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 University of California • Berkeley 
 Gift of 
 
 Mr. & Mrs. Robert S. Johnson 
 
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THE 
 
 NEW-YORK READER, 
 
 •JVo. 3: 
 
 BEING, 
 
 SELECTIONS IN PROSE AND POETRY, 
 
 FROM 
 
 THE BEST WRITERS: 
 
 DESICNKD 
 
 FOR THE USE OF SCHOOLS, 
 
 CALCULATED TO ASSIST THE SCHOLAR IN ACQUIRING 
 THE ART OF READING, 
 
 AVD AT THft SAXB TIME, TO FIX HO PHUCIPLIS, AND IK8PIBE HUl 
 
 WITH A LOVE OF VIRTUE. 
 
 J^ETVYORK: 
 PUBLISHED BY SAMUEL WOOD fe SOM3. 
 
 NO. 261 PEARL-STREET. 
 
 ::^ 
 
 R. .J- G. S. JVood Printers. 
 
Southern District of JSTew-Vork, $t. 
 
 BE IT REMEMBERED, That on fne seventeenth day of December, A. D. 
 1828, in the fifty-third year ofthe Independence of the United States of America, 
 Samuel Wood and Sons, of the said District, have deposited in this ofiice, the 
 title of a book, the right whereof they claim as proprietors in the words fol- 
 lowing to wit : 
 
 " The New- York Reader, No. 3 : being, selectioas in prose and poetry, from 
 the best writers ; designed for the use of Schools, and calculated to assist 
 the Scholar in acquiring the art of Reading ; and at the same time, to i\x 
 his principles and inspire him with a love of Virtue. 
 
 In conformity to the Act of Congress of the United States, entitled, " An 
 Act for the encouragement of Learning, by securing the copies of Maps, Charts, 
 and Books, to the Authors and Proprietors of such copies, during the time 
 tlierein mentioned." And also to an Act, entitled, " An Act, supplementary 
 to an Act, enticed an Act for the encouragement of Learning,' by securing the 
 copies of Maps, Charts, and Books, to the authors and proprietors of such 
 copiesjduriug the trnie therein mentioned, and extending the benefits tliereof to 
 the arts of designing, engraving, and etching historical and other prints." 
 
 FRED. G. BETTS. 
 Ck)Aat the Southern District of New- York. 
 
 In presenting Reader No. 3 to the public, the com- 
 piler thinks it unnecessary to say much by way of 
 preface, his plan and motives having been sufficiently 
 explained in the preceding numbers. He has assidu- 
 ously endeavoured to select such pieces as are render- 
 ed proper for youth, not only by correctness of diction 
 and purity of style, but by the moral tendency of the 
 matter itself. He submits it to the examination of 
 those interested in the education of children, not with- 
 out a hope, that it may prove a useful addition to the 
 many valuable reading books already extant. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 SELECTIONS from the Proverbs, . . 9 
 
 Select Sentences and Paragraphs, . • 12 
 
 Selections from the Psalms, ... 19 
 
 Of God and his Attributes, ... 23 
 
 Of Affection and Duty to Parents, . . ib. 
 
 Of Cain and Abel, 24 
 
 Relative Duties, ..... 26 
 
 The Spring, 27 
 
 Providence over all, 28 
 
 Account of a Lion and a Dog, ... 30 
 The care which Providence takes of Animals 
 
 during the Winter Season, . . 32 
 
 History of Job, 34 
 
 The Works of Nature praise their Maker, . 37 
 
 A Character, 39 
 
 To avoid Vice the best way to escape Censure, 40 
 The blessings granted to us by God in winter, 
 
 and to which we pay too little attention, 41 
 
 Industry, ....... 43 
 
 Modesty, 45 
 
 Vegetables which preserve their verdure during 
 
 winter, 46 
 
 Anger, 49 
 
 Filial Piety, 50 
 
 The first Lesson of Cyrus, ... 51 
 
 The Laplanders, ..... 52 
 
 Application, ...... 55 
 
 Exercise and Temperance, ... 56 
 
 The fear of Spectres, .... 59 
 
 Useful Information, 60 
 
 On the bad effects of Vapours, ... 64 
 
 Ou early improvement, .... 65 
 
XI 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Snow, .... 
 
 « • 
 
 m 
 
 On the Knowledge of Ourselves, 
 
 , , 
 
 68 
 
 Of the Elephant, 
 
 , , 
 
 70 
 
 Remarkable Story of a Dog, ^ . 
 
 , . 
 
 73 
 
 Observations on Man and the Brute Creation, 
 
 74 
 
 Revolutions which are constantly in 
 
 Nature, . 
 
 76 
 
 Joy and Grief, .... 
 
 , , 
 
 77 
 
 Of Mountains, . . 
 
 , , 
 
 79 
 
 On Filial Duty, .... 
 
 , , 
 
 81 
 
 Every thing in Nature tends to the good of Ma 
 
 m- 
 
 kind, 
 
 , , 
 
 82 
 
 On the State of Sleep, 
 
 , , 
 
 84 
 
 Of the formation of Islands, 
 
 , , 
 
 87 
 
 Pyrrhus and Faoricius, 
 
 • a 
 
 88 
 
 Of speaking publicly in the cause of Virtue, . 
 
 90 
 
 Passion and Patience, . 
 
 
 92 
 
 On a true Christian life. 
 
 
 94 
 
 Of the Rhinoceros, 
 
 
 95 
 
 Of the Spherical form of the Earth, 
 
 
 97 
 
 Of the Camel, .... 
 
 
 98 
 
 The two Brothers, 
 
 
 100 
 
 On Truth and Sincerity, 
 
 
 105 
 
 Of the Hurricane, 
 
 
 . 106 
 
 On the short duration of Snow, 
 
 
 . 107 
 
 The Excellence and Necessity of Industry, 
 
 . 109 
 
 Of the Ichneumon, 
 
 
 . Ill 
 
 The force of Custom, . 
 
 
 . 112 
 
 Of the Tides, .... 
 
 
 . 114 
 
 Use of Vegetables, 
 
 
 . 115 
 
 An Evening Contemplation, 
 
 
 . 117 
 
 On the Bottom of the Sea, . 
 
 
 . 118 
 
 The Change of Seasons, 
 
 
 . 120 
 
 Of the Chimpanze, &c. 
 
 
 . 122 
 
 Of Whirlpools, .... 
 
 
 . 123 
 
 The wisdom of Early Piety, 
 
 
 . 125 
 
 The Shipwreck, .... 
 
 
 . 127 
 
 Of the Lion, .... 
 
 
 . 133 
 
 Of the pernicicus Effects of Spirituous Liquors 
 
 , 134 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Vll 
 
 Of the Rattle Snake, . 
 
 Worthy of Imitation, . . . 
 
 Repentance, . . . • 
 
 There is nothing New under the Sun 
 
 Of Volcanoes, .... 
 
 Of the Brown Bear, 
 
 Of the luminous particles observed on the surface 
 
 of the Sea, .... 
 Of Cultivating the social Virtues, . 
 Of the restless motion of the Sea, and its effects 
 
 on the Land, 
 On the use of Carriages, 
 On the sense of Property, 
 The Heinous nature of Avarice, . 
 The Greenland Dog, . 
 Of Water-Spouts, 
 Tho Polar, or Great White Bear, 
 Of Humility in our Attainments, . 
 On the Study of History, 
 On the Government of the Heart, . 
 Virtue Man's Highest Interest, 
 Vicious Connexions the Ruin of Virtue, 
 On the Duties which we owe to Society, 
 Description of a Cavern, 
 The Sun, .... 
 
 A good Conscience, . 
 
 136 
 138 
 140 
 141 
 144 
 145 
 
 148 
 150 
 
 . 151 
 
 153 
 
 154 
 
 156 
 
 . A 157 
 
 . 159 
 
 . 161 
 
 . 163 
 
 Hume, 164 
 
 Blair, 167 
 
 Harris, 171 
 
 Blair, 173 
 
 176 
 
 Sdliman, 179 
 
 183 
 
 185 
 
 SpeecJies and Dialogues, 
 
 Address to the Sea, .... Keate, 186 
 Dr. Dodd's Address to the court, before he re- 
 
 ceived sentence of Death, . . . 187 
 Address on Patriotism, . . . RusJi, 190 
 
 Exhortation to Temperance in Pleasures, . 193 
 The Price of a Victory, . . . .195 
 
vili 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 The two Robbers, . . Dr. Aikin, 193 
 
 Dialogue between Fernando Cortez and William 
 
 Penn, .... Lytihton, 200 
 
 Poeti'y. 
 
 On Creation and Providence, . 
 
 A. Steele, 206 
 
 Religion, . . . . 
 
 Blachmore, 207 
 
 Rich and Poor, 
 
 Crahhc, 209 
 
 The Christian Race, 
 
 Doddridge, 211 
 
 On Friendship, 
 
 A. Steele, ib. 
 
 A Funeral Hymn, 
 
 . do. 213 
 
 Trust in the Goodness of God, . 
 
 . Cotton, 214 
 
 On Happiness, 
 
 A. Steele, 215 
 
 Pride and Humility-, 
 
 . do. 217 
 
 On War, . . . . 
 
 . Porteus, 218 
 
 All Nature attests the Creator, , 
 
 219 
 
 Praise to the Creator, 
 
 Barhauld, 221 
 
 Hymn to Contentment, 
 
 . Parnell, 222 
 
 On the Improvement of Time, 
 
 . Young, 225 
 
 The Common Lot, ^ 
 
 . Montgomery, 227 
 
 Hoine, .... 
 
 do. 228 
 
 The Victory, 
 
 229 
 
 Day, .... 
 
 Cunn ingham ,232 
 
 The Universal Prayer, 
 
 . Pope, 235 
 
 Address of a Gentleman's Skull, 
 
 . . ^i 
 
 Address of a Lady's Skull, 
 
 23T 
 
THE 
 
 NEW-YORK READER, 
 
 No. 3. 
 
 Selections from the Proverbs, 
 
 He that trustcth in riches shall fall: but the 
 righteous shall flourish as a branch. 
 
 A righteous man regardeth the life of his beast : 
 but the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel. 
 
 He that tilleth his land shall be satisfied with 
 bread : but he that followeth vain persons, is void 
 of understanding. 
 
 . A fooPs wrath is presently known : but a prudent 
 man covereth shame. 
 
 Lying lips are an abomination to the Lord : but 
 they that deal truly are his delight. 
 
 The hand of the diligent shall bear rule : but the 
 slothfyj shall be under tribute. 
 
 i!?*ivise son heareth his father's instruction : but 
 a scomer heareth not rebuke. 
 
 There is that maketh himself rich, yet hath' 
 nothing : there is that maketh himself poor, yet hath 
 great riches. 
 
 The light of the righteous rejoiceth : but the 
 lamp of the wicked shall be put out. 
 
10 
 
 Poverty and shame shall be to him that refuseth 
 instruction: but he that regardeth reproof shall be 
 honoured. 
 
 He that walketh with wise men, shall be wise : 
 but a companion of fools shall be destroyed. 
 
 The simple believoth every word: but the pru- 
 dent man looketh well to his going. 
 
 He that despiseth his neighbour sinneth : but he 
 that hath mercy on the poor, happy is he. 
 
 The fear of the Lord is a fountain of life, to de- 
 part from the snares of death. 
 
 He that is slow to wrath is of great understand- 
 ing : but he that is hasty of spirit exalteth folly. 
 
 He that oppresseth the poor, reproacheth ins 
 Maker: but he that honoureth him, hath mercy on 
 the poor. 
 
 The wicked is driven away in his wickedness : 
 but the righteous hath hope in his death. 
 
 Righteousness exalteth a nation : but sin is a re- 
 proach to any people. 
 
 Hear the instruction of thy father, and forsake 
 not the law of thy mother ; for they shall be an 
 ornament of grace unto thy head, and chains about 
 thy neck. 
 
 If sinners entice thee, consent thou not. Walk 
 not thou in the way with them ; refrain thy foot 
 from their path. 
 
 Trust in the Lord with all thy heart : and lean 
 not unto thine own understanding : in all thy ways 
 acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy path. 
 
 A wise son maketh a glad father : but a foolish 
 son is the heaviness of his mother. 
 
 Treasures of wickedness profit nothing: but 
 righteousness delivereth from death. 
 
 The liOrd will not suffer the soul of the right- 
 eous to famish : but he casteth away the substance 
 of the wicked. 
 
II 
 
 Blessings are upon the head of the just ; but 
 violence covereth the mouth of the wicked. 
 
 The memory of the just is blessed : but the name 
 of the wicked shall rot. 
 
 He that is void of wisdom, despiseth his neigh- 
 bour: but a man of understanding holdeth nis 
 peace. 
 
 A tale-bearer revealeth secrets : but he that is of a 
 faithful spirit concealeth the matter. 
 
 Where no counsel is, the people fall : but in the 
 multitude of counsellors there is safety. 
 
 The merciful man doth good to his own soul : 
 but he that is cruel troubleth his own flesh. 
 
 A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in 
 pictures of silver. 
 
 Boast not of to-morrow, for thou knowest not 
 what a day may bring forth. 
 
 Wrath is cruel, and anger outrageous; but who 
 is able to stand before envy ? 
 
 Faithful are the wounds of a friend ; but the kisses 
 of an enemy are deceitful. 
 
 The wicked flee when no man pursueth, but the 
 righteous are bold as a lion. 
 
 He that covereth his sins shall not prosper ; but 
 whoso confesseth and forsaketh them, shall have 
 mercy. 
 
 He that being often reproved, hardeneth his 
 neck, shall suddenly be destroyed, and that without 
 remedy. 
 
 When the righteous are in authority, the people 
 rejoice : but when the wicked bear rule, the people 
 mourn. 
 
 Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain ; but a 
 woman that feareth the Lord, shall be praised. 
 
12 
 
 Select Sentences and Paragraphs. 
 
 There is not any revenge more heroic than 
 that which torments envy by doing good. 
 
 There is no greater sign of a mean and sordid 
 spirit, than to dote upon riches ; nor is any thing 
 more magnificent, than to lay them out freely in 
 acts of bounty and liberality. 
 
 Money, like manure, does no good till it is 
 spread. There is no real use of riches, except it 
 be in the distribution. 
 
 The best way to humble a proud man is to take 
 no notice of him. 
 
 If money be not thy servant, it will be thy mas- 
 ter. The covetous man cannot so properly be 
 said to possess wealth, as wealth may be said to 
 possess him. 
 
 Hopes and fears checker human life. He that 
 wants hope is the poorest man living. 
 
 None should despair ; for God can help them : 
 none should presume ; for God can cross them. 
 
 A man cannot be truly happy here, without a 
 well grounded hope of being happy hereafter. 
 
 There is but one way of fortifying the soul against 
 all gloomy presages, and terrors of mind ; and that 
 is, securing to ourselves the friendship and protec- 
 tion of that Being who disposes of events, and 
 governs futurity. 
 
 Amongst all virtues, humility, though the low- 
 est, is pre-eminent. It is the safest, because, it 13 
 always at anchor ; and that man may be truly said 
 to live with most content in his callings who strives 
 to live within the compass of it. 
 
13 
 
 Proud men have no friends in prosperity, be- 
 cause, they know nobody ; nor in adversitjf^ be- 
 cause, nobody knows them. 
 
 He who thinks no man above bim, but for his 
 virtue, none below him, but for his vice, can never 
 be obsequious nor assuming in a wrong place. 
 
 We shall naturally feel much concern when we 
 look at our losses ; but if we consider how litde we 
 deserve what is left, our murmurs will be converted 
 into thankfulness. 
 
 The discontents of the poor are much easier 
 allayed than those of the rich. 
 
 A good conscience is to the soul what health is 
 to the body. It preserves a constant ease and se- 
 renity within us, and more than countervails all the 
 calamities and afflictions which can possibly befall 
 us. 
 
 If we should look with as much compassion on 
 the adversities of some as we do with envy at the 
 prosperity of others, every man would find cause 
 to sit down contentedly with his own burden. 
 
 The greater a man is, the more need he hath of 
 a friend, and the more difficulty there is in finding 
 and knowing him. 
 
 Wise men are instructed by reason ; men of less 
 understanding, by experience ; the most ignorant, 
 by necessity ; and beasts, by nature. 
 
 It may be safely affirmed, that good men gene- 
 rally reap more substantial benefit from their af- 
 flictions, than bad men do from their prosperity ; 
 that what they lose in wealth, pleasure, or honour, 
 they gain with great advantage in wisdom, and 
 goodness, and tranquillity of mind. 
 
 Prosperity is not without its troubles, nor adver- 
 sity without its comforts. 
 
 Friendship improves happiness, and abates mi- 
 fiery by doubling our joy, and dividing our grief. 
 
II 
 
 A man may have a thousand intimate acquaint- 
 ance, and not a friend among them all. If thou 
 liast one friend, think thyself happy. 
 
 Gratitude preserves old friends, and procures 
 new. 
 
 It is difficult to act the part of a true friend : 
 for, frequently, by telling him of his failings, we 
 lose his affection : and by remaining silent, we be- 
 tray our confidence. But we cannot lose a friend 
 in a more honourable way, than in seeking by good 
 will to preserve him. 
 
 He that is truly polite, knows how to contradict 
 with respect, and to please without adulation ; and 
 is equally remote from insipid complaisance and 
 low familiarity. 
 
 Modesty in your discourse will give a lustre to 
 truth, and an excuse to your errors. 
 
 It is a sign of wisdom to be willing to receive 
 instruction : the most intelligent sometimes stand in 
 need of it. 
 
 Some men extinguish their own genius, by copy- 
 ing and contriving to assume that of others. 
 
 Too niiich asseveration gives ground for suspi- 
 cion. Truth and honesty have no need of loud 
 protestations. 
 
 The greatest wisdom of speech is to know when, 
 and what, and vvhere to speak ; the next to it, is 
 silence. 
 
 From bad air we take diseases ; from bad com- 
 pany, vice and imperfections. 
 
 Excess of ceremony shows a want of breeding. 
 That civility is best which excludes all superfluous 
 formality. 
 
 There is far more satisfaction in doing good, 
 than in receiving it. To relieve the oppressed is 
 the niost glorious act of which a man is capable : 
 
15 
 
 it IS in some measure doing the business of Provi- 
 dence ; and is attended with a heavenly pleasure, 
 known to those only who are beneficent and libe- 
 ral. 
 
 He that is sensible of no evil but what he feels, 
 has a hard heart ; and he that can spare no kind- 
 ness from himself, has a narrow soul. 
 
 By compassion, we make others' misery our 
 own : and so by relieving them, we relieve our- 
 selves also. 
 
 It is better to be of the number of those who 
 need relief, than of those who want hearts to give it 
 
 Ingratitude is a crime so shameful, that there 
 was never yet one found that would acknowledge 
 himself guilty of it. 
 
 He that receives a benefit without being thank- 
 ful, robs the giver of his just reward. It must be 
 a due reciprocation in virtue that can make the 
 obliger and obliged worthy. 
 
 It is the character of an unworthy disposition to 
 write injuries in marble, and benefits in sand. 
 
 He who preaches gratitude, pleads the cause of 
 God and man ; for, without it, we can be neither 
 sociable nor religious. 
 
 The higher a man is exalted above others in 
 power, the more he should excel them in virtue ; 
 for this reason, Cyrus said, no man ought to govern 
 who was not better than those he governed. 
 
 Flattery is like false money ; and if it were not 
 fca* our own vanity, could never pass in payment. 
 
 By endeavouring to purchase the reputation of 
 being witty, men often lose the advantage of being 
 thought wise. 
 
 The luxurious live to eat and drink ; but the wise 
 and temperate eat and drink to live. 
 2* 
 
 m^ 
 
16 
 
 Let pleasures be ever so innocent, excess in them 
 is always criminal. 
 
 Pleasures unduly taken, enervate the soul, and 
 make fools of the w^ise, and cowards of the brave. 
 A libertine life is not a life of liberty. 
 
 The voluptuous consumes his wealth ; the miser 
 hides it. It is the wise man only that uses it, and to 
 good purpose. 
 
 There is but one solid pleasure in life, and that 
 is doing our duty. How miserable then, how un- 
 wise, how unpardonable are they who make that 
 one a pain 1 
 
 The greatest pleasure wealth can afford, is that 
 of doing good. It is a happy circumstance that a 
 man's pleasure is also his perfection. 
 
 All men of estates are, in effect, but trustees for 
 the benefit of the distressed ; and will be so reck- 
 oned when they are to give an account. 
 
 Cast an eye on the vain world, and what see we, 
 for the most part, but a set of emaciated, fluttering, 
 fantastical beings, worn out in the keen pursuit of 
 pleasure ; creatures that know, own, condemn, 
 deplore, yet still pursue, their own infelicity ; the 
 decayed monuments of error ! the thin remains of 
 what is called delight! 
 
 If we apply ourselves seriously to wisdom, we 
 shall never live without true pleasure, but shall 
 learn to be pleased with every thing. Wc shall 
 be pleased with wealth, so far as it makes us bene- 
 ficial to others ; with poverty, for not having too 
 niuch to care for ; and with obscurity, for being 
 unenvied. 
 
 Religion is so far from depriving us of any inno- 
 cent pleasure or comfort of human life, that it pu- 
 rifies the pleasures of it, and renders them more 
 grateful and generous. And besides, it brings 
 
17 
 
 great pleasures of its own ; those of a glorious 
 hope, a serene mind, a calm and undisturbed con- 
 science; which far surpass the enjoyments pro- 
 duced by the most studied and artificial luxuries. 
 
 Nothing appears so low and mean as lying and 
 dissimulation: and, it is observable, that only 
 weak animals endeavour to supply by craft the 
 defects of strength, which nature has not given 
 them. 
 
 Truth may be expressed without art or affecta- 
 tion ; but a lie stands in need of both. 
 
 Truth is born with us ; and we must do violence 
 to our nature, to shake off our veracity. 
 
 Such was the ingenuous simplicity of the primi- 
 tive christians, that they considered it a reproach 
 to be put upon their oaths, thinking* it sufficient 
 for a good man to give this assurance of truth, '1 
 speak truly.' They counted it an impious thing 
 even to dissemble the truth, and scorned to live 
 upon the base terms of being beholden to hypocri- 
 sy for their lives. 
 
 When a man owns himself to be in an error, he 
 does but tell you in other words, that^he is wiser 
 than he was. 
 
 A man that does the best he can, does all that 
 he should do. 
 
 If a man cannot find ease within himself, it is to 
 little purpose to seek it elsewhere. 
 
 Choose that course of life which is the most ex- 
 cellent, and custom will, render it the most de- 
 lightful. 
 
 Be always at leisure to do good; never make 
 business an excuse to decline the offices of humanity. 
 
 Defer not charities till death ; he that doth so, 
 is liberal rather of another man's wealth than of 
 his own. 
 
 ^^mten^ 
 
18 
 
 In the morning, think what thou hast to do ; and 
 at night, ask thyself what thou hast done. 
 
 Spend the day well, and thou wilt rejoice at 
 night. 
 
 Avoid as much as you can the company of all 
 vicious persons whatever ; for no vice is alone, and 
 all are infectious. 
 
 There are but few who know how to be idle and 
 innocent. By doing nothing, we learn to do ill. 
 
 How unreasonable it is, to begin to hve only 
 when we can live no longer I That man does not 
 live as he should do, who does not live every day as 
 though it were his last. 
 
 ^ The true spirit of religion cheers as well as com- 
 poses the soul. It is not the business of virtue to 
 extirpate the affections of the mind, but to regulate 
 them. 
 
 Though it be a tmth very little received, that 
 virtue is its own reward, it surely is an undeniable 
 one, that vice is its own punishment. 
 
 Firm faith and true honesty are not to be forced 
 by necessity, nor corrupted by reward. 
 
 A little wrong done to another, is a great injury 
 done to ourselves. The severest punishment of 
 an injury, is the consciousness of having done it ; 
 and no man suffers more than he that is turned over 
 to the pain of repentance. 
 
 \ 
 
19 
 
 Selections from tJie Psalms, 
 
 Blessed is the man that walketh not in the 
 counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way 
 of sinners, • nor sittcth in the seat of the scornful. 
 But his delight is in the law of the Lord, and in 
 his law doth he meditate day and night. And he 
 shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, 
 that bringeth forth his fruit in his season : his leaf 
 also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth 
 shall prosper. The ungodly are not so : but are 
 like the chaff which the wind driveth away. 
 
 The heavens declare the glory of God: and 
 the firmament showeth his handy work. Day unto 
 day uttereth speech, and night unto niglit show- 
 eth knowledge. There is no speech nor language 
 where their voice is not heard. Their line is gone 
 out through all the earth, and their words to the 
 end of the world. 
 
 The law of the Lord is perfect, converting the 
 soul : the testimony of the Lord is sure, making 
 wise the simple. The statutes of the Lord are 
 right, rejoicing the heart : the commandment of 
 the Lord is pure, enlightening the eyes. The 
 fear of the Lord is clean, enduring forever : the judg- 
 ments of the Lord are true and righteous alto- 
 gether; more to be desired are they than gold, yea, 
 than much fine gold: sweeter also than honey, 
 and the honey-comb. Moreover, by them is thy 
 servant warned : and in keeping them there is great 
 reward. 
 
20 
 
 The Lord is my shepherd: 1 shall not want 
 He maketh me to He down in green pastures : he 
 leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth 
 my soul : he leadeth me in the path of righteous- 
 ness, for his name''s sake. 
 
 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the 
 shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art 
 with me ; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me. 
 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence 
 of mine enemies : thou anointest my head with 
 oil ; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and 
 mercy shall follow me all the days of my life ; and 
 I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. 
 
 The Lord is my light and my salvation ; whom 
 shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life ; 
 of whom shall I be afraid ? When the wicked, 
 even mine enemies and foes, come upon me to cut 
 up my flesh, they stumble and fall. 
 
 Though an host should encamp against me, my 
 heart shall not fear: though war should rise 
 against me, in this will I be confident. One thing 
 have I desired of the Lord, this will I seek after: 
 that I may dwell in the house of the Lord, all the 
 days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, 
 and to inquire in his temple. 
 
 Fret not thyself because of evil doers, neither 
 be thou envious against the workers of iniquity. 
 For they shall soon be cut down like the grass, 
 and wither as the green herb. Trust in the Lord, 
 and do good ; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and 
 verily thou shalt be fed. 
 
 A little that a righteous man hath, is better than 
 the riches of many wicked. 
 
 The steps of a good man are ordered of the 
 Lord; and he delighteth'in his way. Though he 
 fall, he shall not be utterly cast down: for tbe 
 
21 
 
 liOrd holdeth him in his hand. I have been young, 
 and now am old ; yet have I not seen the right- 
 eous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread. I 
 have seen the wicked in great power, and spread- 
 ing himself like a green bay-tree ; yet he passed 
 away, and lo, he was not : yea, I sought him, and 
 he could not be found. Mark the perfect man, 
 and behold the upright : for the end of that man is 
 peace. 
 
 Blessed is he that considereth the poor: the 
 Lord will deliver him in time of trouble. The 
 Lord will preserve him and keep him alive ; and 
 he shall be blessed upon the earth ; and thou wilt 
 not deliver him into the will of his enemies. The 
 Lord will strengthen him upon the bed of languish- 
 ing : thou wilt make all his bed in his sickness. 
 
 They that trust in their wealth, and boast them- 
 selves in the multitude of their riches ; none of 
 them can by any means redeem his brother, nor 
 give to God a ransom for him. 
 
 Be not thou afiaid when one is made rich, when 
 the glory of his house is increased ; for when he 
 dieth, he shall carry nothing away : his glory shall 
 not descend after him. 
 
 My soul, wait thou only upon God, for my ex- 
 pectation is from him. He only is my rock and 
 my salvation : he is my defence ; I shall not be 
 moved. In God is my salvation and my glory : 
 the rock of my strength and my refuge is in God. 
 Trust in him at all times; ye people pour out 
 vour hearts before him : God is a refuge for us. 
 
 Trust not in oppression, and become not vain ih 
 robbery : if riches increase, set not your heart upon 
 them. 
 
 He that dwelleth in the secret places of the 
 Most High, shall abide under the shadow of the 
 
Almkht)^^/! will say of the Lord, he is my re- 
 fuge^siiroyj^tress : my God, in him will I trust. 
 Surely he .^ha'P deliver thee from the snare of tho 
 fowler, and from the noisome pestilence. He shall 
 cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings 
 shcilt thou trust : his truth shall be thy shield and 
 buckler. Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror 
 by night ; nor for the arrow that flieth by day ; 
 nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness ; 
 nor for the destruction that waste th at noon-day. 
 Because thou hast made the Lord which is my 
 refuge, even the Most High, thy habitation ; there 
 shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague 
 come nigh thy dwelling. 
 
 They that go down to the sea in ships, that do 
 business in great waters, these see the works of 
 the Lord, and his wonders in the deep. For he 
 commandeth, and raiseth the stormy wind, which 
 I'ffteth up the waves thereof. They mount up to 
 the heaven, they go down again to the depths ; 
 their soul is melted because of trouble. They reel 
 to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man, and 
 are at their wit's end. Then they cry unto the 
 Lord in their trouble, and he bringeth them out of 
 their distresses. He maketh the storm a calm, 
 so that the waves thereof are still. Then are they 
 glad, because they be quiet: so he bringeth them 
 into their desired haven. Oh, that men would 
 praise the Lord for his goodness, and for his won- 
 derful works unto the children of men ! 
 
 The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom ; 
 a good understanding have all they that do his com- 
 mandments : his praise endureth forever. 
 
23 
 
 Of God and his Attributes, 
 
 There is but one God. He made the heaven, 
 and the heaven of heavens, vi^ith all their host ; 
 the earth, and all things that are therein : the seas, 
 and all that is therein. He said, let them be, and 
 it was so. He stretched forth the heavens, and laid 
 the foundation of the earth. 
 
 He hath shut up the sea as with doors, and said, 
 hitherto shalt thou come and no further, and here 
 shall thy proud waves be stayed. The Lord is an 
 invisible spirit, in whom we live, and move, and 
 have our being. He is the fountain of life. 
 
 He preserveth man and beast. He giveth food 
 to all flesh. In his hand is the soul of every living 
 thing, and the breath of all mankind. 
 
 The Lord maketh poor and maketh rich. He 
 bringeth low and lifteth up. He killeth and ma- 
 keth alive. He woundeth and healeth ; and not a 
 sparrow falleth to the ground without him. He 
 appointeth the moon for seasons, and the sun 
 knoweth his going down. 
 
 He thundereth with his voice, and directeth it 
 under the whole heaven, and his lightning unto the 
 ends of the earth. Fire and hail, snow and vapour, 
 wind and storm, fulfil his word. The Lord is king 
 for ever and ever, and his dominion is an everlast- 
 mg dominion. 
 
 Of Affection and Duty to Parents. 
 
 From the creatures of God let man learn wis- 
 dom, and apply to himself the instruction they 
 
24 
 
 give. Go to the desert, my son, observe the 
 young stork of the wilderness, let him speak to thy 
 heart ; he beareth on las wings his aged sire, he 
 lodgeth him in safet)^, and supplieth him with food. 
 
 The piety of a child is sweeter than the incense 
 of Persia: yea, more delicious than odours waft- 
 ed from a field of Arabian spices, by the gentlest 
 gales. Be grateful then to thy father, for he gave 
 thee life; and to thy mother, for she sustained 
 thee. 
 
 Hear the words of his mouth, for they are spo- 
 ken for thy good: give ear to his admonition, for 
 it proceedeth from love. He hath watched for thy 
 welfare, he hath toiled for thy ease : do honour, 
 therefore, to his age, and let not his gray hairs be 
 treated with disrespect. * 
 
 Also, forget not thy helpless infancy, nor the 
 frowardness of thy youth, and indulge the infirmi- 
 ties of thy aged parents ; assist and support them 
 in the decline of life. So shall their hoary heads 
 go down to the grave in peace ; and thine own 
 children, in reverence of thy example, shall repay 
 thy piety with filial love 
 
 Of Cain and Abel, 
 
 Cain and Abel, the first two sons of Adam 
 and Eve, pursued very diflferent employments. 
 Abel was a keeper of sheep : but Cain was a tiller 
 of the ground. Their tempers were as different 
 as their occupations. Abel was a lover of righte- 
 ousness, and obedient tp his parents. Cain was 
 obstinate and vijicked; neither fearing God, nor 
 loving man. 
 
25 
 
 It was usual in the infancy of the world, to pre- 
 sent oblations to God, the giver of every good gift. 
 When, therefore, the two brothers brought their 
 offerings, the sacrifice of Abel, on ac(^ount of his 
 piety and goodness, was more acceptable to God 
 tlian the offering of Cain. 
 
 The Lord also condescended to reason with 
 Cain, and to assure him, that if he would be good 
 and righteous, he and his offerings should likewise 
 be accepted. 
 
 But, instead of reforming hi« behaviour and 
 temper, he grew worse and worse. He hated his 
 brother more and more. At length, his malice and 
 anger became so violent, that he " rose up against 
 Abel and slew him." 
 
 He flattered himself that there was no witness of 
 his guilt, and that no one would know it. But there 
 is no safety, except in innocence and virtue. Wher- 
 ever we are, and whatever we do, we are under the 
 immediate eye of God. 
 
 The Almighty Judge was a spectator of tlie 
 crime, and afterwards expostulated with him; 
 *' Where is Abel thy brother ? What hast thou 
 done? Tlie voice of thy brother's blood crieth from 
 the ground." He then pronounced judgment upon 
 tlie murderer. 
 
 In consequence of which, Cain removed with 
 his wife and children from his habitation; and, 
 having wandered from place to place, " as a fugi- 
 tive and vagabond," at length settled in the land 
 of Nod. He, however, still carried the mark of 
 his guilt along with him. He was vexed with the 
 horror of conscience within, and calamities without. 
 
 He walked upon earth a woful spectacle, labour- 
 ing under the distemper of a wounded spirit, which 
 no medicine can cure. 
 
26 
 
 Let us guard carefully against the first appear- 
 ance of hatred and malice, lest they should in- 
 crease upon us by degrees, and hurry us into the 
 most shocking excesses. "An angry man stirreth 
 up stnfe, and a furious man aboundetli in trans- 
 gressions." 
 
 Relative Duties. 
 
 The happiness of parents is so connected witn 
 the goodness of children, that if they are undutiful, 
 negligent, and wicked, it will make their parents 
 miserable. And can ye, my young friends, bear 
 the thought of making them unhappy, whose sole 
 aim in life is to promote your felicity ? 
 
 Can you receive with sullenness that advice 
 which is designed entirely for your good? Do 
 they not provide for all your wants ? And are you 
 not indebted to their kindness for your food, your 
 clothing, and every convenience which you enjoy? 
 
 Obedience to your parents is one of the first 
 duties you can perform in life, and is the only return 
 you can make for those continual favours which 
 you daily receive. 
 
 As human nature is subject to many wants, the 
 Almighty has ordained that we should live toge- 
 ther, and that numbers, by helping each other, 
 should procure those conveniences, which no man 
 alone could obtain. 
 
 Every person, therefore, has some duties to 
 perform, which are known by the name of social 
 duties ; because, if it were possible for us to live 
 quite alone, those duties could not be exerted. 
 
27 
 
 For, had we no parents, we could not obey 
 them ; had we no brothers nor sisters, we could not 
 love them ; had we no friends nor instructors, we 
 could not be thankful and attentive to them ; 
 and, if we knew no persons who were poor and 
 wretched, we could not be kind and charitable. 
 
 The Spring, 
 
 Come, let us go forth into the fields, let us see 
 how the flowers spring, let us listen to the warb- 
 ling of the birds, and seat ourselves upon the bank, 
 viewing the verdure of the new grass. 
 
 When winter is over and gone, the buds come 
 out upon the trees, the crimson blossoms of the 
 peach and the nectarine are seen, and the green 
 leaves sprout. 
 
 The hedges are bordered with tufts of prim- 
 roses, and yellow cowslips that hang down their 
 heads ; and the blue violet lies hid beneath the 
 shade. 
 
 The young goslings run upon the green, when 
 they are just hatched : their bodies are covered with 
 yellow down ; the old ones hiss with anger, if any 
 one comes near. 
 
 The hen sits upon her nest of straw, she watches 
 patiently the full time, then she carefully breaks the 
 shell, and the little chicken comes out. 
 
 The young lambs may be seen in the field, they 
 
 totter by the side of their dams, their weak limbs 
 
 can hardly support their weight ; but in a little 
 
 time they skip about. But if they foil, there is 
 
 3* 
 
28 
 
 spread under them a carpet of soft grass, on which 
 they may feed in safety. 
 
 The butterflies flutter from bush to bush, and 
 open their wings to the warm sun. 
 
 The young animals of every kind are sporting 
 about, they seem happy in their situation, they are 
 glad to be alive. If tliey could speak, they would 
 praise him who made them. The birds can warble, 
 and the young lambs can bleat ; but we can open 
 our lips, and ought to speak thankfully of all his 
 goodness. 
 
 The trees that blossom, and little lambs that 
 skip about, if they could, they would say how good 
 lie is ; but they are dumb, let us therefore say it for 
 them. 
 
 Providence over AIL 
 
 Behold the shepherd of the flock, he taketh 
 care for the sheep, he leadeth them among clear 
 brooks, he guideth them to fresh pasture ; if the 
 yOung lambs are weary, he carrieth them in his 
 arms ; if they wander, he bringeth them back. 
 
 But who is the shepherd's shepherd? who 
 taketh care for him ? who guideth him in the path 
 he should go? and if he wander, who shall bring 
 him back? 
 
 God is the shepherd's shepherd ; he is the shep- 
 herd over all ; he taketh care for all ; the whole 
 earth is his fold ; we are all his flock : and every 
 herb, and every green field, is the pasture which he 
 hath prepared for us. 
 
29 
 
 The mother lovcth her little child ; sho bring- 
 eth it up on her knees ; she nourisheth its body 
 with food ; she feedeth its mind with knowledge ; 
 if it is sick, she nurseth it with tender love ; she 
 watcheth over it when asleep ; she teacheth it 
 now to be good: she rejoiceth daily in its growth. 
 
 But who is the parent of the mother? who 
 nourisheth her with good things, and watcheth 
 over her with tender love, and remembereth her 
 every evening and morning ? whose arnlfe are about 
 her to guard her from harm ? and if she is sick, who 
 shall heal her ? 
 
 God is the parent of the mother ; he is the parent 
 of all, for he created all. All the men and all the 
 women, who are alive in the wide world, are his 
 children ; he loveth all, he is good to all. 
 
 The good king governeth his people in mercy, 
 and love; he hath a crown put upon his head, and 
 a sceptre in his hand ; he sitteth upon a throne, 
 and sendeth forth his commands ; his subjects fear 
 before him ; if they do well, he endeavoureth to 
 protect them from danger; if they do evil, he 
 punisheth them. 
 
 But who is the sovereign of the king? who com- 
 mandeth him what he must do ? whose hand is 
 stretched out to protect him from danger? and if 
 he doeth evil, who shall punish him ? 
 
 God is the sovereign of the king ; he is King of 
 kings, and Lord of lords ; his dominion is over all 
 worlds, and the light of his countenance is upon all 
 his works. 
 
 God is our shepherd, therefore we should follow 
 him: He is our father, therefore we should love 
 and obey him : He is our king, therefore we should 
 honour him, by being faithful to his laws. 
 
30 
 
 Remarkable account of a Lion and a 
 
 Dog. 
 
 It was customary for those who were unable to 
 pay sixpence for the sight of the wild beasts in the 
 lower, to bring a dog or a cat as a gift to the beasts, 
 in lieu of nfbney, to the keeper. 
 
 Among others, a man had brought a pretty black 
 spaniel, which was thrown into the cage of the 
 great lion. Immediately the little animal trembled 
 and shivered, crouched, and threw itself on its back, 
 put forth its tongue, and held up its paws, as if 
 praying for mercy. 
 
 In the mean time, the lion, instead of devouring 
 it, turned it over with one paw, and then turned it 
 with the other. He smelled of it, and seemed de- 
 sirous of courting a further acquaintance. 
 
 The keeper, on seeing this, brought a large mess 
 of his own family dinner. But the lion kept aloof, 
 and refused to eat, keeping his eye on the dog, and 
 inviting him, as it were, to be his taster. 
 
 At length the little animal's fears being some- 
 what abated, and his appetite quickened by the 
 smell of the victuals, he approached slowly, and 
 with trembling, ventured to eat. 
 
 The lion then advanced gently, and began to 
 partake, and they finished their meal very quietly 
 together. 
 
 From this day a strict friendship commenced 
 between them, consisting of great affection and 
 tenderness on the part of the lion, and of the ut- 
 most confidence and boldness on the part of the 
 dog: insomuch that he would lay himself down to 
 
31 
 
 sleep, within the fangs and under tlie jaws of his 
 terrible patron. 
 
 In about twelve months the little spaniel sick- 
 ened and died. For a time, the lion did not ap- 
 pear to conceive otherwise than that his favourite 
 was asleep. He would continue to smell of him, 
 and then would stir him witli his nose, and turn him 
 over with his paws. 
 
 But, finding that all his efforts to wake him 
 were vain, he would traverse his cage from end to 
 end, at a swift and uneasy pace. He would then 
 stop, and look down upon him with a fixed and 
 drooping regard ; and again lift up his head, and 
 roar for several minutes, as the sound of distant 
 thunder. 
 
 They attempted, but in vain, to convey the car- 
 cass from him. He watched it continually, and 
 would suffer nothing to touch it. The keeper 
 then endeavoured to tempt him with a variety of 
 food, bljt he turned from all that was offered, with 
 loathing. 4^-^. . 
 
 They then put s^^fSPfiving dogs in his cage, 
 which he tore in pieces, but left their members on 
 the floor. His passions being thus inflamed, he 
 would grapple at the bars of his cage, as if enraged 
 at his restraint from teaiing those around him to 
 pieces. 
 
 Again, as quite spent, he would stretch himself 
 by the remains of his beloved associate, lay his 
 paws upon him, and take him to his bosom ; and 
 then utter his grief in deep-'dnd melancholy roaring 
 for the loss of his little playfellow, his late friend, 
 the only companion of his den. 
 
 For five days he thus languished, and gradually 
 declined, without taking any sustenance or admit- 
 ting any comfort ; till one morning, he was found 
 
32 
 
 Head, with his head recHned on the carcass of 
 his little friend. They were both interred toge 
 Iher. 
 
 TJie Care wJdcJi Providence takes of 
 Animals durin^r the Winter Season. 
 
 However wonderful the preservation of hu- 
 man creatures may be, we can say with truth, 
 that the care of Providence towards animals, is 
 a still greater proof of his wisdom, power, and 
 goodness. 
 
 That the prodigious number of animals which 
 our globe contains, should find food or habitation 
 in summer, is not surprising, because all nature 
 then is disposed to concur towards that end. But 
 that in winter, the same number of creatures, those 
 millions of quadrupeds, of reptiles, of birds, of in- 
 sects, and of fishes, should continue to exist, is a 
 circumstance which must excite our admiration. 
 
 Nature has provided most animals with a cover- 
 ing, by means of which they can bear the cold, and 
 procure themselves food in winter as well as in 
 summer. The bodies of wild beasts, which inha- 
 bit forests and deserts, are so formed, that the hair 
 falls oft' in summer, and grows again in the winter, 
 till it becomes a fur, which enables the animal to 
 endure the most severe cold. 
 
 Other kinds of animals find an asylum under the 
 bark of trees, in old crevices, in hollows of rocks 
 and caves, when the cold obliges them to quit their 
 summer dwelling. 
 
33 
 
 It is there that some carry beforehand the food 
 whicli is to serve them, and thus live on what they 
 have gathered in the summer; others pass tlie 
 winter in profound sleep. Nature has given to 
 several sorts of birds an instinct, which prompts 
 them to change place at the approach of winter. 
 
 They are seen flying in great numbers into warm- 
 er climates. Several animals, who are not design- 
 ed to travel, find, notwithstanding, their wants 
 supplied in this season. Birds know how to find 
 out insects in moss, and the crevices of the \)Qxk 
 of trees. Several kinds of quadrupeds carry pro- 
 vision in summer into caves, and feed on it m 
 winter. 
 
 Others are obliged to seek their subsistence un- 
 der the snow and ice. Several sorts of insects, in 
 winter confined to marshes and frozen rivers, are 
 deprived of food for that time, and still preserve 
 life. Perhaps also, many means made use of by 
 Providence for the preservation of animals, are y^t 
 concealed from us. 
 
 From the elephant to the mite, all animals owe 
 to him their dwelling, their food, and their life; 
 and even where nature herself seems barren of re- 
 sources, he finds means to make amends for her 
 poverty. 
 
 Let this consideration strengthen our confidence 
 in God. How can anxiety, care, or anguish, get 
 access into our hearts, or make us despair of being 
 preserved during the winter ? That God who pro- 
 vides for the animals, will not forsake mankind. 
 
 He who shows himself so great in smaller ob- 
 jects, will be still greater in the more important. 
 He who provides a covering for animals, will be 
 able to clothe us. He who points out to them u 
 retreat in the caves of the mountains, will find fcjr 
 
34 
 
 US an asyiiim to pass our days in quietness. He 
 who has prepared for them, even under the snow 
 and ice, their proper food, will be able to provide 
 for us in the most critical seasons. 
 
 In fine, let these reflections lead us to imitate, 
 as much as our faculties will permit, the gene- 
 rous care of Divine Providence, in contributing to 
 the preservation and happiness of our fellow-crea- 
 tures, and even to the welfare of every living 
 animal. 
 
 To be cruel towards animals, to refuse them 
 food and convenience, is an act manifestly contra- 
 ry to the will of our common Creator, whose benefi- 
 cent cares extend even to those beings which are 
 inferior to us. 
 
 History of Job, 
 
 Job, who lived in the eastern land of Uz, was 
 a person of exalted rank. His substance and 
 possessions were very great; but he was more 
 distinguished and honoured for his piety and be- 
 nevolence. He had seven sons and three daugh- 
 ters. 
 
 In the history of this good man, Satan is repre- 
 sented as suspecting his sincerity, and alleging, 
 that if he were deprived of his fortune and healtli, 
 his temper and conduct would change with his 
 circumstances. 
 
 Permission, therefore, was granted by the Al- 
 mighty, for the trial of his integrity, and accord 
 ingly, afflictions were heaped upon his head. He 
 
35 
 
 became as remarkable for calamity as lie had been 
 for prosperity. 
 
 His oxen and camels were taken away by rob- 
 bers ; his sheep were consumed by lightning ; and 
 his children overwhelmed by a house blown down 
 by a whirlwind. He himself was seized with a 
 violent distemper, which overspread his body from 
 the sole of his foot unto the crown of his head. 
 
 His friends concluded, from his uncommon cala- 
 mities, that he was a great sinner, and a hypocrite, 
 and advised him to confess his guilt. Job ac- 
 knowledges that he was not infallible and free 
 from common failings, and that, consequently, he 
 ought to be humble and submissive under the hand 
 of God. 
 
 He insists, however, that he was honest and 
 sincere in the discharge of his duty, and appeals, in 
 vindication of it, from the false judgment of men to 
 the unerring judgment of God. 
 
 He asserts, that there is little or no difference 
 between the righteous and the wicked, in the ex- 
 ternal administration of Providence ; that both 
 are liable to the same misfortunes, and often in- 
 volved in one common ruin. This fully proves, 
 that there must be a future state, in which the 
 righteous, who suffer here, will be signally re- 
 warded. 
 
 At length, in order to determine the debate, 
 the unerring Judge himself is represented as inter- 
 posing, to show how unable men are to explain the 
 ways and designs of Heaven, ?ftid to declare in 
 favour of Job against the opinion of iiis friends. 
 " Ye have not spoken of me the thing that is right, 
 as my servant Job hath." 
 
 He then put an end to his sufferings, blessed 
 
36 
 
 him with a numerous offspring, and "gave him 
 twice as much wealth as he had before ;" so that 
 the latter end of his life was more prosperous than 
 the beginning of it. 
 
 We should learn from the history of Job, not 
 to judge and condemn others, because they are 
 poor or sick, or under any calamity. Afflictions 
 are no proof of a person's being wicked and for- 
 saken by God. " Whom the Lord loveth he 
 chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he 
 receiveth." 
 
 The example of Job teaches us to employ our- 
 selves and our wealth in doing good to othei-s, 
 according to their various necessities. He was 
 eyes to the blind, and feet to the lame, a father 
 to the poor, a refuge to the stranger, the defender 
 of the oppressed, the comforter of the widow, and 
 the protector of him that had none to help him. 
 They who are rich in this world ^ should be " rich in 
 good works, ready to give, glad to distribute." 
 
 It teaches us also, in all our afflictions, to be 
 resigned to the will of our heavenly Father, and 
 to rely upon him with full trust and confidence. 
 "What!" says Job, "shall we receive good at the 
 hand of God, and shall we not receive evil ? The 
 Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away : blessed 
 be the name of the Lord." 
 
37 
 
 Fhe Works of Nature praise their 
 Maker, 
 
 Take up a handful of sand, and try to number 
 the grains of it. 
 
 Let us try if we can count the blades of grass in 
 die field, or the leaves on the trees. 
 
 We cannot count them, they are innumerable ; 
 much more the things which God hath made. 
 
 The fir groweth on the high mountain, and the 
 gray willow bends above the stream. 
 
 The thistle is armed with short prickles ; the 
 mallow is soft and woolly. 
 
 The hop layeth hold with her tendrils, and clasp- 
 eth the tall pole : the oak hath firm root in the 
 ground, tmd resisteth the winter storm. 
 
 The daisy enamelleth the meadows, and grow- 
 eth beneath the foot of the passenger : the tulip 
 asketh a rich soil, and the careful hand of the 
 gardener. 
 
 The iris and the reed spring up in the marsh: 
 the rich grass covereth the meadows ; and the pur- 
 ple heath-flower enliveneth the waste ground. 
 
 The water-lilies grow beneath the stream ; their 
 broad leaves float on the surface of the water : the 
 wall-flower takes root in the hard stone, and spreads 
 its fragrance amongst broken ruins. 
 
 Every leaf is of a different form ; every plan'; 
 hath a separate inhabitant. 
 
 Look at the thorns that are white with blossoms, 
 and the flowers that cover the fields, and the plants 
 that are trodden in the green path. The hand of 
 man hath not planted them ; the sower hath not 
 scattered the seeds from his hand, nor the gardener 
 digged a place for them with his spade. 
 
Some grow on steep rocks, where no man can 
 climb ; in shaking bogs, and deep forests, and 
 desert islands ; they spring up every where, and 
 cover the bosom of the whole earth. 
 
 Who causeth them to grow every where, and 
 bloweth the seeds about in winds, and mixeth 
 them with the mould, and watereth them with soft 
 rains, and cherisheth them with dews ? Who fan- 
 neth them with the pure breath of Heaven ; and 
 giveth them colours and smells, and spreadeth out 
 their thin transparent leaves ? 
 
 How doth the rose draw its crimson from the 
 dark brown earth, or the lily its shining white ? 
 How can a small seed contain a plant ? How doth 
 every plant know its season to put forth? The)' 
 are marshalled in order: each one knoweth his 
 place, and standeth up in his own rank. 
 
 The snow-drop, and the primrose haste to lift 
 their heads above the ground; when the spring 
 comes, they put forth their beauty. The carna- 
 tion waiteth for the full strength of the year ; and 
 the hardy laurustinus chee^eth the winter months. 
 
 Every plant produceth its like. An ear of corn 
 will not grow from an acorn : nor will a grape- 
 stone produce cherries : but every one springeth 
 from its proper seed. 
 
 Who preserveth them alive through the cold of 
 winter, when the snow is on the ground, and the 
 sharp frost bites on the plain ? Who saveth a small 
 seed, and a little warmth in the bosom of the earth, 
 and causeth them to spring up afresh, and sap to 
 rise through the hard fibres? 
 
 The trees are withered, naked, and bare ; they 
 are like dry bones. Who breatheth on them with 
 the breath of spring, and they are covered with 
 
39 
 
 verdure, and green leaves sprout from the dead 
 wood ? 
 
 Lo, these are a part of his works, and a Tittle 
 portion of his wonders. 
 
 There is little need that I should tell you of God, 
 for every thing speaks of him. 
 
 Evejy field is like an open book ; every painted 
 flower hath a lesson written upon its leaves. 
 
 Every murmuring brook hath a tongue : a voice 
 is in every whispering wind. 
 
 They all speak of him who made them : they all 
 tell us he is very good. 
 
 We cannot see God, for he k invisible ; but we 
 can see his works e\^ry where. 
 
 They that know the most, should praise him 
 the best ; but which of us can number half his 
 works ? 
 
 A Character. 
 
 "A DOG," says one of the English poets, "is 
 an honest creature, and I am a friend to dogs." 
 
 Of all the beasts that graze the lawn or hunt the 
 forest, a dog is the only animal that, leaving his 
 fellows, attempts to cultivate the friendship of 
 man. 
 
 To man he looks, in all his necessities, with a 
 speaking eye for assistance ; exerts for him all the 
 little service in his power with cheerfulness and 
 pleasure; for him bears famine and fatigue with 
 patience and resignation. 
 
 No injuries can abate his fidelity; no distress 
 foduce him to forsake his benefactor. Studious 
 
40 
 
 to please, and fearing to offend, he is still an hum- 
 ble, steadfast dependant ; and in him alone fawn- 
 ing is not flattery. 
 
 By him the midnight robber is kept at a dis- 
 tance, and the thief is often detected. The poor 
 man finds in his dog a willing assistant, eager to 
 lessen his toil, and content with a very small re- 
 tribution. 
 
 How unkind, then, to torture this faithful crea- 
 ture, who has left the forest to claim the protection 
 of man ! How ungrateful a return to the trusty 
 animal for all its services ! 
 
 Some few years ago, a ship was launched ' at 
 Ipswich, in Suffolk, and going off the stocks sooner 
 than was expected by the people on board, several 
 persons were thrown into the water. Some boats 
 were quickly employed to save the people, though 
 they could not give immediate assistance. 
 
 But a large Newfoundland dog, seeing their situa- 
 tion, rushed into the water, and swimming for their 
 relief, towed first one and then another out of the 
 deep into the shallow water, and by this means 
 saved the lives of several men and women, though 
 some were drowned for want of timely assistance. 
 
 To avoid Vice the best way to escape 
 Censure, 
 
 It is wiser to prevent a quarrel than to revenge 
 it. By others' faults, prudent men correct their 
 own. When our vices leave us. we flatter our- 
 selves that we leave them. Choose that kind ot 
 life which is best, and custom will render it plea- 
 sant. 
 
41 
 
 Anger may glance into the breast of a wise man : 
 but it rests only in the bosom of fools. To err 
 is human ; to forgive, divine. Though a man may 
 become learned by the learning of other people, he 
 can never be wise but by his own wisdom. 
 
 A good man will love himself too well to lose, 
 and all his neighbours too well to win, an estate 
 by gaming. The love of gaming will corrupt the 
 best minds in the world. 
 
 It happens to men of learning as to ears of corn; 
 they shoot up and raise their heads high, while they 
 are empty ; but when full and swelled with grain, 
 they begin to flag and droop. 
 
 It is harder to avoid censure, than to gain ap- 
 plause ; for this may be done by one great or wise 
 action in any age ; but to escape censure, a man 
 must pass his whole life without saying or doing 
 one ill or foolish thing. A liar begins with making 
 falsehood appear like truth, and ends with making 
 truth itself appear like falsehood. • ^ ^ 
 
 It often happens, that those are the best people 1 
 who have, been most hurt by slander : as we some^ 
 times find that to be the sweetest fruit at which 
 the birds have been picking. 
 
 The blessings granted to us by God in 
 Winter^ and to which we pay too little 
 attention. 
 
 If we were to examine the works of creation 
 more attentively than we generally do, we should 
 find at this season, many reasons to rejoice in the 
 Creator, and to praise the wonders of his wisdom. 
 
42 
 
 Pew, without doubt, are so insensible as not to 
 feel emotions of pleasure and gratitude, when beau- 
 teous nature displays the rich blessings of Pro- 
 vidence, in spring, in summer, or autumn. 
 
 But even hearts the fullest of sensibility, if they 
 are not found watching unto prayer, will be very 
 liable to lose that sensation of warm gratitude, when 
 they see the trees stripped of their fruit, and the 
 fields without verdure ; when the bleak wind whis- 
 tles round their dwelling; when a chilling cold 
 comes to freeze the earth and its inhabitants. 
 
 But is it true that this season iS so deprived of 
 the blessings of Heaven, and of what is sufficient 
 to kindle gratitude and piety in the heart of man ? 
 No, certainly. Let us only accustom ourselves to 
 be more attentive to the works of God, more touch- 
 ed vvith the many proofs of his goodness towards 
 us, and we shall find opportunities enough, even in 
 winter, to praisQ our benefactor. 
 
 Consider how unhappy we should be, if, during 
 violent cold, we had neither wood for. fire, nor 
 clothes to keep us warm. With what goodness 
 the Lord prevents ourTvants, and furnishes us (even 
 in the season the most void of resources) with the 
 necessaries and conveniences of lile. 
 
 When at this moment we may be enjo3^ing the 
 comfortable warmth of a fire, shall we not return 
 thanks to the Lord, who giveth us fuel with such 
 profusion, that the very poorest can be supplied 
 with it? . 
 
 If it were given to mortals to know the chain 
 of every thing in nature, how great would be our 
 admiration at the wisdom and goodness of its au- 
 thor ! But however incapable we are of forming 
 to ourselves an idea of the whole of his works, the 
 
43 
 
 Kttle we understand, gives us sufficient reason to 
 acknowledge, that his government is infinitely wise 
 and beneficent. 
 
 Winter belongs to the plan he has formed. If 
 this season did not exist, the spring and summer 
 would not have so many charms for us ; the fertility 
 of our lands would much diminish ; commerce 
 would be at an end in many provinces, and part 
 of the woods and forests would have been created 
 for no purpose. 
 
 Considered in this light, winter is certainly very 
 uf?eful, and supposing that even its advantages were 
 not so apparent, it would be sufficient for us to re- 
 flect, that winter is the work of the Creator as well 
 as spring and summer, and all that which comes 
 from him must be for the best. 
 
 Industry, 
 
 The Jews have a saying among them, that " He 
 who does not bring his son up to some business, 
 makes him a thief." Idleness they look on as the 
 ground of all evil, whether public or private ; for, 
 the mind of man will be employed, and rather than 
 do nothing, it will work mischief. 
 
 The Parthians were such enemies to idleness, that 
 they did not suflTer their children to eat till they had 
 gone through some exercises, or done something 
 which might contribute to the health of their bodies 
 or improvement of their minds. 
 
44 
 
 Solon introduced a severe law into his common- 
 wealth agai'iSt idleness, and the judges were very 
 vigilant in mquiring into the life and manner of 
 every particular subject, and in seeing this law 
 put in execution, as appears from the following 
 narrative. 
 
 " There were at Athens two poor young men, 
 who took pleasure in reading, in order to acquire 
 wisdom and knowledge. They had no visible 
 means of support, yet they kept up their flesh and 
 colour, looked hale, well, and in good case. 
 
 " The judges had information given them of the 
 retired life of these two, and that it did not appear 
 they had any thing to maintain them : consequent- 
 ly, as they could not hve without sustenance, they 
 must have some clandestine means of subsisting. 
 On this information, the young men were sum- 
 moned before the judges, and ordered to answer to 
 the charge. 
 
 " One of the accused said, that little credit was 
 given to what a man could urge in his own defence, 
 because it was natural to think that every criminal, 
 would either deny or extenuate the crime he was 
 charged with ; and as the testimony of a disinterest- 
 ed person was not liable to suspicion, he desired a 
 certain baker, whom he named, might be summon- 
 ed, in order to answer for them. 
 
 " The baker declared, that the young men under 
 examination took it by turns to grind his corn every 
 night; and that, for the night's work, he every 
 morning paid the young man who ground at his 
 mill, a drachma, or groat. The judges, surprised 
 at their abstinence and industry, ordered a reward 
 of two hundred drachmas to be paid them out of 
 the public treasury." 
 
45 
 
 How happy would it be for us, if there were 
 laws against idleness, and which should oblige 
 every man to give an account of his time, and be 
 answerable for his way of life ! How many cheats 
 and sharpers, who live by defrauding the unwary 
 public, would be obliged to lay aside the name of 
 gentleman, and work for their hvelihood in an 
 honest manner 1 
 
 Modesty, 
 
 Who art thou, O man ! that presumest on thme 
 own wisdom ? or why dost thou vaunt thyself on 
 thine own acquirements ? 
 
 The first step towards being wise, is to know 
 that thou art ignorant : and if thou wouldst not be 
 esteemed foolish in the judgment of others, cast 
 off the folly of being wise in thine own conceit. 
 
 As a plain garment best adorneth a beautiful 
 woman, so a decent behaviour is the greatest 
 ornament of wisdom. 
 
 The speech of a modest man giveth lustre to 
 truth, and the diffidence of his words absolveth 
 his error. 
 
 He relioth not on his own wisdom ; he weigheth 
 the counsels of a friend, and receiveth the benefit 
 thereof. 
 
 He turneth away his ear from his own praise, 
 and believeth it not ; he is the last in discovering 
 his own perfections. 
 
 Yet as a veil addeth to beauty, so are his vir- 
 tues set off by the shade which his modesty castetii 
 upon thera. 
 
46 
 
 But behold the vain man, and observe the arro- 
 gant : he clotheth himself in rich attire ; he walk- 
 eth in the public street ; he casteth round his eyes 
 and courteth observation. 
 
 He tosseth up his head, and overlooketh the 
 poor; he treateth his inferiors with insolence, and 
 his superiors, in return, look down on his pride and 
 folly with laughter. 
 
 He despiseth the judgment of others ; he relieth 
 on his own opinion, and is confounded. 
 
 He is puffed up with the vanity of his imagina- 
 tion ; his delight is to hear and speak of himself all 
 the day long. 
 
 He swalloweth with greediness his own praise, 
 and the flatterer, in return, eateth him up. 
 
 Vegetables which preserve their Verdure 
 in Winter. 
 
 The earth may now be compared to a mother 
 who has been robbed of those children from whom 
 she had the best hopes. She is desolate, and de- 
 prived of the charms which varied and embellished 
 her surface. However, she is not robbed of all her 
 children. 
 
 Here and there some vegetables are still to be 
 seen, which seem to defy the severity of the win- 
 ter. Here the wild hawthorn shows its purple 
 berries ; and the laurustinus displays its blossoms 
 in clusters crowned with leaves which never fade. 
 
 The yew-tree rises like a pyramid, and its 
 leaves pieserve their verdure. The weak ivy 
 
47 
 
 still creeps along the walls, and clings immoveable, 
 • while the tempest roars around it. The laurel 
 extends its green branches, and has lost none of 
 ts summer ornaments. 
 
 The humble box shows, here and there, m the 
 midst, of the snow, its evergreen branches. These 
 trees, and some others, preserve their verdure 
 in the coldest climates, and in the severest sea- 
 sons. 
 
 They are emblems of the durable advantages 
 which he possesses, whose mind is cultivated, and 
 whose temper is sweet and serene. The splen 
 dour of dress, which only dazzles the eye of the 
 vulgar, is a trifling and transient splendour. 
 
 The most brilliant complexion will fade, and all 
 outward beauty is of short duration: but virtue 
 nas charms which survive every thing. The man 
 who fears the Lord, "is like a tree planted by the 
 iide of a rivulet." 
 
 " It grows and flourishes, and its branches ex- 
 tend far off*. It bears fruit in due season, and its 
 leaves fade not. It refreshes him who seeks its 
 shelter, and the traveller blesses it." 
 
 What a delightful image is this of a pious man I 
 He borrows not his value from the exterior and 
 arbitrary goods of fortune. His true ornaments 
 are in himself. The storms of adversity may 
 sometimes shake him, but they cannot overpower 
 him"; and he eoon rises again above the stormy 
 regions. 
 
 If he is reduced by misfortune to poverty, he is 
 still rich in the possession of peace, arising from 
 a good conscience, and the hope of a blessed im- 
 mortality. 
 
 This meditation leads me to the idea of a be- 
 nevolent old man. In the decline of his days, he 
 5 
 
48 
 
 resembles the plants which preserve their verdure, 
 even in that season of life. How many storms of 
 fortune has he supported with constancy ! How 
 many attracting objects has he seen wither! He 
 yet exists, whilst most of those of his time have 
 disappeared. 
 
 A mild cheerfulness is seen in him, the happy 
 remains of his spring. However wrinkled his 
 forehead may be, whatever ravages the hand of 
 time has imprinted upon his body, he is still 
 adorned with virtues which make amends for the 
 loss of exterior charms. 
 
 He grows young again in his children ; and his 
 wisdom, his integrity, his great experience, serve 
 still for examples and lessons to all around him. 
 
 As the rose breatheth sweetness from its nature, 
 so the heart of a benevolent man produceth good 
 works. He enjoyeth the ease and tranquillity of 
 his own breast, and rejoiceth in the happiness and 
 prosperity of his neighbour. 
 
 His desire is to do good, and he searcheth out 
 the occasions thereof; in removing the oppressions 
 of another, he relieveth himself. From the large- 
 ness of his mind, he comprehendeth in his wishes 
 the happiness of all men ; and from the generosity 
 of his heart, he endeavoureth to promote it 
 
49 
 
 Anger, 
 
 As the whirlwind in its fury teareth up trees 
 and changeth the face of Nature, so the rage of 
 an angry man throweth mischief around him. But 
 think and reflect on thine own weakness ; so shalt 
 thou pardon the faihngs of others. Indulge not 
 thyself in anger; it is like whetting a sword to 
 wound thine own breast, or to injure thy friend. 
 
 If it be a hard task to rule thine anger, it is wise 
 to prevent it : avoid then those things whicli may 
 excite thy wrath, or guard thyself against them, 
 when they occur. Harbour not revenge in thy 
 breast : it will torment thy heart, and pervert thy 
 best thoughts. 
 
 Be always more ready to forgive than to return 
 an offence : he that watches for revenge, lieth in 
 wait against himself, and draweth down mischief 
 on his own head. A mild answer to an angry 
 man, like water cast upon the fire, checketh his 
 warmth, and from being a foe, he will become thy 
 friend. 
 
 Reflect and think how few things are worthy of 
 anger, and thou wilt wonder that any but fools 
 should indulge in it. In folly or weakness it always 
 taketh its rise ; but seldom endeth without sorrow 
 On the heels of folly treadeth shame ; at the back 
 of anger standeth remorse. 
 
 ilr: 
 
50 
 
 Filial Piety. 
 
 One of the Roman judges had given up to the 
 triumvir a woman of some rank, condemned for a 
 capital crime, to be executed in prison. He who 
 had charge of the execution, in consideration of 
 her birth, did not immediately put her to death. 
 
 He even ventured to let her daughter have ac« 
 cess to her in prison, carefully searching her, how 
 ever, as she went in, lest she should carry with he; 
 any sustenance. 
 
 He took it for granted, that in a few days the 
 mother must, of course, perish for want, and that 
 the severity of putting a woman of family to a vio- 
 lent death, by the hand of the executioner, might 
 thus be avoided. 
 
 Some days passing in this manner, the triumvir 
 began to wonder that the daughter still came to 
 visit her mother, and could by no means compre- 
 hend how the latter should live so long. ' 
 
 Watching, therefore, carefully what passed in 
 the interview between them, he found, to his great 
 astonishment, that the life of the mother had been 
 all this while supported by the milk of her daugh- 
 ter, who came to the prison every day for this 
 purpose. 
 
 The strange^ contrivance between them was re- 
 presented to the judges, who procured a pardon 
 for the mother. Nor was it thought sufficient to 
 give to so dutiful a daughter the forfeited hfe ot 
 her condemned mother, but they were both main- 
 tained afterwards by a pension settled on them 
 for life. 
 
51 
 
 What will not filial duty contrive, or what haz- 
 ards will it not run, if it will put a daughter upon 
 venturing, at the peril of her own life, to maintain 
 her imprisoned and condemned mother in so unu- 
 sual a manner ! 
 
 The first Lesson of Cyrus, 
 
 It is reported of Cyrus, when young, that being 
 asked what was the first thing he learned, he an- 
 swered, " To tell the Truth ;" which is, indeed, 
 " though no science, fairly worth the seven." 
 
 When the wise men were commanded by the 
 king to declare what .was the strongest power 
 upon earth, such as exceeded even that of the 
 monarch himself, they were all at a loss for an an- 
 swer. 
 
 At last, the prophet Daniel was consulted, who, 
 being endowed with wisdom from on high, answer- 
 ed, that Truth was the stjongest 5 and supported 
 his assertions by such weighty arguments, that no- 
 body could controvert them. Thus his under- 
 standing was approved by the king, and all the 
 sages were humbled in his presence. 
 
 Of all the qualities that adorn the human mind, 
 truth is the most respectable. It is a rich, though 
 a simple ornament ; and he who is not possessed 
 of it, let his rank and qualities be what they may, 
 will be forever despicable in the sight of the good 
 and wise. 
 
5-2 
 
 We are naturally led to dislike those who are 
 always intent upon deceiving. Whereas, on the 
 contrary, we make no scruple to confide in those 
 who are sincere, because we know ourselves to be 
 safe in their hands. They will^ be either constant 
 friends or open enemies ; and even if, through hu- 
 man frailty, they are sometimes led into errors, yet 
 their generous acknowledgment of them makes 
 amends in a great degree, and is a good token ot 
 their avoiding them for the future. 
 
 " Where Truth is found, bright Virtue still resides, 
 
 And equal justice every action guides. 
 
 In the pure heart and spotless mind she reigns, 
 
 And with mild power her happy sway maintains ; 
 
 The attribute of God himself confess'd, 
 
 That stamps his image on the human breast." 
 
 The Laplanders, 
 
 If I fix rriy eyes on the Laplanders, and the in 
 habitants of the lands nearest the arctic pole, I be- 
 hold mortals whose state and manner of Hving, 
 when compared with ours, we conclude are not 
 the happiest. Their country is formed of a chain 
 of mountains, covered with snow and ice, which 
 do not melt even in summer; and where the chain 
 is interrupted, it is full of bogs and marshes. 
 
 A deep snow overwhelms the valleys, and co- 
 vers the little hills. Winter is felt during the great- 
 
53 
 
 est part of the year. The nights are long ; jind 
 the days give but a dim light. The inhabitants 
 seek shelter from the cold in tents which can be 
 removed from one place to another. 
 
 They fix their fireplace in the middle of the tent, 
 and surround it with stones. The smoke goes out 
 at the top, which also serves them for a window. 
 There they fasten iron chains, to which they hang 
 the caldrons, in which they dress their food, and 
 melt the ice that serves them for drink. 
 
 The hiside of the tent is furnished with furs, 
 which preserve them from the wind ; and they lie 
 on skins spread on the ground. It is there they 
 pass their winter. Six months of the year are to 
 them perpetual night; during which, they hear 
 nothing round them but the whistling of winds, and 
 the howling of wolves, that are running every 
 where in search of their prey. 
 
 How could we bear the climate and way of life 
 of those people? How much should we think 
 ourselves to be pitied, if we had nothing before 
 our eyes but an immense extent of ice, and whole 
 deserts covered with snow; the absence of the 
 sun still making the cold more insupportable? If, 
 instead of a convenient dwelling, we had only 
 moveable tents made of skins, and no resource for 
 our subsistence, but painful and dangerous hunt- 
 ing! . 
 
 Are not these reflections proper to make us ob- 
 serve the many advantages of our climate, so lit- 
 tle attended to ? Ought they not to animate us to 
 bless the Divine Providence, for delivering us from 
 such distresses and inconveniences, and for dis- 
 tinguishing u« by a thousand advantages? Yes. 
 
 Let us ever bless that wise Providence: and 
 when wft feel tlie Reverity of the season, let us re- 
 
 ^t^ 
 
54 
 
 turn thanks, that the cold is so moderate where 
 we dwell, and that we have such numerous ways 
 of guarding against it. 
 
 But is the inhabitant of northern countries so 
 unhappy as we imagine? It is true, he wanders 
 through rough valleys and unbeaten roads, and is 
 exposed to the inclemency of the seasons. But 
 his hardy body is able to bear fatigue. 
 
 The Laplander is poor, and deprived of many 
 of the conveniences of life ; but is he not rich, in 
 knowing no other wants than those which he can 
 easily satisfy ? He is deprived for several months 
 of the light of the sun ; but to make the darkness 
 supportable, the moon and the Aurora Borealis 
 light his horizon. 
 
 Even the snow and ice in which he is buried, 
 do not make him unhappy. Education and cus 
 tom arm him against the severity of his climate 
 The hardy life he leads enables him to brave the 
 cold ; and for the particular wants which are indis- 
 pensable to him, nature has made it easy to obtain 
 supplies. 
 
 She has pointed out to him animals, whose fur 
 saves him from the sharpness of the air. She 
 has given him the Rein-deer, which furnishes him 
 with his tent, his dress, his bed, his food, and his 
 drink ; with which he undertakes long journeys, 
 and which, in a word, supplies almost all his wants ; 
 and the maintenance of it is but little trouble to 
 him. 
 
55 
 
 Application, 
 
 SiN(i5 the days that are past are gone forever, 
 and those that are to come may not come to thee, 
 it behoveth thee, O man ! to employ the present 
 t'me, without regretting the loss of that which is 
 past, or too much depending on that which is to 
 come. 
 
 This .instant is thine : the next is in the womb 
 of futurity, and thou knowest not what it may 
 Iring forth. 
 
 Whatsoever thou resolvest to do, do it quickly. 
 Defer not till the evening what the morning may 
 accomplish. -^ 
 
 Idleness is the parent of want and of pain ; but 
 the labour of virtue bringeth forth pleasure. 
 
 The hand of diligence defeateth want ; pros- 
 perity and success are the industrious man's at- 
 tendants. 
 
 Who is he that hath acquired wealth, that hath 
 risen to power, that hath clothed himself with 
 /lonour, and that is spoken of in the city with 
 praise? Even he that hath shut out idleness from 
 lis house, and hath said unto sloth, thou art mine 
 enemy. 
 
 He riseth up early, he exerciseth his mmd with 
 contemplation, and his body with action, and pre- 
 serveth the health of both. 
 
5B 
 
 The slothful man is a burden to himself; his 
 hours hang heavy on his head ; he loiters about, 
 and knoweth not what he would do. 
 
 His days pass away like the shadow of a cloud, 
 and he leaveth behind him no mark for remem- 
 brance. 
 
 His body is diseased for want of exercise ; he 
 wisheth for action, but hath not power to move ; 
 his mind is in darkness; his thoughts are con- 
 fused ; he longeth for knowledge, but hath no ap- 
 plication. 
 
 He would eat of the almond, but hateth the 
 trouble of breaking the shell. 
 
 His house is in disorder, his servants are waste- 
 hil and riotous, and he runneth on towards ruin: 
 he seeth it with his eyes, he heareth it with hi» 
 ears, he shaketh his head, and wisheth, but hath 
 no resolution ; till ruin comes upon him hke a whirl 
 wind, and shame and repentance descend with hini 
 to the grave. I 
 
 Exercise and Temperance, 
 
 Physic, for the most part, is nothing else but 
 the substitute for exercise or temperance. Medi. 
 cines are, indeed, absolutely necessary in acute 
 distempirs, which cannot wait the slow operations 
 of these two great instruments of health ; but, did 
 men live in a habitual course of exercise and 
 
b7 
 
 temperance, there would be but little occasion for 
 them. 
 
 Accordingly, we find that those parts of the world 
 are the most healthy, where they subsist by the 
 chase ; and that men lived longest, when their lives 
 were employed in hunting, and when they had litde 
 food besides what they caught. 
 
 Blistering and bleeding would be less frequently 
 necessary, were it not for idleness and intemperance : 
 and all those inward applications, which are so 
 much in practice among us, are, for the most part, 
 nothing else but expedients to make luxury consis- 
 tent with health. The apothecary is perpetually 
 employed in countermining the cook and the 
 vintner. 
 
 It is said of Diogenes, that meeting a young man 
 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 him. 
 
 What would the philosopher have said, had he 
 been present at the gluttony of a modern meal ? 
 Would not he have thought the master of the 
 family mad, and have begged the servants to tie 
 down his hands, had he seen. him devour fowl, fish, 
 and flesh; swallow oil and vinegar, wines and 
 spices ; throw down sallads of twenty diflferent sorts 
 of herbs; sauces of a hundred ingredients; confec- 
 tions and fruits of numberless sweets and flavours ? 
 
 For my part, when I behold a fashionable table 
 set out in all its munificence, I fancy that I see 
 gouts and dropsies, fevers and lethargies, with other 
 innumerable distempers, lying in ambuscade among 
 the dishes. 
 
 Nature delights in the most plain and simple 
 diet. Every animal but man keeps to one dish. 
 
^8 
 
 Herbs are the food of this species, fish, of that, 
 and flesh, of a third. But man falls upon every 
 thing that comes in his way; scarce a berry or 
 mushroom can escape him. 
 
 It is impossible to lay down a determinate rule 
 for intemperance, because, what is luxuiy in one 
 may be temperance in another. An eminent 
 physician gives the following advice : " make your 
 whole repast of one dish, and seldom indulge in a 
 second." 
 
 It is observed by two or three ancient authors, 
 that Socrates, notwithstanding he lived in Athens, 
 during the great plague which has made so much 
 noise through all ages, and has been celebrated, 
 at different times, by the most eminent authors ; I 
 say, notwithstanding he lived in the time of this 
 most devouring pestilence, he never caught the 
 infection ; which those writers unanimously as- 
 cribe to the uninterrupted temperance which he 
 always observed. 
 
 But the most remarkable instance of the effica- 
 cy of temperance in procuring long life, is what we 
 meet with in a httle book published by Lewis 
 Cornaro, the Venitian ; which I mention because 
 it is of undoubted firedit, as the late Venitian 
 ambassador, who was of the same family, attested 
 more than once, i-n conversation, when he resided 
 in England. 
 
 Cornaro, who was the author of the little trea- 
 tise above mentioned, was of an infirm constitu- 
 tion till about forty, when, by obstinately persist- 
 ing in an exact course of temperance, he recover- 
 ed a perfect state of health ; insomuch, that at 
 fourscore he published his book, which has been 
 translated into English, under the title of " Sure 
 and certaiTi methods of obtaining a long and 
 healthy life." 
 
59 
 
 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 fear of Spectres, 
 
 The long winter nights are the occasion of ter- ^ 
 tor and uneasiness to a number of people, because 
 they are tormented vidth the ridiculous apprehen- 
 sion of spectres. _ This superstitious fear was more 
 pardonable in the time of our ancestors, as they 
 had not such clear ideas of the nature of spirits, 
 and as it was then favoured by several professedly 
 religious. 
 
 But there is reason to be surprised that such 
 ideas and such fears can exist now. It shows how 
 ingenious man is to raise imaginary monsters, and 
 to torment himself It is not enough that he 
 should from time to time feel real evils : he can 
 also create to himself fancied evils, and become 
 unhappy, because he thinks himself so. 
 
 How is a miser tormented with the fear of rob- 
 bers ! the misanthrope, from the distrust of those 
 about him ! the discontented man, from his anxiety 
 of what may happen ! Let us learn from hence, 
 to know the nature of the human heart, and to 
 feel the necessity of watching over our imagina- 
 tion. 
 
 If it deceive us in the night, by representing to 
 us frightful phantoms, it often in the day-time p'-o- 
 duces illusions, by painting vice to us under at- 
 6 
 
60 
 
 tractive forms. Let us be as ready to avoid all 
 tempations to evil, as we are to fly from the ap- 
 parition of a spectre ; but in the former instance, 
 man is bold and rash, and in the latter, timid and 
 fearftil. 
 
 The fear of a single ghost makes some shudder, 
 while the certainty of being one day transported 
 into a world of incorporeal beings, makes but little 
 impression on many minds. Still more, though 
 we know that every step draws us nearer the pre- 
 sence of the Eternal and Infinite Spirit, we feel 
 little apprehensions about it. 
 
 * If death or a dead person were to appear to us 
 at midnight, and declare to us that we should soon 
 join him, the most intrepid man would be filled 
 with fright and terror : he would make serious re- 
 flections upon the event, and would wait the issue 
 with anxiety. 
 
 But why are we so inattentive to the voice of 
 God, which cries aloud, "Prepare, O Israel, to 
 meet thy God?" How inconsistent to rest in se- 
 curity, when it would be prudent to fear : — and to 
 tremble, when there is nothing to dread. 
 
 Useful Information. 
 
 In a late conversation among some of the great 
 and wise, Therbn, a man of wealth and figure, but 
 not possessed of much knowledge, sat in the midst 
 of his friends of both sexes, in a large room, with 
 a rich variety of furniture. 
 
 Theron observed, that he had often heard it said, 
 " how much we are all indebted to the country and 
 
G\ 
 
 the plough ;'* but for his part, he knew no obliga- 
 tion that we had to that low rank of mankind, 
 whose life is taken up in the fields, the woods, and 
 the meadows, but that they paid their rents well, 
 to enable gentlemen to live at their ease. 
 
 Crito was pleased to seize the occasion, and en- 
 tertained the gay audience with a surprising lecture 
 of philosophy. 
 
 " Permit me, Theron,'' said he, " to be an ad- 
 vocate for the peasant ; and I can draw up a long 
 account of particulars, for which we are indebted 
 to the field and the forest, and to the men who 
 cultivate the ground, and are engaged in rural 
 business. 
 
 "Look around on all the furniture of the room; 
 let us survey our own clothing, and the splendid 
 array of Therina and Persis; and we shall find, 
 that, except a few glittering stones, and a little 
 gold and silver, which were dug out of the bowels 
 of the earth, we can scarce see any thing that did 
 not once grow green upon the ground through the 
 various labours of the planter and the ploughman. 
 
 " Whence came the floor we tread on, part 
 whereof is inlaid with wood of different colours ? 
 Whence these fair pannels of wainscot, and the 
 cornice that encompasses and adorns the room ? 
 Whence this lofty room of cedar, and the carved 
 ornaments of it? Are they not all the spoils of the 
 trees of the forest? 
 
 " Were not these once the verdant standard of 
 the grove or the mountain ? What are the hang- 
 ings of gay tapestry ? Are they not owing to the 
 fleece of the sheep, which borrowed their nourish-, 
 ment from the grass of the meadows ? 
 
 " Thus, the finery of a parlour was once grass : 
 ftjid should I take a turn into the bed-chamber, 
 
 ^^ 
 
62 
 
 [ coulcl show that the curtains, and the linen, and 
 costly covering, where we take our nightly repose, 
 wore some years ago all growing in the fields. 
 
 " But I need not retire from the place where 
 we are seated, to give abundant discoveries ol 
 this truth. Is not the hair of camels a part of the 
 materials which compose those rich curtains that 
 hang down by the windows, and the easy chairs 
 which accommodate our friends? And, if we 
 think a little, we shall find that camels with their 
 hair were made of grass, as well as sheep with theii 
 wool. 
 
 " What are the books that lie in the window, and 
 the little implements of paper and wax, pens and 
 wafers, which, I presume, may be found in the es- 
 3ritoir? They have all the same original, they were 
 once mere vegetables. 
 
 " Paper and books owe their being to the tatters 
 of linen, which were woven of the threads of fiax 
 or hemp. The pasteboard covers are composed ~ 
 of paper, and the leather is the skin of the calf, 
 which drew its life and sustenance from the mea- 
 dows. 
 
 " The pen that we write with was plucked from 
 the wing of a goose, which lived upon the grass of 
 the common. The wafer is made of the paste of 
 wheat, and the wax is originally plundered from the 
 bee, who gathered it out of a thousand flowers. 
 
 " Permit me, -ladies," said the philosopher, " to 
 mention your dress. Who gave Persis the silken 
 habit which she wears? Did she not borrow it 
 from the worm that spun those shining threads ? 
 And whence did the worm borrow it? From the 
 leaves of the mulberry tree, which was planted 
 
63 
 
 and nourished for that purpose by the country 
 swain. 
 
 " May I ask again, how came Therina by the 
 fine linen which she is pleased to appear in ? Was 
 it not made of the stalks of flax, which grew up in 
 the field, like other vegetables? And are not the 
 finest of your muslins owing to the Indian cotton- 
 tree? 
 
 "Nor have we, Theron, one upper garment, 
 whether coat, cloak, or night-gown, from our 
 shoulders to our very feet, as rich and as new as we 
 may think them, whjph the sheep, or the poor silk- 
 worm has not worn before us. It is certain the 
 beaver bore our hats upon his skin. 
 
 "That soft fur was his covering before it was 
 ours ; and the materials of our very shoes, both 
 the upper part and the soles of them, covered the 
 calf or the heifer, before they were put on our 
 feet. All this was grass at first; for we have 
 seen that all the animal world owes its being to 
 vegetables." 
 
 Theron acknowledged the justice of Crito's 
 whole argument, gave him hearty thanks for his 
 instructive lecture, and resolved to remember 
 those amazing scenes of the operation of nature, 
 and the astonishing wisdom of its Author. " Nor 
 shall I ever forget," said he, " the strange and 
 unexpected dependence of man on all the meaner 
 parts of the creation. 
 
 " I am convinced that * pride was never made 
 for man,' when I see how much akin his body is 
 to * the fowls of the air* and the beasts of the 
 field.' 
 
 "And I think," continued he, "I am more in- 
 debted to my tenants than ever I could have ima- 
 gined ; nor will I cast such a scornfiil eye again 
 6* 
 
64 
 
 on the grazier and the farmer, since this flesh and 
 blood of mine, as well as the furniture of my house, 
 and the clothes I wear, were once growing in the 
 fields or the woods, under their care and cultiva- 
 tion." 
 
 Of the had effects of Vapours. 
 
 In mines there are many and various hurtful 
 damps and vapours, and maijy have been the fatal 
 effects of them on the labouring minei^. The 
 most dangerous of all is found in those places 
 where the vapour has been long confined ; the air 
 rushing out from thence, frequently carries death 
 along with it ; and scarce any escape to tell the 
 manner of its operations. 
 
 Some colliers in Scotland, working near an old 
 mine that had been long closed up, happened, 
 without knowing danger so nigh, to open a hole 
 into it, from the pit where they were then em- 
 ployed. 
 
 Happily at that tiijie they saw their error, and 
 instantly fled for their lives. . The next day, how- 
 ever, they werie resolved to renew their work in 
 the same pit ; but coming within the vapour, they 
 all instantly fell down dead, as if they had been 
 shot. 
 
 Amongst these unhappy men, there was one 
 whose wife was informed that he was stifled in the 
 mine, and as he happened to be next the entrance, 
 she So far ventured down as to see where he lay. 
 
 As she approached the place, the sight of her 
 husband inspired her with a desire to rescue him, 
 if possible, from that dreadful situation ; though a 
 
65 
 
 little reflection might have shown her that it was 
 then too late. 
 
 But nothing could keep her back ; she ventured 
 forward, and had scarce touched him with her hand 
 when the damp prevailed, and the misguided, 
 though faithful woman, fell dead by his side. 
 
 On early Improvement 
 
 Let not the season of youth be barren of im- 
 provement, so essential to happiness and respect. 
 Thy future condition very much depends on thy 
 conduct at this time of life, whether good or bad. 
 Embrace the opportunity while nature is yet plia- 
 ble and soft, and bad habits have not established 
 their domini^. 
 
 While prejudices have not darkened thy mind, 
 and the world has not had time to debase thy af- 
 fections. All thy powers are more lively, disem- 
 barrassed, and free, than they will be perhaps at 
 any future period. Whatever bent thou now givest 
 thy heart unto, the direction is likely to continue. 
 
 It wall form the channel in which thy life is to 
 run ; nay, it may determine an everlasting issue. 
 Consider, then, the employment of this important 
 period, as the highest trust which shall ever be 
 committed to thee ; as, in great measure, decisive of 
 thy happiness, in time, and in eternity. 
 
 As in the succession of the seasons, each by 
 the invariable laws of nature, affects the produc- 
 tions of what is next in course ; so in human fife, 
 
 m- 
 
every period of our age, according as it is well or 
 ill spent, influences the happiness of that which is 
 to follow. 
 
 Virtuous youth gradually brings forward a ripe 
 and flourishing manhood; and such a manhood 
 passes of itself, without uneasiness, into respectable 
 and peaceable old age. 
 
 But when the heart is turned out of a virtuous 
 course, disorder takes place in the moral, just as 
 in the vegetable world. If the spring put forth no 
 blossoms, in summer there will be no beauty, and 
 in autumn no fruit ; so if youth be trifled away 
 without improvement, manhood will be contempti- 
 ble, and old age miserable. 
 
 Snow, 
 
 Snow consists of watery particles, frozen in the 
 air. Experiments have been made, which prove 
 that snow, at the moment of falling, is twenty-four 
 times lighter than water ; occupying so much more 
 space than the water produced from it when melted ; 
 which could not be the case if snow were not water 
 extremely rarified. 
 
 But snow is not mere water : for the construc- 
 tion of its particles, and the effects it produces, 
 are different from that of water and ice. In this 
 respect, the manner in which the snow forms itself 
 has something very remarkable. , 
 
 When particles of vapour, collected together, 
 freeze in the atmosphere, the saltpetre dispersed 
 
67 
 
 in the air, unites with it in the form of a little dart, 
 of a hexagonal shape. While a great number of 
 such little darts unite together, the particles of 
 water which are among them grow hard, and take 
 the form pf saltpetre. 
 
 This accounts for the flakes with six sides which 
 are composed of points like little needles, and at 
 each of which, darts or smaller threads join them- 
 selves, though their form frequently alters, when 
 carried here and there by the wind. 
 
 How wonderful the form of these flakes of snow 
 would appear to us, if we were not accustomed to 
 see them every year ! But because certain won- 
 ders occur often, is that a reason for being inatten- 
 tive to them? 
 
 No, far from it : let us be more careful to ex- 
 amine into them, and to admire the power of God, 
 who, in every season, shows himself so rich, so in- 
 exhaustible in the means to provide for the con- 
 veniences and pleasures of mortals. 
 
 Have we a right to complain, that winter does 
 not supply a variety of amusements for the senses 
 and the understanding ? Is it not an astonishing 
 spectacle to see that nature has formed even the 
 flakes of snow with the most exact symmetry? to 
 see such a prodigious number of them fall from the 
 sky? — to observe the several forms water takes 
 under the creating hand of God ? 
 
 Sometimes it forms itself into hail ; sometimes 
 hardens into ice; and sometimes changes into 
 snow, and into innumerable flakes of it. All these 
 changes serve, at the same time, for the use and 
 embellishment of the earth, and even in the small- 
 est phenomena of nature, God shows himself great 
 and worthy of adoration. 
 
 Look no longer upon snow with indifference. 
 
It» form, and the advantages resulting from it, 
 should lead us to adore him who made it, and 
 spreadeth it upon the earth, covering and preserv- 
 ing many a root and plant from the keen frosty 
 winds. 
 
 To him whom all nature obeys; who causeth 
 the snow to fall in flakes like wool ; who spread- 
 eth the white frost like ashes; who casteth hail 
 as in pieces ; who orderetli the cold to bless and 
 fertilize the earth; to him be all praise, honour, 
 and glory. 
 
 On the Knowledge of Ourselves. 
 
 In the first place, let us consider well, what are 
 the characters we bear among our enemies. Our 
 frieinds very often flatter us, as much as our own 
 hearts. They either do not see our faults, or con- 
 ceal them from us, or soften them by their partial 
 representations, in such a manner that we think 
 them too trivial to take notice of. 
 
 An adversary, on the contrary, makes a stricter 
 search into us, and discovers every flaw and imper- 
 fection in our tempers ; and, though his malice 
 may set them in too strong a light, it has generally 
 some ground for what it advances. 
 
 In order, likewise, to come to a true knowledge 
 of ourselves, we should consider, on the other 
 hand, how far we may deserve the praises and 
 approbations which the worfd bestows on us ; 
 whether the actions they applaud, proceed from 
 right and worthy motives ; and how far we are 
 really possessed of the virtues which they cele- 
 
69 
 
 brate or set forth, and which gain us credit among 
 those with whom we converse. 
 
 In the next place, that we may not deceive our- 
 selves in a point of so much importance, we should 
 not lay too great a stress on any virtues we may- 
 possess, which are of a doubtful nature ; and such 
 we may esteem all those in which many men dis- 
 sent from us, perhaps far superior to ourselves: 
 they are chiefly opinionative and not practical, and 
 perhaps only derive their value from our own pre- 
 judices. 
 
 We should likewise be very apprehensive of 
 those actions which proceed from natural consti- 
 tution, favourite passions, particular education, or 
 whatever promotes our worldly interest or advan- 
 tage. In these, or the like cases, one's judgment 
 is easily perverted, and a wrong bias hung upon the 
 mind. 
 
 There is nothing of greater importance to us, 
 than thus diligently to sift our thoughts, and ex- 
 amine all these dark recesses of the mind, if we 
 would establish our hearts in such a solid and sub- 
 stantial virtue, as will turn to account in that great 
 day, when it must stand the test of infinite wisdom 
 and justice. 
 
 And lastly, it will be impossible to know our- 
 selves as we ought, except with the Psalmist, we 
 constantly cry from our hearts, " Try me, O God, 
 and seek the ground of my heart, prove me, and 
 examine my thoughts ; look well if there be any 
 way of wickedness in me, and lead me in the way 
 everlasting." 
 
70 
 
 Of the Elephant 
 
 This animal, when tamed, is gentle, obedient, 
 and docile; patient of labour, it submits to tho 
 most toilsome drudgery ; and so attentive is it to 
 the commands of its governor, that a word or look 
 is sufficient to stimulate it to the most violent ex- 
 ertions. 
 
 It is so attached to its keeper, that it caresses 
 him with his trunk, and frequently will obey no 
 other master ; it knows his voice, and can distin- 
 guish the tone of command, whether of anger or of 
 approbation, and regulates its actions accordingly : 
 it receives its orders with attention, and executes 
 with eagerness, but without precipitation. 
 
 All its movements are orderly, and seem to cor- 
 respond with the dignity of its appearance, being 
 grave, majestic, and cautious. It kneels down for 
 the accommodation of those who would mount up- 
 on its back, and with its pliant trunk, assists them 
 to ascend. 
 
 It suffers itself to be harnessed, and setms io 
 have a pleasure in the finery of its trappings ; it is 
 used in drawing chariots, wagons, and various kinds 
 of machines. One of these animals will perform 
 with ease the work of many horses. 
 
 The manner of taking, taming, and rendering 
 these animals submissive, is curious, and well de- 
 serves a place in the history of the elephant. 
 
 In the midst of a forest, abounding with elephants, 
 a large piece of ground is marked out, and sur- 
 rounded with strong palisadoes, interwoven with 
 branches of trees : one end of the enclosure is nar- 
 row, from which it widens gradually so as to take 
 in a great extent of country. 
 
 1 
 
71 
 
 Several hundreds of men are employed upon 
 the occasion, who place themselves in such a man- 
 ner as to prevent the wild elephants from making 
 their escape : they kindle large fires at certain dis- 
 tances, and make a dreadful noise with drums and 
 various kinds of discordant instruments, calculated 
 for the purpose of stunning and terrifying the poor 
 animals ; whilst another party, consisting of some 
 thousands, with the assistance of the female ele- 
 phants, trained for the purpose, drive the wild ele- 
 s^hants slowly to the great opening of the enclosure, 
 the whole train of hunters closing in after them, 
 shouting and making a great noise, till the ele- 
 phants are driven, by insensible degrees, into the 
 narrow part of the enclosure, through v;hich there 
 is an opening into a smaller space, strongly fenced 
 in, and well guarded on all sides. 
 
 As soon as one of the elephants enters this 
 strait, a strong bar closes the passage from behind, 
 and he finds himself completely environed. On the 
 top of this narrow passage, some of the hunts- 
 men stand with goads in their hands, urging the 
 creature forward to the end of the passage, where 
 there is an opening just wide enough to let him 
 
 He is now received into the custody of two fe- 
 male elephants, who stand on each side of him, 
 and press him into the service : if he is likely to 
 prove refractory, they begin to discipline him with 
 their trunks, till he is reduced to obedience, and 
 suffers himself to be led to a tree, where he is bound 
 by the leg with stout thongs, made of untanneilr elk 
 or buckskin. 
 
 The tame elephants are then led back to the en- 
 closure, and the others are made to submit in the 
 same manner. They are all suffered to remain 
 7 
 
-;2 
 
 fast to the trees for several days. Attendants are 
 placed by the side of each animal, who supply him 
 with food, by little and little, till he is brought by 
 degrees to be sensible of kindness and caresses, 
 and allows himself to b6 led to the stable. 
 
 In the space of fourteen days, entire submission 
 is completed. During that time he is fed daily 
 with cocoa-nut leaves, and led once a day to the 
 water, by the tame ones. He becomes accustom- 
 ed to the voice of his keeper, and at last quietly " 
 resigns his prodigious powers to . the service of 
 man. 
 
 This animal seems to exceed most of the brute 
 creation in sagacity. The following account, 
 taken from Goldsmith, is an instance : "In Delhi, 
 an elephant passing along the streets,' put his 
 trunk into a tailor's shop, where several people 
 were at work. 
 
 "One of the persons of the shop, desirous of 
 amusement, pricked the animal's trunk with his 
 needle, and seemed highly delighted with this slight 
 punishment. 
 
 " The elephant, however, passed on without 
 any immediate signs of resentment ; but coming to 
 a. puddle of dirty water, he filled his trunk, re 
 turned to the shop, and spirted the contents ovei 
 all the finery upon which the tailors were tben 
 employed." a*- 
 
73 
 
 Remarkable story of a Dog, 
 
 During tlie reign of Charles V. of France, 
 Aubri de Montidier, travelling alone in the forest 
 of Bondi, was murdered and buried at the foot of 
 a tree. His dog remained upon the grave several 
 days, and would not leave the place till he was 
 compelled to do so by hunger. 
 
 He came at last to Paris, to the house of an in- 
 timate friend of the unfortunate Aubri, and by his 
 doleful bowlings, seemed to wish to acquaint him 
 of the loss he had sustained. 
 
 After receiving some victuals, he renewed his 
 noise, went to the door, and turned about to see if 
 he was followed by any one ; came back to his 
 master's friend, and pulled him by the coat, as it 
 were to persuade him to go along with him. 
 
 This extraordinary b^aviour of the dog, his 
 returning without his master, whom he never quit- 
 ted, and who all at once disappeared, and perhaps 
 that distribution of justice and of events, which 
 sehdom permits any long concealment of atrocious 
 •&M[ies ; all these put together, occasioned the dog's 
 "OBhg Ifbllowed. 
 
 As soon as he came to the foot of the tree, he 
 began to howl more violently than ever, and to 
 scratch up the ground, as if marking out the spot 
 where they sho^|d dig. They dug, and found the 
 body of the unfortunate Aubri ! 
 
 Some time after, he accidentally spied the mur- 
 derer, whom all historians agree in calling the 
 Chevalier Macaire. He flew at his throat imme- 
 diately, and it was with much difficulty he was 
 
74 
 
 Ibrced to quit his hold. Every time the dog met 
 him, he pursued and attacked him with the same 
 fury. 
 
 The dcg's inveteracy against this man alone, 
 began to be taken notice of; and people not only 
 called to mind the affection which he had always 
 shown to his master, but several instances of the 
 Chevalier Macaire's hatred and envy against Aubri 
 de Montidier, came also to be recollected. 
 
 Some other circumstances increased the suspi- 
 cion. The king being informed of what had pas- 
 sed, had the dog sent for, who remained perfectly 
 quiet till such time as the Chevalier Macaire ap- 
 peared, when immediately, in the midst of a score 
 of other courtiers, he turned about, barked, and 
 attempted to rush upon him. 
 
 At last he seized him by the throat, and brought 
 him to the ground ; in this situation he acknow- 
 ledged his crime, in the presence of the king apd 
 the whole court. 
 
 Observations on Man and the Brute 
 Creation. .^ # 
 
 Next to man, in the visible creation, are the 
 beasts ; and certainly, with regard to the structure 
 of the body, the difference is not extremely great 
 between man and other creatures. 
 
 It principally appears in this ; that man is per- 
 fectly erect, and his form more elegant; that no 
 beast has the feet of a man, much less a hand so 
 well fitted for every purpose; and iastly, that no 
 
7b 
 
 other animal has a brain so large, in proportion to 
 its bulk, as man. 
 
 Concerning the prone posture of their bodies, 
 we may observe two things ; the parts ministering 
 thereto, and the use thereof. 
 
 As to the bodily parts, it is observable, that in 
 all these creatures the legs are made exactly con- 
 formable to their posture, as those of man are to 
 his : and further, that the legs and feet are always 
 admirably well suited to the motion and exercise of 
 each animal. 
 
 In some, they are made for strength, to support 
 a vast and unwieldy body ; as in the elephant, 
 which, being a creature of such prodigious weight, 
 has its legs accordingly made like pillars. 
 
 In others, they are made for agility and swift- 
 ness. So deer, hares, and several other animals, 
 have their legs very slender, but strong withal, and 
 every way adapted for quick motion. 
 
 In some they are formed only for walking and 
 running ; but in others, for swimming too : thus 
 in the feet of the otter, the toes are all conjoined 
 with membranes, as they are in geese and ducks ; 
 and in swimming, it is observable, that when the 
 foot goes forward in the water, the toes are close, 
 but when backward, they spread out ; by which 
 they more forcibly strike the water, and drive them- 
 selves forward. 
 
 In some, as moles, they are made for walking and 
 digging; and in others, for walking and flying, as 
 in the bat and flying squirrel 
 
 In some, they are made more weak, for the 
 plainer lands : in others, stiff and less flexible, as 
 those of the elk, for traversing ice ; and the goat, 
 for dangerous places. 
 
There are many more to describe, which could 
 not be done in this lesson ; but if curiosity leads, 
 they may be sought for in treatises on Natural 
 History. 
 
 Revolutions which are constantly in 
 Nature. 
 
 The sun, moon, and stars, continue constantly 
 the same course once prescribed to them. But 
 who is it that supports and directs them? Who 
 teaches these bodies the course they ought to 
 take? Who points out to them the time for their 
 revolutions ? 
 
 Who empowers them to move always with the 
 same force ? Who prevents them from falling on 
 our globe, or from losing their way in the immense 
 space of the heavens? All these questions lead 
 us to God. 
 
 It is he who appointed the circles they were to 
 describe ; it is he who supports, who guides, and 
 prevents them from confusion. By laws unknown 
 to us, he causeth these celestial bodies to move 
 with incredible swiftness, and with such perfect 
 regularity, that nothing can disturb it. 
 
 Nearer to us, there are in the elements, continual 
 revolutions, though they are not visible to common 
 observers. The air is in perpetual motion: *the 
 water continues its course without ceasing; the 
 rivers run into the sea ; and, from its broad sur- 
 face, vapours rise, which produce clouds. 
 
 These fall again upon the earth, in rain, snow, 
 ai}d hail ; they penetrate into the mountains, and 
 
77 
 
 fill the springs ; from whence the rivulets become 
 rivers, when they have met, and are thereby aug- 
 mented in their course^ 
 
 Thus, the water, wliich had fallen from the 
 clouds, returns back into the sea. The seasons 
 last a limited time, and succeed each other, ac- 
 cording to the order established. Each year the 
 fertile earth produces again its j)lants, and its har- 
 vest. 
 
 Yet it is never exhausted ; for, by means of this 
 continued circulation, whatever the earth yields 
 IS restored to it again. The winter comes at the 
 appointed time, and brings the repose it has occa- 
 sion for ; and when it has fulfilled the designs of 
 the Creator, the spring succeeds ; and this restores 
 to the earth the children it has lost. 
 
 A similar circulation takes place in the body of 
 every living creature ; the blood flows continually 
 through its several channels, distributes to each 
 limb the nourishing juices it requires, and then 
 returns to the heart, from whence it came. 
 
 All these revolutions lead us to reflect on the 
 Supreme Being, who laid the foundation of them ; 
 and who, by his power and wisdom, has continued 
 to direct them to this very moment. 
 
 Joy and Grief, 
 
 Let not thy mirth be so extravagant as to in- 
 toxicate thy mind, nor thy sorrows so heavy as to 
 depress thy heart. This world affordeth no good 
 
78 
 
 so transporting, nor inflictetli any evil so severe, 
 as should raise thee far above, or sink thee much 
 beneath, the balance of moderation. 
 
 Lo ! yonder standeth the house of Joy. It is 
 painted on the outside, and looketh gay ; thou 
 mayest know it from the continual noise of mirth 
 and exultation that issue th from it. 
 
 The mistress standeth at the door, and calleth 
 aloud to all that pass by ; she singeth and shouteth, 
 and laugheth without ceasing. 
 
 She inviteth them to go in and taste the plea- 
 sures of life, which she telleth them are no where 
 to be found but beneath her roof. 
 
 But enter thou not into her gate ; neither asso- 
 ciate thyself with those who frequent her house. 
 
 They call themselves the sons of Joy ; they laugh 
 and seem delighted : but madness and folly are in 
 all their doings. 
 
 They are linked with mischief^ hand in hand, 
 and their steps lead down to evil. Dangers beset 
 them round about, and the pit of destruction yawn- 
 eth beneath their feet. 
 
 Look now on the other side, and behold, in that 
 vale overshadowed with trees, and hid from the 
 sight of men, the habitation of Sorrow. 
 
 Her bosom heave th with sighs, her mouth is 
 filled with lamentation ; she delighteth to dwell 
 on the subject of human misery. 
 
 She looketh on the common accidents of life, 
 and weepeth ; the weakness and wickedness of 
 man are the theme of her lips. 
 
 All nature to her teemeth with evil ; every ob- 
 ject she seeth is tinged with the gloom of her own 
 mind, and the voice of complaint saddeneth her 
 dwelling day and night. 
 
 Come not near her cell; her breath is Qonta- 
 
 i 
 
79 
 
 gious ; she will blast the fruits and wither the floor- 
 ers, that adorn and sweeten the garden of life. In 
 avoiding the house of Joy, let not thy feet betray 
 thee to the borders of this dismal mansion ; but 
 pursue with care the middle path, which will lead 
 thee by a gentle ascent to the bower of Tranquil- 
 lity. 
 
 With her dwelleth Peace, with her dwelleth 
 Safety and Contentment. She is cheerful, but 
 not gay ; she is serious, but not sad ; she vieweth 
 the joys and the sorrows of life with an equal and 
 steady eye. 
 
 Of Mountains, 
 
 • There is not, perhaps, in all nature, any thing 
 that impresses an unaccustomed spectator with 
 such ideas of awful solemnity, as those immense 
 piles on the bosom of the earth, which seem to 
 mock the littleness of human magnificence. 
 
 In countries where there is nothing but plains, 
 the smallest elevations or hills are apt to excite 
 wonder. In Holland, which is all flat, they show 
 a little ridge of hills near the sea side, which Boer- 
 haave generally marked out to his pupils, as being 
 mountains of no small consideration. 
 
 What would be the feelings of such an auditory, 
 could they at once be presented with a view of 
 the heights and precipices of the Alps or Andes, 
 or of the AUeganies ! 
 
 Even in England, they have not sufficient ideas 
 
80 
 
 of a mountain prospect ; their hills are generally 
 sloping from the plain, and clothed to the very top 
 with verdure ; they can scarcely, therefore, lift their 
 imaginations to those astonishing piles, whose tops 
 peep up behind the high and intervening clouds, 
 sharp and cragged, reaching to the heights that 
 human avarice or curiosity has never been able to 
 ascend. 
 
 It has been asked by the curious, how moun- 
 tains came to be formed, and what are their uses ? 
 In our own happy region, we generally see no in- 
 equalities but such £is contribute to use and beauty ; 
 and, therefore, we are amazed at a question, how 
 such necessary things, though inequalities, came 
 to be formed ; at the same time wondering at the 
 beauty and fitness of all things within our prospect 
 
 But though with us there may be no great cause 
 for such a demand ; yet in those countries where 
 huge mountains deform the face of nature, where 
 they pour down cataracts, or give fury to tempests, 
 there seems to be a powerful incitement to those 
 who dwell thereabout, aiKi have leisure to be inqui- 
 sitive as to their cause and use : but as wise men 
 have differed very much respecting these points, let 
 us be content to admit that they answer wise pur- 
 poses in the economy of creation, although their 
 uses may not be fully known to .us. 
 
81 
 
 Of Filial Duty, 
 
 As Storks live to a very advanced age, their 
 limbs grow feeble, their feathers fall off, and they 
 are incapable of providing for their food or safety. 
 Being birds of passage, they are under another in- 
 convenience ; for, they are not able to remove 
 themselves from one country to another at the 
 usual season. 
 
 In all these circumstances, it is reported that 
 their young ones assist them, covering them with 
 their wings, and nourisnmg them with the warmth 
 of their bodies. They even bring them provi- 
 sions in their beaks, and carry them from place to 
 place on their backs, or support them with their 
 vings. 
 
 In this manner they return, as much as lies in 
 their power, the care which was bestowed on them 
 when they were young in the nest. A striking 
 example of filial piety, inspired by instinct, from 
 which reason itself need not be ashamed to take 
 example. 
 
 "Honour thy father and thy mother, that thy 
 days may be long in the land which the Lord thy 
 God giveth thee," was an express commandment 
 and the only one to which a promise was annexed. 
 Among the Israelites, the slightest offence against 
 a parent was punished in the most exemplary 
 manner. 
 
 Certainly, nothing can be more just and reason- 
 able, than that we should love, honour, and suc- 
 cour those who are the very authors of our being, 
 and to whose tender care (under Heaven) we owe 
 
82 
 
 the continuance of it during the helpless state ot 
 our infancy. 
 
 Love, charity, and an intercourse of good offices, 
 are what we undoubtedly owe to all mankind ; and 
 he who omits them, is guilty of such a crime as 
 generally carries its punishment with it. 
 
 To our parents, however, more, much more, 
 than all this is due; and, when we are serving them, 
 we ought to reflect, that, whatever difficulties we 
 go through for their sake, we cannot do more for 
 them than they have done for us ; and that there is 
 no danger of our over-paying the vast debt of grati- 
 tude they have laid us under. 
 
 In fine, we should consider, that it is a duty most 
 peculiarly insisted on by Heaven itself; and if we 
 obey the command, there is no doubt but we shall 
 also receive the reward annexed to it. 
 
 Every thing in Nature tends to the Good 
 of Mankind, 
 
 We cannot be too sensible of the love and pre- 
 ference with which we are honoured, by God's 
 distinguishing us so advantageously from other 
 creatures. 
 
 Let us feel, as we ought, the great happiness of 
 being particularly the objects of his beneficent 
 liberality ; of being, in some measure, the centre 
 of all he has produced for the manifestation of his 
 glorious attributes. 
 
 It is for us that all nature acts and labours in 
 
83 
 
 the earth, in the air, and in the waters. For us 
 the horse's hoof is furnislied with that horn, which 
 it would have no occasion for, were it not to draw 
 burdens, and to climb the mountains. 
 
 For us the silk-worm spins its bag, shuts itself 
 up in it, and afterwards leaves us this web so art- 
 fully contrived. For us the gnat lays its eggs in 
 the water to feed the fish, which serve themselves 
 for our subsistence. 
 
 For us the bee gathers, from the flowers, the 
 exquisite honey. For us the ox is put to the 
 plough, and desires no other reward than a httle 
 food. It is also for us that the forests, the fields, 
 and the gardens, abound in riches. For us also 
 are designed the treasures the mountains contain. 
 
 It is true that we have, beyond comparison, 
 more wants than the brute creation, but we have 
 also many more faculties, talents, and industry, to 
 make every thing around us serve for our use and 
 pleasure. 
 
 Numbers of creatures contribute to our food, 
 clothes, and habitations ; and furnish us with innu- 
 merable conveniences and enjoyments. If God 
 has created us with so many wants, it is to procure 
 us a greater variety of agreeable sensations. 
 
 It would be impossible for us to satisfy those 
 multiplied wants, if animals had as many as we 
 have; and it is in order that we should have 
 plenty of every thing, that the things they require 
 are generally such as mankind can make no use of. 
 
 But it is not our food only, that God has pro- 
 vided with so much goodness : he has designed 
 to procure us a thousand other enjoyments. It 
 is for us that the lark and the nightingale smg ; 
 
 8 
 
84 
 
 that the flowers perfume the air ; that the fields 
 and the gardens are adorned with so many diffe- 
 rent colours. 
 
 Above ail, he has given us reason, to enable us 
 to make every thing contribute to our support and 
 pleasure ; to rule over animals ; to subdue the 
 whale and the lion ; and, what is still more pre- 
 cious, in another way, to take pleasure in his 
 works ; to contemplate the beauty, the greatness, 
 and magnificence of them : to admire their order 
 and harmony. 
 
 O man ! thou art so endowed and so loaded with 
 favours, how canst thou ever be grateful enough 
 to thy heavenly Benefactor ? What love can be 
 perfect enough, to answer, in any degree, to that 
 which he has shown unto us! Let us frequently 
 reflect on the liberal blessings which we receive 
 from him every hour. 
 
 But above all, let us acknowledge the mercies of 
 God, in the blessings he reserves for us hereafter. 
 For what are the blessings of life, in comparison of 
 the glory which awaits us in heaven ? 
 
 It is true, that even here, we continually expe- 
 rience the effects of his benevolence, and are sur- 
 rounded with the wonders of his goodness; but 
 our pleasures are mixed with pain, and perfect hap- 
 piness can only be found in heaven. 
 
 On the state of Sleep. 
 
 Let us observe what wisdom is displayed m 
 these remarkable incidents of our frame, sleep and 
 
85 
 
 dreams : so remarkable, that tliey are a kind of 
 experimental mystery, a standing miracle. 
 
 Behold the most vigorous constitution, when re- 
 signed to the slumbers of the night. Its activity 
 is oppressed vt^ith indolence ; its strength suffers 
 a temporary annihilation. The nerves are like a 
 bow unstrung, the whole animal like a motionless 
 log. 
 
 Behold a person of the most delicate sensations 
 and amiable dispositions. His eyes, though wide 
 open, discern no light, distinguish no objects. His 
 ears, with the organs unimpaired, perceive not the 
 sounds that are round about them. The very fine 
 sense of feeling is overwhelmed with an utter stu- 
 pefaction. Where are his social affections? He 
 knows not his tender parent, nor the friend that is 
 as his own soul. 
 
 Behold the most ingenious scholar, skilful in 
 learning. In this state, how are all his thinking 
 faculties unhinged, and instead of close connected 
 reasonings, there is nothing but a disjointed hud- 
 dle of absurd notions : instead of well digested 
 principles, nothing but a disorderly jumble of con- 
 ceptions. 
 
 Yet no sooner does he awake, than he is pos- 
 sessed of all his former endowments. His sinews 
 are braced and fit for action, his senses brisk and 
 keen. The frozen affections melt with tender- 
 ness : the romantic visionary is again the master of 
 reason. 
 
 And, (what is very surprising,) the confused 
 mind does not regulate itself by degrees, but in 
 the twinkling of an eye it is possessed of all its 
 faculties! Why does not the numbness which 
 seized the animal powers, chain the limbs perpe- 
 tually ? Why does not the stupor that deadened all 
 
86 
 
 the senses, hold fast its possessions? When the 
 thoughts are once disadjusted, why are they not 
 always in confusion? 
 
 How is it, from an inactivity resembling death, 
 and from extravagancies litde differing from mad 
 ness; that the body and mind are so suddenly re- 
 stored to their natural powers ? the body to its vi- 
 gour and agility, the mind to sedateness and har- 
 mony ! Surely it is the Lord's doing, and it is mar- 
 vellous in our eyes ! 
 
 Of the formation of Islands, 
 
 New islands are formed in two ways ; either 
 suddenly, by the action of subterranean fires, or 
 more slowly, by the deposition of mud carried 
 down by rivers, and stopped in its course at the 
 mouths of the rivers or elsewhere, by various ac- 
 cidents. 
 
 With respect particularly to the fii-st, ancient 
 historians and modern travellers give us such ac- 
 counts as we can have no reason to doubt. Seneca 
 assures us, that in his time, the Island of Thera- 
 sia appeared unexpectedly to some mariners, as 
 they were employed i»n another pursuit. 
 
 Pliny assures us, that thirteen islands in the 
 Mediterranean appeared at once, springing up, as 
 it were, from under the water ; the cause of which 
 he ascribes, rather to the retiring of the sea ii> 
 those parts, than to any power under the earth. 
 
87 
 
 However, he mentions the island of Hiera, near 
 that of Therasia, as formed by subterraneous ex- 
 plosions : and adds to his Hs.t several others, form- 
 ed in the same manner. In one of which he re- 
 lates, that fish in great abundance were found, 
 and that all those who eat of them, died shortly 
 after. 
 
 In the year 1707, a slight earthquake was per- 
 ceived at Santorin ; and the day following, at sun 
 rising, an object was seen by the inhabitants of that 
 island, at two or three miles distance at sea, which 
 appeared like a floating rock. 
 
 Some persons, either from a desire of gain or to 
 gratify their curiosity, went there, and found even 
 while they stood upon this rock, thai it seemed to 
 rise beneath their feet. 
 
 They perceived also, that its surface was cover- 
 ed with pumice stones and oysters, which it rais- 
 ed from the bottom. Every day after, until the 
 fourteenth of the next month, this rock seemed 
 considerably to increase ; and then ' was found to 
 be half a mile round, and about thirty feet above 
 the sea. 
 
 The earth of which it was composed seemed 
 whitish, with a small portion of clay. Soon after 
 this, again the sea seemed troubled, and steams 
 arose, which were very offensive to the inhabitants 
 of Santorin. 
 
 But on the sixteenth of the following month, 
 seventeen or eighteen rocks were seen to rise out 
 of the sea, and at length to join together. All this 
 was accompanied with the most terrible noise and 
 fires, which proceeded from the island that was 
 newly formed. The whole mass, however, of all 
 this new formed earth uniting, increased every 
 day, botli in height and breadth, and by the force 
 8* 
 
88 
 
 of its explosions, cast forth rocks to a very great 
 distance. 
 
 This continued to bear the same dreadful ap- 
 pearance till near the end of the same year; and 
 it is at present a volcano, which sometimes renews 
 its eruptions. It is about three -miles in circum* 
 ference, and from about thirty to Forty feet high. 
 
 Pyrrhus and Fahricius, 
 
 A TREATY being on foot between the Romans 
 and Pyrrhus, king of Macedon, for the exchange 
 of prisoners ; the latter, after having given a ge- 
 neral audience to the ambassadors, took Fabricius 
 aside, and conversed with him to the following 
 purport : 
 
 After telling him he was sensible of his merit ; 
 that he was convinced of his excellence as a gene- 
 ral, and perfect qualifications for the command of 
 an army ; that justice and temperance were united 
 in his character, and that he justly passed for a 
 person of virtue: he lamented the certainty of 
 his poverty, and saying, that fortune in this particu- 
 lar, had treated him with injustice, by misplacing 
 him in the class of indigent senators. 
 
 In order, therefore, to supply that deficiency, 
 said Pyrrhus, provided thou wilt assist me to ne- 
 gociate an honourable peace, I am ready to give 
 as much gold and silver as will raise thee above 
 the richest citizen of Rome ; being fully persuaded 
 
89 
 
 that no expense can be more honourable to a 
 prince, than that which is employed in the relief 
 of great men, who are compelled by their poverty 
 to lead a life unworthy of their virtue, and that 
 this is the noblest purpose to which a king can pos 
 sibly devote his treasures. 
 
 The answer of Fabricius was as follows : 
 
 "As to my poverty, thou hast, indeed, been 
 rigntly informed. My whole estate consists in a 
 house of but mean appearance, and a little spot of 
 ground, from which, by my own labour, I draw 
 my support. 
 
 " But if any have been persuaded to think, that 
 this poverty makes me less considered in my coun- 
 try, or in any degree unhappy, they are extremely 
 deceived. 
 
 " I have no reason to complain of fortune , she 
 supplies me with all that nature requires ; and if 
 r am without superfluities, I am also free from the 
 desire of them. 
 
 " With these, I confess, I should be more able 
 to succour the necessitous, the only advantage for 
 which the wealthy are to be envied. But, small 
 as my possessions are, I can still contribute some- 
 thing to the support of the state, and the assistance 
 of my friends. 
 
 "With regard to honours, my country places 
 me, poor as I am, upon a level with the richest; 
 for Rome knows no qualifications for great em- 
 ployments, but virtue and ability. 
 
 " She intrusts me with the command of her 
 armies, and confides to my care the most impor- 
 tant negociations. My poverty does not lessen 
 the weight and influence of my counsels in the 
 senate. The Roman people honour me for that 
 very poverty which some consider as a disgrace. 
 
90 
 
 They know the many opportunities I have had Ik 
 war to enrich myself, without incurring censure. 
 
 " They are convinced of my disinterested zeaJ 
 for their prosperity ; and if I have any thing tc 
 complain of in the return they make, it is only the 
 excess of their applause. 
 
 "What value, then, can I set upon gold and 
 silver? What king can add any thing to my for- 
 tune? Always attentive to discharge the duties 
 incumbent on me, I have a mind free from self- 
 reproach, and I have an honest fame." 
 
 Of speaking publicly in the cause of 
 Virtue, 
 
 Though we may keep good company to acquire 
 virtue and knowledge, Christianity teaches us, 
 that we were not born for ourselves ; and there- 
 fore we ought, at proper opportunities, to converse 
 with others, that they may learn and see how 
 much the grace of God can make men different 
 from one another : and though our conversation 
 does not presently reform such, yet it may not be 
 altogether ineffectual : for the seeds of virtue may 
 a long while lie dead, yet at last may flourish and 
 come forth, so that our conversation may have a 
 good effect, though not seen by us ; and particu- 
 larly, it should be done with a single eye to the 
 glory of God and their good, clear of all ostenta- 
 tion. 
 
 Besides, it may not be a little serviceable foi 
 people of piety and parts, to speak of religion. 
 
91 
 
 even amongst those who deride it, and thereby 
 make their consciences a witness of God and good 
 things ; to let them see the beauty of a pious, good 
 life, and to let them know they despise those vani- 
 ties the others dote on, living contentedly with- 
 out their sinful jollities : also, to inform them, that 
 a virtuous life is not impracticable to bad men, by 
 a true repentance for the past, and sincere en- 
 deavours for the future, to forsake the ways of ini- 
 quity, and pursue the path of truth, which God is 
 constantly striving to bring forth in them ; and is, 
 through infinite mercy, both willing and able to 
 accomplish, if man will cease from his obstinate 
 rebellion against him. 
 
 Our Saviour, conversing with publicans and 
 sinners, gained their hearts and reformed their 
 lives ; by which we may be assured, that it is the 
 duty of every Christian to imitate him in the same 
 when an occasion offers itself. 
 
 But I would not be understood to recommend a 
 long or constant stay in the company of bad men, 
 which would be too dangerous, especially to young 
 people ; but only, not to neglect or despair of 
 doing good, when we happen to be amongst them : 
 in such cases, we should remember the saying of 
 our Lord, " He that is ashamed of me amongst 
 men, of him will I be ashamed before ^my Father 
 hereafter." 
 
92 
 
 Passion and Patience, 
 
 Passion is a fever of the mind, which ever 
 leaves us weaker than it found us. It is the 
 threshold of madness and insanity ; and, indeed, 
 they are so much alike that they sometimes can- 
 not be distinguished, and their effects are often 
 equally fatal. 
 
 The first step to moderation is, to perceive that 
 we are falling into a passion. It is much easier 
 wholly to prevent ourselves from falling into a 
 passion, than to keep it within just bounds : that 
 which few can moderate, almost any body may 
 prevent. 
 
 Envy and wrath shorten life ; and anxiety bring- 
 eth age before its time. We ought to distrust our 
 passions, even when they appear the most rea- 
 sonable. Who overcomes his passion, overcomes 
 his strongest enemy. If we do not subdue our 
 anger, it will subdue us. 
 
 A passionate temper renders a man unfit for ad- 
 vice, deprives him of his reason, robs him of all 
 that is great or noble in his nature, destroys friend- 
 ship, changes justice into cruelty, and turns all or- 
 der into coflfusion. 
 
 Herod, the Tetrarch of Judea, had so little 
 command over his passion, that upon every slight 
 occasion, his anger would transport him into abso- 
 lute madness. In such a desperate fit he killed 
 Josippus. 
 
 Sometimes "he would be sorry, and repent of the 
 folly and injuries he had done, when anger had 
 clouded his understanding : and soon after commit 
 
93 
 
 ifae same outrages, so that none about him were 
 Jong safe : and no wonder, for unrestrained anger 
 quickly breaks out into madness. 
 
 There is httlc difference between a madman and 
 an angry man while the fit continues ; because 
 both are void of reason, inexorable, and blind : for 
 tliat reason, it too often subverts whole families, 
 towns, cities, and kingdoms. 
 
 It is a vice that few men are able to conceal : 
 for if it do not betray itself by external signs, such 
 fts a sudden paleness in the countenance, and trem- 
 bling in the joints, it is more impetuous within; 
 secretly gnaws the very heart, and produces dan- 
 gerous effects on those that nourish it. 
 
 How different is the conduct of him who suffer- 
 eth not anger to deprive him of reason. The tem- 
 per of Sir [Isaac Newton is said to have been so 
 equal andjmild, that no accident could disturb it; 
 and a remarkable instance of it is related, as fol 
 lows: 
 
 He had( a favourite little dog, which he called 
 Diamond ; and being one day called out of his 
 ^tudy into the next room. Diamond was left behind 
 him. 
 
 When Sir Isaac returned, having been absent 
 but a few minutes, he had the mortification to find 
 that his dog, having thrown down a lighted candle 
 apiong some papers, the nearly finished labours of 
 many years were in flames, and almost* consumed 
 to ashes. 
 
 The loss, as he was very far advanced in years, 
 was irretrievable ; yet, without once striking the 
 dog, he only rebuked him with this exclamation : 
 " O, Diamond ! Diamond ! thou little knowest the 
 mischief thou hast done." 
 
94 
 
 On a true Christian Life, 
 
 We cannot be said to possess the virtues and 
 holy tempers of Christianity, unless we practise 
 them in our ordinary hfe. 
 
 So that Christianity is so far from leaving us to 
 live in the common ways of men, conforming to 
 the folly of customs, and gratifying the passions 
 and tempers which the spirit of the world delights 
 in ; it is so far from indulging us in any of these 
 things, that all its virtues that it makes necessarv 
 to salvation, are only so many ways of hving above 
 and contrary to the world, jn all the common ac- 
 tions of our life. 
 
 If our common life is not a continual course of 
 humility, self-denial, renunciation of tae world, 
 poverty of spirit, and heavenly affection, we do 
 not live the lives of Christians. 
 
 But yet, though it is thus plain, that this, and 
 this alone is Christianity, an uniform, open, and 
 visible practice of all these virtues; yet it is as x ^ 
 plain, that there is little or nothing of this to be |f '^ 
 found, even amongst the better sort of people. 
 
 We- see them often at places of worship, and 
 pleased with fine preachers; but look into their 
 lives, we see them just the same sort of people as 
 others are, that make no pretensions to dcTotion. 
 The difference that we find betwixt them, is only 
 that of their natural tempers. 
 
 They have the same taste of the world, the same 
 worldly cares, and fears, and joys; they have 
 
95 
 
 the same turn of mind, equally vain in their de- 
 sires. 
 
 We see the same fondness for state and equi- 
 page, the same pride and vanity of dress, the same 
 self-love and indulgence, the same foolish friend- 
 ships and groundless hatreds, the same levity of 
 mind and trifling spirit, the same fondness for di- 
 versions, the same idle dispositions and vain ways 
 of spending their time in visiting and conversation 
 as the rest of the world, that make no pretensions 
 to devotion. 
 
 Alas! this is too much the state of the sober- 
 ^ minded of all denominations ; therefore, O youth, 
 ^ rest not in form or ceremony, nor take them for a 
 cloak to thy lukewarmness, but strive earnestly to 
 be what is requisite and indispensable for thee, if 
 thou wouldst be eternally happy ; that is, a truly 
 humble and devout soul, by a strict obedience to 
 the divine laws, through the power of the divine 
 influence of God. 
 
 Of the Rhinoceros, 
 
 A RHINOCEROS, ncxt to the elephant, is the most 
 extraordinary animal in the East Indies. He is 
 equal in height to a middling horse, but is shaped 
 like a wild boar, only he is much larger, and has 
 shorter legs. 
 
 His skin is without hair, but so thick and hard, 
 9 
 
as to be almost impenetrable; it is so full of 
 SCI atches and scabs, that at a distance they may 
 well be taken for scales. 
 
 On his nose he has a horn of a dark brown co- 
 lour, which bends backward, and is often two f^et 
 long ; he has another horn a little above this, which 
 never exceeds six inches. 
 
 His eyes are exceedingly small, and he only 
 sees straight forward ; therefore, he always runs in 
 a straight line, tearing up those things which op- 
 pose or stand in Jiis way. 
 
 With his horn he throws stones over his head 
 to a great distance, and even tears up trees by the ^ 
 roots. "* 
 
 He grunts like a hog ; but when he pursues his 
 prey, he makes a terrible noise. He feeds much 
 on the boughs of such trees as are thick set with 
 strong and tough thorns ; but he prefers the flesh 
 of animals when they come in his way. 
 
 He has a natural antipathy to the elephant, which 
 plpxes all his safety in flighi. He seldom attacks 
 a man unless he is dressed in red, a colour to which 
 he has a great aversion. 
 
 When he overtakes him, he lifts him by his 
 horn, and throws him over his head with such 
 violence as breaks his bones ; so that he never 
 fails to find him dead when he comes to devour 
 him. 
 
 The usual method of taking this animal, is in 
 pits dug in the paths by which he goes to drink, 
 and covered with branches, grass, &c* 
 
97 
 
 The Spherical form of our Earth, 
 
 Many people fancy ihe earth an even plane, 
 a round flat surface; but if that were the case, 
 the exterior limits of this surface would be found 
 out ; and in approaching any place, we should not 
 'see the tops of towers and mountains before the 
 lower parts of them. 
 
 The earth, then, must be a globe ; but it is not 
 exactly and stricHy spherical, for it is a little more 
 raised under the line, and flatter towards the poles, 
 nearly resembling an orange. 
 
 But that deviation from a circular form is veiy 
 inconsiderable, at the most only thirty-five miles, 
 which is scarcely perceptible in a globe whose 
 circumference is twenty-five thousand miles ; and 
 the diameter seven thousand nine hundred and 
 fifty-seven. 
 
 There will be no doubt of tlie form of the earth 
 being nearly spherical, if we (consider, that in the 
 eclipses of the moon, the shadow which the earth 
 casts on that planetis always round. 
 
 Besides, if the earth were not round, how could 
 they have circumnavigated it, or how should the 
 stars rise and set sooner in the eastern than in the 
 western countries ? Here again, is the wisdom of 
 the Creator manifest. 
 
 The form he has given to the earth is the most 
 proper and convenient for a world like ours, and 
 for its inhabitants. Light and heat, so necessary 
 for the preservation of creatures, are by this 
 means equally and uniformly distributed over the 
 whole earth. From thence, also, proceed the 
 
98 
 
 daily and annual returns of night and day, heat 
 and cold, &c. 
 
 The water is equally distributed over the globe,, 
 and the salutary use of the winds is felt in every 
 part of the earth. We should be deprived of all 
 these advantages, if our earth had any other form. 
 In some countries it would be a paradise, in others 
 a chaos ; one part of it would be swallowed up in 
 water, the other burnt up by the heat of the sun. 
 
 In certain countries, they would be exposed to 
 furious tempests, which would destroy every thing, 
 while they would be stifled in other places by the 
 want of air, the current of which would be nearly 
 stopped. 
 
 One part of the earth would enjoy the. benign 
 influence of the sun, while the other would be fro- 
 zen with cold. What pride and ignorance we 
 should betray, if we did not acknowledge in this, 
 the hand of an Almighty and benevolent Creator ! 
 Should we deserve to inhabit a world, where all is 
 so wisely ordained, if, like the brutes, we were 
 insensible to this admirable plan, and the number 
 less blessings which accrue from it ? 
 
 Of the Camel, 
 
 Another native of the East Indies is the camel, 
 one of the most serviceable creatures in the world. 
 He kneels down to receive his burdens, and when 
 he has his accustomed load, gets upon his feet 
 again ; but if he feels himself overburdened he 
 will not rise, but cry till part of it is taken off. 
 
99 
 
 One of them will carry ten or twelve hundred 
 weight, forty miles a day, for thirty or forty days 
 together. They have no teeth in the upper jaw. 
 They will travel forty hours without either meat 
 or drink, and nine days without drink ; they have 
 two stomachs admirably contrived for this purpose. 
 A person who dissected one at Paris, found in his 
 second stomach several square holes, which were 
 the moutlis of about twenty cavities, like bags, 
 placed between the two membranes which com- 
 pose the substance of the stoma^'ii. 
 
 In these receivers, he has enough water to serve 
 him for so many days. The hunch on his back 
 is not flesh, much less bone, but mere hair; for 
 when this is pressed close down he is no more 
 hunch-backed than a swine. 
 
 They subsist on very fittle, which enables them 
 to travel through those vast and barren deserts. 
 How wise is he who caused these to be natives 
 of those countries, where such creatures are ab- 
 solutely necessary ! A farther instance of this is, 
 that the African camel, which has still greater and 
 more rough journeys to take, is larger and stronger, 
 and capable of carrying heavier burdens than those 
 of Asia. 
 
 Another wonderful property in camels is, that 
 of foreseeing those poisonous winds, which kill in 
 a moment. . A little before these come, they run 
 together and cry, and hide their noses in the earth ; 
 and as soon as they are past, they lift uj» their 
 heads and continue their journey. 
 
 9* 
 
100 
 
 The Two Brothers. 
 
 Among the numerous adventurers who went 
 to South America in pursuit of gold and silver, 
 was a Spaniard, whose name was Pizarro, and who, 
 hke others, was anxious to try his fortune. 
 
 As he had a great affection for his elder bro- 
 ther, he communicated to him his design, and 
 earnestly entreated him to go along with him, 
 promising to give him an equal share of whatever 
 the expedifion should produce. 
 
 His brother, whose name was Alonzo, was a 
 man of good understanding and easy temper. He 
 did not much like the proposed expedition, and 
 endeavoured to persuade Pizarro to abandon it, 
 representing to him the certain dangers he would 
 have to encounter, and the great uncertainty of 
 success. 
 
 However, perceiving that all arguments were in 
 vain, he consented to accompany him, declaring 
 at the same time, that lie wanted no part of the 
 riches he might procure, and only asked to have 
 a few servants and his baggage taken on board ihe 
 ship with him. 
 
 Pizarro then disposed of all his effects, pur- 
 chased a vessel, and embarked with several other 
 adventurers, who had no doubt of making immense 
 fortunes. 
 
 Alonzo, on the other hand, took with him only 
 a few ploughs, harrows, and other implements of 
 husbandry ; together with some corn, and seeds of 
 different sorts of vegetables. 
 
 Though this conduct appeared very strange to 
 Pizarro, yet he took no notice of it to his brother, 
 
101 
 
 wishing to avoid the least appearance of alterca- 
 tion. 
 
 A prosperous gale wafted them across the At- 
 lantic, when they put into the last port they in- 
 tended to stop at, till they should reach the land of 
 gold and silver. 
 
 Here Pizarro purchased several more imple- 
 ments, used in digging for, melting, and refining 
 the gold he doubted not of finding, and also pro- 
 cured more labourers to assist him in the work. 
 On the other hand, Alonzo purchased only a few 
 sheep, and four stout oxen, properly harnessed for 
 ploughing. 
 
 From hence they set sail, and arrived safe at 
 their destined port. Alonzo then acquainted his 
 brother, that as his intentions were only to accom- 
 pany and assist him in the voyage, he should stay 
 » near the borders of the sea with his servants and 
 cattle, whilst he traversed the country in search 
 of gold ; and as soon as he had procured as much 
 as he wanted, he should be ready to accompany 
 him back to Spain, whenever he should return to 
 the coast. 
 
 Pizarro set out immediately, and though he said 
 nothing to his brother, he could not help expressing 
 his contempt of him, to his companions. " I have 
 always been accustomed," said he to his followers, 
 " to consider my brother as a man of sense ; but 
 now I perceive my mistake. 
 
 "He intends to amuse himself with his sheep 
 
 , and oxen, as if he were actually on his own farm in 
 
 W Spain. We, however, know better than to waste 
 
 our time in that manner. We in a short time, 
 
 shall enrich ourselves for the rest of our lives." 
 
 His speech was universally applauded, except- 
 
103 
 
 mg by one Spaniard, who, as he marched on, 
 shook his head, and told Pizarro, that he probably 
 might not find his brother so great a fool as he 
 imagined. 
 
 They continued their journey into the country 
 for several days, and met with numberless obsta- 
 cles, such as being obliged to cross rivers, to as- 
 cend craggy mountains, and to penetrate almost 
 impervious forests; sometimes scorched with the 
 intense heat of the sun, and then soaked by the 
 violent rains that fell. 
 
 In spite of all difficulties, they pursued their 
 search for gold, and luckily at last came to a 
 place where they found it in tolerable quantities 
 Success inspired them with courage, and they con- 
 tinued their labours on the spot till their provisions 
 were all expended. 
 
 Though they gained gold, they suffered much 
 from hunger, but contented themselves with hving 
 on such roots and berries as the earth spontaneous- 
 ly produced. Even this supply at last failed 
 them, and after losing several of their company 
 by famine and hardships, the rest with difficulty 
 crawled back to the place where they had left 
 Alonzo, carrying with them that pernicious gold, 
 for which they had exposed themselves to the dan- 
 gers of death in so many miserable shapes. 
 
 In the mean time, Alonzo, who foresaw all these 
 disasters, was employing himself in a far more use- 
 ful manner. His knowledge in husbandry point- 
 ed out to him a spot of considerable extent and 
 fruitful soil, which he ploughed up, by the assis- 
 tance of his servants and the oxen he had brought 
 with him. 
 
 He then committed the different seeds with 
 which he had furnished himself, to the bosom oi 
 
103 
 
 the earth. Every thing prospered beyond expecta- 
 tion, and a plentiful harvest rewarded his toils. 
 His sheep also proved prolific. 
 
 In the intervals of time, Alonzo and his ser- 
 vants employed themselves in fishing ; and the 
 fish they caught they dried and salted, having 
 found salt upon the sea-shore. So that by this 
 time, they had formed a tolerable magazine of pro- 
 visions. 
 
 Alonzo received his brother Pizarro, on his re- 
 turn, v\^ith the utmost respect, and inquired what 
 success he had met with. 
 
 Pizarro then informed him of the vast quantity 
 of gold they had found, but that several of his 
 comrades had perished, and that those who re- 
 mained were in a starving condition. 
 
 He immediately requested his brother to give 
 him something to eat, as he had tasted no other 
 food for two days than the roots and barks of 
 trees. 
 
 To this request Alonzo very coolly replied, that' 
 his brother should remember, that on their depar- 
 ture from Europe, they had agreed not to interfere 
 with each other ; and that, as he had relinquished 
 all pretensions to the gold they might discover, 
 they could have no right to any part of the pro- 
 duce of his labour. 
 
 " If you think proper," added Alonzo, " to ex- 
 change some of your gold for provisions, I shall be 
 ready to accommodate you." 
 
 However unkind Pizarro thought this behaviour 
 of his brother, he and his companions being in a 
 starving condition, were obliged to submit to his 
 demands. Alonzo placed so high a value on his 
 provisions, that he soon became master of all the 
 
104 
 
 gold they had collected, merely to produce them 
 articles of subsistence. 
 
 Alonzo then proposed to his brother to embark 
 for Europe, as the vessel in which they had arrived 
 at America was still in good condition, and the 
 winds and weather favourable. 
 
 Pizarro, with a stern, haughty, and disdainful 
 look, replied, that since he had stripped him of all 
 the wealth he had acquired with such danger and 
 fatigue, and treated him so unbrotherly, he might 
 return without him. As to himself, he said he 
 would remain upon that desert shore, and there 
 end his life. Alonzo, instead of resenting this 
 language, caught his brother in his arms, and thus 
 addressed him : 
 
 " Is it possible that my dear brother could be ^ 
 lieve that I meant to deprive him of the gold he had^ 
 so dearly bought? May all the gold in the universe 
 perish, rather than that I should treat you in such 
 a manner! I perceived your impettious desire 
 for riches, and 1 have taken this method to draw 
 you from your attachment to them. 
 
 "My prudence and industry appeared to you 
 chimerical, since you imagined that nothing could 
 be wanting to him who possesses riches : but you 
 have now learned, that but for my industry and 
 foresight, all the gold you had found would not 
 have prevented you and your followers from 
 starving. 
 
 "I am willing to flatter myself, that you will be 
 wiser for the future ; and therefore take back your 
 gold, and make a proper use of it for the time to 
 come." 
 
 This unexpected generosity of Alonzo, filled 
 Pizarro with astonishment and gratitude, and he 
 was, for the first time, obliged to confess, that in- 
 
105 
 
 dnstry and prudence were preferable to gold 
 They then embarked for Europe, and, after an 
 easy passage, arrived safe in Spain. 
 
 Pizarro, during the voyage, often entreated his 
 brother to accept of one half of the gold, which 
 Alonzo invincibly refused, saying, that he who can 
 raise what is sufficient for the supply of his natural 
 wants, stands in no need of the assistance of gold. 
 
 Of Truth and Sincerity, 
 
 Truth, in reality, has all the advantages of ap- 
 pearance, and many more. If the show of any 
 thing be good for aught, I am sure sincerity is bet- 
 ter: for why does any man dissemble, or seem to 
 be that which he is not, but because he thinks it 
 good to have sucL .a quality as he pretends to? 
 To counterfeit and dissemble, is to put on the ap- 
 pearance of some real excellence. 
 
 Now the best way in the world for a man to 
 seem to be any thing, is really to be what he would 
 wish to be taken for. For it is many times as 
 troublesome to make good the pretence of a good 
 quality, as to have it ; and if any man have it not, 
 it is ten to one, but he is discovered to want it, 
 and then all his labour and pains, that he might 
 seem to have ft, are lost. 
 
 There is something unnatural in painting, which 
 a skilful eye will easily discern from natural beauty 
 and complexion. 
 
 It is difficult to personate and act a false part 
 Jong, for where truth is not at the bottom, nature 
 
106 
 
 will always be endeavouring to return, and wiR 
 peep out and betray herself at one time or another 
 Therefore, if any person think, it convenient to 
 seem good, let such, an one be so indeed, and then 
 his goodness will appear to every one's satisfaction ; 
 so that, upon all acci)unts, sincerity is a part of 
 true wisdom. 
 
 • Of the Hurricane. 
 
 The Cape of Good Hope, and many islands in 
 the West Indies, are famous for their hurricanes, 
 and that extraordinary cloud which is said to pro- 
 duce them. 
 
 This cloud, which is the forerunner of an ap- 
 proaching hurricane, appeal's, when first seen, like 
 a small spot on the edge of the sea, and is called 
 by sailors, the bulPs eye, from being discernible at 
 a vast distance, and appearing so minute. ' \ 
 
 During the time of its approximation, a perfect 
 calm reigns over sea and land : a hollow muriti^r 
 is heard in the cavities of the mountains, arS^ 
 beasts and animals, sensible of its approach, are 
 seen running over the fields, seeking for shelter. 
 The cloud gradually grows broador, and at length 
 coming to the place wliere its fury is to fall, it fills 
 the whole horizon with darkness. 
 
 Nothing can be more terrible than its violence 
 when it begins, The houses in those countries, 
 which are maM of timber, the better to resist its 
 fury, bend to the blast like osiers, and again recover 
 their rectitude. 
 
107 
 
 The sun, which but a moment before blazed 
 with mid-day splendour, is totally shut out, and a 
 midnight darkness prevails ; except that the air is 
 incessantly illuminated with gleams of lightning, 
 by which one might easily see to read. The rain 
 falls at the same time in torrents, and its descent 
 has been likened to what pours from our spouts, 
 even after a violent shower. 
 
 The hurricanes are no less offensive to the sense 
 of smelling, also ; and never come without leaving 
 a most noisome stench behind them. 
 
 The first mariners who visited those regions, 
 suffered greatly ; and many were the wrecks which 
 were made by those dangerous storms ; but at pre- 
 sent they escape better, being made wise by ex- 
 perience. These awful winds abound, more or 
 less, in all hot climates. 
 
 On the short duration of Snow. 
 
 We see the instability of snow, and how sud- 
 denly the heat of the sun, mild and damp air, or 
 heavy rains, make it disappear. Every thing 
 around us changes its appearance in a few hours ; 
 and there scarce remains the least trace of that 
 snow, which had covered the streets, villages, and 
 fields. 
 
 Is not this sudden revolution calculated to make 
 us reflect on the uncertainty and vanity of all 
 earthly good ? Undoubtedly, it is not without de- 
 sign, that nature presents u« with such images oi 
 10 
 
i08 
 
 the frailty of worldly things. In every season, in 
 every variation that their return occasions, nature 
 tells us, with a strong and persuasive voice, this 
 great truth, All is vanity. 
 
 Let us look around us ; do we see any thing that 
 is not frail and perishable? How soon are we de- 
 prived of the pleasures of the senses ! They disap- 
 pear when we have scarce begun to enjoy them. 
 We are often at sun-rise cheerful and contented ; 
 and before it sets, plunged into sorrow and dis- 
 tress. 
 
 Has not every body experienced, in the course 
 of his life, how uncertain and transient the enjoy- 
 ments here are? The riches of which we are so 
 proud, make themselves wings and fly away, like 
 an eagle, from the possessor, when he flattered 
 himself most with a peaceable and uninterrupted 
 enjoyment of them. 
 
 The step from the greatest opulenSe to want 
 and misery, is often as sudden as the coming of a 
 thaw after the severest cold. Even our lite and 
 health are often as trans jory as all other sublunary 
 things. 
 
 It is too true, however, that reflections of this 
 kind seldom occur to us, while we are in posses- 
 sion of earthly enjoyments. We are like those 
 who, in a fine winter's morn, venture to go abroad, 
 and set out without thinking of the sudden changes 
 of weather, so frequent at that season. 
 
 When fortune smiles upon us, and we are in 
 the midst of joy and pleasure, we think we have 
 nothing to fear ; and we do not consider how sud- 
 denly the happiest situation may be changed into 
 misery. 
 
 And supposing we have not hitherto made thi^ 
 experience : a time will come., when we shall be 
 
109 
 
 convinced, by ourselves, of the nothingness and 
 frailty of every thing here. 
 
 To those who are at })resent in the spring or 
 summer of life, winter will soon come ; and they 
 will then experience how transient those enjoy- 
 ments are, on which they had depended with so 
 much confidence. -They will learn, that all earth- 
 ly pleasures are like snow which dazzles the eye 
 indeed, but soon melts, and is no more. 
 
 Snow affords lis another very important reflec- 
 tion. It reminds us of our weakness and want of 
 power. What could all the industry, and all the 
 force of men do, were they to undertake to remove 
 the ice and snow from the ground ? 
 
 God works this change with infinite ease. He 
 bids the wind blow, and it thaws. He has but to 
 speak the word, and our troubles cease. 
 
 The Excellence and Necessity of In- 
 dustry. 
 
 Diligence, industry, and proper improvement 
 of time, are material duties of the young. To no 
 purpose are they endowed with the best abilities, 
 if they want activity for exerting them. 
 
 Unavailing, in this case, will be every direction 
 that can be given them, either for their temporal 
 or spiritual welfare. In youth, the habits of in- 
 dustry are most easily acquired; in youth, the 
 mcentives to it are strongest, from desire and from 
 duty, from hope, and from all the prospects which 
 the beginning of life affords 
 
no 
 
 If, dead to all these calls, thou shouldst already 
 begin to languish in slothful ease and inaction, what 
 will be able to induce thee in the more sluggish 
 current of advancing years ? Industry is not only 
 an instrument for improvement, but a foundation 
 of much satisfaction. 
 
 Nothing is more contrary to the true enjoyment 
 of life, than the relaxed and feeble state of an 
 indolent mind. He who is a stranger to industry, 
 may possess, but he cannot enjoy ; for it is labour 
 only which gives a relish to the things of this life. 
 
 It was a natural and proper appointment for 
 man, 'Thou shalt get thy bread by the sweat of 
 thy blow.' It is the necessary condition of our 
 possessing a sound mind in a sound body. Sloth 
 is so inconsistent with both, that it is hard to deter- 
 mine whether it be a greater foe to virtue, or to 
 health of body. 
 
 Inactive as it is in itself, its effects are fatally 
 powerful. Though it appear a slowly flowing 
 stream, yet it undermines all that is stable and 
 flourishing. It not only saps the foundation of 
 every active virtue, but pours upon us a deluge of 
 evils, and, too often, shameful crimes. 
 
 It is like water which putrefies by stagnation, 
 and then sends up hurtful vapours, and fills the air 
 with deathi Fly, therefore, from idleness, as the 
 certain parent both of guilt and ruin. 
 
Ill 
 
 Of the Ichneumon, 
 
 -^ ^ 
 
 This is an animal of a \Qxy peculig^ sort, 
 is of the weasel kind, with /a Jonger ana narrouci 
 body than a cat, something .approaching to the 
 shape and colour of a bad^efi; Its nose is black 
 and sharp, like that of a ferret. -<. ^ ;a.^; 
 
 - Its legs are short, and each of its ieei has ^e 
 toes. Its tail is very long, and its teeth and tongue 
 much like those of the cat. It is a very cleanly 
 animal, very brisk and nimble, and possessed of 
 great courage. It will combat a dog, and destroy 
 a cat by three bites on its throat. 
 
 But it is quite inoffensive to mankind, and is 
 kept tame in Egypt, running about their houses, 
 destroying all vermin, and playing tricks like span- 
 iels. When wild, he cannot overtake any nimble 
 animul, but he makes this up by industry. 
 
 His legs being short, he is not much seen ; but 
 he has a way of concealing himself yet more, by 
 crawling on his belly close to the ground, which 
 he does all day long. But on the least noise (for 
 ni8 nearing is exceedingly quick) he starts up erect 
 on his hind legs. 
 
 If the noise be made by any reptile, bird, or 
 small beast, he observes whereabouts it is, then 
 places his nose directly in a Ime with it, and be- 
 gins to move towards it. 
 
 lie is silent and slow, but constant in his ap- 
 proach, often stopping to hear or to look forward, 
 and know exactly where his object is ; when he 
 nas approached within about five feet, he stops, 
 and having taken good aim, he springs directly 
 from the place on his prey. 
 10* 
 
112 • 
 
 Thus he deals with birds and beasts. But to 
 serpents he gives chase, and to avoid their bite, 
 always seizes them by the neck, 
 
 Gesner tells us, that the Ichneumon is not only 
 an enemy to serpents themselves, but to their eggs 
 also, which he hunts after, and destroys, though he 
 does not feed upon them. 
 
 How merciful is our great Creator ! See this 
 animal given to countries where those terrible rep- 
 tiles abound ! In all likelihood, they would other- 
 wise be uninhabitable. 
 
 The force of Custom, 
 
 It is both a true and common saying, that ' cus- 
 tom is a second nature.' It is able, indeed, to 
 form a man anew, and give him inclinations and 
 Capacities altogether different from those he was 
 born with. 
 
 Doctor Plot, in his history of Staffordshire, 
 tells us of an idiot, who happened to live within 
 the sound of a clock, and always amused himself 
 with counting the hour of the day, whenever the 
 clock struck. 
 
 The clock being spoiled by some accident, the 
 idiot continued to strike and count the hour, with- 
 out the help of it, in the same manner as when it 
 was entire. 
 
 Though I dare not vouch for the truth of this 
 story, it is very certain, that custom has a mechan- 
 ical effect on the body, at the same time that it has 
 a very extraordinary influence on the mind. 
 
' 113 
 
 Custom makes every thing pleasant to us. Sir 
 Francis Bacon observes, in his Natural Philoso- 
 phy, that our taste is never better pleased, than 
 with those things which were at first unpalatable. 
 
 He gives particular instances of claret, coffee, 
 and other liquors which the palate seldom ap- 
 proves on the first taste ; but when it has once got 
 a relish of them, it generally retains it for life. 
 
 The mind is constituted after the same manner ; 
 and, after having habituated itself to any particular 
 exercise or employment, not only loses its first 
 aversion to it, but conceives a certain fondness and 
 affection for it. 
 
 I would, therefore, recommend to every one, 
 that admirable precept which Pythagoras is said 
 to have given to his disciples; "Pitch upon that 
 course of life which is the most excellent, and cus- 
 tom will render it the most delightful." Men 
 whose* circumstances will permit them to choose 
 their own way of life, are inexcusable, if they do 
 not pursue that which their judgment tells them is 
 the most laUdable. 
 
 Since custom is a second nature, we must gain 
 habits of virtue in this life, if we would enjoy the 
 pleasures of the next. The state of bliss we call 
 heaven, will not be capable of affecting those minds 
 which.are not thus qualified for it. 
 
 We must in this world get a relish for truth and 
 virtue, if we would wish to taste that knowledge 
 and perfection which are to make us happy in the 
 next. 
 
 The seeds of those joys and pleasures, which 
 are to rise up and Mourish in the soul to all eter- 
 nity, must be planted during the present state of 
 probation. In short, heaven is the natural effect 
 of a religious life, as well as the reward of it. 
 
114 
 
 Of the Tides, 
 
 ^ The motions of the sea effectually destroy a 
 great number of the viler sort of creatures. Its 
 currents and its tides produce continual agitations, 
 the shock of which they are not able to endure ; 
 the parts of the fluid rub against each other, and 
 destroy all bad humours ; and the ocean, if I may 
 so speak, acquires health by exercise. 
 
 The most obvious, and the most generally ac- 
 knowledged motion, is that of its tides. This ele- 
 ment is observed to flow, for certain hours, from 
 south to north; in which flux of motion, which 
 lasts about six hours, the sea gradually swells ; so 
 that, entering the mouths of rivers, it drives back 
 the river waters to their heads. 
 
 After a continual flow for six hours, the sea 
 seems to rest for a quarter of an hoilr, and then 
 begins to ebb, or retire back again, from north to 
 south, for six hours more ; in which time the wa- 
 ters sinking, the rivers resume their natural course. 
 
 After a seeming pause for a quarter of an hour, 
 the sea again begins to flow as before : and thus it 
 has alternately risen and fallen twice a day, since 
 the first time it was formed. This amazing ap- 
 pearance did not fail to excite the curiosity, as it 
 did the wonder, of the ancients. 
 
 After some wild conjectures of the earliest sa- 
 ges, it became well known about the time of Pliny, 
 that the tides were under an influence, in a small 
 degree, of the sun ; but in a much greater, of the 
 moon. 
 
115 
 
 Though others have endeavoured, with tolera- 
 ble success, to explain this wonderful fact ; yet it 
 never was precisely described before the famous 
 Newton. 
 
 Thus, as well as governing the day and the night, 
 according to the Divine appointment, these two 
 great lights serve other grand purposes, particu- 
 larly the latter luminary, in the motion of the sea, 
 that great watery world. 
 
 Use of Vegetables. 
 
 When I consider the great number and va- 
 riety of vegetables, 1 discover in this circumstance, 
 as in every thing else, the beneficent views of my 
 Creator. 
 
 What, indeed, could he propose by covering the 
 earth with so many different herbs, plants, and 
 fruits, but for the advantage and happiness of his 
 creatures? They already reckon above thirty 
 thousand species of plants, and new discoveries 
 are continually increasing the number. 
 
 Their increase is almost infinite. For example, 
 who would not be astonished that a grain of Wheat 
 should produce two thousand others, and that a 
 single seed of poppy should multiply to such a de- 
 gree, that in two or three years, a whole field might 
 be sowed with it. 
 
 Can we suppose that God had not the advan- 
 tage of his creatures m view, when he ordained 
 
116 
 
 this prodigious increase- of plants ? There can re- 
 main no doubt of the Creator's intention, if we 
 consider the use made of vegetables from the re- 
 motest times. 
 
 Do not plants and fruits furnish us every day 
 with the most wholesome and nourishing food? 
 Do we not mostly owe our clothes, houses, and 
 furniture to the vegetable world ? 
 
 There is no part of plants that has not its use. 
 The roots furnish medicaments ; they serve for 
 food and fuel : to make pitch, dies, and all sorts 
 of utensils. Of wood they make coal, buildings, 
 fires, niedicihe, paper, dies, and a vast number of 
 instruments. 
 
 The bark even has its utility in medicine, in 
 tanning, &c. The ashes serve to manure and im- 
 prove the ground, to bleach cloth, to make salt- 
 petre, and they make use of potashes in dying. 
 
 They make use of turpentine in medicine ; hard 
 rosin to varnish, to solder. Flowers please and 
 delight, both by their colour and smell. They 
 serve as medicine, and are particularly useful in 
 furnishing bees with wax and honey. 
 
 The fruits which ripen by degrees, serve for our 
 food, and are eaten either raw, baked, dried, or 
 preserved. But vegetables are not for the use of 
 man alone : they are of still greater use to animals, 
 most of which have no other .food. 
 
 The reason there are so many fields, and so 
 great a variety of herbs and plants, is, that all the 
 different animals may find their proper food. Who 
 can reckon all the blessings the vegetable world 
 affords us '( 
 
117 
 
 An Evening Contemplation, 
 
 Being yesterday, about sun-set, walking in the 
 open fields, till the night insensibly fell upon 
 me, I at first amused myself with all the richness 
 and variety of colours, which appeared in the 
 western parts of the firmament : in proportion as 
 thej faded and went out, several stars and planets 
 arose, one after another, till the whole expanse 
 was in a glow. 
 
 The blueness of the ether was exceedingly 
 heightened and enlivened bv the season of the 
 year, and by the rays of all those luminaries that 
 passed through it. That space called the milky 
 way, appeared in its most beautiful white. 
 
 To complete the scene, the full moon rose at 
 length, in clouded majesty, and opened to the eye 
 a new picture of nature, which was more finely 
 shaded, and disposed among softer lights, than 
 that which the sun had before discovered in the 
 day. 
 
 As I was thus surveying the moon, walking m 
 her brightness, and taking her progress among the 
 constellations, a thought arose in me, which I be- 
 fieve very often has disturbed men of very serious 
 and contemplative minds. 
 
 We find David himself had fallen into it, by that 
 reflection, "When I consider the heavens, the 
 work of thy hand, the moon and the stars which 
 thou hast ordained; what is man that thou art 
 mindful of him, and the son of man that thou re- 
 gardest him ?" 
 
118 
 
 From these, and such like reflections, 1 could 
 not but look upon myself as a very insignificant 
 creature, in "the immensity of the works of God 
 with great cause and belief of astonishment that 1 
 was also the object of his general and special 
 providence. 
 
 Of the Bottom of the Sea, 
 
 Though the bottom of the ocean is, in some 
 places, a plane, in some very hollow, like a valley, 
 in others variegated with hill and dale, as on land ; 
 yet some parts are very frightful, as appears from 
 the following account. 
 
 It is told by Kircher, that in the time of Frede- 
 rick, king of Sicily, there lived a celebrated diver, 
 whose name was Nicholas, and who, from his 
 amazing skill in swimming, and perseverance un- 
 der water, was surnamed the Fish. 
 
 The curiosity of this king had long been exeited, 
 by the accounts he had heard of the bottom of the 
 gulf of Charybdis; and he conceived that it 
 would be a proper opportunity to have more cer- 
 tain information, by getting Nicholas to take a 
 view of it. 
 
 He therefore commanded our poor diver to ex- 
 amine the bottom of this dangerous whirlpool; 
 and, as an excitement to his obedience, he ordered 
 a golden cup to be flung into it. 
 
 Nicholas, though not insensible of the danger, 
 yet influenced by various motives, soon jumped 
 
119 
 
 into the gulf, and was instantly swallowed up in its 
 bosom. 
 
 He continued a long while under the water, 
 during which time the king and his attendants re- 
 mained on tlie shore, anxious to see what would 
 become of him ; when, to their great surprise, he 
 appeared buffeting upon the surface, holding the 
 cup in triumph in one hand, and making his way 
 good among the waves with the other. 
 
 It may be supposed, he was received with great 
 applause, upon his arrival on shore ; the (fup was 
 made the reward of his adventure : the king order- 
 ed him to be taken proper care of, and as he was 
 weary and overcome by his labour, after a heaity 
 meal, he was put to bed, and permitted to refresh 
 himself further by sleep.^ 
 
 Having been restored to his usual vigour, he was 
 brought to the king, to give^ narrative of the won- 
 ders he had seen : and after observing, he would 
 never have obeyed the king's command, if he had 
 known half the danger ; his account was to the fol- 
 lowing effect. 
 
 There were four things, he said, that rendered 
 the gulf terrible, not only to men, but to the fishes 
 themselves : fii-st, the force of the waters bursting 
 up from the bottom, which requires great strength 
 to resist : secondly, the abruptness of the rocks, 
 that on every side threatened sudden ruin : third- 
 ly, the force of the whirlpool dashing against the 
 rocks : and fourthly, the number and magnitude of 
 polypus fish, some of which appeared as large as 
 a man ; and which, eve»-y where sticking against 
 the rocks, projected their fibrous arms to entangle 
 him. 
 
 Being asked how he was able so readily to 
 find the cup, he replied, that it happened to be 
 11 
 
120 
 
 thrown by the waves into the cavity of a rock 
 against which he himself was forced in his de- 
 scent. 
 
 This account, however, did not satisfy the 
 king's curiosity. Being requested to venture once 
 more into the g'llf for further discoveries, he at 
 first refused : but the king being desirous of hav- 
 ing the most exact information possible of all things 
 to be found in the gulf, repeated his solicitations, 
 and to give them still greater weight, produced a 
 larger cup than the other, and added also a purse 
 of gold. 
 
 Upon these considerations, the unhappy Nicho- 
 las once more plunged into the whirlpool, and was 
 never heard of more. 
 
 The above not only sets forth the dreadful ap- 
 pearance of the bottom of the sea, but serves as a 
 lesson of virtue, to repress our presumption and 
 thirst after gold. 
 
 The Change of Seasons, 
 
 In the warmest climates, as well as in the cold- 
 est, there are but two seasons of the year really 
 different. The coldest countries have summer 
 about four months, during which the heat is very 
 great, occasioned by the length of the days. 
 
 Their winter lasts eight months. Spring and 
 autumn are scarcely perceptible there; because, 
 in a very few days, an extreme heat succeeds an 
 extreme cold; and, on the contrary, the great 
 
121 
 
 heats are immediately followed by the most severe 
 cold. 
 
 The hottest countries have a dry and burning 
 season for seven or eight months. Afterwards 
 comes rain, which lasts four or five months; and 
 this rainy season makes the difference between the 
 summer and winter. 
 
 It is only in temperate climates that there are 
 four seasons really different in the year. The 
 summer heats gradually decrease ; so that the au- 
 tumnal fruits have time to ripen by degrees, witli- 
 out being hurt by the cold of winter. 
 
 In the same manner, in spring, the plants have 
 time to shoot, and grow insensibly, without being 
 destroyed by late frosts, or too much hastened by 
 early heats. In Europe, these four seasons are 
 most perceptible : and particularly in Italy, and in 
 the south of France. 
 
 If the melted snow and rain remained on the 
 ground without evaporating, the water would an- 
 nually rise to the height of a foot and three quar- 
 ters in most countries. This change of season de- 
 serves our admiration. 
 
 It cannot be attributed to chance ; for in fortui- 
 tous events there can neither be order tior con- 
 stancy. Now, in every country throughout the 
 world, the seasons succeed each other with the 
 same regularity as the nights and days, and change 
 the appearance of the earth, nearly at the usual 
 time. 
 
 We see it successively adorned, sometimes with 
 herbs and leaves, sometimes with flowers, some- 
 times with fruit. Afterwards it is stripped of all 
 its ornaments, till spring returns. 
 
 Spring, summer, and autumn, provide food for 
 men and animals, in giving them abundance of 
 
122 
 
 fruits. And though nature appears dead in winter, 
 that season is not without its blessings; for it 
 moistens and fertilizes the earth, and by that pre- 
 paration, makes it fit to produce its plants and 
 fruits in due season. 
 
 As the seasons succeed in nature, so do they in 
 the course of our lives ; but with this difference, 
 that those which are past, never return. 
 
 Of the Chimpanze, SfC, 
 
 The Chimpanze is an animal found in Angola, 
 in Africa. It nearly approaches the human figure ; 
 but it is of a fierce disposition, and remarkably 
 mischievous. 
 
 In the year 1738, one of these creatures was 
 brought to England. It was about twenty months 
 old. It walked erect, was not hairy on all parts 
 of the body, like those of the monkey species, and 
 was of a' strong muscular make. 
 
 It would eat any coarse food, but was very fond 
 of tea, which it drank out of a cup, with milk and 
 sugar, as people- in England do. It slept in the 
 manner of the human species, and its voice resem- 
 bled ours when w^ speak hastily, but without dis- 
 tinct or articulate sounds. 
 
 Tlie female generally grows to about five feet 
 high : the males larger, are very bold, and will fight 
 a man, though he is armed. 
 
 There is a great variety of the monkey kind. 
 There is a remarkable sort in the West-Indies, 
 
123 
 
 of the size of a fox. Its face is raised high, its 
 eyes black and shining, and its ears small and 
 round. 
 
 Its hairs are so nicely disposed all over the 
 body, that it appears perfectly smooth ; and are 
 much longer under the chin, so that they form a 
 kind of beard there. These are found in great 
 numbers in the woods, and make a loud and fright- 
 ful noise. But it is very common for one, only, to 
 make a noise, and the rest to form a mute assembly 
 round him. 
 
 Marcgrave says, " I have frequently seen great 
 numbers of them meeting about noon, at which 
 time they formed a circle, and one placing himself 
 above the rest, began to make a loud noise. 
 
 " When he had thus proceeded by himself for 
 some time, the rest all remaining silent, he lifted 
 up his hand, and they all immediately joined in a 
 sort of chorus. 
 
 " This intolerable yell continued till the same 
 monkey who gave the signal for their beginning, 
 lifted up his hand a second time : on this, they were 
 all silent again, and so finished the business of the 
 assembly." 
 
 Of Whirlpools, 
 
 The number of currents at sea are impossible 
 to be recounted; nor, indeed, are they always 
 known ; new ones are daily produced, by a variety 
 of causes, and as quickly disappear. When a 
 regular current is opposed by another in a nar- 
 11* 
 
124 
 
 row strait, or where the bottom of the sea is un- 
 even, a whirlpool is often formed. 
 
 These were formerly considered as formi- 
 dable obstructions to navigation ; and the ancient 
 poets and historians speak of them with terror. 
 They are described as swallowing up ships, and 
 dashing them against the rocks, at the bottom : 
 imagination helping, with her invention, to paint 
 them more dreadful. 
 
 But it is certain, that some of these whirlpools 
 are very dangerous, where the tides are strong, 
 and the tempests fierce. To mention only one, 
 called Maelstroom, upon the coast of Norway, 
 which is considered as the most dreadful and de- 
 vouring in the world. 
 
 The name it has received from the natives, sig- 
 nifies the navel of the sea, since they suppose that 
 a great share of the water of the sea is sucked up 
 and discharged by the whirlpool. 
 
 A particular description of the internal parts is 
 not to be expected, since none who unhappily got 
 in there, returned back to give information. 
 
 The body of the waters that form this whirlpool, 
 is extended in a circle above thirteen miles in cir- 
 cumference. In the midst of this, stands a rock, 
 against which the tide, in its ebb, is dashed with in- 
 conceivable fury. At this time it instantly swal- 
 lows up every thing that comes within its power ; 
 trees, timber, and shipping. 
 
 No skill in the mariner, nor strength in rowing, 
 can work an escape; the sailor at the helm, or 
 guide of the vessel, finds her go, at first, in a current 
 opposite to his intentions; his vessel's motion, 
 though slow in the beginning, becomes every mo- 
 ment more rapid ; it goes round in circles, still nar- 
 rower and narrower, till at last it is dashed against 
 
125 
 
 the rocks, and instantly disappears ; nor is it seen 
 again for six hours, till the tide flowing, it is vom- 
 ited forth with the same violence with which it was 
 drawn in. 
 
 The noise of this dreadful whirlpool, still fur- 
 ther contributes to increase its terror, which, with 
 the dashing of the waters, and the dreadful valley, 
 if it may be so called, caused by their circulation, 
 makes one of the most terrible objects in nature. 
 
 The Wisdom of Early Piety, 
 
 As soon as we are capable of reflection, we 
 must perceive, that there is a right and a wrong in 
 human actions. We see, that those who are born 
 with the same worldly advantages, are not all 
 equally happy, or even prosperous in the course of 
 life. 
 
 While some of them, by wise and steady con- 
 duct, attain distinction among the virtuous of man- 
 kind, and pass their days with comfort and re- 
 spect ; others of the same rank, by mean and vi- 
 cious behaviour, forfeit the advantage of their 
 birth, plunge themselves into much misery, and 
 end in being a disgrace to their friends, and a bur- 
 den on society. 
 
 Early, then, we may learn, that it is not on the 
 outward condition in which we find ourselves 
 placed, but on the part which we are to act, that 
 
126 
 
 our welfare or happiness — our respect among men, 
 or infamy, depends. 
 
 Now, in the beginning of life, what can be of 
 greater moment, than to regulate our conduct 
 with the most serious attention, before we have 
 yet committed any shameful and irretrievable 
 errors? 
 
 If, instead of cultivating the mind for this valua- 
 ble purpose, we deliver ourselves up, at so pre- 
 carious a time, to sloth and pleasure ; if we Re- 
 fuse to listen to any counsellor but humour, or to 
 attend to any pursuit, but that of amusement ; if 
 we allow ourselves to float loosely and carelessly 
 on the tide of life, ready to receive any direction 
 which the current of fashion may happen to give 
 us, what can we expect to follow, from such a be- 
 ginning ? 
 
 While so many around us are undergoing the 
 sad consequence of such indiscretion, for what 
 reason should not these consequences extend to us? 
 Shall happiness grow up to us of its own accord, 
 and solicit our acceptance, when to the rest of 
 mankind, it is the fruit of long cultivation, and the 
 acquisition of labour and care ? 
 
 O, then, let us remember our Creator in the 
 days of our youth, being fully assured that no good 
 can be done, which does not proceed from his gra- 
 cious self; yet, seeing that without we exert our 
 minds and hearts towards him, which in scripture 
 is called occupying the talent, we shall not partake ' 
 of his goodness ; let us, in the inward name of his 
 Son, be faithful and given up to serve him : so shall 
 we not only ensure to ourselves what happiness is 
 best for us in this life, but full peace and glory in] 
 that which is to come. 
 
127 
 
 The Shipwreck 
 
 Spitsbergen is a far northern country, which 
 is perpetually covered with ice and snow, owing 
 to the severity of the weather. 
 
 The soil is hardly capable of producing any 
 vegetables; and only a few animals are found in 
 the country. The island is, a great part of the 
 year, in perpetual darkness, and is at that time in- 
 accessible to ships. 
 
 Though it is impossible to form to the mind a 
 more dreary country, and where human life must 
 be supported with the greatest difficulty ; yet, in 
 spite of all these obstacles, four men struggled 
 with them six years, and three of them returned 
 safe to their own country. 
 
 The northern seas, owing to the excessive cold 
 of the climate, are frequently so full of ice as to 
 render it exceedingly hazardous to ships, which 
 are thereby exposed to the danger of being crush- 
 ed between two immense bodies of ice, or of being 
 so completely surrounded, as to deprive them of 
 every power of moving from the spot. 
 
 In this latter alarming situation, were the crew 
 of a Russian ship. A council was immediately 
 held, when the mate mentioned what he recollected 
 to have heard, that a ship's crew from Mesen, some 
 time before, had formed a resolution of passing 
 the winter upon this island, and for that purpose 
 had carried timber proper for building a hut at a 
 little distance from the shore. 
 
 This information led the whole company to 
 
128 
 
 form the resolution of wintering there, should the 
 hut be fortunately remaining. 
 
 They were induced to adopt this measure from 
 the certainty of perishing, should they remain in 
 the ship. They therefore deputized four of their 
 crew to go in search of the hut, and make what 
 further discoveries they could. These were Alexis 
 Himkof, the mate, Iwam Himkof, his grandson, 
 Stephen Scharossof, and Feodor Weregin. 
 
 As no human creature inhabited the shore on 
 which they were to land, it was absolutely neces- 
 sary for them to carry some provisions with them 
 for their support. 
 
 They had to make their way for nearly two 
 miles over loose heaps of ice, which the water 
 had raised, and the wind had driven against each 
 other; and this made it equally difficult and dan- 
 
 g^i^3US. 
 
 From this consideration, they avoided loading 
 themselves too much with provisions, lest their 
 weight might sink them between the pieces of ice, 
 where they must inevitably perish. 
 
 Having previously considered all these matters, 
 they provided themselves only with a musket and 
 powder-horn, containing twelve charges of powder 
 and ball, an axe, a small kettle, a bag with about 
 twenty pounds of flour, a knife, a tinder-box and 
 tinder, a bladder filled with tobacco, and every 
 man his wooden pipe. 
 
 Thus poorly equipped, these four sailors reach- 
 ed the island, little thinking, what they were to 
 endure while they remained oh it. 
 
 After exploring some small part of the country, 
 they discovered the hut they were in pursuit of, 
 at the distance of about an English mile and a 
 
129 
 
 half from the shore. Its length was thirty-six feet, 
 and its height and breadth eighteen. 
 
 It consisted of one room and a small antecham- 
 ber, about twelve feet broad, having two doors, 
 the one to exclude the outer air, and the other to 
 form a communication with the inner room. 
 
 Tliis contributed not a little to keep the larger 
 room warm, when it was once heated. They found 
 in the larger room an earthen stove, constructed 
 in the Russian manner. 
 
 They rejoiced exceedingly at this discovery, 
 though they found the hut had suffered very much 
 from the severity of the weather, it having been 
 built a considerable time. However, they con- 
 trived to make it supportable for that night. 
 
 The next morning early, they repaired to the 
 shore, in order to acquaint their comrades with 
 their success, and also to get from the vessel such 
 provisions, ammunition, and other necessaries, as 
 might, in some measure, enable them to struggle 
 with the appi-oaching winter. 
 
 But what pen can properly describe the terrible 
 situation of their minds, when coming to the place 
 at which they landed, they discovered nothing* but 
 an open sea, clear of all ice, though but a day be- 
 fore it had covered the ocean ! 
 
 During the night, a violent storm had arisen, 
 which had been the cause of this change of appear, 
 ance in the ocean. Whether the ice, which had 
 before surrounded the vessel, being put into mo- 
 tion by the violence of the winds and waves, had 
 crushed the ship to pieces, or whether she had 
 been carried by the current into the maia 
 ocean, it was impossible for them to determine. 
 However, they saw the ship no more, and as 
 she was never afterwards heard of, it is most likely 
 
130 
 
 that she went to the bottom, with every person on 
 board. 
 
 This dreadful event deprived the poor unhap- 
 py men of all hopes of ever again seeing their na- 
 tive country. They returned to the hut, and there 
 bewailed their deplorable lot, more, perhaps, to 
 be pitied, than those who were buried in the bosom 
 of the deep. 
 
 Their thoughts were, of course, first directed to 
 procure subsistence, and to repair their hut. Their 
 twelve charges of powder and shot, soon procured 
 them as many rein-deer, of which there fortunately 
 happened to be many on the island. 
 
 They then set about repairing their hut, and fill- 
 ed all the crevices, through which the air found its 
 way, with the moss that grew there in plenty. As 
 it was impossible to live in that climate without fire, 
 and as no wood grew upon the island, they were 
 much alarmed on that account. 
 
 However, in their wanderings over the beach, 
 they met with plenty of wood, which had been 
 driven on shore by the waves. 
 
 This principally consisted of the wrecks of 
 ships ; but sometimes whole trees, with their roots, 
 came on shore, the undoubted produce of some 
 more hospitable clime, which were washed from 
 their native soil by the overflowing of rivers, or 
 some other accident. 
 
 As soon as their powder and shot werer exhaust- 
 ed, they began to be in dread of perishing with 
 hunger ; but good fortune, and their own ingenuity, 
 to which necessity always gives a spur, removed 
 these dreadful apprehensions. 
 
 Jn the course of their traversing the beach, they 
 one day discovered some boards, in which were., 
 large hooks and nails in abundance. 
 
131 
 
 By the assistance of these, they made spears 
 and arrows ; and from a yew-tree, which had been 
 thrown on shore by the waves, they formed plenty 
 of bows. 
 
 With these weapons, during the time of their 
 continuance on the island, they killed upwards of 
 two hundred and fifty rein-deer, besides a great 
 number of blue and white foxes. 
 
 The flesh of these animals served them for food, 
 and their skins were equally useful in supplying 
 them with warm clothing. 
 
 The number of white bears they killed, was only 
 ten ; for these animals being very strong, defended 
 themselves with great vigour and fury; and even 
 ventured to make their appearance, frequently, at 
 the door of their hut, from whence they were 
 driven with some difficulty and danger. 
 
 Thus, these three different sorts of animals were 
 the only food of those miserable mariners, during 
 their long and dreary abode on this island. 
 
 The intenseness of the cold, and the want of 
 conveniences, rendered it impossible for them to 
 cook their victuals properly, so that they were 
 obliged to eat their provisions almost raw, and 
 without bread or salt. There was but one stove 
 in the hut, and that being in the Rjssian manner, 
 was not suitable for boiling. 
 
 However, to remedy this inconvenience as much 
 as possible, they dried some of their provisions 
 during the summer, in the open air, and then 
 hung them up in the upper part of the hut, which, 
 being continually filled with smoke, they thus be- 
 came thoroughly dried. This they used instead of 
 bread, which made them relish their half-boiled 
 meat the better. 
 
 They procured their water in summer, from 
 12 
 
132 
 
 the rivulets that fell from the rocks, and in the 
 winter from snow and ice thawed. This was their 
 only drink, and their small kettle was the only 
 convenience they had to make use of for this and 
 many other purposes. 
 
 As it was necessary to keep up a continual fire, 
 they were particularly cautious not to let the light 
 be extinguished ; for though they had both steel 
 and flints, yet they had no tinder ; and it would 
 liave been a terrible thing to be without light in a 
 climate where darkness reigns so many months 
 during the winter. 
 
 They, therefore, fashioned a kind of lamp, which 
 they filled with rein-deer fat, and stuck into it 
 some twisted linen, shaped in the form of a wick, 
 many trials, they at last brought their 
 to complete perfection, and kept it burning 
 without intermission, from the day they first made 
 it, till they embarked for their native country. 
 
 They also found themselves in want of shoes, 
 boots, and other necessary articles of dress, for all 
 which they found wonderful resources in that ge 
 nius to which necessity gives birth. 
 
 Having lived more than six years upon this 
 dreary and inhospitable island, a ship happened 
 to arrive there, which took* three of them on 
 board, and carried them back to their native 
 country. 
 
 The fourth man was seized with the scurvy, and 
 being naturally indolent, and not using proper ex- 
 ercise, he died, after lingering for some time, when 
 his companions buried him in the snow. 
 
133 
 
 Of the Lion, 
 
 The Lion seldom attacks any animal openly, 
 except when compelled by extreme hunger ; in 
 that case, no danger deters him ; but as most ani- 
 mals endeavour to avoid him, he is obliged to have 
 recourse to artifice, and take his prey by surprise. 
 
 For this purpose, he crouches on his belly, in 
 some thicket, where he waits till his prey ap- 
 proaches; and then, with one prodigious spring, 
 he leaps upon it, at the distance of fifteen or 
 twenty feet, and generally seizes it at the first 
 bound. 
 
 If he miss his object, he gives up the pursuit ; 
 and, turning back towards the place of his ambush, 
 he measures the ground, step by step, and again 
 lies in wait for another opportunity. 
 
 The lurking place of the lion is generally chosen 
 near a spring, or by the side of a river ; where he 
 frequently has an opportunity of catching such ani- 
 mals as come to quench their thirst. There are, 
 however, instances where the lion deviates from 
 his usual method of taking his prey, of which the 
 following, related by Sparrman, is remarkable : 
 
 A Hottentot, perceiving that he was followed 
 by a lion, and concluding that the animal only 
 waited the approach of night to make him his 
 prey, began to consider of the best method of 
 providing for his safety, which he at length ef- 
 fected in the following singular manner : observ- 
 ing a piece of broken ground, with a precipitate 
 descent on one side, he sat down by the edge of 
 
134 
 
 It ; and found, to his great joy, that the lion also 
 made a halt, and kept at the same distance as be- 
 fore. 
 
 As soon as it grew dark, the Hottentot, sliding 
 gently forward, let himself down a little below the 
 edge of the hill, and held up his cloak and hat upon 
 a stick, making, at the same time, a gentle motion 
 with it ; the lion, in the meanwhile, came creep- 
 ing softly towards him, like a cat, and mistaking 
 the skin-cloak for the man himself, made a spring 
 and fell headlong down the precipice; by which 
 means the poor Hottentot was safely delivered 
 from his insidious enemy. 
 
 Of tile Pernicious Effects of Spirituous 
 Liquors. 
 
 Vegetation has united and incorporated in the 
 grain, by means of air and water, spirituous and 
 earthy elements, which, combined, form a sweet 
 and nourishing substance ; if this intimate junc- 
 tion is destroyed, or resolved by fermentation, the 
 spirituous part is separated from the earthy, which 
 is then deprived of its body, and is no longer a 
 sweet, nourishing substance. 
 
 It produces a spirit which destroys like fire. 
 Thus brandy and spirits are made. A few hun- 
 dred years ago, brandy was not known among us. 
 About a thousand years ago, the destructive art 
 of distilling spirits of wine, from wine, was found 
 
135 
 
 out ; and it is three hundred since brandy was first 
 distilled from grain. 
 
 In the beginning, it was considered as physic: 
 it did not, however, gain any degree of general 
 request, till the close of the last century, or rathf r 
 the last fifty years, that it has become an universal 
 beverage, to the great detriment of mankind. 
 
 Our forefathers, in former times, who had no 
 idea of brandy, were quite different from what we 
 are ; they were much more healthy and strong. 
 
 Brandy, whether drank by itself or at meals, 
 cannot be converted into blood, flesh, or bone : 
 consequently, it cannot give health or strength, 
 nor does it promote digestion ; it only makes one 
 unhealthy, stupid, lazy, and weak. It is, there- 
 fore, a downright falsehood, that brandy, as a 
 common beverage, is useful, good, and neces- 
 sary. 
 
 Our forefathers lived without it ; and as expe- 
 rience teaches us, that even the most moderate 
 and most reasonable who give way to the custom 
 of using it, drink every day more and more bran- 
 dy ; it is much better, in order to avoid tempta- 
 tion, to drink none at all ; for, believe me, brandy 
 deprives every body who addicts himself to the 
 immoderate daily use of it, of health, reason, and 
 virtue. 
 
 It impels some to quit their houses and homes, 
 to abandon their wives and children, and entails on 
 its wretched votaries, misery and diseases, which 
 may descend to the third and fourth generation. 
 
 It has been observed in different countries, in 
 England, Scotland, Sweden, North America, and 
 Germany, that the evils which health, strength, 
 reason, virtue, prosperity, domestic and matrimo- 
 nial felicity, the education of children, humanity, 
 12* 
 
136 
 
 and the life of man, has to encounter, were in pro- 
 portion to the quantity of brandy consumed. 
 
 It was this that induced an Indian, in North 
 America, of the name of Lackawanna, to say, that 
 the brandy which had been introduced amongst 
 the Indians, by the English, tended to corrupt 
 mankind and destroy humanity. "They have 
 given us (said he) brandy ! and who has given it 
 to them, (Europeans,) who else but an evil spirit?" 
 
 Children and young persons who drink brandy, 
 or other spirituous liquors, become unhealthy, 
 crippled, stupid, rude, lazy, vicious, and depraved, 
 both as to mind and body. And the same effects 
 may be produced by taking any other kind of 
 spirituous liquors. 
 
 Of the Rattlesnake. 
 
 This is a wonderful creature, when we con- 
 sider his form, nature, and disposition. It is cer- 
 tain, that he is capable, by a puncture or scratch 
 of one of his fangs, not only to kill the largest ani- 
 mal in America, and that in a few minutes time, 
 but to turn the whole body into corruption. 
 
 But such is the nature of this dreadful reptile, 
 that he cannot run or creep faster than a man or 
 child can walk, and he is never known to strike 
 until he is first assaulted, or fears himself in danger: 
 and even then, always givea the earliest warning 
 by the rattles at the extremity of the tail. 
 
137 
 
 I have, in the course of my travels m the south- 
 ern states, (where they are the largest and the 
 most numerous, and supposed to be the most ve- 
 nomous and vindictive,) stopped unknowingly so 
 close to one of them as almost to touch him vt^ith 
 my foot, and when I perceived him, he was already 
 drawn up in circular coils, ready for a blow. 
 
 But, however incredible it may appear, the ge- 
 nerous, I may say magnanimous creature, lay as 
 still and motionless as if inanimate; his head 
 crouched in, his eyes almost shut. 
 
 If you pursue and overtake him with a show of 
 enmity, he instantly throws himself into the spiral 
 coil ; his tail, by the rapidity of its motion, ap- 
 pears hke a vapour, and makes a quick tremulous 
 sound, his whole body swells through rage, con- 
 tinually rising and falling like a bellows ; his beauti- 
 ful party coloured skin becomes speckled and 
 rough by dilatation : his head and neck are flatten- 
 ed, his cheeks swollen, and his lips constricted, 
 discovering his mortal fangs ; his eyes red as burn- 
 ing coals, and his brandishing forked tongue, of the 
 colour of the hottest flame, continually menaces 
 death and destruction, yet he never strikes unless 
 sure of his mark. 
 
 The rattlesnake is the largest serpent yet 
 known to exist in North America. I have heard 
 of their having been seen formerly, at {he first 
 settling of Georgia, seven, eight, and even ten feet 
 in length, and six or eight inches in diameter; 
 but there are none of that size now to be seen : 
 yet I have seen them above six feet in length, and 
 above six inches in thickness, or as large as a 
 man's leg, but their general size is four and five 
 leet in length. 
 
 They are supposed to have the power of fas- 
 
138 
 
 cination m an eminent degree, so as to enthral 
 their prey. It is generally believed, that they 
 charm birds, rabbits, squirrels, and other animals, 
 and by steadfastly looking at them, possess them 
 with infatuation : be the cause what it may, the 
 miserable creatures undoubtedly strive by every 
 possible means to escape ; but alas ! their endea- 
 vours are in vain, they at last lose the power, 
 flutter or move slowly, but reluctantly, towards the 
 yawning jaws of their devourer, and creep into their 
 mouths, or lie down and suffer themselves to be 
 taken and swallowed. 
 
 Worthy of Imitation, 
 
 During the retreat of the famous king Alfred, 
 at Athenly in Somersetshire, after the defeat of 
 his forces by the Danes, the following circumstance 
 happened, which, while it convinces us of the ex- 
 tremities to which that great man was reduced, 
 will give us a striking proof of his pious and beii,3- 
 volent disposition. 
 
 A beggar came to his little castle there, and re- 
 quested alms; when his queen informed him, that 
 they had only one small loaf remaining, which was 
 insufficient for themselves, and their friends were 
 gone abroad in quest of food, though with little 
 hope of success. 
 
 The king replied, " Give the poor Christian 
 one half of the loaf. He that could feed five thou- 
 
139 
 
 sand men with five loaves and two fishes, can cer- 
 tainly make that half of the loaf suffice for our ne- 
 cessities." 
 
 Accordingly the poor man was relieved, and 
 4his noble act of charity soon recompensed by a 
 providential store of fresh provisions, with which 
 his people returned. 
 
 Of all the singular virtues which united in the 
 character of Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden, that 
 which crowned the whole, was his exemplary 
 piety to God. The following is related of him 
 when he was in his camp before Werben. 
 
 He had been alone in the cabinet of his pavilion 
 some hours together, and none of his attendants, 
 at these seasons, durst interrupt him. 
 
 At length, however, a favourite of his having 
 some important matter to tell him, came softly to 
 the door, and looking in, beheld the king very de- 
 voutly on his knees at prayer. Fearing to molest 
 him in that sacred exercise, he was about to turn 
 his head, when the king spied him, and bidding 
 him come in, said, 
 
 **Thou wonderest to see me in this posture, 
 since I have so many thousands of subjects to pray 
 for me : but I tell thee, that no man has more need 
 to pray for himself, than he, who being to render 
 an account of his actions to none but God, is for 
 that reason more closely assaulted by temptation, 
 than all other men." 
 
140 
 
 Repentance, 
 
 # 
 
 EusEBius, in his history, informs us, that St. John 
 during his ministration to the western churches, 
 cast his eye upon a young man remarkable for the 
 extent of his knowledge, and the ingenuousness of 
 his mind. 
 
 The aged apostle thought that he had discover- 
 ed in him an useful instrument for propagating 
 Christianity : accordingly he took particular pains 
 to convert him, and instruct him in the divine doc- 
 trines of his great Master ; and that he might still 
 be better acquainted with the system of Christian- 
 ity, at his departure he recommended him to the 
 care of a pious old father, who had some authority 
 in the infant church. 
 
 The youth continued awhile in the duties of his 
 new profession, and attended with care to the in- 
 struction of his venerable tutor. 
 
 But his former associates, when they found 
 themselves deserted by him, were grieved at the 
 success of the apostle, and exerted «their utmost 
 efforts to regain so useful and entertaining a com- 
 panion. They succeeded in their attempts : the 
 father was forsaken, and the youth plunged deep 
 into irregularity and vice. 
 
 The apostle, after some time, returned to those 
 parts ; " and where," said he with impatience to 
 his aged friend, "where is my favourite youth?" 
 "Alas!" replied the good old man, with tears in 
 his eyes, " he is fallen, irrecoverably fallen : he 
 has forsaken the society of saints, and is now a 
 
Ui 
 
 leader of a gang of robbers in the neighbouring 
 mountains." 
 
 Upon hearing this unexpected and unpleasant 
 account, the apostle forgot his sufferings and his, 
 years, and hastened to the place of rendezvous, 
 where, being seized by one Oj the band, he desired 
 to speak with their captain. 
 
 The captain being told that a strange pilgrim 
 asked to be admitted to him, ordered him to be 
 brought before him: but when he beheld the 
 venerable apostle, his hopes of amusement sunk, 
 and were changed into shame and confusion ; and 
 at his gentle reproof, the hardy leader of a band 
 of robbers, trembled before a poor and helpless 
 old man. He quitted once more the society of 
 wickedness, and lived and died in tlie service of 
 his Redeemer. 
 
 There is nothing New under the Sun 
 
 • It is certain, that in respect to us, there hap- 
 pen many new things upon earth. It is true, new 
 flowers blow every season, and various fruits ripen. 
 The scene of nature changes every year. Each 
 day brings new events and new revolutions. The 
 situations of objects change daily, or rather, they 
 present themselves to our senses under different 
 forms. But it is only relative to our limited un- 
 derstandings and knowledge, that it can really be 
 said, there is any thing new under the sun. 
 
142 
 
 Nothing is more certain than the saying of Solo- 
 mon, that " what has been will be, and what has 
 been done will be done, and there is nothing new 
 under the sun." The Creator, whose wisdom is 
 infinite, has not thought proper to multiply beings 
 unnecessarily. . 
 
 There are as many as our wants, our pleasure, 
 or our curiosity require. We cannot even gain a 
 superficial knowledge of all the works of our Crea- 
 tor, much less are we able to exhaust them. Our 
 senses are not subtle enough to perceive all that he 
 has formed. 
 
 Our understandings are too weak to cone we a 
 just and perfect idea of all created beings. We 
 therefore, sometimes imagine there are many h w 
 things under the sun ; for, a* the whole creation .'^ 
 immense, and as we cannot take in all the parts ol 
 it at once, we fancy, that each point of view we 
 see it in, for the first time, is new, because the 
 Creator has, in every part of the world, made a 
 wonderful variety and diversity. 
 
 The world does not require a continued crea- 
 tion to extend to infinity. — It is enough that the 
 Being of beings should maintain the order he has 
 established from the beginning. — Ho is an artist 
 who requires but a small number jbf springs to 
 vary the work he has produced ; ari^i which ar«, 
 however, so varied, and in so great a number, that 
 though they succeed one another, and return with 
 the greatest regularity, they appear \o us ever 
 new. 
 
 Let us be content to enjoy with gratitude the 
 things he has created, without undertaking to sound 
 the depths of them, or attempting to take in their 
 vast extent. 
 
 The impossibility of our reckoning all the works 
 
143 
 
 of the creation is, in some sort, the seal by which 
 we may conclude tliat the world is the work of a 
 God : and it is, at the same time, a certain proof 
 of the weakness of our understandings. 
 
 But have there not been discoveries made lately, 
 which were formerly entirely unknown ? Do not all 
 the kingdoms of nature now present phenomena 
 to us. that we had no idea of formerly ? The most 
 of these discoveries we owe less to our sagacity 
 than to our wants. 
 
 In proportion as these multiplied, new means 
 were necessary to supply them, and Providence 
 deigned to furnish us with those. But the means 
 existed before we discovered them. 
 
 The minerals, plants, and animals which we 
 have lately learned to know, existed in the bosom 
 of the earth, or on its surface, before the inquiries 
 and labour of man had made them visible to us. 
 
 It is even certain, that many of the discoveries 
 we boast the most of, were made by the ancients, 
 or at least partly discovered. Why then do we 
 not see new kinds of animals, plants, and stones T 
 It is because all has been planned by infinite wis- 
 dom. 
 
 All that he does is so perfect, that it does not 
 require to be renewed or created again ; there is 
 sufficient for our convenience and use. Nothing 
 was made by chance ; all events are linked to- 
 gether by him in one chain. The whole fabrick 
 of the world is preserved by the providence of its 
 Creator. "^z 
 
 13 
 
144 
 
 Of Volcanoes, 
 
 Mines and caverns reach but a very little way 
 under the earth's surface, and therefore, we can- 
 not know by them of the deep recesses of our 
 globe. Without doubt, the wonders that are still 
 unknown, surpass those that have been represent- 
 ed, as there are depths of thousands of miles which 
 are hidden from our inquiry. 
 
 The only tidings we have from these unfathoma- 
 ble regions, are by means of volcanoes, tliose burn- 
 ing mountains, that seem to discharge their mate- 
 rids from the lowest abysses of the earth. 
 
 Out of their mouths, which are of a prodigious 
 size, are thrown whole clouds of smoke and ashes, 
 torrents of flame and sulphur, with rocks of an 
 enormous size, which are thrown to many miles 
 distance ; so that the force or report of any human 
 invention, is but as a breeze agitating a feather, oi 
 the rattling of a cart-wheel in comparison. 
 
 In the deluge of fire and melted matter which 
 runs down the sides of the mountain, whole cities 
 are swallowed up and consumed. Nor is the dan- 
 ger of these confined to eruptions only : but they 
 frequently produce earthquakes through the whole 
 region where the volcano is situated. 
 
 These volcanoes are foijnd in all the four quar- 
 ters of the globe. In Europe, there are three very 
 remarkable ones: Etna in Sicily, Vesuvius in 
 Italy, and Hecla in Iceland. Etna has been a vol- 
 
145 
 
 cano for ages immemorial. Its eruptions are very 
 violent, and its discharge has been known to cover 
 the earth sixty-eight feet deep. 
 
 In the year 1537, an eruption of this mountain 
 produced aH earthquake through the whole island 
 for twelve days, overturned many houses, and at 
 last formed a new opening, which overwhelmed all 
 within five leagues round. The cinders thrown 
 up were driven even into Italy, and its burnings 
 were seen at Malta, at the distance of sixty leagues. 
 
 It is very difficult to get to examine this dread- 
 ful place ; but its mouth has been computed to be 
 about two miles over, and so deep that no bottom 
 can be seen ; on the sides of which, sharp spiky 
 rocks start up between apertures or holes that 
 emit smoke and flame : all this, accompanied with 
 a sound that never- ceases, louder than thunder, 
 strikes the bold with terror, and the religious with 
 veneration for him that has power to control its 
 burnings. 
 
 Of the Brown Bear, 
 
 The brown bear is found in almost every cli- 
 mate, is sometimes carnivorous, but its general 
 food is fruits, roots, and vegetables : it is a savage 
 and solitary animal, lives in desert and unfrequent- 
 ed places, and chooses its den in the most gloomy 
 and retired parts of the forest, or in the most dan- 
 gerous and inaccessible precipices or unfi-equented 
 mountains. 
 
146 
 
 It retires alone to its den about the end of au- 
 tumn, (at which time it is very fat,) and lives for 
 several weeks in a state of total inactivity and ab- 
 stinence from food. During this time, the female 
 brings fortii her young and suckles them. 
 
 She chooses her retreat for that purpose in the 
 most retired places, apart from the male, lest he 
 should devour them ; she makes a warm bed for 
 her young, and attends them with unremitted care 
 during four months, and in all that time, scarcely 
 allows herself any nourishment. She brings forth 
 two, and sometimes three young at a time. 
 
 In the spring, the old bears, attended by their 
 young, come out of their retreats, lean and almost 
 famished by their long confinement: they then 
 ransack every quarter in search of food. 
 
 They frequently climb trees, and devour the fruit 
 in great quantities ; particularly the date plum- 
 trees, of which they are exceedingly fond. They 
 ascend these trees with surprising agility, keep 
 themselves firm on the branches with one paw, 
 and with the other collect the fruit. 
 
 The bear is remarkably fond of honey, whicli 
 it will encounter great difficulties to obtain, and 
 seek for with great cunning and avidity. It en- 
 joys, in a superior degree, the senses of hearing 
 and smelling. When tamed, it appears mild and 
 obedient to its master, but it is not to be trusted 
 without the greatest caution. 
 
 The excessive cruelties practised upon this 
 poor animal, in teaching it to walk erect, and re- 
 gulate its motion to the sound of the flageolet, are 
 such as make sensibility shudder. Its eyes are 
 often put out, and an iron ring being put through 
 the cartilage of the nose to lead it by, it is kept 
 
147 
 
 from food and beaten, till it yield obedience to the 
 will of the savage tutors. 
 
 It is truly shocking to every feeling mind to re- 
 flect, that such cruelties should be exercised upon 
 any part of the brute creation by our fellow men. 
 That they should be rewarded by numbers of un- 
 thinking people, who crowd around them to see 
 the animal's rude attempts to imitate human actions, 
 is not to be wondered at: but it is much to be 
 wislied, that the timely interference of the magis- 
 trates would prevent every exhibition of this kind, 
 that we might not be reproached with tolerating 
 practices so disgraceful to humanity. 
 
 One of these animals, presented to the Prince 
 of Wales a few years ago, was kept in the tower. 
 By the carelessness of the servant, the door of his 
 den was left open ; and the keeper's wife happening 
 to go across the court, the animal flew out, seized 
 the woman, and fastened upon her neck, which he 
 bit ; and without offering any further violence, lay 
 sucking the blood out of the wound. 
 
 Resistance was in vain, as it only served to irn- 
 tate the brute ; and she must inevitably have per- 
 ished, had not her husband luckily discovered her 
 situation, and by a sudden blow with a staff*, obli- 
 ged the bear to quit his hold and retire to his den ; 
 which he did with great reluctance, and not with- 
 out making a second attempt to come at the wo- 
 man, who was almost dead through fear and loss 
 of blood. 
 
 It is somewhat remarkable, that whenever it hap- 
 pened to see her afterwards, it growled and made 
 most violent struggles to get out to her. The 
 ' prince, upon hearing of this circumstance, ordered 
 the bear to be killed. 
 
 13* 
 
148 
 
 Of the Luminous Particles observed on 
 the Surface of the Sea, 
 
 When a ship is under full sail, we often see a 
 great light in her wake, that is, in the water she 
 has run through, and as it were broken in her pas- 
 sage. Those who do not look narrowly at this 
 light, often attribute it to the moon, the stars, or 
 the lantern on the stern. 
 
 But by a little attention, this mistake is easily 
 rectified, since the light is greatest when the moon 
 is under the horizon, when the stars are covered by 
 clouds, when the candle in the lantern is extin- 
 guished, and when no other light appears on the 
 surface of the sea. 
 
 This light is not always equal, since, on some 
 occasions, it is hardly discernible ; sometimes it is 
 clear, and at others languid ; sometimes it is far 
 extended, and at others not. 
 
 It is sometimes so great that we may read by it 
 nine or ten feet above the surface of the water. 
 As for its extent, sometimes the whole wake ap- 
 pears luminous for the space of thirty to forty 
 feet; but the light decreases in proportion as it is 
 farther from the ship. 
 
 Sometimes we may in the wake easily distinguish 
 the luminous from the obscure parts ; on which oc- 
 casion, the wake appears like a beautiful river of 
 milk. 
 
 Not only the wake ©f a ship produces this 
 light : the motion of fish affords a light sufficient to 
 distinguish their bulk and species. Sometimes 
 
149 
 
 a numerous shoal of fish, when spqrting in the 
 sea, excite a kind of artificial, but very agreeable 
 fire. Very often a rope opposed to the motion 
 of the waves, is sufficient to render them lumi- 
 nous. 
 
 If sea-water is stirred in the dark, we find an 
 infinite number of shining particles in it. If we 
 dip a piece of linen in it, and wring it in the dark, 
 we see the same thing, and also perceive a num- 
 ber of sparks flying out of it, when we but shake it 
 after it is half dry. 
 
 When one of the sparks is formed, it lasts a long 
 time ; and if it falls on any sohd body, such as the 
 edge of a vessel, it will last for several hours. At 
 Brazil, the shore sometimes appears all on fire with 
 these sparks. 
 
 The production of them depends, in a great 
 measure, on the quality of the water ; and gene- 
 rally speaking, this light is greatest when the sea is 
 most foaming. 
 
 Sometimes, a piece of linen dipped in the sea, 
 comes out all over glutinous. It is observable, 
 that when the wake is most shining, the water is 
 most viscid and fat. A cloth dipped in this water, 
 gives most light when it is moved. 
 
 The following observations serve to prove that 
 the water is the more luminous in proportion to 
 its viscidity. A fish was one day. caught, which 
 some took to be a bonite. The inside of the 
 throat of the fish, in the night-time, appeared like 
 a live coal ; so that, without any other light, a per- 
 son could have read as well as by the most lumi- 
 nous wake. 
 
 The throat was full of a viscid matter, with 
 which, when a bit of wood was besmeared, it 
 forthwith became luminous ; but as soon as the 
 
150 
 
 humour was dried, the light was extinguished 
 The external parts of several kinds of fish, when 
 out of water, will emit a strong light by night. 
 
 Of Cultivating the Social Virtues, 
 
 Youth is the proper season for cultivating the 
 benevolent and humane affections.^ As a great 
 part of thy happiness is to depend on the connex- 
 ions which thou wilt form with others, i,t is of high 
 importance to acquire, betimes, the temper and 
 the manners which will gain esteem from the good, 
 and command respect from the world, though con- 
 trary to its practice in general. 
 
 Let, then, a strict sense of justice be a chief 
 foundation for all thy social qualities. In thy 
 most early intercourse, and even in thy youthful 
 amusements, let no unfairness be found. Engrave 
 on thy mind that sacred rule, of " doing in all 
 things to others as thou wouldst wish they should 
 do unto thee." For this end, impress thyself 
 with a deep sense of the original and natural 
 equality of them. 
 
 Whatever advantages in thy birth or estate thou 
 possessest, never display them with vain glory. 
 Leave such subordinations to regulate, if necessary, 
 the intercourse of thy more advanced years : at 
 present, it becomes thee to act among thy com- 
 panions as man with man. 
 
 Remember how unknown to thee are the chan- 
 ges of this world ; and how often they on whom 
 ignorant and contemptuous young men once look- 
 
1^1 
 
 ed down with scorn, have risen to be their supe- 
 riors in virtue and true goodness in future years. 
 
 Compassion is an emotion of which thou shouldst 
 never be ashamed. Graceful in youth, is tlie tear 
 of sympathy, and the heart that melts at the tale 
 of wo. Let not ease and self-indulgence contract 
 thy affections, and wrap thee up in selfish enjoy- 
 ment. Accustom thyself to think of the distresses 
 of human life; of the solitary cottage, the dying 
 parent, and the weeping orphan. 
 
 Sport not with pain and anxiety, in any of thy 
 amusements, nor treat even the* meanest insect 
 with wanton cruelty ; because that just and holy 
 Being who gave us life, takes notice of all our ac- 
 tions ; yea, knoweth our thoughts before they are 
 formed ; of whom it is written, " Vengeance is 
 mine, I will repay, saith the Lord." 
 
 Of the restless 7notion of the Sea^ and its 
 Effects on the Land. 
 
 In places where the force of the sea is not vio- 
 lent, nor its tides rapid, the shores are generally 
 seen to descend with a gradual declivity or slope. 
 Over these, the waters of the tide steal, by almost 
 imperceptible degrees, covering them for a large 
 extent, and leaving them bare on its recess. 
 
 Upon these shores, the sea seldom beats with 
 any great violence, as a large wave has not depth 
 
152 
 
 sufficient to float it onwards; so that here only are 
 to be seen gentle surges, making calmly towards 
 the land, and lessening as they approach. 
 
 In others, where the sea is deep, and forms 
 strong currents, we see the land worn away until 
 it is at last formed into astonishing bulwarks, so as 
 to stop the further encroachments of the assailing 
 ocean. In other places which were threatened 
 with destruction from the sea, bulwarlis have been 
 raised by art to oppose its encroachments. 
 
 The sea's being thus seen to take away land at 
 pleasure, in some places, and also to give it in 
 others, is, without question, one of the most extra 
 ordinary considerations in natural history. 
 
 In some places, it is seen to obtain the superiori- 
 ty, by slow and certain approaches, or to burst in 
 at once, and overwhelm all things in undistinguished 
 destruction ; in other places, it departs from its 
 shores, and, where its waters have been known to 
 rage, it leaves the land dry, which becomes covered 
 with the most beautiful verdure. 
 
 The foregoing is fully confirmed by ancient and 
 modern histories of the principal parts of the world, 
 our own not excepted. In Yorkshire, as well as 
 in other parts of the world, several places that 
 were formerly inhabited, are now under water; 
 and at the njouth of the Humber, some hundreds 
 of acres have been left dry, and the land culti- 
 vated. 
 
163 
 
 On the Use of Carriages, 
 
 With respect to exercise, the various machines 
 that have been invented for every sort of work, 
 render bodily strength of less importance than 
 formerly : this change, so far as they are useful, is 
 favourable to the operations of the mind, without 
 hurting bodily health. 
 
 The travelling on horseback, though a less vi- 
 gorous exertion of strength than walking, is not 
 luxury, because it is a healthful exercise. This 
 cannot be said of wheel-carriages. A spring 
 coach, roUing along a smooth road, gives no ex- 
 ercise, or so little as to be a preventive of no 
 disease. It tends to disable the body, as well as 
 the mind. 
 
 The increase of wheel-carriages, within a cen- 
 tury, is a remarkable proof of the growth of luxu- 
 rious indolence. During the reign of James I. 
 the English judges rode to Westminster on horse- 
 back, and probably did so many years after his 
 death. 
 
 Charles I. issued a proclamation, prohibiting 
 hackney-coaches to be used in London, except by 
 those who travelled at least three miles out of 
 town. At the restoration, Charles II. made his 
 public entry into London on horSeback, between 
 his two brothers, the Dukes of York and Glou- 
 cester. 
 
 We are told by Rushworth, that in London, 
 not above a hundred years ago, there were but 
 twenty hackney-coaches, which did not stand in 
 the streets, but were kept at home till called for. 
 
154 
 
 He adds, that the king and counsel published a pro- 
 clamation against them, because they raised the 
 price of provender upon the king, and higher class 
 of people. 
 
 At present, one thousand of those coaches ply 
 in the streets of London. The first coach with 
 glasses, in France, was brought from Brussels to 
 Paris, in the year 1660, by the Prince of Conde. 
 Sedan chairs were not known in England before 
 the year 1634. 
 
 It remains now to remark, that particularly 
 cookery and coaches, as well as every other luxu- 
 ry, tend to destroy virtue and health : the one, by 
 gratifying the appetites to excess, takes away 
 every relish for virtuous improvement; the other, 
 serving our indolence, leaves no necessity for bodi- 
 ly exercise : and so, in partaking of both, a man's 
 health is ruined. 
 
 On the Sense of Property. 
 
 In the earliest ages of the world, perhaps, every 
 man separately hunted for himself and his family. 
 But £is that way of life in itself is subject to many 
 inconveniences, it was thought proper to carry it 
 on in common. We find, accordingly, the prac- 
 tice of hunting and fishing in common, even 
 amongst the wildest sort of people. 
 
155 
 
 In small tribes, where the spirit of freedom is 
 lively, or in a country thinly peopled, in propor- 
 tion to its fertility, the living in common is agreea- 
 ble. But in a large state, where selfishness pre- 
 vails, or in any state wherein is much people, and 
 which will, of course, require extraordinary cul- 
 ture, the best method is to permit every man to 
 shift for himself and his family. 
 
 Men wish to labour for themselves ; . and they 
 labour more ardently for themselves than for the 
 public. The sense of property is not confined to 
 mankind only. The beavers perceive the timber 
 they store up for food, to be their property ; and 
 the bees seem to have the same perception, with 
 respect to their winter's stock of honey. Sheep 
 know when they are in a trespass, and run to 
 their own pasture on the sight of a man : monkeys 
 do the same, when overseen in robbing an or- 
 chard. 
 
 Sheep and horned cattle have a sense of pro- 
 perty with respect to their resting place in a fold 
 or enclosure, which every one guards against the 
 trespass of another. I think he must be wrong 
 who denies that perception to rooks. 
 
 Thieves there are among them, as among men. 
 But if a rook take a stick from another's nest, it is 
 said a council is held, much chattering ensues, and 
 it ends with destroying the nest of the criminal or 
 offender. 
 
 To man alone are furnished rude materials only. 
 To convert these into food and clothing, requires 
 mdustry ; and if he had not a sense that the pro- 
 duct of his labour belongs to himself, his industry 
 would be faint. In general, it is pleasant to ob- 
 serve, 'that the sense . of property is always given 
 where it is useful. 
 
 14 
 
156 
 
 The Heinous Nature of Avarice, 
 
 That thirst of the unrenewed heart after more 
 than is necessary, even of lawful things, is pro- 
 perly called covetousness ; and truly it is a re- 
 proach to any man, and especially a religious per- 
 son, that he knows not when he has enough ; when 
 to leave off; when to be satisfied. 
 
 That notwithstanding one plentiful season of 
 gain after another, he is so far from making that 
 the cause of withdrawing from the trafficks of the 
 world, that he makes it a sufficient reason for 
 launching further into it; as if the more he hath, 
 the more he desires. 
 
 He, therefore, reneweth his appetite, like an un- 
 satisfied glutton, and bestirs himself more than 
 ever, that he may have his share in the scramble, 
 while any thing is to be had : this is as if cumber, 
 not retirement, and gain, not contentment, were 
 the duty and the comfort of the Christian. 
 
 O, that this thing were better considered ! for 
 not being so observable, nor falling under the eye 
 of human law, as other, not greater vices do, there 
 is more danger, for want of that check. It is plain, 
 that most people strive not for a competency alone, 
 but wealth. Some there are, who love it strongly, 
 and spend it freely, or rather prodigally, when they 
 have gotten it. 
 
 Though this is sinful, yet it is more excusable, 
 if not in the carrying on of horrid crimes, than to 
 love money for money's sake ; for this is one of 
 the basest passions the mind of man can be capti- 
 
157 
 
 vated with ; a perfect lust ; and a more soul-de- 
 filing one, is hardly to be found in the catalogue of 
 concupiscence. \ 
 
 See, then, O ye of the rising generation, and nip 
 this poisonous fruit in the bud, least ye be of the 
 number of those which cumber the ground. 
 
 The Greenland Dog, 
 
 The savage aspect and disposition of this dog, 
 seem to bear some affinity to the rigours of the 
 climate it inhabits. 
 
 Most of the Greenland dogs are white ; but 
 some are spotted, and some black. They may 
 rather be said to howl than bark. The Green- 
 landers sometimes eat their flesh ; they make gar- 
 ments of their skins, and use them in drawing 
 sledges. Five of these dogs, that had escaped with 
 their trappings, were found in Greenland, and 
 brought to this country a few years ago, by one of 
 our ships in the fishery. * 
 
 The dogs of Kamschatka are strong, nimble, 
 and active, and are very useful in drawing sledges, 
 the only method of travelling in that dreary coun- 
 try during the winter. They travel with great 
 expedition ; Captain King relates, that during his 
 stay there, a courier, with despatches, drawn by 
 them, performed a journey of 270 miles in less than 
 four days. 
 
 The sledges are usually drawn by five dogs; 
 
.^."^^.s' 
 
 158 
 
 four of them yoked two and two abreast ; the fore- 
 most acts as leader to the rest. The reins being 
 fastened to a collar, round the leading dog's neck, 
 are of little use in directing the pack, the driver 
 depending chiefly on their obedience to his voice, 
 with which he animates them to proceed. 
 
 Great care and attention are necessarily used in 
 training up those for leaders, which are more valu- 
 able according to their steadiness and docility, 
 the sum of forty roubles, or ten pounds sterling, 
 being no unusual price for one of them. 
 
 The rider has a crooked stick, answering the 
 purpose both of whip and reins ; with which, by 
 striking on the snow, he regulates the speed of the 
 dogs, or stops thern at his pleasure. When they 
 are mattentive to their duty, he often chastises 
 them by throwing it at them. 
 
 He discovers great dexterity in regaining his 
 stick, which is the greatest difficulty attending his 
 situation ; for if he should happen to lose it, the 
 dogs immediately perceive the circumstance, and 
 seldom fail to set off at full speed, and continue to 
 run till their strength is exhausted, or till the car- 
 riage is overturned, and dashed to pieces, or hur- 
 ried down a precipice. 
 
 In the winter of 1 784, a dog of this kind was 
 left by a smuggling vessel, near Boomer, on the 
 coast of Northumberland. Finding himself de- 
 serted, he began to worry sheep ; and did so much 
 damage, that he became the terror of the country, 
 within the circuit of above twenty miles. 
 
 When he caught a sheep, he bit a hole in its 
 right side, and after eating the tallow about the 
 kidneys, he left it ; several of them thus lacerated, 
 were found alive by the shepherds, and being ta- 
 ken proper care of, some of them recovered. 
 
159 
 
 From his delicacy in this respect, the destruc- 
 tion he made may in some measure be conceived ; 
 as it may be supposed, that the fat of one sheep a 
 day, would hardly satisfy his hunger. The farmers 
 were so much alarmed by his depredations, that 
 various means were used for his destruction. 
 
 They frequently pursued him with hounds, grey- 
 hounds, &c. but when the dogs came up with him 
 he laid down on his back, as if supplicating for 
 mercy ; and in that position they never hurt him ; 
 he therefore laid quietly, taking his rest, till the 
 hunters approached, when he made off without 
 being followed by the hounds, till they were again 
 excited to the pursuit, which always terminated 
 unsuccessfully. 
 
 And it is worthy of notice, that he was one 
 day pursued from Howick, to upwards of thirty 
 miles distance ; but returned thither and killed 
 sheep the same evening. His constant residence, 
 during the day, was upon a rock on the Heugh- 
 hill^ near Howick, where he had a view of four roads 
 that approached it; and in the spring of 1785, 
 after many fruitless attempts, he was at last shot 
 there. 
 
 Of Water Spouts, 
 
 These spouts are very common in hot cli- 
 mates, though but seldom in our own. They ex- 
 tend from indeterminate heights in the air, down 
 14* 
 
160 
 
 into the sea. Tournefort's account of the last of 
 three, seen by him in the Mediterranean Sea, de- 
 scribes them thus : " In the beginning, they were 
 all about the thickness of one's finger, except at 
 the top, where they were broader. 
 
 " Shortly after, two of them disappeared ; the 
 third one increased considerably, and its canal, 
 which was at first so small, soon became as thick 
 as a man's arm, then as his leg, and at last thicker 
 than his whole body. 
 
 " I saw distinctly through this clear body, the 
 water, which rose up with a winding motion, and 
 it sometimes diminished a httle of its thickness, 
 and again increased to the same : sometimes wi- 
 dening at top, and sometimes at bottom ; and I am 
 almost convinced, that this alteration in the spout 
 was caused by the wind, which pressed the cloud, 
 and forced it to give up its contents. 
 
 " After some time, its bulk was so decreased as 
 to be no thicker than a man's arm again ; and thus 
 swelling and diminishing, it at last became very 
 small. In the end, I observed the sea, which was 
 raised about it, to resume its level by degrees, and 
 the end of the spout that touched it, to become 
 contracted, as if tied around with a cord ; and this 
 continued till the light, striking through the cloud, 
 took away the view. 
 
 " I still, however, continued to look, expecting 
 that* its parts would join again, as I had before 
 seen, in one" of the others, in which the spout was 
 more than once broken, and yet again came to- 
 gether; but I was disappointed, for the spout ap- 
 peared no more." 
 
 These spouts are extremely dangerous to ships 
 at sea, when they happen too near them ; for if 
 
161 
 
 a Vvwel were to strike one of them, it would m- 
 staiiuy break, and either greatly damage or sink 
 it to ine bottom. 
 
 Tlie Polar^ or Great White Bear. 
 
 It inhabits only the coldest parts of the globe, 
 and has been found about latitude eighty, as far 
 as navigators have penetrated northwards. These 
 inhospitable regions seem adapted to its sullen 
 nature. 
 
 It has been seldom seen farther south than 
 Newfoundland ; but abounds chiefly on the shores 
 of Hudson's Bay, Greenland, and Spitzbergen, on 
 one side; and those of Nova Zembla, on the 
 other. 
 
 It has been sometimes found in the intermediate 
 countries of Norway and Iceland; but such as 
 have appeared in those parts, have always been 
 driven thither upon floating sheets of ice, so that 
 those countries are only acquainted with them by 
 accident. 
 
 During summer, they take up their residence 
 on large islands of ice, and frequently pass from 
 one to another. They swim well, and can go to 
 the distance of six or seven leagues ; they likewise 
 dive, but do not continue long under water. 
 
162 
 
 When the pieces of ice are detached by strong 
 winds or currents, the bears allow themselves to 
 be carried along with them ; and as they cannot 
 regain the land, or abandon the ice on which 
 they are embarked, they often perish in the open 
 sea. 
 
 Those which arrive with the ice on the coasts 
 of Iceland or Norway, are almost famished with 
 hunger, from the length of their voyage, and are 
 extremely voracious. 
 
 A few years since, the crew of a boat belonging 
 to a ship in the whale fishery, shot at a bear, at a 
 short distance, and wounded it ; the animal im- 
 mediately set up the most dreadful yells, and ran 
 along the ice towards the boat. 
 
 Before it reached it, a second shot was fired, 
 and hit it. This served to increase its fury; it 
 presently swam to the boat, and in attempting 
 to get on board, reached its fore foot upon the 
 gunwale, but one of the crew having a hatchet, 
 cut it off. ^ 
 
 The animal, hoNvever, still continued to swim 
 after them, till they arrived at the ship, and seve- 
 ral shots were fired at it, which also took effect : 
 but on reaching the ship, it immediately ascended 
 the deck, and the crew having fled into the shrouds, 
 it was pursuing them thither, when a shot from one 
 of them laid it dead upon the deck. 
 
 Its flesh is white, and is said to taste like mut- 
 ton ; the fat is melted for train oil, and that of the 
 feet for medicine. The fondness for their oflf- 
 spring is so great, that they will die rather than 
 desert them. Wounds serve only to make their 
 attachment more violent ; they embrace their cubs 
 to the last, and bemoan them with the most piteous 
 cries. 
 
163 
 
 They feed on fish, seals, and the carcasses of 
 whales. Allured by the scent of the seal's flesh, 
 they often break into the huts of the Greenlanders 
 
 Of Humility in our Attainments, 
 
 Every person of good capacity naturally de- 
 sires increase of knowledge; but what doth 
 knowledge profit without the fear of the Lord? 
 Better is the humble peasant, that serveth God, 
 than tire proud philosopher, who, destitute of the 
 itnowledge of himself, can describe the course of 
 the planets. 
 
 He that truly knows himself, becomes vile in 
 1^ own eyes, and has no delight in the praise of 
 man. If I knew all that the world contains, and 
 had not charity, what would it avail me in the 
 sight of God, wlTo will judge me according to my 
 deeds? Rest from an inordinate desire of know- 
 ledge, for it is subject to much perplexity and de- 
 lusion. 
 
 Learned men are fond of the notice of the 
 world, and desire to be accounted wise ; but there 
 are many thingss the knowledge of which has no 
 tendency to promote the divine life; and it is 
 surely a proof of folly to dfcvote ourselves wholly 
 to that with which our supreme good has no 
 connexion. 
 
 The heart is not to be satisfied with a multitude 
 of words ; but a holy life is a continual feast, and 
 
164 
 
 a pure conscience the foundation of a firm and 
 immoveable confidence in the Almighty. The 
 more thou knowest, and the better thou under- 
 standest, tlie more severe will be thy condemna- 
 tion, unless thy life be proportionably more holy 
 and useful. 
 
 Be not, therefore, exalted for any uncommon 
 skill in any art or science, but let thy knowledge, 
 if superior, make thee more fearful and more watch- 
 ful over thyself. 
 
 If thou wouldst learn and know that which is 
 truly useful, love to be unknown as to thy abili- 
 ties, and to be held in no estimation ; for the high- 
 est and most profitable learning is, the-knowledge 
 and contempt of ourselves ; and to have no opin- 
 ion of our own merit, and always to think well and 
 highly of the good in others, is an evidence of 
 true wisdom and perfection. Therefore, though 
 all men are frail, thou shouldst count none more so 
 than thyself. 
 
 On the Study of History, 
 
 The advantages found in history seem to be of 
 three kinds ; as it amuses the fancy, as it im- 
 proves the understanding, and as it strengthens 
 virtue. 
 
 In reality, what more agreeable entertainment 
 ■ to the mind than to be transported into the re- 
 motest ages of the world, and to observe human 
 
165 
 
 society, in its infancy, making the first faint essays 
 toward the arts and sciences ? to see the policy 
 of government and the civility of conversation re- 
 fining by degrees, and every thing that is orna- 
 mental to human life, advancing towards its per- 
 fection ? to mark the rise, progress, declension, 
 and final extinction of the most flourishing em- 
 pires ; the virtues which contribute to their great- 
 ness, and the vices which drew on their ruin ? In 
 short, to see all the human race, from the begin- 
 ning of time, pass as it were in review before us, 
 appearing in their true colours, without any of 
 those disguises which, during their life time, so 
 much perplexed the judgment of the beholders T 
 What spectacle can be imagined so magnificent, 
 so various, so interesting ? What amusement, either 
 of the senses or imagination, can be compared 
 with it ? Shall those trifling pastimes, which en- 
 gross so much of our time, be preferred as more 
 satisfactory, and more fit to engage our attention ? 
 How perverse must that taste be, which is capable 
 of so wrong a choice of pleasures ? 
 
 But history is a most improving part of know- 
 ledge, as well as an agreeable amusement ; and, 
 -'^'^ed, a great part of what we commonly call 
 
 ^ jon, and value so highly, is nothing but an 
 .^ ^^intance with historical facts. An extensive 
 knowledge of this kind, belongs to men of letters ; 
 but I must think it an unpardonable ignorance in 
 persons of whatever sex or condition, not to be 
 acqu-iinted with the history of their own country, 
 along with the histories of ancient Greece and 
 Rcme. 
 
 ^ must add, that history is not only a valuable 
 p'jtrt of knowledge, but opens the door to many 
 ■ ther parts of knowledge, and affords materials to 
 
166 
 
 most of the sciences. And, indeed, if we consider 
 the shortness of hiiman life, and our limited know- 
 ledge, even of what passes in our own time, we 
 must be sensible, that we should be forever children 
 in understanding, were it not for this invention , 
 which extends our experience to all past ages, and 
 to the most distant nations, making them contri- 
 bute as much to our improvement in wisdom as il 
 they had actually lain under our observation. A 
 man acquainted with history, may, in some re- 
 spect, be said to have lived from the beginning of 
 the world, and to have been making continual ad- 
 ditions to his stock of knowledge in every century 
 There is also an advantage in that knowledge 
 which is acquired by history, above what is learn- 
 ed by the practice of the world, that it brings us 
 acquainted with human afiairs, without diminish- 
 ing in the least from the most delicate sentiments 
 of virtue. And, to tell the truth, I scarcely know 
 any study or occupation so unexceptionable as his- 
 tory in this particular. Poets can paint virtue in 
 the most charming colours; but as they address 
 themselves entirely to the passions, they often be- 
 come advocates for vice. Even philosophers are 
 apt to bewilder themselves in the subtilty of thpi'* 
 speculations; and we have seen some go SQ ' 
 to deny the reality of all moral distinctions. 
 I think it a remark worthy the attention ot me 
 speculative reader, that the historians have been, 
 almost without exception^ the true friends )f vir- 
 tue, and have always represented it in iu pro- 
 per colours, however they may have erred in their 
 judgments about particular persons. Nor is ♦his 
 combination of historians in favour of virtue, at all 
 difficult to be accounted for. When a man if 
 business enters into life and action, he is more aj 
 
167 
 
 to consider the characters of men as they have 
 relation to his interest, than as they stand in them- 
 selves, and has his judgment warped on every 
 occasion by the violence of his passion. When a 
 philosopher contemplates characters and manners 
 m his closet, the general abstract view of the ob- 
 jects, leaves the mind so cold and unmoved, that 
 the sentiments of nature have no room to play, 
 as he scarce feels the difference betwixt vice 
 and virtue. History keeps in a just medium be- 
 twixt these extremes, and places the objects in 
 their true point of view. The writers of history, 
 as well as the readers, are sufficiently interested 
 in the characters and events, to have a lively sen- 
 timent of blame or praise ; and, at the same time, 
 have no particular interest or concern to pervert 
 their judgment. 
 
 On the Government of the Heart, 
 
 Keep thy heart with all diligence ; for out of 
 it are the issues of lifo Among the many wise 
 counsels given by the inspired king Solomon, there 
 is none which deserves greater regard than this. 
 Its importance, however, is too seldom perceived 
 by the generality of men. They are apt to con- 
 sider the regulation of external conduct as the chiel 
 object of attention. 
 
 If they can act their part with decency, and 
 maintain a fair character, they conceive their 
 15 
 
168 
 
 duty to be fulfilled. What passes in the mean 
 time within their minds, they suppose to be of no 
 great consequence, either to themselves, or to the 
 world. 
 
 In opposition to this dangerous plan of morali- 
 ty, the wise man exhorts us to keep the heart ; 
 that is, to attend not only to our actions, but to 
 our thoughts and desires; and to keep the heart 
 with all diligence, that is, with sedulous and unre- 
 mitting care ; for which he assigns this reason, that, 
 out of the heart are the issues of life. 
 
 The issues of life are justly said to be out of 
 the heart, because the state of the heart is what 
 determines our moral character, and what forms 
 our chief happiness or misery. The tenour of our 
 actions will always correspond to the dispositions 
 that prevail within. To dissemble, or to suppress 
 them, is a fruitless attempt. For while evil dis- 
 positions are suffered to remain in the heart, they 
 will perpetually break forth m our behaviour. 
 
 On whatever side the weight of incHnation 
 hangs, it will. draw the practice after it. In vain, 
 therefore, you study to preserve your hands clean, 
 unless you resolve, at the same time, to«keep your 
 hearts pure. Make the tree good, as our Saviour 
 directs, and then its fruit will be good also. If the 
 fountain be once poisoned, you can never expect 
 that salubrious streams will flow from it. Through- 
 out the whole of their course, they will carry the 
 taint of the parent spring. 
 
 But it is not merely from its influence on exter- 
 nal actions, that the importance of the heart to our 
 moral character arises. Independent of all action, 
 it is, in truth, the state of the heart itself which 
 forms our character in the sight of God. 
 
IG9 
 
 With our fellow-creatures, actions must ever 
 hold the chief rank; because, by these only can 
 we judge of one another : by these we effect each 
 other^'s welfare ; and, therefore, to these alone the 
 regulations of human laws extend. But in the 
 eye of that Supreme Being, to whom our whole 
 internal frame is uncovered, dispositions hold the 
 place of actions-, and it is not so much what we 
 perform, as the motives which move us to per- 
 formance, that constitute us good or evil in his 
 sight. 
 
 Even among men, the morality of actions is es- 
 timated by the principle from which they are 
 judged to proceed ; and such as the principle is, 
 such is the man accounted to be. One, for in- 
 stance, may spend much of his fortune in chari- 
 table actions ; and yet, if he is believed to be influ- 
 enced by mere ostentation, he is deemed not 
 charitable, but vain. 
 
 If reason thus clearly teaches us to estimate the 
 value of actions, by the dispositions which give 
 them birth, it is an obvious conclusion, that, accord- 
 mg to those dispositions, we are all ranked and 
 classed by him who seeth into every heart. 
 
 The rectification of our principles of action, is 
 the primary object of religious discipline: and, in 
 proportion as this is more or less advanced, we are 
 more or less religious. Accordingly, the regenera- 
 tion of the heart, is every where represented in tlie 
 Gospel as the most essential requisite in the cha- 
 racter of a christian. 
 
 The state of the heart not only determines our 
 moral character, but forms our principal happiness 
 or misery. External situations of fortune are of 
 no farther consequence, than as they operate on 
 the heart ; and their operation there is far from 
 
170 
 
 corresponding to the degree of worldly prosperity 
 or adversity. If from any internal cause, a man'* 
 peace of mind be disturbed, in vain you load him 
 with riches and honours. 
 
 Discomposed thoughts, agitated passions, and ai 
 ruffled temper, poison every ingredient of pleasure 
 which the world can bestow. In order to acquire 
 a capacity for happiness, it must be our first at- 
 tention to rectify such inward disorders. What- 
 ever discipline tends to accomplish this purpose, it 
 is of greater importance than the acquisition of the 
 advantages of fortune. 
 
 Think what your heart now is, and what must 
 be the consequence of remitting your vigilance in 
 watching over it. It is said in scripture, to be 
 deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked. 
 Inattention and remissness are what the adversary 
 desires, in order to gain full advantage. While we 
 are careless and inattentive to our religious duty, 
 he sows tares in the field of the heart. The heart 
 which he finds vacant and unguarded, he presently 
 garnishes with evil spirits. 
 
 Keep thy heart, therefore, with all diligence, 
 for all thy diligence is here required. And though 
 thy own keeping alone will not avail, unless the as- 
 sistance of a higher power occur ; yet of this be 
 well assured, that no aid from Heaven is to be ex- 
 pected, if thou shalt neglect to exert thyself in 
 performing the part assigned thee. 
 
171 
 
 Virtue Marl's highest Interest 
 
 I FIND myself existing upon a little spot, sur- 
 rounded every way by an immense unknown ex- 
 pansion. Where am I? What sort of place do I 
 inhabit ? Is it exactly accommodated in every in- 
 stance to my convenience ? Is there no excess of 
 cold, none of heat to offend me ? Am I never an- 
 noyed by animals, either of my own or a different 
 kind ? Is every thing subservient to me, as though 
 I had ordered all myself? No — nothing like it— 
 the farthest from it possible. 
 
 The world appears not, then, originally made 
 for the private convenience of me alone ? — It does 
 not. But is it not possible so to accommodate it, 
 by my own particular industry ? If to accommo- 
 date man and beast, heaven and earth, if this be 
 beyond me, it is not possible. What consequence 
 then follows? or can there be any other than this? 
 If I seek an interest of my own, detached from that 
 of others, I seek an interest which is chimerical, and 
 which can never have existence. 
 
 How, then, must I determine ? Have I no inte- 
 rest at all? If I have not, I am stationed here to no 
 purpose. But why no interest ? Can I be content- 
 ed with none but one separate and detached ? Is a 
 social interest joined with others, such an absurdi- 
 ty as not to be admitted ? The bee, the beaver, 
 and the tribes of herding animals are sufficient to 
 convince me, that the thing is somewhere at least 
 possible. ' 
 
 How, then, am I assured that it is noi^qually 
 true of man? Admit it ; and what follows? If so, 
 15* :' 
 
' 172 
 
 then honour and justice are my interest ; then the 
 whole train of moral virtues are my interest ; with- 
 out some portion of which, not even thieves can 
 maintain society. 
 
 But farther still — I stop not here — I pursue this 
 social interest as far as I can trace my several re- 
 lations. I pass from my own stock, my own 
 neighbourhood, my own nation, to the whole race 
 of mankind, as dispersed throughout the earth. 
 Am I not related to them all, by the mutual aid of 
 commerce, by the general intercourse of arts and 
 letters, by that common nature of which we all 
 participate? 
 
 Again — I must have food and clothing. With- 
 out a proper genial warmth, I instantly perish. Am 
 I not related, in this view, to the very earth itself ; 
 to the distant sun, from whose beams I derive vi- 
 gour ? to that stupendous course and order of the 
 infinite hosts of heaven, by which the times and 
 seasons ever uniformly pass on ? Were this order 
 once confounded, I could not probably survive a 
 moment : so absolutely do I depend on this com- 
 mon general welfare. 
 
 What then have I to do, but to enlarge virtue 
 into piety ? Not only honour and justice, and what 
 I owe to man are my interest ; but gratitude also, 
 acquiescence, resignation, adoration, and all I owe 
 to this great polity, and its great Governor, our 
 common Parent. 
 
173 
 
 Vicious Connexions the Ruin of Virtue, 
 
 Among the numerous causes which introduce 
 corruption into the heart, and accelerate its growth, 
 none is more unhappily powerful, than the conta- 
 gion which is diffused by bad examples, and height- 
 ened by particular connexions with persons of loose 
 principles, or dissolute morals. 
 
 This, in a licentious state of society, is the most 
 common source of those vices and disorders which 
 so much abound in great cities ; and often proves, 
 in a particular manner, fatal to the young; even to 
 them whose beginnings were once auspicious and 
 promising. 
 
 It may, therefore, be a useful employment of at- 
 tention, to trace the progress of this principle of 
 corruption ; to examine the means by which ' evil 
 communications' gradually undermine, and at last 
 destroy ' good morals.' It is, indeed, disagreeable 
 to contemplate human nature, in this downward 
 course of its progress. But it is always profitable 
 to know our own infirmities and dangef». 
 
 As certain virtuous principles are still inherent 
 in human nature, there are few who set out at first 
 in the world without good dispositions. The 
 warmth which belongs to youth, naturally "exerts 
 itself in generous feelings, and sentiments of hon- 
 our ; in strong attachment to friends, and the other 
 emotions of a kind and tender heart. Almost all 
 the plans with which persons who have been liber- 
 ally educated, begin the world, are connected with 
 honourable views. At that period, they repudiate 
 
174 
 
 whatever is mean or base. It is pleasing to them, 
 to think of commanding the esteem of those among 
 whom they hve, and of acquiring a name among 
 men 
 
 But alas ! how soon does this flattering prospect 
 begin to be overcast ! Desires of pleasure usher m 
 temptation, and forward the growth of disorderly 
 passions. Ministers of vice are seldom wanting to 
 encourage and flatter the passions of the young. 
 Inferiors study to creep into favour, by servile 
 obsequiousness to all their desires and humours. 
 
 Glad to find any apology for the indulgences of 
 which they are fond, the young too readily listen 
 to the voice of those who suggest to them, that 
 strict notions of religion, order, and virtue, are old- 
 fashioned and illiberal ; that the restraints which 
 they impose, are only fit to be prescribed to those • 
 who are in the first stage of pupilage ; or to be 
 preached to the vulgar, who ought to be kept 
 within the closest bounds of regularity and sub- 
 jection. But the goodness of their hearts, it is 
 insinuated to them, and the liberality of their 
 views, will fully justify their emancipating them- 
 selves, in some degree, from tlie rigid discipline of 
 parents and teachers. 
 
 Soothing as such insinuations are to the youthful 
 and inconsiderate, their first steps, however, in vice, 
 are cautious and timid, and occasionally checked 
 by remorse. As they begin to mingle more in the 
 world, and emerge into circles of gayety and plea- 
 sure, finding those loose ideas countenanced by 
 too general practice, they gradually become bolder 
 in the liberties they take. 
 
 If they have been bred to business, they begin 
 to tire of industry, and look with contempt on 
 the plodding race of citizens. If they are of su- 
 
• 175 
 
 perior rank, they think it becomes them to resem- 
 ble their equals ; to assume that freedom of beha- 
 viour, that air of forwardness, that tone of dissipa- 
 tion, that easy negligence of those with whom they 
 converse, which appear fashionable in high life. 
 
 If affluence or fortune unhappily occur to fa- 
 vour their inclinations, amusements and diversions 
 succeed in a perpetual round ; night and day are 
 confounded; gaming fills up their vacant intervals; 
 they live wholly in public places; they run into 
 many degrees of excess, disagreeable even to 
 themselves, merely from a weak complaisance and 
 the fear of being ridiculed by their loose asso- 
 ciates. 
 
 Among these associates, the most hardened and 
 determined always take the lead. The rest follow 
 them with implicit submission ; and make profi- 
 ciency in this school of iniquity, in exact propor- 
 tion to the weakness of their understandings, and* 
 the strength of their passions. 
 
 How many pass away after this manner, some 
 of the most valuable years of their life, tost in a 
 whirlpool of what cannot be called pleasure, so 
 much as mere giddiness and folly ! In the habits 
 of perpetual connexion with idle or licentious com- 
 pany, all reflection is lost ; while, circulated from 
 one empty head, and one thoughdess heart to 
 another, folly shoots up into all its most ridicu- 
 lous forms ; prompts the extravagant, unmeaning 
 frolic in private ; or sallies forth in public into mad 
 not; impelled sometimes by intoxication, some- 
 times by mere levity of spirits. 
 
 All the while, amidst this whole course of ju- 
 venile infatuation, I readily admit, that much good 
 nature may still remain. Generosity and attach- 
 
, 176 
 
 ments may be found : nay, some awe of religion 
 may still subsist, and some remains of those good 
 impressions which were made upon the mind in 
 early days. 
 
 It migiit yet be very possible to reclaim such 
 persons, and to form them for useful and respecta- 
 ble stations in the world, if virtuous and improv- 
 ing society shouW happily succeed to the places 
 of that idle crew with whom they now associate ; 
 if important business should occur, to bring them 
 into a different sphere of action ; or if some sea- 
 sonable stroke of affliction should in mercy be sent, 
 to recall them to themselves, and to awaken setious 
 and manly thought. 
 
 But, if youth and vigour, and flowing fortune con- 
 tinue ; if a similar succession of companions go on 
 to amuse them, to engross their time, and to stir 
 up their passions ; the day of ruin — let them take 
 heed, and beware ! — the day of irrecoverable ruin, 
 begins to draw nigh. Fortune is squandered; 
 health is broken ; friends are offended, affronted, 
 estranged ; and aged parents, perhaps, sent afflict- 
 ed and mourning to the dust. 
 
 On the Duties which we owe to Society 
 
 Society has been compared to a heap of em 
 bers, which, when separated, soon languish, darken, 
 and expire ; but if placed together, glow with a 
 warm and animated heat. 
 
177 
 
 That our happiness depends upon the cultiva- 
 tion of the social duties, and upon the nurture of 
 susceptible emotions, none but the misanthropist 
 will deny ; for so gratifying is the enjoyment of 
 participated pleasures, and so unsatisfactory those 
 in which no one claims a share, that from motives 
 of polity we might cherish aftection, and from self- 
 ish considerations try to gain esteem. 
 
 Abstract the man of virtue and benevolence from 
 society, and you at once destroy the source of his 
 delight, blast the buds of promised happiness, and 
 leave a dreary vacuum round his heart. 
 
 The benevolent author of our being, so consti- 
 tuted and ordained our nature, that we should 
 derive felicity from communicating happiness, and 
 experience delight from imparting joy; and shall 
 we ungraciously counteract his benevolent de- 
 signs ; and, instead of contributing to the happi- 
 ness of our neighbour, selfishly attend to our own 
 gratifications ? 
 
 No real felicity can exist independent of sus- 
 ceptibility and affection, and the heart of him who 
 IS cold to the soothing voice of friendship, dead to 
 the melting strains of love, and insensible to the 
 plaintive pleadings of distress, is a mansion only 
 calculated for demoniac spirits, or a cheerless dwell- 
 ingfor disgust and spleen. 
 
 The advantages derived from unanimity and 
 friendship, are so many and apparent, that it 
 seems almost impossible to believe they are not 
 universally cultivated ; and every day's experi- 
 ence must convince an observing mind", that every 
 amiable impression springs from the nurture of 
 philanthropy and benevolence ; and that the va- 
 rious vices which disgrace our nature, multiply 
 in proportion to the decrease of domestic bli?5 
 
178 
 
 He who is capable of despising those bonds which 
 consanguinity and affection jointly frame, is seldom 
 proof against the allurements of vice ; for his hear* 
 IS callous to the voice of persuasion, and self-enjoy- 
 ment is the only object of his desire. 
 
 The being who would study his own happiness, 
 should invariably consider that of others ; and by 
 trying to augment their cup of felicity, he will not 
 fail to increase his own. 
 
 The savage who never knew the blessings of 
 association, and he who quits society from apathy 
 or spleen, bear an equal resemblance to the sep- 
 arated ember, which is incapable of communica- 
 ting either warmth or light. He who has been 
 accustomed to despise the feelings of the son, the 
 husband, and the friend, and to laugh at those ties 
 which embellish human nature, imperceptibly ac 
 quires a ferocity of manners, that absolutely de- 
 grades the very name of man. 
 
 It should, therefore, be early inculcated into 
 the minds of youth, that our pleasures and en- 
 joyment will be in proportion to our endeavours 
 to lighten the burden of our fellow-creatures. 
 Were this method universally adopted, and chil- 
 dren taught to cherish the soft affections, how 
 much of that wanton cruelty would be avoided, 
 which so frequently disgraces our boyish years ; 
 and what is still more lamentable, occasions a cal- 
 losity of feeling throughout our future lives. 
 
 Creatures as we are of habit and custom, how 
 absolutely essential is it to our peace, that those 
 which are acquired before the judgment is en- 
 lightened, should uniformly lead to the practice of 
 virtue I 
 
179 
 
 Description of a Cavern in Derbyshire, 
 England, called the Peak^s Hole. 
 
 Having procured the proper guide, I went 
 to see the famous Peak's Hole. As we approach- 
 ed this wonderful cavern, we crossed a bridge 
 over a rivulet, which issues from the mouth of 
 the cave ; this mouth is at the bottom of a perpen- 
 dicular rock, that forms part of the front of the 
 mountain. The form of this part of the mountain 
 is like that of a book set on end, and half opened, 
 the back of the book being from the observer. 
 Near the angle is the mouth of the cavern. As 
 we proceeded into the fissure, I looked up these 
 rocky walls, and saw the old castle, at a giddy 
 height, apparently threatening to fall. The guide 
 pointed out several veins of lead. The entrance 
 into the cavern passes close under the right side 
 of the two precipices, which, meeting at an acute 
 angle, form the fissure in the mountain. Impres- 
 sions of sublimity are produced by looking up this 
 precipice of 250 feet perpendicular height, and a 
 kind of horror is added to the place by numerous 
 jackdaws, which build their nests in the c^vices, 
 and find in these inaccessible clifls a secure ri^reat ; 
 they were continually flying in a black cloud 
 around the rocks, and disturbing the air with^^eir 
 croaking. These rocks are lime-stone, filled with 
 marine exuviae. We now entered the cavern. It 
 opens with a grand arch, almost mathematically 
 regular, but the abutment on the left is considcra- 
 IG 
 
, 180 
 
 bly lower than that on the right. This arch is 
 120 feet wide, and 70 feet high, reckoning from 
 the level of the abutirent on the left. Under this 
 magnificent portico, we entered the first cavern, 
 which is 180 feet long, the arch falling a little to- 
 wards the farther end. I was surprised to find the 
 cavern inhabited. A number of poor women and 
 children carry on here a manufacture of cord and 
 twine, and some of them live here permanently in 
 small huts, sheltered by the impending mountain. 
 Having arrived at the end of this first cavern, I 
 looked back with feelings of awe and solemnity, 
 not unmixed with something very much like 
 dread. This cavern is only a continuation of the 
 great arch at the entrance, falling as it recedes 
 from the light, of which there is, however, enough 
 to enable one to see the whole of it, and to make 
 him realize that a mountain is over his head. This 
 arched roof, being of lime-stone, abounds with 
 calcareous concretions, and a remarkable one was 
 pointed out, which, from its form, and the manner 
 in whic4i it depends from the roof, is called the 
 Flitch of Bacon. 
 
 The end of the cavern is so much contracted 
 in its dimensions, that it has been completely clo- 
 sed up, by an artificial wall, where there is a door, 
 of which the guide has the key. The wall and 
 door are intended to exclude impertinent visiters ; 
 and to secure to the guide the exclusive privilege of 
 conducting strangers through the place. 
 
 After entering the door, the passage became 
 narrow and low, and we proceeded, stooping, till 
 we arrived in a place called the Bdl House, from 
 some resemblance betAveen its form and that of a 
 bell. 
 
 K 
 
181 
 
 Beyond this, the cavern became again low and 
 narrow, till it was almost closed, leaving only 
 a small orifice of about three feet diameter. 
 Here the rivulet, which we had followed up from 
 the mouth of the cave, spread into a little lake, 
 occupying the whole of the bottom of the cavern. 
 But we were not stopped ; there was a ferry-boat 
 ready. The bottom of it was spread with clean 
 straw, and by the direction of my guide I got into 
 it, and lay down flat on my back. My guide step- 
 ped into the water up to his knees, and pushed 
 the boat before him through the narrow aperture, 
 which was merely high enough to permit the boat 
 to pass, and the guide to crawl after it. It would 
 be impossible for one to pass if sitting up in the 
 boat. 
 
 We had now arrived in a new cavern, much 
 larger and more majestic than any which we had 
 yet seen. A flood of light was necessary to ren- 
 der it all visible, for it was 120 feet high, 200 
 broad, and 250 feet lon^. Its walls were lime- 
 stone, filled as before with shells. Crossing the 
 rivulet on stepping stones, we next found ourselves 
 in a small cavern, which, on account of the con- 
 stant exudation of water from the roof, is called 
 Roger Rain's House. 
 
 A large cavern, called the Chancel, came next. 
 Its appearance was broken and rude, and the 
 lights discovered some stalactites. When the 
 guide has notice that a party is coming to view 
 the cavern, he causes a piece of deception to be 
 played off" in the Chancel, which I, being a solita- 
 ly stranger, had not the pleasure of witnessing. 
 When the party arrive at this cavern, they are 
 on a sudden, astonished and confounded at hear- 
 ing from the roof of this solitary mansion, wiiich 
 
182 
 
 a moment before was dark as midnight, and silent 
 as the tombs, an instantaneous burst of human 
 voices, multiplied by a thousand echoes. While 
 they are in vain looking for the cause of this 
 seeming enchantment, a blaze of light from the 
 roof of the cavern, discovers a number of figures in 
 white, singing and bearing torches in their hands 
 Those who are not in the secret, are almost per- 
 suaded that they are in an enchanted cave, where 
 the sceaes of romance and fable have real exist- 
 ence. The delusion vanishes, however, when they 
 are informed, that a number of people from the 
 village, equipped on purpose, have gone up a se- 
 cret passage to the roof of the Chancel, with con- 
 cealed lights, which, at the concerted moment, 
 they suddenly produce. 
 
 We travelled on to a fissure in the rock, called 
 the DevWs Cellar, and after descending gradually 
 150 feet, we came to the half way house. The 
 roof now assumed greater regularity ; three par- 
 allel arches were in view, and beyond these, a ca- 
 vern like a bell called Tom of Lincoln. Proceed- 
 ing, we found the cavern very various, both in 
 height and breadth ; the rivulet appeared perfectly 
 transparent, and its bed was white with calca- 
 reous spar, brought down and rounded by the 
 water. 
 
 At last, we reached the end of this grand sub- 
 terranean wonder. Its whole length is 2250 feet, 
 or nearly half a mile. 
 
 We now retraced our steps. [ was again laid 
 in the little boat, and ferried th )ugh the narrow 
 passage ; — we travelled back as %st as we could 
 with safety, and with- candles bu»fnt down to our 
 fingers, again reached the wooder door, and open 
 
83 
 
 ing it, I beheld the hght, with a little secret joy^ 
 which, had I been questioned, I might have been 
 too stout-hearted to have acknowledged 
 
 The Sun. 
 
 In meditating on the wonderful works of God, 
 the first object whicii generally strikes the attention, 
 is that 'glorious luminary, the Sun. It appears 
 to dwell in the heavens as in a grand pavilion. 
 The form of it is nearly, if not quite spherical. Its 
 magnitude is great indeed ! The diameter of it is 
 computed to be 890,000 miles, which is more than 
 equal to a hundred diameters of our earth. But 
 what its substance is, whether it be a liquid or a 
 solid globe, who can tell ? 
 
 The distance of the sun from our earthly abode 
 is truly astonishing; it being more than ninety 
 millions of miles! a distance so prodigious, that a 
 cannon ball, flying at the rate of four hundred and 
 eighty miles an hour, would not reach us in nine- 
 teen years. And yet the rays of light which 
 issue from it, are said to be no longer than seven 
 or eight mmutes in their passage — a rapidity so 
 stupendous, as to be nearly equal to seven times 
 the circumference of our world in a minute. Our 
 merciful Creator has placed the earth at the most 
 convenient distance from the sun, near enough to 
 be sufficiently warmed by it, yet not so near as to 
 . 16* 
 
184 
 
 be consumed. The sun now is generally acknow 
 ledged to be in the centre of our system : it does 
 i>ot perform a circuit round the earth, as, from ap- 
 pearances, we would naturally conclude, and as 
 the ancient philosophers supposed : — it revolves 
 only round its own axis ; and does this once in 
 the space of twenty-five days and six hours. Va- 
 rious experiments have produced evidences in favour 
 of the present, or, as it is commonly called, the Co- 
 pernican hypothesis; and such, indeed, as almost 
 to amount to demonstration. To these testimonies 
 may be subjoined the doctrine of eclipses. The 
 causes of eclipses is obvious : w hen the moon pas- 
 ses between the earth and the sun, so as to inter- 
 cept his rays, he is said to be eclipsed. This 
 never happens but at the time of new moon ; be- 
 cause it is only then that she passes between the 
 sun and the earth. When the earth is interposed 
 between the moon and the sun, then the moon is 
 eclipsed, and this is only at the time of the full 
 moon. 
 
 Who can think of the vast bulk of the sun with- 
 out calling to mind its glorious Creator? He is 
 emphatically styled, " the Father of Lights." If 
 the material sun be so great, how inconceivably 
 great must He be who spake, and it was made, 
 who commanded, and it stood fast! The fixed 
 stars also, which, on account of their immense dis- 
 tance, appear to us so very small, are, it is very 
 probable, so many suns equal in magnitude to 
 ours, and answering the same purposes in other 
 systems, as ours does in this. Each of them seems 
 formed to communicate light and heat to a certain 
 number of inhabited planets, kept by gravitation 
 within the sphere of its activity. " With what an 
 august conception does this furnish us of the works 
 
185 
 
 of the Creator ! Thousands of thousands of suns, 
 attended by ten thousand times ten thousand 
 worlds, all in rapid motion, yet calm, regular, and 
 harmonious, invariably keeping the paths pre- 
 scribed them ; and those worlds peopled with 
 myriads of intelligent beings! O how great, how 
 wise, how good, must He be, who made and go 
 verns the whole !" 
 
 A Good Co7iscie?ice. 
 
 What is there in all the pomp of the world, 
 and the enjoyment of luxury, or the gratification of 
 passion, comparable to the tranquil delight of a 
 good conscience ? It is the health of the mind. 
 It is a sweet perfume that diffuses its fragrance 
 over every thing near it without exhausting its 
 store. Unaccompanied by this, the gay plea- 
 sures of the world are like brilliants to a diseased 
 eye, music to a deaf ear, wine in an ardent fever, 
 or dainties in the languor of an ague. 
 
 To lie down on the pillow after a day spent in 
 temperance, in beneficence, and piety, how sweet 
 is it 1 How different from the state of him who 
 rechnes at an unnatural hour, with his blood in- 
 flamed, his head throbbing with wine and gluttony, 
 his heart aching with rancorous malice, his 
 thoughts totally estranged from Him who has 
 protected him in the day, and will watch over him, 
 ungrateful as he is, in the night season ! A good 
 conscience is indeed the peace of God. 
 
186 
 
 Passions lulled to sleep, clear thoughts, a cheer- 
 ful temper, a disposition to be pleased with every 
 obvious and innocent object around ; these are the 
 effects of a good conscience ; these constitute 
 happiness ; and these condescend to dwell with 
 the poor man, in his humble cottage, in the vale 
 of obscurity. In the magnificent mansion of the 
 proud and vain, glitter the exteriors of happi- 
 ness, — the gilding, the trappings, the pride, and the 
 pomp ; but in the decent habitation of piety is 
 oftener found the downy nest of heavenly peace ; 
 that solid good, of which the parade of the vain, 
 the frivolous, and the voluptuous, is but a shadowy 
 semblance. 
 
 To the Sea. 
 
 Hail] thou inexhaustible source of wonder and 
 contemplation ! — Hail ! thou multitudinous ocean ! 
 whose waves chase one another down hke the 
 generations of men, and after a momentary space, 
 are immerged for ever in oblivion. — Thy fluctu- 
 ating waters wash the varied shores of the world, 
 and while they disjoin nations whom a nearer con- 
 nexion might involve in continued war, they cir- 
 culate their arts, and their labours, and give health 
 and plenty to mankind. 
 
 How glorious ! how awful are the scenes thou 
 jdisplayest, whether we view thee when every 
 wind is hushed, — when the morning sun silvers 
 the level line of the horizon, — or when its evening 
 track is marked with shiniijg gold, and thy unrip 
 
187 
 
 pled bosom reflects the radiance of the over-arching 
 heavens ! — or whether we behold thee in thy ter- 
 rors ! — when the black tempest sweeps thy swell^s 
 ing billows, and the boiling surge mixes with the 
 clouds, — when death rides the storm, — and hu- 
 manity drops a fruitless tear for the toiling mariner 
 whose heart is sinking with dismay ! 
 
 And yet, mighty deep ! 'tis thy surface alone we 
 view — who can penetrate the secrets of thy wide 
 domain? — What eye can visit thy immense rocks 
 and caverns, that teem with life and vegetation? — 
 Or search out the myriads of objects, whose beau- 
 ties lie scattered over thy dread abyss ? 
 
 The mind staggers with the immensity of her 
 own conception, — and when she contemplates the 
 flux and reflux of thy tides, which from the begin- 
 ning of the world continue their regular course, 
 how does she shrink at the idea of that Divine 
 Power, which originally laid thy foundations so 
 sure, and whose omnipotent voice hath fixed the 
 limits where thy proud waves shall be stayed ! 
 
 Dr, Dodcfs Address to the Court before he 
 received sentence of Death. 
 
 My Lord, — I now stand before j^ou a dreadful 
 example of human infirmity. I entered upon pub- 
 lic life with the expectations common to young 
 men whose education has been liberal, and whose 
 abilities have been flattered, and, when I became 
 a clergyman, considered myself as not impairing 
 
188 
 
 the dignity of the order. I was not an idle, nor, I 
 hope, an useless, minister. I taught the truths of 
 Christianity with the zeal of conviction, and the 
 authority of innocence. My labours were ap- 
 proved; my pulpit became popular; and I have 
 reason to believe, that of those who heard me, 
 some have been preserved from sin, and some have 
 been reclaimed. Condescend, my lord, to thhik, 
 if these considerations aggravate my crime, how 
 much they must imbitter my punishment. 
 
 Being distinguished and elated by the confi- 
 dence of mankind, I h^d too much confidence in 
 myself: and thinking my integrity what others 
 thought it, established in sincerity, and fortified by 
 religion, I did not consider the danger of vanity, 
 nor suspect the deceitfulness of my own heart. 
 The day of conflict came, in which temptation sur- 
 prised and overwhelmed me. I committed the 
 crime, which I entreat your lordship to believe that 
 my conscience hourly represents to me in its full 
 bulk of mischief and malignity. Many have been 
 overpowered by temptation, who now are among 
 the penitent in heaven. 
 
 To an act now waiting the decision of vindic- 
 tive justice, I will not presume to oppose the coun- 
 terbalance of almost thirty years, (a great part of 
 the life of man) passed in exciting and exercising 
 charity : in relieving such distresses as I now feel, 
 in administering those consolations which I now 
 want. I will not otherwise extenuate my offence, 
 than by declaring, what many circumstances make 
 probable, that I did not intend to be finally fraudu- 
 lent. Nor will it become me to apportion my 
 punishment, by alleging that my sufferings have 
 been not much less than my guilt. I have fallen 
 
189 
 
 from reputation, which ought to have made me 
 cautious ; and from a fortune, which ought to have 
 given me content. 1 am sunk at once into poverty 
 and scorn ; my name and my crime fill the ballads 
 in the street, the sport of the thoughtless, and the 
 triumph «f the wicked. 
 
 It may seem strange that, remembering what I 
 have lately been, I should wish to continue what 
 I am. But contempt of death, how speciously so- 
 ever it might mingle with heathen virtues, has 
 nothing suitable to Christian penitence. Many 
 motives impel me to beg earnestly for life. I feci 
 the natural horror of a violent death, and the uni- 
 versal dread of untimely dissolution. I am desi- 
 rous of recompensing the injury I have done to the 
 clergy, to the world, and to religion, and to efface 
 the scandal of my crime by the example of my re- 
 pentance. But above all, I wish to die with thoughts 
 more composed, and calmer preparation. The 
 gloom of a prison, the anxiety of a trial, and the 
 inevitable vicissitudes of passion, leave the mind* 
 little disposed to the holy exercises of prayer and 
 self-examination : Let not a little time be denied 
 me, in which I may, by meditation and contrition, 
 be prepared to stand at th# tribunal of Omnipo- 
 tence, and support the presence of that Judge who 
 will distribute to all according to their works, who 
 will receive to pardon the repenting sinner, and 
 from whom the merciful shall obtain mercy. 
 
 For these reasons, amidst shame and misery, I 
 yet wish to live : and most humbly entreat, that I 
 may be recommended by your lordship, to the 
 clemency of his majesty. 
 
190 
 
 Address on Patriotism, 
 
 It cannot then be denied, that the pubHc pros- 
 perity of our land depends upon the virtue of the 
 people, and that the practice of vice, like a cancer 
 in the natural body, will at last extend itself to the 
 vitals of the country, and cut off our national ex- 
 istence. If this be the case, we may safely assert, 
 that no man loves his country, who lives in the 
 habitual violation of any rule in her moral code ; 
 because, by so doing he contributes his aid to 
 accomplish her destruction. He may call himself 
 a federalist, or an anti-federalist — a republican 
 or a democrat- — or whatever else he pleases ; it is 
 certain, he is but a pretender to the character of a 
 patriot. It is impossible he can love his country, 
 whose life and actions are hostile to her true in- 
 terests. Party and personal prejudices he may 
 possess in abundance, which to the world, and 
 perhaps to himself, he may cover with the mantle 
 of zeal for the public good. But the love of his 
 country is a stranger to his heart. 
 
 Examine for a moment, the force of this obser- 
 vation, by your own experience in private life. 
 Suppose one of your neighbours to profess a re- 
 gard and affection for you, and at the same time 
 to make a practice of thwarting your views and 
 defeating the plans you had laid to promote your 
 happiness or your interest. There is no doubt 
 you would despise his professions, and call him a 
 hypocrite. 
 
191 
 
 Nor can he be pronounced any thing better, 
 who tells yon he loves his country, and is at the 
 same time habitually infringing those laws, on 
 which her safety and prosperity essentially de- 
 pend. Away with such patriotism ! it is " Hail, 
 Master !" with the lips, and at the same instant a 
 stab to the heart. I call that man a disorganizer, 
 let his political principles be what they may, who 
 is spreading through the moral world the seeds of 
 disorder and vice, and thereby sapping the foun- 
 dation of all government. 
 
 Our country may well expostulate with the im- 
 moral man in the language used of old time — "If 
 you love me you will keep my commandments — 
 Ye are my friends if ye do whatsoever I command 
 you." In short, as in Christianity, so it is in pa^ 
 triotism — obedience is the unerring criterion, the 
 sole decisive mark of affection. If you really love 
 your country, you will -observe her laws and her 
 statutes, which are framed to promote and to per- 
 petuate her welfare. Believe me, a gambling, 
 lying, drunken, or swearing patriot, is as great a 
 contradiction, as a dissolute, swearing, or drunkea 
 Christian ; though in the practical estimation of 
 the two characters, mankind have made a wide 
 difference. The hypocritical pretensions of the 
 patriot are too often successfully played off, while 
 those of the pretended Christian are sure to 
 exclude him from the character. 
 
 It is readily acknowledged, that immoral men 
 often render essential service to their country. 
 Some of the most worthless and profligate of the 
 human race have been the honoured instruments 
 in the hands of Providence of procuring the great- 
 est national blessings. Henry the Eighth, and 
 17 
 
192 
 
 the Duke of Marlborough, contributed eminently 
 by their actions to the glory and preservation of 
 the English nation ; but no body ever supposed 
 they vi^ere influenced by a love of their country. 
 Caprice, promotion, or the whistling of a name, 
 has given birth to the greatest achievements re- 
 corded in history. What would you think of a 
 man who, in the very act of conferring a favour 
 on an acquaintance, should inflict the most deadly 
 wounds on his person ? — ^Would you beheve he 
 had any affection for his murdered friend ? — You 
 certainly would not. Just so much true patriot- 
 ism has that man who, by his vices, is daily dif- 
 fusing through society the most malignant poison, 
 and at the same time, from pride or some other 
 motive, perfectly compatible with a heart dead to 
 every sentiment of public virtue, is occasionally 
 performing an act that redounds to his country's 
 welfare. 
 
 The true notion of patriotism, is a principle of 
 obedience to the laws of God, and of our country, 
 manifesting itself in the discharge of our religious, 
 moral, and social duties. — This is substantial pa- 
 triotism, within the reach of every man, high and 
 low, rich and poor, and that does not evaporate 
 in empty noise about the Rights of Man, or the 
 Virtue oLFederalism. 
 
193 
 
 Exhortation to Temperance in Pleasure, 
 
 Let me particularly exhort youth to temper- 
 ance in pleasure. Let me admonish them, to 
 beware of that rock on which thousands, from 
 race to race, continue to split. The love of plea- 
 Sure, natural to man in every period of his life, 
 glows at this age with excessive ardour. Novelty 
 a«ys fresh charms, as yet, to every gratification. 
 The world appears to spread a continual feast; 
 and health, vigor, and high spirits, invite them to 
 partake of it without restraint. In vain we warn 
 them of latent dangers. Religion is accused of 
 insufferable severity, in prohibiting enjoyment : 
 and the old, when they offer their admonitions, 
 are upbraided with having forgotten that they 
 once were young. 
 
 And yet,^ny friends, to what do the restraints 
 of religion, and the counsels of age, with respect 
 to pleasure, amount? They may all be com- 
 prised in a few words ; — not to hurt yourselves, and 
 not to hurt others, by your pursuit of pleasure. 
 Within these bounds, pleasure is lawful ; beyond 
 them, it becomes criminal, because it is ruinous. 
 Are these restraints any other than what a wise 
 man would choose to impose on himself? We 
 call you not to renounce pleasure, but to enjoy it 
 in safety. Instead of abridging it, we exhort you 
 to pursue it on an extensive plan. We propose 
 measures for securing its possession, and for pro- 
 longing its duration. 
 
, 194 
 
 Consult yoiir whole nature. Consider yourselves 
 not only as sensitive, but as rational beings ; not 
 only as rational, but as social ; not only as social, 
 but as immortal. Whatever violates your nature, in 
 any of these respects, cannot afford true pleasure, 
 any more than that v^hich undermines an essen- 
 tial part of the vital system can promote health. 
 For the truth of this conclusion, v^e appeal, not 
 merely to the authority of religion, nor to the 
 testimony of the aged, but to yourselves and your 
 own experience. We ask, whether you have not 
 found, that in a course of criminal excess, youi 
 pleasure was more than compensated by succeed 
 ing pain ? Whether, if not from every particular 
 instance, yet from every habit, at least, of unlaw- 
 ful gratification, there did not spring some thoru||x 
 to wound you; there did not arise some con^e-y^ 
 quence to make you repent of it in the issue ? * ^ 
 
 " How long then, ye simple ones ! will ye love 
 simplicity ?" How long repeat the same round of 
 pernicious folly, and tamely expose yourselves to 
 be caught in the same snare ? If you have -any 
 consideration, or any firmness left, avoid tempta- 
 tions for which you have found yourselves une-»^ 
 qual, with as much care as you would shun pesti- 
 lential infection. Break off all connexions with 
 the loose and profligate. " When sinners entice 
 thee, consent thou not. Look not on the wine 
 when it is red, when it giveth its colour in the cup ; 
 for at the last, it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth 
 like an adder." 
 
 By these unhappy excesses of irregular pleasure 
 in youth, how many amiable dispositions are cor- 
 rupted or destroyed? How many rising capaci- 
 ties and powers are suppressed! How many 
 
195 
 
 /lattering hopes of parents and friends are totally 
 extinguished ! Who but must drop a tear over 
 human nature, when he beholds that morning 
 which arose so bright, overcast with such untimely 
 darkness ; that good humour which once capti- 
 vated all hearts ; that vivacity which sparkled in 
 every company ; those abilities which were fitted 
 for adorning the highest station, all sacrificed at 
 the shrine of low sensuality ; and one, who was 
 formed for running the fair career of life in the 
 midst of public esteem, cut off by his vices at 
 the beginning of his course, or sunk, for the whole 
 oi?it, into insignificancy and contempt ! These, 
 O sinful pleasure ! are thy trophies. It is thus, 
 that, co-operating with the foe of God and man, 
 thou degrade St human nature, and blastest the 
 opening prospects of human felicity. 
 
 The Price of a Victory, 
 
 Good news ! great news ! glorious news ! cried 
 young Oswald, as he entered his father*s house. 
 We have obtainecia great victory, and have killed 
 I don't know how many thoij^ands of the enemy : 
 and we are to have bonfires and illuminations ! 
 
 And so, said his' father, you think that killing 
 many thousands of human creatures is a thing to 
 be very glad about ? ^., 
 
196 
 
 OSWALD. " 
 
 No — ^I do not think so, neither ; but surely it is 
 right to be glad that our country has gained a 
 great advjintage. 
 
 FATHER. 
 
 No doubt it is right to wish well to our country, 
 as far as its prosperity can be promoted without 
 injuring the rest of maiakind. But wars are very 
 seldom to the real advantage of any nation ; and 
 when they are ever so useful or necessary, so many 
 dreadful evils attend them, that a humane man will 
 scarcely rejoice in them, if he considers at all on 
 the subject. 
 
 OSWALD. 
 
 But if our enemies would do us a great deal of 
 mischief, and we prevent it by beating them, have 
 we not a right to be glad of it ? 
 
 FATHER. 
 
 Alas! we are in general* incompetent judges 
 which of the parties has the most mischievous in- 
 tentions. Commonly they are both in the wrong, 
 and success will make both of them unjust and 
 unreasonable. But putting that out of the ques- 
 tion, he who rejoices in the event of a battle, re- 
 joices in the misery of many thousands of his spe- 
 cies ; and the thought of that should make him 
 pause a little. Suppose a surgeon were to come 
 with a smiling countenance, and tell us triumph- 
 antly that he had cut off half a dozen legs to- 
 day—what would you think of him ? 
 
 OSWALD. 
 
 I should think hiii! very hard-hearted. 
 
 FATHER. 
 
 And yet those operations are done for the bene- 
 $t of the sjufferers^ and by their own desire. But 
 
197 
 
 in battle, the probability is, that*hone of those en- 
 gaged on either side have any interest at all in 
 the cause they are fighting for, and most of them 
 come there because they cannot "help it. In this 
 battle that you are so rejoiced about, there have 
 been ten thousand men killed upon the spot, and 
 nearly as many wounded. <^ 
 
 OSW^ALD. ^ 
 
 On both sides. 
 
 FATHER. 
 
 Yes — but they are men on both sides. " Consid- 
 er nov^r, that the ten thousand sent out of the 
 world in this morning's work, though they are 
 past feeling themselves, have -left probably two 
 persons each, on an average, to lament their loss, 
 either parents, wives, or children. Here are then 
 twenty thousand people made unhappy at one 
 stroke on their account. This, however, is hardly 
 so dreadful to think of as the condition of the 
 wounded. At the moment we are talking, eight 
 or ten thousand men are lying in agony, torn with 
 shot or gashed with cuts, their wounds festering, 
 some hourly to die a most excruciating death, 
 others to linger in torture weeks and months, and 
 many doomed to drag on a miserable existence 
 for the rest of their lives, with diseased and muti- 
 lated bodies. * - .^ 
 OSWALD, ^i^lSilP^ 
 
 This is shocking to think of, indeed ! 
 
 FATHER. 
 
 When you light your candles, then, this evening, 
 think what they cost. 
 
198 
 
 The two Robbers, 
 
 ALEXANDER THE GREAT. 
 
 What ! art thou the Thracian robber, of whose 
 exploits I have heard so much ? 
 
 ROBBER. 
 
 I am a Thracian, and a soldier. 
 
 ALEXANDER. 
 
 A soldier! — a thief, a plunderer, an assassin, the 
 pest of the country ! I could honour thy courage, 
 but I must detest and punish thy crimes. 
 
 ROBBER. 
 
 What have I done "of which you can complain ? 
 
 ALEXANDER. 
 
 Hast thou not set at defiance my authority ? 
 violated the public peace, and passed thy life in 
 injuring the persons and properties of thy fellow 
 subjects ? 
 
 ROBBER. 
 
 Alexander, I am your captive; I must hear 
 what you please to say, and endure what you please 
 to inflict. But my soul is unconquered ; and if 1 
 reply at all to your reproaches, I will reply like a 
 free man. ^1^ 
 
 ALEXANDER^*^ 
 
 Speak freely. Far be it irom me to take the 
 advantage of my power, to silence those with whom 
 I deign to converse. 
 
 ROBBER. 
 
 I must then answer your question by another 
 How have you passed your life ? 
 
 ALEXANDER. 
 
 Like a hero. Ask Fame, and she will tell thee. 
 Among the brave, I have been the bravest ; among 
 
199 
 
 sovereigns, the noblest; among conquerors, the 
 mightiest. 
 
 ROBBER. 
 
 And does not fame speak of me, too? Was 
 there ever a bolder captain of a more valiant band ? 
 Was there ever? — But I scorn to boast. You 
 yourself know that I have not been easily sub- 
 dued. 
 
 ALEXANDER. 
 
 Still, what art thou but a robber — a base, dis- 
 honest robber ? 
 
 ROBBER. 
 
 And what is a conqueror ? Have not you, too, 
 gone about the earth like an evil genius, blasting 
 the fair fruits, of peace and industry : plundering, 
 ravaging, killing without law, without justice, 
 merely to gratify an insatiable lust for dominion ? 
 All that I have done to a single district, with a 
 Qundred followers, you have done to whole na- 
 Uons, with a hundred thousand. If I have strip- 
 oed individuals, you have ruined kings and prin- 
 ces. If I have burned a few hamlets, you have 
 desolated the most flourishing kingdoms and cities 
 of the earth. What is then the difference, but 
 that as you were born a king, and I a private man, 
 you have been able to become a mightier robber 
 than I? 
 
 ALEXANDER. 
 
 But, if I have taken like a king, I have given 
 like a king. If I have subverted empires, I have 
 founded greater. I have cherished arts, commerce, 
 and philosophy. 
 
 ROBBER. 
 
 I, too, have freely given to the poor, what I 
 took from the rich. I have established order and 
 discipline among the most ferocious of mankind ; 
 
200 
 
 and have stretched out my protecting arm over 
 the oppressed. I know, indeed, little of the phi- 
 losophy you talk of; but I believe neither you nor 
 I shall ever atone to the world for the mischief we 
 have done it. 
 
 ALEXANDER. 
 
 Leave me — Take off his chains, and use him 
 well. — Are we then so much alike ? — Alexander to 
 a robber ? — Let me reflect. 
 
 Fernando Cortez and William Penn, 
 
 CORTEZ. 
 
 Is it possible, William Penn, that you should 
 seriously compare your glory with mine? The 
 planter of a small colony in North America, pre- 
 sume to vie with the conqueror of the great Mexi- 
 can empire ? 
 
 PENN. 
 
 Friend, I pretend to no glory — the Lord pre- 
 serve me from it — All glory is his ; — but this I 
 say, that I was his instrument in a more glorious 
 work than that performed by thee ; incomparably 
 more glorious. 
 
 CORTEZ. 
 
 Dost thou not know, William Penn, that with 
 less than six hundred Spanish foot, eighteen horse, 
 and a few small pieces of cannon, I fought and de- 
 feated innumerable armies of very brave men, de- 
 throned an emperor who had been raised to the 
 throne by his valour, and excelled all his coun 
 
201 . ^ 
 
 tirmen in the science of war, as much as they ex- 
 celled all the rest of the West Indian nations? 
 that I made him my prisoner in his own capital ; 
 and after he had been deposed and slain by his 
 subjects, vanquished and took Guatimozin, his 
 successor, and accomplished my conquest of the 
 whole empire of Mexico, which I loyally annexed 
 to the Spanish crown ? Dost thou not know, that 
 in doing these wonderful acts, I showed as much 
 courage as Alexander the Great, as much pru- 
 dence as Caesar ? That, by my policy, I ranged 
 under my banner the powerful commonwealths of 
 Tlascala, and brought them to assist me in subdu- 
 ing the Mexicans, though with the loss of their own 
 beloved independence f and that to consummate 
 my glory, when the governor of Cuba, Velasquez, 
 would have taken my command from me, and sa- 
 crificed me to his envy and jealousy, I drew from 
 him all his forces, and joined them to my own, 
 showing myself as much superior to all other Span- 
 iards, as I was to the Indians ? 
 
 PENN. 
 
 I know very well that thou wast as fierce as a 
 lion, and as subtle as a serpent. The Devil, per- 
 haps, may place thee as high in his black list of 
 heroes, as Alexander or Caesar. It is not "my bu- 
 siness to interfere with him in settling thy rank. 
 But hark thee, friend Cortez — What right hadst 
 thou, or had the king of Spain himself, to the Mex- 
 ican Empire ? Answer me that if thou canst. 
 
 CORTEZ. 
 
 The Pope gave it to my master. 
 
 PENN. 
 
 But suppose the high priest of Mexico, had ta- 
 ken it into his head to give Spain to Montezuma, 
 would his grant have been good ? 
 
202 
 
 CORTEZ. 
 
 These are questions of casuistry, which it is not 
 the business of a soldier to decide.* We leave that 
 to gownsnnen. But pray, Mr. Penn, what right 
 had you to the province you settled ? 
 
 PENN. 
 
 An honest right of fair purchase. We gave the 
 natives some things they wanted, and they in re- 
 turn gave us lands they did not want. All was 
 amicably agreed on ; not a drop of blood shed to 
 stain our acquisition. 
 
 CORTEZ. 
 
 I am afraid there was a little fraud in the pur- 
 chase. Thy followers, William Penn, are said to 
 think cheating in a quiet sober way no mortal 
 sin. 
 
 PENN. 
 
 The righteous are always calumniated by the 
 ungodly. It was a sight which an angel might 
 contemplate with delight, to behold the colony 1 
 settled ! To see us living with the Indians like in- 
 nocent lambs, and taming the ferocity of their bar- 
 barous manners by the gentleness of ours ! To see 
 the whole country, which before was an unculti- 
 vated wilderness, rendered as fertile and fair as a 
 garden>l O Fernando Cortez, Fernando Cortez! 
 didst thou leave the great Empire of Mexico in 
 that state? No, thou hadst turned those delight- 
 ful and populous regions into a desert ; a desert 
 flooded with blood. Dost thou not remember that 
 most disgraceful scene, when the noble emperor 
 Guatimozin was stretched out by thy soldiers 
 upon hot burning coals, to make him discover in- 
 to what part of the lake of Mexico he had thrown 
 the royal treasures ? Are not his groans ever sound- 
 ing in the ears of thy conscience ? Do not they 
 
203 
 
 rend thy hard heart, and strike thee with more 
 horror than the yells of the furies ? 
 
 CORTEZ. 
 
 Alas ! I was not present when the dire act was 
 committed. Had I been there, I should have for- 
 bidden it. My nature was mild. 
 
 PENN. 
 
 Thou wast the captain of a band of robbers, 
 who did this horrid -deed. The advantage they 
 had drawn from thy counsels and conduct enabled 
 them to commit it : and thy skill saved them after- 
 wards from the vengeance that was due to so 
 enormous a crime. The enraged Mexicans would 
 have properly punished them for it, if they had 
 not had thee for their general. 
 
 CORTEZ. 
 
 The saints I find can rail, William Penn. But 
 how do you hope to preserve this admirable colo- 
 ny which you have settled ? Your people, you tell 
 me, live like innocent l^nbs. Are there no 
 wolves in North America, to devour those lambs ? 
 And if the Americans should continue in perpetual 
 peace with all your successors there, foreign- 
 ers will not. Are the inhabitants of Pennsylva- 
 nia to make war against them with prayers and 
 preaching ? If so, that garden which you say you 
 have planted, will undoubtedly be their prey, and 
 they will take from you your property, your laws, 
 and your religion. 
 
 PEJJK. 
 
 The Lord's will be done ^^f" ^ nrd w'li t^*- 
 fend us against the ra^e 
 good pleasure 
 
- 204 
 
 Solon! Did Solon, think you, give laws to a peo- 
 ple, and leave those laws and that people at the 
 mercy of every invader ? The first business of a 
 legislator is to provide a military strength that 
 may defend the whole system. If a house is built 
 in a land of robbers, without a gate to shut, or a 
 bolt or bar to secure it, what avails it how commo- 
 dious it may be, or how well proportioned the ar- 
 chitecture ? Is it richly furnished within ? the more 
 it will tempt the hands of violence and of rapine 
 to seize its wealth. The world, William Penn, is 
 all a land of robbers. Any state or commonwealth 
 erected therein, must be well fenced, and secured 
 by good military institutions ; or, the happier it 
 is in all other respects, the greater will be its dan- 
 ger, the more speedy its destruction. Perhaps 
 the neighbouring English colonies may, for a while, 
 protect yours : but that precarious security can- 
 not always preserve you. Your plan of govern- 
 ment must be chan^d, or your colony will be 
 lost. What I have said, is also applicable to Great 
 Britain itself. If an increase of its wealth be not 
 accompanied with an increase of its force, that 
 wealth will become the prey of some of the neigh- 
 bouring nations, in which the martial spirit is more 
 prevalent than the commercial. And whatever 
 praise may be due to its civil institutions, if they 
 are not guarded by a wise system of military poli- 
 cy, they will be found of no value, being unable to 
 prevent their own dissolution. 
 
 Uuanniu^m was stiv.^^^^', . , ^. 
 
 upon hot burning coals, to human wisdom. The 
 to what part of the lake of Mexico^I. Z"^^ ^'"""^ 
 the royal treasures ? Are not his groans ever souh 
 ing m the ears of thy conscience ? Do not they 
 
205 
 
 inconsistent with the great laws of nature, and with 
 the necessary state of human society, cannot pos- 
 sibly have been inspired by God. Self-defence is 
 as necessary to nations, as to men. And shall par- 
 ticulars have a right which nations have not? 
 True religion, William Penn, is the perfection of 
 reason. Fanaticism is the disgrace, the destruc- 
 tion of reason. 
 
 PENN. 
 
 Though \% hat thou sayest should be true, it does 
 not come well from thy i?iouth. A Papist talk of 
 reason! Go to the inquisition, and tell them of 
 reason, and the great laws of nature ! They will 
 broil thee, as thy solcJiers* broiled the unhappy 
 Guatimozin. Why dost thou turn pale ? Is it at the 
 name of the inquisition, or the name of Guatimo- 
 zin ? Tremble and shake when thou thinkest, that 
 every murder the inquisitors have committed, eve- 
 ry torture they have inflicted on the innocent In- 
 dians, is originally owing to thee. Thou must an- 
 swer to God for all their inhumanity, for all their 
 injustice. What vvouldst thou give to part with 
 the renown of thy conquests, and to have a pure 
 and undisturbed conscience ? 
 
 CORTEZ. 
 
 I feel the force of thy words. They pierce me 
 like daggers. I can never, never be happy, while 
 I retain any memory of the ills I have caused ! 
 
206 
 
 On Creation and Providence 
 
 Lord, when my raptur'd thought surveys 
 
 Creation's beauties o'er, 
 All nature joins to teach thy praise, 
 
 And bid my soul adore. 
 
 Where'er I turn my gazing eyes, 
 
 Thy radiant footsteps shine ; 
 Ten thousand pleasing wonders rise, 
 
 And speak their soured divine. 
 
 The living tribes of countless forms, 
 
 In earth, and sea, and air ; 
 The meanest flies, the smallest worms, 
 
 Almighty pow'r declare. 
 
 All rose to life at thy command, 
 
 And wait their daily food 
 From thy paternal, bounteous hand, 
 
 Exhaustless spring of good. 
 
 The meads, anay'd in smiling green, 
 With wholesome herbage crown'd ; 
 
 The fields with corn, a richer scene. 
 Spread thy full bounties round. 
 
 The fruitful tree, the blooming flow'r, 
 
 In varied charms appear; 
 Their varied charms display thy pow'r, 
 
 Thy goodness all declare. 
 
 The sun's productive, quick'ning beams 
 The growing verdure spread ; 
 
-207 
 
 Refreshing rains and cooling streams 
 His gentle influence aid.^ 
 
 The moon and stars his absent light 
 
 Supply with borrowed rays, 
 And deck the sable veil of night, 
 
 And speak their Maker's praise. 
 
 Thy wisdom, pow'r, and goodness, Lord, 
 
 In all thy works appear: 
 And O ! let man thy praise record ; 
 
 Man, thy distinguished care. 
 
 From thee the breath of life he drew ; 
 
 That breath thy power maintains ; 
 Thy tender mercy ever new. 
 
 His brittle frame sustains. 
 
 Yet nobler favours claim his praise, 
 
 Of reason's light possess'd* 
 By revelation's brighter rays 
 
 Still more divinely blest. 
 
 Thy providence his constant guard 
 When threatening woes impend, 
 
 Or will the impending dangers ward, 
 Or timely succours lend. 
 
 ili^ 
 
 Religion, 
 
 Religion ! oh thou cherub heavenly bright! 
 Of joys unmix 'd, and fathomless delight ! 
 Thou, thou art all ; nor find I in the whole 
 Creation aught, but God and my own soul. 
 18* 
 
, 208 
 
 Thy force, alone, Religion, death disarms, 
 Breaks all his darts, and every viper charms. 
 Soften'd by thee, the grisly form appears 
 No more the horrid object of om* fears. 
 We undismayed, this awful power obey. 
 That guides us through the safe, tho' gloomy way 
 Which leads to life, and to the blest abode, 
 Where ravish'd minds enjoy, what here they own'd, 
 a God. 
 
 We grant, a train of mischiefs oft proceeds 
 From superstitious rites and penal creeds ; 
 But view Religion in her native charms. 
 Dispersing blessings with indulgent arms, 
 From her fair eyes what heavenly rays are spread ! 
 What blooming joys smile round her blissful head ! 
 Offspring divine ! by thee we bless the cause. 
 Who form'd the world, and rules it. by his laws ; 
 His independent beipg we adore. 
 Extol his goodness, and revere his pow'r. 
 Our wond'ring eyes, his high perfections view, 
 The lofty contemplation we pursue, 
 'Till ravish'd, we the great idea find. 
 Shining in bright impressions on our mind. 
 
 Inspired by thee, guest of celestial race. 
 With generous love we human kind embrace ; 
 We provocations unprovok'd receive. 
 Patient of wrong, and easy to forgive ; 
 Protect the orphan, plead the widow's cause. 
 Nor deviate from the line unerring justice draws. 
 
 Thy lustre, blest effulgence ! can dispel 
 The clouds of error, and the glooms of hell; 
 Can to the soul impart ethereal hght. 
 Give life divine, and intellectual sight : 
 Before our ravish'd eyes, thy^ beams display 
 The op'ning scenes of bliss and endless day ; 
 
209 
 
 Sy which incited, we with ardour rise, 
 corn this inferior ball, and claim the skies. 
 Tyrants to thee a change of nature owe. 
 Dismiss their tortures, and indulgent grow. 
 Ambitious conquerors, in their mad career, 
 <Jheck'd by thy voice lay down the sword and 
 spear. 
 The boldest champions of impiety, i 
 
 Scornful of heav'n, subdu'd or won by thee, > 
 Before thy hallowed altars bend their knee. 3 
 Loose wits, made wise, a public good become, 
 The sons of pride an humble mien assume. 
 The profligate in morals grow severe, 
 Defrauders just, and sycophants sincere. 
 
 Rich and Poor, 
 
 There in yon house that holds the parish 
 poor. 
 Whose walls of mud scarce bear the broken door ; 
 There where the putrid vapours flagging play. 
 And the dull wheel hums doleful through the day , 
 There children dwell, who know no parents' care ; 
 Parents, who know no children's love, dwell there ; 
 Heart-broken matrons on their joyless bed, 
 Forsaken wives, and mothers never wed ; 
 Dejected widows, with unheeded tears. 
 And crippled age, with more than childhood fears ; 
 The lame, the blind — and far the happiest they ! 
 The moping idiot and the madman gay. 
 
 Here too the sick their final doom receive, 
 
. 210 ^ 
 
 Here brought, amid the scenes of grief, to grieve ! 
 Where the loud groans from some sad chamber flow,'' 
 Mixt with the clamours of the crowd below. 
 Jlere, sorrowing, tliey each kindred sorrow scan, 
 And the cold charities of man to man : 
 Whose laws indeed for ruin'd age provide, 
 And strong compulsion plucks the scrap from 
 
 pride ; 
 But still that scrap is bought with many a sigh, 
 And pride imbitters what it can't deny. 
 
 Say, ye oppressed by some fantastic woes, 
 Some jarring nerve that baflJles your repose ; 
 Who press the downy couch, while slaves advance 
 With ttmid eye, to read the distant glance ; 
 Who with sad prayVs the weary doctor tease, 
 To name the nameless, ever new disease ; 
 Who with mock patience dire complaints endure, 
 Which real pain and that alone can cure ; 
 How would you bear in real pain to lie, 
 Despis'd, neglected, left alone to die ? 
 How would you bear to draw your latest breath, 
 Where all that's wretched paves the way for 
 
 death ? 
 Such is that room which one rude beam divides, 
 And naked rafters form the sloping sides ; 
 Where the vile bands that bind the thatch are seen, 
 And lath and mud are all that lie between. 
 Save one dull pane, that, coarsely patch 'd, gives 
 
 way. 
 To the rude tempest, yet excludes the day. 
 Here on a matted flock, with dust o'erspread. 
 The drooping wretch reclines his languid head. 
 For him no hand the cordial cup supplies. 
 Nor wipes the tear that stagnates in his eyes ; 
 No friends with soft discourse his pain beguile, 
 Nor promise hope till sickness wears a smile. 
 
211 
 
 The Christian Race 
 
 Awake my soul, stretch ev'ry nerve, 
 
 And press with vigour on : 
 A heav'nly race demands thy zeal 
 
 And an immortal crown. 
 
 A cloud of witnesses around, 
 
 Hold these in full survey ; 
 Forget the steps already trod, 
 
 And onward urge thy way. 
 
 'Tis God's all animating voice, 
 
 That calls thee from on high , 
 'Tis his own hand presents the prize 
 
 To thine aspiring eye : 
 
 That prize with peerless glory bright, 
 
 Which shall new lustre boast, 
 When victors' wreaths, and monarchs' gems, 
 
 Shall blend in common dust. 
 
 My soul, with sacred ardour fir'd, 
 
 The glorious prize pursue ; 
 And meet with joy the high command, 
 
 To bid the earth adieu. 
 
 On Friendship, 
 
 How fondly those mistake who seek for joys 
 In crowds, and mirth, and never ceasing noise ! 
 Their mirth, how empty ! and their joys how vain ! 
 Reflection ever flies the languid train. 
 
215 
 
 StunnM with the din, thought sickens; and the 
 
 mind 
 JVo true dehght, nor taste of bliss can find. 
 
 Alike they err, who leave the world to dwell 
 With gloomy sadness in a lonely cell : 
 Heavy and dull, the joyless hours move on, 
 To all the sweets of social life unknown. 
 
 If pleasure smiles sincere below the skies, 
 That pleasure must from sacred friendship rise ; 
 Of all which animates the human frame, 
 The noblest ardour, and the purest flame : 
 Offspring of heav'n ! — there friendship all refin'd, 
 Immortal glows in each seraphic mind : 
 Mix'd with the streams of bliss forever flows, 
 Nor change, decay, nor interruption knows : 
 A glorious native of the realm of love, 
 And only, in perfection, known above : 
 Yet is the blessing, by indulgent Heav'n, 
 Though in a less degree, to mortals giv'n ; 
 Its pleasing pow'r by Providence design 'd 
 To soften human cares, and mend the mind ; 
 To calm our passions by its gentle sway. 
 And bid them reason's sacred laws obey. 
 Friendship can often o'er the heart prevail, 
 When philosophic rules and maxims fail : 
 It turns to mutual tenderness the thought. 
 And views with kind indulgence ev'ry fault. 
 And where corosives ought to be applied, 
 The gentle hand soft love and -pity guide. 
 While each can bear reproof, and each reprove, 
 (All proud resentment lost in grateful love,) 
 Point out each fault, and blame, yet not offend. 
 And free from nauseous flatfry, can commend. 
 To merit its proportion'd honours raise ; 
 Alike exact the censure and the praise. 
 
213 
 
 Friendship communicates our joys and pains, 
 And in each breast rejoices, or complains ; 
 Divides our weight of wo, relieves our cares. 
 And ev'ry pleasure heightens, as it shares. 
 
 While sacred virtue lights the holy fire, 
 By time uninjur'd, it will ne'er expire: 
 No force of rough adversity can part. 
 Can tear the gen'rous passion from the heart. 
 
 O friendship ! what sincere delights are thine ! 
 Fair miniature of happiness divine ; 
 Propitious, pleasing, heav'n-descended guest, 
 Who only with the virtuous can rest : 
 May thy kind influence smooth my path of life, 
 Still calm and peaceful, free from noisy strife ; 
 Be virtue, sweet content, and friendship mine, 
 1 at my humble life will ne'er repine. 
 From these alone more real pleasures flow, ^ 
 Than the gay round of mirth and gaudy show, > 
 Or all thi charms of greatness can bestow. > 
 
 A Funeral Hymn, 
 
 While to the grave our frijends are borne, 
 
 Around their cold remains, 
 How all the tender passions mourn. 
 
 And each fond heart complains I 
 
 But down to earth, alas ! in vam 
 We bend our weeping eyes ; 
 
 Ah I let us leave these seats of pain, 
 And upward learn to rise. 
 
, 214 
 
 Hope cheerful smiles amid the gloom, 
 
 And beams a healing ray, 
 And guides us from the darksome tomb, 
 
 To realms of endless day. 
 
 Jesus, who left his blest abode, 
 
 (Amazing grace !) to die, 
 Mark'd when he rose, the shining road 
 
 To his bright courts on high. 
 
 To those bright courts, when hope ascends, 
 
 The tears forget to flow ; 
 Hope views our absent happy friends, 
 
 And calms the swelling wo. 
 
 Then let our hearts repine no more, 
 
 That earthly comfort dies. 
 But lasting happiness explore. 
 
 And ask it from the skies. 
 
 Trust in the Goodness of God, 
 
 Why, O my soul, why thus deprest, 
 And whence this anxious fear ? 
 
 Let former favours fix thy trust, 
 And check the rising tear. 
 
 When darkness and when sorrows rose, 
 
 And press'd on every side ; 
 Did not the Lord sustain thy steps. 
 
 And was no* God thy guide? 
 
215 
 
 Affliction is a stormy deep, 
 
 Where wave resounds to wave : 
 
 Though o'er my head the billows roll, 
 I know the Lord can save. 
 
 Perhaps before the morning dawns, 
 
 He'll reinstate my peace ; 
 For he who bade the tempest roar, 
 
 Can bid the tempest cease. 
 
 In the dark watches of the night, 
 I'll count his mercies o'er : 
 
 I'll praise him for ten thousand past, 
 And humbly sue for more. 
 
 Then, O my soul, why thus deprest. 
 And whence this anxious fear ? 
 
 Let former favours fix thy trust, 
 And check the rising tear. 
 
 Here will I rest and build my hopes. 
 
 Nor murmur at his rod ; 
 He's more than all the world to me, 
 
 My health, my life, my God. 
 
 Happiness. 
 
 O Happiness, by all admir'd, pursu'd. 
 How oft defin'd, how seldom understood. 
 And always at a painful distance view'd 1 
 
 Thy charms, alluring, in fair prospect rise ; 
 They court our eager arms and longing eyes *, 
 And prompt our fond desires and restless sighs. 
 19 
 
216 
 
 If thou art but a dream, an empty name, 
 
 Then why this active power, this quenchless flame, 
 
 By Heav'n implanted in the human frame ? 
 
 The great Creator, just, and good, and wise, 
 The wants of all his creatures well supplies. 
 Nor blesisings to the lowest rank denies. 
 
 Shall man alone unsatisfied remain ? 
 And,doom'd to ceaseless unavailing pain. 
 Must all his ardent wishes rise in vain ? 
 
 No, there is nobler bliss for man designed, " 
 
 A happiness of an immortal kind. 
 Wide as his wishes, ample as his mind. 
 
 Earth never can bqptow the sov'reign good ; 
 The sacred word, unerring, points the road 
 To happiness, to glory, and to God. 
 
 But foolish mortals oft mistake the way. 
 
 In search of bliss on earth, we anxious stray, 
 
 And take a meteor for the lamp of day. 
 
 Phantoms of pleasure rise, and smiling fair. 
 They tempt our feet through labyrinths of care. 
 Till catching at the prize, we grasp the air. 
 
 Almighty Goodness, call our hearts and eyes 
 From th^ deluding, tempting vanities. 
 And upward bid our ardent wishes rise. 
 
 O bid each fatal, fair illusion flee, 
 Mark out our path from every error free, 
 And let us seek for bliss alone in thee. 
 
21 1 
 
 Pride and Humility. 
 
 Mark, how the stately tree disdainful rears 
 His tow'ring head, and mingles with the clouds ; 
 But by his fatal height, the more expos'd 
 To all the furies of the raging storm : 
 His honours fly, the sport of angry winds ; 
 Till the loud blast with direful stroke descends: 
 Torn from his basis, low on earth he lies, 
 And the hills echo to the sounding fall. 
 So pride with haughty port defies in vain, 
 The force of rough adversity, which rends 
 With double violence the stubborn heart. 
 
 But, like a tender plant, humility 
 Bends low before the threat'ning blast unhurt. 
 Eludes its rage, and lives through all the storm. 
 
 Pride is the livVy of the prince of darkness. 
 Worn by his slaves, who glory in their shame ; 
 A gaudy dress, but tarnish'd, rent, and foul, 
 And loathsome to the holy eye of Heav'n. 
 
 But sweet humility, a shining robe, 
 Bestow'd by Heav'n upon its favVite sons : 
 The robe which God approves, and angels wear : 
 Fair semblance of the glorious Prince of light 
 Who stoop'd to dwell (divine humility !) 
 With sinful worms, and poverty, and scorn. 
 
 Pride is the source of discord, strife, and war, 
 And all the endless train of heavy woes, 
 Which wait on wretched man ; the direful sting 
 Of envy, and the dreaded frowns of scorn. 
 And gloomy discontent, and black despair. 
 
- 218 
 
 But sweet humility, the source of peace, 
 Of amity and love, content and joy ; 
 Where she resides, a thousand blessings wait, 
 To gild our lives and form a heav'n below. 
 
 Pride leaves her wretched vot'ries to contempt, 
 To certain ruin, infamy, and death. 
 
 But sweet humility points out the way 
 To happiness, and life, and lasting honours. 
 
 Humility, how glorious ! how divine ! 
 Thus cloth'd and thus enrich 'd, O may I shine-l 
 Be mine this treasure, this celestial robe, 
 And let the sons of pride possess the globe. 
 
 War. 
 
 First Envy, eldest born of hell, imbrued 
 Her hands in blood, and taught the sons of men 
 To make a death which nature never made. 
 And God abhorr'd ; with violence rude to break 
 The thread of life ere half its length was run, 
 And rob a wretched brother of his being : 
 With joy Ambition saw, and soon improved 
 The execrable deed. 'Twas not enough 
 By subtle fraud to snatch a single life ; 
 Puny impiety ! whole kingdoms fell 
 To sate the lust of power : more horrid still. 
 The foulest stain and scandal of our nature, 
 Became its boast. One murder makes a villain ; 
 Millions a hero. Princes were privileged 
 
219 
 
 To kiU ; and numbers sanctified the crime. 
 
 AJi I why will kings forget that they are men ? 
 
 A.nd men that they are brethren ? Why delight 
 
 in human sacrifice? Why burst the ties 
 
 Of nature, that should knit their souls together 
 
 Cn one soft bond of amity and love ? 
 
 Vet still they breathe destruction, still go on, 
 
 (nhumanly ingenious, to find out 
 
 New pains for life, new terrors for the grave. 
 
 Artificers of death ! still monarchs dream 
 
 Of universal empire growing up 
 
 From universal ruin. Blast the design. 
 
 Great God of hosts ! nor let thy creatures fall 
 
 Up^itied victims at Ambition's shrine I 
 
 All Nature attests the Creator, 
 
 Hast thou beheld the glorious Sun, 
 Through all the sky his circuit run ; 
 At rising morn, at closing day, 
 And when he beam'd his noontide ray ? 
 
 Say, didst thou e'er attentive view, 
 The evening cloud, or morning dew ? 
 Or, after rain, the wat'ry bow. 
 Rise in the east a beauteous show ? 
 
 When darkness had o'erspread the skies, 
 Hast thou e'er seen the moon arise ; 
 And, with a mild and placid light. 
 Shed lustre o'er the face of night? 
 19* 
 
% 
 
 220 
 
 Hast thou e'er wander'd o'er the plain, 
 And view'd the fields, and waving grain ; 
 The flow'ry mead, the leafy grove, 
 Where all is melody and love ? 
 
 Hast thou e'er trod the sandy shore, 
 And heard the restless ocean roar, 
 When roused by some tremendous storm, 
 Its billows roll in dreadful form ? 
 
 Hast thou beheld the lightning stream, 
 Through night's dark gloom, with sudden gleam, 
 While the bellowing thunder's sound, 
 RoU'd rattling through the heavens profound ? 
 
 Hast thou e'er felt the cutting gale. 
 The sleety shower, the biting hail ; 
 Beheld bright snow o'erspread the plains ; 
 The water bound in icy chains ? 
 
 Hast thou the various beings seen, 
 That sport along the valley green ; 
 That sweetly warble on the spray, 
 Or wanton in the sunny ray ; 
 
 That shoot along the briny deep, 
 Or under ground their dwellings keep , 
 That through the gloomy forest range. 
 Or frightful wilds, and deserts strange ? 
 
 Hast thou the wond'rous scenes survey'd, 
 That all around thee are display 'd ; 
 And hast thou never rais'd thine eyes 
 To Him who caus'd these scenes to rise 1 
 
 'Twas God who formed the concave sky, 
 And all the shining orbs on high ; 
 
221 
 
 Who gave the various beings birth, 
 That people all the spacious earth. 
 
 *Tis he that bids the tempest rise, 
 And rolls the thunder through the skies. 
 His voice the elements obey : 
 Through all the earth extends his sway. 
 
 His goodness all his creatures share ; 
 But Man is his peculiar care : 
 Then while they all proclaim his praise, 
 Let Man his voice the loudest raise. 
 
 Praise to the Creator. 
 
 Praise to God, immoral praise. 
 For the love that crowns our days ; 
 Bounteous source of evVy joy. 
 Let thy praise our tongues employ 1 
 
 For the blessings of the field. 
 For the stores the gardens yield, 
 For the vine's exalted juice. 
 For the gen'rous olive's use. 
 
 Flocks that whiten all the plain ; 
 Yellow sheaves of ripen'd grain ; 
 Clouds that drop their fatt'ning dews, 
 Suns that temperate warmth diffuse ; 
 
 All that spring, with bounteous hand, 
 Scatters o'er the smiluig land ; 
 
222 
 
 All that Ilb'ral autumn pours, 
 From her rich overflowing stores. 
 
 These to thee, my God, we owe, 
 Source from whence ail blessings flow; 
 And for these my soul shall raise, 
 Grateful vows and solemn praise. 
 
 Yet, should rising whirlwinds tear 
 From its stem the ripening ear ; 
 Should the fig-tree's blasted shoot 
 Drop her green untimely fruit ; 
 
 Should the vine put forth no more, 
 Nor the olive yield her store ; 
 Though the sic k'ning flock should fall, 
 And the herds desert the stall ; 
 
 Should thine alter'd hand restrain 
 The early and the latter rain ; 
 Blast each opening bud of joy. 
 And the rising year destroy ; 
 
 Yet to thee my soul shall raise 
 Grateful vows and solemn praise \ 
 And, when ev'ry blessing's flown, 
 Love thee— for thyself alone. 
 
 Hymn to Contentment. 
 
 Lovely, lasting peace of mind! 
 Sweet delight of human kind ! 
 Heav'nly born and bred on high, 
 To crown the fav'rites of the sky, 
 
I 
 
 223 
 
 With more of happiness below, 
 Than victors in a triumph know ! 
 "Whither, oh whither art thou fled, 
 To lay thy meek contented head? 
 What happy regions dost thou please 
 To make the seat of calm and ease ? 
 
 Ambition searches all its sphere 
 Of pomp and state to meet thee there ; 
 Increasing avarice would find 
 Thy presence in its gold enshrin'd : 
 The bold adventurer ploughs his way 
 Through rocks, amidst the foaming sea, 
 To gain thy love ; and then perceives 
 Thou wert riot in the rocks and waves. 
 The silent heart which grief assails. 
 Treads soft and lonesome o'er the vales, 
 Sees daisies open, rivers run. 
 And seeks (as I have vainly done) 
 Amusing thought ; but learns to know 
 That solitude's the nurse of wo. 
 No real happiness is found 
 In trailing purple o'er the ground : 
 Or in a soul exalted high, 
 To range the circuit of the sky. 
 Converse with stars above, and know 
 All nature in its forms below : 
 The rest it seeks, in seeking, dies ; 
 And doubts at last for knowledge rise. 
 
 Lovely, lasting peace appear ; 
 This world itself if thou art here. 
 Is once again with Eden blest. 
 And man contains it in his breast. 
 
 'Twas thus as under shade I stood, 
 I sung my wishes to the wood. 
 And lost in thought, no more perceiv'd 
 The branches whisper as they wav'd : 
 ^t seem'd as all the quiet place 
 
' 224 
 
 Confessed the presence of the grace ; 
 When thus she spoke : " Go rule thy will, 
 Bid thy wild passions all be still ; 
 Know God, and bring thy heart to know 
 The joys which from religion flow ; 
 Then ev'ry grace shall prove its guest. 
 And I'll be there to crown the rest. 
 
 Oh! by yonder mossy seat, 
 In my hours of sweet retreat. 
 Might I thus my soul employ, 
 With sense of gratitude and joy, 
 Rais'd as ancient prophets were. 
 In heav'nly vision, praise, and prayV; 
 Pleasing all men, hurting none ;* 
 Pleas'd and blest with God alone ; 
 Then while the gardens take my sight. 
 With all the colours of delight ; 
 While silver waters glide along, 
 To please my ear and court my song ; 
 ril lift my voice and tune my string, 
 And thee, Great Source of Nature, sing. 
 
 The sun that walks his airy way, 
 To light the world, and give the day ; 
 The moon that shines with borrowed light ; 
 The stars that gild the gloomy night ; 
 The seas that roll un number 'd waves ; 
 The wood that spreads its shady leaves; 
 The field whose ears conceal the grain, , 
 The yellow treasure of the plain : 
 All, all of these, and all I see, 
 Should be sung, and sung hy me : 
 They speak their Maker as they can. 
 But want and ask the tongue of man. 
 
 Go search among your idle dreams, 
 .Your busy or your vain extremes ; 
 And find a life of equal bliss, 
 Or own the next begun in this." 
 
225 
 
 Improvement of Time, 
 
 He mourns the dead, who Hves as they desire. 
 Where is that thrift, that avarice of Time, 
 (Blest av'rice !) which the thought of death inspires ! 
 O time ! than gold more sacred ; more a load 
 Than lead to fools : and fools reputed wise.. 
 What moment granted man without account ? 
 What years are squander'd, wisdom's debt unpaid ! 
 Haste, haste, he lies in wait, he's at the door. 
 Insidious death ; should his strong hand arrest, 
 No composition sets the prisoner free. 
 Eternity's inexorable chain 
 Fast binds ; and vengeance claims the full arrear. 
 How late I shudder'd on the brink ! how late 
 Life call'd for her last refuge in despair ! 
 For what calls thy disease ? for moral aid : 
 Thou think'st it folly to be wise too soon. 
 Youth is not rich in time ; it may be poor ; 
 Part with it as with money, sparing ; pay 
 No moment, but in purchase of its worth : 
 And what its worth, ask death-beds, they can telL 
 Part with it as with life, reluctant ; big 
 With holy hope of nobler time to come. 
 
 Is this our duty, wisdom, glory, gain ? 
 And sport we, like the natives of the bough, 
 Whea vernal suns inspire? Amusement reigns, 
 Man's great demand : to trifle is to live : 
 And is it then a trifle too to die ? 
 Who wants amusement in the flame of battle ? 
 Is it not treason to the soul immortal. 
 Her foes in arms, eternity the prize ? 
 Will toys amuse, when med'cines cannot cure ? 
 When spirits ebb, when life's enchanting scenes 
 
, 226 
 
 Their lustre lose, and lessen in our sight ; 
 (As lands, and cities with their glitt'ring spires 
 To the poor shattered bark, by sudden storm 
 Thrown off to sea, and soon to perish there :) 
 Will toys amuse ? — No : thrones will then be toys. 
 And earth and skies seem dust upon the scale. 
 
 Redeem we time ? — its loss we dearly buy. 
 What pleads Lorenzo for his high priz'd sports ? 
 He pleads time's num'rous blanks ; he loudly pleads 
 The straw-like trifles on life's common stream. 
 From whom those blanks and trifles, but from thee? 
 No blank, no trifle. Nature made or meant. 
 Virtue, or purpos'd virtue, still be thine ; 
 This cancels thy complaint at once ; this leaves 
 In act no trifle, and no blank in time. 
 This greatens, fills, immortalizes all : 
 This, the blest art of turnihg all to gold ; 
 This, the good heart's prerogative to raise 
 A royal tribute from the poorest hours. 
 Immense revenue, every moment pays! 
 If nothing more than purpose in thy power, 
 Thy purpose firm is equal to the deed : 
 Who does the best his circumstance allows, 
 Does well, acts nobly : angels could no more. 
 Our outward act, indeed, admits restraint ; 
 'Tis not in things o'er thought to domineer ; 
 Guard well thy thoughts ; our thoughts are heard 
 in heav'n. 
 
 On all-important time through ev'ry age, 
 Tho' much, and warm, the wise have urg'd ; the man 
 Is yet unborn, who duly weighs an hour. 
 " I've lost a day" — the prince who nobly cried, 
 Had been an emperor without his crown. . 
 He spoke as if deputed by mankind. 
 So should all speak : so reason speaks in all. 
 From the soft whispers of that God in man, 
 
227 
 
 Why fly to folly, why to phrenzy fly, 
 For rescue from the blessings we possess ? 
 Time, the supreme ! — Time is eternity ; 
 Pregnant with all eternity can give ; 
 Pregnant with all that makes archangels smile ; 
 Who murders time, he crushes in the birth 
 A pow'r ethereal, only not ador'd. 
 
 The Common Lot, 
 
 Once in the flight of ages past. 
 
 There lived a man : — and who was he ? 
 
 — ^Mortal ! howe'er thy lot be cast. 
 That Man resembled Thee. 
 
 Unknown the region of his birth. 
 
 The land in which he died, unknown ; 
 
 His name hath perish 'd from the earth, 
 This truth survives alone : 
 
 That joy and grief, and hope and foar, 
 Alternate triumph 'd in his breast ; 
 
 His bliss and wo, — a smile, a tear * 
 — Oblivion hides the rest. 
 
 The bounding pulse, the languid limb, 
 The changing spirits' rise and fall ; 
 
 We know that these were felt by him. 
 For these are felt by all. 
 
 He suffered — but his pangs are o'er , 
 Enjoy'd, — but his delights are fled ; 
 
 20 
 
228 
 
 Had friends,— his friends are now no more ; 
 And foes, — his foes are dead. 
 
 He loved, — but whom he loved, the grave 
 Hath lost in its unconscious womb : 
 
 O she was fair, — but nought could save 
 Her beauty from the tomb. 
 
 The rolling seasons,day and night, 
 
 Sun, Moon, and Stars, the earth and mam 
 
 Ere while his portion, life and light, 
 To him exist in vain. 
 
 He saw whatever thou hast seen, 
 Encountered all that troubles thee ; ' 
 
 He was — whatever thou hast been ; 
 He is — what thou shalt be. 
 
 The clouds and sunbeams o'er his eye 
 That once their shades and glory threw. 
 
 Have left in yonder silent sky 
 No vestige where they fiew. 
 
 The annals of the human race. 
 
 Their records since the world began, 
 
 Of HIM afford no other trace 
 Than this, — there lived a man. 
 
 Home, 
 
 Thkrk is a land, of every land the pride, 
 Belov'd by Heaven o'er all the world beside, 
 Where brighter suns dispense serener light, 
 And milder moons imparadise the night ; 
 
229 
 
 A land of beauty, virtue, valour, truth, 
 
 Time-tutor'd age, and love-exalted youth ; 
 
 The wandering mariner, whose eye explores 
 
 The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores, 
 
 Views not a realm so bountiful and fair, 
 
 Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air; 
 
 In every clime the magnet of his soul. 
 
 Touch 'd by resemblance, trembles to that pole ; 
 
 For in this land of Heaven's peculiar grace, 'S^ 
 
 The heritage of Nature's nobler race, 
 
 There is a spot of earth supremely blest, 
 
 A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest — 
 
 Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside 
 
 His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride, 
 
 While in his softened looks benignly blend 
 
 The sire, the son, the husband, father, friend : 
 
 Here woman reigns ; the mother, daughter, wife, 
 
 Strews with fresh flowers the narrow way of life: 
 
 Around her knees, domestic duties meet, 
 
 And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet. 
 
 " Where shall that land, that spot of earth be 
 
 found ?" 
 Art thou a man, a patriot ? — ^look around ; 
 O, thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam, 
 That land thy country, and that spot thy home. 
 
 The Victory. 
 
 It was a summer evening. 
 Old Kasper's work was done, 
 
 And he before his cottage door 
 Was sitting in the sun, 
 
230 
 
 And by him sported on the green 
 Ilis little grandchild Wilhelmine. 
 
 She saw her brother Peterkin 
 Roil something large and round, 
 
 That he beside the rivulet 
 In playing there had found : 
 
 He came lo ask what he had found, 
 
 That was so large, and smooth, and round. 
 
 Old Kasper took it from the boy. 
 
 Who stood expectant by ; 
 And then the old man shook his head, 
 
 And with a mournful sigh, 
 " 'TLs some poor fellow's skull, (said he,) 
 Who fell in the great victory, 
 
 " I find tliem in my garden, for 
 
 There's many here about : 
 And often when I go to plough. 
 
 The ploughshare turns them out ; 
 For many thousand men (said he,) 
 Were slain in the great victory.'*'* 
 
 " Now tell us what 'twas all about," 
 
 Young Peterkin replies ; 
 And little Wilhelmine looks up. 
 
 With wonder-waiting eyes ; 
 " Now tell us all about the war, 
 And what they killed each other for." 
 
 " It was the English, (Kasper said,) 
 
 Who put the French to rout : 
 But what they killed each other for, 
 
 I could not well make out ; 
 But every body said, (quoth he,) 
 That 'twas o. famous victory. 
 
231 
 
 ** My father liv'd at Blenheim then, '" 
 
 Von little stream hard by ; 
 They burnt his dwelling to the ground, 
 
 And he was forc'd to fly ; 
 So with his wife and child he fled, 
 Nor had he where to rest his head. 
 
 " With fire and sword the country round 
 
 Was wasted far and wide ; . 
 And many a chiding mother then, 
 
 And new-born infant died : 
 But things like that, you know, must be 
 At every fu7notcs victory, ^J^' 
 
 " They say it was a shocking sight. 
 
 After the field was won ; 
 For many thousand bodies here 
 
 Lay rotting in the sun ; 
 But things like that, you know, must be, 
 After a. famous victory, 
 
 " Great praise the duke of Marlbro' won 
 
 And our good prince Eugene." 
 " Why, 'twas a very wicked thing 1" 
 • Said little Wilhelmine : 
 " Nay, nay, my little girl, (quoth he,) 
 It was difamous victory, 
 
 "And every body prais'd the Duke, 
 
 Who such a fight did win." 
 " But what good came of it at last?" 
 
 Quoth little Peterkin ; 
 " Why, that I cannot tell, (said he,) 
 But 'twas ^famous victory,'*'' 
 
 20* 
 
232 
 
 Day — A Pastoral^in three parts. 
 
 MORNING. 
 
 In the barn the tenant cock, 
 Close to Partlet perch 'd on high 
 
 Briskly crows, (the shepherd's clock!) 
 Jocund that the morning's nigh. 
 
 Swiftly from the mountain's brow, 
 Shadows nurs'd by night, retire ; 
 
 And the peeping sun-beam, now 
 Paints with gold the village spire. 
 
 Philomel forsakes the thorn. 
 
 Plaintive where she prates at night : 
 
 And the lark to meet the morn. 
 Soars beyond the shepherd's sight. 
 
 From the low-roof'd cottage ridge, 
 See the chatt'ring swallow spring; 
 
 Darting through the one-arch'd bridge, 
 Quick she dips her dappled wing. 
 
 Now the pine-tree's waving top. 
 
 Gently greets the morning gale ; 
 Kidlings now begin to crop 
 ' Daisies on the dewy dale. 
 
 From the balmy sweets, uncloy'd, 
 (Restless till her task be done,) 
 Now the busy bee's employ'd. 
 
 Sipping dew before the sun. 
 
 «•. 
 
 Trickling through the erevic'd rock, 
 Where the limpid stream distils, 
 
 Sweet refreshment waits the flock, 
 When 'tis sun-drove from the hills. 
 
233 
 
 Colin^s for the promised corn, 
 (Ere the harvest-hopes are ripe) 
 
 Anxious ; — while the huntsman's horn, 
 Boldly sounding, drowns his pipe. 
 
 Sweet — O sweet, the warbling throng, 
 On the white emblossom'd spray ! 
 
 Nature's universal song 
 
 Echoes to the rising day. ^mK-'n-H 
 
 NOON. 
 
 Fervid on the glittVing flood. 
 
 Now the noontide radiance glows : 
 
 Drooping o'er its infant bud, 
 Not a dew-drop's left the rose. 
 
 By the brook the shepherd dines, - - , 
 From the fierce meridian heat, 
 
 Sheltered by the branching pines. 
 Pendant o'er his grassy seat. 
 
 Now the flocks forsake the glade, 
 Where uncheck'd the sun-beams fall 
 
 Sure to find a pleasing shade 
 By the ivy'd abbey wall. 
 
 Echo, in her airy round. 
 
 O'er the river, rock, and hill. 
 Cannot catch a single sound, - . .^^ 
 
 Save the clack of yonder mill. 
 
 Cattle court the zephyrs bland. 
 
 Where the streamlet wanders cool, 
 
 Or with languid silence stand 
 Midway in the marshy pool. 
 
 But from mountain, dell, or stream, 
 Not a flutt'ring zephyr springs ; 
 
 Fearful lest the noontide beain 
 Scorch its soft, its silken wings. 
 
234 
 
 Not a leaf has leave to stir^. 
 
 Nature's lull'd — ^serene — and still ; 
 Quiet e'en the shepherd's cur, 
 
 Sleeping on the heath-clad hill. 
 
 Languid is the landscape round, 
 Till the fresh descending show'r, 
 
 Grateful to the thirsty ground. 
 Raises ev'ry fainting flow'r. 
 
 Now the hill- — the hedge — are green, 
 Now the warbler's throat's in tune, 
 
 Blithesome is the verdant scene, 
 Brighten'd by the beams of Noon. 
 
 EVENING. 
 
 O'er the heath the heifer strays 
 Free — (the furrow'd task is done ;) 
 
 Now the village windows blaze., 
 Burnish 'd by the setting sun. 
 
 Ifow he sets behind the hill, 
 ' Sinking from a golden sky : 
 Can the pencil's mimic skill 
 Copy the refulgent dye ? 
 
 Trudging as the ploughmen go, 
 (To the smoking hamlet bound,) 
 
 Giant-like their shadows grow, 
 Lengthen 'd o'er the level ground. 
 
 Where the rising forest spreads 
 Shelter for the lordly dome. 
 
 To their high-built, airy beds, 
 See the rooks returning home. 
 
 As the lark, with vary'd tune, 
 Carols to the ev'ning loud ; ^ 
 
235 
 
 Mark the mild resplendent moon, 
 Breaking through a parted cloud. 
 
 Now tlie hermit owlet peeps 
 
 From the barn or twisted brake ; 
 
 And the blue mist slowly creeps, 
 Curling on the silver lake. 
 
 As the trout in speckled pride, 
 Playful from its bosom springs ; 
 
 To the banks a ruffled tide 
 Verges in successive rings. 
 
 Tripping through the silken grass 
 O'er the path-divided dale, 
 
 Mark the rose-complexion 'd lass 
 With her well-pois'd milking pail I 
 
 Linnets with unnumber'd notes, 
 And the cuckoo bird with two, 
 
 Tuning sweet their mellow throats, 
 Bid the setting sun adieu. 
 
 The Universal Prayer, 
 
 Father of all ! in ev'ry age. 
 
 In evVy clime ador'd, 
 By saint, by savage, and by sage, 
 
 Jehovah, Jove, or Lord ! 
 
 Thou GREAT FIRST CAUSE, Icast undeFstood 
 
 Who all my sense confin'd 
 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 : 
 
236 
 
 And binding nature fast in fate, 
 
 Left free the human wil!.^ 
 What conscience dictates to be done, 
 
 Or warns me not to do, 
 This, teach me more than heii 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 man, 
 
 When thousand worlds are round. 
 
 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, oh teach my heart 
 
 To find that better way ! 
 
 Save me alike from foolish pride, 
 
 Or impious discontent. 
 At aught thy wisdom has denied. 
 
 Or aught thy goodness lent. 
 
 Teach me to feel another's wo. 
 
 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: 
 
 O lead me wheresoe'er I go, 
 J?hrough this day's life or death! 
 
237 
 
 This day, be bread arid 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! 
 
 One chorus let all beings raise ! 
 All nature's incense rise. 
 
 Address of a Gentleman's Skull. 
 
 Why start ! this case will thine be very soon, 
 In some few years, perhaps the coming moon. 
 Life at its utmost length, is scarce a breath, 
 And those who longest dream must wake in death. 
 Like thee, I once thought every bliss secure. 
 And gold of every ill the certain cure : 
 Till plung'd in sorrow, and besieg'd with pain, 
 Too late I found all earthly riches vain. 
 Disease made fruitless every sordid fee. 
 And death still answer'd, " What is gold to me?" 
 Fame, Titles, Honours, next 1 vainly sought. 
 And fools obsequious, nurs'd each childish thought : 
 Elate with brib'd applause, and purchased praise, 
 I built on endless grandeur, endless days ; 
 Till death awoke me from the dream of pride, 
 And laid a prouder beggar by my side. 
 Pleasure I courted, and indulged my taste ; 
 The banquet smiPd, and smiPd the gay repast. 
 A loathsome carcass was my only care. 
 And worlds were ransacked but for me to share. 
 Grs A<,, vain man ! to luxury be firm ; 
 Yet know thou feastest but to feast a worm. 
 Already, sure, less terrible I seem : 
 Like me, thou sure wilt own, that life's a dream : 
 Farewell ! remember, nor my words despise, 
 The only happy are the early wise.' 
 
238 
 
 Address of a Lady^s Skull, 
 
 Blush not, ye fair, to own me, but be wise ; 
 
 Nor turn from sad mortality your eyes. 
 
 Fame says, and fame alone can tell how true, 
 
 I once was lovely, and belov'd like you. 
 
 Where are my vot'ries — where my flatt'rers now ? 
 
 Gone with the subject of each lover's vow. 
 
 Adieu the rose's red, the lily's white. 
 
 Adieu those eyes, which made the darkness light * 
 
 No more, alas ! that coral lip is seen, 
 
 No longer breathes the fragrant gale between. 
 
 Turn from your mirror, and behold in me, 
 
 At once what thousands can't, or dare not see. 
 
 Unvarnish'd I the real truth impart. 
 
 Nor here am plac'd but to direct the heart : 
 
 Survey me well, ye fair ones, and believe, 
 
 The grave may terrify, but can't deceive. 
 
 On beauty's fragile base no more depend : 
 
 Here youth and pleasure, age and sorrow end ; 
 
 Here drops the mask — here shuts the final scene. 
 
 Nor differs grave threescore from g^-y fifteen. 
 
 All press alike to that same goal, the tomb, 
 
 Where wrinkled Laura smiles at Chloe's bloom. 
 
 When coxcombs flatter, and when fools adore, 
 
 Learn here the lesson to be vain no more. 
 
 Yet virtue still against decay can arm, 
 
 And even lend mortality a charm. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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