sketched into an human figure ;, 
 sometimes we see the man appearing distinctly in all his 
 limbs and features, sometimes we find the figure wrought 
 up to a great elegancy-; but seldom xnee.t with, any 
 
1 16 The Your.g Gentleman and Ladifs MONITOR^ 
 
 the hand of Phidias or Praxiteles could not give several 
 nice touches and finishings,. 
 
 The Disadvantages of a bad Education-. 
 
 SIR, 
 
 1. T WAS condemned by some disastrous influence tc 
 JL be an only son, born to the apparent prospect of a 
 large fortune, and allotted to my parents at that time ot 
 life when satiety of common diversions allows the mind 
 to indulge parental affection with greater intensenesi 
 My birth was celebrated by the tenants with feasts, an> 
 dances, and bag-pipes ; congratulations were sent from 
 every family within ten miles round ; and my parents 
 discovered in my first cries such tokens of future virtue 
 and understanding, that they declared themselves deter- 
 mined to devote the remaining part of life to my happi- 
 ness and the increase of their estate. 
 
 2. The abilities of my father ami mother were not per- 
 ceptibly unequal, and education had given neither much 
 advantage over the other. They had both kept good 
 company, rattled in chariots, glittered in, play-houses, and 
 danced at court, and were both expert in the games that 
 were in their times called in as auxiliaries against the i 
 trusion of thought. 
 
 3. When there is such a parity between two person 
 associated for life, the dejection which the husband, if he" 
 be not completely stupid, must always suffer for want of 
 superiority, sinks him to sub missive ness. My mamm& 
 therefore governed the family without control ; and ex- 
 cept that my father still retained some authority in the 
 stables, and now and then after a supernumerary bottle, 
 broke a looking glass or china dish to prove his sovereign- 
 ty, the whole course of the year was regulated by her di- 
 rection, the servants received from her all their orders 
 and the tenants were continued or dismissed at her dis- 
 cretion. 
 
 4. She therefore thought herself entitled to the super- 
 intendance of her son's education ; and when my father, 
 at the instigation of the parson, faintly proposed that I 
 
 LlU 
 
 t 
 
 .-,! 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 117 
 
 ) should be sent to school, very positively told him, that 
 she would' not suffer so fine a child to be ruined ; that 
 she never knew any boys at a grammar-school that could 
 come into a room without blushing, or sit at the table 
 'v/ithout some aukward uneasiness ; that they were always 
 putting themselves into danger by boisterous plays, or 
 vitiating their behavior with mean company ; and that 
 for her part she would rather follow me to the grave 
 than see me tear my clothes, and hang down my head, 
 and sneak about with dirty shoes, and blotted fingers, my 
 hair unpov/dered, and my hat uncocked. 
 
 5. My father, who had no other end in his proposal than 
 to appear wise and manly, soon acquiesced, since I was 
 not to live by my learning ; for indeed he had known 
 very few students that had not some stiffness in their man- 
 ner. They therefore agreed that a domestic tutor should 
 be procured, and hired an honest gentleman of mean con- 
 versation and narrow sentiments, but who having passed 
 the common forms of literary eclucati^pi, they implicitly 
 concluded qualified to teach all that was to be learned 
 from a scholar. He thought himself sufficiently exalted 
 by being placed at the same table with his pupil, and 
 had no other view than to perpetuate his felicity by the 
 utmost flexibility of submission to all my mother's opin- 
 ions and caprices. He frequently took away my book, 
 least I should mope with too much application, charged 
 roe never to write without turning up my ruffles, and 
 generally brushed my coat before be dismissed me into 
 the parlor. 
 
 6. lie had no occasion to complain of too burthen some 
 an employment ; for my mother very judiciously consider- 
 ed that I was not likely to grow politer in his company, 
 and suffered me not to pass any more time in his apartr 
 ment than my lesson required. When I was summoned 
 to my task, she enjoined me not to get any of my tutor's 
 ways who was seldom mentioned before me but for prac- 
 tices to be avoided. I was every moment admonished 
 not to lean on my chair, cross my legs, or swjng my 
 hands like my tutor ; and once my mother very seriously 
 deliberated upon his total dismission, because I began, 
 she said, to learn his manner of sticking on my hat, and 
 had his bund in my shoulders, and his tetter in my gait* 
 
118 The Yoim* Qcntlemari and Ladifs MONITOR, 
 
 7. Such, however, was her care, that I escaped all these 
 depravities ; and when I was only twelve years old, had 
 rid myself of every appearance of childish diffidence. 
 I was celebrated round the country for the petulance of 
 hiy remarks, and the quickness af my replies ; and many 
 a scholar five years older than myself have I dashed into 
 confusion by the steadiness of my countenance, silenced 
 by my readiness of repartee, and tortured with envy by 
 the address with which I picked up a fan, presented a 
 snuff-box, or received an empty tea- cup. 
 
 8. At fourteen I was completely skilled in all the niceties 
 of dress, and I-could not only enumerate all the variety 
 of silks, and distinguish the product cf a French loom, 
 but dart my eye through a numerous company, and ob- 
 serve every deviation from the reigning mode. I was 
 universally skilful in all the changes of expensive finery ; 
 but as every one they say, has something to which he is 
 particularly born, was eminently known in Brussels lace. 
 
 9. The next yajU* saw me advanced to the trust and power 
 of adjusting the ceremonial of an assembly. All received 
 their partners from my hand, and to me every stranger 
 applied for introduction. My heart now disdained the 
 instructions of a tutor, who was rewarded with a small 
 annuity for life, and left me qualified, in my own opinion, 
 to govern myself. 
 
 10. In a short time I carne to London, and as my fa- 
 ther was well known among the higher classes of life, soon 
 obtained admission to the most splendid assemblies, and 
 most crowded card-tables. Here I found myself univer- 
 sally caressed and applauded, the ladies praised the fancy 
 of my clothes, the beauty of my form, and the softness 
 of my voice ; endeavored in every place to force them- 
 selves to my notice ; and invited, by a thousand oblique 
 solicitations, my attendance to the play-house, and my 
 salutations in the Park. I was now happy to the utmost 
 extent of. my conceptions : I passed every morning in 
 dress, every afternoon in visits, and every night in some 
 select assemblies, where neither care nor knowledge were 
 suffered to molest us. 
 
 11. After a few years, however; these delights became 
 familiar, and I had leisure to look round me with more 
 attention. I then found that my flatterers had very little 
 
. . and English Teacher's ASSISTANT* 119 
 
 i power to relieve the languor of satiety, or recreate Avea- 
 I riness, by varied amusement ; and therefore endeavored 
 to enlarge the sphere of my pleasures, and to try what 
 ! satisfaction might be found .in the society of men. I will 
 mot deny the mortification with which I perceived that 
 every man whose name I had heard mentioned with res- 
 pect, received me with a kind of tenderness nearly bor- 
 dering on compassion ; and that those whose reputation 
 was not well established, thought it necessary to justify 
 their understandings, by treating me with contempt. One 
 of these witlings elevated his crest, by asking me in a full 
 coffee-house the price of patches ; and another whisper^ 
 ed, that he wondered Miss Frisk did not keep me that 
 afternoon to watch her squirrel. 
 
 12. When I found myself thus hunted from all mascu- 
 jine conversation by those who were themselves barely ad- 
 mitted, I returned to tht ladies, and resolved to dedicate] 
 my life to their service and their pleasure. But 1 find 
 that 1 have now lost my charms. Of those with whom I 
 entered the gay world, some are marriedflorne have retire 
 ed, and some have so much changed their opion, that they 
 scarcely pay any regard to my civilities, if there is any 
 other man in the, place. The new flight of beauties, 
 to whom I have made my addresses, suffer me to pay 
 the treat, and then titter with boys : So that I now find my^ 
 self welcome only to a few grave ladies, who, unacquaint- 
 ed with all that si'ives either use or dignity to life, are 
 content to pass their hours between their bed and their 
 cards, without esteem from the old, or reverence from 
 the young. 
 
 13. I cannot but think, Mr. Rambler, that I have rea- 
 son to complain ; for surely the females ought to pay some 
 regard to the age of him whose youth was passed in en- 
 deavors to please them. They that encourage folly in 
 the boy, have no right to punish it in the man.. Yet I 
 find, that though they lavish their first fondness upon 
 pertness and gaiety, they soon transfer their regard to 
 other qualities, and ungratefully abandon their adorers to 
 dream out their last years in stupidity and contempt. 
 
 I am> &c. Florentuius. 
 
 RAMBLER*, 
 
!. T 
 
 J. & proper ingredient in the education of a 
 of qusJrty or {brtune. Since they bare the sune improv- 
 able minds as the nnle pail of the species, why sbooid 
 they not be cultivated bjr the same method : why * 
 reason be left to itself in ooeof the &exes and be discipHo- 
 ed with so much care to the oilier ? 
 
 2. There are some reasons vbj Irami^g seems 
 adapted to the icoaaie world than to the mak. 
 5rst piacc, because thej haTe more sp&re time cpoa their 
 haad& and lead a more sedeni^ 
 
 naeiitsareof a domestic aatcre^ 5ii>d not like those of the 
 cii.tr sex, vhich nt cficn icc*^:icr.! iih itufv ^r ? j 
 c c r.tttr. T^Iiii en. 
 
 The excellent ladr, the laCT Lizard, in the sp^ce of 
 
 OHkhed^L gaQ&rj with chairs aizd couches 
 
 of her own and her daughters* working ; and at the &&ZBC 
 
 time heard aB Dr. TOIotsQifs strmoas twice over. It is 
 
 ahrars the custom for 
 
 irhers i' liat the kzrBmg of the 
 
 pleased the c&er day to nd them sll 
 
 bcsy ID p"ii-:.>^ r zr^I ir^is ^f ihe sc^sco, T-^II. ihe 
 Spmrkkr in t* : : them. : 
 
 ibeir spe : 
 and making soddea mBfiUoa Erpv :..- 5 ,r, as cji apr.- 
 
 co^ or iVi-z: the CcocrLiiIusJi Ejii-z^ :: i-it fg-orte of a 
 cceese c^ke. 
 
 -=TJIES S13L 
 
 selves to cs; 
 
 bave that m : 
 
 leHenta ' 
 IB, or pkirty ef v 
 it to some us 
 
 -whr sboiL^i i: r-ct bt set to go r.rbt : c?^!i ihej d^sc 
 aboist the sp&is in tht r ert theH 
 
 the f. : 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 121 
 
 talk of the different aspects and conjunctions of the plan- 
 ets, they need not be at the pains to comment upon og- 
 lings and clandestine marriages. In short, were they 
 furnished with matters of fact, out of arts and sciences, 
 it would now and then be of great ease to their invention. 
 
 6. There is another reason why those, especially who 
 are women of quality, should apply themselves to letters, 
 namely, because their husbands are generally strangers to 
 them. It is great pity there should be no knowledge in 
 a family. For my own part, I am concerned when I 
 go into a great house, where perhaps there is not a single 
 person that can spell, unless it be by chance the butler, or 
 one of the footmen. What a figure is the young heir 
 likely to make, who is a dunce both by father and mo- 
 ther's side ? 
 
 7. If we look into the histories of famous women, we 
 find many eminent philosophers of this sex. Nay, we 
 find that several females have distinguished themselves in 
 Those sects of philosophy which seem almost repugnant to 
 their natures. There have been famoifs female Pythago- 
 reans, notwithstanding most of that philosophy consisted 
 in keeping a secret, and that the disciple was to hold her 
 tongue five years together. 
 
 8. Learning and knowledge are perfections in us, not 
 as we are men, but as we are reasonable creatures, in 
 which order of beings the female world is upon the same 
 level with the male. We ougH to consider in this parti- 
 cular, not what is the sex, but what is the species to which 
 they belong. At least, I believe every one will allow 
 me, that a female philosopher is not so absurd a character 
 and so opposite to the sex, as a female gamester ; and 
 that it is more irrational for a woman to pass away half a 
 dozen hours at cards or dice, than in getting up stores of 
 useful learning. 
 
 9. This therefore is another reason why I would re- 
 commend the studies of knowledge to the female world, 
 that they may not be at a loss how to employ those hours 
 that lie upon their hands. 
 
 10. I might also add this motive to my fair readers, 
 that several of their sex, who have improved their minds 
 by books and literature, have raised themselves to the 
 highest posts of honor and fortune* A neighboring 
 
123 The Young Gcntkman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 nation may at this time furnish us with a very remarkable 
 instance of this kind ; but I shall conclude this head with 
 the history of Athenais, which is a very signal example 
 to my present purpose. 
 
 11. The emperor Theodomis being about the age of 
 one and twenty, and designing to take a wife, desired 
 his sister Puicheria and his friend Paulinus to search his 
 whole empire fora woman of the most exquisite beauty, 
 and highest accomplishments. In the midst of this search, 
 Athenais, a Grecian virgin, accidentally offered herself. 
 Her father, who was an eminent philosopher of Athens, 
 and had bred her up in all the learning of that place, at 
 his death left her but a very small portion, in which also 
 she suffered great hardships from the injustice of her two 
 brothers. 
 
 12. This forced her upon a journey to Constantinople, 
 where she had a relation who represented her case to 
 Puicheria, in order to obtain some redress from the empe- 
 ror. By this means that religious princess became ac- 
 quainted with Athenais, whom she found the most beau- 
 tiful woman of her age, and educated under a long course 
 of philosophy in the strictest virtue and the most unspot- 
 ted innocence. 
 
 13. Puicheria was charmed witliher conversation, and 
 immediately made her report to the emperor her brother 
 Theoclosius. The character she gave made such an im- 
 pression on him, that he desired his sister to bring her 
 away immediately to the lodgings of his friend Paulinus, 
 where he found her beauty and her conversation beyond 
 the highest idea he had framed of them. 
 
 14- His friend Paulinus converted her to Christianity, 
 and gave her the name of Eudosia : after which the env 
 peror publicly espoused her, and enjoyed all the happiness 
 in his marriage which he promised himself from such a 
 virtuous and learned bride. She not only forgave the 
 Injuries which her two brothers had done her, but raised 
 them to great honors ; and by several works of learning, 
 as well as by an exemplary life, made herself so dear to 
 the whole empire, that she had many statues erected to 
 1 r r memory, and is celebrated by the fathers of the church 
 as an ornament of her sex. 
 
end English Teachers ASSISTANT. 123 
 
 On the Absurdity of Qmem. 
 
 SPECTATOR, NO. 
 
 yesterday to dine \vith an old acquaint- 
 ance, I had the misfortune, to find the whole 
 family very much dejected. Upon asking him the occa- 
 sion of it, he told me that his wife had dreamt a very 
 strange dream the night before, which they were afraid 
 portended some misfortune to themselves or to their chil- 
 dren. At her coming into the room, I observed a settled 
 melancholy in her countenance, which I should have 
 been troubled for, had I not heard from whence it pro- 
 ceeded. 
 
 2. We were no sooner sat down, but, after having 
 looked upon me a little while, < My dear,' says she, turn- 
 ing to her husband, ' you may now see the stranger that 
 was in the candle last night.' Soon after this, as they 
 began to talk of family affairs, a little boy at the lower 
 end of the table told her, that he was to go into joining- 
 hand on Thursday : ' Thursday !' says she, * no child, 
 n it please God, you shall not begin upon Childermas 
 day : tell your writing master that Friday will be soon 
 enough.' 
 
 3. I was reflecting with myself on the oddness of her 
 fancy, and wondering that any body would establish it as 
 a rule to lose a day in every week. In the midst of these 
 my musings, she desired me to reach her a little salt upon 
 the point of ray knife, which I did in such a trepidation 
 and hurry of obedience, that I let it drop by the way ; at 
 which she immediately startled, and said it fell towards 
 her. Upon this I looked very blank ; and, observing 
 the concern of the whole table, began to consider myself, 
 with some confusion, as a person that had brought a dis- 
 aster upon the family. 
 
 4. The lady, however, recovering herself, after a little 
 space, said to her husband with a sigh, c My dear, mis- 
 fortunes never come single.' My friend, I found acted but 
 an under part to his table, and being a man of more good 
 nature than understanding, thinks himself obliged to fall in 
 vith ail the passions and humors of his yoke-fellow : 4 Do 
 you remember, child,' says she, < that the pigeon-houss 
 fell the very afternoon that our careless wench spilt the 
 
124- The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 salt upon the table ?' ' Yes,' says he, < my dear, and 
 the next post brought us an account of the battle of Al- 
 manza*' 
 
 5. The reader may guess at the figure I made, after 
 having done all this mischief. I dispatched my dinner, as 
 soon as I could, with my usual taciturnity : when, to my 
 utter confusion, the lady seeing me quitting my knife and 
 fork, and laying across one another upon my plate, desired 
 me that I would humor her so far as to take them out of 
 that figure, and place them side by side. 
 
 6. What the absurdity was which I had committed I 
 did not know, but I suppose there was some traditionary 
 superstition in it ; and therefore in obedience to the lady 
 of the house, I disposed of my knife and fork in two paral- 
 lel lines, which is a figure I shall always lay them in for 
 the future, though- 1 do not know any reason for it. 
 
 7. It is not difficult to a man to see that a person has 
 conceived an aversion to him. For my own part, I quick- 
 ly found by the lady's looks, that she regarded me as a 
 very odd kind of fellow, with an unfortunate aspect : for 
 which reason I took my leave immediately after dinner^ 
 and withdrew to my own lodgings. 
 
 8. Upon my return home, I fell into a profound con- 
 templation on the evils that attend these superstitious fol- 
 lies of mankind ; how they subject us to imaginary afflic- 
 tions and additional sorrows, that do not properly come 
 within our lot. As if the natural calamities of life were 
 not sufficient for it, we turn the most indifferent circum- 
 stances into misfortunes, and suffer as much from trifling; 
 accidents, as from real evils. 
 
 9. I have known the shooting of a star spoil a night's 
 rest ; and have seen a man in love grow pale and lose his 
 appetite, upon the plucking of a merry ^thought. A screech 
 owl at midnight has alarmed a family more than a band of 
 robbers ; nay, the voice of a cricket hath struck more 
 terror than the roaring of a lion. 
 
 10. There is nothing so inconsiderable, which may not 
 appear dreadful to an imagination that is filled with omens 
 and prognostics. A rusty nail, or crooked pin, shoot up 
 into prodigies. 
 
 1 1. I remember I w,as once in a mixt assembly, that 
 \vas full of noise and mirth, when on a sudden an old 
 
' and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. i i' 
 
 woman unluckily observed there were thirteen of us in 
 company. This remark struck a panic terror into several 
 who were present, insomuch that one or two of the ladies 
 were going to leave the room ; but a friend of mine tak- 
 ing notice that one of our female companions was big with 
 " child, affirmed there were fourteen in the room, and that 
 instead of portending one of the company should die, it 
 plainly foretold one of them should be born. Hud not 
 sny friend found out this expedient to break the omen, I 
 question not but half the women in the company would 
 have fallen sick that very night. 
 
 12. An okl maid, that is troubled with the vapors, pro- 
 duces infinite disturbances of this kind among her friends 
 and neighbors. I know a maiden aunt, of a great family, 
 who is one of these antiquated Sibyls, that ibrbodes and 
 prophesies from one end of the year to the other. She 
 is always seeing apparitions, and hearing death-watches ; 
 and was the other day almost frighted out of her wits by 
 the:great house-dog, that howled in the stable at a time- 
 when she lay ill of the tooth-ache. 
 
 13. Such an extravagant cast of mind engages multi- 
 tudes of people not only in impertinent terrors, but in su- 
 pernumerary duties of Hie ; and arises from that fear and 
 ignorance which are natural to the soul of man. 
 
 14. The horror with which we entertain the tliou^-hts 
 of death (or indeed of any future evil) and the uncertain- 
 ty of its approach, fill a melancholy mind with innume- 
 rable apprehensions and suspicions, and consequently dis- 
 pose it to the observation of such groundless prodigies and 
 predictions. For as it is the chief concern of wise men, 
 to retrench the evils of life by the reasonings of philoso- 
 phy ; it is the employment of fools to multiply them by 
 the sentiments of superstition. 
 
 15. For my own part, I should be very much troubled 
 were 1 endowed with this divining quality, though it 
 should inform me truly of every thing that can befal me, 
 I would not anticipate the relish of any happiness, nor feel 
 the weight of any misery, before it actually arrives. 
 
 16. I know but one way of fortifying my soul against 
 these gloomy presages and terrors of mind ; and that is, 
 by securing to myself the friendship and protection of that 
 Being, who disposes of events and governs futurity. He 
 
126 The Young. Gentleman and Ladfa MONITOR, 
 
 sees at one view, the whole thread of my existence, not 
 only that part of it which I have already passed through, 
 but that which runs forward into all the depths of eternity. 
 17. When I lay me down to sleep, I recommend my- 
 self to his care ; when I awake, I give myself up to his 
 direction. Amidst all the evils that threaten me, I will 
 look up to him for help, and question not but he will ei- 
 ther avert them, or turn them to my advantage. Though 
 I know neither the time nor the manner of the death I 
 am to die, I am not at all solicitous about it ; because I 
 am sure that he knows them both, and that he will not 
 fail to comfort and support me under them. , 
 
 A good Conscience the best Security against Calumny and 
 Reproach. 
 
 GUARDIAN, NO. 135. 
 
 1. /% GOOD conscience is to the soul what health is 
 J~\ to the body ; it preserves a constant ease and se- 
 renity within us, and more than countervails all the calam- 
 ities and afflictions which can possibly befal us. I know- 
 nothing so hard for a generous mind to get over as calum- 
 ny and reproach, and cannot find any method of quieting 
 the soul under them, besides this single one, of our being 
 conscious to ourselves that we do not deserve them. 
 
 2. I have been always mightily pleased with that pas- 
 sage in Don Quixote, where the fantastical knight is re- 
 presented as loading a gentleman of good sense with 
 praises and eulogiums. Upon which the gentleman makes 
 this reflection to himself : How grateful is praise to hu- 
 man nature ! 
 
 3. I cnnnot forbear being secretly pleased with the 
 commendations I receive, though I am sensible, it is a 
 jnadman who bestows them on me. In the same man- 
 ner, though we are often sure that the censures which are 
 passed upon us, are uttered by those who know nothing 
 of us, and have neither means nor abilities to form a right 
 judgment of us, we cannot forbear being grieved at what 
 they say. 
 
 4. In order to heal this infirmity, which is so natural 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT, i27 
 
 to the best and wisest of men, I have taken a particular 
 pleasure in observing the conduct of the old philosophers, 
 how they bore themselves up against the malice and de- 
 traction of their enemies. - 
 
 5. The way to silence calumny, says Bias, is to be al- 
 ways exercised in such things as are praise-worthy. So- 
 crates, after having received sentence, told his friends that 
 he had always accustomed himself to regard truth and not 
 censure, and that he was not .troubled at his condemna- 
 tion, because he knew himself free from guilt. , It was in 
 the same spirit that he heard the accusations of his two 
 great adversaries, who had uttered against hi ov the, most 
 virulent reproaches. 
 
 6. Amjtus and Mditus, says he, may procure sentence 
 against me, but they cannot hurt me. This divine philo- 
 sopher was so well fortified in his own innocence, that 
 he neglected all the impotence of evil tongues which were 
 engaged in his destruction. This was properly the sup- 
 port of a good conscience, that contradicted the reports 
 which had been raised against him, and cleared him to 
 himself. 
 
 7. Others of the philosophers rather chose to retort the 
 injury of a smart reply, than thus to disarm it with res- 
 pect to themselves. They show that it stung them, tho' 
 at the same time they had the address to make their ag- 
 gressors suffer with them. Of this kind is Aristotle's re- 
 ply to one w r ho pursued him with long and bitter invec- 
 tives. You, says he, who are used to suffer reproaches, 
 utter them with delight ; I who have not been used to ut- 
 ter them, take no pleasure in hearing them. 
 
 8* Diogenes was still more severe on one who spoke 
 ill of him : no body will believe you when you speak ill 
 of me, any more than they would believe me should I 
 speak well of you. 
 
 In these and many other instances I could produce, the 
 bitterness of the answer sufficiently testifies the uneasiness 
 of mind the person was under who made it. 
 
 9. I would rather advise my reader, if he has not in this 
 ease the secret consolation, that he deserves no such re- 
 proaches as are cast upon him, to follow the advice of 
 Epicletus : If any one speaks ill of tkee, consider whether 
 he has truth on his side : and if so, reform thyself, that 
 Ins censures may not affect thee. 
 
128 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 10. When Anaximancler was told that the very boys 
 laughed at his singing : Ay, says he, then I must learn to 
 sing better. But of all the sayings of philosophers which 
 I have gathered together for my own use on this occasion, 
 there are none which carry in them more candor and 
 good sense than the two following ones of Plato. 
 
 1 1. Being told that he had many enemies who spoke 
 ill of him ; it is no matter, said he, I will live so that none 
 shall believe them. Hearing at another time, that an in- 
 timate friend of his had spoken detractingly of him : I 
 am sure he would not do it, says he, if he had not some 
 reason for it. 
 
 12. This is the surest as well as the noblest way of 
 drawing the sting out of a reproach, and a true method 
 of preparing a man for that great and only relief against 
 the pains of calumny, ' a good conscience.' 
 
 13. I designed, in this essay, to show, that there is no 
 happiness wanting to him who is possessed of this excel- 
 lent frams of mind, and that no person can be miserable 
 \vho is in the enjoyment of it ; but I find this subject so 
 v/ell treated in one of Dr. South's sermons, that I shall fill 
 this Saturday's paper with a passage of it, which cannot 
 but make the man's heart burn within him, who reads it 
 with due attention. 
 
 14. That admirable author, having shown the virtue of 
 a good conscience, in supporting a man under the greatest 
 trials and difficulties of life, concludes with representing 
 its force and efficacy in the hour of death. 
 
 15. The third and last instance, in which above all 
 ethers this confidence towards God does most eminently 
 show and exert itself, is at the time of death : which 
 surely gives the grand opportunity of trying both the 
 strength and worth of every principle. 
 
 16- When a man shall be just about to quit the stage 
 of this world, to put oiT his mortality, and to deliver up 
 his last accounts to God ; at which sad time his memory 
 shall serve him for little else, but to terrify him with a 
 frightful review of his past life, and his former extravagan- 
 cies stripped of all their pleasure, but retaining their guilt; 
 >vhat is it then that can promise him a fair passage into 
 the other world, or a comfortable appearaace before his 
 dreadful judge when he is there? 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 129 
 
 17. 'Not all the friends and interests, all the riches 
 and honors under heaven can speak so much as a word 
 for him, or one word of comfort to him in that condition ; 
 they may possibly reproach, but they cannot relieve 
 him. 
 
 18. No, at this disconsolate time, when the busy 
 tempter shall be more than usually apt to vex and trouble 
 him, and the pains of a dying body to hinder and dis- 
 compose him, and the settlement of worldly affairs to 
 disturb and confound him ; and in a word, all things 
 conspire to make his sick-bed grievous and uneasy : no- 
 thing can then stand up against all these ruins, and speak 
 life in the midst of death, but a clear conscience. 
 
 19. And the testimony of that shall make the comforts 
 of heaven descend upon his weary head, like a refreshing 
 dew, or shower upon a parched ground. It shall give 
 him some lively earnests, and secret anticipations of his 
 approaching joy. It shall bid his soul go out of the body 
 undauntedly, and lift up his head with confidence before 
 saints and angels. Surely the comfort, which it conveys 
 at this season, is something bigger than the capacities of 
 mortality, mighty and unspeakable, and not to be under- 
 stood till it comes to be felt. 
 
 20. And now who would not quit all the pleasures, 
 and trash, and trifles, which are apt to captivate the heart 
 of man, and pursue the great rigors of piety, and au- 
 sterities of a good life, to purchase to himself such a 
 conscience, as at the hour of death, when all the friend- 
 ship in the world shall bid him adieu, and the whole 
 creation turns its back upon him, shall dismiss the soul 
 and close his eyes with that blessed sentence, ' Well done 
 thou good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of 
 thy Lord.' 
 
 On Contentment. 
 
 i 
 
 SPECTATOR, NO. 574. 
 
 "* T ^^ once Engaged in discourse with a Rosicrucian 
 
 JL about the great secret. As this kind of men (I 
 
 mean those of them who are not professed cheats) are 
 
130 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 over-run with enthusiasm and philosophy, it was very 
 amusing to hear this religious adept discanting on his pre- 
 tended discovery. He talked of the secret as of a spirit 
 which lived within an emerald, and converted every 
 thing that was near it to the highest perfection it is capa- 
 ble of. 
 
 2. It gives a lustre, says he, to the sun, and water to 
 the diamond. It irradiates every metal, and enriches 
 lead with all the properties of gold. It heightens smoke 
 into flame, flame into light, and light into glory. He 
 further added, that a single ray of it dissipates pain, and 
 care, and melancholy, from the person on whom it falls. 
 In short, says he, its presence naturally changes every 
 place into a kind of heaven*. 
 
 3. After he had gone on for some time in this unintel- 
 ligible cant, I found that he jumbled natural and moral 
 ideas together in the same discourse, and that his great 
 secret was nothing else but content. 
 
 4. This virtue does indeed produce, in some measure, 
 all those effects which the alchymist usually ascribes to 
 what he calls the philosopher's stone ; and if it does not 
 bring riches, it does the same thing, by banishing the 
 desire of them. If it cannot remove the disquietudes 
 arising out of a man's mind, body or fortune, it makes 
 him easy under them. It has indeed a kindly influence 
 on the sou! of man, in respect of every being to whom he 
 stands related. It extinguishes all murmur, repining and 
 ingratitude towards that Being who has allotted him 
 his part to act in this world. It destroys all inordinate 
 ambition, and every tendency to corruption, with regard 
 to the community wherein he is placed. It gives sweet- 
 ness to his conversation, and a perpetual serenity to all 
 his thoughts. 
 
 5. Among the many methods which might be made 
 use of for the acquiring of this virtue, I shall only men- 
 tion the t\vo following. First of all, a man should always 
 consider how much he has more than he wants : and 
 secondly, how much more unhappy he might be than he 
 really is. 
 
 6. First of all, a man should always consider how much 
 more he has than he wants. I am wonderfully pleased 
 with the reply which Aristippus made to one who condo- 
 
and English Teacher's As si s T AN T. 121 
 
 led him upon the loss of a farm : c Why, said he, I have 
 three farms still, and you have but one ; so that I ought 
 rather to be afflicted for you than you for me.' On the 
 contrary, foolish men are more apt to consider what they 
 have lost than what they possess ; and to fix their eyes 
 upon those who are richer than themselves, rather than 
 on those who are under greater difficulties. 
 
 7. All the real pleasures and conveniences of life lie in 
 a narrow compass ; but it is the humor of mankind, to be 
 always looking forward, and straining after one who has 
 got the start of them in wealth and honor. For, this rea- 
 son, as there are none can be properly called rich who 
 have not more than they want ; there are few rich men 
 in any of the politer nations but among the middle sort of 
 people, who keep their wishes within their fortunes, and 
 have more wealth than they know how to enjoy. 
 
 8. Persons of a higher rank live in a kind of splendid 
 poverty ; and are perpetually wanting, because, instead 
 of acquiescing in the solid pleasures of life, they endea- 
 vor to outvy one another in shadows and appearances. 
 Men of sense have at all times beheld with a great deal 
 of mirth this silly game that is playing over their heads, 
 and by contracting their desires enjoy all that secret sat- 
 isfaction which others are always in quest of. 
 
 9. The truth is, this ridiculous chase after imaginary 
 pleasures cannot be sufficiently exposed, as it is the great 
 source of those evils which generally undo a nation. Let 
 a man's estate be what it will, he is a poor man if he does 
 not live within it, and naturally sets himself to sale to any 
 one that can give him his price. 
 
 10. When Pitticus, after the death of his brother, who 
 had left him a good estate, was offered a greater sum f 
 money by the king of Lydia, he thanked him for his 
 kindness, but told him he had already more by half than 
 he knew what to do with. In short, content is equivalent 
 to wealth, and luxury to poverty ; or to give the thought 
 a more agreeable turn, ' Content is natural wealth, 1 
 says Socrates ; to which I shall add, ' Luxury is artifi- 
 
 t cial poverty.' 
 
 I; 11. I shall therefore recommend to the consideration 
 of those who are always aiming after superfluous and 
 imaginary enjoyments, 'and will not be at the trouble cf 
 
132 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 contracting their desires, an excellent saying of Bion the 
 philosopher ; namely, ' That no man has so much care 
 as he who endeavors after the most happiness/ 
 
 12. In the second place, every one ought to reflect 
 how much more unhappy he might be than he really is. 
 The former consideration took in all those who are suf- 
 ficiently provided with the means to make themselves 
 easy ; this regards such as actually lie under some press- 
 ure or misfortune. 
 
 13. These may receive a great alleviation from such 
 a comparison as the unhappy person may make between 
 himself and others, or between the misfortunes which he 
 suffers, and greater misfortunes which might have be* 
 fallen him. 
 
 14. I like the story of the honest Dutchman, who, up- 
 on breaking his leg by a fall from the main-mast, told 
 the standers-by, it was a great mercy it was not his neck. 
 To which, since I am got into quotations, give me 
 leave to add the saying of an old philosopher, who, after 
 having invited some of his friends to dine with him, was 
 ruffled by his wife that came into the room in a passion, 
 and threw down the table that stood befoie them ; Every 
 one, says he, has his calamity, and he is a happy man 
 that has no greater than this.' 
 
 15. We find an instance to the same purpose in the 
 life of Doctor Hammond, written by Bishop Fell. As 
 this good man was troubled with a complication of dis- 
 tempers, when he had the gout upon him, he used to 
 thank God that it was not the stone ; and when he had 
 the stone, that he had not both these distempers on him 
 at the same time. 
 
 16. I cannot conclude this essay without observing, 
 that there was never any system besides that of Chris- 
 tianity, which could effectually produce in the mind of 
 man the virtue I have been hitherto speaking of. In 
 order to make us content with our present condition, 
 many of the present philosophers tell us, that our dis- 
 content only hurts ourselves, without being able to make 
 an alteration in our circumstances ; others, that whatever 
 evil befals us, is derived to us by a fatal necessity, to 
 which the gods themselves are subject ; while others 
 very gravely tell the man who is miserable, that it is 
 
und English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 133 
 
 necessary he should be so to keep up the harmony of the* 
 universe, and that the scheme of Providence would be 
 troubled and perverted were he otherwise. 
 
 17. These and the like considerations, rather silence 
 than satisfy a man. They may show him that his discon- 
 tent is unreasonable, but are by no means sufficient to re- 
 lieve it. They rather give despair than consolation. In 
 a,word, a man might reply to one of these comforters, as 
 Augustus did to his friend who advised him not to grieve 
 for the death of a person whom he loved, because his grief 
 could not fetch him ag/iin : c It is for that very reason, 
 said the emperor, that I grieve.' 
 
 18. On the contrary, religion bears a more tender re- 
 gard to human nature. It prescribes to a very miserable 
 man the means of bettering his condition ; nay, it shows 
 him that the bearing of his dHictions as lie ought to do* 
 will naturally end in the removal of them : it makes him 
 easy here- because it can make him happy hereafter. 
 
 19. Upon the whole, a contented mind is the gn ; 
 bjessing a man can enjoy in this world ; and if in the 
 er<t life his happiness arises from the subduing h 
 
 Jt will arise in the next from the gratification of them* 
 
 Human Maries chieflif Imaginary* 
 
 1. TT is a celebrated thought of Soc rates^ thrlt if all the" 
 JL misfortunes of mankind were cast into a public 
 stock, in order to be equally distributed among the whole" 
 species, those who now thiiik themselves the most unhap- 
 py, would prefer the share they are already possessed of, 
 before that which would fall to them by such a division. 
 Horace has carried this thought a great deal further ; who 
 that the hardships or misfortunes we lie under, are 
 moi2 easy to us than those of any other person would be, 
 in case we should change conditions with him. 
 
 -. As 1 was ruminating on these two remarks, and 
 seated in n\y elbow chair, I insensibly fell asleep ; when? 
 on a sudden, raethought i .here was a proclamation made 
 by Juftiter) that every mortal should ! I his griefs 
 
131- The Young Gentleman amt J&tdy's MONITOR, 
 
 and calamities, and throw them together in a heap* 
 There was a large plain appointed for this purpose. I 
 took my stand in the centre of it, and saw 5 with a great 
 deal of pleasure, the whole human species marching one 
 after another, and throwing down their several loads, 
 which immediately grew up into a prodigious mountain ? 
 that seemed to rise above the clouds. 
 
 3. There was a certain lady, of a thin airy shape >vho 
 was very active in this solemnity. She carried a magni- 
 fying-glass in one of her hands, and was clothtd in a 
 loose flowing robe, embroidered with several figures of 
 fiends and spectres, that discovered themselves in a thou- 
 sand chimerical shapes, as her garment hovered in the 
 wind. There was something wild and distracted in her 
 looks. 
 
 4. Her name v/as Fancy, She led up every mortal to 
 the appointed pjace, after having very officiously assisted 
 him in making up his pack, and laying it upon his shoul- 
 ders. My heart melted within me to see my fellow crea- 
 tures groaning under their respective burthens, and *o con- 
 sider that prodigious bulk of human calamities which lay 
 before me. 
 
 5. There were, however, several persons who gave me 
 great diversion upon this occasion. I observed one bring- 
 ing in a fardel very carefully concealed under an old em- 
 broidered cloak, which, upon his throwing it into the heap, 
 I discovered to be poverty. Another, after a grer.J: deal 
 of puffing, threw clown his luggage ; which, upon exam- 
 ining, I found to be Vis wife. 
 
 6. There were multitudes of lovers saddled with very 
 Avhimsical burthens, composed of darts and flames; but 
 what was very odd, though they sighed as if their hearts 
 would break, under these bundles of calamities, they 
 could not persuade themselves to cast them into the heap, 
 when they came up to it ; but, after a ft w faint < A" rts, 
 shook their heads and marched away, as heavy laden as 
 they came. 
 
 7. I saw multitudes of old women throw down their 
 winkles, and several young ones who stripped themselves 
 ef a tawny skin. There were very great heaps of red 
 noses, large lips, and rusty teeth. The truth of it is, I 
 
 an raised to s?e the greatest part of the mountain 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. , . l|.| 
 
 ttiade up of bodily deformities. Observing one advancing 
 towards the heap with a larger cargo than ordinary upon 
 his back, I found upon his nearer approach, that it. was on- 
 ly a natural hump, which he disposed of with great joy of 
 heart, among this collection of human miseries. 
 
 8. There were likewise distempers of all sorts, though 
 I could not but observe, that there were many more im- 
 aginary than real. One little packet I coulcl not but 
 take notice of, which was a complication of the diseases 
 incident to human nature, and was in the hands of 
 great many fine people : this was called the spleen. But 
 what most of all surprised me, was a remark I made, 
 that there was not a single vice or folly thrown into the 
 whole heap ; at which I was very much astonished, hav- 
 ing' concluded within myself, that every one would take 
 this opportunity of getting rid of his passions, prejudices 
 and frailties. 
 
 9. I took notice in particular of a very profligate fel- 
 low, who, I did not question, came laden with his crimes, 
 but upon searching into his bundle, I found, that instead 
 of throwing his guilt from him, he had only Laid down 
 bis memory. He was followed by another worthless 
 rogue, who flung away his modesty instead of his igno- 
 rance. 
 
 10. When the whole race of mankind had thus cast 
 their burthens, the phantom which had been so busy on 
 this occasion, seeing mean idle spectator of what passed, 
 approached towards me. I grew uneasy at her presence, 
 when, on a sudden, she laid her magnifying-glass full be- 
 fore my eyes. I no sooner snv my face in it but was 
 startled at the shortness of it, which now appeared to me 
 in its utmost aggravation. 
 
 It. The immoderate breadth of my features made me 
 fery much out of humor with my own countenance, up* 
 on which I threw it from me like a mask. It happened 
 very luckily, that one who stood by me had just before 
 thrown down his visage, which, it seems, was too long 
 for him. It was indeed extended to a most shameful 
 length ; I believe the very chin was, modestly speaking, 
 as long as my wfeole face. 
 
 12. We had both of us an opportunity of mending 
 ourselves, and all. the cppt^bitfions being now brought in? 
 
t$$ The Young Gentlr.ian and Lady's MONITOR^,. 
 
 every man was at liberty to exchange his misfortune for 
 those of another person. But as there arose many new 
 incidents in the sequel of my vision, I shall pursue this 
 f:ubject further, as the moral which may be drawn from 
 it. is applicable to persons of all degrees and stations in 
 life. 
 
 13.T Gave my reader a sight of that mountain of mise- 
 JL ries, which was made up of those several calami- 
 ties that afflict the minds of men. I saw with unspeakable 
 pleasure, the whole species thus delivered from its sor- 
 rows ; though, at the same time, as we stood round the 
 heap, and surveyed the several materials of which it was 
 composed, there was scarce a mortal, in this vast multi- 
 tude, who did not discover what he thought pleasures 
 and blessings of life ; and wondered how the owners of 
 them ever came to look upon them as burthens and 
 grievances. 
 
 14. As we were regarding very attentively this con- 
 fusion of miseries, this chaos of calamity, Jupiter issued 
 out a second proclamation, that every one was now at 
 liberty to exchange his affliction, and to return to his 
 habitation with any such other bundle as should be de- 
 livered to him. 
 
 15. Upon this, Fancy began again to bestir herself," 
 end parcelling out the whole heap, with incredible activ- 
 ity, recommended to every one his particular packet*. 
 The hurry and confusion at this time was not to be ex- 
 pressed. Some observations, which I made upon the 
 occasion, I shall communicate to the reader- A vene- 
 rable grey-headed man, who had laid down the cholic, 
 and who I found wanted an heir to his estate, snatched 
 np an undutiful son, that hud been thrown into the heap 
 
 his angry father. 
 
 16. The graceless youth, in less than a quarter of an 
 hour, pulled the old gentleman by the beard, and had 
 like to have knocked his brains out ; so that meeting the 
 true father, who came towards him in a fit of the gripes,, 
 he begged him to take his son again, and give him back 
 his chc-iic ; but they were incapable either of them to re- 
 cede from the choice they had made. 
 
 17. A poor galley-slave, who had thrown down his. 
 clxainsj took up the gout in their stead, "b.ut made such. 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT, 1ST 
 
 wry faces, that one might easily perceive he -was no great 
 gainer by the bargain. It was pleasant enough to see the 
 several exchanges that were made, for sickness against 
 poverty, hunger against want of appetite, and care against 
 pain. 
 
 18. The female world were very busy among them- 
 selves in bartering for features ; one was trucking a lock 
 of grey hairs for a carbuncle, another was making over a 
 short waist for a pair of round shoulders, and a third cheap- 
 ening a bad face for a lost reputation : but on all these 
 occasions, there was not one of them who did not think 
 the new blemish, as soon as she had got it into her posses- 
 sion, much more disagreeable than the old one. 
 
 19. I made the same observation on every other mis- 
 fortune or calamity, which every one in the assembly 
 brought upon himself, in lieu of what he had parted with ; 
 whether it be that all the evils which befal us are in some 
 measure suited and proportioned to our strength, or that 
 every evil becomes more supportable by our being accus- 
 tomed to it, I shall not determine. 
 
 20. I could not, for my heart, forbear pitying the poov 
 hump-backed gentleman mentioned in the former paper, 
 who went off* a very well-shaped person with a stone in his 
 bladder ; nor the fine gentleman who had struck up his 
 bargain with hira, that Ihnped through a whole assembly 
 of ladies who used to admire him, with a pair of shoulders 
 peeping- over his head.. 
 
 21. I must not omit my own particular adventure. 
 My friend with the long visage had no sooner taken upon 
 him my short face, but he made such a grotesque figure 
 in it, that, as I looked upon him, I could not forbear 
 laughing at myself, insomuch that I put my own face 
 out of countenance. The poor gentleman was so sensi- 
 ble of the ridicule, that I found he was ashamed of what 
 he had done ; on the other, side, I found that I myself 
 had no great reason to triumph, for as i went to touch my 
 forehead, I missed the place, and clapped my finger upon 
 my upper lip. 
 
 22. Besides, as my nose was exceeding prominent, I 
 ftave it two or three unlucky knocks as I was playing my 
 hand about my face, and aiming at some other part of it, 
 I saw two other gentlemen by me, who were in the sam*; 
 
 M 2 
 
138 The Young Gentleman and Ladifs MONITOR, 
 
 ridiculous circumstances : these had made a foolish swap 
 between a couple of thick bandy legs, and two long trap- 
 sticks that had no calfs to them. 
 
 23. One of these looked like a man walking upon stilts, 
 and was so lifted up into the air above his ordinary height, 
 that his head turned round with it, while the other made 
 such aukward circles as he attempted to walk, that be 
 scarce knew how to move forward upon his new support- 
 ers : observing him to be a pleasant kind of fellow, I 
 stuck my cane in the ground, and told him I would I.ay 
 him a bottle of wine, that he did not march up tp it on. a 
 line that I drew for him, in a quarter of an hour. 
 
 24. The heap was at last distributed among the two 
 sexes, who made a most piteous sight, as they wandered 
 up and down under the pressure of their several burthens* 
 The whole plain was filled with murmurs and complaints, 
 groans and lamentations. Jupiter at length, taking com- 
 
 ion on the poor mortals, ordered them a second time 
 to lay down their loads, with a design to give every one 
 his own again. 
 
 25- They discharged themselves with, a great deal of 
 pleasure, after which, the phantom, who had led them into 
 such gross delusions, was commanded to disappear. There 
 sent in her stead a goddess of a quite different figure-; 
 her motions were steady and composed, and her aspect 
 serious* but cheerful. She every now and then cast her 
 eyes towards heaven, and fixed them upon Jupiter. 
 
 26. Her name was Patience. She had no sooner placed 
 herself by the mount of sorrow, but what I thought very 
 remarkable the whole heap sunk to such a degree, that it 
 did not appear a third part so big as it was before. Sli^ 
 afterwards returned every man his own proper calamity, 
 and teaching him how to bear it in the most commodious 
 manner, he marched off with it contentedly, being very- 
 well pleased that he had not been left to his own choice, 
 as to the kind of evils which fell to his lot. 
 
 27. Besides the several pieces of morality to be drawn 
 out of this vision, I learned from it, never to repine at my 
 own misfortunes, nor to envy the happiness of another, 
 since it is impossible for any man to form a right judg- 
 ment of his neighbor's sufferings ; for which reason also I 
 have determined never to think too lightly of another's 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. i 3, 
 
 complaints , but to regard the sorrows of my fellow crea- 
 tures with sentiments of humanity and compassion. 
 
 A Life of Virtue preferable to a Life of Pleasure^ exempli* 
 Jied in the Choice of Hercules. 
 
 TATLER, NO. 97. 
 
 1. "TIT THEN Hercules, says the divine Prodicus, was 
 VV in that part of his youth, in which it was nat- 
 ural for him to consider what course of life he ought to 
 pursue, he one day retired into a desert, where the silence 
 ana solitude of the place very much favored his medita- 
 tions. 
 
 2. As he was musing on his present condition, and 
 very much perplexed in himself on the state of life he 
 should chuse, he saw two women of a larger stature than 
 ordinary approaching towards him. One of them fiad a 
 very noble air and graceful deportment ; her beauty was 
 
 t natural and easy ; her person clean and unspotted ; her 
 ryes cast towards the ground, with an agreeable reserve ; 
 her motion and behavior full of modesty ; and her raiment 
 ^s white as snow. 
 
 3. The other had a great deal of health and fioridness 
 in her 'countenance, which she had helped with an artifi-. 
 cial white and red, and endeavored to appear more grace- 
 ful than ordinary in her mien, by a mixture of affectation 
 in all her gestures. She had a wonderful confidence and 
 assurance in her looks, and all the variety of colors in her 
 dress that she thought were the raost proper to show her 
 complexion to an advantage. She cast her eyes upon 
 herself, then turned them on those that were present to 
 see how they liked her, and often looked on the figure she 
 made in her own shadow. 
 
 4. Upon her nearer approach to Hercules, she stepped 
 before the other lady, who' came forward with a regular 
 vornposed carriage, and running up to him, accosted him 
 t.-ter the following manner* 
 
 5. My dear Hercules, says she, I find you are very 
 much divided in your own thoughts, upon the \\ay of life 
 
140 The Young 1 Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 that you ought to chuse : be my friend and follow me ; 
 I will lead you into the possession of pleasure and out of 
 the reach of pain, and remove you from all the noise and 
 disquietude of business. The affairs of either war or 
 peace shall have no power to disturb you. Your whole 
 employment shall be to make your life easy, and to en- 
 tertain every sense with its proper gratifications. Sump- 
 tuous tables, beds of roses, clouds of perfumes, concerts 
 of music,crouds of beauties, are all in readiness to receive 
 you. Come along with me into this region of delights, 
 this world of pleasure, and bid farewel for ever to care, to 
 pain, and to business. 
 
 6. Hercules hearing the lady talk after this manner, 
 desired to know her name ; to which she answered, my 
 friends, and those who are well acquainted with me, call 
 me happiness ; but my enemies, and those who would 
 injure my reputation, have given me the name of 
 Pleasure. 
 
 7. By this time the other lady was come up who 
 addressed herself to the young hero in a very different 
 manner. 
 
 Hercules, says she, I offer myself to you, because I 
 know you are descended from the gods, and give proofs 
 of that descent by your love to virtue, and application to 
 the studies proper to your age. This makes me hope 
 you will gain both for yourself and me an immortal repu- 
 tation. But before I invite you into my society and friend- 
 ship, I will be open and sincere with you, and must lay 
 clown this as an established truth, that there is nothing 
 truly valuable which can be purchased: without pains and 
 labor. 
 
 8. The gods have set a price upon every real and no- 
 ble pleasure. If you would gain the favor of the Deity, 
 you must be at the pains of worshipping him ; if the 
 friendship of good men, you must study to oblige them; 
 if you would be honored by your country, you must take 
 care to serve it* In short, if you would be eminent in war 
 or peace, you must become master of all the qualifica- 
 tions that can make you so. These are the only terms 
 and conditions upon which I can propose happiness. The 
 goddess of pleasure here br ke in upon her discourse : 
 
 9. You see, said she, Hercules, by her own confession^ 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 14 f 
 
 the way to her pleasure is long and difficult, whereas 
 that which I propose is short and easy*. Alas ! said the 
 other lady, whose visage glowed with a passion made up 
 of scorn and pity, what are the pleasures you propose ? 
 To eat before you are hungry, drink before you are thirs- 
 ty, sleep before you are tired, to gratify appetites before 
 they are raised, and raise such appetites as nature never 
 .planted. 
 
 10. You never heard the most delicious music, whicb'is 
 the praise of one's self ; nor saw the most beautiful object, 
 which is the work of one's own hands. Your votaries, 
 pass away their youth in a dream of mistaken pleasures) 
 \vhile they are hoarding up anguish, torment, and remorse 
 for old age* 
 
 1 1. As for me, I am a friend of the gods and of good 
 men, an agreeable companion to the artisan, a household 
 guardian to the fathers of families, a patron and protector 
 of servants, an associate in all true and generous friend- 
 ships. The banquets of my votaries are never costly, but 
 always delicious ; for none eat or drink at them who are 
 not invited by hunger and thirst. Their slumbers are 
 sound, and their wakings cheerful. 
 
 12. My young men have the pleasure of hearing them- 
 selves praised by those who are in years, and those who 
 are in years, of being honored by those who are ycimg. 
 In a word, rny folio wers are favored by the gods, be- 
 loved by their acquaintance, esteemed by their co^n- 
 try, and after the close of their labors, honored by pos- 
 terity. 
 
 13. We know by the life of this memorable hero, to 
 which of these two ladies he gave up his heart ; and I 
 believe, every one who reads this, will do him the justice 
 to approve his choice. 
 
 14. I very much admire the speeches of these ladies, 
 as containing in them the chief arguments for a life of vir- 
 tue, or a life of pleasure, that could enter into the thoughts 
 of an heathen-: but am particularly pleased with the dif- 
 ferent figures he gives the two goddesses. Our modern 
 authors have represented pleasure or vice with an alluring 
 face, but ending in snakes and monsters : here she appears 
 in all the charms of beauty, though they are all false and 
 borrowed ; and by that means composes a vision entirely 
 natural and pleasing. 
 
142 The Young ~ Gentleman and La fly 1 a MONITOR, 
 
 15. I have translated this allegory for the benefit of 
 the youth in general ; and particularly of those Who are 
 still in the deplorable state of non-existence, and \vhom I 
 most earnestly intreat to come into the world. Let my 
 embryos show the least inclination to any single virtue, 
 and I shall allow it to be a struggling towards birth, 
 
 16. I do not expect of them thaClike the hero in the 
 foregoing story, they should go about as soon as they are 
 born, with a club in their hands, and a lion's skin on their 
 shoulders, to root out monsters and destroy tyrants ; but 
 as the finest author of all antiquity has said upon this veryr 
 occasion, though a man has not the abilities to distinguish 
 himself in the most shining parts of a great character, he 
 has certainly the capacity of being just, faithful, tnoc3est 5 
 and temperate. 
 
 Virtue rewarded ; the History of Amanda, 
 
 SPECTATOR, NO, 375,- 
 
 1. TT HAVE more than once had occasion to mention a 
 JL noble saying of Seneca the philosopher, that a virtu- 
 ous person struggling with misfortunes, and rising above 
 them, is an object on which the gods themselves may look 
 down with delight. I shall therefore set before my reader 
 a scene of this kind of distress in private life, for the specu- 
 lation of this day. 
 
 2. An eminent citizen, who had'Hved in good fashion 
 and credit, was by a train of accidents, and by an unavoid- 
 able perplexity in his affrrs, reduced to a low condition. 
 There is a modesty usually attending faultless poverty, 
 which made him rather chuse to reduce his manner of liv- 
 ing to his present circumstances, than solicit his friends, 
 in order to support the show of an estate, when the sub*- 
 stance was gone. 
 
 3. His wife who was a woman of sense and virtue, 
 behaved herself on this occasion witn uncommon decency, 
 and never appeared so amiable in his eyes as now. In- 
 stead of upbraiding him with the ample fortune she had 
 brought, or the many great offers she had refused for his 
 sake, she, redoubled all the instances of her affection- 
 
and English Teacher's As s i s T A x T . J 4 3 
 
 while her husband was continually pouring out his heart 
 to her in complaints, that he had ruined the best woman 
 in the world. 
 
 4. He sometimes came home at a time when she did 
 not expect him, and surprised her in tears which she en- 
 deavored to conceal, and always put on an air of cheerful- 
 ness to receive him. To lessen their expense, their eldest 
 daughter (whom I shall call Amanda) was sent into the 
 country, to the house of an honest farmer, who had mar- 
 ried a servant of the family : This young woman was 
 apprehensive of the ruin which was approaching, and had 
 privately engaged a friend in the neighborhood to give 
 her an account of what passed from time to time in her 
 father's affairs. 
 
 5. Amanda was in the bloom of her youth and beauty, 
 when the lord of the manor, who often called in at the 
 farmer's house as he followed his country sports, fell pas- 
 sionately in love with her. He was a man of great gene- 
 rosity, but from a loose education had contracted a hearty 
 aversion to marriage. He therefore entertained a design 
 upon Amanda's virtue, which at present he thought fit to 
 keep private. The innocent creature, who never suspect- 
 ed his intentions, was pleased with his person ; and hav- 
 ing observed his growing passion for her, hoped by so ad- 
 vantageous a match she might quickly be in a capacity of 
 supporting her impoverished relations. 
 
 6. One day as he called to see her, he found her in tears 
 over a letter she had just received from her friend, which 
 gave an account that her father had been lately stript of 
 every thing by an execution. The lover, who with some 
 difficulty found out the cause of her grief, took this occa- 
 con to make her a proposal. It is impossible to express 
 Amanda'F -^n fusion v:hen she found his pretensions were 
 not hone; '' <e. 
 
 7. S 1 was now deserted of all hopes, and had no pow.- 
 er to \ tk ; but rushing from him in the utmost distur- 
 ban< locked herself up in her chamber. He immedi- 
 ate- v ispatche.d a messenger to her father with the folr 
 3ov g letter. 
 
 4 SIR, 
 
 1 HAVE heard of your misfortune, and have of- 
 JL ft red your daughter, if she will live with u;, to settle 
 
144 The Young 1 Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 on her four hundred pounds a year, and to lay down t!ie 
 sum for which you are now distressed. I will be so ingen- 
 uous as to tell you, that I do not intend marriage : but if 
 you are wise, you will use your authority with her not to 
 be too nice, when she has an opportunity of saving you 
 and your family, and of making herself happy. 
 
 4 lam. See.' 
 
 9. This letter came to the hands of Amanda's mother f . 
 she opened and read it with great surprise and concern. 
 She did not think it proper to explain herself to the mes- 
 senger ; but desiring him to call again the next morning, 
 she wrote her daughter as follows : 
 
 10. < Dearest Child, 
 
 * "^iT'OUR father and I have just now received a letter 
 JL from a gentleman who pretends love to you, with 
 a proposal that insults our misfortunes, and would throw 
 us to a lower degree of misery than any thing which is 
 come upon us. How could this barbarous man think that 
 the tendere&t of parents would be tempted to supply their 
 wants by giving up the best of children to infamy and ru- 
 in ! It is a mean and cruel artifice to make this proposal 
 vt a time when he thinks our necessities mut>t compel us 
 to any thing ; but we will not eat the bread of shame ; and 
 therefore we charge thee not to think of us, but to avoid 
 the snare which is laid for thy virtue. Beware of pitying 
 ys : it is not so bad as yon have perhaps been told. All 
 things will yet be well, and I shall write my child better 
 news. 
 
 < 1 have been interrupted. I know not how I was mov- 
 ed to say things would mend. As I was going on I was 
 startled by the noise of one that knocked at the door, inul 
 had brought ns an unexpected supply of a debt which 
 hadjlong been owing. Oh ! I will novv tell thee all. It 
 is some days I have lived almost without support, having 
 conveyed what little money I could raise to your poor 
 father. Thou wilt weep to think where he is, yet be as- 
 sured he will soon be at liberty. That cruel letter would 
 have broke his heart, but I have concealed it from him, 
 I have no companion at present besides little Fanny, 
 who stands watching my looks as I write-, and is < Ty- 
 ing for her sister ; she saysisKc is sure you arc not well* 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 145 
 
 having discovered that my present trouble is about you. 
 But do not think I would thus repeat my sorrows to grieve 
 thee. No, it is to intreat thee not to make them insup- 
 portable, by adding what would be worse than all. Let 
 us bear cheerfully an affliction which we have not brought} 
 on ourselves, and remember there is a Power who can 
 better deliver us out of it, than by the loss of thy inno- 
 .tence. Heaven preserve my dear child. 
 
 Thy affectionate mother - 
 
 11. The messenger, notwithstanding he promised to 
 deliver this letter to Amanda, carried it first to his master, 
 -vho he imagined, would be glad to have an opportunity 
 or giving it into her hands himself. His master was ini- 
 
 patient to know the success of his proposal, and therefore 
 I ! oke open the letter privately, to see the contents. 
 
 12. He was not a little moved at so true a picture of 
 'virtue in distress : but at the same time was infinitely sur- 
 prised to find his offers rejected. However, he 'resolved 
 Lot to suppress the letter, but carefully sealed it up a^aio- 
 .and carried it to Amanda. All his endeavors to ste her 
 -were in vain, till she was assured he brought a letter from 
 her mother. Pie would not part with it but upon oondi- 
 -tion that she would read it without leaving the room. 
 
 13. While she was perusing it, he fixed his eyes on her 
 .face with the deepest attention ; her concern gave a new 
 softness to her beauty, and when she burst into tears, he- 
 could no longer refrain from bearing a part in her sorrow, 
 and telling her, that he too had read the letter, and was 
 resolved to make reparation for having been the occasion 
 of it. My reader will not be displeased to see the second 
 epistle which heiJtnv wrote to Amanda's mother. 
 
 < MADAM, 
 
 I AM full of shame, and will never forgive myself, if 
 I have not your pardon for what I ktely vrrota. 
 It was far from my intention to add trouble to the af:!Id- 
 cd ; nor could any thing but my being a stranger to you-, 
 have betrayed me into a fault, for which, if I live, I shail 
 endeavor to make you amends as a son. You cannot 
 N 
 
The Young Gentleman and Lady *s MONITOR 5 
 
 he unhappy while Amanda is your daughter : nor shall 
 be, if any thing can prevent it, which is in the power of, 
 
 MADAM, 
 Your obedient humble Servant ,' 
 
 14. This letter he sent by his steward, and soon after 
 ivent up to town himself to complete the generous act he 
 had now resolved on. By his friendship and assistance^ 
 Amanda's father was quickly in a condition of retrieving 
 his perplexed affairs. To conclude he married Amanda, 
 coid enjoyed the double satisfaction of having restored a 
 worthy family to their former prosperity, and of making 
 himself happy by an alliance to their virtues. 
 
 The Story of Abdallah and Bakora. 
 
 GUARPXAN, NO. 167. 
 
 "i.'nr^HE following story is lately translated out of an 
 JL Arabian manuscript, which 1 think has very 
 much the turn of an oriental tale ; and as it has never be- 
 fore been printed, I question not but it will be highly 
 acceptable to my reader. 
 
 2. The name of Helim is Btill famous through all the 
 eastern parts of the world. He is called among the Per- 
 sians, even to this day, Helim the great physician. He 
 rras acquainted with all the powers of simples, understood 
 all the influences of the stars, and knew the secrets that 
 were engraved on the seal of Solomon the son of David. 
 Helim was also governor of the Black Palace, and chief 
 of the physicians to Alnareschin the great king of Persia. 
 
 3. Alnareschin was the most dreadful tyrant that ever 
 reigned in this country. He was of a fearful, suspicious 
 and cruel nature, having put to death, upon very 
 jealousies and surmises, live and thirty of his quetv 
 above twenty sons whom he suspected to have co: 
 against his life. Being at length weaned with the exer- 
 cise of so many cruelties in his own family, and : 
 
 lest the whole race of Caliphs should be entirely lo 
 one day sent for Heiim, mid spoke to ; 
 manner. 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 
 
 4. * Helim,' said he, c I have long admired thy 
 wisdom, and retired way of living. I shall now show 
 thee the entire confidence which I place in thee. I have 
 only two sons remaining, who are as yet but inf/r.v;: , 
 It is my design that thou take them home with thee, r,r ;1 
 educate them as thy own. Train them up in t: 
 unambitious pursuits of knowledge. By tl 
 
 the lin? of Caliphs be preserved, and my children suc- 
 ceed after me, without aspiring to my throne whilst I am 
 yet alive.' 
 
 5. The words of my lord the king shall be c': 
 
 said Helim. After which he bowed and went out of 
 
 the king's presence. He then received the chii 
 
 his own house, and from that time bred them up v;uh hira 
 
 in the studies of knowledge and virtue. The y - 
 
 ces loved and respected Helim as their father, and rcado 
 
 such improvements under him, that by the 
 
 and twenty they were instructed in all the learning of the 
 
 east. 
 
 6. The name of the eldest v/as Ibrahim, 
 youngest Abdallah. They lived together in sue. 
 friendship that to this day it is said of intiir. 
 that they live together like Ibrahim and Abdallah. I 
 
 had an only child, who was a girl of a fine soul, and a 
 most beautiful person. Her father omitted nothing in 
 her education, that might make her the most accomplish- 
 ed woman of her age. 
 
 7. As the young princes were in a manner excluded 
 from the rest of the world, they frequently conversed with 
 this lovely virgin, who had been brought up by her father 
 in the same course of knowledge and of virtue. 
 
 8. Abdallah, whose mind was of a softer turn than 
 that of his brother, grew by degrees so enamored of her 
 conversation, that he did not think he lived, when he was 
 r,ot in company with his beloved Balsora, for that was 
 the name of the maid. The fame of her beauty was so 
 y;roat, that at length it came to the ears of the king, who, 
 pretending to visit the young princes his sons, demanded 
 of Helim the sight of Balsora his fair daughter. 
 
 9- The king was so enframed with her beauty and be- 
 havior, that he sent for Helim the next morning, and 
 told him it was now his design to recompence him for all 
 
MS The Young Gentlemen and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 his faithful services ; and that in order to it, he intended 
 to make his daughter queen of Persia. 
 
 10. Helim, \vho knew very well the fate of all those 
 unhappy women who had been thus advanced, and could 
 not but be privy to the secret love which Abdallah bore 
 his daughter ; < Far be it,' says he, ' from the king of 
 Persia to contaminate the blood of the Caliphs, and join 
 himself in marriage with the daughter of his physician.' 
 
 11. The king however, was so impatient for such a 
 bride, that without hearing any excuses, he immediately 
 ordered Balsora to be sent for into his presence, keeping 
 the father with him in order to make her sensible of the 
 honor which he designed. Balsora, who was too modest 
 and humble to think her beauty had made such an im- 
 pression on the king> was a few moments after brought 
 into his presence as he had commanded. 
 
 12. She appeared in the king's eye as one of the vir- 
 gins- of paradise. But upon hearing the honor which 
 lie intended her, she fainted away and fell down as dead 
 at his feet. Helim wept, and after having lecovered her 
 out of the trance into which she was fallen, represented to 
 the king that so unexpected an honor was too great to 
 have been communicated to her all at once ; but that, 
 if he pleased) he would himself prepare her for it. The 
 king bid him take his own way and dismissed hi nit 
 
 13. Balsora was conveyed again to her father's house, 
 where the thoughts of Abdallah renewed her affliction 
 every moment ; insomuch that at length she fell into a 
 raging fever. The king was informed of her condition 
 by those that saw her. Helim finding no other means of 
 extricating her from the difficulties she was in, after hav- 
 ing composed her mind, and raad-e her acquainted with 
 his intentions, gave her a certain potion, which he knew 
 "would lay her asleep for many hours ; and afterward, in 
 all the seeming distress of a disconsolate father, informed, 
 the king she was dead. 
 
 14. The king, who never let any sentiments of hu- 
 manity come too near his heart, did not much trouble 
 himself about the matter ; however, for his own icputa- 
 tion, he told the father, that since it was known through 
 the empire that Bulsora died, at a time when he cbsignedf 
 ker- for his bride, it was his intention that she should b# 
 
tind English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 149 
 
 honored as such after her death, that her body should be 
 laid in the black palace, among those of his o 
 queens. 
 
 15. In the mean time Abdallah, who had heard of the 
 king's design, was not less afflicted than his beloved Bal- 
 sora. As for the several circumstances of his distress, as 
 also how the king* was informed of an irrecoverable dis- 
 temper into which he was fallen, they are to be found at 
 length in the History of Ilelhn. 
 
 1 6. It shall suffice to acquaint the reader, that Helim, 
 some days after the supposed death of his daughter, gave 
 the prince a potion of the same nature with which, he had 
 laid asleep Balsora. 
 
 17. It is the custom among the Persians, to convey in 
 a private manner the bodies of all the royal family a little 
 after their death into the black palace ; which is the repos- 
 itory of all who are descended from the Caliphs, or any 
 way allied to them.. The chief physician is always gov- 
 ernor of the black palace ; it being his office to embalm 
 and preserve the holy family after they are dead, as well 
 as to take care of them while they are yet living. 
 
 18. The black palace is so called from the color of the 
 building, which is all of the finest polished black marble- 
 There are ahvays burning in it five thousand everlasting 
 lumps. It has also an hundred folding doors of ebony, 
 which are each of them watched clay and night ; 
 
 dred negroes, who are to take care thi\t nob. 
 ;>ies the governor. 
 
 19. Helim, after having conveyed 
 
 daughter into this repository, and at the appointed time 
 received her out of the sleep into which she was fallen, 
 took care some time after to bring that of Abdallah into 
 the same place. Balsora watched ovtr him tiil sue/ 
 as the cloze he had taken lost its ciT 
 Acquainted with Helim's tic: 
 rleepy potion. 
 
 It is impossible to describe, th ; 
 the tarnsport he was in at his first 
 himself in the retirement of the blest, and thai . 
 of his dear Balscra, v/ho he thought was just gene before 
 the first who came to conpratu; 
 N 2 
 
150 The Young Gentleman and Lady 's MONITOR, 
 
 She soon informed him of the place he was in, which* 
 notwithstanding all its horrors, appeared to him more 
 sweet than the bower of Mahomet, in the company of 
 his Balsora. 
 
 2 1 . Helim, who was supposed to be taken up in the 
 embalming of the bodies, visited the place very frequent- 
 ly. His greatest perplexity was how to get the lovers out 
 of it, the gates being watched in such a manner as I have 
 before related. This consideration did not a little disturb 
 the two interred lovers. 
 
 22. At length Helim bethought himself, that the first 
 day of the full moon of the month Tizpa was near at 
 hand. Now, it is a received tradition among the Per- 
 sians, that the souls of those of the royal family, who are 
 in a state of bliss, do on the first full moon after their de- 
 cease, pass through the eastern gate of the black palace, 
 which is therefore called the Gate of Paradise, in order to 
 take their flight for that happy place. 
 
 23. Helim, therefore, having made due preparations 
 for tb's night, dressed each of the lovers in a robe of azure 
 silk, wrought in the finest looms of Persia, with a long 
 train of linen whiter than snow, that flowed on the ground 
 behind them. Upon Abdallah's head he fixed a wreath 
 of the greenest myrtle, and on Balsora's a garland of the 
 freshest roses. Their garments were scented with the. 
 richest perfumes of Arabia. 
 
 24. Having thus prepared every thing, the full moon 
 was lio sooner up, and shining in all its brightness, but hs 
 privately opened the Gate of Paradise, and shut it after ths 
 same manner, as soon as they had passed through it. 
 
 25. The band of negroes who were posted at a little 
 distance from the gate, seeing two such beautiful appari- 
 tions, that showed themselves to advantage by the light of 
 the full moon, and being ravished with the odor that flow- 
 ed from their garments, immediately concluded them t3 
 be the ghosts of the two persons lately deceased, 
 
 26. They fell upon their faces as they passed through 
 the midst of them, and continued prostrate on the earth 
 until such time as they were out of sight. They reported 
 the next day what they had seen, but this was looked upon 
 by the king himself, and most others, as the compliment 
 that was usually paid to any of the deceased of his family- 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. jtl 
 
 27. Helim had placed two of his own mules at about a 
 mile's distance from the black temple, on the spot which 
 they had agreed upon for their rendezvous. Here he met 
 them, and conducted them to one of bis own houses, which 
 was situated on mount Khacan. 
 
 28. The air of this mountain was so very healthful* 
 that Helim had formerly transported the king thither, in 
 order to recover him out of a long fit of sickness, which 
 succeeded so well, that the king made him a present of the 
 whole mountain, with a beautiful house and garden that 
 were on the top of it. 
 
 29. In this retirement lived Abdallah and Balsora* 
 They were both so fraught with all kinds of knowledge 
 and possest with so constant and mutual a passion for each 
 other, that their solitude never lay heavy, on them. 
 
 30. Abdallah applied himself to those arts which were 
 agreeable to his manner of living, and the situation of the 
 place : insomuch that in a few years he converted the 
 whole mountain into a kind of garden, and covered every, 
 part of it with plantations or spots of flowers. 
 
 Helim was too good a father to let him want any thing 
 that might conduce to make his retirement pleasant.. 
 
 31. In about ten years after their abode in this place> 
 the old king died, and was succeeded by his son Ibrahim, 
 who, upon the supposed death of his brother, had been 
 called to court, and entertained there as heir to the Per- 
 sian empire. Though he was some years inconsolable 
 for the death of his brother, Helim durst not trust him 
 with the secret, which he knew would have fatal conse- 
 quences, should it by any means come to the knowledge 
 of the old king, 
 
 32. Ibrahim was no sooner mounted to the throne, but 
 Helim sought after a proper opportunity of making a dis- 
 covery to him, which he knew would be very agreeable te> 
 so good natured and generous a prince* It so happened, 
 that before Helim found such an opportunity as he desir- 
 ed, the new king Ibrahim, having been separated from 
 his company in a chace, and almost fainting with heat and 
 thirst, saw himself at the foot of mount Khacan. He im- 
 mediately ascended the hill, and coming to Heiim's house, 
 demanded some refreshments/ 
 
 33. Helim was very luckily there at that time ; and 
 
162 The Young Gentleman and Ladifs MONITOR, 
 
 after having set before the king the choicest of wines and 
 fruits, finding him wonderfully pleased with so seasonable 
 a treat, told him that the best part of his entertainment 
 \vas to come. Upon which he opened to him the whole 
 history of what had passed. The king was at once aston- 
 ished and transported at so strange a relation, and seeing 
 his brother enter the room with Balsora in his hand, he 
 leaped off from the sofa on which he sat, and cried out, 
 * It is he ! it is my Abdallah* 1 Having said this, he fell 
 upon his neck and wept. 
 
 34. The whole company for some time remained si- 
 lent, and shedding tears of joy. The king at length hav- 
 ing kindly reproached Heiim for depriving him so long of 
 such a brother, embraced Balsora with the greatest ten- 
 derness, and told her that she should now be a queen 
 indeed, for that he would immediately make his brother 
 king of all the conquered nations on the other side of the 
 Tigris. 
 
 35. He easily discovered in the eyes of our two lovers, 
 that instead of being transported with the oiler, they pre- 
 ferred, their present retirement to empire. At their re- 
 quest, therefore, he changed his intentions, and made 
 them a present of all the open country as far as they could 
 see iVom the top of mount Khacan. 
 
 36. Abdallah continuing to extend his former improve- 
 ments, beautified this whole prospect v/ith groves and 
 fountains, gardens and seats of pleasure, until it became 
 the most delicious spot of ground within the empire, an*! 
 is therefore called the garden of Persia. 
 
 37. This Caliph, Ibrahim, after a long and happy 
 reign, died without children, and was- succeeded by Ab- 
 dallah a son of Abdallah and Balsora. This was that king 
 Abdallah, \vho afterwards fixed the imperial residence 
 upon mount Khacan, which continues at this time to be 
 the favorite palace of the Persian empire. 
 
 On Rashness and Cowardice. 
 
 RAMBLER, NO. 2 
 
 1. * | MI ERE are some vices and errors which, though 
 JL often fatal to those in whom they arc fei 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 153 
 
 , e yet, by the universal consent of mankind, been 
 considered as entitled to some degree of respect, or have, 
 at least been exempted from contemptuous infamy, and 
 condemned by the severest moralists with pity rather than 
 detestation. 
 
 2. A constant and invariable example of this general 
 partiality will be found in the different regard which has 
 always been shown to rashness and cowardice ; two vices, 
 of which, though they may be conceived equally distant 
 from the middle point, where true fortitude is placed, and 
 may equally injure any public or private interest, yet the 
 one is never mentioned without some kind of veneration, 
 and the other always considered as a topic of unlimited 
 and licentious censure, on which all the virulence of re- 
 proach may be lawfully exerted. 
 
 3. The same distinction is made, by the common suf- 
 frage, between profusion and avarice, and perhaps between 
 many other opposite vices ; and, as I have found reason 
 lo pay great regard to the voice of the people, in cases 
 where knowledge has been forced upon them by experi- 
 ence, without long deductions or deep researches, I am 
 inclined to believe that this distribution of respect is not 
 without some agreement with the nature of things ; anel 
 that in the faults, which are thus invested with extraordi- 
 nary privileges, there are generally some latent principles 
 of merit, some possibilities of future virtue, which may by 
 degrees, break from obstruction, and by time and oppor- 
 tunity be brought into act. 
 
 4. It may be laid clown as an axiom, that it is more ea- 
 sy to take away superfluities than to supply defects ; and 
 therefore, he that is culpable, because he has passed the 
 middle point of virtue, is always accounted a fairer object 
 of hope, that he who fails by falling short. The one has 
 all that perfection requires, and more, but the excess may 
 be easily retrenched ; the other wants the qualities re- 
 quisite to excellence, and who can tell how he shall obtain 
 them ? 
 
 5. We are certain that the horse may be taught to keep 
 pace with his fellows, whose fault it is that he leaves 
 them behind. We know that a few strokes of the axe 
 v<ill lop a cedar ; but what arts of cultivation can elevate a 
 fehrub? 
 
154 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 6. To walk with circumspection and steadiness in the 
 right path, at an equal distance between the extremes 
 of error, ought to he the constant endeavor of every 
 reasonable being ; nor can I think those teachers of moral 
 wisdom much to be honored as benefactors to mankind^ 
 who are always enlarging upon the difficulty of our duties, 
 and providing rather excuses for vice, than incentives to 
 virtue. 
 
 7. But, since to most it will happen often, and to all 
 sometimes, that there will be a deviation towards one side 
 or the other, we ought always to employ our vigilance, 
 with most attention, on that enemy from which there 
 is the greatest danger, and to stray, if we must stray, 
 towards those parts from whence we may quickly and ea- 
 sily return. 
 
 8. Among other opposite qualities of the mind, which 
 may become dangerous, though in different degrees, I 
 have often had occasion to consider the contrary effects of 
 presumption and despondency ; of steady confidence, which 
 promises a victory without contest, and heartless pusillani- 
 mity, which shrinks back from the thought of great under- 
 takings, confounds difficulty with impossibility, and consid- 
 ers all advancement towards any new attainment, as irre- 
 versibly prohibited. 
 
 9. Presumption will ae sasily corrected. Every expe- 
 riment will teach caution, and miscarriages will hourly 
 show, that attempts are not always reworded with suc- 
 cess. The ir.sst precipitate ardor will, in time, be 
 taught the necessity of methodical gradation, and prepara- 
 tory measures ; and the most daring conscience be con- 
 vinced, that neither merit, nor aliiitiec;, c?.n command 
 events. 
 
 10. It is the advantage of vehemence and activity, that 
 they are always hastening to their own reformation ; be- 
 cause they incite us to try whether our expectations are 
 well grounded ; and therefore detect the deceits which 
 they are apt to occasion. But timidity is a disease of the 
 mind more obstinate and fatal ; for a man once persuaded, 
 that any impediment is insuperable, has given it, with 
 respect to himself, that strength and weight which it had 
 not before. 
 
ttnd English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 155 
 
 11. He can scarcely strive with vigor and persever* 
 3i\ce, when he has no hope of gaining the victory ; and 
 since he will never try his strength, can never discover 
 the unreasonableness of his fears. 
 
 12. There is often to be found in men devoted to lite- 
 rature, a kind of intellectual cowardice, which whoever 
 converses much among them, may observe frequently to 
 depress the alacrity of enterprize, and by consequence to 
 retard the improvement .of science. 
 
 13. They have annexed to every species of knowledge 
 some chimerical character of terror and inhibition, which 
 they transmit, without much reflection, from one to ano- 
 ther ; they first fright themselves, and then propagate the 
 panic to their scholars and acquaintance. 
 
 14. One study is inconsistent with a lively imagination, 
 . another with a solid judgment ; one is improper in the 
 
 early parts of life, another requires so much time, that it 
 is not to be attempted at an advanced uge ; one is dry and 
 contracts the sentiments, another is diffuse and over-bur- 
 dens the memory ; one is insufferable to tasle and delica- 
 cy, uncl another wears out life in the study of words, and 
 is useless to a wise man, who desires only the knowledge 
 of things. 
 
 15. But of all the bugbears by which the infantes bar* 
 hati, boys both young and old, have been hitherto fright- 
 ed from digressing into new tracts of learning, none has 
 been move mischieviously efficacious than an opinion that 
 every kind of knowledge requires a peculiar genius, or 
 mental constitution, framed for the reception of some 
 ideas and the exclusion of others ; and that to him whose 
 genius is not adapted to the study which he prosecutes, 
 all labor shall be vain and fruitless : vain as an endea- 
 vor to mingle oil and water, or in the language of chim* 
 .estry, to amalgamate bodies of heterogenous principles. 
 
 16. This opinion we may reasonably suspect to have 
 been propagated by vanity, beyond the truth. It is nat- 
 
 ihose who have raised a reputation by any sci- 
 ence, to exalt themselves as endowed by heaven with pe- 
 culiar powers, or marked out by an extraordinary desig- 
 nation for their profession : and * petitors 
 
 ay by representing- the dhT.-. h they 
 
 i$t contend, and the necessity of 
 
IM. 
 
 oys. 
 
 156 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 supposed to be not generally conferred, and whic 
 acnan can know, but by experience, whether he enjoys 
 
 17. To this discouragement it may possibly be answer- 
 ed that since a genius, whatever it may be, is like fire in 
 the flint, only to be produced by collision with a proper 
 subject, it is the business of every man to try whether his 
 faculties may not happily co-operate with his desires ; and 
 since they whose proficiency he admires, knew their owri 
 force only by the event, he needs but engage in the 
 same undertaking, with equal spirit, and may reasonably 
 hope for equal success. 
 
 18. There is another species of false intelligence, given 
 Jby those who profess to show the way to the summit of 
 knowledge, of equal tendency to depress the mind with 
 false distrust of itself, and weaken it by needless solicitude 
 and dejection. When a scholar whom they desire to ani- 
 mate, consults them at his entrence on some new study, 
 it is common to make flattering representations of its 
 pleasantness and facility. 
 
 19. Thus they generally attain one of the two ends 
 almost equally desirable ; they either incite his industry 
 by elevating his hopes, or produce a high opinion of their 
 own abilities, since they are supposed to relate only what 
 ihey have found, and to have proceeded with no less ease 
 than they have promised to their followers. 
 
 20. The student enflamecl by this encouragement, sets 
 forward in the new path, and proceeds a few steps with 
 great alacrity ; but he soon finds asperities and intri- 
 cacies of which he has not been forewarned, and im- 
 agining that none ever were so entangled or fatigued be- 
 fore him, sinks suddenly into despair, and desists as from 
 an expedition in which fate opposes him. Thus his 
 terrors are multiplied by his hopes, and he is defeated 
 without resistancej because he had no expectation of an 
 -enemy. 
 
 21. Of these treacherous instructors, the one destroys 
 industry, by declaring that industry is vain, the other by 
 representing it as needless ; the one cuts away the root of 
 hope, the other raises it only to be blasted. The one coa- 
 f.ttes his pupil to the shore by telXr.ghim that his wreck 
 is certain; the other sends him to sea without preparing 
 him for tempests. 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 157 
 
 22. False hopes and false terrors are equally to be 
 avoided. Every man who purposes to grow eminent by 
 learning, should carry in his mind, at once, the difficulty 
 of exce'llence, and the force of industry ; and remember 
 that fame is not conferred but as the recompence of labor, 
 and that labor, vigorously continued, has not often failed 
 -cf its reward. 
 
 Fortitude founded upon the Fear of God. 
 
 GUARDIAN, No. 177. 
 
 l.T COKING over the late edition of Monsieur 
 J ^ Boileau's works, I was very much pleased with 
 the article which he has added to his notes on the trans- 
 lation of Longinus. He there tells us, that the sublime 
 in writing rises either from the nobleness of the thought, 
 the magnificence of the words, or the harmonious and 
 lively turn of the phrase, and that the perfect sublime 
 rises from all these three in conjunction together. He 
 produces an instance of this perfect sublime m four verses 
 from the Athalia of Monsieur Racine. 
 
 2. When Abner, one of the chief officers of the court, 
 represents to load the high-priest, that the queen was in- 
 censed against him, the high-priest not in the least terri- 
 fied at the news, returns this answer : 
 
 Celui que met unfrein a lafureur desjlots^ 
 
 Scait au&si des medians arreter les complols : 
 
 Sounds avec respect a sa volunte saintc, 
 
 Je crains Dieu, cher Abner ^ &c n'ai point d 'autre craintc. 
 
 3. < He who ruleth the raging of the sea, knows also 
 how to check the designs of the ungodly. I submit my- 
 self with reverence to his holy will. O Abner! I fear 
 my God, and I fear none but him.' Such a thought gives 
 no less a solemnity to human nature, than it does to good 
 writing. 
 
 4. This religious fear, when it is produced by just ap- 
 prehensions of a divine power, naturally overlooks all 
 human greatness that stands in competition with it, and 
 
 O 
 
158 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 extinguishes every other terror that can settle itself in the 
 heart of a man : it lessens and contracts the figure of the 
 most exalted person : it disarms the tyrant and execu- 
 tioner, and represents to our minds the most enraged and 
 the most powerful, as altogether harmless and impotent. 
 
 5. There is no true fortitude which is not founded up- 
 on this fear, as there is no other principle of so settled 
 and fixed a nature. Courage that grows from constitu- 
 tion very often forsakes a man when he has accasion for 
 it ; and when it is only a kind of instinct in the soul 
 breaks out on all occasions without judgment or discre- 
 tion. That courage which proceeds from a sense of our 
 cuty, and from a fear of offending him that made us, acts 
 chvays in an uniform mariner and according to the dictates 
 cf right reason. 
 
 6. What can the man fear who takes care in all his 
 actions to please a Being that is omnipotent, a Being 
 who is able to crush all his adversaries, a Being that can 
 divert any misfortune from befalling him, or turn any 
 vu :h misfortune to his advantage ? The person who lives 
 ,vkh this constant and habitual regard to the great super- 
 intendant of the world, is indeed sure that no real evil can 
 come into his lot. 
 
 7. Blessings may appear under the shape of pains, los- 
 ses and disappointments, but let him have patience, and 
 le will see them in their proper figures. Dangers may 
 threaten him, but he may rest satisfied that they will ei- 
 ther not reach him, or that, if they do, they will be the 
 instruments of good to him. In short, he may look upon 
 all crosses and accidents, sufferings and afflictions, as 
 means which are made use of to bring him to happiness. 
 
 8. This is even the worst of that man's condition whose 
 mind is possessed with the habitual fear of which I am now 
 speaking. But it very often happens, that those which 
 appear evils in our own eyes, appear also as such to him 
 v/ho has human nature under his care, in which case they 
 are certainly averted from the person who has made him- 
 self, by this virtue, an object of divine favor. 
 
 9. Histories are full of instances of this nature, where 
 men of virtue have had extraordinary escapes out of such 
 dangers as have enclosed them? and which have seemed 
 inevitable. 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 159 
 
 10. There is no example of this kind in Pagan his- 
 tory .which more pleases me than that which is recorded 
 in the life of Timoleotu This extraordinary man was fa- 
 mous for referring all his successes to Providence. Cor- 
 nelius Nepos acquaints us that he had in his house a pri- 
 vate chapel in which he used to pay his devotions to the 
 goddess who represented Providence among the heathens. 
 I think no man was ever more distinguished by the Deity, 
 whom he hlindly worshipped, than the great person I am 
 speaking of, in several occurrences of his life, but particu- 
 larly in the- following one, which I shall relate out of 
 Plutarch* 
 
 11. Three persons had entered into a conspiracy to 
 assassinate Timoleon as he was offering up his devotions 
 in a certain temple. In order ^to it they took their sev- 
 eral stands in the most convenient places for their purpose* 
 As they were waiting for an opportunity to put their de- 
 sign in execution, a stranger, having observed one of the 
 conspirators, fell upon him and slew him. Upon which 
 the other two, thinking their plot had been discovered, 
 threw themselves at Timoleou's feet, and confessed the 
 whole- matter. 
 
 12. This stranger, upon examination, was found to 
 have understood nothing of the intended assassination, but 
 having several years before had a brother killed by the 
 conspirator, whom he here put to death, and having till 
 now sought in vain for an opportunity of revenge, he 
 chanced to meet the murderer in the temple, who had 
 planted himself there for the above mentioned purpose. 
 
 13. Plutarch cannot forbear, on this occasion, speaking 
 with a kind of rapture on the schemes of Providence, 
 which, in this particular, had so contrived it, that the 
 stranger should, for so great space of time, be debarred 
 the means of doing justice to his brother, till, by the same 
 blow that revenged the death of one innocent man, he 
 preserved the life of another. 
 
 14. For my own part, I cannot wonder that a man of 
 Timoleon's religion should have this intrepidity and firm- 
 ness of mind, or that he should be distinguished by such 
 a deliverance as I have here related* 
 
160 The Young- Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR ? 
 
 The Felly of youthful Extravagance. 
 
 EAMBLER, NO. 26. 
 
 1. TT is usual for mei>> engaged in the same pursuits, 
 JL to be inquisitive after the conduct and fortune of 
 each other; and therefore, I suppose it will not be un- 
 pleasing to you, to read an account of the various changes 
 which have appeared in part of a life devoted to litera- 
 ture. My narrative will not exhibit any great variety of 
 .events, or extraordinary revolutions ; but may perhaps be 
 not less useful, because I shall relate nothing which is not 
 likely to happen to a thousand others. 
 
 2. I was born heir to a very small fortune, and left by 
 my father, whom I cannot remember, to the care of an un- 
 ,-de. He having no children, always treated me as his 
 son, and finding in me those qualities which old men easi- 
 ly discover in sprightly children when they happen to love 
 them, declared that a genius like mine should never be 
 lost for want of cultivation. 
 
 3. He therefore placed me for the usual time at a great 
 school, and then sent me to the university, with a larger 
 allowance than my own patrimony would have afforded,. 
 that I might not keep mean company, but learn to become 
 rny dignity when I should be made Lord Chancellor, 
 .which he often lamented that the increase of his infirmi- 
 ties, was very likely to preclude him from seeing. 
 
 4. This exuberance of money displayed itself in gaiety 
 of appearance, and wantonness of expense, and introduced 
 
 .line to the acquaintance of those whom the same super- 
 fluity of fortune had betrayed to the same licence and 
 
 ..ostentation.: young heirs who pleased themselves with a 
 remark very frequently in their months, that though they 
 w-re sent by their fathers to the university, they were not 
 
 * under the necessity of living by their learning. 
 
 It 5. : Among men of this class I easily obtained the repu- 
 tation of a great genius, and was persuaded that, with 
 s-ut h liveliness of imagination, and delicacy of sentiment) 
 I should never be able to submit to the drudgery of the 
 law. _ , 
 
 6* I therefore gave myself wholly to the more airy 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 16 1 
 
 and elegant parts of learning, and was often so much elat- 
 ed with my superiority to the youths with whom I con- 
 versed, that I began to listen, with great attention, to 
 those who recommended to me a wider and more conspic- 
 uous theatre ; and was particularly touched with an ob- 
 servation made by one of my friends, that it was not by 
 lingering in the university that Prior became ambassador, 
 or Addison secretary of state. 
 
 7. This desire was hourly increased by the solicitation 
 of my companions, who removing one by one to London, 
 as the caprice of their relations allowed them, or the legal 
 dismission from the hands of their guardians put it in 
 their power, never failed to send an account of the beauty 
 and felicity of the new world, and to remonstrate how 
 much was lost by every hour's continuance in a place of 
 retirement and constraint. 
 
 8. My uncle, in the mean time, frequently harassed 
 rne with monitory letters, which I sometimes neglected 
 to open for a week after I received them, and generally 
 read in a tavern with such comments as might show how 
 much I was superior to instruction or advice. I could not 
 but wonder, how a man confined to the country, and un- 
 acquainted with the present system of things, should ima- 
 gine himself qualified to instruct a rising genius, born to 
 give laws to the age, refine its taste, and multiply its 
 pleasures. 
 
 9. The postman, however, still continued to bring me 
 new remonstrances ; for my uncle was very little depress- 
 ed by the ridicule and reproach which he never heard. 
 But men of parts have quick sentiments ; it was impossi- 
 ble to bear its usurpations for ever ; and I resolved, once 
 for all, to make him an example to those who imagine 
 themselves wise because they are old, and to teach young 
 men, who are too tame under representation, in what man- 
 ner grey-bearded insolence ought to be treated. 
 
 10. I therefore one evening took my pen in hand, and 
 after having animated myself with a catch, wrote a general 
 answer to all his precepts, with such vivacity of turn, such 
 elegance of irony, and such asperity of sarcasm, that I 
 convulsed a large company with universal laughter, dis* 
 turbingthe neighborhood with vociferations of applause, 
 
 O2 
 
162" Th$ Young- G en tlemetn and Lady's Mo NIT oir, 
 
 and five days afterwards was answered that I must be COB*. 
 tent to live upon my own estate. 
 
 11. This contraction of my income gave me no dis- 
 turbance, for a genkis like mine was out of the reach of 
 want. I had friends that would be proud to open their 
 purses at my call, and prospects of such advancement as 
 would soon reconcile my uncle, whom, upon mature de- 
 liberation, I resolved to receive into favor, without insist- 
 ing on any acknowledgment of his offence when the splen- 
 dor of my condition should induce him to wish for my 
 countenance* 
 
 12. I therefore went up to London, before I had shown 
 the alteration of my condition, by any abatement of my 
 way of living, and was received by all my academical ac- 
 quaintance with triumph and congratulation. I was im- 
 mediately introduced among the wits and men of spir- 
 it ; and, in a short time, had divested myself of. all my 
 scholar'c gravity, and obtained the reputation of a pretty 
 fellow. 
 
 IS. You will easily believe that I had no great knowK 
 edge of the world ; yet I had been hindered, by the gen- 
 eral disinclination every man feels to confess poverty, 
 from telling to any one the resolution of rny uncle, and 
 some time subsisted upon the stock of money which I had 
 brought with me, and contributed my share as before to all 
 our entertainments. But my pocket was soon emptied? 
 and I was obliged to ask my friends for a small sum. 
 
 14. This was a favor which we had often reciprocally 
 Teceived from one another : they supposed my wants only 
 accidental, and therefore willingly supplied them. In a 
 short time, I fountl a necessity of asking again, and was 
 again treated with the same civility ; but the third time 
 they began to wonder what that old rogue my uncle could 
 mean by sending a gentleman to town without money ; 
 and when they gave me what I asked for, advised me to 
 stipulate for more regular remittances. 
 
 15. This somewhat disturbed my dream of constant af- 
 fluence, but I was three days after completely awaked : 
 for entering the tavern, where we met every evening, 
 I found the \vaiters remitted their complaisance, and in- 
 stead of contending to light me up stairs, Buffered tne to 
 wait for some minutes by the bar* 
 
nnd English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 163 
 
 16. When I came to my company I found them unu- 
 sually grave and formal, and one of them took a hint to 
 turn the conversation upon the misconduct of young- men, 
 and enlarged upon the folly of frequenting the company 
 of men of fortune, without being able to support the ex- 
 pense ; an observation which the rest contributed either 
 to enforce by repetition, or to illustrate by examples. On- 
 ly one of them tried to divert the discourse, and endeavor- 
 ed to direct my attention to remote questions, and, com- 
 mon topics* 
 
 17V A man guilty of poverty easily believes himself sus- 
 pected. I went, however, next morning to breakfast with 
 him who appeared ignorant of the drift of the conversa- 
 tion, and by a series of inquiries, drawing still nearer to 
 the point, prevailed on him, not, perhaps,, much against 
 his will, to inform me that Mr. Dash, whose father was 
 a wealthy attorney near my native place, had the morn-, 
 ing before received an account of my uncle's resentment, 
 and communicated his intelligence with the utmost indus- 
 try of grovelling insolence. 
 
 18. It was no longer practicable to consort with my 
 former friends, unless I would be content to be used as an 
 inferior guest, who was to pay for his wine by mirth and 
 flattery ; a character, which, if I could not escape it, I 
 resolved to endure only among those who had never 
 known me in the pride of plenty. 
 
 19. I changed my lodgings, and frequented the coffee- 
 houses in a different region of the town ; where I was 
 very quickly distinguished by several young gentlemen of 
 high birth and large estates, and began again to amuse 
 my imagination with hopes of preferment, though not 
 quite so confidently as when I had less experience. 
 
 20. The first great conquest which this new scence en- 
 abled me to gain over myself was, when I submitted to con- 
 fess to a party, who invited me to an expensive diversion, 
 that my revenues were not equal to such golden pleasures ; 
 they would not suffer me, however to stay behind, and 
 with great reluctance I yielded to be treated. I took that 
 opportunity of recommending myself to some office or 
 employment, which they unanimously promised to pro- 
 cure me by their joint interest. 
 
 21,J bad now entered into a state of depemlance and. 
 
164 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 had hopes, or fears, from almest every man I saw. If it 
 be unhappy to have one patron, what is his misery who 
 has so many ? I was obliged to comply with a thousand 
 caprices, to concur in a thousand follies, and to counten- 
 ance a thousand errors. I endured innumerable mor- 
 tifications, if not from cruelty, at least from negligence, 
 which will creep in upon the kindest and most delicate 
 minds, when they converse without the mutual awe of 
 equal condition. 
 
 22. I found the spirit and vigor of liberty every mo- 
 ment sinking in me, and a servile fear of displeasing, 
 stealing by degrees upon all my behavior, till no word, 
 or look, or action, was my own. As the solicitude to 
 please increased, the power of pleasing grew less, and I 
 was always clouded with diffidence where it was most my 
 interest and wish to shine. 
 
 23. My patrons, considering me as belonging to the 
 community, and, therefore, not the charge of any par- 
 ticular person, made no scruple of neglecting any oppor- 
 tunity of promoting me, which every one thought more 
 properly the business of another. An account of my ex- 
 pectations and disappointments, and the succeeding vi- 
 cissitudes of my life, I shall give you in my following 
 tetter, which will be, I hope, of use to show how ill ho 
 forms his schemes, who expects happiness without 
 freedom. I am, &c. 
 
 The Misery of depending upon the Great. 
 
 RAMBLER, NO. 27. 
 
 1. \ S it is natural for every man to think himself of 
 JL\. importance, your knowledge of the world will 
 incline you to forgive me, if I imagine your curiosity so 
 much excited by the former part of my narration, as to 
 make you desire that I should proceed without any unne- 
 cessary arts of connection. 1 shall, therefor, not keep 
 you longer in such suspence, as perhaps my performance 
 may not compensate. 
 
 2. In the gay company with which I was now united, 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT* 165 
 
 1 found those allurements and delights, which the friend- 
 ship of young men always affords ; there was that open- 
 ness which naturally produced confidence, that affability 
 which, in some measure, softened dependance, and that 
 ardor of profession which excited hope. 
 
 3. When our hearts were dilated with merriment, 
 promises were poured out with unlimited profusion, and 
 life and fortune were but a scanty sacrifice to friendship ; 
 but when the hour came, at which any effort was to be 
 made, I had generally the vexation to find, that my inter- 
 est weighed nothing against the slightest amusement, and 
 that every petty avocation was found a sufficient plea for 
 continuing me in uncertainty and want. 
 
 4. Their kindness was indeed sincere, when they prom- 
 ised they had no intention to deceive ; but the same juve- 
 nile warmth which kindled their benevolence, gave force 
 in the same proportion to every other passion, and I was 
 forgotten as soon as any new pleasures seized on their 
 attention. 
 
 5. Vagrio told me one evening, that all my perplexities 
 should soon be at an end, and desired me, from that in- 
 stant, to throw upon him all care of my fortune, for a post 
 of considerable value was that day become vacant, and he 
 knew his interest sufficient to procure it in the morning. 
 He desired me to call on him early, that he might be dres- 
 sed soon enough to wait on the minister before any other 
 application should be made. 
 
 6. I came as he appointed, with all the flame of grati- 
 tude, and was told by his servant, that having found at his 
 lodgings, when he came home, an acquaintance who was 
 going to travel, he had been persuaded to accompany him 
 -to Dover, and that they had taken post-horses two hours 
 before day, 
 
 7. I was once very near to preferment by the kindness 
 af Charinus ; who, at my request, went to beg a place, 
 which he thought me likely to fill with great reputation, 
 and in which I should have many opportunities of pro- 
 moting his interest in return ; and he pleased himself 
 with imagining tjhe mutual benefits that we should con- 
 fer, and the advances that we should make by our united 
 strength. 
 
 8. Away, therefore, he went, equally warm with friend- 
 
J66 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 ship and ambition, and left me to prepare acknowledge 
 ments against his return. At length he came back, and 
 told me that he had met in his way a party going to break- 
 fast in the country, that the ladies importuned him too 
 much to be refused, and that having passed the morning 
 with them, he was come back to dress himself for a ball, 
 tp which he was invited for the evening* 
 
 9. I have suffered several disappointments from tailors 
 and per ri wig makers, who, by neglecting to perform their 
 work, withheld ,my patrons from court ; and once failed 
 of an establishment for life by the delay of a servant, sent 
 to a neighboring shop to replenish a snuff-box. 
 
 30. At last I thought my solicitude at an end, for an 
 office fell into the gift of Hippodamus' father, who being 
 then in the country, could not very speedily fill it, and 
 whose fondness would not have suffered him to refuse his 
 son a less reasonable request. Hippodamus therefore set 
 forward with great expedition, and I expected every hour 
 an account of his success. 
 
 11. A long time I waited without any intelligence, but 
 #t last received a letter from New-market, by which I was 
 informed, that the races were begun, and I knew the ve- 
 hemence of his passions too well to imagine that he could 
 refuse himself his favorite amusement. 
 
 12. You will not wonder that I was at last weary of 
 the patronage of young men, especially as I found them 
 not generally to promise much greater fidelity as they 
 advanced in life ; for I observed that what they gained in 
 steadiness they- Jost 'in benevolence, and grew colder to 
 xny interest as they became more diligent to promote their 
 own. 
 
 1 3. I was convinced that their liberality was only pro- 
 fuseness, that, as chance directed, they were equally gene- 
 rous to vice and virtue, that they were warm, but because 
 they were thoughtless, and counted the support of a friend 
 only amongst other gratifications of passion. 
 
 14. My resolution was now to ingratiate myself with 
 izien whose reputation was established, whose high stations 
 enabled them to. prefer me, and whose age exempted them 
 from sudden changes of inclination. I was considered as a 
 man of parts, and therefore easily found admission to the 
 table of Hilarius, the celebrated ,or,ator, renowned equally 
 
&nd English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 107 
 
 for the extent of his knowledge, the elegance of his dic- 
 tion, and the acuteness of his wit. 
 
 15. Hilarius received me with an appearance of great 
 satisfaction, produced to me all his friends, and directed 
 to me that part of his discourse in which he most endeav- 
 ored to display his imagination. I had now learned my 
 own interest enough to supply him with opportunities for 
 smart remarks and gay sallies, which I never failed to 
 echo and applaud. 
 
 16. Thus I was gaining every hour on his affections, 
 till, unfortunately, when the assembly was more splendid 
 than usual, his desire of admiration prompted him to turn 
 his raillery upon me. I bore it for some time with great 
 submission, and success encouraged him to redouble hist 
 attacks, at last my vanity prevailed over my prudence ; 
 I retorted his irony with such spirit, that Hilarius, unac- 
 customed to resistance, was disconcerted, and soon found 
 means of convincing me, that his purpose was not to en- 
 courage a rival, but to foster a parasite. 
 
 17. I was then taken into the familiarity of Argutio, 
 a nobleman eminent for judgment and criticism. He had 
 contributed to my reputation, by the praises which he 
 had often bestowed upon my writings, in which he owned 
 that there were proofs of a genius that might rise to high 
 degrees of excellence, when time, or information, had re- 
 duced its exuberance. 
 
 18. He therefore required me to consult him before 
 the publication of any new performance, and commonly 
 proposed innumerable alterations, without sufficient at- 
 tention to the general design, r regard to my form of 
 style, and mode of imagination. 
 
 19. But these corrections he never failed to press as in- 
 dispensibly necessary, and thought the least delay of com- 
 pliance an act of rebellion. The pride of an author made 
 this treatment insufferable, and I thought any tyranny 
 easier to be borne than that which took from me the use 
 of my understanding. 
 
 20. My next patron was Eutyches the statesman who 
 was wholly engaged in public affairs, and seemed to have 
 no ambition but to be powerful and rich. I found his fa- 
 vor more permanent than that of the others, for there was 
 a certain prise at which it might be bought ; he allowed 
 
168 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 nothing to humor or affection, but was always ready to 
 pay liberally for the service he required. 
 
 21. His demands were, indeed, very often such as vir- 
 tue could not easily consent to gratify ; but virtue is not 
 to be consulted when men are to raise their fortunes by 
 the favor of the great. His measures were censured ; I 
 wrote in his defence, and was recompensed with a place, 
 of which the profits were never received by me withou 
 the pangs of remembering that they were the reward 
 wickedness ; a reward which nothing but that necessity 
 which the consumption of my little estate in these wii< 
 pursuits had brought upon me, hindered me from throv 
 ing back in the face of my corruptor. 
 
 22. At this time my uncle died without a will, and I 
 became heir to a small fortune. I had resolution to throw 
 off the splendor which reproached me to myself, and re- 
 tire to an humbler state, in which I am now endeavoring 
 to recover the dignity of virtue, and hope to make some 
 reparation for my crimes and follies, by informing others 
 who may be led after the same pageants, that they are 
 about to engage in a course of life, in which they are to 
 purchase, by a thousand miseries, the privilege of re^ 
 pentance. 
 
 I am, &c. 
 
 EUBULUS. 
 
 What it is to see the World ; the Story of Melissa. 
 
 RAMBLER, No. 75. 
 
 1. r I ^HE diligence with which you endeavor to cul- 
 JL tivate the knowledge of nature, manners, and 
 life, will perhaps incline you to pay some regard to the 
 observations of one who has been taught to know man- 
 kind by unwelcome information, and whose opinions are 
 the result, not of solitary conjectures, but of practice and 
 experience. 
 
 2. I was born to a large fortune, and bred to the knowl- 
 edge of those arts which are supposed to accomplish the 
 inind, and adorn the person of a woman. To these 
 attainments, which custom and education almost forced 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. ) 69 
 
 upon me, I added some voluntary acquisitions by the u^ 
 of books, and the conversation of that species of msn 
 -whom the ladies generally mention with terror and aver- 
 sion under the name of scholars, but whom I have found 
 a harmless and inoffensive order of beings, not so much 
 wiser than ourselves, but that they may receive as well as 
 communicate knowledge, and more inclined to degrade 
 their own character by cowardly submission, than to over- 
 bear or oppress us. by their learning or their wit. 
 
 3. From these men, however, if they are by kind 
 treatment encouraged to talk, something may be gained, 
 which, embellished with elegancy, and softened by mo- 
 desty, will always add dignity and value to female conver- 
 sation ; and from my acquaintance with the bookish part 
 of the world, I derived many principles of judgment and 
 maxims of prudence, by v/hich I was enabled to draw 
 upon myself the general regard in every place of con- 
 course or pleasure. 
 
 4. My opinion was the great, rule of approbation, rny 
 remarks were remembered by those who desired the se 
 cond degree of fame, my mein was studied, my dress was 
 imitated, my It tiers were handed from one family to an- 
 other, and read by those who copied them as sent to tl 
 selves ; my visits were solicited as honors, ar.d rnulti- 
 
 . tucks boasted of an intimacy with Melissa, who had oi;lv 
 seen me by accident, whose familiarity had never proceed- 
 ,ed beyond the. exchange of a compliment, or return of a 
 ccurtsey. 
 
 5. I shall make no scruple of confessing that I was 
 pleased with this universal veneration, because I always 
 considered it as paid to my intrinsic qualities and insepa- 
 rable merit, and very easy persuaded myself, that fortune 
 had no part in my superiority. 
 
 6. When I looked upon my glass I saw youth and 
 beauty, with health that might give me reason to hope 
 their continuance : when I examined vny mind, I found 
 some strength of judgment, and fertility offaney ; ar.d 
 was told that every action was grace, and that every ac- 
 cent was persuasion. 
 
 ? In tl v ;s manner my life passed like a corii.irj.ir: 
 
 urtiph amidst acclamations, and envy, and courislup, arid 
 
 ses : -.o pieiuf Melissa was tne general ainbitio' 
 
'-.-man and lady's MONITOR, 
 
 of artful flattery was practised upon me* 
 : is grateful, even when we know that our 
 pr re not believed by those who pronounce them : 
 
 ; ' prove at least, our power, and show that otir 
 : since it is purchased by the meanness of 
 
 C, 1-ivit perhaps the flatterer is not often detected, for 
 -nest mind is not apt to suspect, and no one exerts 
 ; \-n\ers of discernment with much vigor when self- 
 K.VOIS the deceit. 
 
 . The number of adorers, and the perpetual distrac- 
 tion of my thoughts by new schemes of pleasure, prevent- 
 m listening to any of those who croud in miilti- 
 to give gins advice, and kept me unmarried and 
 ;agc*d to my twenty-seventh year, when as I was 
 vr.vering in all the pride of uncontestecl excellency, with 
 i; face yet little impaired, and a mind hourly improving, 
 the failure of a fund, in which my money was placed, 
 reduced me to a frugal competency, which allowed a little 
 beyond neatness and independence. 
 
 10. I bore the diminution of my riches, without any 
 outrages of sorrow, or pusillanimity ofdejectiop. Indeed 
 1 d'J not know how much .1 had lost, for having always 
 
 : and thought rr^ore of my wit and beauty, than of 
 nvr ibruii*2, it did not suddenly enter my imagination, 
 . Melissa could sink beneath her established rank, while 
 form and her mind continued the same ; that she 
 should cease to raise admiration but by ceasing to deserve 
 i't, or feel any stroke but from the hand of time. 
 
 1 1 . It was in my power to have concealed the loss, and 
 to have married, by continuing the same appearance, 
 wiih all the credit of my original fortune ; but I was not 
 so far sunk in my esteem, as to submit to the baseness of 
 fraud, or to desire any other recommendation than sense 
 and virtue. 
 
 12. I therefore dismissed my equipage, sold those or- 
 naments which were become unsuitable to my new condi- 
 tion, and appeared among those with whom I used to con- 
 verse with less glitter, but with equal spirit. 
 
 13. I found myself received at every visit, with sorrow- 
 beyond what is naturally felt for calamities in which we 
 have no prat, and ins entertained with condolence and 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 
 
 consolation, so frequently repeated, that my friends _ 
 
 ly consulted rather their own gratification, than my 
 
 relief. 
 
 14. Some from that time refused my acquaintance, 
 and fbrebore without any provocation, to repay my visits ; 
 some visited me but after a longer interval than usual, and 
 every return was still with more delay ; nor did any of 
 my female acquaintances fail to introduce the mention 
 of my misfortunes, to compare my present and former 
 condition, to tell me how much it must trouble me to 
 want the splendor which I became so well ; to look at 
 pleasures, which I had formerly enjoyed, and to sink to 
 a level with those by whom I had been considered as 
 moving in a higher sphere, and who had hitherto approach- 
 ed me with reverence and submission, which I was now 
 no longer to expect. 
 
 15. Observations like these are commonly nothing- 
 better than covert insults, which serve to give vent to the 
 flattulence of pride, but they are now and then imprudent- 
 ly uttered by honesty and benevolence, and inflict pain 
 where kindness is intended ; I will therefore so fur main- 
 tain my antiquated claim to politeness, as to venture the 
 establishment of this rule, that no one ought to remind 
 another of misfortunes of which the sufferer does not 
 complain, and which there are no means proposed of 
 alleviating. 
 
 16. You have no riglrt to excite thoughts which neces- 
 sarily give pain whenever they return, and which perhaps 
 might not have revived but by absurd and unseasonable 
 compassion. 
 
 17. My endless train of lovers immediately withdrew, 
 without raising any emotions. The greater part had in- 
 deed always professed to court, as it is termed, upon the 
 square, had inquired my fortune, and offered settlements ; 
 these undoubtedly had a right to retire without censure, 
 since they had openly treated for money, as necessary to 
 their happiness, and who can tell how little they wanted 
 any other portion ? / 
 
 18. I have always though the clamors of women un- 
 reasonable, who imagine themselves injured, because the 
 men who followed them upon the supposition of a greater 
 fortune, reject them when they are discovered to have less* 
 
172 The Young Gentlemen and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 I have never known any lady, who did not think wealth 
 a title to some stipulations in her favor ; and surely what 
 is claimed by the possession of money, is justly forfeited 
 by its loss. 
 
 19. She that has once demanded a settlement, has al- 
 lowed the importance of fortune; and when she cannot 
 &how pecuniary merit, why should she think her cheapner 
 cbl;e;td to purchase ? 
 
 20. My lovers were not all contented with silent deser- 
 'tion. Some of them revenged the neglect which they 
 
 bad formerly endured by wanton and superfluous insults, 
 i endeavored to mortify me, by paying in my presence 
 those civilities to other ladies, which were once devoted 
 My 7 to me. 
 
 21. But as it had been my rule to treat men according . 
 to the rank of their intellect, I had never suffered any 
 one to waste his life in suspense who could have employed 
 it to better purpose, and had therefore no enemies but 
 coxcombs, whose resentment and respect were equally, 
 below my consideration. 
 
 2. The only pain which I have felt from degradation, 
 is the loss of that influence which I have always exerted 
 on the side of virtue, in the defence of innocence, and 
 the assertion of truth. I now find my opinions slighted, 
 my sentiments criticised, and my arguments opposed by 
 those who used to listen to me without reply, and struggle 
 to be first in expressing their conviction. 
 
 23. The female disputants have wholly thrown off my 
 authority, and if I endeavor to enforce my reasons by 
 an appeal to the scholars that happen to be present, the 
 wretches are certain to pay their court by sacrificing 
 me and my system to a finer gown ; and I am every hour 
 insulted with contradiction by cowards, who could never 
 find till lately, that Melissa was liable to error. 
 
 24. There are two persons only whom I cannot charge 
 Ji having: changed their conduct with my change of 
 tune. One is an old curate, that has passed his life in the 
 
 duties of his profession, with great reputation for his 
 -r.vletlge and piety; the other is a lieutenant of dra- 
 goons. 'The parson made no difficulty in the height of 
 iny elevation, to check me when I was pert, and in- 
 struct rhe when I blundered ; and if there is any alteration, 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 175 
 
 he is now more timorous, lest his freedom should be 
 thought rudeness. 
 
 25. The soldier never paid me any particular addresses, 
 but very rigidly observed all the rules of politeness, which 
 he is now so far from relaxing, that whenever he serves 
 the tea, he obstinately carries me the first dish, in defi- 
 ance of the frowns and whispers of the table. 
 
 26. This Mr. Rambler, is to sec the world. It is im- 
 possible for those that have only known affluence and pros- 
 perity, to judge rightly of themselves or others. The 
 rich and the powerful live in a perpetual masquerade, in 
 which all about them wear borrowed characters ; and we 
 only discover in what estimation we are held, when we 
 can no longer give hopes or fears. 
 
 I am, &c. 
 
 MELISSA. 
 
 Cn the Omniscience and Omnipresence of the Deity ^ together 
 with the Immensity of his Works* 
 
 3. T WAS yesterday about sun-set walking in the open 
 JL fields, till the night insensibly fell upon me. I at 
 first amused myself with all the richness and variety of 
 colors, which appeared in the western parts of heaven : 
 in proportion as they faded away and went out, several 
 stars and planets appeared one after another, till the whole 
 firmament was in a glow. The blueness of the asther 
 \vas exceedingly heightened and enlivened by the season 
 of the year, and' by the rays of all those luminaries that 
 passed through k. 
 
 2. The Galaxy appeared in its irtost beautiful white. 
 To complete the scene, the full moon rose at length in 
 that clouded majesty, which Milton takes notice of, and 
 opened to the eye anew picture of nature, which was 
 more finely shaded, and disposed among softer lights, 
 than that which the sun had before discovered to us. 
 
 3. As I was surveying the moon walking in her bright- . 
 ness, and taking her progress among the constellations, 
 51 though rose in me which I believe very often perplexes 
 
 P 2 
 
174 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 and disturbs men of serious and contemplative natures.- 
 David himself fell into it in that reflection, When I co 
 eider the heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and stars 
 which thou hast ordained ; what is man that thou art mindful 
 of him, and the son of man tlmt thou regardsst him ! 
 
 4. In the same manner, when I consider that infinite 
 host of stars, or to speak more philosophically, of suns, 
 who were then shining- upon me, with those innumerable 
 sets of planets or worlds, which were moving round their 
 respective suns; when ! still enlarged the idea, and sup- 
 posed another heaven -of suns and worlds rising still above 
 this which he had discovered, and these siill enlightened 
 by a superior firmament of luminaries, which are planted 
 at so great a distance, that they may appear to the inhab- 
 itants of the former as the stars do to us ; in short, while 
 1 pursued this thought, I could not but reflect on that little 
 insignificant figure which I myself bore amidst the im- 
 mensity of God's works. 
 
 5. Were the sun which enlightens this part of the 
 creation, with all the host of planetary worlds that move 
 about him, utterly extinguished and annihilated, they 
 would not be missed, more than a grain of sand upon the 
 sea-shore. The space they possess is so exceedingly lit- 
 tle in comparison of the whole, that it would scarce make 
 a blank in the creation. The chasm would be impercep-. 
 tible to an eye that could take in the whole compass of 
 Bature, and pass from one end of the creation to the other ; 
 as it is possible there may be such a sense in ourselves 
 hereafter, or in creatures which are at present more axalt 
 cd than ourselves. 
 
 6. We see many stars by the help of glasses, which 
 we do not discover with our naked eyes; and the finer 
 our telescopes are, the more still are our discoveries.. 
 Huy genius carries this thought so far, that he does not 
 think it impossible there may be stars whose light is not 
 yet travelled down to us, since their first creation. There . 
 is no question but the universe has certain bounds set to 
 it ; but when we consider that it is the work of infinite 
 power, prompted by infinite goodness, with an infinite 
 space to exert itself in^ how can our imagination set any 
 bounds to it 1 
 
&nd English Teacher's ASSIST ANT.. 1 75 
 
 7. To return, therefore, to my first thought, I could 
 not but look upon myself with secret horror, as a being 
 that was not worth the smallest regard of one who had so 
 great a work under his care and superintendence I was, 
 afraid of being overlooked amidst the immensity of nature, 
 and lost among that infinite variety of creatures, which in 
 all probability swarra through, all these immeasurable re- 
 gions of matter. 
 
 In order to recover myself from this mortifying thought, 
 I consider that it took its rise from those narrow concep- 
 tions which we are apt to maintain of the divine nature. 
 We ourselves cannot attend to many different objects at 
 the same time. If we are careful to inspect some things, 
 we must, of course neglect others.., 
 
 8. This imperfection which we observe in ourselves is 
 an imperfection that cleaves in some degree to creatures 
 of the highest capacities, as they are creatures, that is, 
 beings of finite and limited natures. The presence of 
 every created being is confined to a certain measure of 
 space, and consequently his observation is stinted to a 
 certain number of objects. The sphere in which we 
 move, and act, and understand, is of a wider circumference 
 to one creature than another, according as, we rise one 
 above another in the scale of existence., 
 
 9., But the widsst of these ou? spheres has its circum- 
 ference* When therefore we reflect on the divine nature, 
 we are so used and accustomed to this imperfection in 
 ourselves, that we cannot forbear in some measure ascrib- 
 ing it to him in whom there is no shadow of imperfection.. 
 Our reason indeed ascribes that his attributes are infinite, 
 but the poorness of our conceptions is such that it cannot 
 forbear setting bounds to every thing it contemplates, till 
 our reason comes again to our succor, and throws down 
 all those little prejudices which rise in us unawares, and 
 are natural to the mind of man.. 
 
 10.. We shall therefore utterly extinguish this melan- 
 choly thought, of our being overlooked by our Maker in 
 the multiplicity of his works, and the infinity of those ob- 
 jects among which he seems to be incessantly employed, 
 if we consider, in the first place, that he is omnipresent | 
 and in the second, that he is omniscient. 
 
 If we consider him in his. omnipresence j. bis being 
 

 
 176 The Young- Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 passes through, actuates and supports the whole frar 
 of nature. His creation, and every part of it, is full of 
 him. 
 
 11. There is nothing he has made, that is either so 
 distant, so little, or so inconsiderable, which he does not 
 essentially inhabit. His substance is within the substance 
 of every being, whether material or immaterial, and is 
 intimately present to it, as that being is to itself. It 
 would be an imperfection in him, were he able to remove 
 out of one place into another, or to withdraw himself 
 from any thing he has created, or from any part f that 
 space which is diffused and spread abroad to infinity. In 
 short, to speak of him in the language of the old philoso- 
 phers, he is a being whose centre is every where, and his 
 circumference no where. 
 
 12. In the second place, he is omniscient as well as 
 omnipresent. His omniscience indeed necessarily and 
 naturally flows from his omnipresence. He cannot but 
 be conscious of every motion that arises in the whole 
 material world, which he thus essentially pervades ; and 
 of every thought that is stirring in the intellectual world, 
 to every part of which he is thus intimately united. Sev- 
 eral moralists have considered the creation as the temple 
 of God, which he has built with his own hands, and which 
 is filled with his presence. 
 
 13. Others have considered infinite space as the recep- 
 tacle, or rather the habitation of the Almighty ; but the 
 noblest and most exalted way of considering this infinite 
 space, is that of Sir Isaac Newton, who calls it the sensori- 
 um of the Godhead. Brutes and men have their sensorfa y 
 or little scnseriums, by which they apprehend the presence 
 and perceive the actions of a few objects that lie contig- 
 uous to them* Their knowledge and apprehension turn 
 within a very narrow circle. But as God Almighty can- 
 not but perceive and know every thing in which he resides, 
 infinite space gives room to infinite knowledge, and is, as 
 it were, an organ to omniscience. 
 
 14. Were the soul separate from the body, and with 
 one glance of thought should start beyond the bounds of 
 the creation ; should it for millions of years continue its 
 progress through infinite space with the same activity, 
 it would still find itself within the embraces of its Creator? 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 1/7 
 
 and encompassed round with the immensity of the God- 
 head. While we are in the body he is not less present 
 with us, because he is concealed from us. Gh that I knew 
 ivherc I might t find him ! says Job. Behold I go forward, 
 tout he is not there ; and backward, but I cannot perceive 
 him : on the left hand^ where he dot's i^ork^ but I cannot 
 behold him: he hideth himself on the right hand that I cannot 
 ftee him. In short, reason as well as revelation assures us, 
 that he cannot be absent from us, notwithstanding he is 
 undiscovered by us. 
 
 15. In this consideration of God Almighty's omnipre- 
 sence and omniscience, every uncomfortable thought van- 
 ishes. He cannot but regard every thing that has being, 
 especially such of his creatures who fear they are not re- 
 garded by him He is- privy to all their thoughts, and to 
 that anxiety of heart in particular, which is apt to trouble 
 them on this occasion ; for, as it is impossible he should 
 overl *.>k any of his creatures, so we may be confident that 
 he regards, with an eye of mercy, those who endeavor to 
 recommend themselves to his notice, and in unfeigned hu- 
 mility of heart think them&eives unworthy that he should 
 be mindful of them. 
 
 vcs to Piety and Virtue, drawn from the Cmrthcic^c: 
 and Omnipresence of the Betty. 
 
 SPECTATOR, NO, 571. 
 l.TNyour paper of Friday, the 9th instant, you had 
 
 JL occasion to consider the ubiquity of the Godhead, 
 and at the same time to show, that as he is present to eve- 
 ry thinr, he cannot but be attentive to every thing, and pri- 
 vy to all the modes and parts of its existence ; or in oth- 
 er words, that his omniscience and omnipresence are co- 
 txis'ient, and run together through the whole infinitude of 
 space* 
 
 2. This consideration might furnish us with many in- 
 centives to devotion, and motives to morality ; but as this 
 subject has been handled by several excellent writers, I 
 shall consider it in a light wherein I have not seen it 
 fcd by others. 
 
 lirst, How disconsolate is the condition cf an iht'el- 
 
178 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 lectual being who is thus present with his Maker, but at 
 the same time receives no extraordinary benefit or advan- 
 tage from this his presence i 
 
 3. Secondly, How deplorable is the condition of an in- 
 tellectual being, who feels no other effects from this his 
 presence but such as proceed from divine wrath and indig- 
 nation ! 
 
 Thirdly, How happy is the condition of that intellectu- 
 al being, who is sensible of his Maker's presence from the 
 secret effects of his mercy and loving kindness ! 
 
 4. First, How disconsolate is the condition of an intel- 
 lectual being, who is thus present with his Maker, but at 
 the same time receives- no extraordinary benefit or advan- 
 tage from this his presence ! Every particle of matter is 
 actuated by this Almighty Being which passes through it. 
 The heavens and the earth, tke stars and planets^ move, 
 and gravitate by virtue of this^reat principle within them. 
 All the dead parts of nature are invigorated by the pre- 
 sence of their Creator, and made capable of exerting their 
 respective qualities. 
 
 5. The several instincts in the brute creation do like- 
 wise operate and work towards the several ends which are 
 agreeable to them, by this divine energy. Man only, 
 who does not co-operate with his holy spirit, and is unat- 
 tentive to his presence, receives none of these advantages 
 from it, which are perfective of his nature, and necessary 
 to his well-being. The divinity is with him, and in him, 
 and every where about him, but of no advantage to 
 him. 
 
 6. It is the same thing to a man without religion as if 
 there were no God in the world. It is indeed impossible 
 for an infinite Being to remove himself from any of his 
 creatures ; but though he cannot withdraw his essence 
 from us, which would argue an imperfection in him, he 
 can withdraw from us all the joys and consolations of it. 
 His presence may, perhaps, be necessary to support us in 
 cur existence ; but he may leave this our existence to it- 
 self, with regard to our happiness or misery. 
 
 7. For, in this case, he may cast us away from his pre- 
 sence, and take his holy spirit from us This single con- 
 sideration one would think sufficient to make us open our 
 hearts to all those infusions of joy and gladness which are 
 
find English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 179 
 
 st> near at hand, and ready to be poured in upon us : es- 
 pecially when we consider, Secondly^ the deplorable con- 
 dition of an intellectual being who feels no other effects 
 from his Maker's presence, but such as proceed from di- 
 vine wrath and indignation ! 
 
 8. We may assure ourselves, that the great Author of 
 Nature will not always be as one, who is indifferent to any 
 oT his creatures. Those who will not feel him in his love 
 will be sure at length to feel him in his displeasure. And 
 how dreadful is the condition of that creature who is 
 only sensible of the being of his Creator by what he suf- 
 fers from him ! He is as essentially present in hell as in 
 heaven ; but the inhabitants of the former behold him 
 only in his wrath, and shrink within the flames to con- 
 ceal themselves from him. It is not in the power of im- 
 agination to conceive the fearful effects of Omnipotence 
 incensed. 
 
 9. But I shall only consider the wretchedness of an in- 
 tellectual being, who, in this life, lies under the displeas- 
 ure of him, that at all times, arid in all places, is intimate- 
 ly united with him. He is able to disquiet the soul, and 
 vex it in all its faculties. He can hinder any of the great- 
 est comforts of life from refreshing us, and give an edge 
 to every one of its slightest calamities. 
 
 10. Who then can bear the thought of being an outcast 
 from his presence, .that is, from the comforU of it, or of 
 feeling it only in its terrors I how pathetic is that expos- 
 tulation of Job, when 'for the real trial of his patience, he 
 was made to look upon himself in this deplorable condi- 
 tion \ Why hast then sei me as a mark against thce, to that 
 I am become a burden to myself? But, Thirdly, how happy 
 is the condition of that intellectual being, who is sensible 
 of his Maker's presence from the secret effects of his mer- 
 cy and loving kindness ! 
 
 11. The blessed in heaven behold him face to face, 
 that is, are as sensible of his presence as we are of the 
 presence of any person whom we look upon with our eyes. 
 There is doubtless a faculty in spirits, by which they ap- 
 prehend one another, as our senses do mat;:ri<'.l objects ; 
 and there is no question but our souls, when they are dis- 
 embodied, or placed in glorified bodies, will by this facul- 
 ty, in whatever space they reside, -be always sensible of the 
 divine presence. 
 
ISO The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 12. We who have this veil of flesh standing betwee 
 sis and the world of spirits, must be content to know th 
 spirit of God is present with us, by the effects which he 
 produceth in us. Our outward senses are too gross tc 
 apprehend him ; we may however taste and see how gra- 
 cious he is, by his influence upon our minds, by those vir- 
 tuous thoughts which he awakens in us, by those secret 
 comforts and refreshments which he conveys into our 
 souls, and by those ravishing joys and inward satisfactions 
 which are perpetually springing up, and diffusing them- 
 selves among all the thoughts of good men. 
 
 13. He is lodged in our very essence, and is as a soul 
 within the soul to irradiate its understanding, rectify its 
 will, purify its passions, and enliven all the powers of 
 man. How happy therefore is an intellectual being, who 
 by prayer and meditation, .by virtue and good works, 
 opens this communication bet.veen God and his own 
 soul 1 Though the 'whole creation frowns upon him, and 
 all nnture looks black about him, he has his light and 
 support within him, that are able to cheer his mind, and 
 bear him up in the midst of all those horrors which en- 
 compass him. 
 
 14. He knows -that his helper is at hand, and is always 
 jnearer to him than any tiling else can be, which is capable 
 of annoying or terrifying him. In the midst of calumny 
 .or contempt, he attends to that Being who whispers bet- 
 ter things within his soul, and whom he looks upon as his 
 defender, his glory, and the lifter up of his head. In his 
 deepest solitude and retirement, lie knows that he is in 
 company with the greatest ofbtings ; and perceives with- 
 in himself such real sensations of his presence, as are 
 more delightful than any thing that can be met with in the 
 conversations of his creature -s. 
 
 15. Even in the hour of d-.:uvh, be considers the pains 
 of his dissolution to be nothing else but the breaking 
 down of that partition, which stands betwixt his souls 
 and the sight of that Being, who is always present with 
 him, and\s about to manifest itself to him in fulness 
 of joy. 
 
 16. If we would be thus happy and thus sensible of 
 our Maker's presence, from the secret effects of his mercy 
 sml goodness^ we must keep such a watch over ;\li ouj? 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 131 
 
 thoughts, that, in the language of the scripture, his soul 
 may have pleasure in us. We must take care not to grieve 
 his holy spirit, and endeavor to make the meditations of 
 our hearts always acceptable in his sight, that he may de- 
 iight thus to reside and dwell in us. 
 
 17. The light of nature could direct Seneca to this doc- 
 trine in a very remarkable passage among his epistles ; 
 Sace r inest in nobis sfiiritus^ bonorum malor unique custos et 
 observator ; ct quemadmodum nos ilium tractamus, ita et ills 
 nos. < There is a holy spirit residing in us, who watches 
 c and observes both good and evil men, and will treat us 
 < after the same manner that we treat him.* But I shall 
 conclude this discourse with those more emphalical words 
 in divine revelation : If a man love me he wilt keeji my 
 words ; and my father will love him^ and we will come 
 Jii?n, and make our abode "with him. 
 
 Reflections on ths third Jlea^cn. 
 
 , SPECTATOR, NO. 580. 
 
 1. j CONSIDERED in my two last letters, that awful 
 
 JL and tremendous subject, the ubiquity or omnipres- 
 ence of the Divine Being. I have shown that he is equally 
 present in all places throughout the whole extent of infinite 
 space. This doctrine is so agreeable to reason, that wa 
 'meet with it in the writings of the enlightened heathens, 
 as I might show at large, were it not already done by other 
 hands. But though the Deity be thus essentially present 
 through all the immensity of space, there is one part of it 
 in which he discovers himself in a most transcendent and 
 visible glory. 
 
 2. This is that place which is marked out in scripture 
 under the different appellations of Paradise^ the third heav- 
 e??, the throne of God, and the habitation of his glory. It is 
 here where the glorified body of our Saviour resides, arid 
 where all the celestial hierarchies, and innumerable hosts 
 of angels, are represented as perpetually surrounding the 
 seat of God with hallelujah's and hymns of praise. This 
 is that presence of God which some of the divines call 
 his glorious, and others his majestic presence. 
 
 Q 
 
S2 The Young Gentleman ajul Letchfs MONITOR, 
 
 3. He is indeed as essentially present in all other pla- 
 ces as in this ; but it is here where he resides in. a sensible 
 magnificence, and in the midst of all those splendors which 
 can affect the imagination of created beings. 
 
 It is very remarkable that this opinion of God Al- 
 mighty's presence in heaven, whether discovered by the 
 light of nature, or by a general tradition from our first 
 rents, prevails among all the nations of the world 
 'natsoever different notions they entertain of the God' 
 neaci* 
 
 4. If you look into Homer, that is, the most ancient of 
 the Greek writers, you see the supreme power seated in the 
 Heavens, and encompassed with inferior deities, amonp- 
 Wiiom the muses are represented as singing incessantly 
 about his throne. Who does not here see the main atrokes 
 and outlines of this great truth we are speaking of ? 
 
 5. The same doctrine is shadowed out in many other 
 heathen authors, though at the same time, like several 
 >ther revealed truths, dashed and adulterated with a mix- 
 lure of fables and human inventions. But to pass over 
 the notions of the Greeks and Romans, those more enlight- 
 ened parts of the pagan world, we find there is scarce a 
 
 ; .>le among the late discovered nations who are not 
 -ltd up in an opinion that heaven is the habitation of 
 the divinity whom they worship. 
 
 6. As in Solomon's temple there was the Sanctum Sanc- 
 torum, in which a visible glory appeared among the figures 
 of the cherubims, and into which none but the high-priest 
 himself was permitted to enter, after having made an 
 atonement for the sins of the people ; so, if we consider 
 this whole creation as one great 'temple, there is in it 
 the Holy of Holies, into which the high-priest of our sal- 
 vation entered, and took his place among angels and arch- 
 angels, after having made a propitiation for the sins of 
 mankind. 
 
 7. With how much skill must the throne of God be 
 erected ? With what glorious designs is that habitation 
 beautified, which is contrived and built by him who in- 
 spired Hiram \rith wisdom ? How great must be the ma- 
 jesty of that place, where the whole art of creation has 
 been employed, and where God has chosen to show him- 
 self in the most magnificent manner ? What must be the 
 
and English Teacher ^ASSISTANT. 183 
 
 architecture of infinite power and the direction of divine 
 wisdom ? A spirit cannot but be transported after an inef- 
 fable manner with the sight of those objects, which were 
 made to affect him by that Being who knows the inward 
 frame of a sou], and how to please and ravish it in all its 
 most secret powers and faculties. 
 
 8. It is to this majestic presence of God we may apply 
 those beautiful expressions in holy writ : Behold even to the 
 moon, and it shineth not ; yea^ the stars are not pure in his 
 sight. The light of the sun, and all the glories of the 
 world in which we live, are but as weak and sickly glim- 
 merings, or rather darkness itself, in comparison of those 
 splendors which encompass the throne of God. 
 
 9. As the glory of this place is transcendent beyond 
 imagination, so probably is the extent of it. There is 
 light behind light, and glory within glory. How far 
 that space may reach, in which God thus appears in 
 perfect majesty, we cannot possibly conceive. Though 
 it is Lot infinite, it may be indefinite ; and though not 
 immeasurable in itself, it may be so with regard to any 
 created eye or imagination. If he has made these lower 
 regions of matter so inconceivably wide and magnificent 
 for the habitation of mortal and perishable beings, how 
 great may we suppose the courts of his house to be, where 
 he makes his residence in a more especial manner, and 
 displays himself in the fulness of his glory, among an in- 
 numerable company of angels, and spirits of just men 
 made perfect ! 
 
 10. This is certain, that our imaginations cannot be 
 raised too high, when we think on a place where omni- 
 potence and omniscience have so signally exerted them- 
 selves, because that they are able to produce a scene 
 infinitely more great and glorious than what we are able 
 to imagine. 
 
 11. It is not impossible but at the consummation of all 
 things, these outward apartments of nature, which are 
 now suited to those beings w ho inhabit them, may be taken 
 in and added to that glorious place of which I am here 
 speaking ; and by that means made a proper habitation for 
 beings who r.rc exempt from mortality, and cleared of their 
 imperfections : for so the scripture seems to intimate, when 
 it speaks of new heavens and of a new earth, wherein 
 dwelleth righteousness. 
 
184 The I'oimg Gent:, man and Lady's MOKITSR, 
 
 12. I have only considered this glorious place with re- 
 gard to the sight and imagination, though, it is highly 
 probable, that our other senses may here likewise enjoy 
 their highest gratifications. There is nothing which more- 
 ravishes 'and transports the soul, than harmony ; and we 
 have great reason to believe, from the description of this 
 
 "place in holy scriptures, that this is one of the entertain- 
 ments of it. 
 
 13. And if the soul of man can be so wonderfully af- 
 fected with those strains of music, which human art is ca- 
 pable of producing, how much more will it be raised and 
 elevated by those, in which is exerted the whole power of 
 harmony ! The senses are faculties of the human soul, 
 though they cannot be employed, during this our vital 
 union, without proper instruments in the body. 
 
 14. Why therefore should we exclude the satisfaction 
 of these faculties, which we find by experience are inlets 
 of great pleasure to the soul, from among those enter- 
 tainments which are to make our happiness hereafter ? 
 "Why should we suppose that our hearing and seeing will 
 j'.ct be gratified by those objects which are most agreeable 
 to them, and which they cannot meet with in these lower 
 regions of nature ; objects which neither eye hath *ctn 
 r,.or ear heard) nor can it enter into the heart oj man to con- 
 ceive ! 
 
 15. I knew a man in Christ (says St. Paul, speaking of 
 himself,) abzve fourteen years ego, (whether in the body* 
 I cannot tell ; or whether out of the body I cannot tell : God 
 knoweth) such a one caught iifi to the third heaven. And 
 I knew sitc'i a -man (whether in the bod-i or cut of the body^ 
 I cannot tell : God knzweth) how that he was caught uji 
 into fiaradhe. and t heard unspeakable words, which it is not 
 pcsdblefor a man to utter. 
 
 1 6. By this is meant that what he heard was so infinite- 
 ly different from any thing which he had heard in this 
 World, that it was impossible to express it in such words as 
 iTMght convey a notion of it to his hearers. 
 
 It is very natural for us to take delight in inquiries con- 
 cerning any foreign country, where we are some time or 
 ether to make our abode ; and as we all hope to be ad- 
 mitted into this glorious place, it is both laudable and use- 
 ful curiosity, to get what information we can of it, while 
 \ve make use. of revelation' for our guide. 
 
and English 7\ acker's A^ T STAKT, 16J 
 
 17, When these everlasting doors shall be optned to 
 us, we miiy be sure that the pleasures and beauties of 
 this place will infinitely transcend our present hopes and 
 expectations, and that the glorious appearance of the 
 throne of God will rise infinitely beyond whatever we are 
 able to conceive of it. W ra entertain ourselves 
 
 with many other spccu' i t.:iis subject, from those 
 
 several hints which we find of it in the holy scriptures ; 
 ES whether there may not be mansions and 
 
 Cipsrt-" 1 . ; " r;f fVjffc'rent natures ; wheth- 
 
 er, a:: they excel one another in perfection, they are not 
 eel nearer to the thvon-2 of the Almighty, and enjoy 
 ter manff^statioris df .nee. 
 
 Vv'heth-er there art: not solemn- times and occa- 
 
 i all the TnuHi'ide of heaven celebrate the 
 
 '. in r.ioi'j extraordinary forms of 
 
 . ; as Mdam, though he had continued 
 
 in a L: -:e, would In the opinion of our divines, 
 
 y, in a more particular man- 
 
 of the seven. These, and the like 
 
 e jiiay very innocently indulge, so long as 
 
 w: rn'-.e use of thaKi to inspire us with a desire of be- 
 
 co'Tih^ inhabitants of this delightful place. 
 
 19. i have in this, and in the two foregoing letters treat-* 
 t'd on the most serious subject that can employ the mind 
 of man, the omnipresence of the Deity ; a subject which, 
 if possible, should, never depart from our meditations. 
 We have considered the Divine Being., as he inhabits in- 
 finitude, as he dwells among his works, as he is present to 
 the mind of man, and as he discovers himself in a more 
 glorious manner among the regions of the blest. Such a 
 consideration should be kept awake in us at all times, and 
 in all places, and possess our minds with a perpetual awe 
 and reverence. 
 
 20. It should be interwoven with all our thoughts and 
 perceptions, and become one with the consciousness of 
 our own being. It is not to be reflected on in the coldness 
 of philosophy, but ought to sink 113 into the lowest pror- 
 t ration before hini, v/ho-is so asioriifchipply ereat, wonder- 
 ful, and holy. 
 
 Q 2 
 
185 TJic Yowig Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 The present Life to be considered ^nly as it may conduce to 
 the Happiness of a future one* 
 
 SPECTATOR, NO. 575. 
 
 1. /t LEWD young fellow seeing an. aged hermit go 
 2. \. by him barefoot, Father -, says he, you are in a very 
 miserable condition, if there is not another world* True, so:1. } 
 said the hermit ; but what is thy condition if there is ? Man. 
 is a creature designed for two different states of being, or 
 rather for two different lives. His first life is short and 
 transient ; his second permanent and lasting. 
 
 2. The question we are all concerned in is this, in 
 which of these two lives is our chief interest to make our- 
 selves happy ? or in other words, whether we should en- 
 deavor, to secure to ourselves the pleasures and gratifica- 
 tions of a life which is uncertain and precarious, and at 
 its utmost length of a very inconsiderable duration ; or to 
 secure to ourselves the pleasures of a life that is fixed and 
 settled, and will never end ? Every man, upon the first 
 hearing of this question, knows very well which side of it 
 hi: ought to close with* 
 
 3. But however right we are in theory, it is plain that 
 la practice we adhere to , the wrong side of the question. 
 We make provisions for this life as though it were neveK 
 to have an end, and for the other life as though it were 
 never to have a beginning. 
 
 Should a spirit of superior rank, who is a stranger to. 
 Aiman nature, accidentally alight upon the earth, and 
 take a survey of its inhabitants, what would hia notions of* 
 us be ? 
 
 4. Would not he think that we were a species of beings 
 made for quite different ends and purposes than what we 
 really are ? Must not he imagine that we were placed in 
 
 this world to get riches and honors ? Would not he think 
 that it was our duty to toil after, wealth, and station, and 
 title ! Nay, would not he believe we were forbidden pov- 
 erty by threats of eternal punishment, and enjoined to 
 pursue our pleasures under pain of damnation ? He would 
 certainly imagine that we were influenced by a scheme of 
 duties quite opposite to those which arc indeed prescribed 
 to us. 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 18? 
 
 5. And truly, according to such an imagination, he 
 must conclude that we are a species cf the most obedient 
 creatures in the universe ; that we are constant to our 
 duty ; and that we keep a steady eye on the end foi* 
 which we were sent hither. 
 
 But how great would be his astonishment, when he 
 learnt that we were beings not designed to exist in this 
 world above threescore and ten years ; and that the great- 
 est part of this busy species fall short even of that age ? 
 
 6. How would he be lost in horror and admiration, 
 when he should know that this set of creatures, who lay 
 out all their endeavors for this life, which scarce deserves 
 the name of existence, when I say he should know that 
 this set of creatures are to exist to all eternity in another 
 life, for which they make no preparations ? 
 
 7. Nothing can be a greater disgrace to reason than 
 t-iat men, who are persuaded of these two different state?; 
 of being, should be perpetually employed in providing 
 for a life of threescore and ten years, and neglecting to 
 make provision for that, which, after many myriads of 
 years, will be still new, and still be gin rung ; especially 
 when we consider that our endeavors lor making our- 
 selves great, or rich, or honorable, or whatever else we 
 r.'uce our happiness in, may, after all, prove unsuccessful ; 
 vhereas if we constantly and sincerely endeavor to make 
 ourselves happy in the other life, we are sure that our en- 
 deavors will succeed, and that we shall not be disappoint- 
 ed of our hope. 
 
 8. The following question is started by one of the 
 schoolmen. Supposing the whole body of the earth were 
 a great ball or mass of the finest sand, and that a single 
 grain or particle of this sand should be annihilated every 
 thousand years. Supposing then that you had it in your 
 choice to be happy all the while this prodigious mass of 
 sand was consuming by this slow method till there was 
 not a grain of it left, on condition you were to be misera- 
 ble for ever after ; or supposing that you might be happy 
 for ever after, on condition you would be miserable till 
 the whole mass of sand were thus annihilated at the rate 
 of one sand in a thousand years ; which of these two cases 
 would you make your choice ? 
 
 9. It must be confessed in this case, so many thousand 
 
i S 3 Tiie Young Gentleman and L \ V>T; i T o ft y 
 
 of years are to the imagination as a kind of eternity, 
 though in reality they do not bear so great a proportion 
 to that duration which is to follow them, as an unit does 
 to the greatest number which you can put together in 
 figures, or as one of tho'^c sand 3 to the supposed heap. 
 Ileasou therefore tells us, without any manner cf hes- 
 itatim, which would be the better part in this choice. 
 
 10. However, as I have before intimated, our reason 
 might in such a case be so overset by the imagination, as< 
 to dispose some persons to sink under the consideration 
 of the great length of the first part of this duration, and of 
 the great distance of that second duration, which is to 
 succeed it. The mind, I say, might give itself up to that 
 happiness which is at hand, considering that it is so very 
 near, and that it would last so very long* 
 
 11. But when the choice we actually have before us, 
 is this, whether we will choose to be happy for the space 
 of only threescore and ten, nay, perhaps of only twenty 
 or ten years ; I might say. of only a day or an hour, u:,u 
 miserable to all eternity ; or, on the contrary, miserable 
 for this short term of years, and happy for a whole eter- 
 nity ; what words are sufficient to express that foil; 
 want of consideration which in such a case makes a v, 
 choice ? 
 
 12. I here put the case even at the worst, by supp-v; 
 (what seldom happens) that a course of virtue makes u i- 
 miserable in this life : but if we suppose (as it generally 
 happens) that virtue will make us more happy even in 
 this life than a contrary course of- vice ;. how can we suf- 
 ficiently admire the stupidity or madness of those persons. 
 who are capable of making so absurd a choice ? 
 
 13. Every wise man, therefore, will consider this life 
 only as it may conduce to the happiness of the other, a~ .1 
 cheerfully sacrifice the pleasures of a few years to those 
 $f an eternity. 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 139 
 
 On the Immortality of the Soul. 
 
 SPECTATOR, NO. 111. 
 
 I. T WAS yesterday walking alone in one of my friend's 
 JL woods, and lost myself in it very agreeably, as I 
 was running over in my mind the several arguments that 
 establish this great point, which is the basis of morality, 
 and the source of all the^ pleasing hopes and secret joys 
 that can arise in the heart of a reasonable creature. 
 
 2. I consider those several proofs drawn, First, from 
 the nature of the soul itself, and particularly its immate- 
 riality ; which, though not absolutely necessary to the 
 eternity of its duration, has, I think, been evinced to al- 
 most a demonstration. 
 
 Secondly, from its passions and sentiments, as particu- 
 larly from its love of existence, its horror of annihilation, 
 and its hopes of immortality, with that secret satisfaction 
 which it finds in the practice of virtue, and that uneasiness 
 which follows in it upon the commission of vice. 
 
 3. Thirdly, from the nature of the Supreme Being, 
 whose justice, goodness, wisdom and veracity, are all con- 
 cerned in this point. 
 
 But among these and other excellent arguments for the 
 immortality of the soul, there is one drawn from the per- 
 petual progress of the soul to its perfection, without a pos- 
 sibility of ever arriving at it ; which is a hint that I da 
 not remember to have seen opened and improved by oth- 
 ers who have written on this subject, though it seems to 
 me to carry a very great weight with it. 
 
 4. How can it enter into the thoughts of man, that the 
 soul which is capable of such immense perfections, and of 
 receiving new improvements to all eternity, shall fail 
 away into nothing almost as soon as it is created ? are 
 such abil'ties made for no purpose ? A brute arrives at a 
 point of perfection that he can never pass : in a few years 
 he lias all the endowments he is capable of; and were he 
 to live ten thousand more, would be the same thing he is 
 at present. 
 
 .0. Were a human soul thus at a stand in her accom- 
 plishments, were her faculties to be full blown, and inca- 
 ruble of farther enlargements, 1 could imagine it might 
 
190 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MOI^ITOR, 
 
 iall away insensibly, and drop at once into a state of anni- 
 hilation. 
 
 6. But can we believe a thinking being that is in a 
 perpetual progress of improvements, and travelling on 
 from perfection to perfection, after having just looked 
 abroad into the works of its Creator, and made a few- 
 discoveries of his infinite goodness, wisdom, and power, 
 must perish at her first setting out, and in the very begin- 
 ning of her inquiries ? 
 
 A man, considered in his present state, seems only sent 
 into the world to propagate his kind. He provides him- 
 self with a successor, and immediately quits his post to 
 make room for him. 
 
 , Heres 
 
 Hcredem alteriusy ~vclut unda sufiei~venit undam. 
 
 HOR. Ep. 2. 1.2. v. ir.5%. 
 
 Heir crouds heir, as in a rolling flood 
 
 Wave urges wave. CREECH. 
 
 7. He does not seem born to enjoy life, but to deliver 
 it down to others. This is not surprising to consider in 
 animals, which are formed for our use, and can finish their 
 business in a short life. The silk worm, after having spun 
 her task, lays her eggs, and dies. But a man can never 
 have taken in his full measure of knowledge, has not time 
 to subdue his passions, establish his soul in virtue, and 
 come up to the perfection of his nature, before he is hur- 
 ried off the stage. 
 
 8, Would an infinitely wise Being make such glorious 
 creatures for so mean a purpose ? Can he delight in the 
 production of such abortive intelligences, such short-lived 
 reasonable beings ? Would he give us talents that are not 
 to be exerted? capacities that are never to be gratified ? 
 Plow can we find that wisdom which shines through all 
 
 .his works, in the formation ofman> without looking on 
 this world as only a nursery for the next, and believing 
 that the several generations of rational creatures, which 
 rise up and disappear in such quick successions, are only 
 to receive their first rudiments of existence here, and af- 
 icr.vards to be transplanted into a more friendly climate, 
 where they may spread and flourish to all eternity. 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 191 
 
 9. There is not in my opinion, a more pleasing and 
 triumphant consideration in religion than this of the per- 
 petual progress which the soul makes toward the perfec- 
 tion of its nature, without ever arriving at a period in 
 it. To look upon the soul as going on from strength to 
 strength, to consider that she is to shine for ever with new 
 accessions of glory, and brighten to all eternity ; that she 
 will be still adding virtue to virtue, and knowledge to 
 knowledge ; carries in it something wonderfully agreeable 
 to that ambition which is natural to the mind of -nan. 
 Nay, it must be a prospect pleasing to God himself, to see 
 his creation for ever beautifying in his eyes, and drawing 
 nearer to him, by greater degrees of resemblance. 
 
 10. Methinks this single consideration, of the progress 
 of a finite spirit to perfection, will be sufficient to extin- 
 guish all envy in inferior natures, and all contempt in su- 
 perior. That cherubim which now appears as a God to a 
 human soul, knows very well that the period will come 
 about in eternity when the* human soul shall be as perfect 
 as he himself now is : nay, when he shall look down up- 
 on that degree of perfection as much as she now falls short 
 of it. It is true, the higher nature still advances, and by 
 that means preserves his distance and superiority in the 
 scale of being ; but he knows that, how high soever the 
 station is of which he stands possessed at present, the in- 
 ferior nature will at length mount up to it, and shine 
 forth in the same degree of glory. 
 
 11. With what astonishment and veneration may -we 
 look into our own soul, where there are such hidden 
 stores of virtue and knowledge, such inexhausted sources 
 of perfection ! We know not yet what we shall be, nor 
 \vill it ever enter into the heart of man to conceivc-thc 
 glory that will be always in reserve for him. The soul 
 considered with its Creator, is like one of those mathemat- 
 ical lines that may draw nearer to another for all eternity, 
 without a possibility of touching it : and can there be a 
 thought so transporting, as to consider ourselves in these 
 perpetual approaches to him, who is not only the stand- 
 ard of perfection but of happiness ! 
 

 192 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 On the Animal World, and the scale of Beings. 
 
 SPECTATOR, No. 519. 
 
 l.npl-IOUGH there is a great deal of pleasure in 
 JL contemplating the material world, by which I 
 mean that system of foodies into which nature has so cu- 
 riously wrought the mass of dead matter, with the sever- 
 al relations which those bodies bear to one another ; there 
 is stiil, methinks, something more wonderful and surpris- 
 ing in contemplations on the world of life, by which I mean 
 all those animals with which every part of the universe is 
 furnished. 
 
 The material world is only the shell of the universe : 
 the world of life are its inhabitants. 
 
 2. If we consider those parts of the material world 
 which lie the nearest to us, and are therefore subject to 
 our observation and inquiries, it is amazing to consider 
 the infinity of animals with which it is stocked. Every 
 part of matter is peopled : every green leaf swarms with 
 inhabitants. There is scarce a single humor in the body 
 of a man, or of any other animal, in which our glasses 
 do not discover myriads of living creatures. 
 
 3. The surface of animals, is also covered with other 
 animals, which are in the same manner the basis of other 
 animals that live upon it ; nay, we find in the most solid 
 bodies, as in marble itself, innumerable cells and cavities, 
 that are cronded with such imperceptible inhabitants, as 
 are too little for the naked eye to discover. On the other 
 hand, if we look into the more bulky parts of nature, we 
 see the seaS, lakes and rivers teeming with numberless 
 kinds of living creatures ; we find every mountain and 
 marsh, wilderness and w T ood, plentifully stocked with 
 birds and beasts, and every part of matter affording prop- 
 er necessaries and conveniences for the livelihood of mul- 
 titudes which inhabit it. 
 
 4. The author of the Plurality of Worlds draws a very 
 goood argument from this consideration, for the periling 
 of every planet : as indeed it seems very probable, from 
 the analogy of reason, that if no part of matter, which we 
 are acquainted with, lies waste and useless, those great 
 bodies, which are at such a distance from us ? should 
 
and JZ?r,-.' '. vr. : > I 
 
 not be desert and unpeopled'? but li/.her that they t; 
 
 be furnished willi beings adapted to their respective sil- 
 
 nation. 
 
 o. Existence is a blessing to those beings crJy which 
 are endowed with perception, and is in a manner thrown 
 away upon dead matter, any farther than as it is s..~ 
 vient to beings which are conscious of their existence* 
 
 Accordingly we find, from the bodies which I 
 our observation, that matter is only made as the ba^is and 
 support of animals, and that there is no more of the one, 
 than what is necessary for the existence of the other. 
 
 6. Infinite goodness is of so communicative n nal 
 that it. seems to delight in the conferring of exi?r 
 
 \ ;;<>n every degree of perceptive being. As this is a spec- 
 ulation, which I have often pursued with great pleasure to 
 myself, I shall enlarge further upon it, by considering 
 part of the scale of beings which comes within our know- 
 
 7. There are some living creatures which rre raised 
 ust above dead matter. To mention only that spe- 
 cies of shell-fish which are formed in the fashion of A cone, 
 that grow to the surface of several rocks and irnniet!:. 
 
 die upon their being severed from the 
 
 grow: t*; ere are many other creatures but o: 
 
 from these, which have no-other sense uesi. 
 
 ing and table. Others have still an additional one of hci'.r- 
 
 ing ; others of smell ; and other-:. 
 
 8. It is wonderful to observe, 
 gress the world of L 
 
 ely of species, before a c 
 : A) all ils senses ; and &v 
 
 ont degree of peiiiiction in t] 
 mal enjoys beyond what apr 
 sense in different animals a 
 common denovnination } it seetiyS almobt of a 
 ; ire. 
 
 9. If after this we look into the sc s v-. : fns of 
 cunning and sagacity, or what v... :-tinct, 
 we find them rising aftcn 1 the- 
 
 one above another, and reeeivii 
 according to t! 
 
UU The You- : Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 This progress in nature is so very gradual, that the 
 most perfect of an inferior species comes very near to the 
 most imperfect of that which is immediately above it. 
 
 10. The exuberant and overflowing goodness of the 
 Supreme Iking, \vhose mercy extends to all his works, 
 is plainly seen, as I have before hinted, from his having 
 made so very little matter, at least vrhnt falls within OUT 
 knowledge, that dees not swarm with life, nor is his 
 goodness less seen in the diversity, than in the multitude 
 of living creatures. Had he only made one species of 
 animals, none of the rest would have enjoyed the happi- 
 ness 6f existence : he has therefore specified in his creation 
 every degree of life, every capacity of being- 
 
 ! 1, The whole, chasm of nature, from a plant to a man, 
 is filled up with divers kinds of creatures, rising one 
 over another, by such a gentle and easy ascent, that the 
 little transitions and deviations from one species to an- 
 other are almost insensible. This intermediate space is 
 so well husbanded and managed, that there is scarce a 
 degree of perception which dees not appear in some one 
 part of the \voricl of life. Is the goodness, or wisdom 
 of the Divine Being, more manifested in this his pro- 
 ceed'. 
 
 12. There is a consequence, besides those I have al- 
 ready mentioned, which seems very naturally deduclUe 
 from the forgoing considerations. If the scale of being 
 rises by such a rf:^:hr progress, so high as man, we may 
 by a parity of reason suppose that it still proceeds gradu- 
 ally through those beings which are of a superior nature 
 to him ; since there is an infinitely greater space and room 
 for different degrees of perfection between the Supr-jrae 
 Ikiner and nuu) ; than between man uncl the most despica- 
 ble insect. 
 
 13. The consequence of so great a variety of beings 
 which are superior to ui .hat variety which is in- 
 ferior to us, i* m'ad *> in a pussage which I 
 shall here set r premised that notwith- 
 
 i m between man und his 
 .- exert ituelf in, it is im- 
 
 jhesi 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 
 
 14. That there should be more r.pecits ofinidli^c. 
 lures above us, than there (ire of zenaille and matcri 
 us, is probable to me from hence ; that in all the ins 
 
 poreal world, we see no chasms, or ?w gap$> M ; 
 
 from us, the descent is by easy step^-and a 
 
 cf things, that in each remove . ' 
 
 ether. There are fishes that / 
 
 gers to the airy region: andi/icr. \ebirds 
 
 inhabitants of the water ; whose fa '" cold t 
 
 and theirflesh so like in taste, that the vcrupuktts an. 
 
 them on fish days. 
 
 15. There are animal?, so near of kin bo?:. 
 beasts, that they are in i between Itih , 
 bious animals link the ttrr. 
 
 *fNie at land and at sea, C 
 
 and entrails of a hog ; not to 
 
 reported of mermaid* cr i:tG-~- are AC;;. 
 
 that seem to have as much knowledge, and reason. 
 
 that are called men : and the animal and 
 
 are so nearly joined, that if yon : 
 
 and the highest ofiheo-hcr, <~ 
 
 any great difference between them ; 
 
 the- lowest and the niost inorgc' 
 find every where that the scvc? i ' 
 
 and differ but in almost imcnsic-l? d 
 
 1 6. And when we consider tht 
 of the Maker, we have reason t 
 
 the magnificent harmony ofih? universe, and the great design 
 and infinite goodness of the architect, that the species of 
 creatures zhoulil also, by gentle degrees ascend ufiivardfroin 
 its toward h?s infinite perfection, a$ we $ec they gradually 
 descend from :. vard: which if it be probable, we 
 
 ha\'c rzason then to be tierzvaded, that there are far wore 
 species of creatures above us than there are beneath ; we 
 being in degrees of perfection much more remote from the 
 infinite Being of God, than we are from the lowest state 
 of being, and that which ajijiroaches nearest to nothing. 
 And yet of all those, distinct species, we have no char 
 distinct idea?,, 
 
 17. In this system of being, there is no creature so 
 \yondeviulin its nature, arid which so much deserves our 
 particular attention, as man, who fills up the middle 
 
vnd I. cay's MONITOR, 
 
 tween the animal and intellectual nature, the 
 
 visible and invisible world, and is that link in the chain 
 
 of beings which has been often termed the Nexus utri- 
 
 :i*que luinitii. So that he who in one respect is associated 
 
 v'uh angels and archangels, may look upon a Being of 
 
 tc perfection as his father, and the highest order of 
 
 s as his brethren ; may in another respect say to 
 
 ..*z<??>, thcu art my fat her y ami to l he worm, thou art 
 
 : stcr. 
 
 Prr. roved from Amrfizi Instinct. 
 
 SPECTATOR, NO. 120. 
 
 I. T MUST confess I am infinitely delighted with those 
 JL speculations of r*ature which are to be made irj a 
 country life ; nnd as my reading has very much lain 
 among books of natural history, I cannot forbear recoli 
 lecthig, upon this occasion, the several remarks which I 
 met with in authors, and comparing them with. 
 v,hat falls under my own observation ; the arguments for 
 Providence drawn from the natural history of animals be- 
 ing in my opinion, demonstrative. 
 
 2. The make of every kind of animal is different from 
 that of every other kind ; and there is not the least turn- 
 in the muscles or twist in the fibres of any one, which, 
 does not render them more proper for that particular ani- 
 mal's way of life than any other cast or texture of them 
 would have been. 
 
 The most violent appetites in all .creatures are lust and 
 hunger : the first is a perpetual call upon them to propa- 
 gate their kind, the latter to preserve the; rnselves. 
 
 3. It is astonishing to consider the different degrees 
 of care that descend from the parent to the young, so 
 far as is absolutely necessary for the leaving 1 a posterity* 
 Some creatures cast their eggs as chance directs them, 
 and think of them no farther, as insects, and several kinds 
 of fish ; others, of a nicer frame, find out proper beds to 
 deposit them in, and there leave them, as the serpent^ 
 the crocodile, and ostrich ; others hatch their eggs and 
 tend the birth till it is able to shift for it-; 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 197 
 
 4. What can we call the principle which directs every 
 different kind of bird to observe a particular plan in tlie 
 structure of its nest, and directs all of the same species to 
 work after the same model ? It cannot be imitation ; for 
 though you hatch a crow under a hen, and never let it see 
 any of the, works of its own kind, the nest it makes shall 
 be the same to the laying of a stick, with all the other 
 nests of the same species. It cannot be reason ; for were 
 animals endued with it to as great a degree as man, their 
 buildings would be as different as ours, according to the 
 different conveniences that they would propose to them- 
 selves. 
 
 5. Is it not remarkable, that, the same temper of wea- 
 ther, .which raises this general warmth in animals, should 
 cover the trees with leaves, and the fields with grass, foi 1 
 their security and concealment, and produce such infinite 
 swarms of insects for the support and sustenance of their 
 respective broods ? 
 
 Is it not wonderful that the love of the parent should be,, 
 so violent while it lasts, and that it should last no longer 
 than is necessary for the preservation of the young ? 
 
 6. With what caution does the hen provide herself a 
 nest in places unfrequented, and free from noise and dis- 
 turbance ? When she has laid her eggs in such a manner 
 that she can cover them, what care does she take in turn- 
 ing them frequently, that all parts may partake of the vital 
 warmth ? When she leaves th-rn, to provide for her ne- 
 cessary sustenance, how punctually does she return before 
 they have time to cool, and become incapable of produ- 
 cing an animal ? In the summer, you see her giving her- 
 self greater freedoms, and quitting' her care forabqve i\vo 
 hours together; but, in winter, when the rieor of the 
 season would chill the principles of life, and destroy the 
 young one, she gro :; in her attendance, 
 and stays a\vay but half the time. 
 
 7. When the birth approaches, with how much. nicety 
 and attention does she help the chick to break its prison '? 
 Not to take notice of her cov- t h e injuries of 
 lue weather, provid : :; hrnent, iuul tei ch- 
 
 to help itself -not torn sakipg the nest, 
 
 the; usual lime of , youn g one dces 
 
 not make its appsarancx*. A chymical operation could 
 
IDS The Your.tf Gentleman- and Jsi-.iy's M.oci ro A .:, 
 
 not be followed with greater art or diligence, than is seen 
 in the hatching of a chick ; though there are many other 
 birds that show an infinitely greater sagacity in all the : 
 fore-mentioned particulars. 
 
 8. But at the same time the hen, that has all thk 
 seeming ingenuity (which is indeed absolutely necessary 
 tor the propagation of the species) considered in other 
 respects, is without the least glimmerings of thought or 
 common sense. She mistakes a piece of chalk for an 
 egg, and sits upon it in -the same manner ; she is insen- 
 sible of any increase or diminution in the number of those 
 she lays : she does not distinguish between her own arid 
 those of another species ; and when the birth appears of. 
 ever so different a bird, will cherish it for her own. In all 
 these circumstances, which do not carry an immediate re- 
 gard to the subsistence of herself or her species, she is a 
 very idiot. 
 
 9. There is not, in my opinion, any thing more mys- 
 terious in nature than this instinct in animals, which thus 
 rises above reason, and falls infinitely short of it. It can- 
 not be accounted for by any properties in matter, and at 
 the same time works after so odd a manner, that one can- 
 not think it the faculty of an intellectual being. For my 
 cwn part- I look upon it as upon the principle of gravita- 
 tion in bodies, which is not lobe explained by any known 
 qualities inherent in the bodies themselves, nor from any 
 laws in mechanism ; .but, according to the best notions of 
 the greatest philosophers, is an immediate impression-, 
 frorn'the first mover, and the divine energy acting in 
 the creature, 
 
 Good Breeding. 
 
 I. /COMPLAISANCE renders a superior amiable. 
 V>4 an equal agreeable, and an inferior acceptable. It: 
 smooths distinction, sweetens conversation, and makes 
 every one in the company pleased with himself. It pro- 
 duces good nature and mutual benevolence, encourages, 
 the timorous, sooths the turbulent, humanizes the fierce, 
 and distinguishes a society of civilized persons from a con- 
 fusion of ravages. In a word, complaisance is a virtue that 
 
and English Teach er's ASSISTANT. 199 
 
 blends all orders of men. together in a friendly intercourse 
 of words and actions, and is suited to that equality in hu- 
 man nature which every one ought to consider, so far as 
 is consistent with the order and ceconomy of the world. 
 
 2. If we could look into the secret aot:,uishand afflic- 
 tion of every man's heart, we should often find, that 
 more of it arises from little imaginary distresses, such as 
 checks, fr6wns, contradictions, expressions of contempt, 
 and (what'S#&fa?a/z#0r reckons among other evils under 
 the sun) 
 
 " -. The poor man's contumely, 
 
 " The insolence of office, and the spurns 
 " That patient merit of the unworthy takes," 
 
 than from the more real pains and calami ties of life. The 
 only method to remove these imaginary distresses as 
 much as possible out of human life, would be the univer- 
 sal practice of such an ingenious complaisance as I have 
 been here describing, which, as it is a virtue, may be de- 
 fined to be a " constant endeavor to please those whom we 
 w converse with, so far as we may do it innocently." 
 
 3. Good breeding necessarily implies civility ; but civ- 
 ility does not reciprocally imply good breeding* The 
 former has its intrinsic weight and value, which the lalter 
 always adorns, and often doubles by its vrorkrn anshi'p. 
 
 To sacrifice one's own self-love to other people's is a 
 short, but I believe a true definition of civility : to do it 
 vvlth ease, propriety and grace, is good breeding. The 
 one is the result of good nature ; the other of good seiise, 
 joined to experience; observation, and attention. 
 
 4. A ploughman will be civil, if he is good n stirred, but 
 cannot be well bred. A courtier will be well bred though 
 perhaps without good nature, if he has but p,;ood sense, 
 r lattery is the disgrace of good breeding, as brutality of- 
 ten is of truth and sincerity. Good breeding is the mid- 
 dle point between those two odious extremes. 
 
 Ceremony is the superstition of good breeding, as veil 
 as of religion ; but yet, being an out-work to both, 
 should not be absolutely demolished- It is always to a 
 certain degree, to be complied with, though despised by 
 th yj who think, because admired and rtbpecttd by these 
 v/ho do not. 
 
200 The Young 1 Gentleman and Ladifs MONITOR, 
 
 5. The most perfect degree of good breeding, as I have- 
 already hinted, is only to be acquired by great knowledge 
 of the world, and keeping the best company. It is not 
 the object of mere speculation, ami cannot be exactly de- 
 fined, as it consists in a fitness, a propriety of words, ac- 
 tions and even looks, adapted to the infinite variety and 
 combinations of persons, places and things. It is a mode, 
 not a substance ; for what is good breeding at St. James's 
 would pass for foppery or banter in a remote village ; and 
 the homespun civility of that village would be considered 
 as brutality at court. 
 
 6. A cloistered pedant may form true notions of civil- 
 ity ; but if amidst the cobwebs of his cell he pretends to 
 spin a speculative system of good breeding, he will not be 
 less absurd than his predecessor, who judiciously under- 
 took to instruct Hannibal in the art of war. The most 
 ridiculous and most aukward of men are, therefore, the 
 speculatively well bred monks of all religions and all pro- 
 fessions. 
 
 7. Good breeding, like charity, not only covers a mul- 
 titude of faults, but, to a certain degree, supplies the want 
 of some virtues. In the common intercourse of life, it 
 acts good nature, and often does what good rat ere vill 
 not always do ; it keeps both wits- and fools within those 
 bounds of decency which the former are too apt to trans- 
 gress, and which the latter never know. Courts are un- 
 questionably the seats of good breeding, and must neces- 
 sarily be so ; otherwise thty would be the seats of vio- 
 lence and desolation. There all the passions are in their 
 highest state of fermentation* 
 
 8. All pursue what but few can obtain, and many seek 
 what. but one can enjoy. Good breeding alone restrains, 
 th.rir excesses. There, if enemies did not embrace they- 
 tvouM'sUib.- There, smiles are often put on to conceal 
 tears. There, mutual services art- professed, while mu- 
 ttn.l injuries are intended ; ond. thv-r-, f he guile of the ser- 
 pent simulates the gentlents^ of the clove ; all this, it is< 
 true, at the expense of sirr -.rity ; but upon the whole, to- 
 the advantage of social it . ;.r ntral. 
 
 9. I would not be \r-' : and supposed to. 
 recommend -.rood thus profaned ;nr! prosti- 
 tuted to the purpob-.s of ^uilt and perfidy j but I think 
 
mndr-lLngftsh Tt ~cchcr*s ASSISTANT. 01 
 
 UM justly infer from it, lo what a degree the accom- 
 plishment of good breeding must adorn and inforce virtue 
 and truth, when it can thus soften the outrages and defor- 
 mity of vice and falsehood. I am sorry to he obliged to 
 confess, that my native country is not perhaps the seat 
 of the most perfect good breeding, though I really believe, 
 that it yields to none in hearty and sincere civility, as far 
 as civility is (and to a certain degree it is) an inferior 
 moral duty of doing as one would be done by. 
 
 10. If France exceeds us in that particular, the in- 
 comparable author of LSEsjmt dcs Loix accounts for it 
 very impartially, and I believe very truly. " If my 
 i; countrymen, says he, are the best bred people in the 
 il world, \b is only because they are the vainest." It is 
 certain that their good breeding and attention, by flat- 
 tering the vanity and self-love of others, reppy their own 
 with interest. It is a general commerce usefully carried 
 on by a barter of attentions, and often without one grain 
 of solid merit, by way of medium, to make up the bal- 
 ance. 
 
 11. It were to be wished that good breeding were in 
 t^neral thought a more essential part of the education of 
 our youth, especially of distinction, than at present it 
 seems to be. It might even be substituted in the room of 
 some academical studiesjthat take up a great deal of thru 
 to very little purpose ; or, at least, it ?v:ii:;ht usefully share 
 some of those many hours, that are so frequently employed 
 upon a coach box, or in stables. Surely those, who by 
 their rank and fortune are called to adorn courts, ought at 
 least not to disgrace them by their ir; n ; . . - 
 
 12. But I observe with concev is the fashion 
 for our youth of both sexes to brand i;o g v. lib the 
 mme of ceremony and formality. A ;/ lidicule 
 and explode it, >jid adopt in its ^ ^ViVec^ire- 
 Jessness and inattention, to the dif; , I will vcnUrre 
 
 n of their own pleasures, if they know what true 
 in.'S are. Love and friendship necessarily produce, 
 Justly authorize familiarity ; but then good bre. 
 must mark out its bounds, and say, thus far shah thou p;o, 
 and no farther ; for I have known many a passion and 
 many a friendship, degraded., weakened, and at last (if I 
 may use the expression) wholly flattened av;ay. by at 
 uarded and illiberal familiarity. 
 
202 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 1 3. Nor is good breeding less the ornament and cement 
 f common social life : it connects, it endears, and at 
 the same time that it indulges the just liberty, restrains 
 the indecent licentiousness of conversation, which alien- 
 ates and provokes. Great talents make a man famous, 
 great merit m.ikes him respected, and great lea mine: 
 makes him esteemed ; but good breeding alone can make 
 him beloved. 
 
 14. I recommend it in a more particular manner to 
 my countrywomen, as the greatest ornament to such of 
 them as have beauty, and the safest refuge for those who 
 have not. It facilitates the victories, decorates the tri- 
 umphs, and secures the conquests of beauty ; or in some 
 degree atones for the want of it. It almost deifies a fine 
 \voman, and procures respect at least to those who have 
 not charms enough to be admired. Upon the whole, 
 though good breeding cannot, strictly speaking, be called 
 a virtue, yet it is productive of so many good effects, that 
 in my opinion it may be justly reckoned more than a mere 
 accomplishment. 
 
 WORLD, NO. 143. 
 
 JFurther Remarks taken from L r >rd C/i?sferfiM' 9 s Letters to 
 
 his Sou. 
 
 breeding has been very justly defined to he 
 " the result of much good sense, some good 
 " nature and a little self denial for the sake of others, 
 " and with a view to obtain the same indulgence from 
 " them." 
 
 Good breeding alone c?:iv prepossess people in our fa- 
 Tor at first sight ; more time being necessary to discover 
 greater talents. Good breeding, however, does not con- 
 sist in low bows* and formal ceremony ; but in an easy,- 
 civil, and respectful behavior. 
 
 16. Indeed, good sense, in many cases, must determine 
 good breeding ; for what would be civil at one time, and 
 to one person, would be rude at another time, and to 
 another person : there are, however, some general rules 
 ef good breeding. As for example ', to answer only yes, oir 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT* 2Q3 
 
 no, to any person, without adding sir, my lord, or madam, 
 (as it may happen) is always extremely rude ; and it is 
 equally so not to give proper attention and a civil answer 
 when spoken to : such behavior convinces the person 
 who is speaking to us, that we despise him, and do not 
 think him worthy of our attention, or answer. 
 
 17. A well bred person will take care to answer with 
 complaisance when he k> spoken to ; will place himself 
 at the lower end of the table, unless bid to go higher ; 
 will first drink to the lady of the house, and then to the 
 master ; he will not eat aukwardly or dirtily, nor sit when 
 others stand ; and he will do all this with an air of com- 
 plaisance, and not with a grave ill matured look, as if he 
 did it unwillingly. 
 
 18. There is nothing more difficult to attain, or so 
 necessary to possess, as perfect good breeding ; which is 
 equally inconsistent with a stiff formality, an impertinent 
 forwardness, and an aukward bash fulness. A little cere- 
 mony is sometimes nectssury ; a certain clepree of firm- 
 ness is absolutely so ; and an outward modesty is extreme- 
 ly becoming. 
 
 19. Virtue and learning, like gold, have their intrinsic 
 value : but, if they *\re not polished, they certainly lose 
 a great deal of their lustre : and even polished brass will 
 },i/ s upon more people than rough gold. What a num- 
 ber of sins does the cheerful, easy, good breeding of the 
 French frequently cover ! 
 
 My Lord Bacon says, " that a pleasing figure is a 
 " perpetual letter of recommendation." It is certainly 
 an agrecuble fore-runner of merit, and smooths the way 
 for it. 
 
 20. A man of good breeding should be acquainted 
 with the forms and particular customs of courts. At 
 Vienna, men always make conrtsies, instead of bows, 
 to the Emperor ; in France nobody bows to the king, 
 or kisses his hand ; but in Spain and England, bows are 
 made, and hands are kissed. Thus every court has some 
 peculiarity, which those who visit them ought previously 
 to inform themselves of, to avoid blunders and aukward- 
 
 21. Vety few, -scarcely any- ^t*e want i ^respect 
 Vi'bich they should show to those whoa, 
 
20-i The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 to be infinitely their superiors. The man of fashion, arul 
 of the world, expresses it in its fullest extent ; but natur- 
 ally, easily, and without concern : whereas a man, who is 
 not used to keep good company, expresses it aukwardly ; 
 one sees that he is not used to it, and that it costs him 
 a great deal : but I never saw the worst bred man liv- 
 ing, guilty of lolling, whistling, scratching his head, and 
 such like indecencies, in company that he respecte^U 
 In such companies, therefore, the only point to be at- 
 tended to is, to show that respect, which every body 
 means to show, in an easy, unembarrassed, and graceful 
 manner. 
 
 22. In mixed companies, whoever is admitted to make 
 part with them, is, for the time at least, supposed to be 
 upon a footing of equality with the rest ; and consequent- 
 ly, every one claims, and very justly, every mark of civility 
 and good breeding. Ease is allowed, but carelessness and 
 negligence are strictly forbidden. Ifa mun accost 
 
 and tuiks to you ever so dully or frivolously ; it is worse 
 rudeness, it is brutality, to show him by a manifest 
 inattention to what he says, that yen think Lira a fool or a 
 blockhead, and rot worth hearing. 
 
 23. It is mueh more so with regard to v who, 
 or whatever rank they are, are entitled, in cc ..ion of 
 their sex, not only to an attentive, l^t ^ officious good- 
 breeding from men. Their little wants, likings, dislikes, 
 preferences, antipathies, fancies, whims, and even imper- 
 
 :es, must be officiously attended to, {latleix-fl, and, if 
 possible, guessed at and anticipated, 1; bred m:-in. 
 
 You must never usurp to yourself those conveniences 
 and agrcmen* which are of common right such as the 
 places, the best dishes, Sec. hut on the contrary, always 
 decline them yourself, and offer them to others; who, 
 in their turns, will offer them to you : so that, upon the 
 whole, you will, in your turn, enjoy your share ci com- 
 mon right. 
 
 24. The third sort of good breeding is local, and is 
 variously modified, in not only aiffl-rent countries, but 
 in different to'.vns of the same country. But 
 
 iounded upon the two former sorts ; they ure the r 
 to which, in this case, iV hion and custom on> 
 ditfcrent shapes and irrn 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 205 
 
 First sorts, will easily acquire this third sort of good breed- 
 ing, vhich depends singly upon attention and observation. 
 It is properly the polish, the lustre, the last finishing 
 strokes of good breeding. A man of sense, therefore, 
 carefully attends to the local manners of the respective 
 places where he is, and takes for his models those persons 
 whom he observes to be at the head of the fashion and 
 good breeding. 
 
 25. He watches how they address themselves to their 
 superiors, how they accost their equals, and how they 
 treat their inferiors ; and lets none of those little niceties 
 escape him ; which are to good breeding, what the last 
 delicate and masterly touches are to a good picture, and 
 which the vulgar have no notion of, but by which good 
 judges distinguish the master. He attends even to their 
 airs, dress, and motions, and imitates them liberally, and 
 not servilely ; he copies, but does not mimic* These 
 personal graces are of very great consequence-. They an- 
 ticipate the sentiments, before merit can engage the un- 
 derstanding ; they captivate the heart, and give rise, I be- 
 lieve, to the extravagant notions of charms and philtres. 
 Their effects were so surprising, that they were reckoned 
 supernatural. 
 
 26. In short, as it is necessary to possess learning-, hon- 
 or, and virtue, to gain the esteem and admiration of 
 mankind, so politeness and good breeding are equally ne- 
 cessary to render us agreeable in conversation and com- 
 mon life. Great talents are above the generality of the 
 world ; who neither possess them themselves, nor are 
 competent judges of them in others : but all are judges 
 of the lesser talents, such as civility, affability, and an 
 agreeable address and manner ; because they feel the good 
 effects of them, as making society easy and agreeable. 
 
 To conclude : be assured that the profoundest learning, 
 without good breeding, is unwelcome and tiresome pe- 
 dantry ; that a man who is not perfectly well bred, is un- 
 fit for company, and unwelcome in it ; and that a, man, 
 who is not well bred, is full as unfit for business as for 
 company. 
 
 Make, then, good breeding the great object of your 
 thoughts and actions. Observe carefully the behavior 
 and manners of those who are distinguished by their good 
 
206 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 breeding ; imitate, nay, endeavor to excel, that you 
 may at least reach them ; and be convinced that, good 
 breeding is to all worldly qualifications, what charity is 
 to all Christian virtues. Observe how it adorns merit, 
 and how often it covers the want of it. 
 
 Genteel Carriage* 
 
 1. l^TEXT to good breeding is a genteel manner and 
 JL.^1 carriage, wholly free from those ill habits and 
 auk ward actions, which many very worthy persons are 
 addicted to. 
 
 2. A genteel manner of behavior, how trifling soever 
 k may seem, is of the utmost consequence in private life. 
 Men of very inferior parts have been esteemed, merely 
 for their genteel carnage and good breeding, while sen- 
 sible men have given disgust for want of it. There is 
 something or other that prepossesses us at first sight in fa- 
 vor of a well bred man, and makes us wish to like him. 
 
 3. When an aukward fellow first conies into a room, 
 he attempts to bow, and his sword, if he wears one, gets 
 between his leg*, and nearly throws him down. Confus- 
 ed and ashamed, he stumbles to the upper end of the 
 room, and seats himself in the very chair he should not. 
 He there begins playing with his hctt, which he presently 
 drops ; and recovering his hat, he lets fall his cane ; and 
 in picking up his cane, down goes his hat again : thus 
 y tis a considerable time before he ir> adjusted. 
 
 4. When his tea or coffee is handed to him, he spreads 
 his handkerchief upon his knee, scalds his mouth, drops 
 either the cup or the saucer, and spills the tea or coffee 
 in his lap. At dinner he is more uncommonly aukward, 
 there he tucks his napkin through a button hole, which 
 tickles his chin, and occasions him to make a variety of 
 wry faces ; he seats himself upon the edge of the chair, 
 at so great a distance from the table, that he frequently 
 drops his meut between his plate and his mouth ; he holds 
 his knife, fork and spoon different from other people ; 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 207 
 
 eats with his knife, to the manifest clanger of his mouth > 
 picks his teeth with his fork, rakes his mouth with his 
 finger, and puts his spoon which has been in his throat 
 a dozen times into the dish again. 
 
 5. If he is to carve he cannot hit the joint, hut in la- 
 boring to cut through the bone, splashes the sauce over 
 every body's clothes. He generally daubs him self* all 
 over, his elbows are in the next person's plate, and he is 
 up to the knuckles in soup and grease. If he drinks, it is 
 with his mouth full, interrupting the whole company with, 
 <c to your good health, Sir," and " my service to you ;" 
 perhaps coughs in his glass, and besprinkles the whole 
 table. Further, he has perhaps a number of disagreeable 
 tricks ; he snuffs up his nose, picks it with his fingers, 
 blows it, and looks in his handkerchief, crams his hands 
 first in his bosom, and next in his breeches. 
 
 6. In short, he neither dresses nor acts like any other 
 person, but is particularly aukward in every thing he does. 
 All this, I own, has nothing in it criminal ; but it is such 
 an offence to good manners and good breeding that it is 
 universally despised ; it makes a man ridiculous in every 
 company, and, of course, ought carefully to be avoided by 
 every one who would wish to please. 
 
 7. From this picture of the ill bred man, you will easily 
 discover that of the well bred ; for you may readily judge 
 what you ought to do, when you are told what you ought 
 not to do ; a little attention to the manners of those who 
 have seen the world, will make a proper behavior habitual 
 and familiar to you. 
 
 8. Actions, that \vould otherwise be pleasing-, frequently 
 become ridiculous by your manner of doing them. If a 
 lady drops her fan in company, the worst bred man would 
 immediately pick it up, and give it to her ; the best bred 
 man can do no more : but then he does it in a graceful 
 manner, which is sure to please : whereas the other would 
 do it so auk ward iy as to be laughed at. 
 
 9. You may also know a well bred person by his man- 
 ner of sitting. Ashamed and confused, the aukward man 
 sits in his chair stiff and b*lt upright, whereas the man 
 of fashion is easy in every position ; instead of lolling or 
 lo:n p'ing us -he sits, he jeans with elegance, and by varying 
 Lis attitudes, shows that he has been used to ;rocci com- 
 
208 The Young Gentleman mid Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 pany. Let it be one part of your study, then to leans 
 to set genteely in different companies, to loll gracefully, 
 where you are authorised to take that liberty, and to sit 
 up respectfully, where that freedom is not allowable. 
 
 10. In short, you cannot conceive how advantageous 
 a graceful carriage and a pleasing address are, upon all 
 occasions ; they ensnare the affections, steal a prepos- 
 session in our favor, and play about the heart till they 
 engage it. 
 
 Now to acquire a graceful air, you must attend to your 
 dancing ; no one can either sit, stand, or walk well un- 
 less he dances well. And in learning to dance be partic- 
 ularly attentive to the motion of your arms, for a stiff- 
 ness in the wrist will make any man look aukward. If 
 i\ man \vaiks well, presents himself well in company, wears 
 his hat well, moves his head properly and his arms grace- 
 fully, it is almost all that is necessary. 
 
 1 1. There is also an aukwardness in speech, that nat- 
 urally falls under this head, and ought to, and may be 
 guarded against ; such as forgetting names and mistaking 
 one name for another ; to speak of Mr. What-d'ye-call 
 him, 01% You-know-who, Mrs. Thingum, What's-her- 
 Tiame, cr, How-d'ye-call her, is exceedingly aukward and 
 
 r. 'Tis the same to address people by improper 
 '"for my lord : to begin a story without being 1 
 !oh it, and break off in the middle, with " L 
 have forgot the rest." 
 
 12. Our voice and manner of speaking, too, should; 
 like \vise be attended to. Some will mumble over their 
 words, so as not to be intelligible, and others will speak so 
 fast as rot to be understood, and in doing this, will sputter 
 :;TKi spit in your face ; some will bawl as if they were 
 
 ..ing to the deaf: others will speak so low as scarcely 
 1 ; and many will put their faces so close to 
 "3 r.s to offend you with their breath. 
 IS. All these; habits are horrid and disgustful, but may 
 easih he better of with care. They ure the vul- 
 
 gar chsjp.cU'i'istics of a low bred man, or are proofs that 
 very little pains have been bestowed in his education. 
 In short, an attention to these little matters is of greater 
 importance than you are aware of; many a sensible man 
 having lost ground for want of these Uttle gractv 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 
 
 many a one, possessed of these perfections alone, having 
 made his way through life, that otherwise would not 
 have been noticed. 
 
 Cleanliness of Person* 
 
 14. T) UT, as no one can please in company, however 
 Jj graceful his air, unless he be clean and neat in his 
 person, this qualification comes next to be considered. 
 
 15. Negligence of one's person not only implies an 
 wnsufFerable indolence, but an indifference whether we 
 please or not. In others, it betrays an insolence and af- 
 fectation, arising from a presumption that' they are sure 
 of pleasing, without having recourse to these means which 
 many are obliged to use. 
 
 1 6. He who is not thoroughly clean in his person, will 
 be offensive to all he converses with. A particular re- 
 gard to the cleanness of your moutl^, teeth, hands an4. 
 nails, is but common decency. A foul mouth and un- 
 clean hands are certain marks of vulgarity ; the first is 
 the cause of an offensive breath, which nobody can bear, 
 and the last is declaratory of dirty work ; one may al- 
 ways know a gentleman by the state of his hands and 
 nails. The flesh at 'the roots should be kept back, so as 
 to show the semicircle at tha bottom of the nails ; the 
 edges of the nails should never be cut down below the 
 ends of the fingers ; nor should they be suffered to gro\r 
 longer than the fingers. 
 
 17. When the nails ate cut clovrn to the quick, it is a 
 shrewd sign that the man is a mechanic, to whom long 
 nails would be troublesome, or that he gets his bread by* 
 fiddling ; and if they are longer than his fingers' ends, 
 and encircled with a black rirn, it foretels he has been 
 laboriously and meanly employed, and too fatigued to 
 clean himself: a good apology for want of cleanliness in 
 a mechanic, but the greatest disgrace that can attend a 
 gentleman. 
 
 18. These things may appear too insignificant to be 
 Hiemioned ; but wn^n it is considered that a thousand" 
 little nameless things, which every one fe-f^s but no one 
 can describe, conspire to form that whole of pleasing, I 
 hope you will not call them trying, resides a clean 
 
210 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 shirt and a clean person are as necessary to health, as not 
 to offend other people. It is a maxim with me, which I 
 have lived to see verified, that he who is negligent at 
 twenty years of age, will be a sloven at forty, and intole- 
 rable at fifty. 
 
 Dress. 
 
 I9 ' "^P^ T ^ S ^ of person, I observed, was as neces- 
 -L sary as cleanliness ; of course some attention 
 must be paid to your dress. 
 
 Such is the absurdity of the times, that to pass well with 
 the world, we must adopt some of its customs, be they ri- 
 diculous or not. 
 
 20. In the first place, to neglect one's dress is to affront 
 all the female part of our acquaintance. The women in 
 particular pay an attention to their dress ; to neglect 
 therefore your's will displease them, as it would be tacitly 
 taxing them with vanity, and declaring that you thought 
 them not worth that respect which every body else does* 
 And, as I have mentioned before, as it is the women who 
 stamp a young man's credit in the fashionable world, if 
 you do not make yourself agreeable to the women, you 
 will assuredly lose ground among the men* 
 
 21. Dress, as trifling as it may appear to a man of un- 
 derstanding, prepossesses on the first appearance, which is 
 frequently decisive ; and indeed we may form some opin- 
 ion of a man's sense and character from his dress. Any 
 exceeding of the fashion, or any affectation in dress what- 
 ever, argues a weakness of understanding, and nine times 
 out often it will be found so. 
 
 22. There are few young fellows but what display some 
 character or other in this shape. Some would be thought 
 fearless and brave : these wear a black cravat, a short coat 
 and waistcoat, an uncommon long sword hanging to their 
 knees, a large hat fiercely cocked, and are fash all over. 
 Others affect to be country squires : these will go 
 about in buck skin breeches, brown frocks, and great oak- 
 en cudgels in their hands, slouched hats, with their hair 
 undressed and tucked up behind them to an enormous 
 size, and imitate groms and country boobies so well ex- 
 ternally, that there is not the least doubt of their resem- 
 bling them as well internally. 
 
*n d English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 21.1 
 
 23. Others, again, paint and powder themselves so 
 much, and dress so finicaliy, as leads ns to suppose they 
 are only women in boys clothes. Now a sensible man care- 
 fully avoids all this, or any other affectation. He dresses 
 as fashionable and well as persons of the best families and 
 best sense ; if he exceeds them he is a coxcomb ; if he 
 dresses worse he is unpardonable. 
 
 24. Dress yourself fine, then, if possible, or plain.; 
 agreeable to the company you are in ; that is, conform to 
 the dress of others, and avoid the appearance of being 
 tumbled. Imitate those reasonable people of your own 
 age, whose dress is neither remarked as too neglected or 
 too much studied. Take care to" have your clothes well 
 made, in the fashion, and to fit you, or you will after all, 
 appear aukward. When once dressed, think no more of 
 it ; show no fear of discomposing your dress, but let all 
 your motions be as easy and unembarrassed, as if you was 
 at home in your dishabille. 
 
 Elegance of Expression. 
 
 *5. T TAVING mentioned elegance of person, I will 
 
 JL _L proceed to elegance of expression. 
 It is not one or two qualifications alone that will com- 
 plete the gentleman : it must be an union of many ; and 
 graceful speaking is as essential as gracefulness of person. 
 Every man caniiot be an harmonious speaker ; a rough- 
 ness or coarseness of voice may prevent it ; but if there 
 are no natural imperfections, if a man does not stammer 
 or lisp, or has not lost his teeth, he may speak gracefully ; 
 nor will all these defects, if he has a mind to it, prevent 
 him from speaking correctly. 
 
 26. Nobody can attend with pleasure to a bad speaker. 
 One who tells his story ill, be it ever so important, will 
 tire even the most patient. If you have been present at 
 the performance of a good tragedy, you have doubtless 
 been sensible of the good effects of a speech well delivered ; 
 how much it has interested and affected you ; and on the 
 contrary, how much an ill spoken one has disgusted you. 
 
 27. 'Tis the same in common conversation ; he who 
 speaks deliberately, distinctly and correctly ; he who 
 makes use of the best words to express himself, and varies 
 
212 The Young Gentleman and Ladifs 
 
 his voice according to the nature of the subject, will al- 
 ways please, \vhile the thick or hasty speaker, he who 
 mumbles out a set of ill chosen words, utters them un- 
 grammatically, or with a dull monotony, will Lire and dis- 
 gust. Be assured then, the air, the gesture, the looks of 
 a speaker, a proper accent, a just emphasis, and tuneful 
 cadence, are full as necessary to please and to be attended 
 to, as the subject matter itself. 
 
 28. People may talk what they will of solid reasoning* 
 and sound sense ; without the graces and ornaments of 
 language, they will neither please nor persuade. In com- 
 mon discourse, even trifles elegantly expressed will be 
 better received than the best of arguments, home-spua 
 and unadorned. 
 
 29. A good way to acquire a graceful utterance, is to 
 read aloud to some friend every day, and beg of him to 
 set you right, in case you read too fast, do not observe 
 the proper stops, lay wrong emphasis, r utter your words 
 indistinctly. You may even read aloud to yourself where 
 such a friend is not at hand, and you will find your owa 
 ear a good corrector. Take care to open your teeth when 
 you read or speak, and articulate every word distinctly ; 
 which last cannot be done but by sounding the final let- 
 ter. But above all endeavor to vary your voice, accord- 
 ing to the matter, and avoid a monotony. By a daily at- 
 tention to this, it will in a little time become easy and 
 habitual to you. 
 
 30. Pay an attention also to your looks and your ges- 
 ture, when talking even on the most trifling subjects ; 
 things appear very different according as they are ex- 
 pressed, looked and delivered. 
 
 Now, if it is necessary to attend so particularly to our 
 manner of speaking, it is much more so with regard to the 
 matter. Fine turns of expression, a genteel and correct 
 style, are ornaments as requisite to common sense, as po- 
 lite behavior and an elegant address are to common good 
 manners : they are great assistants in the point of pleas- 
 ing. A gentleman, 'tis true, may be known in the mean- 
 est garb, but it admits not dfa doubt, that he would be' 
 better received into good company genteely and fashiona- 
 bly dressed, than was he to appear in dirt and tatters. 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 213 
 
 3 1 . Be careful then of your style upon all occasions 5 
 whether you write or speak, study for the best words and 
 best expressions, even in common conversation and the 
 most familiar letters. This will prevent your speaking 
 in a hurry, than which nothing is more vulgar ; though 
 you may be a little embarrassed at first, time and use will 
 render it easy. It is no such difficult thing to express 
 ourselves well on subjects we are thoroughly acquainted 
 with, if we think before we speak ; and no one should 
 presume to do otherwise. 
 
 32. When you have said a thing, if you did not reflect 
 before, be sure to do it afterwards ; consider with your- 
 self whether you could not have expressed yourself better ; 
 and if you are in doubt of the propriety or elegancy of 
 any word, search for it in some dictionary, or some good 
 author, while you remember it ; never be sparing of your 
 trouble while you wish to improve, and my word for it, 
 a very little time will make this matter habitual. 
 
 23, In order to speak grammatically, and to express 
 yourself pleasingly, I would recommend it to you to trans- 
 late often any language you are acquainted with into 
 English, and to correct such translation till the words, 
 their order and the periods, are agreeable to your own 
 ear. 
 
 Vulgarism in language is another distiguishing mark of 
 bad company and education. Expressions may be correct 
 in themselves and yet be vulgar, owing to their not being 
 fashionable ; for language as manners are both established 
 for the usage of people of fashion. 
 
 34. The conversation of a low bred man is filled up 
 with proverbs and hackneyed sayings, instead of observ- 
 ing that tastes are different., and that most men have one 
 peculiar to themselves, he will give you, " What is one 
 man's meat is another man's poison :" or, " Every one 
 to their liking, as the old woman said, when she kissed 
 her cow." lie has ever some favorite word, which he 
 lugs in upon all occasions, ri^ht or wrong ; such as vastly 
 angry, -vastly kind ; devilish ugly, devili&li handsome ; im- 
 mensely great, immensely little. 
 
 35. Even his pronunciation carries the mark of vul- 
 garity along with it ; he calls the earth y earth ; finances 
 fyi'arices ; he goes to wards and not towards such a place* 
 
214 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 He affects to use hard words, to give him the appearance of 
 a man of learning, but frequently mistakes their meaning, 
 and seldom, if ever pronounces them properly. 
 
 All this must be avoided, if you would not be supposed 
 to have kept company with footmen and house maids. 
 Never have recourse to proverbial or vulgar sayings ; use 
 neither favorite nor hard words, but seek for the most 
 elegant ; be careful in the management of them, and 
 depend on it your labor will not be lost ; for nothing is 
 more engaging than a fashionable and polite address. 
 
 Small Talk* 
 
 36.TN nil good company we meet with a certain man- 
 JL ner, phraseology and general conversation, that 
 distinguishes the man of fashion. This can only be ac- 
 quired by frequenting good company, and being particular- 
 ly attentive to all that passes there. 
 
 37. When invited to dine or sup at the house of any- 
 well bred man observe how he does the honors of his ta- 
 ble, and mark his manner of treating his company. 
 
 Attend to the compliments of congratulation or con- 
 dolence that he pays ; and take notice of his address to 
 his superiors, his equals, and his inferiors, nay his very- 
 looks and tone of voice are worth your attention, for we 
 cannot please without an union of them all* 
 
 38. There is a certain distinguishing diction that marks 
 the man of fashion, a certain language of conversation 
 that every gentleman should be master of. Saying to a 
 man just married, " I wish you joy," or to one who has 
 lost his wife, " I am sorry for your los&," and both per- 
 haps with an unmeaning countenance, may be civil, but 
 it is nevertheless vulgar. A man of fashion will express 
 the same thing more elegantly, and with a look of sincer- 
 ity, that shall attract the esteem of the person he speaks 
 to. He will advance to the one with warmth and cheer- 
 fulntss, and perhaps squeezing him by the hand, will 
 say, " Believe me, my dear sir", I have scarce words to 
 express the joy I feel, upon your happy alliance with 
 
 or such a family, Sec." To the other in affliction 
 ;1 advance slowly,, and with a peculiar composure of 
 voice and countenance, begin his compliments of c< 
 
ttnd English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 215 
 
 lence with, " I hope, sir, you will clo me the justice to be 
 persuaded, that I am not insensible of your unhappiness, 
 that I take part in your distress, and shall ever be affected 
 where you are so." 
 
 39, Your first address to, and indeed all your conversa- 
 tion with your superiors, should be open, cheerful, and 
 respectful ; with your equals, warm and animated ; with 
 your inferiors, hearty, free, and unreserved. 
 
 40. There is a fashionable kind of small talk, which, 
 however trifling it may be thought, has its use in mixed 
 companies ; of course you should endeavor to acquire it. 
 By small talk, I mean a good deal to say on unimportant 
 matters : for example, foods, the flavor and growth of 
 wines, and the chit-chat of the day. Such conversation 
 will serve to keep off serious subjects, that might some 
 time create disputes. This chit-chat is chiefly to be 
 learned by frequenting the company of the ladies. 
 
 Observation. 
 
 1. /\ S the art of pleasing is to be learnt only by fre- 
 -ZTjL quenting the best companies, we must endeavor 
 to pick it up in such companies, by observation ; for, it is 
 not sense and knowledge alone that will acquire esteem ; 
 these certainly are the first and necessary foundations for 
 pleasing, but they will by no means do, unless attended 
 with manners and attention. 
 
 There have been people who have frequented the first 
 companies all their life time and yet have never got rid of 
 their natural stiffness and aukwardness ; but have con- 
 tinued as vulgar as if they were never out of a servant's 
 hall : this has been owing to carelessness, and a want of 
 attention to the manners and behavior of others. 
 
 2. There are a great many people likewise who busy 
 themselves the whole day, and who in fact do nothing. 
 They have possibly taken up a book for two or three 
 hours, but from a certain inattention that grows upon 
 them the more it is indulged, know no more of the con- 
 tents than if they had not looked into it ; nay, it is im- 
 possible for any one to retain what he reacs, unless he 
 
216 The Young 1 Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 reflects and reasons upon it as he goes on. When they 
 have thus lounged away an hour or two, they will saunter 
 into company, without attending to any thing that passes 
 there ; but if they think at all, are thinking of some tril- 
 ling matter that ought not to occupy their attention; 
 thence perhaps they go to the play, where they stare at 
 the company and the lights, without attending to the 
 piece, the very thing they went to see. 
 
 3. In this manner they wear away their hours, that 
 might othewise be employed to their improvement and 
 advantage. This silly suspension of thought they would 
 have pass for absence of mind Ridiculous ! Wherever 
 you are, let me recommend it to you to pay an attention 
 to all that passes ; observe the characters of the persons 
 you are with, and the subjects of their conversation ; listen 
 to every thing that is said, see every thing that is done, 
 and (according to the vulgar saying) have your eyes and 
 your ears about you. 
 
 4. A continual inattention to matters that occur is thfc 
 characteristic of a weak mind ; the man who gives way 
 to it is little else than a trifler, a blank in society, which 
 every sensible person overlooks ; surely what is worth 
 doing is worth doing well, and nothing can be well done 
 if not properly attended to. When I hear a man say, on 
 being asked about any thing that was said or done in his 
 presence, " that truly he did not mind it," I am ready to 
 knock the fool down. Why did he not mind it ? What 
 had he else to do ? A man of sense and fashion never 
 makes use of this paltry plea : he never complains of a 
 treacherous memory, but attends to and remembers every 
 thing that is said or done. 
 
 5. Whenever, then, you go into good company, that is, 
 the company of people of fashion, observe carefully their 
 behavior, their address, and their manner ; imitate it 
 as far as in your power. Your attention, if possible, 
 should be so ready as to observe every person in the room 
 at once, their motions, their looks, and their turns of ex- 
 pression, and that without staring or seeming to be an 
 observer. This kind of observation may be acquired by 
 care*ind practice, and will be found of the utmost advan- 
 tage to jouj in the course of life. 
 
tnd English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 217 
 
 Absence of Mind. 
 
 AVING mentioned absence of mind, let me be 
 
 more particular concerning it. 
 What the world calls an absent man is generally either 
 a very affected one or a very weak one ; but whether 
 weak or affected, he is, in company, a very disagreeable 
 man. Lost in thought, or possibly in no thought at all, 
 he is a stranger to every one present, and to every thim; 
 that passes ; he knows not his best friends, is deficient in 
 every act of good manners, unobservant of the actions of 
 the company, and insensible to his own. 
 
 2. His answers are quite the reverse of what they ought 
 to be ; talk to him of one thing, he replies as of another. 
 He forgets what he said last, leaves his hat in one room, 
 his cane in another, and his sword in a third ; nay if it 
 was not for his buckles, he would even leave his shoes 
 behind him. Neither his arms nor his legs seem to be a 
 part of his body, and his head is never in a right position. 
 He joins not in the general conversation, except it be by 
 fits and starts, as if awaking from a dream ; I attribute this 
 either to weakness or affectation. 
 
 3. His shallow mind is possibly not able to attend to 
 more than one thing at a time, or he would be supposed 
 wrapt up in the investigation of some very important mat- 
 ter. Such men as Sir Isaac Newton or Mr. Locke, 
 might occasionally have some excuse for absence of mind ; 
 it might proceed from that in tense ness of thought that 
 was necessary at all times for the scientific subjects they 
 were studying ; but, for a young man, and a man of the 
 world, who has no such plea to make, absence of mind is 
 a rudeness to the company, and deserves the severest 
 censure. 
 
 4. However insignificant a company may be ; however 
 trifling their conversation ; while you are with them, do 
 not show them by any inattention that you think them 
 trifling : that can never be the way to please ; but rather 
 fall in with their weakness than otherwise, for to mortify, 
 or show the least contempt to those we are in company 
 with, is the greatest rudeness we can be guilty of, and 
 what few can forgive. 
 
 T 
 
31$ The Young Gentleman and Lady 1 & MONITOR, 
 
 5. I never yet found a man inattentive to the person 
 *ie feared, or the woman he loved ; which convinces me 
 that absence of mind is to be got the better of, if we think 
 proper to make the trial ; and believe me, it is always 
 v/orth the attempt. 
 
 Absence of mind is a tacit declaration, that those we 
 are in company with are not worth attending to ; and 
 what can be a greater affront ?-^Besides, can an absent 
 man improve by what is said or done in his presence ? 
 No ; he may frequent the best companies for years to- 
 gether, and all to no purpose. In short, a man is neither 
 fit for business nor conversation, unless he can attend to 
 the object before him, be that object what it will. 
 
 Knowledge of the World. 
 
 1 . /\ KNOWLEDGE of the world by our own experi- 
 .jLjL ence and observation, is so necessary, that without 
 it we shall act very absurdly, and, frequently give offence 
 when we do not mean it. All the learning and parts 
 in the world will not secure us from it. Without an ac- 
 quaintance with life, a man may say very good things, 
 but time them so ill, and address them so improperly, that 
 he had much better, be silent. Full of himself and his 
 own business, and inattentive to the circumstances and 
 situations of those he converses .with, he vents it without 
 the least discretion, says things that .he ought not to say, 
 confuses some, shocks others, and puts the whole compa- 
 ny in pain, lest what he utters next should prove worse 
 than the last. The best direction I can give you in this 
 matter, is rather to fall in with the conversation of 
 others, than start a subject of your own : rather strive to 
 put them more in conceit with themselves, than to draw 
 their attention to you. 
 
 2. A novice in life, he who knows little of mankind, 
 but what he collects from books, lays it down as a maxim, 
 that most men love flattery ; in order therefore to 
 please, he will flatter : but how ? Without regard either 
 to circumstances or occasion. Instead of those delicate 
 .touches, those soft tints., that serve to heighten the piece. 
 
and English Teacher's As s i s T A L\ r 219 
 
 he lays on his colors with a heavy hand, and daubs 
 where he means to adorn : in other words, he will flatter 
 so unseasonably, and at the same time so grossly, that 
 while he wishes to please he puts out of countenance and 
 is sure to offend. On the contrary, a man of the world, 
 one who has made life his study, knows the power of 
 flattery as well as he ; but then he knows how to apply it ; 
 he watches the opportunity, and does in indirectly, by in- 
 ference, comparison and hint. 
 
 3. Man is made up of such a variety of matter, that, to 
 search him thoroughly, requires time and attention ; for 
 though we are all made of the same materials, and have 
 all the same passions, yet, from a difference in their pro- 
 portion and combination, we vary in our dispositions ; 
 what is agreeable to one is disagreeable to another, and 
 what one shall approve, another shall condemn- Reason 
 is given us to control these passions, but seldom does it. 
 Application therefore to the reason of any man will fre- 
 quently prove ineffectual, unless we endeavor at the same 
 time to gain his heart. 
 
 4. Wherever then you are, search into the characters 
 of men ; find out if possible, their foible, their governing 
 passion, or their particular merit ; take them on their weak 
 side, and you will generally succeed ; their prevailing 
 vanity you may readily discover, by observing their fa- 
 vorite topic of conversation, for every one talks most of 
 what he would be thought most to excel in. 
 
 5. The time should also be judiciously made choice of. 
 Every man has his particular times when he may be ap- 
 plied to with success, the mollia tcm/wra fandi ; but these 
 times are not all the day long ; they must be found out, 
 watched, and taken advantage of. You could not hope 
 for success in applying to a man about one business, when 
 he was taken up with another, or when his mind was af- 
 fected with excess of grief, anger, or the like. 
 
 6. You cannot judge of other men's minds better than 
 by studying your own ; for, though some men have one 
 foible, and another has another, yet men, in general, are 
 very much alike. Whatever pleases or offends you, will 
 in similar circumstances, please or offend others ; if you 
 find yourself hurt when another makes you feel his supe- 
 riority, you will certainly, upon the common rule of right, 
 
: OR, 
 
 ould be done by, take care not to let another feel 
 your superiority, if you have it, especially if you wish to 
 gain his interest or esteem. 
 
 7. If disagreeable insinuations, open contradictions, or 
 oblique sneers vex and anger you, would you use them 
 
 e you wish to pl^se : certainly net. Obsene then 
 v, ith care the operations of your own mind, and you may, 
 in a great measure, read all mankind. 
 
 ill allow that one bred up in a cloister or collegs 
 may reason well on the structure of the human mind ; he 
 iTiay investigate the nature of man, and give a tolerable 
 account of his head, his heart, his passions, and his senti- 
 ments : but at the same time he may know nothing of 
 t lived with him, and of course can know. 
 
 l .ie how those sentiments or those passions will work ; 
 
 ,st bii ignorant of the various prejudices, propensities 
 ;'.:.'J antipathies, that always bias him and frequently de- 
 
 8. His knowledge is acquired only from theory, which 
 - widely from .practice ; and if he forms his judg- 
 frcm that alone, he must be often deceived ; whereas 
 
 .a man of the world, cne who collects his knowledge from 
 Vis own experience and observation, is seldom wrong ; 
 he is well acquainted with tine operations of the human 
 mind. F man, reads his words before 
 
 e they are perform- 
 
 :uknov;- 1 please, and what will displease, and 
 
 foresees the tvtr.l of rncst ti/nigs. 
 
 9. Labor then to acquire this intuitive knowledge ; 
 attend carefully to the address, the arts and manners of 
 
 ccl with life, and endeavor to imitate them. 
 Observe 'the means they take to gain the favor and con- 
 ciliate the affections of those they associate with ; pursue 
 
 means ; and boon gain the esteem < 
 
 that know you. 
 
 How often have we seen men governed by persons very 
 
 i their inferiors in ;;o:r.t of understanding, arc 
 vithout their know- ing it? A proof that some men have 
 more worldly dexterity than ethers : they find out the 
 ^veak and unguarded part, make their attack there, and 
 the man surrenders* 
 
 10. Now from a knowledge of mankind we shall lears 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 2 i 
 
 the advantage of two things, the command of our temper 
 and our countenance : a trifling, disagreeable incident 
 shall perhaps anger one unacquainted with life, or con- 
 found him with shame ; shall make him rave like a mad- 
 man, or look like a fool : but a man of the world will nev- 
 er understand what he cannot or ought not to resent. If 
 he should chance to make a slip himself, he will stifle hi* 
 confusion, and turn it off with a jest ; recovering it with 
 coolness. 
 
 \ 1. Many people have sense enough to keep their own 
 secrets ; but from being unused to a variety of company* 
 have unfortunately such a tell-tale countenance, as invol- 
 untarily declares what they would wish to conceal. This 
 is a great unhappiness, and should as soon as possible, be 
 got the better of. 
 
 That coolness of mind and evenness of countenance, 
 which prevents a discovery of our sentiments, by our 
 words, our actions, or our locks, is too necessary to pass 
 unnoticed. 
 
 12. A man who cannot hear displeasing things, with- 
 out visible marks of anger or uneasiness ; or pleasing 
 ones, without a sudden burst of joy, a cheerful eye, or an 
 expanded face, is at the mercy of every knave ; for 
 either they will designedly please or provoke you them- 
 selves, to catch your unguarded locks ; or they wifll 
 seize the opportunity thus to read your very heart, when 
 any other shall do it. You may possibly tell me, that 
 this coolness must be natural, for if not, you can never 
 acquire it. 
 
 13. I will admit the force of constitution, but people 
 arc very apt to blame that for many things they might 
 readily avoid. Care, with a little reflection, will soon give 
 you this mastery of your temper and your countenance. 
 If you find yourself subject to sudden starts of passion de- 
 termine with yourself not to utter a single word till your 
 reason has recovered itself : and resolve to keep your 
 countenance as unmoved as possible. 
 
 14. As a man who at a card table can preserve a se- 
 renity in his looks, under good or bad luck, has consider- 
 ably the advantage of one who appears elated with success, 
 or cast down with ill fortune, from our being able to read 
 his cards in his face ; so the man of the world, having to 
 
222 The Ywng Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR , 
 
 deal with one of these babbling countenances, will take 
 care to profit by the circumstance, let the consequence, to 
 him with whom he deals, be as injurious, as it may. 
 
 15. In the course of life, we shall find it necessarr 
 very often to put on a pleasing countenance when we arc 
 exceedingly displeased ; we must frequently seem friend- 
 ly when we are quite otherwise. I am sensible it is d'-tT^ 
 cult to accost a man with smiles whom we know to be 
 our enemy ; but what is to be done ? On receiving an 
 ; -front if you cannot be justified in knocking the offender 
 down, you must not notice the offence ; for, in the eve 
 of the world, taking an affront calmly is considered as 
 cowardice. 
 
 ] 6. If fools should at any Ume attempt to be witty up* 
 on you, the best way is net to know their witticisms are 
 levelled at you, but to conceal any uneasiness it may give 
 you : but, should they be so plain that you cannot b .3 
 thought ignorant of their meaning, I would recommend* 
 rather than quarrel with the company, joining even in tlv^ 
 laugh against yourself : allow the jest to be a good one, 
 and take it in seeming good humor. Never attempt ta 
 retaliate the same way, as that would imply you wers 
 hurt. Should what is. said wound your honor or your mor- 
 al character, there is but one proper reply, which I. hope 
 you will never be obliged to have recourse to. 
 
 17. Remember there are but two alternatives for a 
 gentleman ; extreme politeness or the sword. If a mat) 
 openly and designedly affronts yon, call him out : but if 
 it does not amount to an open insult, be outwardly civil ; 
 if this does not make him ashamed of his behavior, it 
 will prejudice every by-stander in your favor, and insteatl 
 of being disgraced, you will come off with honor. Po- 
 liteness to those we do not respect, is no more a breach 
 of faith than your humble servant at the bottom of a chal- 
 lenge ; they are universally understood to be things of 
 course. 
 
 18. Wrangling and quarrelling are characteristic of a. 
 weak mind : leave that to the women, be you always 
 above it. Enter into no sharp contest, and pride yourself 
 in showing, if possible, more civility to your antagonist 
 than to any other in the company ; this will infallibly bring 
 ov~r all the laughter to your side, and the person you. 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 223 
 
 are contending with will be very likely to confess you 
 have behaved very handsomely throughout the whole 
 affair. 
 
 19. Experience will teach us that though all men con- 
 sist principally of the same materials, as I before took no- 
 tice, yet from a difference; in their proportion, no two men 
 are uniformly the same : we differ from pne another, and 
 we often differ from ourselves, that is., we sometimes do 
 things utterly inconsistent with the general tenor of our 
 characters. The wisest man will occasionally do a weak 
 thing ; the most honest man a wrong thing; the proudest 
 man, a mean thing ; and the worst of men will sometimes 
 do a good thing., 
 
 20. On this account, our study of mankind should not 
 be general ; \ve should take a frequent vrew of individuals, 
 and though we may upon the whole form a judgment of 
 the man from his prevailing passions or his general chai% 
 acter, yet it will be prudent not to determine, till we have 
 waited to see the operations of his subordinate appetites, 
 and humors* 
 
 21. For example ; a man's general character may be 
 that of strictly honest ; I would not dispute it, because I 
 would not be thought envious or malevolent ; but I would 
 not rely upon, this general character, so as to. entrust him. 
 with my fortune or my life-.. Should this honest man, as, 
 is not common, be my rival in power, interest or love, he 
 may possibly do things that in othtr circumstances he, 
 would abhor ; and power, interest^ aad love, let me tell 
 you, wijl often put honesty to the severest trial, and fre- 
 quently overpower it. I would then ransack this honest 
 man to the bottom, if I wished to trust him, and as I 
 found him, would place my confidence accordingly,. 
 
 22. One of the great compositions in our nature is. 
 vanity, to which, all men, more or less give way, Wo- 
 men, have an intolerable share of it, No- flattery, no adu- 
 lation is too gross for them ; those who Batter them most; 
 please them best, and they are most in love with him who. 
 pretends to be most in love with them ; and the least slight 
 or contempt of them is never forgotten. It is in some 
 measure the same with men ; they will sooner pardon an, 
 injury than an insult, and are more hurt by contempt than 
 *>y ill usage. Though all men do not boast of superior; 
 
224 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 talents, though they pretend not to the abilities of a Pope, 
 a Newton, or a Bolingbroke, every one pretends to have 
 common sense, and to discharge his office in life with 
 common decency; to arraign therefore, % in any shape, 
 his abilities or integrity in the department he holds, is an 
 insult he will not readily forgive. 
 
 23. As I would not have you trust too implicitly to a 
 man, because the world gives him a good character ; so 
 I must particularly caution you against those who speak 
 well of themselves. In general, suspect those who boast 
 of or affect to have any one virtue above all others, for 
 they are commonly impostors. There are exceptions* 
 however, to this rule, for we hear of prudes that have 
 been made chaste, bullies that have been brave, and 
 saints that have been religious* Confide only where 
 your own observation shall direct you ; observe not only 
 what is said, but how it is said, and if you have pene- 
 tration, you may find out the truth better by your eye& 
 than your ears ; in short, never take a character upon- 
 common report, but inquire into it yourself ; for com- 
 mon report, though it is right in general, may be wrong 
 in particulars. 
 
 24. Beware of those who, en, a slight acquaintance, 
 make a tender of their friendship, and seem to place a 
 confidence in you ; 'tis ten to one but they deceive and 
 betray you : however do not rudely reject them upon 
 such a supposition ; you may be civil to them, though 
 you do not entrust them* Silly men are apt to solicit 
 your friendship, and unbosom themselves upon the first 
 acquaintance : such friends cannot be worth hearing, 
 their friendship being as slender as their understanding ; 
 and if they proffer their friendship with a design to make 
 a property of you, they are dangerous acquaintance in- 
 deed. 
 
 25. Not but the little friendships of the weak may be 
 of some use to you, if you do not return the compliment ; 
 and it may not be amiss to seem to accept those of design- 
 ing men, keeping them, as it were, in play, that they 
 may not be openly your enemies ; for their enmity is 
 the next dangerous thing to their friendship. We may 
 certainly hold their vices in abhorrence, without being 
 marked out as their personal enemy. The general rule 
 
and English Teacher's As s in T AN T , 225 
 
 is to have a real reserve with almost every one, and a 
 seeming reserve with almost no one ; for it is very dis- 
 gusting to seem reserved, and very dangerous not to be 
 so. Few observe the true medium. Many are ridiculously- 
 mysterious upon trifles, and many indiscreetly communi- 
 cative of all they know. 
 
 26. There is a kind of short-lived friendship that 
 takes place among young men, from a connection in their 
 pleasures only ; a friendship too often attended with bad 
 consequences. This companion of your pleasures, young 
 end unexperienced, will probably, in the heat of con- 
 vivial mirth, vow a perpetual friendship, and unfold 
 Limself to you without the least reserve ; but 'new asso- 
 ciations, change of fortune, or change of place, may soon 
 break this ill timed connection, and an improper use may 
 be made of it. 
 
 27. Be one, if you will, in young companies, and bear 
 your part like others in the social festivity of youth ; nay, 
 trust them with your innocent frolics, but keep your se- 
 rious matters to yourself; and if yon must at any time 
 make them known, let it be to some tri^d friend of great 
 experience ; and that nothing may tempt him to become 
 your rival, let that friend be in a different walk of life 
 from yourself. 
 
 Were I to hear a man making strong protestations, and 
 swearing to the truth of a thing, that is in itself probable 
 and very likely to be, I shall doubt his veracity ; for when 
 he takes such pains to make me believe it, it cannot be 
 with a p cod design. 
 
 23. There is a certain easiness or false modesty in most 
 young people, that cither makes them unwilling, or 
 ashamed to refuse any thing that is asked of them. There 
 is also an unguarded openness about them that wakes 
 them the ready prey of the artful and designing. They 
 are easily led away by the feigned friendships of a knave 
 or a fool, and too rashly place a confidence in them, 
 that terminates in their loss, and frequently in their ruin. 
 Btware, therefore, as I said before, of these proffered 
 friendships ; repay them with compliments, but not 
 with confidence. Never let your vanity make you sup- 
 pose that people become your friends upon a slight ac- 
 quaintance : for good c Sices must be shown on both sides 
 
225 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 to create a friendship : it will not thrive, unless its love 
 be mutual ; and it requires time to ripen it. 
 
 29. There is still among young people another kind 
 of friendship merely nominal, warm indeed for the time, 
 but fortunately of no long continuance. This friendship 
 takes its rise from their pursuing the same course of riot 
 and debauchery ; their purses are open to each other, 
 they tell one another all they know, they embark in the 
 same quarrels, and stand by each other on all occasions. 
 I should rather call this a confederacy against good mor- 
 als and good manners, and think it deserves the severest 
 lash of the law ; but they have the impudence to call it 
 friendship. However, it is often as suddenly dissolved, as 
 it is hastily contracted ; some accident disperses them, and 
 they presently forget each other, except it is to betray and 
 laugh at their own egregious folly. 
 
 In short, the sum of the whole is, to make a wide 
 difference between companions and friends : for a very- 
 agreeable companion has often proved a very dangerous 
 friend. 
 
 Choice of Company. 
 
 J. r TPHE next thing to the choice of friends is the^ 
 jL choice of your company. 
 
 Endeavor as much as you can to keep good company, 
 and the company of your superiors : for you will be held 
 in estimation according to the company you keep. By 
 superiors I do not mean so much with regard to birth, 
 as merit, and the light in which they are considered by the 
 world. 
 
 2. There are two sorts of good company ; the one 
 consists of persons of birth, rank, and fashion ; the other 
 of those who are distinguished by some peculiar merit, 
 in any liberal art or science ; as men of letters, &c. and 
 a mixture of these is what I would have understood by 
 good company ; fork is not what particular sets of peo- 
 ple shatl call themselves, but what the people in general 
 acknowledge to be so, and are the accredited good com- 
 pany of the place* 
 
and English Teacher's As s i s T A N T . 2 27 
 
 3. Now and then, persons without either birth, rank, 
 or character, will creep into good company, under the 
 protection of some considerable personage ; but, in gen- 
 eral, none are admitted of mean degree, or infamous mor- 
 al character. 
 
 In this fashionable good company alone, can you learn 
 the best manners and the best language ; for, as there is 
 no legal standard to form them by, 'tis here they are es- 
 tablished. 
 
 It may possibly be questioned, whether a man has it 
 always in his power to get into good company : undoubt- 
 edly, by deserving it, he has ; provided he is in circum- 
 stances which enable him to live and appear in the style of 
 a gentleman. Knowledge, modesty, and good breeding 
 will endear him to all that see him ; for without polite- 
 ness, the scholar is no better than the pedant, the philo- 
 sopher than a cynic, the soldier than a brute, nor any man 
 than a clown. 
 
 4. Though the company of men of learning and genV 
 ius is highly to be valued, and occasionally coveted, I 
 would by no means have you always found in such com- 
 pany. As they do not live in the world, they cannot have 
 that easy manner and address which I would wish you to 
 acquire. If you can bear a part in such company, it is 
 certainly adviseable to be in it sometimes, and you will 
 be the more esteemed in other company by being so ; but 
 let it not engross you, lest you be considered as one of the 
 literati, which, however respectable in name, is not the 
 way to rise or shine in the fashionable world. 
 
 5. But the company, which of all others, you should 
 carefully avoid, is that which in every sense of the word, 
 may be called low ; low in birth, low in rank, low in parts, 
 and low in manners ; that company, who, insignificant 
 and contemptible in themselves, think it an honor to be 
 seen with you^ and who will flatter your follies, nay your 
 very vices, to keep you with them. 
 
 6. Though you may think such a caution unnecessary, 
 /do not-, for many a young gentleman of sense and rank 
 has been led by his vanity to keep such company, till he 
 has been degraded, villifiecl and undone. 
 
 'The vanity I mean, is that of being the first of the 
 dompany. This pride though too common, is idle to 
 
28 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITCJ, 
 
 the last degree* Nothing in the world lets a man dov, n so 
 imuch. For the sake of dictating, being applauded and 
 admired by this low company, he is disgraced and dis- 
 qualified for better. Depend upon it, in the estimation of 
 mankind you will sink or rise to the level of the company 
 you keep. 
 
 7. Be it then your ambition to get into the best com- 
 pany ; and when there, imitate their virtues, but not 
 their vices. You have no doubt, often heard of genteel 
 and fashionable vices. These are whoring, drinking, and 
 gaming. It has happened that some men even with these 
 rices, have been admired and esteemed. Understand 
 this matter rightly ; it is not their vices for which they 
 are admired ; but for some accomplishments they at the 
 same time possess ; for their parts, their learning, or 
 their good breeding. Be assured, were they free from 
 their vices, they would be much more esteemed. In 
 these mixed characters, the bad part is overlooked, for 
 the sake of the good. 
 
 8. Should you be unfortunate enough to have any vices 
 of your own, add not to their number by adopting the vices 
 of others. Vices of adoption are of all others the most 
 unpardonable, for they have not inadvertency to plead. 
 If people had no vices but their own, few would have so 
 many as they have. 
 
 Imitate, then, only the perfections you meet with ; 
 copy the politeness, the address, the easy manners of 
 well bred people ; and remember, let them shine ever so 
 bright, if they have any vices, they are so many blemish- 
 es, which it would be as ridiculous to imitate, as it would 
 to m^ke an artificial wart upon one's face, because some 
 very handsome man had the misfortune to have a natural 
 one upon his. 
 
 Laughter. 
 
 4. T ET us now descend to minuter matters, which tho* 
 JL-J not so important as % those we have mentioned, arc 
 
 still far from inconsiderate. Of these laughter is one. 
 Frequent and loud laughter is a sure sign of a weak 
 
and JLiiglish Teacher 1 s ASSISTANT. 239 
 
 mind and no less characteristic of a lo'vV education. It 
 is the manner in which low bred men express their silly 
 j,oy, at silly things, and they call it being merry. 
 
 2. I do not recommend upon all occasions a solemn 
 .countenance. A man may smile ; but if he would ba 
 thought a gentleman end a man of sense, he should by no 
 Cleans laugh. True wit never yet made a man of fashion 
 laugh j he is above it. It may create a smile ; but as 
 loud laughter shows that a man has not the command of 
 .himself, every one who would wish to appear sensible, 
 must abhor it. 
 
 A man's going to sit clown, on a supposition thathe lias 
 a chair behind him, and fulling for want of one, occasions 
 a general laugh, when the best piece cf wit v\cukl not 
 do it ; a sufficient proof ho \v low and unbecoming laugh- 
 ter is. 
 
 3. Besides, could the immoderate laugher hoar his own 
 noite, or s'^e the faces he makes, he would despise him- 
 self for his folly. Laughter being generally supposed to 
 be the effect of gaiety, its absurdity is not properly at- 
 tended to ; but a little reflection will easily restrain it, 
 and when you are told it is a mark of low breeding, I per- 
 suade myself you will endeavor to avoid it. 
 
 4. Some people have a silly trick of laughing when- 
 ever they speak, so that they are always on the grin, and 
 .their fuces are ever distorted. This and a thousand other 
 tricks, such as scratching their heads, twirling their hats, 
 fr.mbiing with their button, playing with their lingers, <kc. 
 are acquired from a false modesty at their first out set in 
 life. Being shame-faced in company, they try a variety 
 of ways to keep themselves in countenance ; thus they- 
 fall into those auk ward habits I have mentioned, which 
 grow upon them, and in time become habitual. 
 
 Nothing is more repugnant likewise to good breeding 
 than horse play of any sort, romping, throwing 'things 
 at one another's heads, and so on. They may pass well 
 enough with the mob, but they lessen and degrade the 
 gentleman. 
 
230 The Ycitr.j- Gen'lcmun and Lady's 
 
 Sundry !i f :le dcc-omplishrnents.. 
 
 I. T HAVE had reason to observe before, that various 
 JL little matters, apparently trifling in themselves, 
 conspire to form the whole of pleasing, as in a well finish- 
 ed portrait, a variety of colors combine to complete the 
 piece. It not being necessary to dwell much upon them, 
 I shall content myself with just mentioning them as they 
 occur. 
 
 2. To do the honors of a table gracefully, is one of 
 the outlines of a well bred man ; and to carve well, is an 
 reticle, little as it inay seem, that is useful twice every 
 day, and the doing of which ill is not only troublesome 
 to one's self, but renders us disagreeable and ridiculous 
 10 others. We arc always in pain for a man, who, in- 
 stead of cutting up a fowl genteely, is hacking for half an 
 hour across the bone, greasing himself, and bespattering 
 the company with the sauce. Use, with a little attention, 
 is all that is requisite to acquit yourself well in this par- 
 ticular. 
 
 3. To be well received, you must also pay some atten- 
 tion- to your behavior at table, where it is exceedingly 
 rude to scratch any part of your horly, to spit, or blow 
 your nose, if you can possibly avoid it, to eat greedily, 
 to lean your elbows on the table, to pick your teeth be- 
 fore the dishes are removed, or to leave the table before 
 grace is said. 
 
 4. Drinking of healths is now growing out of fashion, 
 and is very impolite in good company. Custom once had 
 made it universal, but the improved manners of the age 
 now render it vulga'% What can be more rude or ridicu- 
 lous than to interrupt persons at their meals, with an un- 
 necessary compliment ? Abstain then from this silly cus- 
 tom, where you find it out of use ; and use it only at those 
 tables where it continues general. 
 
 5. A polite manner of refusing to comply with the 
 solicitations of a company, is also very necessary to be 
 learnt ; for a young man who seems to have no will of 
 his own, but do - liing that is asked of him, may be 
 a very good na-.^r-jd fellow, but he is a very silly one. 
 
 /'ink, at any man's house, more 
 
and English Teacher's ASSIST A XT. 2 3 I 
 
 than you think is wholesome, you may say, " you wish 
 you could, but that so little makes you both drunk anl 
 sick, that you shall only be bad company by doing it : of 
 course, beg to be excused." 
 
 6. If desired to play at cards -deeper than you would, 
 refuse it ludicrously; tell them, "If you vrtre sure to 
 " lose you might possibly sit down ; but th^t as l\ 
 
 " may be favorable, you dread the 
 
 " much money, ever since you found what aj 
 
 " it was to poor Harlequin, and therefore you are resoiv- 
 
 " ed never to put yourself in the way of winning more 
 
 " than such and such a sum a day." This Sight way of 
 
 declining invitations to vice and folly, is more becovr 
 
 young man, than philosophical or sententious refusal-:, 
 
 which would only be laughed at. 
 
 7. Now lam on the subject of cards, I must not omit 
 mentioning the necessity of play ; well and g-tr> 
 teely, if you would be thought to h ,:;oo(l corr 
 
 I would by no means recommend playing at cards, ns a 
 part of your study, lest you should grow too fond of i: ? 
 and the consequence prove bad. It were better not ts 
 know a diamond from a club, than to become a gambler ; 
 but, as custom has introduced innocent card playing ?.t 
 most friendly meetings, it marks the gentleman to' handle 
 them genteely, and play them well ; and as I hope you 
 will play only for small sums, should you lose your mon- 
 ey, pray lose it with temper : or win, receive your win- 
 nings without either elation or greediness. 
 
 8. To write well and correct, and in a pleasing style, 
 is another part of polite education. Every man who has 
 the use of his eyes and his right hand, can write whatever 
 hand he pleases* Nothing is so illiberal as a school boy's 
 scrawl. I would not have you learn a stiff formal hand 
 writing, like that of a school master, but a genteel, le- 
 gible, and liberal hand, and to be able to write quick. 
 As to the correctness and elegancy of yonr writing, at- 
 tention to grammar does the one, and to the best authors, 
 the other. Epistolary correspondence should not be car- 
 ried on in a studied or affected style, but the language 
 should flow from the pen, as naturally and as easily as it; 
 would from the mouth. In short, a letter should be pen- 
 ned in the same style as you would talk to your friend, if 
 he was present. 
 
32 T'n? To ting 'Gsnftzman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 9. If writing well shows the gentleman, much mors 
 ?o does spelling well. It is so essentially necessary for a 
 gentleman, or a man of letters, that one false spelling may 
 f. :; a ridicule on him for the remainder of his life. Words 
 .in books are generally well spelled, according to the or- 
 thography of the age ; reading therefore with attention 
 will teach every one to spell right. It sometimes happens 
 that words shall be spelled differently by different authors ; 
 but, if you spell them upon the authority of one in esti- 
 mation of the public, you will escape ridicule. Where 
 there is but one way of spelling a word, by your spelling it 
 wrong, you will be sure to be laughed at. For a woman 
 of a tolerable education would laugh at and despise her 
 lover, if he wrote to her, and the words were ill spelled. 
 
 .rticulr.ny attentive then to your spelling. 
 
 10. There is nothing that a man at his first appearance 
 in life ought more to dread than having any ridicule fixed 
 on him. In the estimation even of the roost rational men, 
 it will lessen him, but ruin him with all the rest. Many, 
 a man has been undone by a ridiculous nick-name. The 
 causes of nick-names among well bred men, are generally 
 the little defects in manner, air, or dress. To have the 
 appellation of ill bred, aukward, muttering, left legged, o? 
 any other tacked always to your name, would injure you 
 more than you are aware of ; avoid then these little defects* 
 (and they are easily avoided) and you need never fear a 
 nick-name. 
 
 11. Some young men are apt to think, that they can- 
 not be complete gentlemen, without becoming men of 
 pleasure. A rake is made up of the meanest and most dis- 
 graceful vices. They all combine to degrade his charac- 
 ter, and ruin his health and fortune. A man of pleasure 
 will refine upon the enjoyments of the age, attend them 
 with decency, and partake of them becomingly. 
 
 12. Indeed, he is too often less scrupulous than he 
 should be, and frequently has cause to repent it. A man 
 of pleasure, at best, is but a dissipated being, and, what 
 the rational part of mankind must abhor ; 1 mention it, 
 however, lest, in taking up the man of pleasure, you should 
 fall into the rake ; for of two evils always cluise the least, 
 A dissolute, flagitious footman may make as good 
 
 as a man of the first quality. Few men can be men of 
 pleasure , every man may be a rake. 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 533 
 
 13. There is a certain dignity that should be preserved 
 in all our pleasures ; in love, a man may lose his heart, 
 without losing his nose ; at table, a man may have a dis- 
 tinguished palate, without being a glutton ; he may love 
 wine without being a drunkard ; he may game without 
 being a gambler, and so on. 
 
 14. Every virtue has its kindred vice, and every pleas- 
 ure its neighboring disgrace. Temperance and modera- 
 tion mark the gentleman, but excess the blackguard. At- 
 tend carefully, then, to the line that divides them ; and 
 remember, stop rather a yard short, tfean step an inch be- 
 yond it. Weigh the present enjoyment of your pleasures 
 against the necessary consequences of them, and I will, 
 kave you to your own determination. 
 
 15. A gentleman has ever some regard also to the 
 choice of his amusements. If at cards, he will not be seea 
 at cribbage, all-fours, or putt ; or, in sports of exercise, at 
 skittles, foot-ball, leap-frog, cricket, driving of coaches, 8cc. 
 but will preserve a propriety in every part of his conduct ; 
 knowing, that any imitation of the manners of the mob, 
 will unavoidably stamp him with vulgarity. There is 
 another amusement too, which I cannot help calling illib- 
 eral, that is, playing upon any musical instrument. 
 
 16. Music is commonly reckoned one of the liberal 
 arts, and undoubtedly is so ; but to be piping or fiddling 
 at a concert is degrading to a man of fashion. If you 
 love music, hear it ; pay fiddlers to play to you, but never 
 fiddle yourself. It makes a gentleman appear frivolous 
 and contemptible, leads him frequently into bad com- 
 pany and wastes that time which might otherwise be well 
 employed. 
 
 17. Secrecy is another characteristic of good breeding. 
 Be careful not to tell in one company, what you see or 
 hear in another ; much less to divert the present company 
 at the expense of the last. Things apparently indifferent 
 may, when often repeated and told abroad, have much 
 more serious consequences than imagined. In conversa- 
 tion there is generally a tacit reliance, that what is said 
 will not be repeated ; and a man, though not enjoined to 
 secrecy, will be excluded company, if found to be a tattler ; 
 besides, he will draw himself into a thousand scrapes, rv.id 
 every one will be afraid to speak before him. 
 
 U 2 
 
134 The Young Gcniteiixin and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 IS. Pulling out your watch in company unasked, either 
 at home or abroad, is a mark of ill breeding ; if at home, 
 it appears as if you were tired of your company, and wish- 
 ed them to be gone ; if abroad, as if the hours drag heav- 
 ily, and you wished to be gone yourself, If you want to 
 know the time, withdraw ; besides, as the taking what is 
 called a French leave was introduced, that on cnc per- 
 son's leaving the company the rest might not be disturbed, 
 looking at your watch does what that piece of politeness 
 was designed to prevent : it is a kind of dictating to dl 
 present, and telling them it is time, or almost time, to 
 break up. 
 
 19. Among other things, let me caution you against 
 ever being in a hurry ; a man of sense may be in haste, 
 but he is never in a hurry ; convinced, that hurry is the 
 surest way to make him do what he undertakes ill. To 
 be in a hurry, is a proof that the business we embark in is 
 too great for us ; of course, it is the mark of little minds, 
 that are puzzled and perplexed when they should be cod. 
 and deliberate ; they wish to do every thing at once, and 
 are thus able to do nothing. Be steady then in all your 
 engagements ; look round you before you begin ;. and 
 remember that you had better do half of them well,., 
 and leave the rest undone, than to do the whole indif- 
 ferently. 
 
 20. i ? rom a kind of false modesty, most young men are 
 tipt to consider familiarity as unbecoming. Forwardness.; 
 I allow is so ; but there is a decent familiarity that is ne- 
 cessary in the course of life. Mere formal visits, upon. 
 formal invitations, are not the thing ; they create no con- 
 nection, nor will they prove of service to you ; it is the 
 careless and easy ingress and egress, at all hours, that 
 secures an acquaintance to ur interest and this is acquir- 
 ed by a respectful familiarity entered into, without forfeit- 
 ing your consequence. 
 
 21. In acquiring new acquaintance, be careful not to, 
 neglect your old, for a slight of this kind is seldom for- 
 given. If you cannot be with your former acquaintance 
 so often as you used to be, while you had no others, take 
 c*re not to give them cause to think you neglect them ; 
 call upon them frequently, though you cannot stay lonr; 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 135 
 
 with them ; tell them you are sorry to leave them so soon ; 
 and nothing should take you away but certain engage- 
 ments which good manners oblige you to attend to ; for 
 it will be your interest to make all the friends you can, 
 $ncl as few enemies as possible. 
 
 22. By friends, I would not be understood to mean 
 confidential ones ; but persons who speak of you respect- 
 fully, and who, consistent with their own interest would 
 wish to be of service to you, and would rather c!o you 
 good than havrru 
 
 Another thing I must recommend to you, as character- 
 istic of a polite education, and of having kept good compa- 
 ny, is a graceful manner of conferring favors. The most 
 obliging things may be done so aukwardly as to oiTencl, 
 while the most disagreeable things may be done so agree- 
 ably as to please. 
 
 23. A few more articles of general advice, and I have 
 clone ; the first is on the subject of vanity. It is the com- 
 mon failing of youth, and as such ought to be carefully 
 guarded against. The vanity I mean, is that which, if 
 given way to, stamps a man a coxcomb, a character he 
 v/illfind a difficulty to get rid of perhaps as long as he 
 lives. Now this vanity shows itself in a variety of shapes ; 
 one man shall pride himself in taking the lead in all con- 
 versations, and peremptorily deciding upon every subject ; 
 another desirous of appearing successful among the wo- 
 men, shall insinuate the encouragement he has met with, 
 the conquests he makes* and perhaps boasts of favors 
 i.e never received ; if he speaks the truth, he is ungen- 
 erous ; if false, he is a villain ; Jvat whether true or false, 
 lie defeats his own purposes, overthrows the reputation he 
 wishes to erect, and draws upon himself contempt in the 
 room of respect. 
 
 24. Some men are vain enough to think they acquire 
 consequence by alliance, or by an acquaintance with per^ 
 sons of distinguished character or abilities : hence they 
 are eternally talking of their grand-father, lord such-a-* 
 one ; their kinsman, Sir William such a-one -, or their 
 intimate friend, Dr. such-a-one, with whom perhaps, they 
 are scarce acquainted. If they are ever found out (and 
 that they are sure to be one time or other) they become 
 ridiculous and contemptible j but even admitting what 
 
$ 3 6 The Young Gentleman and Ladifs MON I T OR . 
 
 they say to be true, what then ? A man's intrinsic merit 
 does not rise from an ennobled alliance, or a reputable 
 acquaintance. 
 
 25. A rich man never borrows. When angling for 
 praise, modesty is the surest bait. If we would wish to 
 shine in any particular character, we must never affect 
 that character* An affectation of courage will make a 
 man pass for a bully ; an affectation of wit, for a cox- 
 comb ; and an affectation of sense, for a fool. 3 Not that 
 I would recommend bashfulness or timidity ; no ; 1 
 would have every one know his own value, yet not dis- 
 cover that he knows it, but leave his merit to be found 
 out by others. 
 
 26. Another thing worth your attention is, if in com- 
 pany with an inferior, not to let him feel his inferiority ; 
 if he discovers it himself without your endeavors, the? 
 fault is not yours, and he will not blame you ; but if you 
 take pains to mortify him, or to make him. feel himself 
 inferior to you in abilities, fortune or rank, it is an insult 
 that will not readily be forgiven. In point of abilities, it-- 
 would be unjust, as they are cut of his power ; in point: 
 of rank or fortue, it is ill rratured and ill bred. 
 
 27. This rule is never more necessary than at table, 
 where there cannot be a greater insult than to help an in- 
 ferior to a part he dislikes, or a part that may be worse 
 than ordinary, and to take the best to yourself. If you at 
 any time invite an inferior to your table, you put him, 
 during- the time he is there, upon an equality with you, 
 and it is an act of tha highest rudeness to treat him in any 
 respect slightingly. I \voiUd rather double my attention to 
 such a person, and treat him with additional respect, lest", 
 he should even suppose himself neglected. 
 
 28. There cannot be a greater savageness, or cruelty, 
 or any thing more degrading to a man of fashion, than 
 to put upon or take unbecoming liberties with him, 
 whose modesty, humility, or respect, will not suffer him 
 to retaliate. True politeness consists in making every 
 body happy about you . and as to mortify is to render 
 unhappy, it can be nothing but the worst of breeding- 
 Make it a rule, rather to flatter a persons' vanity than 
 otherwise ; make him, if possible, more in love wilh 
 himself; and you will be certain to gain bis 
 
and English Teacher 's ASSISTANT. 237 
 
 never tell him any thing he may not like to hear, nor say 
 things that will put him out of countenance, but let it be 
 your study on all occasions to please : this will be makfag- 
 friends instead of enemies, and be a means of serving 
 yourself in the end. 
 
 29. Never be witty at the expense of any one present, 
 nor gratify that idle inclination which is too strong in most 
 young men, I mean, laughing at, or ridiculing the weak- 
 nesses or infirmities of others, by way of diverting the 
 company, or displaying your own superiority. Most peo- 
 ple have their weaknesses, their peculiar likings and aver- 
 sions. Some cannot bear the sight of a cat ; others the 
 smell of cheese, and so on ; was you to hiueh at these men 
 for their antipathies, or by design or inattention to bring 
 them in their way, you could not insult them more. 
 
 30. You may possibly thus gain the laugh on your side 
 for the present, but it will make the person, perhaps, at 
 whose expense you- are merry, your enemy for ever after ; 
 
 ven those who laugh with you, will on a little re- 
 lieciioi), fear you and probably despise you : whereas to 
 procure what one likes, and to remove what the other hates, 
 would show them that they were objects of your attention, 
 and possibly make them more your friends than much, 
 greater services vould have done. 
 
 31. If you have wit use it to please, but not to hurt. 
 You may shine, but take care not to scorch. In short, 
 never seem to see the faults of others. Though among the 
 mass of men there are, doubtless, numbers of fools and 
 knaves, yet were we to tell every one of these we meet 
 with, that we know them to be^so, we should be in per- 
 petual war. I would detest the knave and pity the fool, 
 wherever I found him, but I would let neitheir of them 
 know unnecessarily that I did so ; as I would not be in- 
 dustrious to make myself enemies. As one must please 
 others then, in order to be pleased one's self; consider 
 what is agreeable to you must be agreeable to them, and 
 conduct yourself accordingly. 
 
 32. Whispering in company is another act of ill 
 edible ; it seems to insinuate either that the persons 
 
 ^ we would not wish should hear, are unworthy of 
 our confidence, or it may lead them to suppose we are 
 speaking improperly of them ; on botli accounts, therefore? 
 abstain from iu 
 
233 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 So pulling out one letter after another, and reading 
 them in company, or cutting or pairing one's nails, is 
 unpolite and rude. It seems to say, we are weary of the 
 conversation, and are in want of some amusement to pass 
 away the time. 
 
 S3. Humming a tune to ourselves, drumming with our 
 fingers on the table, making a noise with our feet, and 
 such like, are all breaches of good manners, and indica- 
 tions of our contempt for the persons present ; therefore 
 they should not be indulged* 
 
 Walking fast in the steeets is a mark of vulgarity,, 
 implying hurry of business ; it may appear well in a me- 
 chanic or tradesman, but suits ill with the character of 
 a gentleman or man of fashion, 
 
 Staring any person you meet, full in the face, is an act 
 also of ill breeding ; it looks as if you saw something 
 wonderful in his appearance, and is therefore a tacit re- 
 prehension. 
 
 34. Eating quick, or very slow, at meals, is charac- 
 teristic of the vulgar ; the first infers poverty, that you 
 have not had a good meal for some time ; the last if 
 abroad, that you dislike your entertainment, if at home, 
 that you are rude enough to set before your friends what 
 you cannot eat yourself. So again, eating your soups with 
 your nose in the plate, is vulgar ; it has the appearance of 
 being used to hard work) and of course an unsteady hand. 
 
 Dignity of Manners, 
 
 1. A CERTAIN dignity of manners is absolutely ue- 
 jLjL cessary to make even the most valuable character 
 either respected or respectable in the world. 
 
 Horse pky, romping, frequent and loud fits of laugh- 
 ter, jokes, waggery, and indiscriminate familiarity, will*- 
 sink both merit and knowledge into a degree of contempt; 
 They compose at most a merry fellow, and a merry 
 fellow was never yet a respectable man. Indiscriminate 
 familiarity either offends your superiors, or else dubs you 
 their dependant and ltd captain. It gives your inferiors 
 just, but troublesome and improper claims of equality. A 
 
mid English Teacher's ASSISTANT, 23$ 
 
 ,k..ker is near a-kin to a buffoon ; and neither of them is 
 t&e least related to wit. 
 
 2. Mimicry, the favorite amusement of little minds, 
 has been ever the contempt of great ones. Never give 
 .way to it yourself, nor ever encourage it in others ; it is 
 the most illiberal of all buffoonery ; it is an insult on the 
 person you mimic , and insults, I have often told you, are 
 seldom forgiven. 
 
 As to a mimic or a wag, he is little else than a buffoon, 
 who will distort his mouth and his eyes to make people 
 laugh. Be assured, no one person ever demeaned him- 
 self to please the rest, unless, he wished to be thought the 
 Merry Andrew of the company, and whether this charac- 
 ter is respectable, I will leave you to judge. 
 
 3. If a man's company is coveted on any other account 
 than his knowledge, his good sense, or his manners, 
 e is seldom respected by those who invite him, but made 
 use of only to entertain. " Let's have such a one, for 
 .he sings a good song, or, he is always joking or laugh- 
 ing ;" or, u let's send for such a one, for he is a good 
 bottle companion ;" these are degrading distinctions, that 
 preclude all respect and esteem. Whoever is had (as the 
 phrase is) for the sake of any qualification, singly, is 
 merely that thing he is had for, is never considered in any 
 .other light, and, of course, never properly respected, let 
 his intrinsic merits be what they will. 
 
 4. You may possibly suppose this digwity of manners 
 to border upon pride ; but it differs as much from pride, 
 .as true courage from blustering. 
 
 To flatter a 'person right or wrong, is abject flattery., 
 and to consent readily to every thing proposed by a com- 
 pany, be it silly or criminal, is full as degrading, as to 
 dispute warmly upon every subject, and to contradict upon 
 all occasions. To preserve dignity, we should modestly 
 assert our own sentiments, though we politely acquesce 
 in those of others. 
 
 So again, to support dignity of character, we should 
 neither be frivolously curious about trifles, nor be labori- 
 ously intent on little objects that deserve net a moment's 
 .attention ; for this implies an incapacity in matters of 
 greater importance. 
 
 A great deal likewise depends upon our air, address., 
 
340 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR. 
 
 and expression ; an aukward address and vulgar expres- 
 sions infer either a low turn of mind, or a low education. 
 
 5. Insolent contempt or low envy, is mcompatiblQ 
 also with dignity of manners* Low bred persons, for- 
 tunately lifted in the world, in fine clothes, and fine equir 
 pages, will insolently loek clown on all those who cannot 
 afford to make as good an appearance ; and they openly 
 envy those who perhaps make a better. They also dread 
 the being slighted ; of course are suspicious and captious ; 
 are uneasy themselves, and make every body else so 
 .about them. 
 
 6. A certain degree of outward seriousness in looks 
 and actions gives dignity* while a constant smirk upon the 
 lace (with that insipid silly smile, fools have when they 
 would be civil) and whiffling motion, are strong marks pi 
 futility. 
 
 But above all, a dignity of character is to be acquired 
 best by a certain firmness in all our actions. A mean, 
 timid, and passive complaisance, lets a man down more 
 than he is aware of : but still his firmness or resolution 
 should not extend to brutality, but be accompanied with a 
 peculiar and engaging softness, or mildness. 
 
 7. If you discover any hastiness in your temper, and 
 find it apt to break out into rough and unguarded expres- 
 sions, watch it narrowly, and endeavor to curb it"; but let 
 no complaisance, no \veak desire of pleasing, no wheed- 
 ling, urge you to do that which discretion forbids ; but 
 persist and persevere in all that is right. In your con- 
 nections and friendships you will find this rule of use to 
 you. Invite and preserve attachments, by your firmness ; 
 but labor to keep clear of enemies, by a mildness of beha- 
 vior. Disarm those enemies you may unfortunately have, 
 (and few are w/.hout them) by a gentleness of manner, 
 but mak? then, f vl the steadiness of your just resentment ; 
 for there is a di [Terence between bearing malice and 
 a determined .c- 1. -defence ; the one is imperious, but the 
 other is prr.cl > ; md justifiable. 
 
 8. In dire- g your servants, or 'any person you have 
 a right to co nancl ; if you deliver your orders mildly 
 and in that, engaging manner which every gentlemaQ 
 should study to do, you will be cheerfully, and conse- 
 quently well obeyed, but if tyrannically, you won! 
 
and nglish 1 ASSISTANT. 241 
 
 very unwillingly served, if served at all. A cool, steady 
 determination should show that you will be obeyed, but 
 a gentleness in the manner of enforcing that obedience 
 should make service a cheerful one. Thus will you be 
 joved without being despised, and feared without being 
 hated. 
 
 9. I hope I need not mention vices. A man who has 
 patiently been kicked out of company, may have as good 
 ;\ pretence to courage, as one rendered Infamous by his 
 vices, may to dignity of any kind ; however of such con- 
 sequence are appearances, that an outward decency, and 
 an affected dignity of manners, will even keep such , 
 the longer from sinking. If therefore you should 
 innately have no intrinsic merit of your own, : 
 possible, the appearance of it ; and the wo; j 
 give you credit for the rest. A versatility of mar. 
 'as necessary in social life, as a versatility o: 
 This is no way blameable, if ; 
 
 ;*i. We must, like the camekon, tl 
 
 >f the persons we wish to be \vtll with ; and it surely 
 ^an never be blameable, to endeavor to gain the good will 
 .*;r affection of any one, if, when obtained, we do not mean 
 :.-.buse it. 
 
 Rules for Cor 
 
 JACK LIZARD was about fifteen when lie was 
 entered in the university, and being a youth of a 
 ccreat deal of fire, and a more than ordinary application 
 to his studies, it gave his conversation a very particular 
 turn. He had too much spirit to hold his tongue in com- 
 pany ; but at the same time so little acquaintance with the 
 world, that he did not know how to talk like other people. 
 2. After a year and a half's stay at the university, he 
 came down among us to pass away a month or two in the 
 country. The Erst night after his arrival, as we were at 
 supper, we were all of us very much improved by Jack's 
 table talk. He told us, upon the appearance of a dish of 
 wild fowl, that according. to the opinion of some natural 
 '; be lately come from the moon. 
 
2 1-2 The Young -Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 3. Upon which the Sparkler bursting out into a laugh? 
 he insulted her \vith several questions, relating to the 
 bigness and dibtance of the moon and stars ; and after 
 every interrogatory \vould be winking upon me, and 
 smiling at his sisters ignorance. Jack gained his point ; 
 for the mother was pleased, and all the servants stared 
 tit the learning of their young master. Jack was so en- 
 couraged at this success, that for the first week he dealt 
 wholly in paradoxes. It was a common jest with him to 
 pinch one of his sister's lap dogs, and afterwards prove he 
 could not feel it. 
 
 4. When the girls were sorting a set of knots, Le 
 would demonstrate to them that all the ribbons were of 
 the same color ; or rather, says Jack, of no color at all. 
 My Lady Lizard herself, though she was not a little 
 pleased with her son's improvements, was one day almost 
 angry with him ; for having accidentally burnt her fingers 
 as she was lighting her lamp for her tea pot, in the midst 
 of her anguish, Jack laid hold of the opportunity to in- 
 struct her that there was no such thing as heat in fire. In 
 short, no day passed over our heads, in which Jack did 
 not imagine he made the whole family wiser than they 
 were before. 
 
 5. That part of his conversation which gave me the 
 most pain, was what passed among those country gentle- 
 men that came to visit us. On such occasions Jack usual- 
 ly took upon him to be the mouth of the company ; and 
 thinking himself obliged to be very merry, would enter- 
 tain us 'with a great many odd sayings and absurdities of 
 their college cook. I found this fellow had made a very 
 strong impression upon Jack's imagination, which he never 
 considered was not the case of the rest of the company, till 
 after many*- re pea ted trials he found that his stories seldom 
 made any body luugh but himself. 
 
 6. I all this while looked upon Jack as a young tree 
 shooting out into blossoms before its time ; the redundan- 
 cy of which, though it was a little unseasonable, seemed 
 to foretel an uncommon fruitfulness. 
 
 In order to wear out the vein of pedantry which ran 
 through his conversation, I took him out with me one 
 evening, and first of all insinuated to him this rule, which 
 I had ffivsdf feataed fron> a vcrv gr-at author, 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 
 
 think with the wise but talk with the vulgar." Jack's 
 good sense soon mode him reflect that he had exposed 
 himself to the laughter of the ignorant by a contrary be- 
 havior ; upon which he told roe, that he would take 
 care for the future to keep his notions to himself, and con- 
 verse in the common received sentiments of mankind. 
 
 7. He at the same time desired me to give him any 
 other rules of conversation, which 1 thought might be for 
 his improvement. I told him I would think- of it ; arnl 
 accordingly, as I have a particular affection for the young 
 man, I gave him the next morning the following rules in 
 writing, which may perhaps, have contributed to make 
 him the agreeable man he now is, 
 
 8. The faculty of interchanging otir^tl ts with one 
 another, or what we express by : t ; conversation, 
 has always been represented by rj . liors, as one of 
 the noblest privileges of reason, and which more particu- 
 larly sets mankind above the brute part of the creation. 
 
 Though nothing so much gains upon trie affections as 
 this extempore eloquence, which we have constantly oe- 
 casion for, and are obliged to practice every day, we very 
 rarely meet with any who excel in it. 
 
 9. The conversation of most men is disagreeable, not 
 so much for want of wit and learning, as of good breeding 
 and discretion. 
 
 It is not in every man's power, perhaps, to have fine 
 parts, say witty thinrp, or tell a story agreeably ; but eve- 
 ry man may be polite if he pleases, at least to a certain 
 degree. Politeness has infinitely more power to make 
 i)3 esteemed, and our company sought after, than the most 
 extraordinary parts or attainments we can be master of. 
 These seldom fail to credit envy, and envy has always 
 some ill will in it. 
 
 10. If you resolve to please, never speak to gratify any 
 particular vanity or passion of your own, but always with 
 a design either to divert or inform the company. A man 
 who only aims at one of these, is always easy in his dis- 
 course. He is never out of humor at being interrupted, 
 because he considers that those who hear him are the best 
 judges whether what he was saying could either divert or 
 inform them, 
 
 A. modest person seldom fails to gain the good will of 
 
man and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 those he converses with, because nobody envies a man wh 
 does not appear to be pleased with himself. 
 
 1"1. We shouid talk extreme!} 7 little of ourselves. In- 
 deed what can we say ? It would be as imprudent to dis- 
 cover faults, as ridiculous to count over our fancied vir- 
 tues. Our private and domestic affairs are no less impro- 
 per to be introduced in conversation. What does it con- 
 cern the company how many horses you keep in your 
 js ? or whether your servant is most knave or fool ? 
 
 12. A man may equally affront the company he is in, 
 V y engrossing all the talk, or observing a contemptuous 
 silence. 
 
 Conform yourself to the taste, character, "and present 
 persons you converse with ; not but a per- 
 son mu ? his talent in conversation. Do not force 
 
 no one ever did it with success. 
 u huve not a talent for humor, or raillery, or sto- 
 ry-telling, never attempt them. 
 
 13. Contain yourself also within the bounds of 
 you know ; and never talk of things you are ignora 
 unless it he with a view to inform yourself. A ] 
 cannot fail in the observance of this rule, without making 
 liimself ridiculous ; and yet how often do we see it tr ns- 
 gressed 1 Some, who on war or politics could talk very 
 well, will be perpetually harranguing on works of genius 
 and the belles-lettres ; others who are capable of reason- 
 ing, and would make a figure in grave discource, will yet 
 constantly aim at humor and pleasantry, though with the 
 worst grace imaginable. Hence it is, that we sec a man 
 of merit sometimes appear like a coxcomb, and hear a 
 man of genius talk like a fool. 
 
 14. Before you tell a story, it may be generally 
 amiss to draw a short character, and give the company a 
 true idea of the principal persons concerned in it ; the 
 beauty of most things consisting not so much in their be- 
 ing said or clone, as in their being said or done by such a 
 particular person, or on such a particular occasion. 
 
 15. Notwithstanding all the advantages of youth, few 
 young people please in conversation ; the reason is, that 
 want "of experience makes them positive, and what they 
 say, is rather with a design to please themselves, than any 
 one else. 
 
'and English Teacher's ASSISTAKT. H& 
 
 It is certain tm-t age itself shall make many things pass 
 iv el! enough, which would have been laughed at in the 
 mouth of one much younger. 
 
 16. Nothing, however, is more insupportable to men 
 of sense, than an empty formal man \vho speaks in prov- 
 erbs, and decides all controversies, with a short sentence. 
 This piece of stupidity is the more insufferable, as it puts 
 on the air of wisdom 
 
 Great talents for conversation requires to be accompa- 
 nied with great politeness. He who eclipses others, owes 
 l htm great civilities ; and whatever a mistaken vanity 
 may teli us, it is better to please in conversion, than to 
 shine in it. 
 
 17. A prudent man will avoid talking much of any 
 particular science, for which he is remarkably famous. 
 There is not, methinks, an handsomer thing said of Mr. 
 Gowley in his whole life, than, that none but his intimate 
 friends ever discovered he was a great poet by hir, dis- 
 course. Besides the decency of this rule, it is certainly 
 founded in good policy. A man who talks of any tiling 
 he is. already famous for, has little to get, but a great 
 deal to lose. 
 
 18. I might add, that he who is sonoetimes silent on a 
 Subject where every one is satisfied he would speak well 
 will often be thought no less knowing in any other mat- 
 ters, where, perhaps, he is wholly ignorant. 
 
 Woinen are frightened at the name of argument, and 
 are sooner convinced by an happy turn, or witty expres- 
 sion, than by demonstration. 
 
 19. Whenever you commend, add your reasons for so 
 doing ; it is this which distinguishes the approbation of 
 a man of sense, from the flattery of sycophants, and ad- 
 miration of fools. 
 
 Raillery is no longer agveeable than while the whole 
 company is pleased with it. I would least of all be under-, 
 stood to except the person rallied. 
 
 20. Though good humor, sense, and discretion can 
 seldom fail to make a man agreeable, it may be no ill 
 policy sometimes to prepare yourself in a particular man- 
 ner for conversation, by looking a little further than 
 your neighbors into whatever is become a reigning 
 subject. If our armies are besieging a place of import- 
 
 X 2 
 
and Lady's MONITOR. 
 
 ance abroad, or our House of Commons 'debating a bill of 
 consequence at home, you can hardly fail of being heard 
 v/ith pleasure, if you have nicely informed yourself of the 
 strength, situation, and history of the ftrst, or of the reas- 
 ons for and against the latter. 
 
 21. It will have the same effect if when any single 
 person begins to make a noise in the world, you can 
 learn some of the smallest accidents in his life or con- 
 versation, which though they are too fine for the observ- 
 ation of the vulgar, give more satisfaction to men of 
 sense, (as they are the best openings to a real character) 
 tnan the recital of his most glaring actions. I krs.v. 
 
 one ill consequence to be feared from this meti- 
 ly, that coming full charged into company, you should 
 resolve to unload, whether an handsome opportunity of- 
 fers itself or no. 
 
 22. The liberal arts, though they may possibly havii 
 less effect on om> external mien and behavior, make so 
 deep an impression on the mind, as is very apt to bend 
 It wholly one way. 
 
 The mathematician will take little less than demon- 
 stration in the common discourse, and the schoolman 13 
 as great a friend to definitions and syllogisms. The phy- 
 sician and divine are often heard to dictate in private 
 companies with the same authority which they exer- 
 cise over their patients and disciples ; while the lawyer is 
 putting cases, and raising matter for disputation, out cf 
 every thing that occurs. 
 
 23. Though the asking of questions may plead fc? 
 itself the specious name of modesty, and a desire of in- 
 formation, it affords little pleasure to the rest of the com- 
 pany, who are not troubled v/ith the same doubts ; besides 
 which, he who asks a queston would do well to consider 
 that he lies wholly at the mercy of another before he re- 
 ceives an answer. 
 
 24. Nothing is more silly than the pleasure some peo- 
 ple take in what they call speaking their minds. A 
 man of this make will say a rude tiling for the mere 
 pleasure of saying it, when an opposite behavior, full as 
 innocent, might have preserved his friend, or made his 
 fortune. 
 
 It is not impossible for a man to form to himself as ex- 
 
and IZnglish Teacher's ASSISTANT. 247 
 
 quisite a pleasure in complying with the humor and sen- 
 timents of others, as of bringing- others over to his own ; 
 since 'tis the certain sign of a superior genius, that can 
 take ar=d become whatever dress it pleases. 
 
 25. Avoid disputes as much as possible, in order to 
 appear easy and well bred, in conversation. You may 
 assure yourself, that it requires more wit, as well as more 
 good humor, to improve than to contradict the notions 
 of another ; but if you are at any time obliged to enter 
 on an argument, give your reasons with the utmost cool- 
 ness and modesty, two things which scarce ever fail of 
 making an impression on the hearers. Besides, if you 
 are neither dogmatical, nor show either by your actions or 
 words> that you are full of yourself, all will the more 
 heartily rejoice at your victory ; nay, should you be pinch- 
 ed in your argument, you may make your retreat with a 
 very good grace : you were never positive, and are now 
 glad to be better informed. 
 
 26. This hath made seme approve the Socratical way 
 of reasoning, where, while you scarce affirm any thing, 
 you can hardly be caught in an absurdity ; and though 
 possibly you are endeavoring to bring over another to 
 your opinion, which is firmly fixed, you seem only to de- 
 sire information from him. 
 
 27. In order to keep that temper, which is so difficult, 
 :.:(! yet so necessary to preserve, you may please to con- 
 
 \ that nothing can be more unjust or ridiculous, than 
 to h* angry with another because he is not of your 
 opinion. The interests, education, and means by which 
 rheti attain their knowledge, are so very different, that 
 i is impossible they should all think alike ; and he has 
 at least as much reason to be angry with you, as you with 
 him. 
 
 28. Sometimes to keep yourself cool, it may be of ser- 
 vice to ask yourself fairly, what might have been your 
 opinion, had you all the biasses of education and interest 
 your adversary may possibly have? But if you contend 
 for the honor of victory alone, you may lay clown this as an 
 infallible maxim, That you cannot make a more false 
 step, or give your antagonists a greater advantage over 
 you, than by falling into a passion. 
 
 29. When an argument is over, how many weighty 
 
-248 The Young Gentleman and Ladifs 
 
 reasons does a man recollect, which his heat and violence 
 made him utterly forget ? 
 
 It is yet more absurd to be angry with a raan> because 
 he does not apprehend the force of your reasons, or give 
 weak ones of his own* If you argue for reputation, this 
 makes your victory the easier ; he is certainly in all res- 
 pects an object of your pity, rather than anger ; and if he 
 cannot comprehend what you do, you ought to thank na- 
 ture for her favors, who has given you so much the clearer 
 understanding. 
 
 SO. You may please to add this consideration, That 
 among your equals no one values your anger,, which only 
 preys upon its master j. and perhaps you may find it not 
 very consistent either with prudence or your ease, to pun- 
 ish yourself whenever you meet with a fool or a knave. 
 
 31. Lastly, if you propose to yourself the true end of 
 argument, which is information, it may be a seasonable 
 check to your passion ; for if you search purely after truth, 
 it will be almost indifferent to you where you find it, I 
 cannot in this place omit an observation which I hav^e 
 often made, namely, that nothing procures a man more 
 esteem and less envy from the whole company, than if he 
 chooses the part of moderator, without engaging directly 
 on either side in a dispute. 
 
 32. This, gives him the character of impartial, furnisbes- 
 him an opportunity of sifting things to the bottom, shov/- 
 ing his judgment, and of sometimes making handsome 
 compliments to each of the contending parties. 
 
 When you have gained a victory, do not push it too 
 far ; it is sufficient to let the company and your adversary 
 see it is in your power, but that you are too generous tc 
 make use of it. 
 
 33. I shall only add, that besides what! have here said, 
 there is something which can never be learnt but in the 
 company of the polite. The virtues of men are catching 
 as well as their vices, and your own observations added to 
 these will soon discover what it is that commands atten- 
 tion in one man, and makes you tired and displeased v/Itfc 
 the discourse of another.. 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 249 
 
 Further Remarks taken from Lord Chesterfield's Letters ta 
 
 his Son. 
 
 3'1- TLTTAVING now given you full and sufficient in- 
 JLJL structions for making you well received in the 
 best of companies ; nothing remains but that I lay before 
 you some few rules for your conduct in such company. 
 Many things on this subject I have memoned before ; 
 but some few matters remain to be mentioned now. 
 
 ik then frequently, but not long together, lest you 
 tire the persons you are speaking to ; for few persons talk 
 so well upon a subject, as to keep up the attention of their 
 hearers for any length of time. 
 
 35. Avo: stories in company, unless they are 
 
 very short ' ; -1 very applicable to the subject you are 
 
 upon ; in this case relate them in as fcw words as possible, 
 without the least digression, and with some apology : 
 .lit you hate the telling of stones, but the short- 
 of it induced you. And if your story Ins any wit 
 in it, be particularly careful not to laugh at it yourself. 
 Nothing is more tiresome and disagreeable than a long 
 U'dious narrative : it betrays a gossiping disposition, and 
 great want of imagination ; and nothing is more ridicu- 
 lous than to express an approbation of your awn story by 
 a laugh. 
 
 35. In relating; any thing, keep clear of repetitions, 
 cr very hackneyed expressions, such as say 6 he, or says 
 */?, Some pt use these so often, as to take oft* 
 
 the hearers* attention from the stoiy ; as in an organ out 
 of tune, cue pipe shall perhaps sound the whole time we 
 arc p hying) and confuse the piece so as net to be under- 
 Sto: 
 
 o7. Digressions, likewise, : be guarded against. 
 
 A story is always more r \- i- out them. Of this 
 
 kind art> u the g'i iitiernan la 
 
 Sir Tho?nas -, who live- ? --street ; Dl 
 
 his brother fa. 
 Newmarket m( 
 
 ." Or, "He was en ic?>"ight fall 
 
 :"?i fang hair ; don't ^-ou recol- 
 
 Ir.ct /;:;;: .?''. -All this is unnecessary j is very tiresome and 
 
25$ The Young Gentleman and Ladtfx MONITOR, 
 
 provoking, and would be an excuse for a man's behavior^ 
 if he was to leave us in the midst of our narrative. 
 
 38. Some people have a trick of holding the persons 
 they are speaking to by the button, or the hand, in crdtr to 
 be heard out ; conscious, I suppose, that their tale is tire- 
 some. Pray, never do this ; if the person you speak to is 
 not as willing to hear your story, as you are to tell it, 
 you had much better break off in the rnk^le : for if you 
 tire them once they will be afraid to listen to you a second 
 time. 
 
 39. Others have a way of punching the person they ?re 
 talking to, in the side, and at the end of every sentence, 
 asking him some questions, as the following : " Wasn't I 
 right in that ?" u You know, I told you so ? What's 
 your opinion ?" and the like ; or perhaps, they will be 
 thrusting him, or jogging him with their elbow. For mer- 
 cy's sake, never give way to this : it will make your com- 
 pany dreaded. 
 
 40. Long talkers are frequently apt to single out some 
 unfortunate man present ; generally the most silent one 
 of the company, or probably him who sits next them. 
 To this man^ in a kind of half whisper, will they run 
 on for half an hour together. Nothing can be more iii- 
 bred. But if one of these unmerciful talkers should attack 
 you, if you wish to oblige him, I would recommend the 
 hearing with patience : seem to do so at least, for you 
 could not hurt him more than to leave him in the middle 
 of his story, or discover any impatience in the course of it. 
 
 41. Incessant talkers are very disagreeable companions. 
 Nothing can be more rude than to engross the conversation 
 to yourself, or to take the words, as it were, out of anoth- 
 er man's mouth. Every man in company has an equal 
 claim to bear bis part in conversation, and to deprive him 
 of it, is not only unjust, but a tacit declaration that he 
 cannot speak so well upon the subject as yourself : you 
 will therefore take it up. And, what can he more rude ? 
 I would as soon forgive a man that should stop my mouth 
 when I was gaping, as take my words from roe while I was 
 speaking them. Now, if this be unpardonable, it cannot 
 be less so, 
 
 42. To help out or forestall the slow speaker, as if you 
 alone were rich in expressions and he were poor. You 
 
(fad Efiglish Teacher's ASSISTANT,, 251 
 
 inay take it for granted every one is vain enough to think 
 he can talk well, though he may modestly deny it ; help- 
 ing a person out therefore in his expressions, is a correc- 
 tion that will stamp the corrector with impudence and ill 
 manners. 
 
 43. Those who contradict others upon all occasions, 
 and make every assertion u matter of dispute, betray by 
 this behavior an unacquaintance with good breeding. 
 He therefore who wishes to appear amiable, with those 
 he converses with, will'be cautious of such expressions as 
 these, " That can't be true, sir." " The affair is as I 
 say." " That must be false, sir." " If what you say is 
 true," 5cc. You may as well tell a man he lies at once, 
 as thus indirectly impeach his veracity. It is equally as 
 rude to be proving every trifling assertion with a bet or a 
 wager. " I'll bet you fifty of it, and so on." Make it 
 then a constant rule, in matters of no great importance, 
 complaisantly to submit your opinion to that of others ; 
 -for a victory of this kind often costs a man the loss of a 
 friend. 
 
 44. Giving advice unasked is another piece of rudeness; 
 it is, in effect, declaring ourselves wiser than those to 
 whom we give it ; reproaching them with ignorance and 
 inexperience. It is a freedom that ought not to be taken 
 with any common acquaintance, and yet there are those 
 who will be offended, if their advice is not taken. 
 " Such-a-one," say they, " is above being advised." 
 a He scorns to listen to my advice ;" as if it were not a 
 mark of greater arogance to expect every one to sub- 
 mit to their opinion than for a man sometimes to follow 
 his own. 
 
 45. There is nothing so unpardonably rude, as a seem- 
 ing inattention to the person who is speaking to you ; 
 though you may meet with it in others, by all means, 
 avoid it yourself. Some ill bred people, while others 
 are speaking to them, will, instead of looking at or at- 
 tending to them, perhaps fix their eyes on the deling, 
 or some picture in tfc room, look out of the window, 
 play with a dog, their watch chain, or their cane, or 
 probably pick their nails or their noses. Nothing be- 
 trays a more trifling mind than this ; nor can any thing 
 be a greater affront to the person speaking* ; it being a 
 
252 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 tacit declaration, that what he is saying is not worth your 
 attention. Consider with yourself how you would like 
 such treatment, and, I am persuaded, you will never show 
 it to others. 
 
 46. Surliness or moroseness is incompatible also with 
 politeness. Such as, should any one say " he was desir- 
 ed to present Mr. Such-a-ones's respects to you," to reply, 
 u What the devil have I to do with his respects ?" 
 u My Lord inquired after you lately, and asked how you 
 
 .." to answer, " if he wishes to know, let him come 
 nd feel my pulse," and the like. A good deal of this 
 often is affected ; but whether affected or natural, it is 
 always offensive. A man of this stamp will occasion- 
 ally be laughed at as an oddity ; but in the end will be 
 despised, 
 
 47. I should suppose it unnecessary to advise you to 
 adapt your conversation to the company you are in. You 
 would not surely start the same subject, and discourse of 
 it in the same manner, with the old and with the young, 
 with an officer, a clergyman, a philosopher, and a woman . ? 
 :io ; your geod sense will undoubtedly teach you to be 
 serious with the serious, gay with the gay, and to trifle 
 \\Uh the trifiers. 
 
 48. There tire certain expressions which are excee 
 
 ly rude, and yet there are people of liberal education that 
 sometimes use them ; as " you don't understand ins 
 sir." " It is not so." " You mistake." " You know no- 
 thing of the matter," <kc; Is it not better to say ? " I 
 believe I do not express myself so> as to be understood." 
 " Let us consider it again, whether we take it right 
 or not." It is much more polite and amiable to make 
 some excuse for another, even in cases where he might 
 justly be blamed, and to represent the mistake as com- 
 mon to both, rather than charge him with insensibility or 
 incomprehension.. 
 
 49. If any one should have promised you any thing 
 and not have fulfilled that promise, it would be very un- 
 polite to tell him, he has forfeited his word ; or if the 
 same person should have disappointed you, upon any 
 occasion, would it not be better to say, "you were prob- 
 ably so much engaged, that you forgot my affair/* 
 or, "perhaps it slipped your memory j." rather t) 
 
and English Teaches ASSISTANT. 253 
 
 " you thought no more about it," or " you pay very 
 " little regard to your word." For expressions of this 
 kind leave a sting behind them. They ars a kind of 
 provocation and affront, and very often bring on lasting 
 quarrels. 
 
 50. Be careful not to appear dark and mysterious, lest 
 you should be thought suspicious ; than which there can- 
 not be a more unamiable character. If you appear myste- 
 rious and reserved, others will be truly so with you ; 
 and in this case, there is an end to improvement, for you 
 will gather no information. Be reserved, but never seem 
 so. 
 
 51. There is a fault extremely common with some 
 people, which I would have you avoid. When their 
 opinion is asked upon any subject, they will give it with 
 so apparent a diffidence and timidity, that one cannot, 
 without the utmost pain, listen to them ; especially if 
 they are known to be men of universal knowledge. " Your 
 " Lordship will pardon me," says one of this stamp, " if 
 " t should not be able to speak to the case in hand, so 
 " well as it might be wished." " I'll venture to speak 
 " of this matter, to the best of my poor abilities and dul- 
 i( ness of apprehension. I fear I shall expose myself, but 
 " in obedience to your Lordship's commands" and while 
 they are making these apologies, they interrupt the busi- 
 ness and tire the company. 
 
 52. Always look people in the face when you speak to 
 them, otherwise you will be thought conscious of some 
 guilt ; besides, you lose the opportunity of reading their 
 countenances ; from which you will much better learn 
 the impression your discourse makes upon them, than 
 you can possibly do from their words : for words are at 
 the will of every one, but the countenance is frequently 
 involuntary. 
 
 53. If, in speaking to a person, you are not heard, 
 and should be desired to repeat what you said, do not 
 raise your voice in the repetition, lest you should be 
 thought angry, on being obliged to repeat what you had 
 said before ; it was probably owing to the hearer's in- 
 attention. 
 
 54. One word only, as to swearing. Those who ad- 
 dict therrvselves to it, and interlard thek discourse with 
 
 Y 
 
254 The Young Gentleman and Lady^ MONITOR, 
 oaths, can never be considered as gentlemen ; they are 
 generally people of low education, and are unwelcome in 
 'nat is called good company. It is a vice that has no 
 smptation i to plead, but is, in every respect, as vulgar as 
 it is wicked. 
 
 55. Never accustom yourself to scandal, nor listen to 
 
 it ; for though it may gratify the malevolence of some 
 
 people, rme times out of ten it is attended with great 
 
 Disadvantages. The very person you tell it to will, on 
 
 lion, entertain a mean opinion of you, and it will 
 
 ^ten bring you into a very disagreeable situation. And 
 
 ; would be no evil speakers, if there were no evil 
 
 learers ; it is in scandal as in robbery ; the receiver is as 
 
 id as the thief. Besides, it will lead people to shun your 
 
 company, supposing that you will speak ill of them to the 
 
 next acquaintance you meet. 
 
 56. Carefully avoid talking either of your own or other 
 people's domestic concerns. By doing the one, you will 
 be thought vain ; by entering into the other, you will be 
 considered as officious. Talking of yourself is an im- 
 pertinence to the company ; your affairs are nothing to 
 them; besides, they cannot be kept too secret. And, 
 as to the affairs of others, what are they to you 1 In 
 talking of matters that no way concern you, you are 
 liable so commit blunders, and should you touch any 
 one in a sore part, you may possibly lose his esteem. Let 
 your conversation then in mixed companies always be 
 general. 
 
 57. Jokes ban-mots or the little pleasantries of one 
 company, will not often bear to be told in another ; they 
 are frequently loeal, and take their rise from certain 
 circumstances ; a second company may not be acquainted 
 with these circumstances, and of course your story may 
 not be understood, or want explaining ; and, if after you 
 have prefaced it with, "I will tell you a good thing," 
 the sting should not be immediately perceived, you will 
 appear exceedingly ridiculous, and wish you had not told it. 
 Never then repeat in one place what you hear in another. 
 
 58. In most debates take up the favorable side of the 
 question ; however, let me caution you against being 
 clamorous, that is, never maintain an argument with heat, 
 though you know yourself .right ; but offer your senti- 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 255 
 
 ments modestly and coolly, and if this does not prevail, 
 give it up, and try to change the subject by saying some- 
 thing to this effect ; " I find we shall hardly convince 
 " one another, neither is there any necessity to attempt it j 
 " so let us talk of something else." 
 
 59. Not that I would have you give up your opinion 
 always ; no, assert your own sentiments, and oppose those 
 of others when wrong, but let your manner and voice be 
 gentle and engaging, and yet no ways affected. If you 
 contradict, do it with, / may be wrong, but / won't be 
 positive, but I really think / should rather su/ifiost If I 
 may be permitted to my and close your dispute with good 
 humor, to show you are neither displeased yourself, nor 
 mean to displease the person you dispute \vith. 
 
 60. Acquaint yourself with the character and situations 
 of the company you go into, before you give a loose to 
 your tongue ; for should you enlarge on some virtue, which 
 any one present may notoriously want ; or should you 
 condemn some vice, which any of the company may be 
 particularly addicted to, they will be apt to think your 
 reflections pointed and personal, and you will be sure to 
 give offence. This consideration will naturally lead you, 
 not to suppose things said in general, to be levelled at 
 you. 
 
 6 1 . Low bred people, when they happen occasionally 
 to be in good company, imagine themselves to be the 
 subject of every separate conversation. If any part of 
 the company whispers, it is about them ; if they laugh, 
 it is at them ; and if any thing is said which they do not 
 comprehend, they immediately suppose it is meant of them. 
 This mistake is admirably ridiculed in one of our celebrat- 
 ed comedies, " lam sure, says Scrub, they were talkmg of 
 me, for they laughed consumedly" 
 
 62. Now, a well bred person never thinks himself clis- 
 esteemed by the company, or laughed at, unless their re- 
 flections are so gross, that he cannot be supposed to mis- 
 take them, and his honor obliges him to resent it in a 
 proper manner ; however be assured, gentlemen never 
 laugh at or ridicule one another, unless they are in joke, 
 or on a footing of the greatest intimacy. If such a thing 
 should happen once in an age, from some pert coxcomb, 
 or some flippant woman, it is better not to seem to know 
 it, than make the least reply. 
 
i56 Ths Young Gentleman and Lady* & MONITOR, 
 
 63. It is a piece of politeness not to interrupt a person 
 in a story, whether you have heard it before or not. 
 Nay, if a well bred man is asked whether he has heard 
 it, he will answer no, and let the person go on, though 
 be knows it already. Some are fond of felling a story, 
 because they think they tell it well, others pride them- 
 selves in being the first teller of it, and others are pleased 
 at being thought entrusted with it. Now, all these per- 
 sons you would disappoint by answering yes, and, -as I 
 have told you before, as the greatest proof of politeness is 
 to rrake every body happy about you, I would never de- 
 prive ^ person of any secret satisfaction of this sort, when 
 I could f ratify by a minute's attention. 
 
 64. Be not ashamed of asking questions, if such ques- 
 tions lead to information ; always accompany them with- 
 some excuse, and you never will be reckoned imperti- 
 nent. But, abrupt questions, without some apology, by 
 all means avoid, as they imply design. There is*a way 
 c-' fishing for facts, which if done judiciously, will answer 
 every purpose, such as taking things you wish to. know for 
 granted ; this will perhaps lead some officious person to 
 set you right. So a:<ain, by saying, you have heard so and 
 so- and sometimes seeming to know more than you do, you 
 will often p-et at information, which you would lose by 
 direct questions, as these would put people upon their 
 guard, and frequently defeat the very end you aim at. 
 
 65? Make it a rule never to reflect on any body of 
 people, for by this means you will create a number of 
 enemies. There are good and bad of all profc: 
 lav/yers, soldiers, parsons or citizens. They are all men, 
 .t to the same passions, differing only in their man- 
 rtr accorc'ing to the WL.V they have been bred up in. 
 For this reason, it is unjust as well as indiscreet to attack 
 them as a corps collectively. Many a young man has 
 thought himself extremely clever in abusing the clergy. 
 What are the clergy more than other men ? Can you 
 suppose a black gcwn c^n make any alteration in his na* 
 ture ? Fie, fie, think seriously, and I am convinced yoU . 
 will never do it. 
 
 66. But above all, let no example, ro fashion, 
 witticism, no foolish desire of arising above what knaves 
 prejudices, tempt you to excuse, extenuate cr Hdi- 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT, 257 
 
 cule the least breach of morality, but upon every occasion 
 show the greatest abhorrence of such proceedings, and 
 hold virtue ami religion in the highest veneration. 
 
 It is a great piece of ill manners to interrupt any one 
 while speaking, by speaking yourself or calling off the at- 
 tention of the company to any foreign matter. But this 
 every child knows. 
 
 67. The last thing I shall mention is that of conceal- 
 ing your learning-, except on particular occasions. Re- 
 serve this for learned men, and let them rather extort it 
 from you, than you be too willing to display it. Hence 
 you will be thought modest, and to have more knowledge 
 than you really have. Never seem -wise or more learned 
 than the company you are in. He who affects to show 
 3iis learning will be frequently questioned ; and if found 
 superficial, will be sneered at ; if otherwise, he wHl be 
 deemed a pedant. Real merit will always show itself, 
 and nothing can lessen it in the opinion of the world, but 
 a man's exhibiting it himself. 
 
 For God's sake, revolve all these things seriously in 
 your mind, before you go abroad into life. Recollect the. 
 observations you have yourself occasionally made upon 
 men and things, compare them with my instruction, and 
 act wisely and consequentially, as they shall teach you. 
 
 Entrance upon the World* 
 
 1. /^URINO was a young man brought up to a repu- 
 \^A table trade ; the term of his apprenticeship was 
 almost expired, and he was contriving how he might ven- 
 ture into the world with safety, and pursue business with 
 innocence and success. 
 
 2. Among his near kindred, Serenus was one, a gen- 
 tleman of considerable character in the sacred profession ; 
 and after he had consulted with his father, who was a mer- 
 chant of great esteem and experience, he also thought fit 
 to seek a word of advice from the divine. 
 
 3. Serenus had such a respect for his young: kinsman, 
 that he set his thought at work on this subject, and with 
 some tender expressions; which melted the youth into 
 
 Y 2 
 
258 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 tears he put into his hand a paper of his best counsels* 
 Curino entered upon business, pursued his employment 
 with uncommon advantage, and under the blessing of 
 Heaven, advanced himself to a considerable estate. 
 
 4, He lived with honor in the world, and gave a lustre 
 to the religion which he professed ; and after a long life 
 of piety and usefulness, he died with a sacred composure 
 of soul, under the influence of the Christian hope. 
 
 5. Some of his neighbors wondered at his felicity in 
 this world, joined with so much innoceace, and such se- 
 vere virtue ; but after his death this paper was found in 
 his closet, which was drawn up by his kinsman in holy 
 orders, and was supposed to have a large share in procur- 
 ing his happiness. 
 
 Advice to a ijoung Man. 
 
 I. T PRESUME you desire to be happy here and here- 
 JL after ; you know there are a thousand difficulties 
 which attend this pursuit ; some of them perhaps yon 
 foresee, but there are multitudes vihich you could never 
 think of. Never trust therefore to your own understand- 
 ing in the things of this world, where you can have the 
 advice of a wise and faithful friend ; nor dare venture tho- 
 more important concerns of your soul, and your eternal 
 interests in the world to come, upon the mere light of 
 nature, and the dictates of your own reason ; since the 
 word of God, and the advice of Heaven, lies in your 
 hands. Vain and thoughtless indeed are those children 
 of pride, who choose to turn heathens in America ; who- 
 live upon the mere religion of nature and their own stock, 
 when they have been trained up among all the superior 
 advantages of Christianity, and the blessings of divine rev-, 
 elation and grace ! 
 
 II. Whatsoever your circumstances may be in this 
 world, still value your bible as your best treasure ; and 
 whatsoever be your employment here, still look upon reli- 
 gion as your best business. Your bible contains eternal 
 life in it, and all the riches of the upper world ; and reli- 
 gion is the only way to become the possessor of them. 
 
 III. To direct your carriage towards God, converse 
 particularly with the bock of psalms : David was a mat> 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 259 
 
 of sincere and eminent devotion. To behave aright among 
 men, acquaint yourself with the whole book of Proverbs : 
 Solomon was a man of large experience and wisdom. And 
 to perfect your directions in both these, read the Gospels 
 and Epistles ; you will find the best of rules and the best 
 of examples there, and those more immediately sutited to 
 the Christian life. 
 
 IV. As a man, maintain strict temperance and sobrie- 
 ty, by a wise government of your appetites and passions ; 
 as a neighbor, influence and engage all around you to be 
 your friends, by a temper and carriage made up of pru- 
 dence and goodness ; and let the poor have a certain 
 share in all your yearly profits ; as a trader, keep that 
 golden sentence of our Saviour's ever before you. " What- 
 soever you would that men should do unto you, do you 
 also unto them." 
 
 V. While you make the precepts of scripture the con- 
 stant rule of your duty, you may with courage rest upon 
 the promises of scripture as the springs of your encour- 
 agement ; all divine assistances and divine recompences 
 are contained in them. The spirit of light and grace is 
 promised to assist them that ask it. Heaven and glory are 
 promised to reward the faithful and theobeclient. 
 
 VI. In every affair of life, begin with God ; consult 
 him in every thing that concerns you ; view him at the 
 author of all your blessings, and all your hopes, as your 
 best friend, and your eternal portion. Meditate on him 
 in this view, with a continual renewal of your trust in him, 
 and a daily surrender of yourself to him, till you feel that 
 you love him most entirely, that you serve him with sin- 
 cere delight, and that you cannot live a day without God 
 in the world. 
 
 VII. You know yourself to be a man, an indigent crea- 
 ture and a sinner, and you profess to be a Christian, a dis- 
 ciple of the blessed Jesus, but never think you know Christ 
 or yourself as you ofcght till you find a daily heed of him 
 for righteousness and strength, for pardon and sanctifica- 
 tion ; and let him be your constant introducer to the great 
 God, though he sits upon a throne of grace. Remember 
 his own words, John xiv. 6. " No man cometh to the 
 Father but by xne." 
 
260 The Young Gentleman and Ladifs MONITOR, 
 
 VIII. Make prayer a pleasure and not a task, and then 
 you will not forget nor omit it. If ever you have lived 
 in a praying family, never let it be your fault if you do 
 not live in one always. Believe that day, that hour, or 
 those minutes to be wasted and lost, which any worldly 
 pretences would tempt you to save out of the public 
 worship of the church, the certain and constant duties of 
 the closet, or any necessary services for God and godli- 
 ness ; beware lest a blast attend it, and not a blessing. If 
 God had not reserved one day in seven to himself, I fear 
 religion would have been lost out of the world ; and every 
 day of the v/eek is exposed to a curse which lias no morn- 
 ing religion. 
 
 IX. See that you watch and labor, as well as pray ; 
 diligence ^and dependance must be united in the practice 
 of every Christian. It is the same wise man acquaints us, 
 that the hand of the diligent, and the bkssing of the Lord, 
 join together to make us rich, Prov. x. 4. 22* Rich i 
 the treasures of Body or mind, of time or etcrnitv. 
 
 It is your duty indeed, under a sense of your own weak- 
 ness to ^pray daily against sin ; but if you would effectu- 
 ally avoid it, you must also avoid temptation, and every 
 dangerous opportunity. Set a double guard wheresoever 
 you feel or suspect an enemy at hand. The world with- 
 out and the heart within, have so much flattery and deceit 
 in them, that we must keep a sharp eye upon both, lest 
 we are trapt into mischief between them. 
 
 X. Honor, profit, and pleasure, have been sometimes 
 called the world's Trinity, they are its three chief idols j 
 each of them is sufficient to draw a soul off from God, 
 and ruin it forever. Beware of them therefore and of 
 all their subtle insinuations, if you would be innocent or 
 happy. 
 
 Remember that the honor which comes from God, 
 the approbation of Heaven, and of your own conscience, 
 are infinitely more valuable than all the esteem or ap- 
 plause of men. Dare not venture one step out of the 
 road of Heaven, for fear of being laughed at for walk- 
 ing strictly in it : it is a poor religion that cannot stand 
 against a jest. 
 
 Sell not your hopes of heavenly treasures, nor any 
 thing that belongs to your eternal interest, for any of 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 261 
 
 the advantages of the present life : " What shall it profit 
 " a man to gain the whole world and lose his own soul." 
 
 Remember also the words of the wise man, " He that 
 " loveth pleasure shall be a poor man ;" he that indulges 
 himself in " wine and oil," that is, in drinking, in feast- 
 ing, and in sensual gratifications, " shall not be rich." 
 It is one of St. Paul's characters of a most degenerate 
 age, when u men become lovers of pleasure more than 
 " lovers of God." And that " fleshly lusts war against 
 " the soul," is St. Peter's caveat to the Christians of his 
 time. 
 
 XL Preserve your conscinece always soft and sensible ; 
 if but one sin force its way into that tender part of the 
 soul, and dwell easy there, the road is paved for a thou- 
 sand iniquities. 
 
 And take heed that under any scruple, doubt or tempt- 
 ation whatsoever, you never let any reasonings satisfy your 
 conscience, which will not be a sufficient answer or apolo- 
 gy to the great Judge at the lust day. 
 
 XII. Keep this thought ever in your mind. It is a 
 world of vanity and vexation in which you live ; the 
 Batteries and promises of it are vain and deceitful ; pre- 
 pare therefore to meet disappointments. Many of its 
 occurrences are teazing and vexatious. In every ruff- 
 ling storm without, possess your spirit in patience, and 
 let all be calm and serene within. Clouds and tempests 
 are only found in the lower skits ; the heavens above are 
 ever bright and clear. Let your heart and hope dwell 
 much in these serene regions ; live as a stranger here on 
 earth, but as a citizen of heaven, if you will maintain a 
 soul at ease. 
 
 XIII. Since in many things we offend all, and there 
 is not a clay passes which is perfectly free from sin, let 
 4{ repentance towards God, and faith in our Lord Jesus 
 u Christ," be your daily work. A frequent renewal of 
 these exercises which make a Christian at first, will be a 
 constant evidence of your sincere Christianity, and give 
 you peace in life, and hope in death. 
 
 XIV. Ever carry about with yon such a sense of the 
 uncertainty of every thing in this life, and of life itself, 
 as to put nothing off till to-morrow, which yon can con- 
 veniently do to-day. Dilatory persons are frequently 
 
262 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 exposed to surprise and hurry in every thing that belongs 
 to them : the time is come, and they are unprepared. 
 Let the concerns of your soul and your shop, your trade 
 and your religion, lie always in such order, as far as 
 possible, that death, at a short warning, may be no oc- 
 casion of a disquieting tumult in your spirit, and that 
 you may escape the anguish of a bitter repentance in a 
 dying hour. Farewel. 
 
 Phronimus, a considerable East-land merchant hap- 
 pened upon a copy of these advices, about the time when 
 he permitted his son to commence a partnership with 
 him in his trade ; he transcribed them with his own hand, 
 and made a present of them to the youth, together with 
 the articles of partnership. Here, young man, said he, 
 is a paper of more worth than these articles. Read it 
 over once a month, till k is wrought in your very soul 
 and temper. Walk by these rules, and I can trust my 
 estate in your hands. Copy out these counsels, in your 
 life, and you will make me and yourself easy and happy. 
 
 The Vision of Mirza, exhibiting a Picture of Human Life* 
 
 a ^ ^ t ^ ie moon > which according to 
 the custom of my forefathers, I always keep holy, 
 after having washed myself, and offered up my morning 
 devotions, I ascended the high hills of Bagdat, in order 
 to pass the rest of the day in meditation and prayer. As 
 t was here airing myself on the tops of the mountains, 
 I fell into a profound contemplation on the vanity of hu- 
 man life ; and passing from one thought to another, surely 
 said I, man is but a shadow, and life a dream. 
 
 2. Whilst I was thus musing, I cast my eyes towards 
 the summit of a rock that was not far from me, where I 
 discovered one in the habit of a shepherd with a little 
 musical instrument in his hand. As I looked upon him 
 he applied it to his lips, and began to play upon it. 
 The sound of it was exceeding sweet, and wrought into 
 a variety of tunes that were inexpressibly melodious, and 
 altogether different from any thing I had ever heard : 
 they put rne in min<^ of |h9S5 iK.ayeuly airs thai are 
 
and English Teacher'* ASSISTANT. 263 
 
 played to the departed souls of good men upon their first 
 arrival in Paradise, to wear out the impressions of the last 
 agonies, and qualify them for the pleasures of that happy 
 place. My heart melted away in secret raptures. 
 
 3. I had often been told that the rock before me was 
 the haunt of a genius ; and that several had been enter- 
 tained with that music, who had passed by it, but never 
 heard that the musician had before made himself visible. 
 When he had raised my thoughts by those transporting 
 airs which he played, to taste the pleasures of his conver- 
 sation, as I looked upon him like one astonished, he beck- 
 oned to me, and by the waving of his hand, directed me 
 to approach the place where he sat. 
 
 4. I drew near with that reverence which is due to a 
 superior nature ; and as my heart was entirely subdued 
 by the captivating strains I had heard, I fell down at his 
 feet and wept. The genius smiled on me with a look of 
 compassion and affability that familiarized him to my im- 
 agination, and at once dispelled all the fears and apprehen- 
 sions with which I approached him. He lifted me from 
 the ground, and taking me by the hand, Mirza, said he, I 
 have heard thee in thy soliloquies : follow me. 
 
 5. He then lead me to the highest pinnacle of the rock, 
 and placing me on the top of it, cast thy eyes eastward, 
 said he, and tell me what thou* seest. I see, said I, a huge 
 valley and a prodigious tide of water rolling through it. 
 The valley that thou seest, said he, is the vale of misery, 
 and the tide of water that thou seest is part of the great 
 tide of eternity. 
 
 6. What is the reason, said I, that the tide I see rises 
 eut of a thick mist at one end, and again loses itself in a 
 thick mist at the other i What thou seest, said he, is that 
 portion of eternity which is called time, measured out by 
 the sun, and reaching from the beginning of the world to 
 its consummation. Examine now, said he, this sea that 
 is bounded with darkness at both ends, and tell me what 
 thou discoverest in it. I see a bridge, said I, standing in 
 the midst of the tide. The bridge thou seest, said he, is 
 human life ; consider it attentively* 
 
 7. Upon a more leisurely survey of it, I found that it 
 consisted of threescore and ten entire arches, with several 
 broken arches, which added to those that were entire, 
 
264 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 made up the number of about an hundred. As I was 
 counting the arches, the genius told me that this bridge 
 consisted at the first of a thousand arches ; but that a great 
 flood swept.away the rest, and left the bridge in the ruin- 
 ous condition I now beheld it : but tell me further, said 
 he, what thou discoverest on it. I see multitudes of peo- 
 ple passing over it, said I, and a black cloud hanging on 
 each end of it. 
 
 8. As I looked more attentively, I saw several of the 
 passengers dropping through the bridge, into the great 
 tide that flowed underneath it ; and upon further examin- 
 ation, perceived there were innumerable trap-doors, that 
 lay concealed in the bridge, which the passengers no 
 sooner trod upon, but they fell through them into the 
 tide, and immediately disappeared. These hidden pit- 
 falls were set very thick at the entrance of the bridge, so 
 that throngs of people no sooner broke through the cloud, 
 but many of them fell into them. They grew thinner, to- 
 wards the middle, but multiplied and lay closer together 
 towards the end of the arches that were entire. 
 
 9. There were indeed some persons, but their number 
 was very small, that, continued a kind of hobbling march 
 on the broken arches, but fell through one after another, 
 being quite tired and spent with so long a walk. 
 
 10. I passed some time in the contemplation of this 
 wonderful structure, and the great variety of objects 
 which it presented. My heart was filled with a deep me- 
 lancholy to see several dropping unexpectedly in the midst 
 of mirth and jollity, and catching at every thing that stood 
 by them to save themselves. Some were looking up to- 
 wards the heavens in a thoughtful posture, and in the 
 midst of a speculation stumbled and fell out of sight. 
 Multitudes were very busy in the pursuit of bubbles, that 
 glittered in their eyes and danced before them ; but often 
 when they thought themselves within the reach of them, 
 their footing failed and down they sunk. 
 
 1 1. In this confusion of objects, I observed some with 
 scymitars in their hands, and others with urinals, who ran 
 to and fro upon the bridge, thrusting several persons on 
 trap-doors which did not seem to lie in their way, and 
 which they might have escaped hat] they not been thus 
 forced upon them. 
 
wilt Mngtiah Teacher's ASSISTANT. 265 
 
 12. The genius seeing me indulge myself in this mel- 
 ancholy prospect, told me I had dwelt long enough upon 
 it : take thine eyes off the bridge, says he, and tell me if 
 thou seest any thing thou dost not comprehend. Upon 
 looking up, what mean, said I, those great flights of 
 birds that are perpetually hovering about the bridge, and 
 settling upon it from time to time ? I see vultures, harpies, 
 wens, cormorants, and among many other feathered 
 creatures several little winged boys, that perch in great 
 numbers upon the middle arches. These, said th-j gcn- 
 r.is, are envy, avarice, superstition, despair, love, with the 
 like cares and passions that infest human life. 
 
 13. I here fetched a deep sigh : Alas, said I, man wa; 
 made in vain 1 how is he given away to misery and moi- 
 
 .tality ! tortured in life, and swallowed up in death 1 The 
 genius being moved \vith compassion towards me, bid me 
 quit so uncomfortable a prospect. Look no more, said he, 
 on man in the first stage of his existence, in his setting- 
 out for eternity ; but cast thine eye on that thick mist into 
 which the tide bears the several generations of mortals 
 that fall into it. 
 
 14. I directed my sight as I was ordered, and (wheth- 
 er or no the good genius strengthened it with any super- 
 natural force, or dissipated part of the mist that was before 
 too thick for the eye to penetrate) I saw the valley open- 
 ing at the farther end, and spreading forth into an im- 
 
 mense ocean, that had y huge rock of adamant running 
 through the midst of it, and dividing it into two equal 
 parts. The clouds still rested on one half of it, insomuch 
 that I could discover nothing in it ; but the other appeared 
 to me avast ocean planted with innumerable islands, that 
 were covered with fruits and flowers ; and interwoven 
 with a thousand little shining seas that ran among them. 
 
 15. I could see persons dressed inglorious habits with 
 garlands upon their heads, passing among the trees, lying 
 down by the sides of fountains, or resting on beds of flow- 
 ers : and could hear a confused harmony of singing birds, 
 falling waters, human voices, and musical* instruments* 
 Gladness grew in me at the discovery of so delightful a 
 scene. I wished for the wings of an eagle, that I might 
 fly away to th -y seats: hut the genius told i^e 
 
255 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR. 
 
 there was no passage to them, except through the gates 
 ol death that I saw opening every moment upon the 
 bridge. 
 
 16. The islands, said he, that lie so fresh and green 
 before thee, and with which the whole face of the ocean 
 appears spotted as far as thou canst see, are more in num- 
 ber than the sand on the sea shore ; there are myriads of 
 islands behind those which thou here discoverest, reaching 
 further than thine eye, or even thine imagination can ex- 
 tend itself. These are the mansions of good men after 
 death, who, according to the degree and Idnds of virtue 
 in which they excelled, are distributed among these sev- 
 eral islands, which abound with pleasures of different 
 kinds, and degrees, suitable to the relishes and perfections 
 of those who are settled in them ; every island is a para- 
 dise accommodated to its respective inhabitants. 
 
 17. Are not these, O Mirza, habitations wortla con- 
 tending for ? Does life appear miserable, that gives thee 
 opportunities of earning such a reward ? Is death to be 
 feared that will convey thee to so happy an existence ? 
 Think not man was made in vain, who has such an eter- 
 nity reserved for him. I gazed with inexpressible pleas- 
 ure on these happy islands. At length, said I, show me 
 now, I beseech thee, the secrets that lie hid under those 
 dark clouds, which cover the ocean on the other side of 
 the rock of adamant. 
 
 13. The genius making me no answer, I turned about 
 to address myself to him a second time, but I found that 
 lie had left me ; I then turned again to the vision which 
 I had been so long contemplating : but instead of the 
 rolling tide, the arched bridge, and the happy islands, I 
 iiaw nothing but the long hollow valley of Bagdat, with 
 oxen, sheep, and camels grazing upon the sides of it. 
 
 Riches not firaductrve of Haji/iiness : The Story of Ortogrui 
 of Basra* 
 
 IDLER, NO. 99. 
 
 S Ortcgrul of Basra was one day wandering along 
 the streets of Bagdat, musing on the varieties of 
 idize which tike shops offered to his view, and 
 
and E7iglish Teach er 's A s s i s T A N T . 26? 
 
 observing the different occupations which busied the 
 multitudes on .every side, he was awakened from the tran- 
 quillity of meditation by a crowd that obstructed his pas- 
 s*age. He raised his eyes, and saw the chief Visier, who, 
 having returned from the Divan, \vas entering his 
 palace. 
 
 2. Ortogrul mingled with the attendants, and being 
 supposed to have some petition for the Visier, was permit- 
 ted to enter. He surveyed the spaciousness of the apart- 
 ments, admired the walls hung with golden tapestry, and 
 the floors covered with silken carpets, and despised the 
 simple neatness of his own little habitation. 
 
 3. Surely, said he to himself, this palace is the seat of 
 happiness, where pleasure succeeds to pleasure, and dis- 
 content and sorrow can have no admission. Whatever 
 nature has provided for the delight of sense, is here spread 
 forth to be enjoyed. What can mortals hope or imagine 
 which the master of this palace has not obtained ? The 
 dishes of luxury cover his table, the voice of harmony lulls 
 him in his bowers ; he breathes the fragrance of the 
 groves of Java, and sleeps upon the down of the cygnets 
 of Ganges. He speaks, and his mandate is obeyed ; he 
 wishes, and his wish is gratified ! all whom he sees obey 
 him, and all whom he hears flatter him. 
 
 4. How different, Ortogrul, is thy condition, who art 
 doomed to the perpetual torments of unsatisfied desire, 
 and who hast no amusement in thy power that can with- 
 hold thee from thy own reflections ! They tell thee that 
 them art wise, but what does wisdom avail with poverty ? 
 
 ]Mone" will flatter the poor, and the wise have very little 
 power of flattering themselves. That man is surely the 
 most wretched of the sons of wretchedness, who lives with 
 his own faults and follies always before him, and who has 
 none to reconcile him to himself by praise and veneration. 
 I have long sought content, and have not found it ; I will 
 from this moment endeavor to be rich. 
 
 5. Full of this new resolution, he shut himself in his 
 chamber for six months to deliberate how he should grow 
 rich ; he sometimes proposed to offer himself as a coun- 
 sellor to one of the kings of India, and sometimes resolved 
 to dig for diamonds in the mines of Golconda. One day, 
 after some hours passed in violent fluctuation. of opinion, 
 
268 The Young- Gentleman and Ladifs MONITOR. 
 
 sleep insensibly seized him in his chair ; he dreamed that 
 he was ranging a desert country in search of some one 
 that might teach him to grow rich ; and as he stood on 
 the top of a hill shaded with cypress, in doubt whither to 
 direct his steps, his father appeared on a sudden stand- 
 ing before him. 
 
 6. Ortogrul, said the old man, I know thy perplexity ; 
 listen to thy father; turn thine eye on the opposite moun- 
 tain. Ortogrul looked, and saw a torrent tumbling down 
 the roeks, roaring with the noise of thunder, and scattering 
 its foam on the impending woods. Now, said his father, 
 behold the valley that lies between the hills. 
 
 7. Ortogrul looked, and espied a little well, out of 
 which issued a small rivulet. Tell me now, said his fath- 
 er, dost then wish for sudden affluence, that may pour 
 
 thee like the mountain torrent, or for a slow and 
 gradual increase, resembling the rill gliding from the well ? 
 Let me be quickly rich, said Ortogrul ; let the golden 
 stream be quick and violent. 
 
 8c Look round thee, said his father, once again. Or- 
 togrul looked, and perceived the channel of the torrent 
 dry and dusty ; but following the rivulet from the well* 
 he traced it to a wide lake, which the supply, slow and 
 constant, kept always full. Ke waked and determined to 
 grow rich by silent profit and persevering industry. 
 
 9. Having sold his patrimony, he engaged in merchan- 
 Mid in twenty years purchased lands on which he 
 
 raised a house, equal in sumptuousness to that of the 
 Visier, to which he invited all the ministers of pleasure, 
 expecting to enjoy all the felicity which he had imagined 
 riches able to afford. Leisure soon made him weary of 
 himself, and he longed to be persuaded that he was great' 
 and happy. He was courteous and liberal ; he ga- 
 that approached him hopes of pleasing him, ana ail who 
 should please him hopes of being rewarded. Every art 
 of praise was tried, and every source of adulatory fictioa 
 was exhausted. 
 
 10. Ortogrul heard his flatterers without delight, be- 
 cause he found him self unable to believe them. His own 
 heart told him its frailties. His own understanding re- 
 proached him with his faults. How long, said he. 
 
 a deep sigh, have I been laboring in vain to amass v/e?Jtk 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 269 
 
 which at last is useless ? Let no man hereafter wish to b$ 
 rich, who is already too wise to be flattered,,. 
 
 Of the Scriptures, as the Rule ef Life. 
 
 1. \ S you advance in years and understanding, I hope 
 jLJL you will be able to examine for yourself the evi- 
 dence of the Christian religion, and that you will be con- 
 vinced, on rational grounds, of its divine authority. At 
 present, such inquiries would demand more study, and 
 greater powers of reasoning, than your age admits o 
 It is your part therefore, till you are capable of under- 
 standing the proofs, to believe your parents and teachers,, 
 that the holy scriptures are writings inspired by God T 
 containing a true history of facts, in which we are deeply 
 concerned >a true recital of the laws given by God to 
 Moses* and of the precepts of our blessed Lord and Sa- 
 viour, delivered from his own mouth to his disciples, and 
 repeated and enlarged upon in the edifying epistles ef 
 his Apostles who were men chosen from amongst those 
 who had the advantage of conversing with our Lord, to 
 bear witness of his miracles and resurrection and who, 
 after his ascension, were assisted and inspired by the Ho- 
 ly Ghost. 
 
 2. This sacred volume must be the rule of your life. 
 In it you will find ail the truths necessary to be believed ; 
 and plain and easy directions for the practice of every 
 duty. Your bible then must be your chief study and 
 delight : but, as it contains many various kinds of writ- 
 ingsome parts obscure and difficult of interpretation, 
 others plain and intelligible to the meanest capacity I 
 would chiefly recommend to your frequent perusal snch 
 parts of the sacred writings as are most adapted to your 
 understanding, and m st necessary for your instruction. 
 
 3. Our Saviour's precepts were spoken to the common 
 people amongst the Jews : and were therefore given in 
 a manner easy to be understood, and equally strik'Rg and 
 instructive to the learned and unlearnt-d ; r or t'>; most 
 ignorant may comprehend them, whilst t ! u-is t unst 
 be charmed and awed by the beautiful and maiestic sun* 
 
 Z 2 
 
270 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR. 
 
 plicity with which they are expressed. Of the same kind 
 are the Ten Commandments, delivered by God to Moses ; 
 \vhich, as they were designed for universal laws, are word- 
 ed in the most concise and simple manner, yet with a 
 majesty which commands our utmost reverence. 
 
 4. I think you will receive great pleasure, as well ;)S 
 improvement, from the historical books of the Old Tes- 
 tament provided you read them as an history, in a regu- 
 lar course, and keep the thread of it in your mind as you 
 go on. I know of none, true or fictitious that is equally 
 wonderful, interesting, and affecting ; or that is told in so 
 short and simple a manner as this, which is of all histories 
 the most authentic. 
 
 5. I shall give you some brief directions, concerning 
 the method and course I wish you to pursue, in reading 
 the Holy Scriptures. May you be enabled to make the 
 test use of this most precious gift of God this sacred 
 treasure of knowledge ! May you read the bible, not as 
 a task, nor as the dull employment of that day only in 
 which you are forbidden more lively entertainments but, 
 v^ith a sincere and ardent desire of instruction ; with that 
 love and delight in God's word, which the holy Psalmist 
 so pathetically felt and described, and which is the natural 
 consequence of loving Gocl and virtue. 
 
 6. Though I speak this o'f the Bible in general, I would 
 'not be understood to mean, that every part of the volume 
 
 is equally interesting. I have already said, tint it con- 
 sists of various matter, and various kinds of books, which 
 must be read with different views and sentiments. 
 
 7. The having some general notion of what you are 
 to expect from each book, may possibly help you to un- 
 derstand them. 1 shall treat you as if you were perfectly 
 new to the whole ; for so I wish you to consider yourself; 
 because the time and manner in which children usually 
 J?ead the Bible, are very ill calculated ta make them re- 
 ally acquainted with it ; and too many people who have 
 vead it thus, without understanding it in their youth, sat- 
 isfy themselves that they know enough of it, 4 and never 
 afterwards study it with attention when they come to a 
 Hiaturer age. 
 
 8. If the feelings of your heart whilst you read, cor- 
 respond with those of mine whilst I write, I shall not be 
 
v^ 
 
 and English Teachers ASSISTANT \ 271 
 
 without the advantage of your partial affection, to give 
 weight to my advice ; for, believe me, ray heart and 
 eyes overflow with tenderness, when I tell you how warm 
 and earnest my prayers are for your happiness here and 
 hereafter. 
 
 Of Genesis* 
 
 9. T NOW proceed to give you some short sketches of 
 A the matter contained in the different books of the Bi- 
 ble, and of the course in which they ought to be read. 
 
 10. The first book, Genesis, contains the most grand, 
 and to vis the most interesting events, that ever happened 
 in the universe : -The creation of the world and of man s 
 The deplorable fall of man, from his first state of ex- 
 cellence and bliss, to the distressed condition in which 
 we see all his descendants continue : The sentence of 
 death pronounced on Adam, and on all his race with 
 the reviving promise of that deliverance, which has since 
 been wrought for us by our blessed Saviour : The ac- 
 count of the early state of the world : Of the universal 
 deluge : The division of mankind into different nations 
 and languages: The story of Abraham, the founder 
 of the Jewish people ; whose unshaken faith and obedi- 
 ence, under the severest trial human nature could sustain, 
 obtained such favor in the sight of God, that he vouchsaf- 
 ed to stile him his friend, and promised to make of his 
 posterity a great nation ; and that in his seed- that is > 
 in one of his descendant? all the kingdoms of the earth 
 fihonld be blessed : this you will easily see, refers to the 
 I ah, who was to be the blessing and deliverance of 
 i.l! nations. 
 
 1 i. It is amazing that the Jews, possessing this pro- 
 phecy among many others, should have been so blinded 
 by prejudice, as to have expected, from this great person- 
 age, only a temporal deliverance of their own nation from 
 the subjection to which they were reduced under the Ro- 
 mans : It is equally amazing, that some Christians should, 
 even now, confine the blessed effects of his appearance 
 upon earth, to this or that particular sect or profession, 
 when he is so clearly and emphatically described as the 
 Saviour of the whole world. 
 
272 Tkc Young' Gentleman and Ladfs MONITOR, 
 
 12. The story of Abraham's proceeding to sacrifice 
 his only son, at the command of God, is affecting in the 
 highest degree, and sets forth a pattern of unlimited re- 
 signation, that every one ought to imitate in those trials 
 of obedience under temptation, or of acquiescence under 
 afflicting dispensations, which fall to their lot : of this we 
 may be assured, that our trials will be always proportion- 
 ed to the powers afforded us. If we have not Abraham's 
 strength of mind, neither shall we be called upon to 
 lift the bloody knife against the bosom of an only child j 
 but if the Almighty arm should be lifted up against him, 
 we must be ready to resign him, and all we hold clear to 
 the divine will. 
 
 13. This action of Abraham has been censured by 
 some who do not attend to the distinction between obedi- 
 ence to a special command, and the detestable crutl sac- 
 rifices of the Heathens, who sometimes voluntarily and 
 without any divine injunctions, offered up their own chil- 
 dren, under the notion of appeasing the anger of their 
 gods. An absolute command from God himself as in 
 the case of Abraham entirely alters the moral nature 
 of the action : since he and he only, has a perfect right 
 over the lives of his creatures, and may appoint whom 
 he will, either angel or man, to be his instrument of de- 
 struction. 
 
 14. That it was really the voice of God which pro- 
 nouncecl the command, and not a delusion, might be made 
 certain to Abraham's mind, by means we do not compre- 
 hend, but which we know to be within the power of him 
 who made our souls as well as bodies, and who can con- 
 trol and direct every faculty of the human mind : and we 
 may be assured, that if he was pleased to reveal himself 
 so miraculously, he would not leave a possibility of doubt- 
 ing whether it was a real or an imaginary revelation ; 
 thus the sacrifice of Abraham appears to be clear of all 
 s iperstition and remains the noblest instance of religious 
 faith and submission, that was ever p;iven by a mere man .' 
 we cannot wonder that the blessings bestowed on him 
 for it, should have been extended to hFs posterity. 
 
 15. This book proceeds with the history of Isaac, 
 which becomes very interesting to us, from the tone 
 
 I have mentioned. and still more so, if we 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTAN^. 273 
 
 sider him as the type of our Saviour : It recounts his 
 marriage with Rebecca the birth and history of his two 
 sons, Juc@b, the father of the twelve tribes, and Esau, the 
 father of the Edomites or Idumeans the exquisitely af- 
 fbcting history of Joseph and his brethren and of his 
 transplanting the Israelites into Egypt} who there multi- 
 plied to a great nation. 
 
 Of Exodus, 
 
 \ 6. TN Exodus, you read of a series of wonders, wrought 
 JL by the Almighty to rescue the oppressed Israelites 
 from the cruel tyranny of the Egyptians, who having first 
 received them as guests, by degrees reduced them to a 
 state of slavery. By the most peculiar mercies and exer- 
 tions in their favor, God prepared his chosen people to 
 receive, with reverent and obedient hearts, the solemn res- 
 titution of those primitive laws, which probably he had re- 
 vealed to Adam and his immediate descendants, or whkh, 
 at least, he had made known by the dictates of conscience, 
 but which, time and the degeneracy of mankind, had 
 much obscured. 
 
 17. This important revelation was made to them in 
 the wilderness of Sinah ; there assembled- before the' 
 burning mountain, surrounded " with blackness, and dark- 
 ness, and tempest," they heard the awful voice of God, 
 pronounce the eternal law, impressing it on their hearts, 
 with circumstances of terror, but without those encour- 
 agements and those excellent promises, which were 
 .'fterw.irds offered to mankind by Jcsi-s Christ. Thus 
 were the p;reat laws of morality restored to the Jews, 
 and through them transmitted to olh^r Tuitions ; and 
 by that means a great r '>cd to the tor- 
 
 f vice and impiety - : t-v t ul over the 
 
 -Id. 
 
 18. To those moral prece; :.ts, which are of perpetual 
 and universe] obligation, were fruperadfied, by the ministra- 
 tion o . many peculiar institutions, wisely adapted 
 to different ends either, to fix 'the memory of those past 
 deliverances, which were figurative of a future and far 
 
 ter salvation to place inviolable barriers between the 
 and the idolatrous iu.ticr.s, by whcm they were sur- 
 
274 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 rounded or, to be the civil law by which the community 
 was to be governed. 
 
 19. To conduct this series of events, and to establish 
 these laws with his people, God raised up that great pro- 
 phet Moses, whose faith and piety enabled him to undertake 
 and execute the most arduous enterprises, and to pursue, 
 with unabated zeal, the welfare of his countrymen \. 
 even in the hour of death, this generous ardor still pre- 
 vailed ; his last moments were employed in fervent 
 prayers for their prosperity, and, in rapturous gratitude, 
 for the glimpse vouchsafed him of a Saviour, far greater 
 than himself, whom God would one day raise up to his 
 people. 
 
 20. Thus did Moses, by the excellency of his faith, 
 obtain a glorious pre-eminence among the saints and 
 prophets in heaven ; while on earth he will be for ever 
 revered as the first of those benefactors to mankind, whose, 
 labors for the public good have endeared their memory to 
 all ages. 
 
 Of Leviticus^ Numbers, and Deuteronomy* 
 
 21. ^ | ^HE next book is Leviticus, which contains little 
 JL besides the laws for the peculiar ritual observance 
 of the Jews, and therefore affords no great instruction to- 
 ns now ; you may pass it over entirely :-~and for the same 
 reason you may omit the first eight chapters of Numbers. 
 The rest of Numbers is chiefly a continuation of the his- 
 tory, with some ritual laws. 
 
 22. In Deuteronomy, Moses makes a recapitulation 
 of the foregoing history, with zealous exhortations to the' 
 people., faithfully to worship and obey that God who had 
 worked such amazing wonders for them : he promises 
 them the noblest temporal blessings if they prove obedient 
 and adds the most awful and striking denunciations against 
 them, if they rebel, or forsake the true God. 
 
 23. I have before observed, that the sanctions of the 
 Mosaic law, were temporal rewards and punishments ; 
 those of the New-Testament are eternal : These last, as 
 they are so infinitely more forcible than the first, were 
 reserved for the last, best gift to mankind and were re- 
 vealed by the Messiah, in the fullest and clearest manner. 
 
end -English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 275 
 
 Moses, in this book directs the method in which the Is- 
 raelites were to deal with the seven nations, whom they 
 were appointed to punish for their profligacy and idolatry, 
 and whose land they were to possess, when they had driv- 
 en out the old inhabitants. He gives them excellent laws, 
 .civil as well as religious, which were after the standing 
 municipal laws of that people -This book concludes with 
 Moses's song and death. 
 
 Of Joshua. 
 
 24, r | ^HE book of Joshua contains the conquests of the 
 JL Israelites over the seven nations, and their es- 
 tablishment in the promised land. Their treatment .of 
 these conquered nations must appear to you very cruel and 
 unjust, if you consider it as their own act, unauthorized 
 by a positive command ; but they had the most absolute 
 injunctions, not to spare these, corrupt people " to make 
 no covenant with them, nor show mercy to them, but 
 utterly to destroy them :" and the reason is given, 
 " lest they should turn away the Israelites from follow- 
 ing the Lord, that they may serve other gods." The 
 children of Israel are to be considered as instruments in 
 the. hand of the Lord, to punish those whose idolatry and 
 wickedness had deservedly brought destruction on them .: 
 this example, therefore, cannot be pleaded in behalf of 
 .cruelty, or bring any imputation on the character of the 
 Jews. 
 
 25. With regard to other cities, which did not belong 
 to these seven nations, they were directed to deal with 
 them, according to the common law oF arms at that time. 
 If the city submitted, it became tributary, and the people 
 were spared ; if it resisted, the men were to be slain, but 
 the women and children saved. 
 
 26. Yet, though the crime of cruelty cannot be justly 
 laid to their charge on this occasion, you will observe in 
 the course of their history, many things recorded of them 
 very different from what you would expect from the cho- 
 sen people of God, if you supposed them selected on ac- 
 count of their own merit ; tLeir national character was 
 by no means amiable ; and we are repeatedly told, that 
 
 Xhey were not chosen for their superior righteousness 
 
$>76 The Young Gentleman and Levy's MONITOR, 
 
 " for they were a stiff necked people, and provoked the 
 " Lord with their rebellions from the day they leu 
 " Egypt."" YotV'have been rebellious against the Lord, 
 " (says Moses) from the clay .that I knew you." And he 
 vehemently exhorts them, not to flatter themselves that 
 their success was, in any degree, owing to their .own. 
 merits. 
 
 27. They were appointed to be the scourge of other 
 nations, whose crimes rendered them fit objects of divine 
 chastisement. For the sake of righteous Abraham, their 
 founder, and perhaps for many other wise reasons, undis- , 
 covered to us, they were selected from a world over-run 
 \vith idolatry, to preserve upon earth the pure worship of 
 tl-e one only God, and to be honored with the birth of the 
 Messiah amongst them. For this end, they were preclu- 
 ded, by divine command, from mixing with any other peo- 
 ple, and defended by a great number of peculiar rites and 
 observances, from failing into the corrupt worship practis- 
 ed by their neighbors. 
 
 Of Judges, Samuel^ and Kings. 
 
 8. r g MiE book of Judges, in which you will -find the 
 I affecting stories of Sampson and Jeptha, carries 
 -on the history 'from the death of Joshua, about two hun- 
 dred and fifty years ; but the facts are not told in the 
 times in which they happened, which makes some con- 
 fusion ; and it will be necessary to consult the margin- 
 al dates and notes, as well as the Index, in order to get 
 any clear idea of the succession cf events during that 
 period. 
 
 29. The history then proceeds regularly through the 
 two books of Samuel, and those. of Kings : nothing can 
 be more interesting and entertaining than the reigns of 
 Saul, David, and Solomon : but after the death of Solo- 
 mon, when ten tribes revolted from his son Rehoboham, 
 and became a separate kingdom, you will find some dif- 
 iiculty in understanding distinctly the histories of the two 
 kingdoms cf Israel and Judah, which are blended to- 
 gether, and by the likeness of the names, and other 
 particulars, will be apt to confound your mind, without 
 great attention to the different threads thus 
 
.'..' IC/^&s// Teachers ASSISTANT* 277 
 
 ...jr : The Index here will be of great use to you* 
 The second book of Kings concludes with the Babylonish 
 captivity, 588 years before Christ 'till which time the 
 kingdom of Jilduh had descended uninterruptedly in the 
 line of David. 
 
 Of Chronicles^ Ezra, J\fch a .miah and Esther* 
 ,0. HjFUiE first book of Chronicles begins with a gen- 
 JL eulogy from Adam, through all the tribes oT 
 Israel and Juclah ; and the remainder is the same history 
 which is contained in the books of Kings, with little or 
 BO variation, till the separation of the ten tribes : From 
 that period it proceeds -with the history of the kingdom 
 of Juclah alone, and gives therefore a more regular and 
 clear account of the affairs of JucUJi, than the book of 
 Kings. You my pass over the first book of Chronicles, 
 fwul the nine 'first chapters of the second book : but, by 
 all means, read the remaining chapters, as they will ; ;* 
 you more clear and distinct ideas of the history of Judah, 
 tlran that you read in the second book of Kings. The 
 second of Chronicles ends, like the second of Kings, with 
 the Babylonish captivity. 
 
 31. You rmist pursue the history in the book of Fzra, 
 '.. . ich gives the account of the return of some of the 
 Jews on the edict of Cyrus, and of the Te-huilding the 
 Loi'd's temple. 
 
 22, l-i-ih-.jvniah carries on the history for about twelve 
 \Vl.cn he himself \va$ governor of Jerusalem, 
 ty to re-bui!d the walls, Or. 
 
 33 The history of Esther is prior in time to that of 
 Ezra and Nehemiah ; &s you will see by the margin-/ 1 
 ihrtes : however, as it happened during the seventy years' 
 raptivity, and as a kind of epitiocle, it may be read in it. c ; 
 o\vn place. 
 
 34. This is the last of the canonical books that is pro- 
 perly historical ; and I would therefore advise, that you 
 pass over -what follows, till you have continued the history 
 through the apocryphal Books. 
 
 Of Job. 
 
 35- r "HHE story of Job is probably very ancknt, though 
 .JL that is a point upon which learned men have 
 diHcr '.liiUd, however, 1520 years before Christ -, 
 
 A a 
 
278 The Young' Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 I believe it is uncertain by whom it was written : many 
 parts of it are obscure, but it is well worth studying, for 
 the extreme beauty of the poetry, and for the Boble and 
 sublime devotion it contains. 
 
 36. The subject of the dispute between Job and his 
 pretended friends, seems to be, whether the Providence 
 of God distributes the rewards and punishments of this 
 life, in exact proportion to the merit or demerit of each 
 individual. His antagonists suppose that it does ; and 
 therefore infer from Job's uncommon calamities, that, 
 notwithstanding his apparent righteousness, he was in 
 reality a grievous sinner : They aggravate his supposed 
 guilt, by the imputation of hypocrisy, and call upon him 
 to confess it, and to acknowledge the justice of his pun- 
 ishment. 
 
 37. Job asserts his own innocence and virtue in the 
 most pathetic manner, yet does not presume to accuse 
 the Supreme Being of injustice. Elihu attempts to ar- 
 bitrate the matter, by alledging the impossibility that so 
 frail and ignorant a creature as man should comprehend 
 the ways of the Almighty, and therefore condemns the 
 unjust and cruel inference the three friends had drawn 
 from the sufferings of Job. He also blames Job for the 
 presumption of acquitting himself of all iniquity, since 
 the best of men are not pure in the sight of God but all 
 have something to repent of; and he advises him to make 
 this use of his afflictions. 
 
 38. At last, by a bold figure of poetry, the Supreme 
 Being himself is introduced, speaking from the whirl- 
 vvind, and silencing them all by the most sublime display 
 of his own power, magnificence, and wisdom, and of the 
 comparative littleness and ignorance of men. This in- 
 deed is the only conclusion of the argument, which could 
 be drawn at a time when life and immortality were not 
 yet brought to light : a future retribution is the only sat- 
 isfactory solution of the difficulty arising from the suffer- 
 ings of good .people is this life. 
 
 Of the Psalms. 
 
 39. "XTEXT follow the Psalms, with which you cannot 
 
 JJN be too conversant. If you have any taste, either 
 
 for poetry or devotion, they will be your delight, and 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 279 
 
 will afford you a continual feast. The bible translation 
 is far better thun that used in the common-prayer book, 
 and will often give you the sense, \vhen the other is ob- 
 scure. In this, as well as in all other parts of the scrip- 
 ture, you must be careful always to consult the mar- 
 gin, which gives you the corrections made since the last 
 translation, and it is generally preferable to the words of 
 the text. 
 
 40. I would wish you to select some of the Psalms that 
 please you best, and get them by heart ; or, at least, 
 make yourself master of the sentiments contained in them: 
 Dr. Delany's life of David, will show you the occasions 
 on which several of them were composed, which add 
 much to their beauty and propriety ; and by comparing 
 them with the events of David's life, you will greatly 
 enhance your pleasure in them. 
 
 41. Never did the spirit of true piety breathe more 
 strongly than in these divine songs ; which being added 
 to a rich vein of poetry, makes them more captivating 
 to my heart and imagination, than any thing I ever read. 
 You wiJl consider how great disadvantages any poem 
 must sustain from being rendered literally into prose, 
 and then imagine how beautiful these must be in the 
 original. May you be enabled by reading them frequent- 
 ly, to transfuse into your own breast that holy flame which 
 inspired the writer ! To delight in the Lord, and in his 
 laws, like the Psalmist to rejoice in him always, and 
 to think " one day in his courts better than a thousand 1" 
 But may you escape the heart piercing sorrow of such 
 repentance as that of David by avoiding sin, which 
 humbled this unhappy king to the dust and which cost 
 him .such bitter anguish, as it is impossible to read of 
 "without being moved. 
 
 42. Not all the pleasures of the most prosperous sin* 
 ners, could counterbalance the hundredth part of those 
 sensations described in his penitential Psalms and which 
 must be the portion of every man, who has fallen from 
 a religious state into such crimes, when once he recovers 
 a sense of religion and virtue, and is brought to a real 
 hatred of sin : however available such repentance may 
 be to the safety and happiness of the soul after death? 
 
 -.k is n state of such exquisite suffering here, thut ore 
 
280 The Young Gentleman and Ladifs MONITOR, 
 
 cannot be enough surprised at the folly of those wh^ :.n- 
 clulge sin, with the hope of living to make their peace 
 with God by repentance. 
 
 43. Happy are they who preserve their innocence un- 
 sullied by any great or wilful crimes, and who have only 
 the common failings of humanity to repent of ; these are 
 sufficiently mortifying to a heart deeply smitten with the 
 love of virtue, and with the desire of perfection. 
 
 44. There are many very striking prophecies of the 
 Messiah in these divine songs, particularly in Psalm xxiu 
 Such maybe found scattered up and down almost through- 
 out the Old Testament. To bear testimony to him, is the 
 great and ultimate end for which the spirit of prophecy 
 was bestowed on the sacred writers ; but, this will zip- 
 pear more plainly to you when you enter on the study of 
 prophecy, which you are now much too young to under- 
 take. 
 
 Of the Pro-verbs^ Scdcsiastcs^ Solomon's Song^ the Prophe- 
 cies, and Apocrypha. 
 
 45. ^ THE Proverbs and Ecclesiastes are rich stores of 
 JL wisdom ; from which I wish you to adopt such 
 maxims as may be of infinite use, both to your temporal 
 arui eternal interest. Bat, detached sentences are a kind 
 of reading not proper to be continued long at a time ; 
 a few of them, well chosen and digested, will do you 
 much more service, than to read half a dozen chapters 
 together ; in this respect, they are directly opposite to tL-e 
 historical books, which, if not read in continuation, can 
 hardly be understood, or retained to any purpose. 
 
 46* The Song. of Solomon is a fine poem but its mys 
 tical reference to religion lies too deep for a common un- 
 derstanding : if you read it therefore, it will be rather ub 
 matter of curiosity than of edification. 
 
 47. Next follow the Prophecies ; which, though highly 
 deserving the greatest attention and study, I think you 
 had better omit for some years, and then read thtm with 
 a good exposition, 'as they are much too difficult for you 
 to understand without assistance. Dr. Newton on the 
 prophecies, will help you fnivch, whenever you undertone 
 this studywhich you should by all means do when your 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 281 
 
 understanding is ripe enough ; because one of the main 
 proofs of our religion rests on the testimony of the proph- 
 ecies ; and they are very frequent]} 7 quoted, and referred 
 to, in the New-Testament : besides, the sublimity of the 
 language and sentiments, through all the disadvantages of 
 antiquity and translation, must in very many pass.-ip-cs, 
 strike every person of Uiste ; and the excellent moral and 
 religious precepts found in them must be useful to all. 
 
 43. Though I have spoken of these books in the order 
 in which they stand, I repeat, that they are not to be read 
 in that orcbv- but that the thread of the history is to be 
 pursued from Nehemlah to the first book of the Macca- 
 bees, in the Apocrypha ; taking care to observe the chro- 
 nology regularly, by referring to the Index, which sup- 
 plies the deficiencies of this history from Josephus's Anti- 
 quities of the Jews. The first of Maccabees carries on the 
 story till , within 195 years of our Lord's circumcision: 
 The second book is the same narrative, written by a dif- 
 ferent hand, and does not bring the history so forward as 
 the first ; so that, it may be entirely omitted, unless you 
 have the curiosity to read some particulars of the heroic 
 constancy of the Jews, under the tortures inflicted by their 
 heathen conquerors, with a few other things not mention- 
 ed in the first book. 
 
 49. You must then connect the history by the help of 
 the Index, which will give you brief heads of t&i changes 
 that happened in the state of the Jews, from this time till 
 the birth of the Messiah... 
 
 50. The other books of the Apocrypha, though not ad- 
 mitted as of sacred authority, have many things well worth, 
 your attention ; particularly the admirable book called 
 Ecclesiasticus, and the book of Wisdom. Bvit, in the 
 course of reading which i advise, these must be omitted 
 till after you have gone through the Gospels and Acts, 
 that you may not lose the historical thread. 
 
 Of the Ne*iv-Tstament* which is constantly tv be referred to 
 a the Rule ar. I Conduct. 
 
 51."T1TTE come now <o thst part of scripture, which is 
 
 V V the most important of all, and which you \ 
 make your constant study, not only till you are there , 
 A a 2 
 
282 The Yvung Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 acquainted with it, but all your life long ; because, how 
 often soever repeated, it is impossible to read the life and 
 death of our blessed Saviour, without renewing and in- 
 creasing in our hearts that love and reverence, and grat- 
 itude towards him which is so justiy due for all he did and 
 suffered for us ! Every word that fell from his lips is more 
 precious than all the treasures of the earth ; for his " are 
 UK- words of eternal life !" They must therefore be laid 
 up in your heart, and constantly referred to, on all occa- 
 sions, as the rule and direction of all your actions ; partic- 
 ularly those very comprehensive moral precepts he has 
 graciously left with us,, which can never fail to direct us 
 aright, if fairly and honestly applied : such as, " whatso- 
 ever you would that men should do unto you, even s c!0 
 unto them." There is no occasion great or small, on 
 which you may not safely apply this rule ibr the direc- 
 tion of your conduct : and, whilst your heart honestly ad- 
 heres to it, you can never be guilty of any sort of injustice 
 r unkintlness. 
 
 52. The two great commandments, which contain the 
 summary of our duty to God ami man, are no less easil/ 
 retained, and made a standard by which to judge our owa 
 hearts-^-" To love the Lord our God, with all our hearts, 
 with all our minds, with all our strength ; and our neigh.- 
 toor (or fellow creature) as ourselves," " Love worketh 
 DO ill to his neighbor." Therefore, if you have true be- 
 Bevolence, you will never do any thing injurious to indi- 
 viduals, or to society. 
 
 53. Now, all crimes whatever, are (in their remoter 
 consequences at least, if not immediately and apparently) 
 injurious to the society in which we live. It is impossible 
 to love GoJ without desiring to please him, and, as far as 
 \ve are able to resemble him > therefore the love of God 
 must lead to every virtue in the highest degree ; and we 
 jnay be sure we do not truly love him, if we content our- 
 Selves with avoiding flagrant sins, and do not strive in good 
 earnest, to reach the greatest degree of perfection we are 
 capable of* Thus do those few words direct us to the 
 highest Christian virtue. Indeed, the whole tenor of the 
 Gospel is to offer us every help, direction, and motive, 
 that can enable us to attain that degree of perfection on 
 T/hich depends our eternal good* 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT, 28 
 
 Of the Example set by our Saviour , a?id his Character* 
 
 54. "T 1C THAT an example is set before us. in our blessed 
 V V Master ! how is his whole life, from earliest 
 youth, dedicated ta the pursuits of true wisdom, and to 
 the practice of the most exalted virtue I When you see 
 him, at twelve years of age, in. the temple amongst the 
 doctors, hearing them and asking them questions on the 
 subject of religion, and astonishing them, all with his un- 
 derstanding and ans.wers~-you will say, perhaps" Well 
 Blight the Son of God, even at those years, be far wiser 
 than the aged ; but, can a mortal child emulate such heav- 
 enly wisdom ? Can such a pattern be proposed to rny 
 imitation ?" -yes certainly ;-~-re member that he has be- 
 queathed to you his heavenly wisdom as far as concerns 
 your own good. He has left you such declarations of his 
 v.ill, and of the consequences of your actions, as you are 
 even now> fully able to understand, if you will but attend 
 to theni. If then you will imitate his zeal for knowledge^ 
 if you will delight in gaining information and improve- 
 ment, you may even now become " wise unto salvation," 
 
 $5. Unmoved by the praise he acquired amongst thesQ 
 learned men, you see him meekly return to the subjection 
 of a child, under those who appeared to be his parents, 
 though he was in reality their Lord : you see him return 
 to live with them, to work for them, and to be the joy 
 and solace of their lives,; till the time came, when he wa$ 
 to enter on that scene of public action, for which his heav- 
 enly Father had sent him from his own right hand, to take, 
 upon him the form of a poor carpenter's son. 
 
 56. What a lesson of humility is this, and of obedience 
 to parents, ! ^When having received the glorious testimo T 
 ny from heaven* of his being the beloved Son of the Most 
 High, ht enters oit his public ministry ; what- an exam T 
 pie does he eive us, of the most extensive and . constant 
 benevolence ! - how are i:ll his hours spent in doing eood 
 to th<t souls and bodies of men ! not the nv r.n<st sinner 
 is below his notice :^-to reclaim and save them, he COU T 
 
284 The Ymtng Gentfe-man and Lat$y*s MONITOR, 
 
 descends to converse familiarly with the most corrupt as 
 well as the most abject, All his miracles are wrought to 
 benefit mankind ; not one to punish and afflict them. In- 
 stead of using that almighty power which accompanied 
 him, to the purpose of exalting himself, and treading down 
 his enemies, he makes no other use of it than to heal and 
 to save. 
 
 57. When you come to read of his sufferings and death, 
 the ignominy and reproach, the sorrow of mind, and tor- 
 ment of body, which he submitted to when you consid- 
 er, that it was all for our sakes " that by his stripes \ve 
 are healed" and by his death we are raised from destruc- 
 tion to everlasting life what can I say that can acid any 
 thing to the sensations you must then feel . ? No power c 
 language can make the scene more touching than it ap- 
 pears in the plain and simple narrations of the Evangel- 
 ists. The heart that is unmoved by it, can be scarcely 
 human ; but the emotions of tenderness and compunction, 
 which almost every one feels in reading this account, will 
 be of no avail, unless applied to the true end unless it 
 inspires you with a sincere and warm affection towards 
 your blessed Lord with a firm resolution to obey his 
 commands j to be his faithful disciple and ever re- 
 nounce and abhor those sins, which brought mankind un- 
 der divine condemnation, and from which we have been 
 redeemed at so dear a rate. 
 
 58. Remember that the title of Christian, or follower of" 
 Christ, implies a more than ordinary degree of holiness- 
 and goodness. As our motives to virtue are stronger 
 than those which are afforded to the rest of mankind, 
 our guilt will be proportionably greater if we depait 
 from it. 
 
 59. Our Saviour appears to have had three great pur- 
 poses in descending from his glory, and dwelling amongst 
 men. The first to teach them true virtue, both by his 
 example and precepts . The second to give them the 
 most forcible motives to the practice of it, by " bringing 
 life and immortality to light ;" by showing thf;m the 
 certainty of a resurrection and radgment, and the abso- 
 lute necessity of obedience to God's laws. The third, to 
 sacrifice himself for us, to obtain by his death the remis- 
 sion of our sins taponuur repentance and reformation} and 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 285 
 
 the power of bestowing on his sincere followers, the in* 
 estimable gift of immortal happiness. 
 
 comparative View of the B-sssed and Cursed at the la? 
 and the Inference to be drawn from it. 
 
 60. TIC THAT a tremendous scene of the last day does 
 V V the gospel place before our eyes 1 of that 
 day when you, and every one of us shall awake from th 
 grave, and behold the Son of God, on his glorious tri- 
 bunal, attended by millions of celestial beings, of whose 
 superior excellence we can now form no adequate idea - 
 When, in presence of all mankind, of those holy angels, 
 and of the great Judge himself, you must give an account 
 of your past life, and hear your final doom, from which 
 there can be no appeal, and which must determine your 
 fate to all eternity : then think if for a moment you 
 can bear the thought what will be the desolation, shame, 
 and anguish of those wretched souls, who shall hear these 
 
 dreadful words,- '< Depart from me, ye cursed, into 
 
 everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels." 
 Oh ! I cannot support even the idea of your becoming 
 one of those undone, lost creatures ! I trust in God's 
 mercy, that you will make a better use of that knowledge 
 of his -will which he has vouchsafed you, and of these ami- 
 able dispositions he has given you. 
 
 61. Let us therefore turn from this horrid, this in- 
 supportable view and rather endeavor to imagine, -as 
 far as is possible, what will be the sensations of your soul, 
 if you shall hear our heavenly Judge address you in these 
 transporting words" Come thou blessed of roy Father, 
 inherit the kingdom prepared for you, from the founda- 
 tion of the world," Think, what it must he, to become 
 .an object of the esteem and applause not only of all 
 mankind assembled together but of all the host of hea- 
 ven, of our blessed Lord himself nay, of his and our 
 Almighty Father : to' find your frail flesh changed in a 
 moment into a glorious celestial body, endowed with a 
 perfect beauty, health, and agility ; to find your soul 
 /cd from all its fa-;.,.. ; infirmities ; exs-' 
 
:8o The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 the purest and noblest affections overflowing with divine 
 love and rapturous gratitude ! to have your understand- 
 ing enlightened and refined ; your heart enlarged and 
 purified ; and every power, and disposition of mind and 
 body, adapted to the highest relish of virtue and hap- 
 piness ! Thus accomplished, to be admitted into the 
 society of amiable and happy beings, all united in the most 
 perfect peace and friendship, all breathing nothing but 
 love to God, and to each other ; with them to dwell in 
 scenes more delightful than the richest imagination can 
 paint free from every pain and care, and from all possi- 
 bility of change or satiety : but, above all to enjoy the 
 more immediate presence of God himself to be able to 
 comprehend and admire his adorable perfections in a 
 high degree, though still far short of their infinity to be 
 conscious of his love and favor, and to rejoice in the light 
 of his countenance ! 
 
 62. But here all imagination fails : we can form no 
 idea of that bliss which may be communicated to us by- 
 such a near approach to the Source of all beauty and all 
 ood :- we must content ourselves with believing, " that 
 4< it is what mortal eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, 
 " neither hath it entered into the heart of man to con- 
 " ceive." The crown of all our joys will be, to know 
 that we are secure of possessing them for ever what a 
 transporting idea ! 
 
 63. Can you reflect on all these things* and not feel 
 the most earnest longings after immortality ? Do not all 
 other views and desires seem mean and trifling, when 
 compared with this ? And does not your inmost heart 
 resolve, that this shall be the chief and constant object 
 of its wishes and pursuit, through the whole course of 
 your life ? 
 
 64. If you are not insensible to that desire of happi- 
 ness which seems woven into our nature, you cannot surely 
 be unmoved, by the prospect of such a transcendant degree 
 of it ; and that continued to all eternity perhaps con- 
 tinually increasing. You cannot but dread the forfeit- 
 ure of such an inheritance as the most insupportable 
 evil ! Remember then remember the conditions on 
 which alone it can be obtained. God will not give to 
 vice, to carelessness, or sloth, the prize he has proposal 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 267 
 
 to virtue. You have every help that can animate your 
 endeavors. You have written laws to direct you the ex- 
 ample of Christ and his disciples to encourage you 
 the most awakening motives to engage you and, you 
 have besides, the comfortable promise of constant assist- 
 ance from the Holy Spirit, if you diligently and sin- 
 cerely pray for it. Oi let not all this mercy be lost 
 upon you but give your attention to this your only im- 
 portant concern, and accept with profound gratitude, 
 the inestimable advantages that are thus affectionately 
 offered you. 
 
 65. Though the four gospels are each of them a nar- 
 ration of the life, sayings, and death of Christ ; yet as 
 they are not exactly alike, but some circumstances and 
 sayings omitted in one, are recorded in another, you must 
 make yourself perfectly master of them all. 
 
 66. The Acts of the holy Apostles, endowed with the 
 Holy Ghost, and authorized by their divine Master, come 
 next in order to be read. Nothing can be more interest- 
 ing and edifying, than the history of their actions of the 
 piety, zeal, and courage, with which they preached the 
 glad tidings of salvation, and of the various exertions of 
 the wonderful powers conferred on them by the Holy 
 Spirit for the confirmation of their mission. 
 
 Character of St. Paul. 
 
 67. ^ I ^HE character of St. Paul, and his miraculous 
 JL conversion, demand your particular attention : 
 most of the apostles were men of low birth and education ; 
 but St. Paul was a Roman citizen ; that is, he possessed 
 the privileges annexed to the freedom of the city of Rome, 
 which was considered as a high distinction in those coun- 
 tries that had been conquered by the Romans. He was 
 educated amongst the most learned sect of the Jews, and 
 by one of their principal doctors. He was a man of ex- 
 traordinary eloquence, as appears not only in his writings, 
 but in several speeches in his own defence pronounced be- 
 fore governors arid courts of justice, when he was called 
 to account for the doctrines he taught. 
 
238 The Young Gentleman and l^ady's 
 
 68. He seems to have been of an uncommonly warm 
 temper, and zealous in whatever religion he professed : 
 this zeal, before his conversion, showed itself in the most 
 unjustifiable actions, by furiously persecuting the inno- 
 cent Christians: but though his actions were bad, we 
 may be sure his intentions were good ; otherwise we 
 should not have seen a miracle employed te convince him 
 of his mistake, and to bring him into the right way. 
 
 69. This example may assure us of the mercy of God 
 towards mistaken consciences, and oughts to inspire us 
 with the most enlarged charity and good will towards 
 those whose erroneous principles mislead their conduct : 
 instead of resentment and hatred against their persons, we 
 eught only to feel an active wish of assisting them to find 
 the truth, since we know not whether, if convinced, they 
 might not prove, like St. Paul, chosen ves&cio to promote 
 the honor of God, and of true religion. 
 
 70. It is not now my intention to enter with you into 
 any of the arguments for the truth of Christianity, other- 
 wise it would be impossible wholly to pass over that which 
 arises from this remarkable conversion, and which has 
 been so admirably illustrated by a nobler writer, whose 
 iract on this subject is in every body's hands. 
 
 Of the Epistles. , 
 
 Ti. "^TEXT follow the Epistles, which make a very im- 
 JJ\ portant part of the New-Testament ; and you 
 r.annot be too much employed in reading them. They 
 contain the most excellent precepts and admonitions $ 
 and are of particular use in explaining more at large sev- 
 eral doctrines of Christianity, which we could not so fully 
 comprehend without them. 
 
 72. There are indeed in the Epistles of St. Paul, many 
 passages hard to be understood : such in particular are 
 the first eleven chapters to the Romans ; the greater 
 part of his Epistles to the Corinthians and Galatians ; and 
 .several chapters of that to the Hebrews. Instead of per- 
 plexing yourself with these more obscure passages' of 
 scripture, I would wish you to employ your attention 
 chiefly on those that are plain; and . to judge >>f the 
 doctrines taught in the other parts, by comparing then* 
 
and English Tt ack er's ASSISTANT. 
 
 \vith what you find in these. It is through the neglect of 
 this rule, that many have been led to draw the most absurd 
 doctrines from the holy scriptures. 
 
 73. Let me particularly recommend to your careful 
 perusal, the xii. xiii. xiv. and xv. chapters of the Epis- 
 tle to the Romans. In the xiv. chapter, St. Paul has 
 in view the difference hetween the Jewish and Gentile (or 
 Heathen) converts at that time ; the former were dispos- 
 ed to look with horror on the latter, for their impiety in 
 not paying the same regard to the distinctions of days and 
 meats that they did ; and the latter on the contrary, were 
 inclined to look with contempt on the former, for their 
 weakness and superstition. 
 
 74. Excellent is the advice which the Apostle gives to 
 both parties ; he exhorts the Jewish converts not to judge, 
 and the Gentiles not to despise ; remembering that the 
 kingdom of Heaven is not meat and drink, but righteous- 
 ness and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost. 
 
 75. Endeavor to conform yourself to this advice ; to 
 acquire a temper of universal candor and benevolence ; 
 and learn neither to despise nor condemn any person: on 
 account of their particular modes of faith and worship : 
 remembering always that goodness is confined to no par- 
 ty that there are wise and worthy men among all the 
 sects of Christians and that to his own master every one 
 must stand or fall. 
 
 76. I will enter no farther into the several points dis- 
 cussed by St. Paul in his various epistles most of them, 
 are too intricate for your understanding at present, and 
 many of them beyond my abilities to state clearly, i will 
 only again recommend to you, to read those passages 
 frequently, which, with so much fervor and energy, excite 
 you to the practice of the most exalted piety and benevo- 
 lence. If the effusions of a heart, warmed with the ten- 
 Merest affection for the whole human race if precept, 
 warning, encouragement, example, urged by an eloquence 
 which such affection only could inspire, are capable of in- 
 fluencing your mind you cannot fail to find, in such parts 
 of his epistles as are adapted to your understanding, the 
 strongest persuasives to every virtue that can adorn and 
 improve your nature. 
 
 B b 
 
290 The Young Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR, 
 
 The Epistle of St. James. 
 
 77 HPHE epistle of St. James is entirely practical, 
 JL and exceedingly fine ; you cannot study it too 
 much. It seems particularly designed to guard Chris- 
 tians against misunderstanding some things in St. Paul's 
 writings, which have been fatally perverted to the en- 
 couragement of a dependance on faith alone without good 
 works. But, the more rational commentators will tell 
 you, that by the works of the law, which the apostle as- 
 serts to be incapable of justifying us, he means not the 
 works of moral righteousness, but the ceremonial works 
 of the Mosaic law ; on which the Jews laid the greatest 
 stress as necessary to salvation. But St. James tells us, 
 that u if any man among us seem to be religious, and 
 Heth not his tongue, but deceiveth his own heart, 
 4 that man's religion is vain ;" and that " pure religion, 
 44 and undefiled before God and the Father, is this, to 
 * visit the fatherless and widow in their aiHiction, and to 
 " keep himself unspotted from the world.' 1 Faith in 
 Christ, if it produce not these effects^ he declareth is dead 
 or of no power. 
 
 The Epistles of St. Peter > and the first of St. John. 
 
 73. npHE Epistles of St. Peter are also full of the best 
 JL instructions and admonitions, concerning the 
 relative duties of life ; amongst which are set forth the 
 duties of women in general, and of wives in particular. 
 Some part of his second epistle is prophetical ; warning 
 the Church of false teachers, and false doctrines, which 
 should undermine morality, and disgrace the cause of 
 Christianity. 
 
 ,79. The rst of St. John is written in a highly figu- 
 rative style, whieh makes it in some parts hard to be un- 
 derstood ; but, the spirit of divine love which it so fer- 
 vently expresses, renders it highly edifying and delightful. 
 That love of God and of man, which this beloved Apos- 
 tle so pathetically recommends, is in truth the essence of 
 religion* as our Saviour himself informs us. 
 
and English Teacher's ASSISTANT. 2 9 i 
 
 Of the Revelations. 
 
 80. HpHE book of Revelations contains a prophetical 
 JL account of most of the greater events rela- 
 ting to the Christian church, which were to happen from 
 the time of the writer, St. John, to the end of the world. 
 Many learned men have taken a great deal of pains to 
 explain it ; and they have clone this in many instances 
 very successfully : but, I think, it is yet too soon for 
 you to study this part of scripture ; some years hence, 
 perhaps there may be no objection to your attempting it, 
 and taking into your hands the best expositions to assist 
 you in reading such of the most difficult parts of the New- 
 Testament as you cannot now be supposed to understand. 
 May Heaven dirict you in studying this sacred volume, and 
 render it the means of making you wise unto salvation ! 
 May you love and reverence, as it deserves, this blessed 
 and valuable book, which contains the best rule of life', 
 the clearest declaration of the will and laws of the DeityV 
 the reviving assurance of favor to true penitents, and the 
 unspeakably joyful tidings of eternal life and happiness to 
 all the truly virtuous through Jesus Christ, the Saviour 
 and deliverer of the world. 
 
 True Devotion productive of the truest Pleasure* 
 
 l."V/ r OU see that true devotion is not a melancholy 
 X sentiment, that depresses the spirits and excludes 
 the ideas of pleasure, which youth is so fond of ; on the 
 contrary, there is nothing so friendly to joy, so productive 
 of true pleasure, so peculiarly suited to the warmth and 
 innocence of a youthful heart. Do not therefore think 'it 
 too soon to turn your mind to God ; but offer him the 
 first fruits of your understanding and affections : . and, be 
 assured, that the more you increase in love to him, and 
 delight in his laws, the more you will increase in happi- 
 ness, in excellence and honor : that, in proportion as 
 you improve in true piety, you will become clear and ami- 
 able to your fellow creatures : contented and peaceable 
 in yourself, and qualified to enjoy the best blessings of 
 this life, as well as to inherit the glorious promise of 
 ira mortality. 
 
292 T7ie Ycung Gentleman and Lady's MONITOR. 
 
 2. Thus far I have spoken of the first principles of all 
 religion : namely, belief in God, worthy notions of his 
 attributes, and suitable affections towards him which 
 will naturally excite a sincere desire of obedience. But 
 before you can obey his will, you must know what that 
 will is ; you must inquire in what manner he has declared 
 it, and where you may find those laws, which must be the 
 rule of your actions. 
 
 3. The great laws of morality are indeed written in 
 our hearts, and may be discovered by reason ; but our 
 reason is of slow growth, very unequally dispensed to dif- 
 ferent persons ; liable to error, and confined within very 
 narrow limits m all. If, therefore, God has vouchsafed 
 to grant a particular revelation of his will if he has been 
 so unspeakably gracious as to send his Son into the world, 
 to reclaim mankind from error and wickedness -to die for 
 our sins and to teach us the way to eternal life surely it 
 becomes us to receive his precepts with the deepest reve- 
 rence ; to love fcnd prize them above all things ; and to 
 study them constantly, with an earnest desire to c 
 
 our thoughts, our words and actions, to them. 
 
 A Mcrning Prayer Jbr a young Student at School, orjl;' 
 the cvrtixion U^e cfa Schccl. 
 
 T^ATHER cf ALL ! we return thce most humble and 
 JP hearty thanks- for thy protection of us in the night 
 season, and for the refreshment of our souls and bodies, 
 in the sweet repose of skep. Accept also our unfeigned 
 gratitude for all thy mercies during the helpless age of 
 infancy. 
 
 Continue, we beseech thee, to guard us under tli; 
 shadow of thy wing. Our age is tender, and our nature 
 frail, and without the influence of thy grace, we shall 
 surely fall. 
 
 Let that influence descend into our hearts, and t 
 us to love thee and truth above all things. O guard our 
 hearts from the temptations to deceit, and grant, that wo 
 may abhor H lye as a sin and as a disgrace. 
 
 Inspire us also with an abhorrence of the loathso 
 
and Engli&h 2 lacker's ASSISTANT. 293 
 
 of vice, and the pollutions of sensual pleasure. Grant at 
 the same time, that we may early feel the delight of con- 
 scious purity, and wash our hands in innocency, from the 
 united motives of inclination and of duty. 
 
 Give us, O thou Parent of all knowledge, a love of 
 learning, and a taste for the pure and sublime pleasures 
 of the understanding. Improve our memory, quicken our 
 apprehension, and grant that we may lay up such a store 
 of learning as may fit us for the station to which it shaii 
 please thee to call us, and enable us to make great advan- 
 ces in virtue and religion, and shine as lights in the world* 
 by the influence of a good example. 
 
 Give us grace to be diligent in our studies, and that 
 whatever we read, we may strongly mark, and inwardly 
 digest it. 
 
 Bless our parents, guardians and instructors ; and 
 that we may make them the best return in our po\vi 
 giving us opportunities of improvement, and for all 
 care and attention to our welfare. They ask no n 
 but that we should make use of those opportunities, t.nd 
 co-operate with their endeavors O grant that we may 
 ever disappoint their anxious expectations. 
 
 Assist us mercifully, O Lord, that we may immediately 
 engage in the studies and duties of the day, and go tLro p 
 them cheerfully, diligently and successfully. 
 
 Accept our endeavors, and pardon our defects, through 
 the merits of our blessed Saviour, Jesus Christ our Lord, 
 Amen. 
 
 Jin Evening Prayer* 
 
 ALMIGHTY God ! again we approach thy mercy 
 seat, to offer unto thee our thanks and praises for 
 the blessings and protection afforded us this day ; and 
 humbly to implore thy pardorn for our manifold trans- 
 gressions. 
 
 Grant that the words of various instruction which we 
 have heard or read this day, may be so inwardly grafted 
 in our hearts and memories, as to bring forth the fruits of 
 learning and virtue. 
 
 Grant that as we recline on our pillows, we may call 
 to mind the transactions of the day, condemn those things 
 B b 2 
 
294 The Young Gentleman and Ladifa MONITOR:, 
 
 of which our conscience accuses us, and make and keep 
 resolutions of amendment. 
 
 Grant that thy holy angels may watch over us this 
 night and guard us from temptation, excluding all im- 
 proper thoughts, and filling our breasts with the purest 
 sentiments of piety. Like as the hart panteth for the 
 water brook, so let our souls thirst for thee, O Lord, and 
 for whatever is excellent and beautiful in learning and 
 behavior. 
 
 Correct, by the sweet influence of Christian charity, the 
 irregularities of our temper, and restrain every tendency, 
 to ingratitude, and to ill usage of our parents, teachers, 
 pastors, and masters. Teach us to know the value of 
 a good education, and to be thankful to those who labor in. 
 the improvement of oar minds and morals. Give us 
 grace to be reverent to our superiors, gentle to our equate 
 or inferiors, and benevolent to all mankind. Elevate and 
 enlarge our sentiments, and let all our conduct be regu- 
 lated by right reason, by Christian charity, and attended 
 with that peculiar generosity of mind which becomes a, 
 liberal scholar and a sincere Christian. 
 
 O Lord, bestow upon us whatever may be good for ur 7 
 even though we should omit to pray for it ; and avert 
 whatever is hurtful, though in the blindness of our hearts, 
 we should wish for it. 
 
 Into thy hands then we resign ourselves, as we retire to 
 rest, hoping by thy mercy to rise again with renewed 
 spirits, to go through the business of the morrow, and ta 
 prepare ourselves for this life, and for a blessed immortal- 
 ity ; which We ardently hope to attain, through the mer- 
 its and intercession of thy Son. our Saviour, Jesus 
 our Lord. 
 
APPENDIX, 
 
 Of Columbus, and th? Disco-very of Amzrit&. 
 
 PT is to the discoveries of the Portuguese in the old 
 world,, that we are indebted for the new, if we may 
 call the conquest of America an obligation, which proved 
 so fatal to its inhabitants and at times to the conquerors 
 themselves. 
 
 2. This was doubtless the most important event that 
 ever happened on our globe, one half of which had beea 
 hitherto strangers to the other. Whatever had been es- 
 teemed most great or noble before, seemed absorbed in 
 this kind of new creation. We still mention with respect- 
 ful admiration, the names, of the Argonauts, who did noe 
 perform the hundredth'part of what was done by the sailors 
 under Gama and Albuquerque*, How many altars would 
 have been raised by the Ancients to a Greek who had dis- 
 covered America ! and yet Bartholomew and Christopher 
 Columbus were not thus rewarded. 
 
 3. Columbus, struck with the wonderful expeditic; 
 
 the Portuguese, imagined that something greater might 
 be done ; and from a bare inspection of the map of our 
 world, concluded that there must be another, which might. 
 be found by sailing always west. He had courage equal 
 to his genius, or indeed superior, seeing he had to struggle 
 with the prejudices of his contemporaries, 'and the repulses 
 of several princes to whom he tendered his service^ 
 
 4. Genoa, which was hia native country, treated his 
 schemes as visionary, and by that means, lost the only 
 opportunity that could have offered of aggrandizing her 
 power. Henry VII. king of England, who was too gree- 
 dy of money to hazard any on this noble attempt, would 
 not listen to the proposals made by Cclumbus's brother ; 
 and Columbus himself was rejected by John II. of Por- 
 tugal, whose attention was wholly employed upon the 
 coast of Africa, He had no prospect of success in ap~ 
 
296 APPENDIX. 
 
 plying to the French, whose marine lay totally neglect- 
 ed, and their affairs more confused than ever, during the 
 minority of Charles VIII. The emperor Maximilian had 
 neither ports for shipping, money to fit out a fleet, nor suf- 
 ficient courage to engage in a scheme of this nature. 
 The Venetians, indeed, might have undertaken it ; but 
 whether the natural aversion of the Genoese to these peo- 
 ple, would not suffer Columbus to apply to the rivals of 
 his country, or that the Venetians had no idea cf any 
 thing more important than the trade they carried on from 
 Alexandria and in the Levant, Columbus at length fixed 
 all his hopes on the court of Spain. 
 
 5. Ferdinand king of Arragon, and Isabella, queen of 
 Castile, had by their marriage united all Spain under one 
 dominion, excepting only the kingdom of Granada, which 
 was still in the possession of the Moors ; but which Ferdi- 
 nand soon after took from them. The union of these two 
 princes had prepared the way for the greatness of Spain, 
 which was afterwards begun by Columbus ; he was how- 
 ever obliged to undergo eight years of incessant applica- 
 tion, before Isabella's court would consent to accept of the 
 inestimable benefit this great man offered it. The bane 
 of all great objects is the want of money. The Spanish 
 court was poor ; and the prior Perez, and two merchants 
 named Pinzono, were obliged to advance seventeen thou- 
 sand ducats towards fitting out the armament. Columbus 
 procured a patent from the court, and at length set sail 
 from the port of Palos, in Andalusia, with three ships, on 
 August 23, in the year 1492. 
 
 6. It was not above a month after his departure from 
 the Canary islands, where he had come to an anchor to , 
 get refreshment, when Columbus discovered the first isl- 
 and in America ; arid during this short run, he suffered 
 more from the murmurings and discontent of the people 
 of his fieet, than he had done even from the refusals of 
 the princes he had applied to. This island, which he dis- 
 covered and named St. Salvador, lies about a thousand 
 leagues from the Canaries : presently after he likewise 
 discovered the Lucayan Islands, together with those of 
 Cuba and Hispaniola, now called St. Domingo. 
 
 7. Ferdinand and Isabella were in the utmost surprise 
 to see him return at the end of nine months, with some cf 
 
A P P E N D I X. 297 
 
 the American natives of Hispaniola, several rarities from 
 that country, and a quantity of gold with which he pre- 
 sented their majesties. 
 
 8. The king and queen made him sit down in their 
 presence covered like a grandee of Spain, and created him 
 high admiral and viceroy of the new world. Columbus 
 was now every where looked upon as an extraordinary 
 person sent from heaven. Every one was vying who 
 should be foremost in assisting him in his undertakings 
 and embarking under his command. He soon set sail 
 again, with a fleet of seventeen ships. He now made the 
 discovery of several other new islands, particularly the 
 Caribees and Jamaica. Doubt had been changed into ad- 
 miration on his first voyage ; in this, admiration wi.s 
 turned into envy. 
 
 9. He was admiral and viceroy, and to these titles 
 might have been added that of the benefactor of Ferdi- 
 nand and Isabella. Nevertheless, he was brought home 
 prisoner to Spain, by judges who had been purposely sent 
 out on board to observe his conduct. As soon as it was 
 known that Columbus .was arrived, the people ran in shoals 
 to meet him, as the guardian genius of Spain. Columbus 
 was brought from the ship, and appeared on shore chain- 
 ed hands and feet. 
 
 10. Ke had been thus treated by the orders of Foir, 
 bishop of Burgos, the infe~neiwt c.f the expedition, whose 
 ingratitude was as great as the other's services. Isabella 
 \vas ashamed of what she saw, and did ail in her power id 
 make Columbus amends for the injuries done him ; 
 however, he was not suffered to depart for four years, ei- 
 ther because they feared that he vcuid seize upon what he 
 had discovered for himself, or that they were willing U> 
 have time to observe his behavior. At length he was sent 
 on another voyage to the new world ; and now it was, 
 that he discovered the continent, at six degrees distance 
 from the equator, and saw that part of the coast on which 
 Carthagena has been since built. 
 
 11. At the time that Columbus first promised a new 
 hemisphere, it was insisted on that no such hemisphere 
 could exist ; and after he had made the actual discovery of 
 it, it was pretended that it had been known jong be for*. 
 
 12. I shall- not Eaeudon cne Mania Bchem, of Nu- 
 
298 APPEND IX. 
 
 remberg, who, it is said, went from that city to the 
 straights of Magellan in 1460, with a patent from the 
 Duchess of Burgundy, who, as she was not alive at that 
 time, could not issue patents. Nor shall I take notice of 
 the pretended charts of this Martin Behem,which are still 
 shown ; nor of the evident contradictions which discredit 
 thia story ; but, in short, it was not pretended, that Mar- 
 tin Behem had peopled America ; the honor was given 
 to the Carthagenians, and a book of Aristotle was quoted 
 on the occasion, which he never wrote. Some found out 
 a conformity between some words in the Caribee and He- 
 brew languages, and did not fail to follow so fine an open- 
 ing. Others were N positive that the children of Noah, 
 after settling in Siberia, passed from thence over to Canada 
 on the ice, and that their descendants, afterwards born 
 in Canada, had gone and peopled Peru. According 
 to others again, the Chinese and Japanese sent colonies 
 into America, and carried over lions with them for their 
 diversion, though there are no lions either in China or 
 Japan. 
 
 13. In this manner have many learned men argued 
 upon the discoveries made by men of genius. If it should 
 be asked, how men first came upon the continent of Amer- 
 ica ? Is it not easily answered, that they were placed 
 there by the same power who causes trees and grass to 
 grow ? 
 
 14. The reply which Columbus made to some of those 
 \vho envied him the high reputation he had gained, is still 
 famous. These people pretended that nothing could be 
 more easy than the discoveries he had made ; upon which 
 he proposed to them to set an egg upright on one of its 
 ends ; but when they had tried in vain to do it, he broke 
 one end of the egg and set it upright with ease. They 
 told him any one could do that : How comes it then, re- 
 plied Columbus, that not one among you thought of it ? 
 This story is related of Brunelleschi, who improved archi- 
 tecture at Florence many years before Columbus was born. 
 Most bon mots are only the repetition of things that have 
 been said before. 
 
 15. The ashes of Columbus cannot be affgcted by the 
 Mtion he gained while living, in having doubled 
 
 for us the works of the creation. Bat mankind delight 
 
APPENDIX. 299 
 
 to do justice to the illustrious dead either from a vain hope 
 that they enhance thereby the merit of the living, or that 
 they are naturally fond of truth. 
 
 16. Americo Vespucci, whom we call Americus Ves~ 
 pusius, a merchant of Florence, had the honor of giving 
 his name to this new half of the globe, in which he did 
 not possess one acre of land, and pretended to be the first 
 who discovered the continent. But supposing it true, 
 that he was the first discoverer, the glory was certainly 
 due to him who had the penetration and courage to un- 
 dertake and perform the first voyage : Honor, as New- 
 ton says in his dispute with Leibnitz, is due only to the 
 first inventor ; and those that follow after are only his 
 scholars- 
 
 17. Columbus had made three voyages as admiral and 
 viceroy, five years before Americus Vespusius had made 
 one as a geographer, under the command of admiral Oje- 
 da ; but this latter, writing to his friends at Florence that 
 lie had discovered a new world, they believed him on his 
 word, and the citizens of Florence decreed, that a grand 
 illumination should be made before the door of his house 
 every three years, on the feast of All Saints. And yet, 
 rould this man be said to deserve any honors, for happen- 
 ing to be on board a fleet that, in 1489, sailed along the 
 coast of Brazil, when Columbus had, five years before, 
 pointed out the way to the rest of the world ? 
 
 18. There has lajtely appeared at Florence, a life of 
 this Americus Vespusius, which seems to be written with 
 very little regard to truth, and without any conclusive 
 reasoning. Several French authors are there complain- 
 ed of, who have done justice to Columbus's merit ; but 
 the writer should not have fallen upon the French au- 
 thors, but on the Spanish, who were the first that did 
 this justice. This writer says, that " he will confound 
 ". the vanity of the French nation, who have always at- 
 " tacked with impunity the honor and success of the 
 u Italian nation." 
 
 19. What vanity can there be in saying, that it was 
 a Genoese that first discovered America ? or how is the 
 honor of the Italian nation injured in owning, that it 
 was to an Italian, born in Genoa, that we are indebted 
 for the new world? I purposely remark this want of 
 
500 APPENDIX. 
 
 equity, good breeding and good sense, as we have too 
 many examples of it : and I must say, that the good 
 French writers have in general been the least guilty of this 
 insufferable fault ; and one great reason of their being so 
 universally read throughout Europe, is their doing justice 
 to all nations. 
 
 20. The inhabitants of these islands, and of the conti- 
 nent, were a new race of men. They were all without 
 beards, and were as much astonished at the faces of the 
 Spaniards, as they were at their ships and artillery: they 
 at -"first looked upon these new visitors as monsters or gods, 
 who had come out of the sky or the sea. 
 
 21. These voyages, and those of the Portuguese, had 
 now taught us how inconsiderable a spot of the globe our 
 Europe was, and what an astonishing variety reigns in 
 the world. Indostan was known to be inhabited by a race 
 of men whose complexions were yellow. In Africa and 
 Asia, at some distance from the equator, there had been 
 found several kinds of black men ; and after travellers 
 had penetrated into America as far as the line, they met 
 with a race of people who were tolerably white. The na- 
 tives of Brazil are of the color of bronze. The Chinese 
 still appear to differ entirely from the rest" of mankind, in 
 the make of their eyes and noses; But what is still to be 
 remarked is, that into whatsoever! regions these various 
 races are transplanted, their, complexions never change, 
 unless they mingle with the natives of the country. The 
 mucous membrane of the negroes, which is known to be 
 of a black color, is a manifest proof, that there is a differ- 
 ential principle in each species of men, as well as plants. 
 
 22. Dependant upon this principle, nature loas formed 
 the different degrees of genius, and the characters of na- 
 tions, which are seldom known to change. Hence the 
 negroes are slaves to other men, and are purchased on the 
 coast of Africa like beasts, for a sum of money ; and the 
 vast multitudes of negroes transplanted into our Ameri- 
 can colonies, serve as^slaves under a very inconsiderable 
 number of Europeans. Experience has likewise taught 
 us how great a superiority the Europeans have over the 
 Americans, who are every where easily overcome, and 
 have not dared to attempt a revolutution, though a thou- 
 sand to cxx? superior :ln numbers. 
 
APPENDIX, 331 
 
 23. This part of America was also remarkable on ac- 
 count of its ammals and plants which are not to be found 
 in the other three parts of the world, and which are of 
 so great use to us. Horses, corn of all kinds, and i ran, 
 were not wanting in Mexico and Peru, and among the 
 many valuable commodities unknown to the old world, 
 cochineal was the principal, and was brought us from this 
 country. Its use in dying has now made us forg-v 
 scarlet, which for time immemorial had been the only 
 thing known for giving a fine red color. 
 
 24. The importation of cochineal was soon succeeded 
 by that of indigo, cacao, vanille, and those woods which 
 serve for ornament and medicinal purposes, particularly 
 the quinquina, or Jesuits bark, 'which is the only specific 
 against intermitting fevers. Nature has placed this rem- 
 edy in the mountains of Peru, whilst she had dispersed 
 the disease it cured through all the rest of the world. This 
 
 ..new continent likewise furnished pearls, colored stones, 
 and diamonds. 
 
 25. It is certain, that America at present furnishes the 
 .meanest citizen of Europe with his conveniences ?,ncl 
 
 pleasures. The gold and silver mines, at their first dis- 
 covery, were of service only to the kings of Spain and the 
 merchants; the rest of the world was impoverished by 
 tnem, for the great multitudes who did not fellow busi- 
 ness found themselves possessed of a very small quantity 
 of specie, in comparison with the immense sums accumula- 
 ted by those, who had the advantage of the first discov- 
 eries. But by degrees the great quantity of gold and 
 silver which was sent from America, was dir 1 
 throughout all Europe, and by passing into a hi 
 Lands, the distribution is become more equal. 
 of commodities is likewise increased in. I, 
 portion to the increase of specie. 
 
 26. To comprehend ho\v the treasures of Am-: 
 
 sed from tKe possession of the Spaniards into thr.i of :; Lu- 
 nations, it will be sufficient to consider these two ihir,rs 
 the us which Charles V. and Philip II. rnsc! 
 money; and the manner in which other nations ?.c 
 a share in the mines of Peru. 
 
 27. The emperor Charles V* vrho \vr>n always trave!- 
 
 ' war, necessarily disperfed a great 
 C c 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 quantity of that specie which he received from Mexico 
 and Peru, through Germany and Italy. When he sent 
 his son Philip over to England, to marry queen Mary, and 
 take upon him the title of king of England, that prince 
 deposited in the Tower of London, twenty-seven large 
 chests of silver in .bars, and an hundred horse loads of gold 
 and silver coin. The troubles in Flanders, and the in- 
 trigues of the league in France, cost this Philip, according 
 to his own confession, .above three thousand millions of li- 
 vres of our money. 
 
 28. The manner in which the gold and silver of Peru 
 is distributed amongst all the people of Europe, and 
 from thence is sent to the East-Indies, is a surprising, 
 though well known circumstance. By a strict law enacted 
 by Ferdinand and Isabella, and afterwards confirmed by 
 Charles V. and all the kings of Spain, all other nations 
 were not only excluded the entrance into any of the port* 
 in Spanish America, but likewise from having the least 
 share, directly or indirectly, in the trade of that part of 
 ilie world. One would have imagined, that this law 
 would have enabled the Spaniards to subdue all Europe ; 
 and yet Spain subsists only by the continual violation of 
 this very law. It can hardly furnish exports for America 
 lo the value of four millions ; whereas the rest of Europe 
 sometimes send over merchandize to the amount of near 
 
 millions. 
 
 29. This prodigious trade of the nations at enmity or 
 at alliance with Spain, is carried on by the Spaniards thenv 
 selves, who are always faithful in their dealings with in- 
 dividuals, and always cheating their king. The Span- 
 iards gave no security to foreign merchants for tke per^ 
 forrnance of their contracts ; a mutual credit, without 
 which there never could have been any commerce, sup- 
 plies the place of other obligations. 
 
 50. The manner in which the Spaniards for a long 
 lime consigned the gold c.nd silver to foreigners, which 
 was brought home by their galleons, was still more sur- 
 prising. The Spaniard, who at Cadiz is properly fac- 
 tor for the foreigner, delivered the bullion he received 
 to the care of certain bravoes, called meteors : these, 
 armed with pistols at their belt, and a long sword, car- 
 ried the bullion in parcels, properly marked, to the 
 
APPENDIX. 30*1 
 
 ramparts, and flung them over to other meteors, who 
 waited below, and carried them to the boats which were 
 to receive them, and these boats carried them OP. board 
 the ships in the road. These meteors and the factors, 
 together with the commissaries and the guards, \vho never 
 disturbed them, had each a stated fee, and the foreign 
 merchant was never cheated. The king, who received a 
 duty upon this money at the arrival of the galleons was 
 likewise a gainer ; so that properly speaking, the law only 
 was cheated ; a law which would be absolutely useless if 
 not eluded, and which, nevertheless, cannot yet be abro- 
 gated, because old prejudices are always the most dii 
 to be overcome amongst men. 
 
 31. The greatest instance of the violation of this lav/, 
 and of the fidelity of the Spaniards, was in the year 
 1648, when war was declared between France and Spain, 
 His Catholic Majesty endeavored to seize upon the effects 
 6^ all the French in his kingdom ; but he in vain issued 
 edicts and admonitions, inquiries and excommunications, 
 not a single Spanish factor would betray his French cor- 
 respondent. This fidelity, which does so much honor 
 to the Spanish nation, plainly shows, that men only 
 willingly obey those laws, which they themselves have 
 made for the good of society, and that those which are 
 the mere effect sofa savereign's will, always meet with 
 opposition. 
 
 32. As the discovery of America was at first the source 
 of much good to the Spaniards, it afterwards occasioned 
 them many and considerable evils. One has been, the 
 depriving that kingdom of its subjects, by the great num- 
 bers necessarily required to people the colonies : another 
 was, the infecting the world with a disease, which was 
 before known only in the new world, and particularly in 
 the island of Hispaniola. Several of the companions 
 of Christopher Columbus returned home infected with 
 this contagion, which afterwards spread over Europe. 
 It is certain, that this poison, which taints the springs of 
 life, was peculiar to America, as the plague and small-pox 
 were diseases originally endemial to the southern parts of 
 Numidia. 
 
 33. We are not to believe, that the eating of human 
 flesh; practised by some of the American savages, occa.- 
 
104 APPENDIX. 
 
 4 
 
 sion this disorder. There were no cannibals on the island 
 of Hispaniola, where it was most frequent and inveterate i 
 neither are \ve to suppose, with some, that it proceeded 
 from too great an excess of sensual pleasures. Nature 
 had never punished excesses of this kind with such disor- 
 ders in the world ; and even to this day, we find that a 
 momentary indulgence, which has been passed for eight 
 or ten years, may bring this cruel and shameful scourge 
 upon the chastest union. 
 
 34. The great Columbus, after having built several 
 Louses on these islands, and discovered the continent, 
 returned to Spain, where he enjoyed a reputation, unsul- 
 lied by rapine or cruelty, and died at Valadolid-in 15(36. 
 But the Governors of Cuba anil Hispaniola, who suc- 
 ceeded him, being persuaded that these provinces furnish- 
 ed gold, resolved to make the discovery at the price of 
 the lives of the inhabitants. In short, whether they 
 thought the natives had conceived an implacable hatred 
 co them, or that they were apprehensive cf their superior 
 numbers ; or that the rage of slaughter, when once begun 
 knows no bounds, they in the space cf a few years entirely 
 depopulated Hispaniola and Cuba, the former of which 
 contained three millions of inhabitants, and the latter 
 ttbove six hundred thousand. 
 
 35. Bartholomew de la Cases., bishop of Ciapa, who 
 was an eye witness to these desolations, relates that they 
 hunted dawn the natives with dogs. These wretched 
 savages, almost naked and without arms, were pursued 
 like wild beasts in the forest, devoured alive by clegs, shot 
 to death, or surprised and burnt in their habitations. 
 
 56. He further declares, from ocular testimony, that 
 they frequently caused a number of these miserable wretch- 
 es to be summoned by a priest to come in, and submit to 
 the Christian religion, and to the king of Spain, and thi-t 
 after this ceremony, which was only an additional act of 
 injustice, they put them to death without the least remorse. 
 I believe that de la Cases has exaggerated in many pails 
 of his relation ; but allowing him to have said ten times 
 more than is truth, there remains enough to nv. 
 shudder with horror. 
 
 37. It may seem surprising, that this massacre of a 
 whole race of men could have been carried on i. 
 
APPENDIX. 305 
 
 si^ht, and under the administration of several religious of 
 the order of St. Jerome ; for we know that Cardinal Xim~ 
 enes, who was prime minister of Castile Jje fore the time 
 of Charles V. sent over four monks of this order, in 
 quality of presidents of the royal council of the island- 
 Doubtless they were not able to resist the torrent, and the 
 hatred of the natives to their new masters, be 
 just reason become implacable, rendered their d< 
 unhappily necessary. 
 
 ROMULUS the founder of Rome, after building the city 1 ) re- 
 solved' to submit the form of its government to the choice of 
 the people : and therefore^ calling the, citizens together, h$ 
 har-rangu-ed them thus, 
 
 IF all the strength of cities lay in the: height of their 
 ramparts, or the depth of their ditches, we should have 
 great reason to be in fear for that which we have now 
 built. Are there in reality any wails too high to he scaled 
 by a valiant enemy ? And of what use are ramparts. in in^ 
 testine divisions ? They may serve for a defence against 
 sudden incursions from abroad : But it is by courage and 
 prudence chiefly, that the invasions of foreign enemies are 
 repelled : and by unanimity, sobriety, and justice, that, 
 domestic seditions are. prevented. Cities fortified by the 
 strongest bulwarks, have been often sten to yield, to force 
 from without, or to tumults from within. An exact mil- 
 itary discipline, and a steady observance of civil polity, 
 are the surest barriers, against these evils. But there is 
 still another point of great importance to be considered* 
 The prosperity of some rising colonies, and the speedy ru- 
 in of others, have in a great measure been owing to the 
 form of government. Was there but one manner of ruling 
 states and cities that could make you happy, the choice 
 would not be difficult ; but I have learnt, that of the vari- 
 ous forms of government among the Greeks and Barbari- 
 ans, there are three which are highly extolled by those 
 who |)k ive experienced them ; and yet, that no one in 
 those is in all respects perfect ; but each of them has some 
 inaate and incurable defect. Choose you then in what 
 C c 2 
 
-06 A P P K N D I X. 
 
 manner this city shall be governed. Shall it it be by one 
 man ? Shall it be by a select number of the wisest among 
 us ! or shall the legislative power be in the people ? As 
 ior me, I shall submit to whatever form of administration 
 you shall please to establish. As I think myself not un- 
 worthy to command, so neither am I unwilling to obey. 
 Your having chosen me to be the leader of this colony, and 
 your calling the city after my name, are honors sufficient 
 "to content me ; honors of which, living or dead, I can 
 never be deprived. 
 
 While Quinctius Capitolinus and Agrippa Furius were 
 Consuls at Rome, the difference betwixt the Senate and 
 people ran so high, that the jEqui and Volsci, taking ad- 
 vantage of their intestine disorders, ravagsd the country 
 to the -very gates o/"Rome, and tte Tribunes of the profile 
 forbad the necessary levies of troops to oppose them. * 
 Quinctius, a Senator, of great reputation, well beloved, 
 and now in his fourth consulate, got the better of this oppo*. 
 sition by the following speech. 
 
 f^HOUGH I am not conscious, O Romans, of any 
 JL crime by rne committed, it is yet with the utmost 
 shame and confusion that I appear in your assembly. You 
 have seen it -PosteFity will know it. In the fourth con- 
 sulship of Titus Quinctius, the -$lqui and Volsci (scarce 
 a match for the Hernici alone) came in arms to the very 
 gates of Rome, and went away unchastised ! The curse 
 of our manners indeed, and the state of our affairs, have 
 long been such, that I had no reason to presage much 
 good : But could I have imagined that so great an igno- 
 miny would have befallen me this year, I would by death 
 r banishment (if all other means had failed) have avoid- 
 ed the station I am now in. What ! might Rome then 
 have been taken, if those men who were at our gates 
 had not wanted courage for the attempt ! Rome taken 
 Awhile I was consul rOf honors I had sufficient, of life 
 enough) more than enough. I should have died in my 
 third consulate. But who are they that our dastardly 
 enemies thus despise ! The consuls or you, Rom ,. ? If 
 we are in the fault depose us, or punish us yet more 
 severely. If you are to blame, may neither God ncr 
 
APPENDIX. 30Y 
 
 man punish your faults ! only may you repent. No, Ro- 
 mans, the confidence of our enemies is not owing to their 
 courage, or to their belief of your cowardice. They have 
 been too often vanquished, not to know both themselves 
 and you. Discord, discord is the ruin of this city. The 
 eternal disputes between the senate and the people, are 
 the sole cause of our misfortunes. While we set no 
 bounds to our dominion, nor you to your liberty : While 
 you impatiently endure Patrician magistrates, and we 
 Plebeian, our enemies take heart, grow elated and pre- 
 sumptuous. In the name of the immortal Gods, what is 
 it, Romans, you would have ? You desired tribunes ; for 
 the sake of peace we granted them. You were eager to 
 have decemvirs, we consented to their creation. Yen 
 grew weary of these decemvirs, we obliged them to abdi- 
 cate. Your hatred pursued them when reduced to private 
 men ; and we suffered you to put to death, or banish* 
 Patricians of the first rank in the republic. You insisted 
 upon the restoration of the tribuneship, we yielded ; we 
 quietly saw consuls of your faction elected. You have the 
 protection of your tribunes, and the privilege of appeal ; 
 the Patricians are subjected to the decrees of the com- 
 mons. Under pretence of equal and impartial laws, you 
 have invaded oui 1 rights, and we have suffered it, and we 
 still suffer it. When shall we see an end of discord ! 
 When shall we have one interest and one common coun- 
 try ? Victorious and triumphant, you show less temper 
 than we under defeat. When you are to contend with ws, 
 you seize the Aventine hill, you can possess yourselves of 
 the IVIons Saeer. 
 
 The enemy is at our gates, the ^Esquiline is near being 
 taken, and wobody stirs to hinder it. But against us you 
 are valiant, against us you can arm with diligence. Come 
 on, then, besiege the senate house, make a camp of the fo- 
 rum, fill the jails with our nobles, and when you have at- 
 chievecl these glorious exploits, then at last saliy out at the 
 &sqtuline gate, with the same fierce spirits against the 
 enemy. Does your resolution fail you for this ? go then, 
 and behold from your wa^ls, your lands ravaged, your hou- 
 ses plundered and in flames, the whole country laid waste 
 with fire and sword. Have you any thing here to repair 
 these damages I Will the tribunes make up your losses to 
 
308 APPENDIX. 
 
 you ! They'll give you as many words as you please : Bring 
 impeachments in abundance against the prime men oif 
 the state : Heap laws upon laws ;, assemblies you shall 
 have without end. But will any of you return the richer 
 from these assembles ? Extinguish, O Romans, those fa- 
 tal divisions ; generously break this cursed enchantment 
 which keeps you buried in a scandalous inaction.- Open 
 your eyes, and consider the management of these ambi- 
 tions men, who, to make themselves powerful in their 
 party, study nothing but how they may foment divisions 
 in the commonwealth. 
 
 If you can but summon up your former courage, if you 
 will now march out of Rome with your consuls, there is 
 no punishment you can inflict, which I will not submit to, 
 if I do not in a few days drive these pillagers out of our 
 territory. This terror ef war (with which you seem so 
 grievously struck) shall quickly be removed from Rome 
 to their own cities*. 
 
 GAIUS MARIUS TO THE ROMANS. 
 
 T is but too common, my country men, to observe a 
 material difference, between the behavior of those, 
 who stand candidates for places of power and trust, be- 
 fore, and after their obtaining them. They sDlicit them 
 in one manner and. execute them in another. They 
 set out, with a great appearance of activity, humility, 
 and moderation ; and they, quickly, fall into sloth, pride 
 and avarice. -It is- undoubtedly, no easy matter, to dis- 
 charge to the general satisfaction, the duty of a supreme 
 commander in troublesome tmies. I arn> I hope, duly 
 sensible of the importance of the office I propose to take 
 upon me for the service of my country*. To carry on, 
 with effect, an expensive war, and yet be frugal of public 
 money ; to oblige those to serve, whom it may be del- 
 icate to offend ; to conduct, at the same time, a com- 
 plicated variety of operations ; to concert measures at 
 home, answerable to the state of things abroad ; and to 
 gain every valuable end, in spite of opposition from the 
 envious, the factious, and the disaffected ; to do all this, 
 my countrymen.) is more difficult than is generally 
 thought* 
 
APPENDIX. S09 
 
 Ikit, besides the disadvantages, which are common to 
 /ith all otbeis in eminent stations, my case is, in this 
 r :spcct, peculiarly hard ; that, whereas a commander 
 of Patrician rank, if he is guilty of a neglect, or breach of 
 duty, has his great connections, the antiquity of his 
 family, the important services of his ancestors, incl the 
 multitudes he has, by power engaged in his interest, to 
 screen him from condign punishment ; my whole safety 
 depends upon myself; which renders it the more indis- 
 pensibly necessary for me, to take care tha.t my conduct 
 be clear and unexceptionable. Besides, I am well aware, 
 7iiy countrymen, that the eye of the public, is upon me ; 
 and that though the impartial, who prefer the real 
 advantage of the commonwealth to all other considera- 
 tions, favor my pretensions, the Patricians want nothing 
 so much, as an occasion against me. It is, therefore, rny 
 fixed resolution, to use my best endeavors > that you may 
 Kot be disappointed in me, and that their indirect designs 
 against me may be defeated. 
 
 I have from my youth, been familiar with toils, and 
 with dangers. I was faithful to your interests, my coun- 
 trymen, when I served you for no reward, tut tl 
 honor. It is not my design to betray you, now that 
 you have conferred upon me a place of profit. You have 
 committed to my conduct, the war against Jugurtha. 
 The Patricians are offended at this. But, where would 
 be the wisdom of giving such a command to or.e of their 
 honorable body ? a person of illustrious birth, of an- 
 cient family, of innumerable statute but- of no expe- 
 rience ! What service would his Ion? lin? of dec.d an- 
 cestors, or his multitude of motionless statues, c>o his 
 country in the day of battle 1 What covi'c/ s'ich a general 
 do, but, in his trepidation and ine::perl e re- 
 
 course to some inferior commander, for direction in 
 ficuities to which he was not himself equal ? Thus, your 
 Patrician general would, in fact, have a general over 
 him ; so that the acting commander would still he ;, 
 beian. So true is this, my countrymen, that I have 
 myself known those, who have been chosen consuls, begin, 
 then, to read the history of their own country, of -which, 
 till that time, they were totally ignorant : that is, they 
 first obtained the employment, and then bethought them- 
 
S16 APPENDIX. 
 
 selves of the qualifications necessary for the proper dis- 
 charge of it. 
 
 I submit^ to your judgment, Romans, on which side 
 the advantage lies, when a comparison is made between 
 Patrician haughtiness and Plebeian experience. The 
 very actions, which they have only read, I have partly- 
 seen, and partly myself atchieved. What they know by 
 reading, I know by action. They are pleased to slight 
 my mean birth. I despise their mean characters. Want 
 of birth and fortune is the objection against me : want 
 of personal merit against them. But are not all men of 
 the same species ? What can make a difference between 
 one man and another, but the endowments of the mind j 
 For rny part, I shall always look upon the bravest man 
 as the noblest man. Suppose it were inquired of the 
 fathers of such Patricians as Albinos and Bessia, whether, 
 if they had their .choice, they would desire sons of their 
 character, or of mine : what would they answer, but 
 that they should wish the worthiest to be their sons ? if 
 the Patricians have reason to despise me, let them like- 
 wise despise their ancestors, whose nobility was the fruit 
 of their virtue. Do they envy the honors bestowed upon 
 me ? Let them envy, likewise, my labors, my absti- 
 nence, and the dangers I have undergone for my coun- 
 try, by which I have acquired them. But those worthless 
 men lead such a life of inactivity, as if they despised 
 any honors you can bestow ; whilst they aspire to hon* 
 ors, as if they had deserved them by the most indus- 
 trious virtue.- They lay claim to the reward 1 oi activity, 
 for their having enjoyed the pleasures of h ; v Yet 
 none can be more lavish than they are in pra >f their 
 ancestors. And they imagine they hone selves, 
 
 by celebrating their forefathers. Whereas t... do the 
 'very contrary : for, as much as their ancestor- re dis- 
 tinguished for their virtues, so much are they di u -raced by 
 their vices. 
 
 Observe now, my countrymen, the injustice of the 
 Patricians. They arrogate to themselves, honors, 0*1 
 account of the exploits done by their forefathers ; whilst 
 they will not allow me the due praise, for performing the 
 very same sort of actions in my own person. He has no 
 statues, they cry, of his family. He can trace no vene- 
 
A P P E N D I X. 31 i 
 
 .ra*ble line of ancestors. What then ! Is it matter of more 
 praise to disgrace one's illustrious ancestors, than to be- 
 come illustrious by one's own good behavior ? What if 
 I can show no statues of my family ? I can show the 
 standards, the armor, and the trappings, which I have 
 myself taken from the vanquished : I can show the scars 
 of those wounds which I have received by facing the en- 
 emies of my country. These are my statues : These 
 are the honors I boast of. Not left me by inheritance as 
 theirs ; but earned by toil, by abstinence, by valor ; amidst 
 clouds of dust, and seas of blood : scenes of action where 
 those effeminate Patricians, who endeavor, by indirect 
 means, to depreciate me in your esteem, have never dured 
 to show their faces* 
 
 DEMOSTHENES TO THE ATHENIANS. * 
 
 WHEN! compare, Athenians, the speeches of some 
 amongst us, with their actions, I am at a loss to 
 reconcile what I see, with what I hear. Their protesta- 
 tions are full of zeal against the public enemy ; but their 
 measures are so inconsistent, that all their professions be- 
 come suspected. By confounding you with a variety of 
 projects, they perplex your resolutions ; and lead you 
 from executing what is in your power, by engaging you 
 in schemes not reducible to practice. 
 
 'Tis true, there was a time, when we were powerful 
 enough, not only to defend our own borders, and protect 
 our allies, but even to invade Philip in his own domin- 
 ions. Yes, Athenians, there was such a juncture ; I re- 
 member it well. But, by neglect of proper opportu- 
 nities, we are no longer in a situation to be invaders: it 
 will be weli for us, if we can procure for our own de- 
 fence, and our allies. Never did any conjuncture require 
 so much prudence as this. However, I should not despair 
 of seasonable remedies, had I the art to prevail with you 
 to be unanimous in right measures. The opportunities, 
 which have so often escaped us have not been lost, thro* 
 ignorance, or want of judgment ; but through negligence 
 or treachery. If I assume, at this time, more than ordi- 
 nary liberty of speech, I conjure you to suffer, patiently, 
 (hose truths, which have no other end, but your own good. 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 You have loo many reasons to be sensible, how mut 
 have suffered, by barkening to sychophants. I shali 
 therefore, be plain, in laying before you the grounds of 
 past miscarriages, in order to correct you in your future 
 conduct. 
 
 You may remember, it is not above three or four years, 
 since we had the news of Philip's laying siege to the for- 
 tress of Juno in Thrace. It was^as I think, in October 
 we received this intelligence. We voted an immediate 
 supply of threescore talents .: forty men of war were or- 
 dered to sea : and so zealous we were, .that preferring the 
 necessities of state to our very laws, our citizens above the 
 age of iive-and- forty years, were commanded to serve. 
 What followed ? A whole year was spent idly, without 
 any thing done ; and it was but the third month of the 
 following year, a little after the celebration of the feast of 
 Ceres, that Charedemus set sail, furnished with no more 
 than five talents, and ten galleys not half manned. 
 
 A rumor was spread, that Philip was sick. That ru- 
 mor was followed by another, that Philip was dead. And, 
 then, as if all danger died with him, you dropped your 
 preparations: whereas, then, then was your time to push, 
 and be active ; then was your time to secure yourselves, 
 and confound him at once. Had your resolutions, taken 
 with so much heat, been as warmly seconded by action, 
 you had then been as terrible to Philip, r*s Philip, recov- 
 ered, is now to you. " To what purpose at this time, 
 these reflections ? What is done cannot be undone." But, 
 by your leave, Athenians, though past moments are not 
 to be recalled, past errors may be repeated. Have we not, 
 now, a fresh provocation to war-? Let the memory of 
 oversights, by which you have suffered so much, instruct 
 you to be more vigilant in the present danger. If the 
 Olynthians are not instantly succored, and with your ut- 
 most efforts, you become assistants to Philip, and serve 
 him more effectually, than he can help himself. 
 
 It is not surely necessary to warn you, tha't votes 
 alone, can be of no consequence. Had your resolutions, 
 of themselves, the virtue to compass what you intend, we 
 should not see them multiply every dsy, as they do, 
 and upon every occasion, with so little; effect: nor would 
 Philip be in a condition to 'brave and affront us in thi& 
 
A P P E N D I X. 313 
 
 manner Proceed, then, Athenians, to support your de- 
 liberations with vigor. You have heads capable of ad- 
 vising' what is best ; you have judgment and experience, 
 to discern what is right : and you have power and oppor- 
 tunity, to execute what you determine. What time so 
 proper for action ! What occasion so happy? And when 
 can you hope for such another, if this be neglected ? Kar, 
 not Philip, contrary to all treaties, insulted you in Thrace i.' 
 Does he not, at this instant, straiten and invade your con- 
 federates, whom yen have solemnly sworn to protect ? Is 
 iv.i rot an implacable enemy ? a faithless ally ? the usur- 
 per of provinces, to which he has no title nor pretence !' 
 u stranger, a barbarian, a tyrant ? and indeed, what is 
 jie not ? 
 
 Observe, I beseech you. men of Athtns, how different 
 your conduct appears, from the practices of your ancestors. 
 They were friends to truth and plain dealine;, and detested 
 (h.Uery and servile compliance. By unanimous consent, 
 ti'-ey continued arbiters of all Greece, for the space of 
 forty-five years, without interruption : a public fund .of 
 no less than ten thousand talents, was ready for any em- 
 ergency : they exercised over the kings cf Macedon, that 
 authority which is clue to barbarians ; obtained both by 
 -sea and land, in their own persons, frequent and signal 
 victories ; and by their noble exploits, transmitted to 
 posterity, an immortal memory of their virtue, superior to 
 the reach of malice and detraction. It is to them we .owe 
 4hat great number cf public edifices, by which the city Q 
 Athens exceeds all the rest of the world, in beauty and 
 magnificence. It is to them we owe so many stately tem- 
 ples, so richly embellished ; but, abo<.-. 
 the spoils of vanquished enemies. But, visit t 
 private habitations. Vkit the houses of ArlstiJ.es. Milkia- 
 .(ies, or any other of those patriots of antiquity ; you will 
 find nothing, not the least mark of ornament, to distinguish 
 them from their neighbors. They took part ir: the gov- 
 ernment, r.ot to enrich themselves, but the public ; they 
 had no schemes or ambition, but for the public ; nor knew 
 any interest, but the public. It was by a close and steady 
 application to the general i^ood of their country ; 1 
 exemplary piety towards the in* mortal p-oct: 
 D (! 
 
3H APPENDIX. 
 
 iU'tn, -nd religions honesty, betwixt -man and man ; arm 
 
 lerat'On, always uniform, and of a piece ; they es- 
 
 : ied that reputation, which remains to this clay, and 
 . ill last to utmost posterity. 
 
 ;h, O men of Athens ! were your ancestors : so 
 n the eye of the 'world ; so bountiful and mimi- 
 
 to their country ; so sparing, so modest, so self-de- 
 rives. What resemblance can we find in 
 the present generation, of these great men ? At a time, 
 I your ancient competitors have left you a clear 
 stage ; when thy Lacedemonians are disabled ; the The- 
 L::ns employed in troubles of their own ; when no other 
 -tat ; whatever is in a condition to rival or molest you : 
 in short, when you are at full liberty : when you have the 
 opportunity and the power to become once more the sole 
 arbiters of Greece ; you permit, patiently, whole provin- 
 ces to be wrested from you ; you lavish the public money 
 to scandalous and obscure uses : you suffer your allies to 
 perish in time of peace, whom you preserved in time of 
 v.ar ; and, to sum up all, you yourselves, by your merce- 
 luiry court, and servile resignation to the will and plea- 
 sure of designing, insidious leaders, abet, encourage, and 
 strengthen the most dangerous and formidable of your 
 enemies. Yes, Athenians, Ircpe.it it, you yourselves are 
 of your own ruin. Lives there a man 
 :e enough to deny it ? Let him arise, 
 issign, if he can, any other cause of the success and 
 
 :-\ty of Philip. " But, you reply, what Athens 
 may have lost in reputation abr has gained in 
 
 splendor at home. Was there ever a ereater appear- 
 ance -of prosperity ? a greater face cf j.-knty ? Is not the 
 city enlarged ? Are not the streets better paved ? houses 
 repaired and beautified ?" Away with such trifles ' 
 Shall I be paid with counters ? An old square new vamped 
 *ip I a fountain 1 an aqueduct 1 Are these acquisitions to 
 brag of? Cast your eye upon the magistrate, under 
 
 3 ministry you boast these precious i. 
 M the despicable creature, raised all at once, from 
 dirt, to opulence ; from the lowest obscurity, to ths 
 
 st honor:-. I lav o not r.ome of these up: 
 
A F P E N D I X. ! 
 
 iheir power increased, but as the commonwealth has beui 
 ruined and impoverished ! 
 
 To what are we to impute these disorders ? and to 
 what cause assign the decay of a state, so powerful and 
 flourishing in past time ? The reason is plain. The 
 servant is now become the master. The magistrate was 
 then subservient to the people : punishments and rewards 
 were properties of the people : all honors, .dignities* and 
 preferments, were disposed by the voice and favor of 
 the people. But the magistrate, now, has usurped the 
 right of the people, and exercises an arbitrary authority 
 over his ancient and natural lord. You miserable people ! 
 the mean while, without money? without friends ; from 
 being the ruler, are become the servant j from being the 
 master, the dependant ; , into 
 
 whose hands you have thus u - , ^re 
 
 so good, and so gracious, as to continue y 
 ance to see plays. 
 
 Believe me, Athenians, if recovering from this leihar- 
 gy, you would assume the ancient fi-cedom and s] 
 your fathers ; if you would be your own soldiers, and 
 your own commanders, confiding no longer your affairs in 
 foreign or mercenary hands ; if you would charge your- 
 selves with your own defence, employiiK" abroad, for the 
 public, what you waste in unprofitable at home ; 
 
 the world might once more behold you making a Satire 
 worthy of Athenians. " You would have us then, (you 
 fcay) do service in our armies, in our own persons ; and 
 for so doing, you would have the pensions we receive 
 in time of peace, accepted as pay in time of wr>r. Is it 
 thus we are to understand you ?" Yes, Athenians, 'tis 
 my plain meaning. I would make it a standing rule, that 
 no person, great or little, should be the better for the pub- 
 lie money, who should grudge to employ it for the public 
 service. Are we in peace ? the public is charged with 
 your subsistence. Are we in war, or under a necessity, as 
 at this time, to enter into a war ? let your gratitude oblige 
 you to accept, as pay, in defence of your benefactors, what 
 you receive* in peace, &r> ~cere bounty. Thus, without 
 any innovation ; wither.; anything, 
 
 but pernicious novelties ( ;ed for the encourage- 
 
 ment of sloth and idleness ; by 
 
316 A P P E N D I X. 
 
 future, the sarr,e funds, for the use of the serviceable, 
 which are spent, at present, upon the unprofitable ; you 
 may be well served in your armies ; your troops regularly 
 paid ; justice duly administered ; the public revenues re- 
 formed, and increased ; and every member of the com- 
 monwealth rendered useful to his country, according to 
 his age and ability, without any further burthen to the 
 state. 
 
 This, O men of Athens ! is what my duty prompted 
 me to represent to you upon this occasion May the 
 gods inspire you to determine upon such measures, as may- 
 be most expedient, for the -particular and general good of 
 our country ! 
 
 THE PERFECT SPEAKER. 
 
 TMAGINE to yourselves, a Demosthenes, addressing 
 JL the most illustrious assembly in the world, upon ;i 
 point, whereon the fate of the most illustrious of nations 
 depended. How awful such a meeting 1 how vast the 
 subject ! Is man possest of talents adequate to the great 
 occasion ? Adequate yes, superior. By the power of 
 his eloquence, the augustness of the assembly is lost, in 
 the dignity of the orator ; and the importance of the sub- 
 ject, for a while superseded, by the admiration of his tal- 
 ents.- With what strength of argument, with whr.l 
 ers of the fancy, with what emotions of the heart, does 
 lie assault and subjugate the whole men, EIK! c.t once, 
 captivate his reason, his imagination, and his passions ! 
 To effect this, must be the utmost effort, of the most 
 improved state of human nature Not a faculty that he 
 possesses, is here unemployed : not a faculty that ho 
 possesses, but is here exerted to its highest pilch. All 
 his internal powers, are at work : all his external testify 
 their energies. Within, the memory, the fancy, the 
 judgment, the passions are all busy : without, every mus- 
 cle, every nerve, is exerted ; not a feature, not a limb, 
 but speaks. The organs of the body attuned to ^ the 
 exertions of the mind, through the kindred organs of the 
 hearers, instantaneously, and, as it were, with an elec- 
 trical spirit, vibrate those energies from soul to soul. 
 Notwithstanding the diversity of minds in such a mil I- 
 
APPENDIX. 317 
 
 Utacle, by the lightning of eloquence, they are melted into 
 one mass the whole assembly actuated in one and the, 
 same way, become as it were, but one man, aru : 
 one voice. The universal cry is LET us MARCH 
 
 PHILIP LET US FIGHT FOR OUR LIBERTIES . 
 
 CONQUER OR DIE 1 
 
 On the duties cf Schc: 
 
 fcUINTILLIAN says, that he has included 9 
 
 the duty of scholars in this one piece c , hich 
 
 he gives them, to love those who l love 
 
 the sciences which they learn of them ; t.nd lo look upon 
 them as fathers, from whom they derive not the life of the 
 body, but that instruction which h ife of 
 
 the soul. Indeed this sentiment ofj 
 suffices to make them apt to learn d-. 
 their studies, and full of rjrutitu.de all ih; their 
 
 lives. It. seems to me to include a .great ; I 
 to be expected from them. 
 
 Docility, which consists in submitting to 
 readily receiving the instructions of their n 
 ducing them to practice, is properly the vir', 
 as that of masters is to teach well.. Tivj ohe can . 
 tiling without the other ; and as it is not 
 laborer to sow the seed, unless the e! 
 opened its bosom to receive it, in a 
 warms, and moistens it ; so likewise the who"; 
 instruction depends upon a i^ood correspondence bcUveea 
 the masters and the scholars. 
 
 Gratitude for those who have labored in our educr; lion, 
 is the character of an honest man, and the mark of a 
 good heart. Who is there among us, says Cicero, that 
 has been instructed with any care, that is not highly de- 
 lighted with the sight of even the bave r 
 Lis preceptors, masters, and the place 
 taught and brought up ? Seneca eyhovts y 
 preserve always a great respect forth'/: 
 care they are indebted for the amende; 
 ;<nd for having imbibed sentiments of honor 
 Their exactness and severity displease fcoi 
 gge v'hcn we are not in a condition to UK' 
 D d 2 
 
A P P E H D I X. 
 
 lions we owe to them ; but when years have vipenqd our 
 understanding and judgment, we then discern that v/hat; 
 made us dislike them, I mean admonitions, reprimands, 
 and a severe exactness in restraining the passions of an 
 imprudent and inconsiderate age, is expressly the very 
 thing which should make us esteem and love them. Thus 
 we see that Marcus Aurelius, one of the wisest and most 
 illustrious emperors that Rome ever had,] thanked thu 
 gods for two things especially- for his having had excel- 
 lent tutors himself, and that he had found the like for 
 his children. 
 
 Quintiliian, after having noted the different characters 
 of the mind in children, draws in a few words, the image 
 of what he judged to be a perfect scholar ; and certainly 
 it is a very amiable one : " For my part," says he, " I 
 like a child who is encouraged by commendation, is an- 
 imated by a sense of glory, and weeps ween he is out- 
 done. A noble emulation will always keep him in exer- 
 cise, a reprimand will touch him to the quick, and honor 
 \vill serve instead of a spu~. We need not fear that such 
 a scholar will ever give himself up to sullenne&s." Mini 
 ille cletur puer, quern laus excitet, quern gloria juvct, qr,i 
 virtus fleat. Hie erit alenclus ambitu : hunc mordebit 
 objurgatio ; hunc honor excitabit : in hoc desidium nun- 
 quam verebor. 
 
 How ereat a value soever Quintillian sets upon the tal- 
 ents of the mind, he esteems those of the heart Jar be- 
 yond them, and looks upon the others as of no value 
 without them. In the same chapter from whence I took 
 the preceding words, he declares, he should never hav$ 
 a good opinion of a chikl, who placed his study in occa- 
 sioning laughter, by mimicking the behavior, mien, and 
 faults of others ; and he presently gives an admirable 
 reason for it : "A child," says he, " cannnot be truly 
 ingenious, in rny opinion, unless he be good and virtuous ; 
 otherwise, I should rather choose to have him dull and 
 heavy than of a bad disposition." Non dabit spem bons 
 indolis, qui hoc imitandi studio petit, ut rideotmv Nam 
 probus quoque imprimus erit ille vere ingeniosus : alio- 
 qui non pejus duxerim tardi esse inp;enii t quam mail. 
 
 He displays to us all these talents in the eldest of his 
 two children, whose character he draws, and w.hcse ck?*h 
 
APPENDIX. 319 
 
 he laments in so eloquent and pathetic a strain, in the 
 beautiful preface to his sixth book. I shall beg leave to in-* 
 sert here a small extract of it, which will not be useless to 
 the boys, as they will find it a model which suits well with 
 their age and condition. 
 
 After having mentioned his younger son, who died at 
 five years old, and described the graces and beauties of his 
 countenance, the prettiness of his expressions, the vivacity 
 of his understanding, which began to shine through the 
 veil of childhood ; " 1 had still left me," says he, " my 
 sen Quintillian, in whom I placed all rny pleasure and 
 ail my hopes, and comfort enough I might have found in 
 him ; for, having now entered into his tenth year, he 
 did not produce only blossoms like his younger brother, 
 but fruits already formed, and beyond the power of dis- 
 appointment. I have much experience ; but I never saw 
 in any child, I do not say only so many excellent clipo- 
 suions for the sciences, nor so much taste, as his masters 
 know, but so much probity, sweetness, good nature, gen- 
 tleness, and inclination to please and oblige, as 1 discern- 
 ed in him. 
 
 u Besides this, he had all the advantages of nature, a 
 charming voice, a pleasing countenance, and a surprising- 
 facility in pronouncing well the two languages, as if he 
 had been equally born for both of them. 
 
 " But all this was no more than hopes. I set a greater 
 value upon his admirable virtues, his equality of temper, 
 iiis resolution, the courage with which he oore up against 
 fear and pain ; for, how was his physicians astonished at 
 his patience under a distemper of eight months continu- 
 ance, when at the point of death he comforted me himself, 
 and bade me not to weep for him ! and delirious as he 
 sometimes was at his last moments, his tongue ran of no- 
 thing else but learning and the sciences : O vain and de- 
 ceitful hopes I" &c. 
 
 Are there many boys amongst us, of whom we can truly 
 s&y so much to their advantage, as Quintillian says here 
 of his son ? What a shame would it be for them, if born 
 and brought up in a Christian country, they had not 
 even the virtues of Pagan children ! I make no scruple to 
 repeat them here again docility, obedience, respect for 
 their masters, or rather a degree of atTection> and the 
 
320 APPENDIX. 
 
 source of an eternal gratitude ; zeal for study, and a won- 
 derful thirst after the sciences, joined to an abhorrence of 
 vice and irregularity ; an admirable fund of probity, good- 
 ness, gentleness, civility and liberality : as also patience, 
 courage, and greatness of soul in the course of a long sick- 
 ness. What then \vas wanting to all these virtues ?- 
 That which alone could render them truly worthy the 
 name, and must be in a manner the soul of them, and 
 constitute their whole v&I,ue, the precious gift of faith and 
 piety : the saving knowledge of a Mediator ; a sincere 
 desire of pleasing God, and referring all our actions to 
 him. 
 
 TL ICE OF A RURAL LIFE * 
 
 A POEM. 
 
 SCK Gov. of N 
 
 THE ARGU: 
 The subject firq 
 fruga'iiij .";; i 
 
 Ui8 love of , retirement^ and chi.ice oft ' A des~ 
 
 en/ ''morning. Hiniin to th? sun* C-yaicinhlaiion- 
 
 of the heavens. The existence of God inferred j rom a 
 "view of the beauty and harmony of the creation. looming 
 and evening devotion. The vanity of riches and grand- 
 eur. The choice of his bocks. Praise cf ihe rn&> '> 
 mi ate. si knot of modern l&dies described* Tr. 
 exit, 
 
 PHILOSOPHIC SOLITUDE, &c., 
 
 IET ardent heroes seek renown in arms, 
 _j Pant after fame, and rush to war's alarms ; 
 To s, lining palaces let fools resort, 
 And dunces cringe to be esteem'd at court : 
 Mine be the pleasure of a rural life, 
 Frcia iioise remote, and ignoran: of strife ; 
 
APPENDIX, .721 
 
 J'ar from the painted belle, and white glov'd beau, 
 The lawless masquerade, and midnight show ; 
 From ladies, lap-dogs, courtiers, garters, stars> 
 Fops, fiddlers, tyrants, emperors, and czars. 
 
 Full in the center of some shady grove r 
 By nature form'd for solitude and love ; 
 On banks array 'd with ever-blooming flow'rs, 
 Near beauteous landskips, or by rosiate bow'rs* 
 My neat, but simple mansion I would raise, 
 Unlike the sumptuous domes of modern days ' r 
 Devoid of pomp, with rural plainness form'd, 
 With savage g,ame y and glossy shells aricrn'd- 
 
 No costly furniture should grace my hall ; 
 But curling vines ascend against the wall, 
 Whose pliant branches shou'd luxuriant twiney 
 While purple clusters swell'd with future wine ? 
 To slake my thirst a liquid lapse distil 
 From crage;y rocks, and spread a limpid rill. 
 Along my mansion spiry frrs should grow, 
 gloomy yews extend the shady row ; 
 
 : cedars flourish, and the poplars rise 
 
 , imely tall, and shoot into the skies : 
 Among the leaves refreshing zephyrs play, 
 Awd crouding trees exclude the noon-tide ray ; 
 Whereon the birds their downy nests should form; 
 Securely shclter'd from the hatt'ring storm ; 
 And to melodious notes their choir apply, 
 Soon as Aurora blush'd along the sky : 
 While all around th' enchanting mnsic rl 
 And ev'ry vocal grove responsive sings, 
 
 Me to sequester'd scenes, ye muses, guide* 
 Where nature wantons in her virgin pride ; 
 To mossy banks ecig'd ound with op'ning flow'rs, 
 Klysian Jit'his and armiranthian bow'rs ; 
 T* amBrosial founts, and sleep-inspiring rills, 
 'I'o herbag'cl vales, gay lawns, and sunny hills. 
 
 Welcome, ye shades ! nil hail, yc vernal blooms I 
 Ye bow'ry thickets, and prophetic glooms I 
 
322 APPENDIX. 
 
 Ye forests hail ! ye solitary woods I 
 
 Love whispering groves, and silver streaming floods! 
 
 Ye meads, that aromatic sweets exhale ! 
 
 Ye birds, and all ye sylvan beauties hail 1 
 
 Oh, how I long with you to spend my days, 
 
 Invoke the muse, and try the rural lays ! 
 
 No trumpets there with martial clangor sound, 
 No prostrate heroes strew- the crimson 'd ground; 
 No groves of lances glitter in the air, 
 Nor thund'ring drums provoke the sanguine war : 
 But white-rob'cl peace and universal love 
 Smile in the field, and; brighten ev'ry grove* 
 There all the beauties of the circling year, 
 In native ornamental pride appear, 
 Gay rosy-bosom'd SPRING, and dfiril show'rs, 
 Wake from the womb of earth the rising ilow'rs :- 
 In deeper verdure SUMMER clothes the plain, 
 And AUTUMN bends beneath the golden grain ; 
 The trees weep amber, and the whispering gales 
 Breeze o'er the lav/n, or murmur through the vales ; 
 The ow'ry tribes in gay confusion bloom, 
 Profuse of sweets, and fragrant with perfume ; 
 On blossoms blossoms, fruits on fruits arise, 
 And varied prospects glad the wand'ring eyes. 
 In these fair Seats I'd pass the joyous day, 
 "Where meadows flourish and where fields look gay ; 
 From bliss to bliss with endless pleasure rove, 
 Seek crystal streams, or haunt the vernal grove, 
 Woods, fountains, lakes, th-j fertile fields, or shades, 
 Aerial mountains, or subjacent glades* 
 
 There from the polish'd fetters of the great, 
 Triumphal piles, and gilded rooms of state ; 
 
 Prime ministers- a:i:l sycophantic knaves. 
 and illustrious slaves I 
 From all the vain formality of fools, 
 :.sk of arbitrary rules ; 
 
 Th^ ? . ' d soul annoy . 
 
 Tli-- possess, but not enjoy, 
 
 The \ i he world can lend, 
 
 Th' : v; friend 
 
APPENDIX. 323 
 
 The seven fold fury of Xantippc's soul, 
 And S . *s rage that burns without control ; 
 I'd live retir'd contented, and serene, 
 Forgot, unknown, unenviecl and unseen. 
 
 Yet not a real hermitage I'd choose, 
 Nor wish to live from all the world recluse ; 
 Out with a friend sometimes unbend the soul 
 In social converse, o'er the sprightly bowl. 
 With cheerful IV , serene and wisely gay,, 
 I'd often pass the dancing hours away ; 
 He skill'd alike to profit and to please, 
 Politely talks with unaffected ease ; 
 Sage in debate, and faithful to his trust. 
 Mature in science, and severely just, 
 Of soul diffusive, vast and unconfm'cl, 
 Breathing benevolence to all mankind ; 
 Cautious to censure, ready to commend, 
 A firm, unshaken, uncorrupted friend : 
 In early youth fair wisdom's path he trod, 
 In early youth a minister of God : 
 Each pupil lov'd him when at Yale he shone, 
 And ev'ry bleeding bosom weeps him gone. 
 
 Dear A too, should grace my rural Seat, 
 
 For ever welcome to the green retreat : 
 Heav'n for the -cruise of righteousness designed 
 His florid genius, and capacious mind : 
 Oft' have I heard, amidst th' adoring throng, 
 Celestial truths devolving from his tongue ; 
 High o'er the list'ning audience seen him stand, 
 Divinely speak, and graceful stretch his hand : 
 With such becoming grace and pompous sound, 
 With long-rob'd senators encircled round, 
 Before the Roman bar, while Rome was free, 
 Nor bow VI to Cesar's throne the servile knee. 
 Immortal Tulhj plead the patriot cause, 
 While ev'ry tongue resounded his applause. 
 
 Next round my board should candid S -appear, 
 
 Of manners gentle, and a friend sincere, 
 .-i'se to discord, party rage and strife, 
 lie sails serenely down the stream of life. 
 With these three friends, beneath a spreading shade, 
 Where silver fountains murmur through U 
 
324 APPENDIX. 
 
 Or in cool grots, perfum'cl with native flow'rs, 
 
 In harmless mirth I'd spend the circling hours ; 
 
 Or gravely talk, or innocently sing, 
 
 Or, in harmonious concert, strike the trembling string. 
 
 Amid sequester'd bow'rs, near gliding streams, 
 Druids and Bards enjoy 'd serenest dreams. 
 Such was the seat where courtly Horace sung : 
 And his bold h?\rp immortal Metro strung : 
 Where tuneful Orpheus' unresisted lay, 
 Made rapid tygers bear their rage away ; 
 While groves attentive to the extatic sound 
 'Burst from their roots, and raptur'd, danc'd around. 
 Such seats the venerable Sesra of old 
 (When blissful years in golden circles roli'd) 
 Chose and admir'd : e'en Goddesses and Gods 
 (As poets~feign) were fond of such abodes : 
 Th' imperial Consort of fictitious Jo~oe 
 For fount full Ide forsook the realms above. 
 Oft' to Idalla on a golden cloud, 
 Veird in a mist of fragrance, Venus rode ; 
 There num'rous altars to the queen were rer.r'ci, 
 And love-sick youths their am'rous vows preftr'd, 
 While fair-hair'd damsels (a lacivious train) 
 With wanton rites ador'd her gentle reign, 
 The silver-shafted Huntress of the woods, 
 Sought pendant shades, and bath'd in cooling floods. 
 In palmy Ddon by Scamandcr's side, 
 Or where Cvjister rclPcl his silver tide, 
 Melodious Phebus sang ; the Muses round 
 Alternate warbling to the heav'nly sound. 
 E'en the feign'd MONARCH of heav'n's bright abode. 
 High thron'd in gold, of Gods the sov'reign God, 
 Oft' time prefer'd the shade of Ida's grove 
 To all th' ambrosial feasts, and nectar'd cups above. 
 
 Behold, the rosy fmger'd morning dawn, 
 In saffron rob'cl, and blushing o'er the lawn I 
 Reflected from the clouds a radiant stream 
 Tips with etherial de\v the mountain's brim. 
 Th' unfolding roses, and the op'ning flow'rs 
 Imbibe the dev/, and strew the varied bo r ,v 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 Diffuse nectarious sweets around, and glov/ 
 With all the colors of the show'ry bow. 
 Th' industrious bees their balmy toil renew, 
 Buzz o'er the field, and sip the rosy dew. 
 But yonder comes th' illustrious Cod of day, 
 Invests the east, and gilds th' etherial way ; 
 The groves rejoice, the feather'd nations sing, 
 Echo the mountains and .the vallies ring* 
 
 Hail Orb ! array'd with majesty and fire, 
 That bids each sable shade of night retire 1 
 Fountain oflight ! with burning glory crown'd, 
 Darting a deluge of effulgence round 1 
 Wak'd by thy genial and prolific ray, 
 Nature resumes her vendure and looks gay : 
 Fresh blooms the rose, and drooping plants revive, 
 The groves re-flourish, and the forests live. 
 Deep in the teeming earth, the rip'ning ore 
 Confesses thy consolidating po\\'r ; 
 Hence labor draws her tools, and artists mould 
 The fusile silver and the ductile gold : 
 Hence war is furnish'd and the regal shield 
 Like lightning flashes o'er th' iliumin'd field. 
 If them so fair with delegated light, 
 That all heav'n's splendors vanish at thy sight ; 
 With what effulgence must the ocean glow ! 
 From which thy borrow'd beams incessant flow 1 
 Th' exhaustless source, whose single smiles supplies, 
 Th' unnumber'd orbs that gild the spangled skies I 
 
 Oft' would I view, in admiration lost, 
 Heav'n's sumptuous canopy, and starry host ; 
 With level'd tube and astronomic eye, 
 Pursue the planets whirling through the sky : 
 Immensurable vault ! where thunders roll, 
 And forky lightnings flash from pole to pole- 
 Say, railing infidel ! canst thou survey 
 Yon globe of fire, that gives the golden day, 
 Th' harmonious structure of this vast machine, 
 And not confess its Architect divine ? 
 Then go, vain wretch tho' deathless be thy soul, 
 Go, swell the rioU and exhaust the bowl ; 
 e 
 
1 SKI 
 
 326 APPENDIX, 
 
 Plunge into vice, humanity resign, 
 Go, fill tbf: stie, and bristle into swine ! 
 
 None but a pow'r omnipotent and wise 
 Could frame this earth, or spread the boundless skies ; 
 lie made the whole ; at his omnific call 
 From formless chaos rose this spacious ball, 
 And one ALMIGHTY, GOD is seen in all. 
 By him our cup is crown'd, our table spread 
 With luscious wine, and life-sustaining bread. 
 What countless wonders doth the earth contain ! 
 What countless wonders the unfathom'd main I 
 Redrop'd with gold, there scaly nations shine, 
 1 Taunt coral groves, or Irish the foming brine. 
 OVAM's glories blaze all nature round, 
 v Liven, on earth, and in the deeps profound ; 
 Ambitious of his name, the warblers sing, 
 And praise their maker while they hail the spring : 
 The zephyrs breathe it, and the thunders roar, 
 While surge to surge, and shore resounds to shore-- 
 But MAN, endu'd with an immortal mind, 
 His Maker's image, and for heaven design'd ! 
 To loftier notes his raptur'd voice should raise, 
 And chaunt subiimer hymns to his Creator's praise. 
 
 When rising Phcbus ushers in the morn.. 
 And golden beams the impurpled skies adorn : 
 V7ak'd by the gentle murmur of the floods, 
 Or the soft music of the waving woods ; 
 Rising from sleep with the melodious quire, 
 To solemn sounds I'd tune the hallow'd lyre. 
 Thy name, O GOD ! should tremble on my tongue? 
 Till ev'ry grove prov'd vocal to my song- : 
 (Delightful task ! with dawning light to sing, 
 Triumphant hymns to heav'n's eternal king.) 
 Some courteous angel should my breast inspire. 
 Attune my lips, and guide the warbled wire, 
 While sportive echoes catch the sacred sound, 
 Swell ev'ry note, and bear the music round ; 
 While mazy streams meand'ring to the main 
 Hang in suspense to hear the heavenly strain* 
 And hush'd to silence all the feather'd throng. 
 V.tentive listen to the tuneful song. 
 
APPEND! X. 
 
 Father of Light ! exhaustless source of good I 
 Supreme, eternal, self-existent God ! 
 Before the beamy Sun dispensed a ray, 
 Flam'd in the azure vault, and gave the day : 
 Before the glimm'ring Moon with borrow *d light. 
 Shone queen amid the silver host of night ; 
 High in the heav'ns, thou reign'clst superior Lord, 
 By suppliant angels worshiped and aclor'd. 
 With the celestial choir then let me join 
 In cheerful praises to the pow'r Divine. 
 To sing thy praise, do thou, O GOD ! inspire 
 A mortal breast with more than mortal fire ; 
 In dreadful majesty thou sit'st enthron'd, 
 With light encircled, and with glory crown'd ; 
 Through all infinitude extends thy reign, 
 For thee, nor heav'n, nor heav'n of heav'ns contain ; 
 But though thy throne isjix'd above the sky, 
 Thy omnipresence fills immensity* 
 Saints rob'd in white, to thee their anthems bring, 
 And radiant Martyrs hallelujahs sing- : 
 Heav'n's universal host their voices raise 
 In one eternal chorus , to thy praise ; 
 And round thy awful throne, with one accord, 
 Sing, Holy, Holy, Holy, is the Lord^ 
 At thy creative voice, from ancient night, 
 Sprang smiling beauty, and yon worlds of light : 
 Thou spak'st the planetary Chorus roll'd, 
 And all th' expanse, was starr'd with beamy gold ; 
 Let there be light, said GOD, Light instant shone, 
 And from the orient, burst the golden Sun ; 
 Heav'n's gazing hierarchies, with glad surprise, 
 Saw the first morn invest the recent skies, 
 And straight th' exulting troops thy throne surround 
 With thousand thousand harps of heav'nly sound : 
 Thrones, powers, dominions, (ever shining trains !) 
 Shouted thy praises in triumphant strains ; 
 Great are thy works, they sing, and all around, 
 Great are thy works, the echoing heav'ns resound. 
 The effulgent sun, insufferably bright, 
 Is but a beam of thy o'erflowing light ; 
 The tempest is thy breath : the thunder hurl'd, 
 Tremendous roars thy vengeance o'er thee world ; 
 
328 APPENDIX. 
 
 Thou bow'st the heav'ns, the smoking mountains nod 
 
 Rocks fall to dust, and natwre owns her God ; 
 
 Pale tyrants shrink, the atheist stands aghast, 
 
 And impious kings in horror breathe their last, 
 
 To this great God alternately I'd pay 
 
 The ev'ning anthem, and the morning lay. 
 
 For sov'reign Geld I never would repine, 
 Nor wish the glittering dust of monarchs mine. 
 What though high columns heave into the skies^ 
 Gay ceilings shine, and vaulted arches rise ; 
 Though fretted gold the sculptured roof adorn. 
 The rubies redden, and the jaspers burn \ 
 Or what, alas ! avails the gay attire 
 To wretched man, who breathes but to expire !. 
 Oft' on the vilest, riches are bestow 'd, 
 To show their meanness in the sight of Goc T *. 
 High from a dunghill, see a Dives rise, 
 And, Titan like, insult th' avenging skies : 
 The crowd, in adulation calls him Lord, 
 By thousands courted, flatter'd, and ador'd : 
 In riot plung'd, and drunk with earthly joys, 
 No higher thought his grov'ling soul employs j 
 The poor he scourges with an iron rod, 
 And from his bosom banishes his God. 
 But oft' in height of wealth and beauty's bloom, 
 Deluded man, is fated to the tomb ! 
 For, lo ! he sickens, swift his color JVies, 
 And rising mists obscure his swimming eyes : 
 Around his bed his weeping friends bemoan, 
 Ax tort tli' unwilling tear, and \vish him gone ; 
 His sorrowing heir augments the tender shov 
 Deplores his death yet hails the dying hour. 
 Ah bitter comfort ! Sad relief, to die 1 
 Though sunk in down, beneath the canopy ! 
 His eyes no more shall see the cheerful light, 
 Weigh'd down by death in everlasting night : 
 And now the great, the rich, the proud, the r 
 Lie breathless, cold -nnanimated clay ! 
 He that just now was fhuter'd by the croud 
 w ith high applause, and acclamations loud ; 
 <- steeled his bosom to the orphar/s cries 
 TW down torrents from the widow's eyes 
 
APPENDIX. 329 
 
 Whom like a God the rabble did adore 
 Hegard him now and, lo 1 he is no more. 
 
 My eyes no dazzling vestments should behold 
 With gems instarr'd and stiff with woven gold ; 
 But the tall ram his downy ileece afford 
 To clothe, in modest garb; his frugal lord ; 
 Thus the great Father of mankind was clrest, 
 When shaggy hides compos'd his flowing vest ; 
 Doom'd to the cumb'roiis load, for his offence, 
 When clothes supply 'd the want of innocence : 
 But now his sons (forgetful whence they came) 
 Glitter in gems, and glory in their shame. 
 
 Oft' would I wander through the dewy field, 
 Where clusfring roses balmy fragrance yield ; 
 Or in lone grots, for contemplation made, 
 Converse with angels and the mighty dead.- 
 For all around unnumber'd spirits fly, 
 Waft on the breeze, or walk the liquid sky, 
 Inspire the poet with repeated dreams 
 Who gives his hallow 'd muse to sacred themes, 
 Protect the just, serene their gloomy hours, 
 Becalm their slumbers, and refresh their pow'rs, 
 Methinks I see th' immortal Beings fly, 
 And swiftly shoot athwart the streaming sky : 
 Hark ! a melodious voice I seem to hear, 
 And heav'nly sounds invade my list'ning ear 1 
 4J Be not afraid of us, innoxious band, 
 u Thy cell surrounding by divine command ; 
 " E'er while like thee, we led our lives below, 
 " (Sad lives of pain, of misery, and woe !) 
 " Long by affliction's boist'rous tempests tost, 
 " We reach'd at length the ever blissful coast : 
 " Now in th' embow'ring groves, and lawns above* 
 JC We taste the raptures of immortal Iove 3 
 a Attune the golden harp in roseate bow'rs, 
 " Or bind our temples with unfading ilow'rs* 
 " Oft' on kind errands bent, we cut the air, 
 " To guard the righteous, heav'n's peculiar care ! 
 " Avert impending harms, their minds compose, 
 " Inspire gay dreams, and prompt their soft repose. 
 E e 2 
 
330 APPENDIX. 
 
 : When from thy tongue divine hosannas roll?. 
 ; And sacred raptures swell thy rising soul, 
 To heay'n we bear thy pray'rs like rich perfumes, 
 ' Where, by the throne, the golden censer fumes ;, 
 '' And when with age thy head is silver'd o'er, 
 c And cold in death, thy bosom beats no more, 
 " Thy soul exulting shall desert its clay, 
 ic And mount, triumphant, to eternal day." 
 But to improve the intellectual mind, 
 Reading should be to contemplation join'd. 
 First I'd collect from the Parnassian spring, 
 V/hat muses dictate, and what poets sing 
 Virgil, as Prince, shou'd wear the laurePd crown* 
 And other bards pay homage to his throne ; 
 The blood of heroes now eiTus'd so long, 
 Will run for ever purple through his song. 
 See ! how he mounts toward the blest abodes* 
 On Planets rides, and talks with derm-gods I 
 How do our ravish 'd spirits melt away, 
 When in his song Sicilian shepherds play ! 
 But what a splendor strikes the dazzled eye,, 
 When Dido shines in awful majesty ! 
 Embroider'd purple clad the Tyrian queen, 
 Her motion graceful, and august her mien ;. 
 A golden zone her royal limbs ernbrac'cl 
 A golden quiver rattled by her waist. 
 See her proud steed majestically prance, 
 Contemn the trumpet, and deride the lance 1 
 In crimson trappings, glorious to behold, 
 Confus'dly gay with interwoven gold I 
 He champs the bitt, and throws the foam around^ 
 Impatient paws, and tears the solid ground. 
 How stern JEneas thunders through the field ! 
 With tow'ring helmet, and refulgent shield ! 
 Coursers o'erturn'd, and mighty warriors slain, 
 Deform 'd with gore, lie welt'ring on the plain. 
 Struck through with wounds, "41-fated chieftains lie ?v 
 Frown e'en in death, and threaten as they die. 
 Through the thick squadrons see the Hero bound ! 
 (His helmet flashes, and his arms resound !) 
 All grim with rage, he frowns o'er Turmts' h<:acl ? 
 (Rekindled ire ! for blcoming Pallas dead) 
 
APPENDIX-. 331 
 
 Then in liis bosom plung'd the shining blade 
 The soul indignant sought the Stygian shade ! 
 
 The far fam'd bards that grac'd Britannia's isle^ 
 Should next compose the -venerable pile. 
 Great Milton first, for tow'ring thought venown'cL 
 Parent of song, and fam'd the world around ! 
 His glowing breast divine Urania fir'd, 
 Or GOD himself the immortal Bard inspir'd* 
 Borne on triumphant wings he takes his flight, 
 Explores all heaven, and treads the realms of light ^ 
 In martial pomp he clothes th' angelic train, 
 While warring miriads shake th' etherial plain* 
 First Michael stalks, high tow 'ring o'er the rest 
 With heav'nly plumage nodding on his crest ; 
 Impenetrable arms his limbs infold, 
 Eternal adamant, and burning gold ! 
 Sparkling in fiery mail, with dire delight, 
 Rebellious Satan animates the fight : 
 Armipotent they sink in rolling smoke, 
 .All heav'n resounding to its center shook. 
 To crush his foes, and quell the dire alarms 
 Messiah sparkled in refulgent arms, 
 In radiant panoply divinely bright 
 His limbs incas'd he flash'd devouring light. 
 On burning wheels, o'er heav'n's crystalline road 
 Thunder'd the chariot of the ^W/a/God ; 
 The burning wheels on golden axles turn'd 
 With flaming gems the golden axles burn'd. 
 Lo ! the apostate host, with terror struck, 
 Roll back by millions ! Th' Empyrean shook ! 
 Scepters, and orbid shields, and crowns of cold, 
 Cherubs and Seraphs in confusion rolFd ; 
 Till from his hand the tripple thunder huiTd ; 
 Compell'd them headlong, to th' infernal world. 
 
 Then tuneful Pofic, whom all the nine inspire^ 
 With safihic sweetness, and Pindaric fire. 
 Father of verse ! melodious and divine ! 
 Next peerless Milton should distinguish'd shine. 
 Smooth flow his numbers when he paints the grove? 
 Th' inraptur'd virgins list'ning into love. 
 
332 APPENDIX. 
 
 But when the night, and hoarse resounding storm 
 Rush on the deep, and Neptune's face deform, 
 Rough runs the verse, the son'rous numbers roar 
 Like the hoarse surge that thunders on the shore. 
 But when he sings th' exhilirated swains, 
 Th' embowering groves, and Windsor's blissful plains, 
 Our eyes are ravish'd with the sylvan scene, 
 Embroider'd fields, and groves in living green : 
 His lays the verdure of the meads prolong, 
 And wither'd forests blossom in his song, 
 Thames* silver streams his flowing verse admire, 
 And cease to murmur while he tunes his lyre. 
 
 Next shou'd appear great Dryderfs lofty muse, 
 For who would Dryden's polish'd verse refuse ? 
 His lips were moist'ned in Parnassus' spring, 
 And Phcbus taught his laurcat son to sing. 
 How long did Virgil untranslated moan, 
 His beauties fading, and his flights unknown ; 
 Till Drydcn rose, and in exalted strain, 
 Re-sang the fortune of the god-like man ? 
 Again the Trogan prince with dire delight, 
 Dreadful in arms, demands the ling'ring fight : 
 Again Camilla glows with martial fire, 
 Drives armies back, and makes all Troy retire. 
 With more than native lustre Virgil shines, 
 And gains subllmer heights in Dry den' *# lines. 
 
 The gentle Watts who strings his silver lyre 
 To sacred odes, and heaven's all-ruling fire ; 
 Who scorns th* applause of the licentious stage, 
 And mounts you 5 sparkling worlds with hollow'd rage ? 
 Compels my thoughts to wing the heav'nly road, 
 And wafts my soul, exulting, to my God ; 
 No fabled Nine harmonious bard ! inspire 
 Thy raptur'd breast with such seraphic fire ; 
 But prompting Angels warm thy boundless rage. 
 Direct thy thoughts, and animate thy page. 
 Blest man 1 for spotless sanctity rever'd, 
 Lov'd by the good, and by the guilty fear'd, 
 Blest man ! from gay delusive scenes remov'd, 
 Thy Maker loving, by thy Maker lov'd. 
 
APPENDIX, 
 
 To God thou tun'st thy consecrated lays, 
 
 Nor meanly blush to sing* Jehovah's praise. 
 
 Oh, did, like thee, each laurel'd bard delight 
 
 To paint Religion in her native light, 
 
 Not then with Plays the lab'ring press would groan, 
 
 Nor Vice defy the Pulpit and the Throne ; 
 
 No impious rhymer charm a vicious age, 
 
 Nor prostrate virtue groan beneath their rage : 
 
 But themes divine in lofty numbers rise, 
 
 Fill the wide earth, and echo through the skies. 
 
 These for Delight ; for Profit I would read 
 The labor'd volumes of the learned dead, 
 Sagacious Locke, by Providence design'd 
 T* exalt, instruct, and rectify the mind. 
 Th' unconquerable Sage* whom virtue fir'd 
 And from the tyrant's lawless rage retir'd, 
 When victor Cesar freed unhappy Rome 
 From Pomfiey's chains, to substitute his own. 
 Longinus, Livy, fam'd Thucydides, 
 Quinlillian, Plato and Demosthenes, 
 Persuasive Tally and Corduba's Sage,\ 
 Who fell by .Acre's unrelenting rage ; 
 Him \ whom ungrateful Athens doom'd to bleed, 
 Despis'd when living, and deplor'd when dead. 
 Raleigh I'd read with ever fresh delight, 
 While ages past rise present to my sight : 
 Ah man unblest ! he foreign realms explor'd, 
 Then fell a victim to his country's sword 1 
 Nor should great Derham pass neglected by, 
 Observant sage ! to whose deep-piercing eye 
 Nature's stupendous works expanded lie, 
 Nor he, Britannia, thy unmatch'd renown I 
 (Adjudg'd to wear the philosophic crown) 
 Who on the solar orb uplifted rode, 
 And scan'd th' unfathomable works of God ! 
 Who bound the silver planets to their spheres. 
 And tracM th 5 elliptic curve of blazing stars I 
 Immortal Newton ; whose illustrious name 
 Will shine on records of eternal fame. 
 
 * Cato. j Seneca. \ Socrates, 
 
334 APPEND IX, 
 
 By love directed, I wou'cl choose a wife, 
 T' improve my bliss and ease the load of life* 
 Hail Wedlock ! hail, inviolable tye ! 
 Perpetual fountain of domestic joy ! 
 Love, friendship, honor, truth, and pure delight 
 Harmonious mingle in the nuptial rite* 
 In Eden first the holy state began, 
 When perfect innocence distinguish'd man ; 
 The human pair, th' Almighty Pontiff led, 
 Gay as the morning to the bridal bed ; 
 A dread solemnity th' espousals grac'd, 
 dngcls the Witnesses, and GOD the PRIEST I 
 All earth exulted on the nuptial hour, 
 And voluntary roses deck'd the bower ; 
 The joyous birds on every blossom'd spray, 
 Sung Hymeneans to the important day, 
 While Philomela swell'd the spousal song> 
 And Paradise with gratulation rung. 
 
 Relate, inspiring muse ! where shall I find 
 A blooming virgin with an angel mind ? 
 Unblemish*d as the white-rob'cl virgin quire? 
 That fed, O Rome I thy consecrated fire ? 
 By reason aw'd, ambitious to be good, 
 Averse to vice, and zealous for her God ? 
 Eel ate, in what blest region can I find 
 Such bright perfections in a female mind ? 
 What Pherdx woman breathes the vital air 
 So greatly good, and so divinely fair ? 
 Sure, not the gay and fashionable train, 
 Licentious, proud, immoral and profane ; 
 Who spend their golden hours in antic dress, 
 Malicious whispers, and inglorious ease.* 
 
 Lo ! round the board a shining train appears 
 In rosy beauty, and in prime of years ! 
 This hates a flounce, and this a flounce approves^ 
 This shows the trophies of her former loves ; 
 Polly avers that Sylvia drest in green, 
 When last at Church the gaudy Nymph was seen ; 
 Chloe condemns her optics, and will lay 
 Twas azure sattin, interstreak'd with grey ; 
 
APPENDIX. 335 
 
 Zwr r/ 5 invested with judicial pow'r 
 
 Awards 'twas neither and the strife is o'er. 
 
 Then parrots, lap-dogs, monkeys, squirrels, beaux, 
 
 Fans, ribbands, tuckers, patches, furbeloes, 
 
 In quick succession, through their fancies run, 
 
 And dance incessant on the flippant tongue. 
 
 And when fatigu'd with ev'ry other sport, 
 
 The belles prepare to grace the sacred court. 
 
 They marshal all their forces in array, 
 
 To kill with glances ami destroy in play. 
 
 Two skilful maids with reverential fear 
 
 In wanton wreaths collect their silken hair ; 
 
 Two paint their cheeks, and round their temples pour 
 
 The fragrant unguent, and th 3 ambrosial sho\v'r ; 
 
 One pulls the shape-creating stays, and one 
 
 Encircles round her waist the golden zone ; 
 
 Not with more toil t' improve immortal charms. 
 
 Strove Juno, Venus^ and the Queen of Arms. 
 
 When Priam's Son adjudg'd the golden prize> 
 
 To the resistless beauty of the skies. 
 
 At length equip'd in love's enticing arms, 
 
 With all that glitters and with all that charms, 
 
 Th' ideal goddesses to church repair, 
 
 Peep through the fan and mutter o'er a pray*r ; 
 
 Or listen to the organ's pompous sound, 
 
 Or eye the gilded images around ; 
 
 Or, deeply studied in coquetish rules, 
 
 Aim wily glances at unthinking fools ; 
 
 Or show the lily hand with graceful air, 
 
 Or wound the fopling with a lock of hair : 
 
 And when the hated discipline is o'er, 
 
 And Misses tortur'd with Refient no more, 
 
 They mount the pictur'd coach and to the play, 
 
 The celebrated idols hie away. 
 
 Not so the Lass that should my joys improte. 
 With solid friendship, and connubial love ; 
 A native bloom, with intermingled white, 
 Should set her features in a pleasing light ; 
 Like Helen flushing with unrivall'd charms, 
 When raptur'd Paris darted in her arms* 
 But what, alas ! avails a ruby cheek, 
 A downy bosom, or a snowy neck ! 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 Charms ill supply the want of innocence, 
 
 Nor beauty forms intrinsic excellence : 
 
 But in her breast let moral beauties shine, 
 
 Supernal grace and purity divine : 
 
 Sublime her reason, and her native wit 
 
 Unstrain'cl with pedantry, and low conceit : 
 
 Her fancy lively, and her judgment free 
 
 From female prejudice and bigotry ; 
 
 Averse to idle pomp, and outward show, 
 
 The flatt'ring coxcomb, and fantastic beau. 
 
 The fop's impertinence she should despise, 
 
 Though sorely 'wounded by her radiant eyes ; 
 
 But pay due rev'rence to th* exalted mind 
 
 By learning polish'd and by wit renVd, 
 
 Who all her virtues, without guile, commends> 
 
 And all her faults as freely reprehends, 
 
 Soft Hymen's rites her passion should approve, 
 
 And in her bosom glow the flames of love : 
 
 To me her soul by sacred friendship, turn, 
 
 And I, for her with equal friendship burn : 
 
 In every stage of life afford relief, 
 
 Partake my joys, and sympathize iy grief; 
 
 Unshaken, walk in virtue's peaceful road, 
 
 Nor bribe her reason to pursue the mode ; 
 
 Mild as the saint whose errors are forgiv'n 
 
 Calm as a vestal, and compos'd as heav'n. 
 
 This be the partner, this the lovely wife 
 
 That should embellish and prolong my life ; 
 
 A nymph ! who might a second fall inspire, 
 
 And fill a glowing Cherub with desire ! 
 
 With her I'd spend the pleasurable day, 
 
 While fleeting minutes gayly danc'd away : 
 
 With her Fd walk, delighted o"er the green, 
 
 Through ev'ry blooming mead, and rural scene. 
 
 Or sit in open fields damask'd with flow'rs, 
 
 Or where cool shades imbrown the noon-tide bow'rs 
 
 Imparadis'd within my eager arms, 
 
 I'd reign the happy monarch of her charms ; 
 
 Oft' on her panting bosom would I lay, 
 
 And, in dissolving raptures, melt away ; 
 
 Then lull'd by nightingales, to balmy rest, 
 
 My blooming fair shou'd slumber at my breast. 
 
APPENDIX. 337 
 
 And when decyepid age (frail mortals doom !) 
 .-Should bend my withered body to the tomb, 
 No warbling Syrens should retard my flight 
 To heav'nly mansions of unclouded light. 
 Though Death with his imperial horrors crown'd 
 Terrific grin'd, and formidably frown'd, 
 Offences pardon 'cl, and remitted sin, 
 Should form a calm serenity within t 
 Blessing my natal and my mortal hour, 
 (My soul committed to th' eternal pow'r) 
 inexorable Death should smile, for I 
 Who knew to LIVE, would never fear to ui. 
 
 HYMNS. 
 
 HYMN I. 
 
 ^EGIN the high celestial strain? 
 
 My ravish'cl soul, and sing 
 A solemn hymn of grateful praise 
 
 To heaven's Almighty King. 
 Ye curling fountains as ye roll 
 
 Your silver waves along, 
 Whisper to all your verdant shores 
 
 The subject of my song. 
 "Retain it long y' echoing rocks, 
 
 The sacred sound retain, 
 And from your hollow winding caves 
 
 Return it oft again : 
 Bear it, ye winds on all your wings 
 
 To distant climes away, 
 And round the wide-extended world 
 
 My lofty theme convey. 
 Take the glad burden of his name. 
 
 Ye clouds, as you arise, 
 Whether to deck the golden morn, 
 
 Or shade the ev'ning skies, 
 F f 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 Let harmless thunders roll along 
 
 The smooth etherial plain, 
 And answer from the chrystal vault 
 
 To ev'ry flying strain. 
 Long let it warble round the spheres 
 
 And echo through the sky, 
 Till angels, with immortal skill, 
 
 Improve the harmony. 
 While I, with sacred rapture fir'd, 
 
 The blest Creator sing, 
 And warble consecrated lays 
 
 To heaven's Almighty King. 
 
 HYMN II On HEAVEN 
 
 HAIL sacred Salem ! plac'd on high, 
 Seat of the mighty King ! 
 What thought can grasp thy boundless bliss ! 
 
 What tongue thy glories oing ? 
 Thy chrystal tow'rs and palaces 
 
 Magnificently rise, 
 And dart their beauteous lustre 
 
 Round the empyrean skies. 
 The voice of triumph in thy streets 
 
 And acclamations sound : 
 Gay banquets in thy splendid courts, 
 
 And purest joys abound. 
 Bright smiles on every face appear. 
 
 Rapture in every eye : 
 From every mouth glad anthems flow. 
 
 And charming harmony. 
 Illustrious day for ever there 
 
 Streams from the face divine ; 
 No pale-fac'd moon e'er glimmers forth, 
 
 Nor stars, nor sun decline. 
 No scorching heats, no piercing colds, 
 
 The changing seasons bring ; 
 But o'er the^fields mild breezes there 
 
 Breathe an eternal spring. 
 The flowers with lasting beauty shine, 
 
 And deck the smiling ground : 
 While flowing streams of pleasure all 
 
 The happy plains surround. 
 
APPENDIX. 339 
 
 HYMN III. The CREATION. 
 
 NOW let the spacious world arise, 
 Said the Creator Lord : 
 At once th' obedient earth and skies 
 
 Rose at his sov'reign word. 
 Dark was the deep, the waters lay 
 
 Confus'd and drown'd the land : 
 lie call'd the light, the new-born day: 
 
 Attends on his command. 
 He bids the clouds ascend on high; 
 
 The clouds ascend, and bear 
 A wat'ry treasure to the sky, 
 
 And float on softer air. 
 The liquid Element below, 
 
 Was gather'd by his hand ; 
 The rolling seas together flow, 
 
 And leave a solid land. 
 With herbs and plants (a flov/ry birth) 
 
 The naked globe he crown'd, 
 Ere there was rain to bless the earth ? 
 
 Or sun to warm the ground. 
 Then he adorn'd the upper skies, 
 
 Behold the sun appears ; 
 The moon and stars in order rise, 
 
 To mark our months and years. 
 Out of the deep th' Almighty King 
 
 Did vital beings frame, 
 And painted fowls of ev'ry wing, 
 
 And fish of every name. 
 He gave the lion and the worm 
 
 At once their wond'rous birth : 
 And grazing beasts of various form 
 
 Rose from the teeming earth. 
 Adam was form'd of equal clay, 
 
 The sov'reign of the rest ; 
 Design'd for nobler ends than they? 
 
 With God's own image blest. 
 Thus glorious in the Maker's eye 
 
 The young Creation stood ; 
 He saw the building from on high, 
 
 His word pronounc'cl it good* 
 
> APPENDIX. 
 
 The LORD'S PRAYER. 
 
 FATHER of all ! we bow lo thee 
 Who dwells in heaven ador'd ; 
 But present still through all thy works 
 
 The universal Lord. 
 All hallow'd be thy sacred name, 
 
 O'er all the nations known ; 
 Advance the kingdom of thy grace, 
 
 And let thy glory come. 
 A grateful homage may we yield, 
 
 With hearts resign'd to thee ; 
 And as in heaven thy will is done, 
 
 On earth so let it be. 
 From day to day we humbly own- 
 
 The hand that feeds us still : 
 Give us our bread, and we may rest 
 
 Contented in thy will. 
 Our sins and trespasses we own ; 
 
 O may they be forgiv'n ! 
 That mercy we to others show, 
 
 We pray the like from Heaven. 
 Our life let still thy grace direct, 
 
 From evil guard our way, 
 And in temptation's fatal path 
 
 Permit us not to stray. 
 For thine the pow'r, the kingdom thine? 
 
 All glory's due to thee : 
 Thine from eternity they were, 
 
 And thine shall ever be. 
 
 The UNIVERSAL PRAYER. 
 
 BY MR. POPE. 
 
 BATHER of all, in ev'ry age, 
 
 In ev'ry clime ador'd, 
 By saint, by savage, and by sage, 
 
 Jehovah, Jove, or Lord ! 
 Thou great First Cause, least understood 
 
 Who all my sense confinM 
 To know but this, that thou art good, 
 
 And that myself am blind : 
 Yet gave me, in this dark estate. 
 
 To see the good from ill ; 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 And binding Natiare fast in fate, 
 
 Left free the human will. 
 What conscience dictates to be done? 
 
 Or warns rne not to do, 
 This, teach me more than hell to shun, 
 
 That, more than heav'n pursue. 
 What blessings thy free bounty gives,, 
 
 Let me not cast away ; 
 For God is paid when man receives, 
 
 T' enjoy is to obey. 
 Yet not to earth's contracted span, 
 
 Thy goodness let me bound, 
 Or think thee Lord alone of manj 
 
 When thousand worlds are round i 
 Let not this weak unknowing hand 
 
 Presume thy bolts to throw, 
 And deal damnation round the land, 
 
 On each I judge thy foe. 
 If I am right, thy grace impart, 
 
 Still in the right to stay ; 
 If I am wrong, O teach my heart 
 
 To find that better way. 
 Save me alike from foolish pride, 
 
 Or impious eli scon tent, 
 At ought thy wisdom has dcny'd, 
 
 Or ought thy goodness lent* 
 Teach me to feel another's woe> 
 
 To hide the fault I see ;. 
 That mercy I to others show, 
 
 That mercy show to me. 
 Mean though I am, not wholly so, 
 
 Since quicken'd by thy breath ; 
 Oh lead me wheresoe'er I go, 
 
 Through this day's life or death- 
 This day be bread and peace my lot : 
 
 All else beneath, the sun, 
 Thou know'st if best bestow'd or not, 
 
 And let thy will be done. 
 To thee, whose temple is all space, 
 
 Whose altar, earth, sea, skies i 
 One chorus let all being raise ! 
 
 All nature's incense rise ! 
 F f 2 
 
342 APPENDIX. 
 
 CHARACTER OF MAN. 
 
 KNOW then thyself ; presume not God to sc ;. 
 The proper study of mankind, is man. 
 Plac'd on this isthmus of a middle state, 
 A being darkly wise, and rudely great : 
 With too much knowledge for the sceptic side. 
 With too much weakness for the stoic's pride. 
 lie hangs between ; in doubt to act or rest, 
 In doubt, to deem himself a God, or btast \ 
 In doubt, his mind or body to prefer ; 
 Born, but to die ; and reas'ning, but to err : 
 Alike in ignorance, his reason such, 
 Whether he thinks too little or too much : 
 Chaos of thought and passion, all confus'd ; 
 Still by himself abus'd, or disabus'd : 
 Created, half to rise, and half t fall ; 
 Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all : 
 Sole judge of truth, in endless error huiTd ; 
 The glory, jest, and riddle of the world I 
 
 WINTER. 
 
 SEE ! Winter comes, to rule the varied year, 
 Sullen and sad, with all his rising train. 
 Vapors, and clouds, and storms. Be these my theme \ 
 These, that exalt the soul to solemn thought, 
 And heavenly musing. Welcome, kindred glooms ! 
 Congenial horrors, hail ! With frequent foot, 
 Pleas'd, have I, in my cheerful morn of life, 
 When, nurs'd by careless solitude I liv'cl, 
 And sung of nature with unceasing joy, 
 Pleas'd, have I war.dVed through your rough domain ; 
 Trod the pure virgin-snows, myself as pure ; 
 Heard the winds roar, and the big torrent burst ; 
 Or seen the deep fermenting tempest brew'd 
 In the grim evening sky. Thus pass the time. 
 Till, through the lucid chambers of the south, 
 Look'd out the joyous Spring, look'd out, and smiTd- 
 
 M 
 
 DOUGLAS'S ACCOUNT or HIMSELF. 
 Y name is Norval. On the Grampian hills 
 My father feeds his flocks ; a frugal swain. 
 
APPENDIX. 343 
 
 Whose constant cares were to increase his store> 
 
 And keep his only son, myself, at home. 
 
 For I had heard of battles, and I long'd 
 
 To follow to the field some warlike lord : 
 
 And heav'n soon granted what my sire deny'd. 
 
 This moon which rose last night, round as my shield* 
 
 Had not yet fill'd her horns when by her light, 
 
 A band of fierce barbarians, from the hill 
 
 Rush'd, like a torrent, down upon the vale, 
 
 Sweeping our flocks and herds. The shepherds fled 
 
 For safety and for succor. I alone, 
 
 With bended bow, and quiver full of arrows, 
 
 Hover'd about the enemy, and mark'd 
 
 Th6 road he took : then hasted to my friends, : 
 
 Whom, with a troop of fifty chosen men, 
 
 I met advancing. The pursuit I led, 
 
 'Till we o'ertook the spoil encumber'd foe. 
 
 We fought and conquer'd. Ere a sword was drawr.i ? 
 
 An arrow, from my bow, had pierc'd their chief, 
 
 Who wore, that day, the arms which now I wear* 
 
 Returning home in triumph, I disdain'd 
 
 The shepherd's slothful life : and having heard 
 
 That our good king had surnmon'd his bold peers> 
 
 To lead their warriors to the Carron side, 
 
 I left my father's house, and took with me 
 
 A chosen servant to conduct my steps 
 
 Yon trembling coward who forsook his master. 
 Journeying with this intent, I pass'd these towers ;. 
 directed, came this day, to do 
 , that gilds my humble name. 
 
 UNT OF THE MANNER IN WHICH HE 
 LEARNED THE ART OF WAR. 
 
 BENEATH a mountain's brow, the most remote 
 And inaccessible by shepherds trod, 
 li a deep cave, dug by no mortal hand, 
 Jft hermit liv'd a melancholy man, 
 *vVho was the wonder of our warrl'ring swains. 
 Austere and lonely, cruel to himself, 
 DidflVey report him ; the coi-J ear'h his bed, 
 r his drink; his food the shep'aerJ's alms. 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 I went to see him, and my heart was touch M 
 
 With rev'rence and with pity. Mild he spake, 
 
 And, entering on discourse, such stories told, 
 
 As made me oft revisit his sad cell. 
 
 For he had been a soldier in his youth, 
 
 And fought in famous battles, when the peers 
 
 Qf Europe, by the bold Godfredo led, 
 
 Against th' usurping iniklel display'd 
 
 The blessed cross, and won the Holy Land. 
 
 Pleas'd with my admiration, and the fire 
 
 His speech struck from me, the old man would shake 
 
 His years away, and act his young encounters. 
 
 Then having shown his wounds, he'd sit him down, 
 
 And all the live long day, discourse of war. 
 
 To help my fancy, in the smooth green turf 
 
 He cut the figures of the rnarshali'd hosts ; 
 
 Describ'd the motions, and explain'd the use, 
 
 Of the deep column and the lengthen'd line, 
 
 The square, the crescent, and the phalanx firm ; 
 
 For, all that Saracen or Christian knew 
 
 Of war's vast art> was to this hermit known* 
 
 Unhappy man !. 
 
 Returning homeward by Messina's port, 
 Loaded with wealth and honors bravely won, 
 A rude and boist'rous captain of the sea 
 Fasten 'd a quarrel on him. Fierce they fought ; 
 The stranger fell, and with his dying breath 
 Declar'd his name and lineage ! Mighty God ! 
 The soldier cry'd, my brother ! Oh 1 my brother !. 
 
 They exchang'd forgiveness : 
 And happy, in my mind, was he that died : 
 For many deaths has the survivor suffer'd. 
 In the wild desart on a rock he sits, 
 Or on some nameless stream's untrodden banks, 
 And ruminates all day his dreadful fate. 
 At times, alas ! not in his perfect mind ! 
 Holds dialogues with his lov'd brother's ghost ;. 
 And oft each night forsakes his sullen couch ? 
 To make sad orisons for him he slew. 
 
A P P_E N D I X. 345 
 
 BAUCIS AND PHILEMON. 
 
 IN ancient times, as story tells, 
 The saints would often leave their cells, 
 And stroll about ; but hide their quality, 
 To try good people's hospitality. 
 
 It happen'd, on a winter night, 
 As authors of the legend write, 
 Two brother-hermits, saints by trade, 
 Taking their tower in masquerade, 
 Disguis'd in tatter'd habits, went, 
 To a small village down in Kent ; 
 Where, in the stroller's canting strain, 
 They begg'd, from door to door, in vain ; 
 Tri'd every tone might pity win ; 
 But not a soul would let them in. 
 
 Our wund'ringf saints, in woeful state, 
 Treated at this ungodly rate, 
 Having through all the village pass'd, 
 To a small cottage came at Ia*t 7 
 Where dwelt a good old honest yeoman, 
 Call'd in the neighborhood, Philemon j 
 Who kindly did these saints invite 
 In his poor hut to pass the night ; 
 And, then the hospitable sire 
 Bid goody Baucis mend the fire ; 
 While, he from out the chimney, took 
 A flitch of Bacon off the hook, 
 And, freely from the fattest side, 
 Cit out large slices to be fry'd ; 
 Then stept aside, to fetch them drink? 
 Fill'd a large jug up to the brink : 
 Then saw it fairly twice go round ; 
 Yet (what is wonderful) they found 
 'Twas still replenished to the top, 
 As if they had not touch'd a drop. 
 
 The good old couple were amaz'd, 
 And often on each other gaz'd ; 
 For both were frighten'd to the heart, 
 And just began to cry What art ! 
 Then softly turn'd aside, to view 
 Whether the lights were turning h!ue ? 
 
346 A P P E N D I X. 
 
 The gentle pilgrims, soon aware on't, 
 Told them their calling, and their errand ; 
 " Good folks, you need not be afraid ; 
 ' We are but saints," thjjyiermits said ; 
 " No hurt shall come lo you or yours ; 
 " But for that pack ofcurlish boors, 
 " Not fit to live on Christian ground, 
 " They, and their houses, shall be drown'd ; 
 " While you see your cottage rise, 
 44 And grow a church before your eyes." 
 
 They scarce had spoke, when, fair and soft. 
 The roof began to mount aloft ; 
 Aloft rose every beam and rafter ; 
 The heavy wall elimb'd slowly after. 
 The chimney widen'd and grew higher, 
 Became a steeple with a spire. 
 The kettle to the top was hoist ; 
 With upside down, doom'd there to dwell* 
 'Tis now no kettle, but a bell. 
 A wooden jack, which had almost 
 Lost, by disuse, the art, to roast, 
 A sudden alteration feels, 
 Increased by new intestine wheels : 
 And, strait, against the steeple rear'd 
 Became a clock and still adher'd : 
 And, now, in love to household cares, 
 By a shrill voice, the hour declares, 
 Warning the housemaid, not to burn 
 The roast- meat which it cannot turn. 
 The easy chair began to crawl, 
 Like a huge snail, along the wall ; 
 There, stuck aloft, hi public view, 
 And, with small change, a pulpit grew, 
 A bed-stead of the antique mode, 
 Made up of timber many a lead. 
 Such as our ancestors did use, 
 Was metaraorphos'd into pews : 
 Which still their ancient nature keep, 
 By lodging folks disposed to sleep. 
 
 'The cottage, by such feats as thesfc, 
 Grown to a church by just degrees : 
 The hermits then desir'd their host 
 To ask for what they fancied most. 
 
APPENDIX. 247 
 
 Philemon, having paus'd a while, 
 Return'd them thanks in homely style ; 
 Then said " My house is grown so fine? 
 " Methinks I still would call it mine ; 
 " I'm old, and feign would live at ease 
 u Make me the parson, if ye please." 
 He spoke and presently, he feels 
 His grazier's coat fall down his heels : 
 He sees, yet hardly can believe. 
 About each arm, a pudding skeve ; 
 His waistcoat to a cassock grew ; 
 And both assum'd a sable hue : 
 But, being old, continued just 
 As thread-bare, and as full of dust. 
 His talk was now of tithes and clues ; 
 He smoakM his pipe, and read the news ; 
 Knew how to preach old sermons next ; 
 Vamp'd in the preface and the text : 
 At christ'nings, well could act his part, 
 And had the service ai! by heart : 
 Found his head fill'd with many a system ; 
 But classic aitthors-~-he ne'er miss'd 'em. 
 
 Thus, having furnish'd up a parson, 
 Dame Baucis next, they play'd their farce on,-. 
 Instead of homespun coifs, were seen, 
 Good pinners, edg'd with colberteen ; 
 Her petticoat transform J d apace, 
 Became black sattin, flounc'd with lace. 
 Plain Goody would no longer down ; 
 'Twas Madam, in her grogram gown. 
 Philemon was in great surprise. 
 And hardly could believe his eyes ; 
 Amaz'd to see her look so prim, 
 And she admire! as much at him. 
 
 Thus happy in their change of life, 
 Were, several ye rs this man and wife ; 
 When, on a day (which prov'd their last) 
 Discoursing o'er old stories past, 
 They went, by chance, amidst their talk, 
 To the Church-yard, to take a walk ; 
 When Baucis hastily cried out, 
 i$ My dear I see your forehead sprout." 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 " Sprout 1" quoth the man, " what's this you tell us, 
 
 4< I hope you don't believe me jealous : 
 
 " But yet methinks I feel it true : 
 
 " And, really, yours is budding too 
 
 u Nay, now 1 cannot stir my foot ; 
 
 u It feels as if 'twere taking root." 
 
 Description would but tire my muse : 
 
 In short they both were turn'd to yews* 
 
 Old Goodman Dobson of the green, 
 Hemembers, he the trees fias seen : 
 He'll talk of them from morn to night, 
 And goes with foolks to show the sight. 
 On Sundays, after evening prayer, 
 He gathers all the parish there ; 
 Points out the place of either yew ; 
 " Here Baucis, there Philemon grew ; 
 IC Till, once, a parson of our town, 
 *' To mend his barn, cut Baucis down ; 
 44 At which, 'tis hard to be believ'd 
 " How much the other tree was griev'd ; 
 61 Grew scrubby, died a-top, was stunted ; 
 " So the next parson stubb'd, and burnt it." 
 
 ON HAPPINESS. 
 H happiness ! our being's end and aim, 
 
 Good, pleasure, ease, content ! whate'er thy name '. 
 That something still which prompts th' eternal sigh. 
 For which we bear to live, or dare to die : 
 Which still so near us, yet beyond us lies, 
 O'erlook'd, seen double, by the fool, and wise : 
 Plant of celestial seed ! if drop'd below, 
 Say, in what mortal soil thou deign'st to grow : 
 Fair op'ning to some court's propitious shrine ; 
 Or deep with di'monds in the flaming mine ? 
 'Twin'd with wreaths Parnassian raurels yield ; 
 Or reap'd in iron harvests of the lield. 
 Where grows ? where grows it not ? If vain our toil? 
 We ought to blame the culture, not the soil. 
 Fix'd to no spot is happiness sincere ; 
 'Tis no where to be found, or ev'ry where. 
 
 Order is heav'n's first law : and this confest, 
 Seme are and must be greater than the rest j 
 
APPENDIX. 34') 
 
 More rich, more wise. But, who infers from hence 
 
 That such are happier, shocks all common sense, 
 
 Heaven to mankind impartial we confess, 
 
 If all are equal in their happiness. 
 
 But mutual wants this happiness increase : 
 
 All nature's difference keeps all nature's peace 
 
 Condition, circumstance is not the thing ; 
 
 Bliss is the same in subject, or in king : 
 
 In who obtain defence, or who defend ; 
 
 In him who is, or him who finds a friend. 
 
 ^Fortune her gifts may variously dispose, 
 And these be happy cali'd, unhappy those ; 
 But heaven's just balance equal will appear, 
 While those .are plac'cl in hope, and these in fear ; 
 -Nor present good or ill, the joy or curse, 
 But future views of better, or cf worse. 
 
 Oh, sons of earth ! attempt ye still to rise, 
 By mountains pil'd on mountains, to the sides ? 
 Heaven still, with laughter, the vain toil surveys, 
 And buries madmen in the heaps they raise. 
 
 Know, all the good that individuals find, 
 
 God and nature meant to mere mankind, 
 'Reason's whole pleasure, all the joys of sense, 
 
 in three words Health, Peace and Competence. 
 
 SP.EECH OF ADAM TO EYE. 
 
 N'OW, rnorn, her rosy steps in th' eastern clime 
 Advancing-, sow'd the earth v;ith orient pearl, 
 When Adam wak'd, so custom'd ; for his sleep 
 Was airy light, from pure digestion bred, 
 \ikl temp'rate vapors bland, which th' only sound 
 Of leaves and fuming rills, Aurora's fan, 
 Lightly dispers'd, and the shrill matin song 
 Of birds on ev'ry bough. So much the more 
 His wonder was to find un awaken 'd Eve 
 With tresses discompos'd, and glov/ing cheek, 
 As through unquiet rest. Pie, on his side 
 Leaning half rais'd, with looks of cordial love. 
 Hung over her enamor'd ; and beheld 
 Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep, 
 Shot forth peculiar graces. Then, with voice 
 Mild as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes, 
 
350 A P P E N D I X. 
 
 Her hand soft touching, whisper'd thus : " Awake, 
 
 My fairest, my espous'd, my latest found ; 
 a Heaven's last best gift, my ever new delight, 
 ' Awake ! The morning shines, and the fresh field 
 " Calls us. We lose the prime ; to mark how spring 
 14 Our tender plants ; how blows the citron grove ; 
 4i What drops the myrrh, and what the balmy reed . 
 " How nature paints her colors ; how the bee 
 " Sits on the bloom, extracting liquid sweet, 
 
 Sotiloyity and Prayer of Edward the black prince , befor? the 
 battle of Pole tiers. 
 
 THE hour advances, the decisive hour 
 That lifts me to the summit of renown, 
 Or leaves me on the earth a breathless corse. 
 The buz and bustle of the field before me ; 
 The twang of bow-strings, and the clash of spears ; 
 With ev'ry circumstance of preparation ; 
 Strike with an awful horror ! Shouts are echo'dj 
 To drown dismay, and blow up resolution 
 Even to its utmost swell. From hearts so firm 5 
 Whom dangers fortify, and toils inspire. 
 What has a leader not to hope ? And, yet, 
 The. weight of apprehension sinks me clown.- 
 " O Soul of Nature ! great eternal cause, 
 
 Who gave, and govern'st all, that's here below : 
 'Tis by the aid of thy almighty arm 
 The weak exist, the virtuous are secure. 
 If, to your sacred laws obedient ever, 
 My sword, my soul, have own'd no other guide s 
 " Oh! if your honor, if the rights of men, 
 " My country's happiness, my king's renown, 
 " Were motives worthy of a warrior's zeal, 
 
 Crown your poor servant with success this day ; 
 " And be the praise and glory all thy own." 
 
 Invocation to Paradise Lost. 
 
 OF man's first disobedience, and the fruit' 
 Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste 
 Brought death into the world, and all our woe, 
 Y/ith loss of Eden, till one greater man 
 
A P r E IS . -351 
 
 Restore us, and regain the b 
 
 Sing* heav'nly rnuse ! thar, en fh 
 
 Of Oreb, or of Sinai; did ril Aspire 
 
 That shepherd, who first taught the cd ? 
 
 In the beginning, how the hcav'ns and 
 
 Rose out of chaos : or, if Sion hill 
 
 Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook that fiow'f 
 
 Fast by the oracle of God ; 1 t hence 
 
 Invoke thy aid to my adventurous SGJ 
 
 That, with no middle -flight, intends t., 
 
 Above th' Aonian mount, while it pursues 
 
 Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme. 
 
 And chiefly thoir, O spirit i that dost prefer 
 
 Before all temples, th' upright heart and pure, 
 
 Instruct me, for thou know'st ; thou, from the first, 
 
 Was present, and with mighty wings outspread, 
 
 Dove-like sat'st brooding o'er the vast abyss. 
 
 And mad'st it pregnant : what in me is dark* 
 
 Illumine ; what is low, raise and support ; 
 
 That, to the height of this great argument, 
 
 I may assert eternal providence, 
 
 And justify tke ways of God to men. 
 
 MORNING HYMN, 
 
 THESE are thy glorious works. Parent of good ! 
 Almighty ! thine this universal frame, 
 Thus wond'rous fair : thyself, how wond'rous then, 
 Unspeakable ! who sit'st above these heavens, 
 To us invisible, or dimly seen 
 In these thy lowest works ; yet these declare 
 Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine.* 
 Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light, 
 Angels ! for ye behold him, and with songs 
 And choral symphonies, day without night, 
 Circle his throne, rejoicing. Ye in heav'n 
 On earth, join all ye creatures, to extol 
 Him first, him last, him midst, and without end. 
 Fairest of stars ! last in the train of night, 
 If better thou belong not to the dawn, 
 Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn 
 With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere, 
 
552 APPENDIX. 
 
 While day arises, that sweet hour of prime, 
 
 Thou sun ! of this great world both eye and souJ, 
 
 Acknowledge him thy greater : sound his praise 
 
 }n thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st, 
 
 And when high noon hast gain'd, and when thou fall'st, 
 
 Moon ! that now meet'st the orient sun, now fly'st 
 
 With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that flies ; 
 
 And ye five other wand'ring fires i that move 
 
 In mystic dance, not without song ; resound 
 
 His praise, who out of darkness, call'd up light*. 
 
 Air, and ye elements ! the eldest birth 
 
 Of nature's womb, that, in quaternion, run 
 
 Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix 
 
 And nourish all things ; let your ceaseless change 
 
 Vary,, to our great Maker, still new praise. 
 
 Ye mists and exhalations ! that now rise 
 
 From hill or streaming lake, dusky or grey, 
 
 Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold, 
 
 In honor of the world's great Author, rise ; 
 
 Whether to deck with clouds, th' uncolor'd sky* 
 
 Or wet the thirsty earth with falling show'rs, 
 
 Rising, or falling, still advance his praise. 
 
 His praise, ye winds ! that from four quarters blow, 
 
 Breathe softer loud 1 and wave your tops, ye pines I 
 
 With ev'ry plant, in sign of worship, wave. 
 
 Fountains ! and ye that warble, as ye flow, 
 
 Melodious murmurs, warbling, tune his praise. 
 
 Join voices, all ye living souls. Ye birds, 
 
 That, singing, up to heaven-gate ascend, 
 
 Bear, on your wings, and in your notes his praise. 
 
 Ye, that m waters glide ! and ye, that w;lk 
 
 The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep ! 
 
 Witness, if I be silent, morn or cv'n, 
 
 To hill, or valley, fountain, or fresh shade. 
 
 Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise. 
 
 Hail 5 universal Lord I be bounteous still, 
 
 To give us only good : and if the night 
 
 Have gather'd ought of evil, or conceal'd . 
 
 Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark*. 
 
APPENDIX. 333 
 
 THE HERMIT BY DR. BEATIE, 
 
 AT the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, 
 And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove > 
 When nought, but the torrent is heard on the hill ; 
 And nought, but the nightingale's song, in the grove : 
 *Twas then, by the cave of the mountain afar, 
 A hermit his song of the night thus began ; 
 No more with himself, or with nature, at war, 
 He thought as a sage, while he felt as a man. 
 
 " Ah I why thus abandon 'd to darkness and woe ? 
 " Why thus, lonely Philomel, flows thy sad strain ? 
 " For spring shall return, and a lover bestow, 
 " And thy bosom no trace of misfortune retain. 
 u Yet, if pity inspire thee, ah i cease not thy lay ; 
 " Mourn sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn .' 
 " Oh ! soothe him, whose pleasures, like thine pass a 
 " Full quickly they pass but they never return. 
 
 " Now, gliding remote, on the verge of the s 
 " The moon half extinguish';}, her crescent display 
 u But lately I mark'd, when majestic en high 
 " She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze- 
 " Roll on, thou fair orb ! and with gladness, purs 
 i( The path that conducts thee to splendor Bgaln 
 " But man's faded glory no change shall renew : 
 " Ah fool ! to exult in a glory so vain. 
 
 " 'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely r,o more ; 
 " I mourn ; but ye woodlands ! I mourn not for you : 
 u For morn is approaching, your charms to restore, 
 " Perfum'd with fresh fragrance, and glitt'ring widv 
 " Nor, yet, for the ravage of winter I mourn ; 
 " Kind nature the embryo blossom will save 
 " But, when shall spring visit the movjld'ring urn ? 
 4< O ! when shall it dawn on the night of the grave 1" 
 
 'Twas thus, by the glare of false science betray'd, 
 That leads, to bewilder ; and dazzles, tc blind ; . 
 My thoughts want to roam, from shade onward to shade, 
 Destruction before me, and sorrow behind. 
 " O ! pity, great Father cf light !" then I cry'd, 
 " Thy creature, who fain would not wander from thee ; 
 " Lo ! humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride : 
 *' From doubt, and from darkness, thou only cansH free," 
 G K 2 
 
354 A P P E N D I X. 
 
 ^ And darkness, and doubt, are now flying away, 
 No longer I roam, in conjecture forlorn, 
 So breaks on the traveller, faint, and Jistray, 
 The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. 
 See truth, love, aad mercy, in triumph descending, 
 And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom ! 
 On the cold cheek of death, smiles and roses are blending 
 And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb. 
 
 COMPASSION. 
 
 PITY the sorrows of a poor old man, 
 Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your dootv 
 Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span, 
 Oh ! give relief and heav'n will bless your store. 
 These tatter 'd clothes my poverty bespeak, 
 Those hoary locks proclaim my lengthen'd years ; 
 And many a furrow in my ^rief worn cheek 
 Has been the channel to a flood of tears. 
 Yon house erected on the rising ground, 
 With tempting aspect, drew me fiom my road ; 
 For plenty there a residence has found, 
 And grandeur a magnificent abode. 
 Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor ! 
 Here, as I crav'd a morsel of their bread, 
 A pamper'd menial drove me from the door, 
 To seek a shelter in an humbler shed. 
 Oh 1 take me to your hospitable dome ; 
 Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold : 
 Short is my passage to the friendly tomb. 
 For I am poor and miserably old. 
 Shoirld I reveal the sources of rny grief; 
 If soft humanity e'er touch'd your breast, 
 Your hands would not withhold the kind relief, 
 And tears of pity would not be represt. 
 Heav'n sends misfortunes ; why should we repine : 
 'Tis heav'n has brought me to the state you see ; 
 And your condition may be soon like mine, 
 The child of sorrow and of misery. 
 A little farm was my paternal lot, 
 Then like the lark I sprightly hail'd the morn i 
 But, ah ! oppression forc'd me from my cot, 
 My cuttle dy \1, and blighted was my com. 
 
APPENDIX* 3. 
 
 My daughter, once the comfort of my age, 
 Lur'd by a villain from her native home, 
 Is cast abandoned on the world's wide stage^ 
 And doom'd in scanty poverty to roam, 
 My tender wife, sweet soother of my care, 
 Struck with sad anguish at the stern decree, 
 Fell, lingering fell, a victim to despair, 
 And left the world to wretchedness and me. 
 
 Pity the sorrows of a poor old man, 
 Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door* 
 Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span, 
 Oh ! give relief, and heav'nwill bless your store.. 
 
 ADVANTAGES OF PEACE. 
 
 Oil, first of human blessings and supreme ! 
 Fair Peace ! how lovely, how delightful thou ! 
 By whose wide tie, the kindred sons of men. 
 Like brothers live, in amity combin'd, 
 And unsuspicious faith : while honest toil 
 Gives ev'ry joy ; and, to those joys, a right, 
 Which idle, barbarous rapine but usurps. 
 Pure is my reign ; when unaccurs'd by blood, 
 Nought, save the sweetness of indulgent show'rs 5 
 Trickling, distils into the verdant glebe ; 
 Instead of mangled carcases, sad scene 1 
 When the btythe sheaves lie scattered o'er the field 1 . 
 When only shining shares, the crooked knife, 
 And hooks imprint the vegetable wound ; 
 When the land blushes with the rose alone, 
 The falling fruitage, and the bleeding vine. 
 Oh, Peace ! thou source, and soul of social Hfe 1 
 Beneath whose calm inspiring influence, 
 Science his views enlarges, art refines, 
 And swelling commerce opens ail her ports - 
 Bless'd be the man divine, who gives us thee 1 
 Who bids the trumpet hush its horrid clang. 
 Nor blow the giddy nations into rage ; 
 Who sheathes the murd'rous blade ; the deadly gu- 
 Into the well-pil'd armory returns ; 
 And, ev'ry vigor from the work of death, 
 To grateful industry converting, makes 
 The country flourish^ and the city smile I 
 
356 APPENDIX. 
 
 Unviolated, him the virgin sings ; 
 
 And him, the smiling mother, to her train. 
 
 Of him, the shepherd, in the peaceful dale, 
 
 Ghants ; and the treasures of his labor sure, 
 
 The husbandman, of him, as at the plough, 
 
 Or team, he toils. With him the sailor sooths., 
 
 Beneath the trembling moon, the midnight wave 5 
 
 And the full city, warm, from street to street, 
 
 And shop to shop, responsive rings oF him, 
 
 Nor joys one land alone : his praise extends. 
 
 Far as the sun rolls the diffusive day ; 
 
 Far as the breeze can bear the gifts of peace ; 
 
 Till all the happy nations catch the song. 
 
 PROGRESS OF LIFE. 
 
 ALL the world's a stage, 
 Afid all the men and women merely players ; 
 They have their exits and their entrances ; 
 And one man in his time plays many parts ; 
 His acts being seven ages* At first the infant, - 
 Mewling and puking in his Nurse's arms y 
 And then the whining school boy with his satchel). . 
 And shining morning face, creeping like snail 
 Unwillingly to school. And then, the lover, 
 Sighing like furnace with a woful ballad 
 Made to his mistress 7 eye-brow. Then, a soldier. 
 Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard. 
 Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, 
 Seeking the bubble reputation, 
 Ev'n in the cannon's mouth. And then, tl.^ justice* 
 In fair round- belly, Tvith good capon lin'd ; 
 With eyes severe and beard of formal cut. 
 Full of wise laws, and modern instances, 
 And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts 
 Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, 
 Y/ith spectac!es,on nose, and pouch on side, 
 His youthful hose \vell sav'cl, a world too wide 
 For bis shrunk shank ; and his big manly voice 
 Turning arain towards childish treble, pipes, 
 And whistiw- ; n his sound. Last scene of all . 
 That ends this strange eventful history, 
 Is second childishness, and mere cblivion ; 
 Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans ev'ry thing. 
 
A P P E N D I X. 357 
 
 SPEECHES IN THE ROMAN SENATE. 
 
 CATO. 
 
 TFT^ATHERS I we once again are met in council. 
 JL Cresar's approach has sumrnon'd us together, 
 And Rome attends her fate from our resolves. 
 How shall we treat this bold aspiring man ? 
 Success still follows him, and backs his crimes. 
 Pharsalia gave him Rome. Egypt has since 
 Receiv'd his yoke, and the whole Nile is Cassar's. 
 Why should I mention Juba's overthrow, 
 And Scipio's death ? Numidia's burning sands 
 Still smoke with blood. 'Tis time we should decree 
 What course to take. Our foe advances on us, 
 And envies us ev'n Libia's sultry deserts. 
 Fathers pronounce your thoughts. Are they still fixM 
 To hold it out and fight it to the last ? 
 Or, are your hearts subdu'd, at length, and wrought* 
 By time and ill success to a submission ? 
 Sempronius, speak. 
 
 SEMPHONIUS, 
 My voice is still for war. 
 Gods ! can a Roman senate long debate 
 Which of the two to choose, slavery or death ? 
 No let us rise at once : Gird on our swords ; 
 And, at the head of our remaining troops, 
 Attack the foe ; break through the thick array 
 Of his thronged legions ; and charge home upon him. 
 Perhaps, some arm more lucky than the rest, 
 May reach his heart, and free the world from bondage* 
 Rise, Fathers, rise ! 'Tis Rome demands yovir help : 
 Rise, and revenge her slanghter'd citizens, 
 Or share their fate i The corps of half her senate 
 
 ,'jre the fields of Thessaly, while we 
 Sit here, deliberating in cold debates : 
 If we should sacrifice our lives to honor, 
 Or wear them out in servitude and chains. 
 
 :se up. for shame ! Our brothers of Pharsalia 
 Point at their wounds, and cry aloud to battle ! 
 i Pcmpey's s-haiie complains that we are slow : 
 i c v e n g 'd am on g s t us! 
 
:!5fi Apr E N D I X. 
 
 CATO. 
 
 Let not a torrent of impetuous zeal 
 Transport thee thus beyond the bounds of reason; 
 True fortitude is seen in great exploits, 
 That justice warrants, and that wisdom guides ; 
 AH else, is tow'ring frenzy and distraction. 
 Are not the lives of those who draw the sword 
 In Rome's defence, entrusted to our care ? 
 Should we thus lead them to a field of slaughter, 
 Might not th' impartial world, with reason, say 
 We lavished, at our deaths, the blood of thousands/ 
 To grace our fall, and make our ruin glorious ? 
 Lucius, we next would know what's your opinion. 
 
 Lucius. - 
 
 My thoughts, I must confess, are turn'd on peace* 
 Already have our quarrels fill'd the world 
 With widows and with orphans. Scythia mourns 
 Our guilty wars, and earth's remotest regions 
 Lie half unpeopled by the feuds of Rome. 
 'Tis time to sheathe the sword, and spare mankinds 
 It is not Caesar, but the gods, my fathers I 
 The gods declare against us, and repel 
 Our vain attempts. To urge the foe to battle, 
 (Prompted by blind revenge and wild despair) 
 Were to refuse th' awards of Providence, 
 And not to rest in heav'n's determination. 
 Already have we shown our love to Rome s 
 Now, let us show submission to the gods. 
 We took up arms not to revenge ourselves, 
 But free the commonwealth. When this end fails. 
 Arms have no further use. Our country's cav.se. 
 That drew our swords, now wrests 'em from our hands, 
 And bids us not delight in Roman blood 
 Unprofitably shed. What men could do 
 Is done already. Heav'n and earth will witness* 
 If Rome must fall, that we are innocent. 
 
 -CATO. 
 
 Let us appear, not rash, nor diffident; 
 ImmodYate valor swells into a fault ; 
 
APPENDIX. 359 
 
 And fear admitted into public councils, 
 
 Betrays like treason. Let us shun 'em both.-<- 
 
 Fathers I cannot see that our affairs 
 
 Are grown thus desperate. We have bulwarks round us ; 
 
 Within our walls, are troops inur'd to toil 
 
 In Afric heats, and season'd to the sun. 
 
 Numidia's spacious kingdom lies behind us, 
 
 Ready to rise at its young prince's call. 
 
 While there is hope, do not distrust the gods : 
 
 But wait, at least, till Caesar's near approach 
 
 Force us to yield. 'Twill never be too late 
 
 To sue for chains, and own a conqueror. 
 
 Why should Rome fall a moment ere her time ? 
 
 No let us draw our term of freedom out 
 
 In its full length, and spin it to the last : 
 
 So shall we gain still one day's liberty. 
 
 And, let me perish ; but, in Cato's judgment, 
 
 A day, an hour, of virtuous liberty, 
 
 'is worth a whole eternity .of bondage. 
 
 CATO solus, sitting in a thoughtful posture : In fits hand 
 Plato's book on the immortality of the &cul. A drawn 
 titvord en the tabl by him.. 
 
 >T must be sc Plato, thou reason'st well ! 
 
 Else, whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire., 
 This longing aftef immortality ? 
 -Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror, 
 Or falling into nought ? Why shrinks the soul 
 Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? 
 ; Tis the divinity that stirs within us : 
 'Tis heav'n itself, that points out an hereafter, 
 And intimates eternity to man. 
 Eternity ! thou pleasing -dreadful thought i 
 Through what variety of untry'd beings, 
 Through what new scenes and changes must we pass ! 
 The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me-~ 
 But shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon iUr~- 
 Kere will I hold. If there's a pow'r above us, 
 (And that there is, all nature cries aloud 
 Through all her works) he must delight in virtue ; 
 And that which he delights in must be happy. 
 ;:'at, when ! or where ! this world was made for Caesar, 
 
360 APPEND! X. 
 
 Tin weary of conjectures this must end 'em. 
 
 [Laying his hand on his 
 
 Thus am I doubly arm'cl ; my death and life, 
 My bane and antidote are both before me : 
 This, in a moment brings me to an end ; 
 But this informs me I shall never die. 
 The soul, secur'd, in her existence, smiles 
 At the drawn dagger, and defies it's point. 
 The stars shall fade away, the sun himself 
 Grow dim \vkh age, and nature sink in years ; 
 But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, 
 Unhurt amidst the war of elements, 
 The wrecks of matter, and the crush of worlds. 
 
 What means this heaviness that hangs upon me f 
 This lethargy that creeps through all my senses ? 
 Nature oppress'd and harrass'd out with care, 
 Sinks down to rest. This once I'll favor her, 
 That my awaken 'd soul may take her flight, 
 Renew'd in all her strength, and fresh with life, 
 An off 'ring fit for Heav'n. Let guilt or fear 
 Disturb man's rest ; Gato knows neither of 'em ; 
 Indiff 'rent in his choice, to sleep or die. 
 
 HAMLET'S MEDITATION ON DEATH. 
 
 TO be or not to be ? that is the question.- 
 Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to sutler 
 The stings and arrows of outrageous fortur.e ; 
 Or to take arms against a siege of troubles, 
 And, by opposing, end them ? To die to sleep 
 No more ; and by a sleep, to say we end 
 The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks 
 That flesh is heir to -'tis a consummation 
 Devoutly to be wish'd. To die -to sleep 
 To sltc-p perchance to dream- aye, there's the rub. 
 For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, 
 When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 
 Must give us pause. There's the respect 
 That makes calamity of so long a life. 
 For, who would bear the whips and scorns o' th* time, ? 
 The oppressor's wrongs the proud man's contumely^ 
 The pangs of desnis'd love, the laws delay, 
 
APPENDIX. 361 
 
 The insolence of office, and the spurns 
 That patient merit of the unworthy takes ; 
 When he himself might his quietus make 
 With a bare bodkin ? Who would fardels bear, 
 To groan and sweat under a weary life : 
 But that the dread of something after death 
 (That undiscovered country, from whose bourne 
 No traveller returns) puzzles the will ; 
 And makes us rather bear those ills we have, 
 Than fly to others that we know not of ? 
 Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ; 
 And thus the native hue of resolution 
 Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ; 
 And enterprises of great pith and moment, 
 With this regard, their currents turn away ? 
 And lose the name of action. 
 
 Select Passages from Dramatic 
 
 EXPRESSIVE OF THE 
 
 PRINCIPAL EMOTIONS AND PASSIONS. 
 :-&:i 
 
 JOY. 
 
 THEN is Orestis blest ! My griefs are fled ! 
 Fled like a dream ! Methinks I tread in air ! . 
 Surprising happiness ! unlook'd for joy ! 
 Never let love despair ! The prize is mine ! 
 Be smooth, ye seas ! and, ye propitious winds, 
 Blow from Epirus to the Spartan coast ! 
 
 GRIEF. 
 
 I'LL go ; and in the anguish of my heart 
 Weep o'er my child If he must die, my life 
 Is wrapt in his ; I shall not long survive, 
 'Tis for his sake that I have suffer'd life ; 
 Groan'd in captivity ; and out-liv'cl Hector. 
 Yes, my Astyanax ! we'll go together ; 
 Together to the realms of night we'll go, 
 H h 
 
352 APPENDIX. 
 
 PITY. 
 
 ^ II ADST then but seen, as I did, how, at last, 
 Thy beauties, Belvidera, like a wretch 
 That's cloom'd to banishment, came weeping forth, 
 Whilst two young virgins, on whose arms she lean'd 
 Kindly look'd up, and at her grief grew sad ! 
 E'en the lew'd rabble, that were gatfrer'd round 
 To see the sight, stood mute when they beheld her, 
 Govern 'd their roaring throats -and grumbled pity* 
 
 k FEAR. 
 
 ^COME on, Sir, here's the place stand still. 
 How fearful 'tis to cast one's eyes so low ! 
 The crows and coughs, that wing the midway air, 
 S:iow scarce so gross as beetles. Half way down. 
 Hangs one that gathers samphire dreadful trade ! 
 Methinks he seerns no bigger than one's head, 
 , The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, 
 Appear like mice ; and yon tall anchoring bark 
 Seems lesson 'd to a cock ; her cock, a buoy 
 Almost too small for sight. The murmuring surge. 
 That on th' unnumber'd idle pebbles chases, 
 Cannot be heard so high. I'll look no more, 
 Lest my brain turn and the disorder make me 
 Tumble down headlong. 
 
 AWE AND FEAR, 
 
 NOW, all is hush'd, and still as death- 
 How reverend is the face of this tall pile, 
 Whose ancient pillars rear their marble heads, 
 To bear aloft its arch'd and pond'rous roof, 
 By its own weight made stedfast and immovable, 
 Looking tranquillity ! It strikes an awe 
 And terror on my aking sight. The tombs, 
 And monumental caves of death look cold, 
 ||i&nd shoot a chillness to my trembling heart* 
 Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice 
 Nay, quickly speak to me, and let me hear 
 Thy voice my own affrights me with its echoes, 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 HORROR. 
 
 HARK ! the death-denouncing trumpet sounds 
 The fatal charge, and shouts proclaim the onset. 
 Destruction rushes dreadful to the field, 
 And bathes itself in blood. Havoc, let loose, 
 Now, undistinguish'd, rages all around : 
 While ruin, seated on her dreary throne, 
 Sees the plain strew'd, with subjects truly hers, 
 Breathless and cold. 
 
 ANGER. 
 
 HEAR me, rash man ; on thy allegicnoe hear me, 
 Since thou hast striven to make us break our vow, 
 Which, nor our nature, nor our place can bear, 
 We banish thee for ever from our sight 
 And kingdom. If, when three days are expir'd, 
 Thy hated trunk be found in our dominions, 
 That moment is thy death Away 1 
 
 EXECRATION. 
 
 CURS'D be your senate : curs'd your constitution ; 
 The curse of growing factions and divisions 
 Still vex your councils, shake your public safety, 
 And make the robes of government you wear, 
 Hateful to you as these base chains to me. 
 
 REVENGE. 
 
 IF it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge.. 
 He hath disgraced me, and hindered me of half a 
 million ; laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains, 
 scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my 
 friends, heated mine enemies. And what's his reason .? 
 I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes ? hath not a Jew 
 hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions ? 
 Is he not fed with the same food, hurt with the same 
 weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same 
 jneans, warmed and cooled by the same winter and sum- 
 
564 APPEND I X. 
 
 rner, as a Christian is ? If you prick us, do we not bleed ? 
 if you tickle us do we not laugh ? if you poison us, do we 
 not die ! and, if you wrong us shall we not revenge ? If 
 "we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. 
 If a Jew wong a Christian, what is his humility ? Re- 
 venge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his suf- 
 ferance be by Christian example ?- why, revenge. 
 The villainy you teach me, I will execute ; and it shall go 
 d, but I will better the instruction. 
 
 ADMIRATION,. 
 
 What find There I 
 
 Fair Portia's counterfeit ? What derm-god 
 Hath come so near creation ! Move these eyes I 
 Or, whether, riding on the balls of mine, 
 Seem they in motion ? Here are sever'd lips, 
 Parted with suo;ar breath : so sweet a bar 
 Should sunder such sweet friends. Here, in her hairs, 
 The painter plays the spider, and hath woven 
 A golden mesh, t' intrap the hearts of men 
 Faster than gnats in cobwebs. But htr eyes 
 How could he see to do them ! having made one, 
 Mi-thinks it should have power to steal bath his, 
 And leave itself unfinish'd ! 
 
 HAUGHTINESS. 
 
 MAKE thy demands to those that own thy power I 
 Know, I am still beyond thee. And tho' fortune 
 lias stript me of this train, this pomp of greatness, 
 This outside of a king, yet still my soul 
 Fix'd bierh, and on herself alone dependant, 
 Is ever free and royal ; and, even now, 
 As at the head of battle does defy thee I 
 
 CONTEMPT. 
 
 AWAY ! no woman could descend so low, 
 A skipping, dancing, worthless tribe you are ; 
 Fit only for yourselves. You herd together j 
 
APPENDIX. 365 
 
 And when the circling glass warms your vain hearts, 
 You talk of beauties that you never saw. 
 And fancy raptures that you never knew. 
 
 RESIGNATION. 
 
 YET, yet endure nor murmur, O my soul ! 
 For, are not thy transgressons great and numberless ? 
 Do they not cover thee, like rising floods ? 
 And press thee, like a weight of waters, down ? 
 Does not the band of righteousness afflict thee ? 
 And who shall plead against it. ? who shall say 
 To Pow'r Almighty, Thou hast clone enough ; 
 Or bid his dreadful rod of vengeance stay ? 
 Wait, then, with patience, till the circling hours 
 Shall bring the time of thy appointed rest 
 And lay thee down in death. 
 
 IMPATIENCE. 
 
 OH ! rid me of this torture, quickly there* 
 My Madam, with- the everlasting voice. 
 The bells, in time of pestilence, ne'er made 
 Like noise, or were in that perpetual motion. 
 
 - . All my house, 
 
 But now, steam'd like a bath, with her thick brcai 
 A lawyer could not have been heard, nor scarce 
 Another woman, such a hail of words 
 She has let fall. 
 
 MELANCHOLY. 
 
 THERE is a stupid weight upon my senses . 
 A dismal sullen stillness, that succeeds 
 The storm of rage and grief, like silent death, 
 After the tumult and the noise of life. 
 Would It were death, as sure 'tis wondrous like is 
 For I am sick of living* My soul is pall'd : 
 She kindles not, with anger, or revenge. 
 Love was th' informing active fire within : 
 Now, that is quench'd, the mass forgets to rne p 
 And longs to mingle with its kindred earth, 
 - li Jb.2 
 
366 APPENDIX. 
 
 REMORSE AND DESPAIR. 
 
 HENCEFORTH, let* no man trust the first false step 
 Of uilt.. It hangs upon a precipice 
 Whose deep descent in lost perdition ends. 
 How far aai I plung'd down, beyond all thought 
 Which I this evening fram'd - 
 Consummate horror ! guilt beyond a name 1 
 Dare not, my soul, repent. In thee, repentance 
 Were second guilt ; and twere blaspheming Heav'u 
 To hope for mercy. My pain can only cease 
 When gods want power to punish. Ha ! the dawn - 
 Rise never more-, O sun ! let night prevail : 
 Eternal darkness close the world's wide scene 
 And hide me from myself. 
 
 DISTRACTION. 
 
 MERCY !--! know it not for I am miserable. 
 I'll give thee misery for here she dwells, 
 This is her house where the sun never dawns ; 
 The bird of night sits screaming o'er the roof ; 
 Grim spectres sweep along the horrid gloom ; 
 And nought is heard, but wailings and lamenting.- 
 Hark ! something cracks above ; it shakes ! it tot- 
 ters I 
 
 And see the nodding ruin falls to crush me ! 
 'Tis fallen 'tis here ! I feel it on my brain ! 
 A waving flood of bluish fire swells o'er me ! 
 And now 'tis out and I am drown'd in blood.* 
 Ha ! what art thou ? thou horrid headless trunk ! 
 It is my Hastings See, he wafts me on ! 
 Away I go ! 1 fly ! 1 follow thee ? 
 
 GRATITUDE. 
 
 MY father ! -Oh ! let me unlade my breast ; 
 Pour out the fulness of my soul before you ; 
 Show ev'ry tender, every grateful thought, 
 This wond'rous goodness stirs. But 'tis impossible, 
 And utt'rance all is vile, since I can only 
 Swear you reign here, but never tell bow much. 
 
APPENDIX. 367 
 
 INTREATY. 
 
 REWARD him for the noble deed, just Heav'n ! 
 For this one action, guard him v and distinguish him 
 With signal mercies, and \vith great deliverance. 
 Save him from wrong, adversity, and shame. 
 Let never fading honors flourish round him ; 
 And consecrate his name, ev'n to time's end. 
 Let him know nothing else, but good on earth 
 'And everlasting blessedness hereafter. 
 
 COMMANDING. 
 
 SILENCE ye winds ! 
 
 That make outrageous war upon the ocean i 
 And thou old ocean ! lull thy boist'rous waves, 
 Ye warring elements ! be husk'd as death, 
 While I impose my dread commands on hell. 
 And thou, profoundest hell ! whose dreadful sway, 
 
 Is given to me by fate and demogorgon 
 
 Hear, hear my powerful voice, through all thy regie 
 And, from thy gloomy caverns thunder the reply, 
 
 COURAGE. 
 
 A Generous few, the vet'ran, hardy gleanings 
 Of many a hapless fight, with a fierce 
 Heroic fire, inspirited each other ; 
 Resolv'd on death ; disdaining to survive 
 Their dearest country " If we fall," I cry'd, 
 4< Let us not tamely fall, like passive cowards ! 
 " No let us live, or let us die like men ! 
 " Come on, my friends. To Alfred we will cut 
 " Our glorious way : or as we nobly perish, 
 " Will offer to the genius of our country 
 " Whol ehecatombs of Danes." As if one soul 
 Have mov'd them all, around their heads they flash'd 
 Their flaming faulchions " Lead us to those Danes ! 
 u Our country IVengeance !" was the general cry. 
 
 BOASTING. 
 
 I WILL tell you, Sir, by the way of private and 
 under se^l, I am a gentleman ; and live here, obscure, 
 
333 APPENDIX. 
 
 and to myself ; but, were I known to his Majesty, and" 
 the Lords, observe me, I would undertake, upon this 
 poor head and life, for the public benefit of the state, 
 not. only to spare the entire lives of his subjects in gen- 
 eral, but to save the one hali^ nay three parts of his yearly 
 charge, in holding war, and against what enemy soever. 
 And how would I do it, think you ? Why thus, Sir > 
 I would select nineteen more to myself, throughout the 
 land ; gentlemen they should be ;. of good spirit, strong 
 and able constitution. I would choose them, by an in- 
 stinct that I have. And I would teach these nineteen, 
 the special rules ; as your Punto, your Reverse, your 
 Stoccata, your Imbroccata, your Passada, your Monton- 
 to ; till they could all play very near, or altogether, as 
 well as myself* This done, say the enemy were forty 
 thousand strong.. We twenty would come into the field, 
 the tenth of March cr thereabouts ; and we would chal- 
 lenge twenty of the enemy ; they could not, in their 
 honor, refuse us ! Weil we would kill them : challenge 
 Uventy more kill them : twenty more kill them : 
 twenty more- kill them too. And, thus, would we kill,, 
 tvery man, his twenty a-eky ; that's twenty score ; twen- 
 ty score ; that's two hundred ; two hundred a-day ; five 
 days a thousand : forty thousand forty times five ; five 
 times forty two hundred days kill them all up by com- 
 putation. And this I will venture my poor gentleman- 
 like carcase to perform (provided there be no treason, 
 practised upon) by fair and discreet; manhood j that is* 
 civilly, by ths sword. 
 
 PERPLEXITY. 
 
 LET me think 
 
 What can this mean? Is it to me aversion ?' 
 
 Or is it, as I fear'd, she loves another ? 
 
 Ha ! yes ^perhapsthe king, the young count Tancred ? 
 
 They were bred up together surely that, 
 
 That cannot beHas he not giv'n his hand, 
 
 In the most solemn manner to Constantia ? 
 
 Does not his crown depend upon the deed ? 
 
 No if they lov'd, and this old statesman knew it, 
 
 He could not to a king prefer a subject. 
 
 jrLs virtues I csteemtiaiy more, I trust them- 
 
APPENDIX. 369 
 
 So far as virtue goes but could he place 
 His daughter on the throne of Sicily 
 
 ! 'tis a glorious bribe ; too much for man I 
 What is it then ! I care not what it is. 
 
 SUSPICION. 
 
 WOULD he were fatter but I fear him not : 
 Yes, if my name were liable to fear, 
 
 1 do not know the man I should avoid, 
 
 So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much- 
 He is a great observer and he looks 
 Quite through the deeds of men. 
 He loves no plays : he hears no music. 
 Seldom he smiles ; and smiles in such a sort, 
 As if he mock'cl himself, and scorn'd his spirit., 
 That could be mov'd to smile at any thing. 
 Such men as he be never at heart's ease, 
 Whilst they behold a greater than themselves - 
 And, therefore, are they very dangerous. 
 
 WIT AND HUMOR. 
 
 A GOOD sherris-snck hath a two-fold operation in it. 
 It ascends me into the brain. Dries me there, all the 
 foolish, dull, and crudy vapors which environ it : m&kes 
 it apprehensive, quick, inventive; full of nimble, fiery 
 and delectable shapes, which, delivered over to the voice, 
 the tongue, which is the birth becomes excellent wit. 
 The second properly of your excellent sherris, is, the 
 warming of the blood : which before, cold and settled, left 
 the liver white and pale ; which is the badge of pusilla- 
 nimity and cowardice. But the sherris warms it, and 
 makes it course from the inwards to the parts extreme. 
 It illuminateth the face, which, as a beacon, gives warning 
 to all the rest of the kingdom, man, to arm : and then, 
 the vital commoners, and inland pretty spirits, muster me 
 all to their captain, the heart ; who, great, and puffed up 
 \vith his retinue, doth any deed of courage and this valor 
 comes to sherris. So that skill in the weapon, is nothing 
 without sack.; for that sets it a- work ; and learning, a 
 
370 A P P E N D I X. 
 
 in ere hoard of gold kept by a devil, till sack commences 
 t, and sets it in act and use. Hereof comes it that Prince 
 Harry is valiant : for the cold blood he did rutu rally in- 
 herit of his father he hath, like lean, steril and bare landi 
 3nanured, husbanded, and tilled, with drinking good, and 
 good store of fertile sherris. -If I had a thousand sons, 
 the first human principle I would teach them, should be 
 To forswear thin potations, and to addict themselves to 
 sack. 
 
 A PLAGUE on all cowards, Isay, and a vengeance 
 too, marry and amen ! Give me a cup of sack boy. Ere 
 I lead this life long, I'll sew nether socks and rnend them, 
 and foot them too. A plague on. all cowards I Give me 
 a cup of sack, rogue. Is there no virtue extant ? 
 
 [Drinks* 
 
 You rogue ! here's lime in this sack too. There is no- 
 thing but roguery to be found in villainous man. Yet a 
 coward is worse that a cup of sack with lime in it Go thy 
 ways, old Jack ! die when t'hou wilt, if manhood, good 
 manhood, be not forgot upon the face of the earth, then arn 
 la shotten herring. There live not three good men un- 
 Iv.inged in England ; and one of them is fat, and grows 
 old, God help the while !-~ A plague on all cowards, I say 
 Still l-p'Give me a cup of sack. [Drinks. 
 
 I am a rogue if I were not at half-sword with a dozen 
 of them tivo hours together* I have escaped by miracle. 
 J 'am eight times thrust through the doublet ; four through 
 the hose ; my buckle? cut through and through; my 
 sword hacked 'like a hand saw, ?cce sigmim ! I never 
 dealt better since I was a man. All would not do. A 
 plague on all cowards ! But I have, peppered two of 
 them ; two, I am sure, X have paid ; two rogues in 
 buckram suits. I tell thee what, if I tell thee a lie, spit- 
 in my face ; call m-e horse Thou knowest my old ward. 
 Here I lay : and thus I bore my point. Four rogues in 
 buckram let drive at me> These four came all front, 
 and mainly thrust at me. I made no more ado, but took 
 all the seven points in my target, thus. Then, these 
 i A i;r- h buckram, that ' I. : told thee of/ began, to give ms 
 
APPENDIX. 37| 
 
 ground. But I followed me close ; came in foot and 
 hand ; and, with a thought seven of these eleven I 
 
 paid A plague on all cowards, say I !- Give me a 
 
 cup of sack. [Drinka. 
 
 RIDICULE. 
 
 I CAN as well be hanged, as tell the manner of it : it 
 was mere foolery I saw Mark Antony offer him a 
 crown ; and, as I tolcl you, he put it by once but, for all 
 that, to my thinking, he would fain have had it. Then 
 
 ie offered it to him again ; then, he put it by againbut, 
 to my thinking, he was very loth to lay his finders 
 oft it. And then he offered it a third time : he put it the 
 third time by ; and still as he refused it, the rabblement 
 shouted, and clapt their chopt hands, and threw by their 
 sweaty night-caps, and uttered such a deal of stinking 
 
 reath, because Caesar refused the crown, that it had al- 
 most choaked Czesar ; for he swooned, and fell down at 
 it ; and for mine own part, I durst not laugh for fear of 
 opening my lips, and receiving the bad air. 
 
 Before he fell down, when he perceived the common 
 herd were glad he refused the crown, he plucked me ope 
 his doublet, and offered them his throat to cut : an 5 1 had 
 been a man of any occupation, if I would not have taken 
 him at a word, I would I might go to hell among the 
 rogues !-and so he fell. When he came to himself again, 
 he said, "If he had done, or said any thing amiss, he de- 
 sired their worships to think it was his infirmity." 
 Ihree or four wenches, where I stood, cried, Alas, good 
 soul ! and forgave him with all their hearts. But there's 
 no heed to be taken of them ; if Cxsar had stabbed their 
 mothers, they would have done no less. 
 
 PERTURBATION. 
 
 ^VENGEANCE! death! plague! confusion! 
 Fiery ! what quality ? Why, Gloster, Gloster ! 
 Td speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife ; 
 1 he king would speak with Cornwall the dear father 
 Would with his daughter speak ; commands her service 
 Are they mform'd of this ? My breath and blood ! 
 
372 APPENDIX. 
 
 Fiery ! The fiery Duke ! Tell the hot Duke- 
 No, but not yet : may be he is not well. 
 1 beg his pardon ; and I'll chide my rashness, 
 That took the indisposed and sickly fit 
 For the sound man. But wherefore sits he there ? - 
 Death on my state ! this act convinces me, 
 That this retir'dness of the Duke and her 
 Is plain contempt Give me my servant forth 
 Go tell the Duke and's wife I'd speak with 'em ; 
 Now ; instantly Bid 'em come forth, and hear me ; 
 Or, at their chamber-door, I'll beat the drum 
 'Till it cry Sleep to death*- 
 
 FINIS, 
 
ELEMENTS OF GESTURE. 
 
 SECTION L 
 
 On the Speaking of Speeches at Echj3k* 
 
 LOCUTION has, for some years past, been an ob- 
 _ ject of uttention in the most respectable schools in 
 this country. A laudable ambition of instructing- youth 
 in the pronunciation and delivery of their native lan- 
 guage, has made English speeches a very conspicuous 
 part of those exhibitions of oratory which do them so 
 much credit. 
 
 This attention to English pronunciation has induced 
 several ingenious men to compile Exercises in Elocution 
 for the use of schools, which have answered very useful 
 purposes ; hut none, so far as I have seen, have attempt- 
 ed to give us a regular system of gesture suited to the 
 wants and capacities of school-boys. Mr. Burgh in his 
 Art of Speaking, has given us a system of the passions, 
 and has shown us how they appear in the countenance 
 and operate on the body ; but this system, however useful 
 to people of riper years, is too delicate and complicated 
 to be taught in schools. Indeed, the exact adaption of 
 the action to the word, and the word to the action, as 
 Shakspeare calls it, is the most difficult part of delive- 
 ry, and therefore can never be taught perfectly to chil- 
 dren ; to say nothing of distracting their attention with 
 two very difficult things at the same time. But that boys 
 should stand motionless, while they are pronouncing 
 the most impassioned language, is extremely absurd and 
 unnatural ; and that they should sprawl into an auk ward, 
 ungain, and desultory action, is still more offensive und 
 I i 
 
374 ELEMENTS 
 
 disgusting, What then remains but that such a general 
 style of action be adopted, as shall be easily conceived 
 and easily executed, which, though not expressive of any 
 particular passion, shall not be inconsistent with the ex- 
 pression of any passion ; which shall always keep the 
 body in a graceful position, and shall so vary its motions, 
 at proper intervals, as to seern the subject operating on 
 the speaker, and not the speaker on the subject. This, 
 It will be confessed, is a great desideratum ; and an at- 
 tempt to do this, is the principal object of the present pub- 
 
 1 oi) . 
 
 The difficulty of describing action by words, will be 
 allowed by every one : and if we were never to give 
 any instructions but such as should completely answer our 
 Y/isLes, this difficulty would be a good reason for not at- 
 tempting to give any description of it. But there are 
 
 and ih 
 than: 
 cccasi- 
 
 between 
 at all 
 on may 
 is a much 
 
 conveying 
 . Besides 
 onvey 
 more 
 
 a precise ido. of" a 
 , in this part of de- 
 tlie eye ; and 
 '..- of kn o-.' !t\lge 
 
 
 
 ,*n the pi csent 
 -itltvides which 
 ::,l descriptions, 
 ;ce the reader's 
 
 \ just tout 
 it would natur 
 iocs not bear 
 
 eats the ai. 
 
 .')in;r the ?.; 
 ally "fall, if 
 upon it. 
 
 .n v/hich a boy 
 is to speak. 
 r i th ''ight 
 mce 
 lifted up .'/that 
 The knees should be 
 
 at which 
 the body < 
 
 sr'alt t;nti braced, and the body, though perfectly strait, 
 .uiicular, but inclininp; as far to the right, as a 
 : ion on the right leg will permit. The right 
 arm must then be held out with the palm open, the fin- 
 rrers strait and close, the thumb almost as distant from 
 them as it will go, and the flat of the hand neither ho- 
 rizontal nor vertical, but exactly between both. The 
 position of the arm perhaps will be best described by 
 sing an oblong hollow square formed by the measure 
 tr arms, as IP. : the arm in its 
 
O F G S T 1)' R )v 
 
 PLATE I. 
 
K L E M E N 
 
 PLATE II. 
 
OF G E S T U R E. 577 
 
 true position forms the diagonal of such an Imaginary 
 figure. So that, if lines were drawn at right angles from 
 the shoulder, extending downwards, forwards, and side- 
 v/ays, the arm will form an angle of forty-five degrees 
 every way. 
 
 When the pupil has pronounced one sentence in the 
 position thus described, the hand, as if lifeless, must drop 
 down to the side, the very moment the last accented word 
 h pronounced; and the body without altering- the place 
 of the feet, poize itself on the left leg, while the left 
 hand rises itself into exact me position as the 
 
 t was before, and continues in this position till the 
 end of the next sentence, when it drops down on the side 
 as if dead ; and the body, poising itself en the right ler; 
 as before, continues with the right arm extended, till the 
 end of the succeeding sentence, and- so on from right to 
 left, and from left to right ;. /, till the speech :;, 
 
 ended. 
 
 Great care must be taken '.I end cr,e sen- 
 
 tence completely before he l. st let 
 
 the arm drop to the side, and continue fora moment in 
 that pasture in which ht :;!, before he poizes his 
 
 body on the other leg, and raises the ether ana into the 
 diagonal petition before described ; both which should be 
 d on u before he begins to pronounce the next sentence- 
 Care must also be taken, in shifting the body from one k?-; 
 to the other, that the feet do not alter their distance. Li 
 altering the position of the body, the feet will necer 
 alter their position a little, but this change rmisl be made 
 by turning the toes in a somewhat different direction, 
 without suffering them to shift their ground. The h 
 in this transition, change their place, but not the toes, 
 The toes may be considered os pivots, on which the body 
 turns from side to side. 
 
 If the pupil's knees are not well formed, or incline 
 inwards, he must be taught too keep his legs at. as great 
 a distance as possible, and to iru body so much 
 
 to that side, on whirl) the arm is extended, as to oblige 
 him to rest the opposite leg upon the toe ; and this wij], 
 in a great measure, hide the defect of his make. In the 
 same manner, if the arm be too long, or the elbow incline 
 1 i 2 
 
378 ELEMENTS. 
 
 inwards, it will be proper to make him turn the palm of 
 his hand downwards, so as to make it perfectly horizontal. 
 This will infallibly incline the elbow outwards, and pre- 
 vent the worst position the arm can possibly fall into, 
 which is that of inclining the elbow to the body. This 
 position of the hand so necessarily keeps the elbow out, 
 that it would not be improper to make the pupil some- 
 time practice it, though he may have no defect in his 
 make ; as an occasional alteration of the former position 
 to this, may often be necessary both for the sake of just- 
 ness and variety. These two last positions of the legs 
 and arms, are described in plate second. 
 
 When the pupil has got the habit of holding his hand 
 and arm properly, he may be taught to move it. In this 
 motion he must be careful to keep the arm from the body, 
 He must neither draw the elbow backwards, nor suffer it 
 to approach to the side, but while the hand and lower 
 joint of the arm are curving towards the shoulder, the 
 whole arm, with the elbow forming nearly an angle of a 
 square, should' move upwards from the shoulder, in the 
 same position as when gracefully taking off the hat ; that 
 is, with the elbow extended from the side, and the upper 
 joint of the arm nearly on a line with the shoulder, and 
 forming an angle of a square with the body ; (see plate 
 III.) this motion of the arm will naturally bring th 
 hand with the palm downwards, into a horizontal position., 
 ;vnd when it approaches to the head, the arm should with 
 a jerk be suddenly straightened into its first position, at 
 the very moment the emphatical word is pronounced* 
 This coincidence of the hand and voice, will greatly en- 
 force the pronunciation ; and if they keep time, they will 
 be in tune as it were to each other, and to force and ener- 
 gy, add harmony and variety. 
 
 As this motion of the arm is somewhat complicated, 
 and may be found difficult to execute, it would be ad- 
 viseable to let the pupil at first speak without any motion 
 of the arm at all. After some time he will naturally 
 fall into a small curvature of the elbow, to beat time*, 
 as it were, to the emphatic word ; and if in doing this, 
 he is constantly urged to raise the elbow, and to keep it 
 at a distance from the body, the action of the arm \viJJ 
 
OF G E S T U R E. 
 
 PLATE II!. 
 
380 ELEMENT S. 
 
 naturally grow up into that we have just described. So 
 the diagonal position of the arm though the most grace- 
 ful and easy when the body is at rest, may be too difficult 
 for boy a to fall into at first ; and therefore it may be ne- 
 cessary, in order to avoid the worse extreme, for some 
 time to make them extend the arm -as far from the body 
 as they can, in a somewhat similar direction, but higher 
 from the ground, and inclining more to the back. Great 
 care must be taken to keep the had open, and the thumb 
 at some distance from the lingers ; and particular atten- 
 tion must be paid to keeping the hand in the exact line 
 with the lower part of the arm, so as not to bend at the 
 wrist, either when it is held out without motion, or when 
 it gives the emphatic stroke. And above all, the body 
 must be kept in a strait line with the leg on which it 
 bears, and not suffered to beod to the opposite side. 
 
 At first it may not be improper for the teacher, after 
 placing the pupil in the position plate I. to stand at some 
 distance exactly opposite to him in the same position, the 
 right and left sides only reversed, and while the pupil is 
 speaking, to show him by example the action he is to 
 make use of. In this case, the teacher's left hand will' 
 correspond to the pupil's right, by which "means he will 
 see as in a looking-glass, how to regulate his gesture, and 
 will soon catch the method of doing it by himself. 
 
 It is expected the master will be a little discouraged at' 
 the awkward figure his pupil makes in his first attempts 
 to teach him. But this is no more than what happens in 
 dancing, fencing, or any other exercise which depends on 
 habit. By practice, the pupil will soon begin to feel his posi- 
 tion, and to be easy in it. Those positions which were 
 zt first distressing to him, he will fall into naturally, and 
 if they arc such as are really graceful and becoming, (and 
 such it is presumed are those which have been just de- 
 scribed) they will be adopted with more facility than any 
 other that can be taught him.. 
 
OF GESTURE. 381 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 On the Acting of Plays at School. 
 
 r T THOUGH the acting of plays at schools has been 
 JL universally supposed a very useful practice, it has of 
 late years been much laid aside. The advantages arising 
 from it have nofbeen judged equal to the inconveniences ; 
 and the speaking of single speeches, or the acting of single 
 scenes, has been generally substituted in its stead. Indeed 
 when we consider the lending principle and prevailing sen- 
 timents of most plays, we shall not wonder that they are 
 not always thought to be the most suitable employment for 
 youth at school : nor, when we reflect on the long inter- 
 ruption to the common school exercises, which the prepa- 
 ration of a play must necessarily occasion, shall we think 
 it consistent with general improvement :- But, to wave 
 every objection from prudence or morality, it may be con- 
 fidently affirmed, that the acting of a play is not so condu- 
 cive to improvement in elocution, as the speaking of sin- 
 gle speeches. 
 
 In the first place, tb^ acting of plays is of all kinds 
 of delivery the most difficult ; and therefore cannot be 
 the most suitable exercise for boys at school. In the next 
 place, a dramatic performance requires so much atten- 
 tion to the deportment of the body, so varied an expres- 
 sion of the passions, and so strict an adherence to char- 
 acter, that elocution is in danger of being neglected : 
 Besides, exact propriety of action, and a nice discrimi- 
 nation of the passions, however essential on the stage, 
 are but of secondary importance in a school. It is a 
 pUvin, open, distinct, and forcible prcnunciation which 
 school-boys should aim at ; and not that quick transition 
 From one passion to another, that archness of look, and 
 thatj?V de theatre as it is called, so essential to a toler- 
 able dramatic exhibition, and which actors themselves 
 can scarcely arrive at. In short, it is speaking rather 
 than acting which school-boys should be taught, while 
 the performance of plays is calculated to teach them acting 
 rather than speaking. 
 
382 ELEMENTS 
 
 But there is a contrary extreme into which manjr 
 teachers are apt to run, and chkfly those who are inca- 
 pable of speaking themselves, and that is, to condemn 
 every thing which is vehement and forcible, as theatric- 
 al. It is an old trick to depreciate what we cannot at- 
 tain, and calling a spirited pronunciation theatrical, is 
 but an artful method of hiding an utter inability of 
 speaking with force and energy. But though school-boys 
 ought not to be taught those nice touches which form the, 
 greatest difficulties in the profession of an actor, they 
 should not be too much restrained from an exertion of 
 voice, so necessary to strengthen the organs of sound, 
 because they may sometimes be too loud and vociferous. 
 Perhaps nine out of ten, instead of too much confidence, 
 and too violent a manner of speaking, which these teach- 
 ers seem so much to dread, have, as Dr. Johnson calls it, 
 a frigid equality, a stupid languor, and a torpid apathy. 
 . These must be roused by something strong and expres- 
 sive, or they will never rise even to mediocrity ; while the 
 few who have a tendency to rant, are very easily re- 
 claimed ; and might to be treated in pronunciation and 
 action, as Quintillian advises us to do in composition ; 
 that is, we should rather allow of an exuberance, than, 
 by too much correctness, check the vigor and iuxuriancy 
 of nature. \ 
 
 Though school-boys, therefore, ought not to be taught 
 the finesses of acting, they should as much as possible be 
 accustomed to speak such speeches as require a full, open, 
 animated proriiniciation for which purpose, they should 
 be confined clyefly to orations, odes, and such single 
 speeches of plays as are in the declamatory and vehement 
 style. But as there are many scenes of plays, which are 
 justly reckoned among the finest compositions in the lan- 
 guage, some of these may be adopted among the upper 
 class of boys, and those more particularly who have the 
 best deportment : for action in scenes will be found much 
 more difficult than in single speeches. And here it will 
 be necessary to give some additional instructions respect- 
 ing action, as a speaker who delivers himself singly to 
 an auditory, and one who addresses another speaker m 
 view of an auditory, are under very different predict 
 
OF G E S T U R E, 383 
 
 jnents. The first has only one object to address, the la^ 
 has two : For if a speaker on the stage were to addrer 
 the person he speaks to, without any regard to the point 
 of view in which he stands with respect to the audience, 
 he would be apt to turn his back on them and to place 
 himself in such positions, as would be highly ungraceful 
 and disgusting. When a scene, therefore, is represented, 
 it is necessary that the two personages who speak should 
 form a sort of picture, and place themselves in a position 
 agreeable to the laws of perspective. In order to do this, 
 it will be necessary that each of them should stand ob- 
 liquely, and chiefly make use of one hand : that is, sup- 
 posing the stage or platform where they stand to be a 
 quadrangle ; each speaker should respectively face that 
 corner of it next to the audience, and use that hand and 
 rest upon that leg which is next to the person he speaks 
 to, and which is farthest from the audience. This dis- 
 position is absolutely necessary to form any thing like a 
 picturesque grouping* of objects, and without it, that is, 
 if both speakers line the right hand and stand exactly 
 fronting each other, the impropriery will be palpable and 
 the spectacle clisgu sting. 
 
 It need scarcely bs noted, that if the speaker in a 
 scene uses that hand which is next to the audience, he 
 ought likewise to poise his body upon the same leg : this 
 is almost an invariable rule in action : the hand should 
 act on lhat side only on which the body bears. Good act- 
 .ors and ^p*. . kers may sometimes depart from this rule, 
 but such only will know when to do it with propriety. 
 
 Occasion may be taken in the course of the scene to 
 change sides. One speaker at the end of an impassioned 
 speech, may cross over to the ola 2 of the other, while 
 the latter at the same moment crosses over to the place 
 of the former. This, however, must be done with great 
 care, and so as to keep the back from being turned to 
 the audience : but if this transition be performed adroit- 
 ly, it will have a very <rood effect in varying the position 
 of the speakers, and giving each an opportunity of using 
 his right hancWthe most favorable to grace and expres- 
 sion. Arid if from so humble a scene as the school, v;e 
 may be permitted to raise our observations to the senate, 
 
384 ELEMENTS 
 
 it might be hinted) that gentlemen on each side of the 4 
 house, while addressing the chair, -can with grace aru! 
 propriety only make use of one hand ; namely, that which 
 is next to the speaker ; and it may be observed in passing, 
 that to all other advantages of speaking", which are sup- 
 posed to belong- to one side of the house may be added 
 the graceful use of the right hand. 
 
 The belter to conceive the position of two speakers in 
 a scene, a plate is given representing their respective 
 attitudes : and it must be carefully noted, that when they 
 are not speaking, the arms must hang in their natural 
 place by the side ; unless what is spoken by one is of 
 such importance, as to excite agitation and surprize in 
 the other. But if we should be sparing of gesture at all 
 times, we should be more particularly so when we are 
 not speaking. 
 
 From v/hat has been laid down it will evidently appear, 
 how much more difficult and complicate is the action of 
 a scene than that of a single speech ; and in teaching 
 both to children, how necessary it is to adopt as simple 
 and easy a method as possible. The easiest method of 
 conveying instruction in this point, will be- sufficiently 
 difficult ; and therefore, the avoiding of aukwardness and 
 impropriety, should be more the object of instruction, 
 than the conveying of beauties. 
 
 There are indeed some masters who are against teach- 
 ing boys any action as all, and are for leaving them in 
 this point entirely to nature. It is happy, however, that 
 they do not leave that action to nature which is acquired 
 by dancing ; the deportment of their pupils would soon 
 convince them they were imposed on by the sound cf 
 v/ords. Improved and beautiful nature &t he object of 
 the painter's pencil, the poet's pen, and/The rhetorician's 
 action, and not that sordid and comnfcpiruture, which 
 is perfectly rude and uncultivated. Nature directs us to 
 art, and art selects and polishes the beauties of nature. 
 It is not sufficient for an orator, says Quintiilian, that he 
 is a man : he must be an improved and cultivated man : 
 lie must be a iaan favored by nature, and fashioned by 
 trt. 
 
OF GESTURE. 335 
 
 But the necessity of adopting some method of teaching 
 action, is too evident to need proof. Boys will infallibly 
 contract some action : to require them to stand stock still 
 \vhile they are speaking an impassioned speech, is not 
 only exacting a very difficult task from them, but is in a 
 great measure checking their natural exertions. If they 
 are left to themselves, they will in all probability fall 
 into very wild and ungraceful action, which, when once 
 formed into a habit, can scarcely ever be corrected : giv- 
 ing them therefore a general outline of good action, must 
 be of the utmost consequence to their progress and im- 
 provement in pronunciation. 
 
 The great use, therefore, of a system of action like the 
 present, is, that a boy will never be embarrassed for want 
 of knowing what to do with his legs and arms; nor will 
 he bestow that attention on his action^ which ought to 
 be directed to his pronunciation : he \vl\l always be in a 
 position which will not disgrace his figure, and when this 
 gesture is easy to him, it may serve as a ground work to 
 something more perfect : he may either, by his own ge- 
 nius or his master's instructions, build some other action 
 upon it, which may in time give it additional force and 
 variety. 
 
 Thus, what seemed either unworthy the attention, or 
 too difficult for the execution of others, the author of the 
 present publication has ventured to attempt. A con- 
 viction of the necessity of teaching some system of action, 
 and the abundant success of the present system in ORC of 
 ihe most respectable academies near London, has deter- 
 mined him to publish it, for the use of such seminaries as 
 make English pronunciation a part of their discipline. 
 
 It may not be useless to observe, thct boys should be 
 classed in this, as in every other kind of instruction 
 according to their abilities. That a class should not 
 consist of more than ten; that about eight or ten lines 
 of some speech, should be read first by the teacher, then 
 by the boy who reads best, and then by the rest in order, 
 all having a book of the same kind, and all reading tho 
 same portion. This portion they must be ordered to get 
 by heart against the next lesson ; and then the first boy 
 must speak it, standing at some distance before the rent, 
 K k 
 
E L E M. E NT S 
 
 in the manner directed in the plates ; the second boy 
 must succeed him, and so on till they have all spoken. 
 After which another portkm must be read to them, which 
 they must read and speak in the same manner as before. 
 Y/hen they have gone through a speech in this manner 
 by portions, the two or three first boys may be ordered, 
 against the next lesson to speak the whole speech ; the 
 next lesson two or three more, and so on to the rest. This 
 will excite emulation, and give the teacher an opportuni- 
 ty pf ranking them according to their merit, 
 
 .CTION TIL 
 
 ;ir expressing^ wiih Propriety) the principal Passions 
 and Humors which occur in Reading or public Speaking* 
 
 5 VERY part of the human frame contributes to ex- 
 press the passions and emotions of the mind, and to 
 Uiow, in general, its present state. The head is sometimes 
 erected, sometimes hung clown, sometimes drawn sudden- 
 ly back with an air of disdain, sometimes shows by a nod, 
 a particular person or object ; gives assent, or deni- 
 al, by different motions ; threatens by one sort of move- 
 ment, approves by another, and expresses suspicion by a 
 third. 
 
 The arms are sometimes both thrown out, sometimes 
 the right alone. Sometimes they are lifted up as high as 
 the face, to express wonder ; sometimes held out before 
 the breast, to show fear ; spread forth with the hands, 
 open, to express desire or affection : the hands clapped 
 in surprise and in sudden joy and grief, the right hand 
 clenched, and the arms brandished, to threaten ; the 
 two arms set a-kimbo, to look big, and express contempt 
 or courage. With the hands, we solicit, we refuse, we 
 promise, we threaten, we dismiss, we invite, we intreat, 
 V7c- express aversion, fear, doubting, denial, asking, af- 
 
OF GESTURE. ,~2T 
 
 firmation, negation, joy, grief, confession, penittnc- - 
 With the hands we describe, and point out all cfr 
 stances of time, place, and manner of what we relate- 
 we excite the passions of others, and sooth Uwm > 
 approve and disapprove, permit and prohibit, admire o- 
 Die hands serve us instead of many sorts of 
 woras and where the language of the tongue is unknown, 
 that of the hands is understood, being universal, and com- 
 mon to :i!! nations. 
 
 The legs advance, or retreat', to express, desire, or w-~ 
 sion, love, or hatred, courage, or fear, and produce exult- 
 ation, or leaping in sudden joy ; and the stamping oft'- 
 loot expresses earnestness, anger, and threatenm-.-? 
 
 Especially the face, being furnished with a variety of 
 muscles, does more in expressing the pas.ions of the !;i "inu, 
 than the whole human frame besides, '!> c d'n~e of 
 color (in white people) shows, by turns, anwr bv'W- 
 >ess, and sometimes by paleness, fear likewise by wfe- 
 ness, and shame by blushing. Every feature contributes 
 
 I, ? F he m u Uth pen> 8hows one stnt e of the mind, 
 
 shut, another ; the gnashing of teeth, another. The 
 :orehead smooth, eyebrows arched and easy, show traa- 
 qtliflity or joy. Mirth opens the mouth toward the ears 
 cnsps the nose, half-slrots the eyes, and sometimes fills 
 chem with tears. The front wrinkled into frowns, and 
 the eyebrows overhanging the eyes, like clouds, fraUht 
 v, th tempest, show a mind agitated with fury. Above 
 . ' ihc ,.^' e shows the v ery spirit in a visible form. In 
 every Afferent state of the mind, it assumes .dSbiwJ 
 appearance. Joy brightens and opens it. Grif half- 
 
 from"; TV rT RS U ^ tearS> Hatred and n ^, fla^h 
 
 fromitl.ke lightnmg. Love darts from it fa timers 
 
 ike tne orient beam. Jealousy, and squinting envy dan 
 
 neir contag.ous blasts from the eye. And devote/rat 
 
 it to the skies, as if the soul of the holy man were qoinp to 
 
 take its flight to heaven. 
 
 The force and attitude and looks alone appears in a 
 
 wonder ously strikin g manner, in the works of STe painter 
 
 statuary, who have the delicate art of making the 
 
 flat canvas and rocky marble utter every passion of the 
 
 human mmd, and touch the soul of the sp ctcuor, L iT 
 
3S8 
 
 ELEMENTS. 
 
 PLATE IV, 
 
 HI! 
 
OF GESTURE. S89 
 
 iiie picture, or statue, spoke the pathetic language cf 
 Shakspeare. It is no wonder, then, that masterly action, 
 joined with powerful elocution, should be irresistible. 
 And the variety of expression, by looks and gestures is so 
 great, that, as is well known, a whole play c*.n be repre- 
 sented without a word spoken. 
 
 The following are, I believe, the prlncip;cV passions, hu- 
 mors, sentiments and intentions, which are to be express- 
 ed by speech and action, And I hope- it \vill be allowed 
 by the reader, that it is nearly ia the folio, ting niann.tr, 
 chut nature expresses ihevn. 
 
 f .r>-atiqiilUity^ c-r a/ia'taj, appears by the composure of 
 Countenance, and general repose of the body wicl 
 limbs, without the exertion of any one muscle. The 
 countenance open : the forehead smooth ; the eyebrows 
 arched ; the month just not shut ; and the eyes passi;^ 
 v, ith an easy motion from object to object, bat not d.vvel! 
 .) long upon any one. 
 
 . , . fcgift ndc-3 a smile, opening L 
 
 Jlfir/A, or Iru^k^r^ opens the mouth still more towards 
 the cars; crisps the nose ; lessens the aperture of the 
 eyes, and something fills. them with tears : shakes ar::I 
 convulses the whole frame ; giving considerable pah-i 
 which occasions holding the iiidts* 
 
 "xiUtrih ii sj)ort, without real anirnosUfj puts 0:1 the 
 aspect of cheerfulness. The tone of voice is sprightly. 
 With contempt, or disgust, it casts a look asquint, from 
 . time to time, at the object ; and quits .he cheerful aspect 
 ibr one mixed between an affected grin s-nd sourness. 
 Xhe upper lip is drawn up. with an e.ir c-f disdain, Tit* 
 arniij are set a-kimbo on -.he hips 
 now and then thrown out toward 
 were going to strike uncther a sllgl 'r.-hantkd blow- 
 The pitch of the voice rather loud h and 
 
 sneering ; the sentences short ; i\- y-rictk 
 
 with rnock-praise intermixed. There are iriatnnces cf 
 raillery in scripture itbelf, as I Kings xvii, and Ist. 
 It is not, therefore, beneath the dignity of the piiij~.lt ora- 
 tor, occasionally to use it, in the cause of , 
 hibiting vice in a ludicrous appearance. N> 
 V think raillery unworthy the attention of t;,. 
 K k 2 
 
300 E L E M- E N T S 
 
 as it may occasionally corne in, not unusefully, in; 
 pleadings, as \?ell as any other stroke of ornament, or 
 entertainment. 
 
 Buffoonery assumes an arch, sly, leering gravity. Must 
 not quit its serious aspect, though all should laugh to 
 burst ribs of steel. This command of face is somewhat 
 difficult ; though not so hard, I should think, as to re- 
 strain the contrary sympathy, I mean of weeping with 
 those who weep. 
 
 Jciji when sudden. and violent, expresses itself by clap- 
 ping of lianas, and exultation or leaping. The eyes are 
 opened wide ; perhaps filled with tears ; often raised to 
 heaven, especially by devout persons. The countenance 
 is smiling, not composedly, but with features aggrava- 
 ted. The voiie rises from time to time, to very high 
 iiotes. 
 
 Delight^ cr Pleasure, as when one is entertained, or 
 ravished with music, painting, oratory, or any such ele- 
 gancy, shows itself by the looks, gestures, and utterance 
 of joy ; but moderated. 
 
 Gravity, or Seriousness, the mind fixed upon some im- 
 portant subject, draws down the eyebrows a little ; casts 
 down, or shuts, or raises the eyes to heaven ; shuts the 
 mouth, and pinches the lips close. The posture of the . 
 body and limbs is composed, and without much motion. , 
 The speech, if any, slow and solemn ; the tone unvarying* . 
 
 Inquiry into an obscure subject, fixes the body in one 
 posture, the head stooping, and the eye poring, the eye- , 
 brows drawn down. 
 
 Attention to an esteemed or superior character, lias the 
 same aspect ; and requires silence ; the eyes often cast 
 clown upon the ground ; sometimes fixed on the face oi 
 the speaker ; but not too pertly* 
 
 Modesty, or Submission, bends the body forward ; levels 
 the eyes to the breast, if not to the feet, of the sir 
 character. The voice low ; the tone submissive ; and 
 words few. 
 
 Perfilexity, or Anxiety, which is always attended with-- 
 some degree of fear and uneasiness, draws all the parts, 
 of the body together ; gathers, up the arms upon the 
 breast, unless one hand covers the eyts, or rubs the fore- 
 head ; draws down, the eyebrows'; lianas. the head- 
 
O F G E S T U R E. 391. 
 
 the breast ; cast down the eyes, shuts and pinches the 
 eyelids close ; shuts the mouth, and pinches the lips 
 close, or bites them. Suddenly the whole body is vehe- 
 mently, agitated, The person walks about busily ; stops 
 abruptlyo . Then he talks to himself, or makes grimaces. 
 If he speaks to another, his pauses are very long ; the 
 tone of his voice unvarying, ami his sentences broken , 
 expressing half, and, keeping in half of. what arises in his 
 mind, 
 
 Vexation^ occasioned by some real or imaginary mis- 
 fortune, agitates the whole frame, and, besides expressing 
 itself with the looks, gestures, restlessness, and tone of 
 perplexity, it adds complaint, fretting and lamenting. 
 
 Pity, & mixed passion of love and grief, looks down 
 upon distress with lifted hands ; eyebrows drawn down ; 
 mouth open ;: and features drawn together. Its expres- 
 sion, as to looks and gesture, is- the same with those of ' 
 suffering (see Suffering,} but more moderate, as the pain- 
 ful feelings are only sympathetic, and therefore one re- 
 move. as it .were, more distant from, the soul, th#n what 
 one feels in his own person.-.. 
 
 Grief, sudden and violent, expresses itself by beatinp; 
 i,e head ; grovelling on the ground ; tearing off gar- 
 ments, hair, an'd ilesh ; screaming aloud, weeping, stamp- 
 ing with the feet, lifting the eyes, from time to time, to 
 r,eaven ; hurrying to and fro, running distracted, or 
 fainting away sometimes without recovery. Sometimes 
 violent grief produces- a torpid silence, resembling total 
 
 Melancholy, or fixed grief, is gloomy* sedentary, mo- - 
 tionjess*. The lower jaw falls; the lips pale, the eyes 
 i-.re cast down, half shut, eyelids swelled and red, or livid, 
 i^urs trickjing silent, and unwiped ; with a total inatten- 
 tion to every thing that passes. Words, if any, few, and 
 those dragged out, rather than spoken ; the accents weak, 
 i-.ncl interrupted, sighs breaking into the middle of scnten- 
 
 . and words. . 
 
 Despair, as in a condemned criminal, or one, who has 
 
 ]ost all hope of salvation, bends the eyebrows downward ; 
 
 iouds the forehead; rolls the eyes around frightfully ; 
 
 opens the mouth toward the ears ; bites the lips ; widens 
 
 nostrils ; gnashes with the. teeth, like a fierce wild 
 
D02 . .ELEMENTS 
 
 beast. The heart is too much hardened to suffer tears to 
 flow 7 ; yet the eyeballs will be red and inflamed like those 
 of an animal in a rabid state. The head is hung down 
 upon the breast. The arms are. bende-d at the elbows, the 
 fij>:s are clenched hard ; the veins and muscles swelled ; 
 the skin livid ; and the whole body strained and Violently- 
 agitated ; groans, expressive of inward torture, more fre- 
 quently uttered than 'words. I.f aoy words, they are few, 
 and expressed with a sullen, 'eager bitterness ; the tone 
 of voice often loud and fimous. As it often drives people 
 to distraction, anrl self-murder, it can.- hardly be over-acted 
 by one who wo.uld represent it. 
 
 ->cr, violent and. sudden, opens very wide the eyes and 
 mouth ;. shortens the nose ; draws down the eyebrows ; 
 ives the countenance an- air of wikhitss ; covers it with 
 a deadly paleness-.; draws back the elbows parallel with 
 the sick-s,;.. lifts up the open hands, the lingers together, 
 to the height of the. break, so that the palms face the 
 dreadful object, as shields opposed against it. One foot is 
 drawn back, behind the. other, so that the body seems 
 shrinking from the danger, and putting itself in a posture 
 for flight*. The heart heats violently; the breath is fetch- 
 ed quick and sho:;t ;. the whole body is thrown into a gen- 
 eral tremor,. Tim voke is weak avid trembling ; the sen- 
 tences are &hor*, and the meaning confused and incohe- 
 rent. Imminent danger, real, or fancied, produces in tim- 
 orous persons, r.s v/cmen and children, violent shrieks, 
 vkhout any articulate sound of words ; and sometimes ir- 
 recoverably confounds the understanding ; produces faint- 
 ing;, which is sometimes followed by death.. 
 
 SLamS) or a sense of one's appearing to a disadvantage., 
 /s Lllow-creatures;. turns away the face from, 
 -the beliCiJcrs, covers- it with blushes ; hangs the head<; 
 casts ck. v:- i;>e eyes ; draws down the eyebrows ; either 
 ei'..vikeri the percior, dumb, or if he attempts to say any thing 
 in his own defence, causes his tongue, to faulter, and con- 
 founds his utterance ; and puts him upon making a tho'> 
 sar^d gestures and grimaces, to keep hiiiiselfin connlen- 
 ance ; all of which only heighten the confusion of his ap- 
 pcarancc. 
 
 JReinorje) or a painful sense of guilt, casts down the 
 vj nod; and clouds it with anxiety ; hangs dowi 
 
OF'GESTUR'E. 393 
 
 the head, draws the eyebrows down upon the eyes. The 
 right hand beats the breast. The teeth gnash with an- 
 guish. The whole body is strained and violently agitated. 
 If this strong remorse is succeeded by the more gracious 
 disposition of penitence, or contrition ; then the eyes 
 are raised (but with great appearance of doubting and 
 fear) to the throne of heavenly mercy ; and immedi- 
 ately cast down again to the earth. Then floods of tears 
 are seen to flow. The knees are bended ; or the body 
 prostrated on the ground. The arms are spread in a sup- 
 pliant posture, and the voice of deprecation is uttered 
 with sighs, groans, timidity, hesitation, and trembling. 
 
 Courage, steady, and cool, opens the countenance, gives 
 the whole form an erect and graceful air. The accents 
 are strong, full-mouthed and articulate, the voice firm and 
 even. 
 
 Boasting, or affected courage, is loud, blustering, 
 threatening. The eyes stare ; the eyebrows drawn down ; 
 he face red and bloated j the rnbuth pouts out ; the 
 voice hollow and thundering ; the arms arc set a-kimbo ; 
 the head often nodding in a menacing manner ; and the 
 right fist, clenched, is brandished, from time to time, at 
 the person threatened. The right foot is often stamped 
 tipon the ground, and the legs take such large strides, and 
 the steps are so heavy, that the earth seems to tremble 
 tinder them. * 
 
 Pride, assumes a lofty look, bordering upon the aspect 
 
 ! attitude of anger. The eyes open, but with the 
 eyebrows considerably drawn down ; the mouth pouting 
 out, mostly shut, and the lips pinched close. The 
 words walk out a-strut, with a slow, stiff, bombastic affect- 
 ation of importance. The arms generally a-kimbo, and 
 the legs at a distance from one another, taking large 
 trageflf-strWes. 
 
 Qbxtin&cy adds to the aspect of pride, a dogged sour- 
 ness, like that of malice. See Malice. 
 
 Authority opens the countenance ; but draws down the 
 tvebfows a little, so fur as to give the look of gravity. 
 See Gravity. 
 
 Gomrnandrng requires an air a little more peremptory, 
 with a look a little severe or stern. The hand is held 
 out and moved towards the person, to whom the en 
 
394 E L E M. E N T S 
 
 is given, with the palm upwards, and the head nods tc- 
 ward him. 
 
 forbidding, on the contrary, draws the head back- 
 wards, and pushes the hand from one with the palm 
 downward, as if going t o lay it upon the person, to hold 
 him clown immovable, that he may not do what is forbid- 
 den him. 
 
 Affirming especially with a judicial oath, is expressed 
 by lifting the open right hand, and eyes, toward heaven ; 
 or, if conscience is appealed to by laying the right hand 
 upon the breast. 
 
 Denying is expressed by pushing the open right hand 
 from one ; and turning the face the contrary way. See 
 Aversion. 
 
 Differing in sentiment may be expressed as refusing* 
 See Refusing. 
 
 Agreeing in opinion, or conviction, as granting. See 
 Granting. 
 
 Exhorting, as by a general at the head of his army, 
 requires a kind, complacent look, unless matter of offence 
 has passed, as neglect of duty, or the like. 
 
 Judging demands a grave, steady look, with deep at- 
 tention ; the countenance altogether clear from any ap- 
 pearance of either disgust or favor. The accents slow, 
 distinct, emphatical, accompanied with little action, and 
 that very grave. 
 
 Jtzjiro-ving puts on a stern aspect, roughens the voice? 
 and is accompanied with gestures not much different' 
 from those of threatening, but not so lively. 
 
 Acquitting is performed with u benevolent, tranquil 
 countenance, and tone of vclce ; the right hand, if not both, 
 open, waved gemly toward the person acquitted, expres- 
 sing dismission. See Diamiasing: 
 
 Condemning assumes a severe look, but mixed with pity* 
 The sentence is to be expressed as with reluctance.- 
 
 Teaching, explaining, inculcating, or giving orders 
 ta an inferior, requires tin air of superiority to be as- 
 sumed. The features are to be composed to an author- 
 itative gravity. The eye steady, and open, the eye- 
 brow a little drawn down over it ; but not so much as to 
 look surly or dogmatical. The tone of voice varying 
 .according as the emphasis requires^ of which a good 
 
OF C E S T U R E. 595 
 
 deal is necessary in expressing matter of this sort. The 
 pitch of the voice to be strong and clear ; the articula- 
 tion distinct ; the utterance slow, and the manner pe- 
 remptory. This is the proper manner of pronouncing 
 the commandments in the communion office. But (I am 
 sorry to say it) they are too commonly spoken in the same 
 manner as the prayers, than which nothing can be more 
 unnatural. 
 
 Pardoning differs from acquitting, in that the latter 
 means clearing a person alter trial, of gxrilt ; whereas the 
 former supposes guilt, and signifies merely delivering the 
 guilty person from punishment. Pardoning requires some 
 degree of severity of aspect and tone of voice, because the 
 pardoned person is not an object of entire unmixed appro- 
 bation ; otherwise its expression is much the same as 
 granting. See Granting. 
 
 Arguing requires a cool, sedate, attentive aspect^ an-d 
 a clear, slow, emphatica! accent, with much demon station 
 by the hand. It differs from teaching (See Teaching} in 
 that the look of authority is not wanting in arguing. 
 
 Dismissing^ with approbation, is done with a kind as- 
 pect and tone of voice ; the right hand open, gently w r av- 
 ed towards the person. With displeasure, besides the 
 look and tone of voice which suits displeasure, the hand 
 is hastily thrown out toward the person dismissed, the 
 back part toward him, the countenance at the same time 
 turned away from him. 
 
 Refusing, when accompanied with displeasure, is ex- 
 pressed nearly in the same may. Without displeasure it 
 is done with a visible reluctance, which occasions the 
 bringing out the words slowly, with such a shake of the 
 head, and shrug of the shoulders, as is natural upon hear- 
 ing of somewhat, which gives us concern. 
 
 Granting^ when done with unreserved good will, is ac- 
 companied with a benevolent aspect, and tone of voice ; 
 the right hand pressed to the left breast, to signify how 
 heartily the favor is granted, and the benefactor's joy in 
 conferring it. 
 
 Dtfiendance. See Modesty. 
 
 Veneration or worshipping, comprehends several arti- 
 cles, as ascription, confession, remorse, intercession, 
 thanksgiving, deprecaticn, petition, &c. Ascription of 
 
396 E L E M -E N T S 
 
 honor and praise to the peerless, supreme Majesty 01 
 Heaven, and confession and deprecation, are to be uttered 
 with all that humility of looks and gesture, which can ex- 
 hibit the most profound self-abasement and annihilation, 
 before One, whose superiority is infinite* The head is 
 a little raised, but with the most apparent timidity and 
 dread ; the eye is lifted, but immediately cast clov:u 
 again, or closed for a moment ; the eyebrows are drawn 
 clown in the most respectful manner; the features, and 
 the whole body and limbs, are all composed to the most 
 profound gravity ; one posture continuing, without con- 
 siderable change, during the whole performance of the 
 duty. The knees bended, or the whole body pros- 
 trate, or if the posture be standing, which scripture does 
 not disallow, bending forward, as ready to prostrate 
 itself. The arms spread out, but modestly, as high as 
 the breast ; the hands open. The tone of the voice will 
 be submissive, timid, equal, trembling, weak, suppliant. 
 The words will be brought out with a visible anxiety and 
 diffidence, approaching to hesitation ; few, and slow ; no- 
 thing of vain repetition, harranguing, Hewers of rhetoric, 
 or affected figures of speech ? all simplicity, humility? 
 and lowliness, such as becomes a reptile of the dust, when 
 presuming to address Him, .whose greatness is tremen- 
 dous beyond all created conception. In intercession for 
 our fellow creatures, which is prescribed in the scriptures, 
 and in thanksgiving, the countenance will naturally as- 
 sume a small degree of cheerfulness beyond what it was 
 clothed with in confession of sin and deprecation of 
 punishment. But all affected ornament of speech, or 
 gesture in devotion, deserves the severest censure, as be- 
 ing somewhat much worse than absurd. 
 
 Respect for a superior, puts on the looks and gesture of 
 modesty. ..See Modesty. 
 
 Hope brightens the. countenance ; arches the eyebrows ; 
 gives the eyes an eager, wishful look : opens the mouth 
 to half a smile ; bends the body a little forward, the feet 
 equal ; spreads the arms, with the hands open, as to re- 
 ceive the object of its longings. The tone of the voice is 
 eager, and unevenly, inclining to that of joy : but curbed 
 by a degree of doubt and anxiety* Desire differs from 
 hope as to expression, in this particular, that there is more 
 
' E G G T U R E. , $97 
 
 jt and anxiety in the former than in 
 tbu latter. For it ife one thing to desire what is agreeable,, 
 another to have a prospect of actually obtaining it. 
 
 Dctire expresses itself by bending the body forward, 
 and stretching the arms toward the object, as to grasp it. 
 The countenance smiling-, but eager and wishful ; the 
 eyes wide open, and eyebrows raised ; the mouth open ; 
 the tone of voice suppliant, but lively and cheerful, unless 
 there be distress as well as desire ; the expressions fluent 
 .and copious ; if r>o words are used, sighs instead of them ; 
 is is chieily in distress. 
 
 Love (successful) lights u.p the countenance into smiles. 
 The forehead is smoothed, and enlarged ; the eyebrows 
 are arched ; the mouth a little open, and smiling ; the 
 eyes languishing, antl half-shut, dote upon the beloved ob- 
 ject. The countenance assumes the eager and wishful look 
 f desire, (see Desire above) but mixed with an air of t>:it- 
 'isfuction and repose. The accents are soit and winning ; 
 the tone of voice persuasive, flattering, pathetic, various, 
 musical, rapturous, as in joy. (See Joy.) The attitude 
 much the same with that of desire. Sometimes both 
 i pressed eagerly to the bosom. Love, unsuccessful^ 
 acids an air of anxiety and melancholy. See Perplexity 
 -\ n v 1 Me Ian ch o!i>. 
 
 Giving, inviting^ soliciting, and such I ns, which 
 
 suppose some degree of affection, real ^ pictcnded, are 
 accompanied with much the same looks and gestures as 
 express love, but more moderate. 
 
 Wander or amazement, (without any other interesting 
 passion, as love, esteem, 8cc.) opens the eyes,, and makes 
 them appear very prominent ; same times raises them >/? 
 the skies ; but oftener, -and more expressively, fixes them 
 on the object, if the cause of the passion be a ]; 
 visible object, with the look, all except the vviidnc. 
 r.jur, (See Fear..) If the hands hold any thing, at 
 iime when the object of wonder appears, they immediately 
 let it drop, unconscious, and the whole body fines in the 
 contracted, stooping posture of amazement ; the mouth 
 open ; the hands held up open, nearly in the : 
 fear. (See Fear.) The first excess of th, 
 ull utterance. But it makes amends afterwards? by a co- 
 r,iousfjow of words and exclamations. 
 L 1 
 
393 E L E iM E N T S 
 
 dd-miration, a mixed passion, consisting of wonder, 
 with love or esteem, takes away the familiar gesture and 
 expression of simple love. (See Lvvc.) Keeps the res- 
 pectful look and attitude. (See Modesty and Veneration.} 
 The eyes are opened wide, and now and then raised to- 
 ward heaven. The mouth is opened. The hands are 
 jifted up. The tone of the voice rapturous. This pas- 
 sion expresses itself copiously, making great use of the 
 figure hyperbole. 
 
 Gratitude puts on an aspect full of complacency. (See 
 Love.) If the object of it is a character greatly superior, 
 it expresses much submission. (See Modesty.) The right 
 hand pressed upon the breast accompanies, very properly, 
 the expression of a sincere and hearty sensibility of obliga- 
 tion. 
 
 Curiosity ) as of a busy-body, opens the eyes and mouth, 
 lengthens the neck, bends the body forward, and fixes it 
 in one posture, with the hands nearly in that of admiration. 
 See Mmiration. See also Desire, Attention^ Hope^ Inqui- 
 ry > and Perplexity. 
 
 Persuasion puts on the looks of moderate love. See 
 Love.} Its accents are soft, flattering, emphatical and 
 articulate. 
 
 Tempting or wheedling ^ expresses itself much in the 
 same way, only carrying the fawning part to excess. 
 
 Promising is expressed with benevolent looks, the nod of 
 consent, and the open hands gently moved towards the 
 person to whom the promise is made, the palms upwards. 
 The sincerity of the promiser may he'expressed by laying 
 the right hand gently on the breast. 
 
 Affectation displays itself in a thousand different gestures, 
 motions, airs and looks, according to the character which 
 the person affects. Affectation of learning gives a stiff 
 formality to the whole person. The words come stalking 
 out with the pace of a funeral procession; and every sen- 
 tence has the solemnity of an oracle. Affectation of piety 
 turns up the goggling whites of the eyes to heaven, as if 
 the person were in a trance, and fixes them in that posture 
 so long that the brain of the beholder grows giddy. Then 
 comes up, deep-grumbling, a holy groan from the lower 
 parts of the thorax ; but so tremendous in sound, and so 
 long protracted? that you expect to see a goblin rise, like 
 
OF G E S T U R E. 399 
 
 an exhalation through the solid earth. Then he begins to 
 rock from side to side, or backward and forward, like an 
 aged pine on the side of a hill, when a brisk wind blows. 
 The hands are clasped together, and often lifted, and the 
 head often shaken with foolish vehemence. The tone of 
 the voice is canting, or sing-song lullaby, not much dis- 
 tant from an Irish howl, and the words godly doggrel. *- 
 Affectation of beauty and killing, puts a fine woman by 
 turns into all sorts of forms, appearances and attitudes, 
 but amiable ones. She undoes, by art, or rather by 
 aukwardness, (for true art conceals itself) all that nature 
 had done for her. Nature formed her almost an angel, 
 and she, with infinite pains, makes herself a monkey. 
 Therefore this species of affectation is easily imitated, 
 or taken off. Make as many and as ugly grimaces, mo- 
 tions and gestures as can be made, and take care that na- 
 ture never peep out, and you represent coquetish affecta- 
 tion to the life. 
 
 Sloth appears by yawning, dosing, snoring, the head 
 dangling sometimes to one side, sometimes to the other ; 
 the arms and leg* stretched out, and every sinew of the 
 body unstrung ; the eyes heavy, or closed ; the words, if 
 any, crawl out of the mouth, but half-formed, scarce audi- 
 ble to any ear, and broken off in the middle by powerful 
 sleep. 
 
 People, who walk in their sleep, (of which our inimita- 
 ble Shakspeare has in his tragedy of MACBETH, drawn 
 out a fine scene) are said to have their eyes open ; though 
 they are not, the more for that, conscious of any thing, 
 but the dream, which has got possession of their imagina- 
 tion. I never saw one of those persons, therefore cannot 
 describe their manner from nature ; but I suppose, their 
 speech is pretty much like that of persons dreaming, inar- 
 ticulate, incoherent, and very different, in its tone, from 
 what it is when waking. 
 
 Intoxication shows itself by the eyes half- shut, sleepy, 
 stupid, inflamed. An idiot smile, a ridiculous surliness, 
 or affected bravado, disgraces the bloated countenance. 
 The mouth open tumbles out nonsense in heaps, without 
 articulation enough for any ear to take it in, and unworthy 
 of attention, if it could be taken in. The head seems too 
 heavy for the neck. The arms dangle from the shoulders, 
 
406 ELEMENTS 
 
 as if they were almost cut away, and hung by shreds. Th? 
 legs loiter and bend at she knees, as ready lo sink under 
 Ihe weight of the reeling body. And a general incapacity, ' 
 corporeal and menial, exhibits human nature sunk below 
 the brutal. 
 
 Anger (violent) or rage, expresses itself with rapidity, 
 interruption, noise, harshness and trepidation. The neck 
 stretched out ; the head forward, often nodding and sha- 
 ken in a menacing manner, against the objeet of the pas- 
 sion. The eyes red, inflamed, staring, rolling, and spark- 
 ling ; the eyebrows drawn down over them ; and the fore- 
 head wrinkled into clouds. The nostrils stretched wide ; 
 every vein swelled ; every muscle strained ; the breast 
 heaving, and the breath fetched hard. The mouth open* 
 s>.nd drawn on each side toward the ears, showing the 
 teeth, in a gnashing posture. The face bloated, pale, red, 
 r,r something almost black. The feet stamping ; the rh 
 arm often thrown out, and menacing with the clenched 
 iist shaken, and a general and violent- -.agitation of the 
 \vhole body. 
 
 Peevishness, will nature, is a Tower degree of anger 5 
 and is therefore expressed in the above manner, only more 
 moderate, with half-sentences, and broken speeches, utter- 
 ed hastily ; the upper lip drawn up disdainfully ; the eyes 
 asquint upon the object of displeasure. 
 
 Malice, or s/iite^ sets the jaws, or gnashes with the teeth \ 
 sends blasting flashes from the eyes ; draws the mouth to- 
 
 .1 the ears; clenches both fists, and bends the ellx 
 in a straining manner. The tone of voico and expression, 
 are much the same wilh that of anger ; but the pitch no 
 so loud. 
 
 Envy is a little more moderate in its gestures, that* 
 malice ; but much the same in kind. 
 
 Revenge expresses itself as malice, 
 
 Cruelty. See Anger > Aversion^ Malice^ and the c 
 irascible passions. 
 
 Complaining, as when one is under violent V 
 distorts the features: almost closes the tyc." ; s&i 
 times raises them wishfully ; opens the mouth ; gnashes 
 with the teeth ; draws up the upper lip ; draws do 
 the head upon the breast, and the whole body to- 
 gether. The arms are violently bent at the elb: 
 
OF G E S T U R E. ^C! 
 
 and the fists strongly clenched. The voice is uttered in 
 groans, lamentations, and violent screams. Extreme tor- 
 lure, produces fainting, and death. 
 
 fatigue from severe labor, gives a general languor to 
 the whole body. The countenance is dejected. (See 
 Grief.) The arms hang listless ; the body (if sitting or 
 lying along be not the posture) stoops, as in old age. 
 (See Dotage.) The legs, if walking, are dragged heavily 
 along, and seem at every step ready to bend under the 
 weight of the body. The voice is weak, and the words 
 hardly enough articulated to be understood, 
 
 Aversion or hatred, expressed to, or of any person or 
 thing, that is odious to the speaker, occasions his drawing 
 back, as avoiding the approach of what he hates ; the 
 hands, at the same time thrown out spread, as if to keep 
 it off. The face turned away from that side toward which 
 the hands are thrown out; the eyes looking angrily and 
 asquint the same way the hands are directed ; the eyebrows 
 drawn downwards ; the upper lip disdainfully drawn up ; 
 but the teeth set. The pitch of the voice loud ; the tone 
 chiding, unequal, surly,, vehement. The sentences short 
 and abrupt.. 
 
 Commendation) or a/ifirobatwn, from a superior, puts on 
 the aspect of love, (excluding desire and respect) and ex- 
 presses itself in a mild tone of voice ; the arms gently 
 spread ; the palms of the hands to-ward the person ap- 
 proved. Exhorting or encouraging, as of an army by a 
 general, is expressed with some part of the looks and 
 action of courage, 
 
 Jealousy would be likely to be well expressed by one, 
 who had often seen prisoners tortured in the dungeons of 
 the inquisition, or who had seen what the dungeons of the 
 inquisition are the best earthly emblem of; I mean Hell. 
 For next to being in the Pope's or in Satan's prison, is the 
 torture of him who is possessed with the spirit of jealousy. 
 Being a mixture of passions directly contrary to one ano- 
 ther, the person^ whose soul is the seat of such confusion 
 and tumult, must be in as much greater misery thsn 
 Prometheus, with the vulture tearing his liver, as the 
 pains of the mind arc greater than those of the body. 
 Jealousy is a ferment of love, hatred, hope, fear, shame, 
 anxiety, suspicion, grief, pity, envy, pride, rage, cruelty^. 
 
4u:2 ELEMENTS 
 
 vengeance, madness, and if there be any other ton 
 ing passion which can agitate the human mind. Tl 
 fore to express jealousy well, requires that one know how- 
 to represent justly all these passions by turns, (See JLt>-ce\ 
 Hatred, Sec.) and often several of them together. Jeal- 
 ousy shows itself by restlessness, peevishness, thoughtfu 1 - 
 ness, anxiety, absence of mind. Sometimes it bursts out 
 in piteo-is complaint and weeping ; then a gleam of hope, 
 that all is yet well, lights up the countenance into a mo- 
 iv smile. Immediately the face clouded with a 
 general ?loom, shows the mind overcast again with hor- 
 rid suspicions and frightful imaginations. Then the arms 
 are folded upon the breast ; the fists violently clenched ;, 
 the rolling, bloody eyes dart fury. He hurries to and fro ;-. 
 he has no more rest than a ship in a troubled sea, the 
 sport of winds and waves. Again, he composes himself 
 a little to reflect on the charms of the suspected person. 
 She appears to his imagination like the sweetness of the 
 rising dawn. Then his monster-breeding fancy represents, 
 her as false as she is fair. Then ie roars out as on the 
 rack, when the cruel engine rends every joint, and every 
 sinew bursts. Then fee throws himself on the ground. 
 He beacs his head against the pavement. Then he 
 springs up, and with the look and action of a fury bursting 
 hot from the abyss, :es the instrument of death, 
 
 and after ripping up the bosom of the lov.ed, suspected), 
 hated, lamented, fair one. he stabs himself to the heart* 
 and exhibits a sink' < r , how terrible a creature a 
 
 puny mortal Is whe: 1 >y an infernal passion. 
 
 Dotage^ or infirm old eg-;, shows itself by talkativeness* 
 boasting of the past ?ssofeyes and cheeks, dim-. 
 
 ness of sight, deafness, tremor of voice, the accents, thro' 
 default of teeth, scarce intelligible ; hams weak, kneer 
 tottering, head paralytic, hollow covsghrng, frequent ex- 
 pectoration, breathless wheezing, laborious gronni-i 
 body stooping- under tl 
 ivhich soon shall ci 
 had its origir. 
 
 -Fo/c of P. natural idiot, 
 
 itusl tho\> dance lYovn 
 
 to oi>jec. ever fixin 
 
OF GESTURE. 40* 
 
 ;,ches, and absurdities, are played off' every mo- 
 ment. 
 
 Distraction opens the eyes to a frightful wideness, rools 
 them hastily and wildly from object to object ; distorts 
 every feature ; gnashes with the teeth ; agitates all parts 
 of the body ; rolls in the dust, foams at the mouth ; tit- 
 ters, with hideous bellowings, execrations, blasphemies, 
 and all that is fierce and outrageous ; rushes furiously 
 on all who approach ; and, if not restrained, tears its 
 own flesh, and destroys itself. 
 
 Sickness has infirmity and feebleness in every motion 
 and utterance. The eyes dim, and almost closed ; cheeks 
 pale and hollow ; the jaw fallen ; the head hung down, 
 as if too heavy to be supported by the neek. A general- 
 inertia prevails. The voice trembling ; the utterance 
 through the nose ; every sentence accompanied with a. 
 groan ; the hand shaking, and the knees tattering under 
 
 body ; or the body stretched helpless on the bed. 
 Fainting produces a sudden relaxation of all that holds 
 the human frame together, every sinew and ligament 
 unstrung. -The color Hies from the vermiilion cheek ; 
 :nrklrngeye grows dim. Down the body drops, as 
 ,-ss, and senseless, as amass of clay, to which, by 
 '>: and appearance, it seems hastening to resolve 
 " -v Which leads me to conclude with 
 Death^ the awful end of all flesh ; which ex 7 . 
 
 in appearance different from what I have been just. 
 describing ; for fainting continued ends in death,- : 
 jc'ct almost too serious to be made a matter e. 
 imitation. 
 
 J,wjcr degrees of every passion are to be expressed by 
 moderate exertions of voice and gesture, as every 
 ; speaker's discretion will suggest to him. 
 >. r/ passions, or emotions of the mind, require a 
 1 expression. Pity, for example, is composed of 
 and love. It is therefore evident, that a correct 
 .cr mv.st, by his looks and gestures, and by the tone 
 ; s voice, express, both grief and love, in 
 exp r;d so of the rest. 
 
 nicmbered, that the action, in expressing 
 
 as humors and passions, for which I have here 
 
 i to be suited to the age, sex, condition and 
 
404, L E M E N T S, Sec, 
 
 circumstances of the character. Violent anger, or rage, 
 for example is to be expressed with great agitation, (see 
 dnger) but the rage of an infirm old man, of a worn an, 
 and of a youth, aiv all different from one another, and 
 from that of a in an in the flower of his age, as every 
 speaker's discretion will suggest. A hero may shov/ 
 fear, or sensibility of pain : but not in the same manner 
 as a girl would express those sensations. Grief may be 
 expressed by a person reading a melancholy story, oi> 
 description in a room. It may be acted upon the stage > 
 It may be dwelt upon by the pleader at the bar ; or it may 
 have a place in a sermon. The passion is still grief* 
 But the manner cf expressing it will be different in each 
 of the speakers, if they have judgment, 
 
 A correct speaker does not make a movement of limb 
 or feature, for which he has not a reason. If he addresses 
 heaven, he looks upward. If he speaks to his fellow- 
 creatures, he looks round upon them. The spirit of what 
 he says, or is said to him, appears in his look* If he ex- 
 presses amazement, or would excite it, he lifts up his 
 hands and eyes. If he invites to virtue and happiness, no- 
 spreads his arms, and looks benevolence. If he threatens; 
 the vengeance of heaven against vice, he bends his eye- 
 brow into, wrath, and menaces with his arm and counte-- 
 nance. He does not needlessly saw the air with his arm* 
 ner stab himself with his finger. He does not clap his 
 right hand upon his breast, unless he has occasion to speak 
 of himself, or to introduce conscience, or somewhat scnti- 
 xnentaL He does not start back, unless he wants to ex- 
 press horror or aversion. He does not come forward* 
 but when he has occasion to solicit. He does not raise 
 his voice, but to express somewhat peculiarly emphaticaK 
 He does not lower it, but to contrast the raising of it* 
 His eyes, by turns, according to the humor of the matter 
 he has to express, sparkle fury, brighten into joy, glance 
 disdain, melt into grief, fro\vn disgust and hatred? JanguisJi 
 into love, or glare distraction* 
 
 T H E N IX= 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 r |pIIE Pursuit of knowledge recommended 
 
 1 to Youth P 5 
 
 Directions how to spend our time & 
 
 Mi spent Time how punished * 
 
 jctatkm /' -^- 22 
 
 The same continued '~~ 
 
 Good Humor and Nature > *^ 
 
 \rndship **** - ^*~ 32 
 
 .Detraction and falsehood ---*- * * 
 
 The importance of Punctuality ' > , '4-& 
 Temperance and Exercise the best Preservatives 
 
 of Heakh f . 51 
 
 The Duty of Secrecy * -- - t 59 
 
 CSS - ^3 
 
 On l v /cages of a cheerful temper -**: ' 
 
 Discretion - +** 70 
 
 PHde ,' -'*- -- 7-4 
 
 Drunkenness "- ' 76 
 
 tiing Si &^ 
 
 TTS and Gigglers complained of i ^ 
 
 :-:y produced by Sentiments '-* 
 
 1 _ ; _ 
 
 ]-f u ,, ; , ro - . . -ii> . 99 
 
 f representing Human Nature 
 
 in its proper Dignity 103 
 
 Custom a second Nature * 107 
 
 .ness _ 111 
 
 -s of a .c;oo d Education i^- 114 
 
 Education 116 
 
 iry accomplishrneat in a Wo* 
 
 :une * "' 120 
 
 fc svi rd i ty of O n ic n s _ 1 2 3 
 
 ^science, &c* 12n 
 
 _ _ 129 
 
 ies chiefly imaginary -^ 133 
 
 ' i Virtue preferable to a Life of Pleasure 1 39 
 
406 C O N t E N T ' 
 
 The History of Amanda ^ ' 1X3 
 
 The Story of Abdallah and Balsora 1 46 
 
 Rashness and Cowardice - 152 
 
 Fortitude founded upon the Fear of God 157 
 
 The folly of youthful Extravagance 160 
 
 The Miseries of depending upon the Great 16i 
 
 What it is to see the World 168 
 
 The Story of Melissa ib. 
 On the Omnicience and Omnipresence of the 
 Deity, together with the immensity of his 
 Works 173 
 Motives of Piety and Virtue, dra\vn from the 
 
 Omniscience and Omnipresence of the Deity 177 
 
 Reflections on the third Heaven 181 
 The present Life to be considered only as it may 
 
 conduce to the happiness of a future one 186 
 On the Immortality of the Soul 189 
 On the Animal World, and the Scale of Beings 192 
 Providence proved from Animal Instinct .''.* 196 
 Good Breeding and complaisance . , 198 
 Further Remarks, taken from Lcrd Chester- 
 field's Letters to his Son 202 
 Genteel Carnage ;; ' 206 
 Cleanliness of Person . 209 
 Dress ' 210 
 Elegance of Expression 211 
 Small Talk _ 214 
 Observation and Attention - T ~' 215 
 Absence of Mind 217 
 Knowledge of the World ; 218 
 Choice of Company - 226 
 Laughter 228 
 Sundry little Accomplishments = 230 
 Dignity of Manners .*-* . <++ >" 238 
 Rules for Conversation ~*' >' 241 
 Further Remarks on the same, taken from Lord 
 
 Chesterfield's Letters to his Son " *u* 249 
 
 Entrance upon the World ' 257 
 
 Advice to a young Man 258 
 The Vision of Mlrza, exhibiting a Picture of 
 
 Human Life 262 
 Riches not productive of Happiness ; the Story 
 
 cf O'n>:mi! of B-?ra 266 
 
CONTENTS. 4CT 
 
 Of , the Scriptures as the Rule of Life , 269 
 
 Of Genesis ^ ~ . f 271 
 
 Oi Exodus --" ': . r . 
 
 Of Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy 
 
 Of Joshua 275 
 
 Of Judges, Samuel, and Kings 
 
 Of Chronicles, Ezra, Nehemiah, and Esther 277 
 
 Of Job ~ ib. 
 
 Of the Psalms - 278 
 
 Of the Proverbs, Ecdesiastes, Solomon's Song, 
 
 the Prophecies, and Apocrypha 280 
 
 Of the New-Testament 231 
 -Of the Example set by our Saviour, and his 
 
 Character T - 283 
 A comparative View of the Blessed and Cursed at 
 
 the last Day, and the inference to be drawn 
 
 from it 235 
 
 Character of St. Paul - 287 
 
 Of the Epistles '\ . ~ ... 288 
 
 The Epistles of St. James 290 
 
 Epistles of St. Peter, and the first of St. John ib. 
 
 Of the Revelations . T ~ 9 * 
 
 True Devotion productive of the truest Pleasure ib. 
 A Morning Prayer for a young Student at School, 
 
 or for the common use of a School 292 
 
 An Evening Prayer * . ., 293 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 F Columbus, and the Discovery of America 295 
 
 Speech of Romulus after founding Rome 305 
 
 Speech of Quinctius Capitolinus 306 
 
 Caius Marius to the Romans 308 
 
 Demosthenes to the Athenians 311 
 
 The Perfect Speaker ** -* 316 
 On the Duties of School-Boys, from the pious and 
 
 judicious Rollin ' _ 317 
 
 The Choice of a Rural Life.^-A Poera 320 
 
 Hymns and Prayers . , 337 
 
 Character of Man 342 
 
 Winter , ib. 
 
 Douglas's Account of himself ib, 
 
 how he learned the Art of War 343 
 
 Baucis and Philemon _ _~ 34^ 
 
C O N T ^\N T S. 
 
 ppiness :,.:* 3*| 
 
 h of Adam to Eve - ~- ^49 
 Soliloquy and Prayer of Edward the Black Prince, 
 
 before the Battle of Poictkrs 4~ 350 
 
 Jn vocation to Biiiihcase Lost .L ib* 
 
 ning Hymn _ ' 35} 
 
 The Hermit, by Dr. Beatie ~ 353 
 
 antages of Peace ._. 355 
 
 Progress of Life ~ " < 356 
 
 ches in the Roman Senate 
 
 >'s Soliloquy on the Immortality of the S. 359 
 
 1 1 amlet's Meditation on Death 36C 
 
 Selecf Passages from Dramatic Writers. 
 
 JO F Distressed Mother, 361 
 
 Grief Distressed Mother, ~ ib. 
 
 A*itij Venice Preserved, - - 36^ 
 
 Lear, ^- -^ ib. 
 
 and Tear M on rn ing Bridge, , ib. 
 
 or Scande.rbeg, '.-* -*- 363 
 Ang^r .Lear, . .. -- ; ^-^ ib. 
 
 Execration Venice Preserved, * ib 
 
 Rmenge Merchant of Venice, ib. 
 
 Adviiraiwn Merchant of Venice, 364 
 
 Haughtine&z Tamerlane, - ib. 
 
 Contempt? -Fair Penitent, > ib. 
 
 .:;snati<jn Jane Shore, - 355 
 
 Impatience -Volpone, ~ - 
 
 -zcAc/yFair Penitent, - 
 
 .orse and Despair Rnsiiis, ~~ 365 
 
 .'racfion Jane Shore, - ib. 
 
 Gratitude Fair Penitent, ib. 
 
 Intreaty Jane Shore, 367 
 
 Commanding Rinaido and Arniida, ib. 
 
 -Alfred. ib. 
 
 - -Every Man in his Humor, ib. 
 
 Tancred and Sigismunda, '363 
 
 hn Julius Csssar, "69 
 
 Humor 2d Henry 4 1st Henry 4, ib. 
 
 Julius Csesar* *- - S71 
 
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