Aphorisms of Sir Philip Sidney; with remarks

to

pnfrerattg

Principal Malcolm Wallace

APHORISMS,

VOL. I.

APHORISMS

OF

SIR PHILIP SIDNEY;

WITH

REMARKS,

BY MISS PORTER,

( AUTHOR OF THADDEUS OF WARSAW.)

Fidem non derogat error.

His honour ttuck upon him as the sun

in the grey vault of heaven; and by his light

Did all the chivalry of England move

To do brave acts. SHAKESPEARE.

VOLUME I. d 2~

= a

Hontion :

PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, AND ORME,
PATER-NOSTER ROW.

1807.

PR

7

688012,

C. Stower, Printer,
2, Pater-noster Row.

DEDICATION

TO
HIS MAJESTY,

GUSTAVUS THE FOURTH,

King of Sweden.

SIRE!

TO set forth a just model of a King
and Hero, these pictures of the noble
heart of Sir Philip Sidney were collect
ed. He shone throughout Europe as
a statesman, a man of letters, and a
hero, during his short but brilliant life;
and had he accepted the crowlti of Po-

VOL. I. b

11

land, which was offered to him, the
whole of his character testifies that he
would have done equal honour to the
sceptre as to the sword.

It is not conquest that proclaims the
warrior to be a hero, but the goodness
of his cause, and the use he makes of
victory: it is not the unction of a king?
but his virtues, that declare him to be
the Lord's Anointed; it is not power,
nor triumphs, nor extended empire,
that entitle him to the name of Great;
but the moderation, magnanimity, and
justice of his reign. The sway of such
a king, is not confined to one nation ;
he rules in the hearts of all good men,
whether they be of his own proper
realm, or the subjects of virtue abiding
in any other country : and such a king,

Ill

every honest man must acknowledge
in the King of Sweden !

At a moment when the proudest po
tentates of the world lie at the feet of
the universal ravager; when the king
doms of the earth are torn from their
centre, and new monarchies burst forth,
like burning mountains from the erup
tions of Etna; at this crisis, when men
only look to tremble, and their spirits
are conquered, even by the breath of
the enemy, how must all who detest
tyranny and revere the just, venerate
the King of Sweden ! How must they
exult in the heroism that carries him
to the front of such a formidable foe !
how must they confide in him who arms
himself with the mightiness of a just
cause, and a power, more prevailing

IV

than a thousand legions, an Invincible
Spirit !

To so true a king, to so true a hero,
to the most worthy successor of the
glorious monarchs of his name, and to
the champion of Honour, Virtue, Li
berty and Man, this sketch of the no
ble citadel he defends, is inscribed, by

His Majesty's
Most Respectful, Humble,
And Devoted Servant,
JANE PORTER.

PREFACE.

SIR Philip Sidney became conspicuous in
society when in years he was little more than a
boy. But the early maturity of his mind, the
power of his genius, the extent of his know
ledge, the virtues of his heart, the accomplish
ments of his manners, and the graces of his
person, gave him the consequence of a man
while he was yet a youth. He lived the admi
ration of the wise, and the wonder of the ig
norant. A favourite at court, and popular
with the people; all ranks regarded him with
respect, and wherever he moved acclamations
followed him. Though praised beyond all

VI

other men, esteemed by the old, beloved by
the young', and " the secret wish of many a
female heart," he bore all his honours meekly,
and with the veil of modesty tempered his
brightness. Tempered ! but such a soften
ing rendered it more beautiful to the eye, more
lovely to the soul, and redoubled its power by
the gentleness with which he used it. Such
was this <e Plume of war, with early laurels
crowned!" for, long before he attained to the
age in which manhood is commonly perfected
in mind as well as body, he had finished the
life of a hero.

Famousr in arms and in policy, Sir Philip
Sidney had yet leisure for the muses : and it i»
from his several works, written in hours of re
laxation, (and how noble must he have been
whose pastimes may be the studies of men !)
that I have selected the aphorisms which com
pose these volumes. He thought not of be-

Vll

ing an author when he wrote; but just as the
fancy struck him, poured forth his sentiments
on any pieces of paper that fell in his way,
and sent them in loose fragments to his sister,
the Countess of Pembroke : for this amiable
lady loved her brother so entirely, as to desire
to have every copy, however minute, of his
ever-graceful and truly " peerless" mind. —
His thoughts, as they flowed from a source
of as pure virtue as can belong to human na
ture, could not be different from their foun
tain: whether he spoke or wrote, whether
carelessly or with premeditation, all that he
sent forth must have expressed the nobleness
of his character. He could not think a mean
nor a wicked thing; much less utter one :
and though he passed a heavy sentence on the
negligence of his own compositions, none
will find a fault with their morality. He, be
ing; iutimate with such sentiments, could

Vlll

hardly suppose them to be much better to
others than often-told stories, which required
more pains than he would take, to render them
at all entertaining. Hence the perfection of
his taste made him see great deficiencies,
where few critics could discover a defect; and
be dissatisfied with his language, while we are
wrapt in admiration of the divine spirit that
inculcates truth with so attractive a sweetness.
As his heart was all virtue, so his soul was all
poetry: poetical thoughts burst and bloom
even over his gravest prose writings ; and the
ardour of his imagination carried his ideas of
moral excellence to a height which might have
been deemed chimerical, had not his life, as a
son, a brother, a friend, a subject, and a com
mander, sufficiently exemplified, that there is
no point of virtue beyond the reach of a per
severing and heaven-directed mind. This,
man, who was the glory of his own age, and

IX

is regarded by after-times as the pattern of all
that is great and good, heroic and amiable,
may shew to the young men of succeeding ge
nerations, that it is possible for thejine gen
tleman, to be united with the scholar) the he-
ro, and the Christian /

What the Romans said of Titus, English
men might apply to Sir Philip Sidney; for
whithersoever he went, he was <( the love and
delight of all men!" And the principles of
this general charm, the ground-work of his
eminent worth and engaging manners, maybe
found in the thoughts which enrich these vo
lumes. Lightly as he accounted them, they
are much better teachers of the mind, and
fashioners of the behaviour; much better
counsellors for a politician, and masters of
courtesy, than all the Graces that ever spoke
from the lips of Lord Chesterfield. Sir Philip
Sidney's foundation is laid in truth, Lord

Chesterfield's in falsehood. Sincerity and
courage make the soul of the one, hypocrisy
and fear, the spirit of the other; the one stands
erect in conscious dignity, the other cringes-
and bows with dastardly wiliness. A man of
honour would sooner see his children die " in-
cold obscurity," poor and unknown ; than
consent that any one of them should live,
even in the very lap of greatness, by the prin
ciples which Lord Chesterfield taught his son.
That such supposed wisdom is only a cheat,
a most miserably mistaken calculation, and
absurd estimation of things, Sir Philip Sidney
not only affirms in his writings, but proves by
the conduct of his life,

It being more satisfactory to see the picture
of a noble personage, than to hear him de
scribed ; so fine a model of the manly charac
ter, as well as a transcript of the precepts by
which it was formed, ought to be presented to.

XI

the eye. To sketch this picture, to draw some
portrait of virtues, which inspire the heart
that contemplates them, is the design of the,
perhaps, too presumptuous editor of these
aphorisms. But, animated by Sir Philip's
self, who says — that " he who shoots at the
sun, will strike higher than he who aims at a
lush!" I dare to plume an eagle- wing, and
soaring upward, either catch some virtue from
his light, or lose myself for ever in his beams.
It is said that vice is contagious ; why may
not virtue be imparted in like manner, by the
touch ? I am strangely deceived, if it be pos
sible for any one to shut these volumes with
out, at least once during the perusal of them,
having felt his heart beat with answering emo
tions. How dear are the throbs of virtue!
How to be cherished, and how lovely, those
exultations of the soul, those struggles after
something beyond the common practices of

Xll

the world, which seem to assert man's kindred
with the Divinity ! How can the possessor of
such a glorious principle as the Immortal Spi
rit, how can he consent to let it sleep ; to lie
inactive, unfelt, in his breast? Where are
the pursuits of vanity, the joys of sense, when
compared with the sublime raptures, the holy
ecstacies of the hero, the sage, the man of
virtue, the true knight of Christ ? Did man
once taste the fruit of paradise, he never again
would stoop to the garbage of earth.

Sir Philip Sidney is an example of how
happy and how admirable virtue can render
man. To enforce his precepts, zeal, not pre
sumption, has encited me to offer a few re
marks in the course of these pages. Though
ineloquently, I have spoken honestly and
warmly, on the subjects which were near to
his heart, and dear to mine. And may I add?
(for I cannot deny myself the support of such

Xlll

a sanction;) that my efforts in the good cause,
humble as they are, have been approved by a
mind which has " kept too long company
with Sir Philip Sidney's thoughts, to want a
thorough knowledge of the highest matters!"
If they best paint sorrows who have felt them
most, by the same rule, the heroic character is
> no unfit one to decide on sentiments profess
edly written to inculcate heroism of soul

And he who has studied Sidney's lesson of ho
nour, to make it the text of his life; who
shews in action, what his master teaches;
who, bearing with him the gentleness of virtue
with its authority, taxes neither human ac
tions nor human abilities, above their powers;
he, who with Christian humility admits that
a man may fall, and afterwards demonstrate
that his fall, like the falls of Antceus renews
his strength; and who, in the same lenient
spirit, pleads against defects in manner being

XIV

condemned as faults in principle: such a man
of experience, " acquainted with excellence
and not unknown to fame," has found in this
work a benevolent and not ungratifying reason
for pardoning its many imperfections; in a
word, by approving the motives which dictat
ed my attempt to write with Sir Philip Sid-
ney, he sanctions me in the hope, that other
ingenuous readers will be indulgent to errors
in the stile, for the sake of my sincerity ; and
that the sentence which a rigorous judgment
might dictate, may be averted by the candour
to which I appeal. At any rate, so gracious
a suffrage leads me to trust, that no charge of
arrogance will arise to intimidate me from
yet further tracing the literary steps of my
noble author, by preparing for the world a
pure copy of his Poems and Arcadia; and
that the illustrious assistants who have offer
ed me their libraries and researches, to aid

XV

the completion of my projected LIFE OF SIR
PHILIP SIDNEY, will find in these pages no
public reason to regret their engagement.

J. P

Long-Ditton, Surrey.
January, 1807.

APHORISMS,

MAN.

1.

REMEMBER always, that man is a creature
whose reason is often darkened with error.
2.

God Almighty, to shew us that he made all
of nothing hath left a certain inclination in his
creatures, whereby they tend naturally to no
thing ; that is to say, to change and corrupti
on ; unless they be upheld by his power, who
having all in himself, abideth alone the un
changeable and free from all passions.

VOL. i, B

Hem ark.

Sir Philip Sidney's opinion of the nature of
man, is founded on candour and humility.
As man is a finite being; he is liable to error;
therefore, it is the duty of all men, to bear
with occasional instances of that frailty, which
is common to them all. And as he is the crea
ture of an infinite God, (infinite in wisdom
and goodness, as in power,) he declares him
self to be dependent on his providence, for an
all-perfect line, by which he is to direct his
steps. Religion is the guide of his life 3 and
Charity his companion.

BIRTH.

1.

I AM no herald to inquire of men's pedi
grees; it sufficeth me, if I know their virtues.

2.

What is birth to a man, if it shall be a stain
to his dead ancestors, to have left such an off
spring ?

3.
Titles are but marks, on the highest worth.

4.

Where worthiness is, no outward lowness
ihould hinder the highest rising thereof. In
mean caves oft a treasure abides. Height of
thoughts should well countervail lowness of
quality.

Rework.

When high birth stands in the place of high
desert, in the estimation of mankind, indo-
-lence induces most men to be so well satisfied
B 2

with hereditary elevation, that resting all their
consequence upon this ground, they neglect
the means by which they might themselves up
hold their rank, and stamp a right to it, with
the seal of self-reflected eminence. There are
too many who, bankrupts in character, draw
largely on the abundant fame of the dead, to
preponderate living infamy ; and when the
violence or baseness of their actions make it
policy to keep them as much as possible in the
back-ground, they hold forth, as a charter for
new civil honours, the name of some heroic
ancestor, whose virtues won that title, which is
now perverted into a passport, with which vice
may invade the natural property of virtue. — •
While these degenerate sons of nobility are
degrading themselves beneath the lowest point
of contempt, men of eminent \vorth rise from
the humbler orders; and by the course of
things, take that honourable station in society,
which the profligate have deserted. A few
years pass away, and they, in their turn, be
come the parents of a race, who, perhaps, in
herit nothing of their father's fame, but its
golden trumpet and the echo of its sound.

Nobility, without virtue, is a fine setting with
out a gem. But when they are united, it is
then that we pay " that proud submission,
that dignified obedience, that subordination
of the heart, which keeps alive, even in ser
vitude itself, the spirit of an exalted freedom/'

EDUCATION AND STUDY.

I.

As the fertilest ground must be manured ;
so must the highest flying wit have a Daedalus
to guide him.

2.

. This purifying of wit, this enriching of me
mory, enabling of judgment, and enlarging of
conceit, which commonly we call learning;
under what name soever it come forth, or to
what immediate end soever it be directed, the
final end is, to lead and draw us to as high per
fection as our degenerate souls (made worse

by their clay lodging^) can be capable of.
This, according to the inclinations of man,
bred many-formed impressions : for some
that thought this felicity principally to be got
ten by knowledge, and no knowledge to be so
high or heavenly as to be acquainted with the
stars, gave themselves to astronomy : others,
persuading themselves to be demi-gods, if
they knew the causes of things, became natural
and supernatural philosophers : some, an ad
mirable delight, drew to music : and some,
the certainty of demonstrations, to the mathe
matics: but all, one and other, having this
scope, TO KNOW, and by knowledge to lift up
the mind from the dungeon of the body, to
the enjoying of its own divine essence. But
when, by the balance of experience, it was
found that the astronomer, looking to the
stars, might fall into a ditch; that the in
quiring philosopher might be blind to himself;
and the mathematician might draw forth a
strait line, with a crooked heart ; — then, lo i
did Proof, the over-ruler of opinions, make
manifest that all these are but serving sci
ences ; which, as they are all directed to the

highest aim of the mistress-knowledge, KNOW
LEDGE OF A MAN'S SELF, in the ethic and po
litic consideration; with the end of well-do
ing) and not of well-knowing only: so the
ending end of all earthly learning, being vir
tuous action, those skills that most serve to
bring forth that, have a most just title to be
princes over the rest.

3.

Until men find a pleasure in the exercise of
the mind, great promises of much knowledge,
will little persuade them that know not the
fruits of knowledge.

4.

It is manifest, that all government of action
is to be gotten by knowledge; and knowledge,
best, by gathering many knowledges, which
is reading.

5.

Alexander received more bravery of mind,
by the pattern of Achilles, than by hearing the
definition of fortitude.
6.

Each excellent thing, once well-learned,
serves for a measure of all other knowledges.

8

7

The mind itself must (like other things)
sometimes be unbent; or else, it will be either
weakened or broken.

Remark*

The first proposition in this plan of educa
tion, declares the arrogance of that mind
which fancies that, by its own unassisted
means, it can become wise unto perfection.
It might reasonably be supposed, that none
other than the silliest persons could conceive
so absurd an opinion ; but we see men of the
greatest talents fall into this mistake, and al
lege in support of it^ the omniscient power of
genius. A mind of extraordinary capacity
and force, is seldom without a proportionate
imagination ; this faculty, set to work by va
nity, forms a thousand wild chimeras; and,
charmed with the effects of its own incanta
tions, believes that the phantoms which peo
ple its fool's paradise, are the real substances
of an all-wise creation. When we consider
the presumption of this pride of intellect, and

Q

the offensivcness of such a domineering dispo
sition, (for a strong mind, untempered by dis
cipline, is the most dogmatical of all minds)
it is surprising that self-love, if not justice,
should allow the rest of mankind to pay more
homage to talents than to virtue. Why is
this ? Surely, neither writing greatly nor talk
ing greatly, is doing greatly ! It may be said,
that abilities are the germs of future greatness,
and, as the embryo of such a plant, they ought
to be valued. But then, let them be valued
as the seed only, and not as the blossom.

The soul, or rather, the supreme sense of
right, the dictator of all these abilities, is the
sun which must expand them into use and
beauty; for, when we speak of mere abilities,
we name what may make a man a great ge
neral, a great lawyer, or any other profession
al excellence ; but they alone cannot make him
a great man. Abilities may be referred to the
intellect, and they may indeed produce vulgar
greatness ; but in this there is nothing solid or
valuable. True greatness must be achieved
by the soul, who commands the energies of
the mind, as generals do their soldiers.
B 5

10

Talents are the wings which enable man to
cleave the depths of wisdom, and bring up
thence the powers which astonish and illumi
nate the world : by them, he crosses the im
measurable flood of time, and converses with
sages who are translated to eternity : by them,
he soars to heaven, and, led by the seraph)
Contemplation) kneels before the very throne
of Deity : By them, he unites past, present,
and to come : and by them, he becomes im
mortal. Allow them to lie still, and, though
they were the plumes of an angel, the posses
sor would be (effectually) as inanimate as a
clod of clay ; and as ignorant as the peacock
who, spreading his feathers to the sun, exults
in a transitory splendour. But it is not
enough, with the noble Sidney, that man
should cultivate his mind ; he must take care
that the plantation is weeded of its tares. He
sanctions no education, which does not ter
minate in virtue : to this temple all the ave
nues of the arts and sciences must tend : they
point to the sun, round which they revolve,
and from which alone they can, respectively,
derive either light, warmth, or brilliancy.

11

Every other path of study is vain and erratic ;
it wanders to right and left without any de
termined end ; and loses itself at length, in a
wilderness of doubt, dissipation, and disap
pointment. Man must seek to find. The
fruits of Parnassus will not bear to be neglect
ed ; they must be reaped as well as sowed,
else the harvest will perish where it grew,
^either must the teacher of youth overbur-
then the mind which he labours to instruct;
nor render his lessons odious, by a conduct
that contradicts the loveliness of his precepts.
He must display living as well as dead exam
ples of the virtues which he wishes to incul
cate ; for who can see the fruits of knowledge
in the man who, presuming on his mental su
periority, dares to be as severe and unamiable
.as he wills ? No tyranny is more iron than
that of genius, unaccompanied with goodness :
and it is a fortunate circumstance for the
world, that, though it may dazzle men by its
glare, unless it enlightens with its wisdom, it
fails of attraction. Such demagogues may
have pupils and parasites, but they never make
scholars nor friends. Man must love what he

12

admires, before his heart yields voluntary obe
dience.

REASON AND WISDOM.

l.

GIVE tribute, but not oblation, to human
wisdom.

2.

Reason cannot shew itself more reasonable,
than to leave reasoning on things above rea
son.

3.

Man's reason is so far off from being 'the
measurer of religious faith, which far exceed-
eth nature, that it is not so much as the mea
surer of nature, and of the least creatures,
which lie far beneath man.

4.
Thinking nurseth thinking.

5.

The glory and increase 'of wisdom stands in
exercising it.

13

6.

Reason ! How many eyes thou hast to
see evils, and how dim, nay, blind, thou
art in preventing them !
7.

To call back what might have leen, to a
man of wisdom and courage, carries but a
shadow of discourse.

8.

There is no man that is wise, but hath, in
whatsoever he doth, some purpose whereto he
directs his doings ; which, so long he follows,
till he sees that either that purpose is not worth
the pains, or that another doing carries with it
a better purpose.

9.

Learned men have learnedly thought, that
where once reason hath so much over-master
ed passion, as that the mind hath a free desire
to do well, the inward light each mind hath in
itself is as good as a philosopher's book; since
in nature we know that it is well to do well,
and what is good and what is evil, although
not in the words of art, which philosophers
bestow upon us ; for out of natural conceit

14

(which is the very hand-writing of God} the
philosophers drew it. But to be moved to do
that which we knoiv ; or to be moved with
desire to know, — hoc opus, hie labor est.

10,

Some busy themselves so much about their
pleasures, that they can never find any leisure,
not, to mount up unto God, but only so much
as to enter into themselves. So thoughtless
are they, that they be more 'Strangers to their
own nature, to their own souls, and to the
things which concern them most nearly and
peculiarly, than they be either to the desarts of
Inde, or to the seas that are worst to be haunt
ed and least known.

Remark.

By mixing much with the world, and direct
ing our desires, our thoughts, and our actions,
towards the attainment of those honours which
embellish civilized society, we insensibly for
get that there is any thing beyond them. - Our
senses are so employed in the contemplation of
visible rewards, that we have no time to spare,

15

(not even a wish,) upon the invisible treasures
which await man in eternity. What is pre
sent absorbs him wholly ; and he is too apt to
make an idol of that human wisdom, by which
he acquires the transitory glory he sought. By
the decisions of this oracle, he measures all
things, divine as well as earthly; and from to
tal ignorance of his own nature, of the limita
tions of mortal reason, and of the essential
difference between it, and that of the Deity,
(which is the Supreme Reason) he begins with
doubting the possibility of every proposition
which he cannot comprehend ; and ends with
denying that any thing can be true, which man
does not completely understand. Such rea-
soners, (and there are too many of them,) are
not aware of two truths : — That men are never
so much at a loss what to say, as when the ax
iom, which they are called upon to prove, is
more self-evident than all that can be alleged
in its demonstration. — And, that things which
arc beyond reason, are not necessarily against
reason. None arc more prone to the worship
ping of human reason, than they who are most
insensible to her influence. " Truth (says the

10

excellent Wollaston) is the offspring of si
lence, unbroken meditations, and thoughts of
ten revised and corrected/* She is not to be.
found by the midnight reveller, the votary of
appetite, passion, and prejudice ; by such
fumes, the lights of the mind are clouded or
extinguished. Nor can the man who is bu
sied in traffic, often take leisure for the search.
And others, who by the display of a ready wit,
have acquired the name of learned, rather
darken the mental orb with images of sense
and selfishness, than irradiate vision, by look
ing without themselves, for fair views of na
ture. In proportion as the philosopher puri
fies his heart, he clears his reasoning faculty :.
and as he throws from him the dross of mor
tality, he perceives the chains with which vice
and sensuality held his more ethereal part ;
and looking upward, in the humility of true
wisdom, to that Divine Reason, which is un
changeable, incomprehensible, infinite, and
all-perfect, he exclaims, "Wherewithal shall
a man cleanse his way ? Even by ruling him
self after the word of the Most High ! Right
eous art thou, O Lord, and true is thyjudg-

17

ment; incline my heart to thy testimonies,
and I will walk at liberty; for I seek thy com
mandments !" Human reason and human
wisdom have no other commission on earth,
than to lead mankind, by knowledge, to vir
tue, and by virtue, to God.

VIRTUE.

1.

THE treasures of inward gifts are bestowed,
by the Heavens, on men, to be beneficial and
not idle.

2.

Wisdom and virtue are the only destinies
appointed to man to follow ; whence we ought
to seek all our knowledge, since they be such
guides as cannot fail ; and which, besides their
inward comfort, do lead so direct a way of pro
ceeding, as either prosperity must ensue, or,
if the wickedness of the world should oppress

18

us, it can never be said, that evil happeneth to
him who falls accompanied with virtue.

3.

A man's self gives haps or mishaps, even at
heordereth his heart,

•

How excellently composed is that mind,
which shews a piercing wit, quite void of os
tentation, high-erected thoughts, seated in a.
heart of courtesy, and eloquence, as sweet in
the uttering, as slow to come to the uttering,
and a behaviour so noble, as gives beauty to
pomp, and majesty to adversity !
5.

Forasmuch as to understand and to be
mighty are great qualities, the higher that
they be, they are so much the less to be es
teemed, if goodness also abound not in the
possessor.

6.

In the ordinary intercourse of society, we do
not so much look for men who exceed in the
virtues which get admiration, such as depth
of wisdom, height of courage, and largeness
of magnificence j we rather seek men who are

19

notable in those which stir affection, as truth
of word, meekness, courtesy, mercifulness,
and liberality.

7.

We become willing servants to the good, by
the bonds their virtues lay upon us.
S.

Remember, that if we be men, the reason
able part of our soul is to have absolute com
mandment ! Against which, if any sensual
weakness arise, we are to yield all our sound
forces, to the overthrowing of so unnatural a
rebellion 5 wherein, how can we want courage,
since we are to deal against so feeble an ad
versary, that in itself is nothing but weakness?
Nay, we are to resolve, that if reason direct it,
we must do it : and if we must do it, we will
do it j for tq say / cannot, is childish, and
I will not, is womanish.
9.

In the truly great, virtue governs with the
sceptre of knowledge.

10.

A mind well trained and long exercised in
virtue, doth not easily change any course it

20

once undertakes, but upon well-grounded and
well-weighed causes ; for, being witness to it
self of its own inward good, it finds nothing
without it of so high a price, for which it
should be altered. Even the very countenance
and behaviour of such a man doth shew forth
images of the same constancy ; by maintain
ing a right harmony betwixt it and the inward
good, in yielding itself suitable to the virtuous,
resolution of the mind..
IK

A secret assurance of worthiness, though it
be never so well cloathed in modesty, yet al
ways lives in the worthiest minds.
12.

The virtuous man limits his thoughts with
in that he esteems good ; to which he is nei
ther carried by the vain tickling of uncertain
fame, nor from which he can be transported
by enjoying any thing whereto the ignorant
world gives the excellent name of good.
13.

A good man loves to do well> for virtue's
self, and not for thanks.

21

14.

A virtuous man, without any respect whe
ther his grief be less or more, is never to do
that which he cannot assure himself is allow
able before the EVER-LIVING RIGHTFULNESS;
but rather is to think honours or shames,
which stand in other men's true or false judg
ments, as pains or not pains, (which never
yet approach our souls) to be nothing in re
gard of an unspotted conscience.

Remark.

The only impregnable citadel of virtue, is
religion; for there is no bulwark of mere mo
rality, which some temptation may not over
top, or undermine, and destroy.

15.

Longer I would not wish to draw breath,
lhan I may keep myself unspotted of any hei
nous crime.

16.
AVhen a man's heart is the gage of his

22

debt; when a man's own thoughts are willing
witnesses to his promise ; lastly, when a man
is the jailor over himself, there is little doubt
of breaking credit, and less of escape,

17.

In the clear mind of virtue, treason can find
no hiding-place.

Remark.

The maxim of politicians, That all meam
are admissible, which further their plans, is
rejected by virtue. One of the greatest heroes
that England ever produced, discoursing one
day on the successes of a famous northern
king, who, (notwithstanding his many noble
qualities) sometimes acted upon Machiavelian
principles, made this observation— (( If a pro
posed good cannot be accomplished but by the
commission of an evil, it must be relinquish
ed ; for no end, however excellent, can sanc-
tiiy immoral means. Besides, as the desired
aim of an action is not always its necessary

23

consequence, It is bad calculation to incur po
sitive evil, for the sake of uncertain good. In
short, a man of honour should esteem nothing
an acquisition, that demands the sacrifice of
integrity."

18.

As in geometry, the oblique must be known,
as well as the right; and in arithmetic, the
odd as well as the even ; so in actions of life,
who seeth not the filthiness of evil, wanteth a
great foil to perceive the beauty of virtue.

19.

A man is bound no farther to himself,
than to do wisely ; which is virtue.

20.

The general goodness which is nourished
in noble hearts, makes every one think that
strength of virtue to be in another, whereof
they find assured foundation in themselves.

21.

The only disadvantage of an honest heart, is
credulity.

22
Think not that cruelty, or ungratefulness,

24

<:an flow from a good mind. From the foun
tain of virtue, nothing but virtue could ever
spring.

Remark.

Confidence In this maxim (for where af
fection points, virtue is pre-supposed), pro
duces the credulity complained of in the one
that immediately precedes it. But too much
reliance on apparent worth, can never bring to
the confiding person such stings as must pierce
he upbraiding conscience of the unjustly sus
picious. It would be less hurt to the heart of
a man of honour, to close on the dagger of him
whose faith he had accepted, than to have
treated as a traitor, a creature, who on proof
had never swerved from fidelity. Suspicion is
the shield of dishonour. Rochefoucault says,
(f our own distrust justifies the deceit of
others ;" and Fenelon has something of the
same kind — " He who is suspicious of deceit
deserves to be deceived. " When Dion, who
deposed Dionysius, was told that Callippus,
bis bosom friend, conspired against hiin, he

25

refused to question him, saying, " It is better
for him to die than to live, who must be wary
not only of his enemies, but of his friends/'

23.

A true-grounded virtue must be like itself
in all points.

24.

The hero's soul may be separated from his
body, but never alienated from the remem
brance of virtue.

25.

Often extraordinary excellence, not being
rightly conceived, does rather offend than
please.

26.

An extraordinary desert requires an extraor-
.dinary proceeding.

27.

Having nothing but just desires, we need
not mistrust their justifying.

23.
Virtue seeks to satisfy others.

VOL. I.

Remark.

It is indeed a lamentable truth, that misap
prehended excellence is often an object of dis
like. People do not always understand the
motives of sublime conduct, and when they
are astonished they are very apt to think they
ought to be alarmed. The truth is, none are
fit judges of greatness but those who are ca
pable of it. Those virtues rarely excite an in
stant popularity, which outwardly bear the
odious marks of a fierce and unnatural tem
per j for men will not admire a motive which
they can neither perceive nor feel : men judge
by themselves, and abhor in others what they
would detest in themselves.

The upright in heart owe it to themselves,
and to virtue in general, not to withdraw from
scrutiny. A divine precept says, Let not thy
good le evil spoken of! According to this
rule (whose direction is very extensive), they
ought to meet investigation ; and prove to the
world the falsity of the bad reports which ig
norance or malice may have raised to their

27

prejudice. Otway says well to this effect, if
for the Irave we substitute the good — " The
goody indeed, do never shun the light !"

29.

The fairer a diamond is, the more pity it i*
that it should receive a blemish.

30.

Doing good is the only certainly happy ac
tion of a man's life.

31.

Misfortunes may abound, but how can he
want comfort that hath the true and living
comfort of unblemished virtue ?

32.

Neptune hath not more force to appease
the rebellious wind, than the admiration of an
extraordinary virtue hath to temper a disorder
ed multitude.

Remark.

" Every man, unless his constitution be de
fective, inherits the principles of every passion ;
but no man is the prey of all his passions." —
Some one or other, by sap or storm, usually
obtains the mastery, and rules the rest at
pleasure. There is a certain vigour of the
soul, an active power essential to its existence,
which must have action ; and if it be not at
tracted to virtue, it will gravitate to vice. To
give this desirable direction, is the study of
education ; and to keep in it, is the business
of human life. Different men, are endowed
with different degrees of fervour ; the Prome
thean flame glows with greater heat or bright
ness in some constitutions than in others ; —
hence the course of the passions becomes tem
perate, or violent, according to the original
impetus ; and kindling by vehement and un
checked motion, they set fire to every thing
in their way, until the whole soul is absorbed
in the blaze. Man, when he was created, was
formed for various situations. By diversity

2Q

of character, the economy of society is car
ried on with proportion, beauty* and interest ;
and the evils that chequer the scene, are like
discords in music, which add to the effect of
the general harmony. It is not requisite, that
every man should be renowned ; but it is in-
dispensible, that all should be virtuous : there
fore, if we would wish to fulfil the end of our
being ; if we would render that being as noble
and as happy as this terrestrial state will ad
mit — v e must be sovereigns of ourselves ! We
must throw a yoke over our selfish passions ;
and even curb our social propensities, those
innocent betrayers of peace, and often of rec
titude ! For, it is well observed by an amiable
Northern philosopher, that " the social dispo
sitions (being in their own nature gay and ex-
hilerating), extend their influence to other
passions which are not in opposition to them,
and accelerate their motions^ while they aug
ment their own vivacity. They animate, and
even inflame the inferior appetites; and where
reason and other serious principles are not in
vested with supreme authority, they expose us
to the anarchy of unlawful desires. There are

30

many instances of men being betrayed into
habits of profligacy, by the influence of their
social passions/' A smouldering barrier di
vides the bigot from idolatry ; as fragile is the
line which separates strong liking from inor
dinate longing. When men, above all things,
seek the indulgence of particular wishes, and
those wishes have little affinity with promot
ing the happiness of others, but tend imme
diately to self-gratification, all attention to the
rule of right gradually disappears, and indi
vidual enjoyment supersedes every law, hu
man and divine. Then, indeed, are these
men in bondage ; their paramount affection
loses its form of innocence, and Dalilah-like,
having cheated them with smiles, and shorn
-them of strength, leads them whither it wills,
from the love of society to court dissipation ;
from the love of persons to a spirit of faction ;
from the love of fame to the intrigues of am
bition. In short, unless men's inclinations
and passions are regulated by virtue, (who
points to the end, and enjoins temperance to
keep us in the path), they will shoot from
their sphere. They are the allegorical horses

31

in the car of Phoebus, which, when guided by
their master's skill, went their equable, lumi
nous and all -vivify ing round ; but when the
daring hand of Phaeton seizes the reins, the
impetuous animals break from his unprac
tised grasp, dash in wild liberty from side to
side, and setting the whole universe on fire,
precipitate the rash youth into the burning
elements. There never was a victim to his
passions, who could not, if he chose to speak
honestly, give a true exposition of this fable.

The social affections have a different ten
dency, and can no more produce profligacy,
than virtue can produce vice. A passion for
society may lead to the tankard's foaming and
social noise, and other evil consequences j but
affection is still and circumscribed ; it cannot
be distributed among many ; the endearing
ties can never be very extensive. As a river
divided into many channels, flows weak and
shallow ; so affection, when dissipated among
many objects, becomes feeble and ineffectual.
Hence it may be inferred, that affection (which
is the common excuse of those who run into
social excesses), never carried a man to the

32

table of revellers or the rendezvous of profli
gates. The affections cannot abide with rude
ness and phrenzy ; they are warm and gentle,
social but pure. It is my firm belief that the
genuine impulse of the social affections never
yet produced intoxication ; they no more lead
to wine, than learning to atheism ; they re
quire no stimulus ; they lurn in afire of their
own ! But men like to dignify their vices,
and to utter any paradox rather than acknow
ledge their own worthlessness. They con
ceive that the lesson of temperance is difficult
to learn and harsh in its practice, and there
fore are content to borrow the names of the
amiable virtues, rather than make any sacrifice
or any essay to possess them in reality. They
are not aware that the path of virtue is not only
the field of honour, but the way of peace. Its
conquests may be hardly won, but when once
gained, they produce a lasting tranquillity, an
elevation of soul, a mighty power of action,
which none but the ruler of himself can pos
sess. No regrets follow these bloodless vic
tories, for every one of them add to his terri
tory, and make him more a king. When

33

Alexander had subdued the world, and wept
that none were left to dispute hi^ arms, his
tears were an involuntary tribute to a mo
narchy that he knew not — Man's empire over
himself. When we yield to passion, we sur
render both the temptation and its price ;
our virtue and our passion leave us together ;
in the very moment in which we gratify in
temperate desire, it dies ; for a passion satis
fied is 'a passion destroyed. " When any in
ordinate appetite is sated, it requires no more ;
nay, we turn loathing from its repetition ;
the zest is gone, and nothing remains, but
the consciousness of sacrificed innocence, and
the conviction that we are slaves." — Such is
the fate of the ambitious man, as well as of
the voluptuary. The usurper, who makes his
way to a throne through blood, and the Syba
rite, who murders his manhood on the altar
of pleasure, are equally the prey of remorse :
the gorged demon within, turns his scorpions
upon the breast that fed him; and unless he
is amused with fresh oblations, his guilty cap
tive becomes the victim. By new outrages,
new devastations, new usurpations, the tyrant
c 5

34

appeases the clamour: the sensualist drowns
his senses in the cup of excess, and dreams of
a bliss he is for ever precluded from enjoying.
—Both are miserable.

GLORY.

1.

THE journey of high honour lies not in
smooth ways.

Remark.

This truth is exemplified, in the choice of
Hercules, who turned from the couch of plea
sure to climb the precipice of virtue; in the
election of Achilles, who chose death and re
nown rather than life and oblivion ; and in the
resolution of Curtius, who leaped into the
burning gulph to save his country.

35

2.

High honour is not only gotten and born
by pain and clanger, but must be nursed by the
like, else it vanisheth as soon as it appears \9
the world.

If em ark.

A French philosopher hath said, that " ad
miration is a kind of fanaticism, which ex
pects miracles ;" and there never was a hero
that could not subscribe to the verity of this
observation. Popular admiration is a micros
cope, which so magnifies its object, that he
who cannot contravene the order of nature,
and master impossibilities, can hardly hope
to accomplish its extravagant expectations.
The favourite of the people is one who is ex
pected to govern Fortune, as absolutely as that
insolent directress of hitman affairs rules over
others. Let him shew all the courage and
good conduct in the world, yet if against fear
ful odds, he prove not invariably victorious, —
he fails! let him effect more than ever man,
under like circumstances, achieved 5 yet, if he

30

do not every thing, he does nothing. If he
controul not fate like a god, he is degraded
from the dignity of a hero, despoiled of every
well-earned laurel, and stripped of every attri
bute of praise. He is reviled by the multitude
of illiberal censurers, who can form no ade-
quate idea of the difficulties of his situation, or
of the limited scope of mortal agency. Each
arrogant idiot fancies he could have conquered
where Hannibal was subdued; and thus the
disasters of great men lecome palms to adorn
fools !

3.

Honour flieth up to heaven, when borne on
the wings of courage and justice.

4.

Who shoots at the mid-day sun, though he
be sure he shall never hit the mark, yet as sure
he is, that he shall shoot higher than he who
aims but at a bush.

5.
Great is not great to the greater.

37

Remark.

The crown of ambition is a poor prize to
him who aspires to the empire of glory. "To
be ambitious of true honour, (says the divine
Sherlock,) of the true glory and perfection of
our natures, is the very principle and incentive
of virtue; but to be ambitious of titles, of
place, of ceremonial respects and civil page
antry, is as vain and little as the things are
which we court."

6.

It is a great happiness to be praised of them
that are most praise-worthy.

Remark.

There is also a praise without words, which
produces the same effect, general attention.
Is it not delightful to find ourselves the axis
on which the souls of a whole company turn ?
the centre wherein all the points which coin-
pose the circle we move in, meet? Finding

38

ourselves tenderly regarded by others, we in
sensibly tender ourselves more dearly. We
see our own images reflected in the admiration
of the worthy ; and what they deem deserving
of esteem, modesty itself cannot refuse to re
spect. When super-eminent talents have a
fair field to act on, they never fail of exciting
the plaudits of those, whose judgment ought
to be the standard of fame ; for there is a se
cret principle which unites kindred geniuses,
as well as kindred souls; whereas contraries
mingle with great reluctance.

7.

When men have honoured the course of
their creation, and they fall into evil time^
place, and fortune, it is lawful for them to
speak gloriously.

Remark.

If ever it be lawful for a great man to speak
in lofty terms of the merit of his own actions,
it surely is when the unjust reproaches of en
vy or malignity have made an honourable

39

mention of his own praise- worthy doings in-
dispensibly requisite to his just defence. An
exalted eharacter may, with becoming grace,
remember his own virtue, when an ungrateful
country has forgotten it. Plutarch affirms
that self-rlraise is neither disgraceful nor
blameable, when it is introduced by way of
apology, to remove calumny or accusation;
and he enforces the remark by many admirable
examples, some of which I will repeat. Pe
ricles, when a popular clamour was raised
against him, broke out as follows: "But ye
are angry with me, a man inferior to none,
whether it be in the knowing or interpreting
of necessary things ; a man, who am a lover
of my country, and above the meanness of
bribes!" This was not arrogance nor vanity,
but the dictates of a brave spirit, which no
thing could subdue, and of a soul greatly con
scious of its own nobility. When the Theban
princes accused Pelopidas and Epaminondas
for disobedience of orders, in retaining the go
vernment of Bceotia, contrary to law, and,
moreover, making an incursion into Laconia
and repeopling Messena ; Pelopidas humbling
4

40

himself, and making many submissive apolo
gies and earnest entreaties, very hardly obtain
ed forgiveness. But Epaminondas, loftily
glorying in the very actions for which he was
arraigned, declared, that he would willingly
suffer death, if it might be written on his mo
nument, that, — sf He had wasted Laconia, the
territory of an enemy, peopled Messena two
hundred and thirty years after it had been
sacked^ united the Arcadians, and restored
liberty to Greece, — AGAINST HIS COUNTRY'S
WILL !" The judges admired him, and won
dering at the cheerful greatness of his courage,
rose, and refused to receive the votes. When
Scipio, to the infamy of his countrymen, was
accused at Rome, " This day (said he to the
assembled multitude) this day is the anniver
sary of that on which I conquered Hannibal
and reduced Carthage ! I, for my part, am go
ing to the capitol with my garland on my
head, to sacrifice to the Gods, and return them
thanks for the victory; and those who ehuse
may stay here and pass sentence upon me."
Whereupon the assembly followed him with
shouts and acclamations, leaving his accusers

41

to declaim alone, to their mortification, dis
comfiture and' disgrace. Magnanimity like
this, with a supernatural frown, seizes upon
the souls of men, and compels homage and
admiration. Phocion, when one of his com
panions in death bewailed his misfortune, thus
addressed him, " What ! is it not a pleasure
for thee to die with Phocion?" Here was a
Irave flash of a dying light ! How godlike
must have been the nature of that virtue
which, in the darkest hour of adversity, could
shed so divine an effulgence around the soul
of Phocion ! I shall conclude these specimens
of what may justly be called heroic egotism,
with a sentence from Plutarch, which is an
admirable amplification of Sidney's remark ;
" As those who, in walking, affect a stiffness
of body and a stretched-out neck, are account
ed effeminate and foppish, but are commend
ed if, infighting, they keep themselves erect
and steady, so the man, grapling with ill-
fortune, if he raise himself like a strong cham
pion to resist her, and, by a bravery of speech,
transforms himself from abject and miserable
to bold and noble, he is not to be censured

42

as obstinate and audacious, but honoured as
invincible and great."

As nothing is more delicate than the ground
upon which a man treads, when he comes to
allege his own merit, (such egotism being ge
nerally considered an infringement of the
rules of decorum and the laws of modesty,)
it will be well, by pointing out the principles
of what is praise-worthy, and what may ap
pear so and is not, to shew mankind what ac
tions will bear this self-acclaim. It is a wea
pon belonging to the lover of true glory,
which the ambitious dare not use. There are
no two things more mistaken than the love of
glory, and its vile counterfeit, ambition. —
How do authors, statesmen, and conquerors,
boast of notoriety, and call it fame! To be
universally known, universally talked of, and
sometimes universally feared, are tokens, in
their opinion, of universal honour. But these
persons form a wrong estimate of genius:
virtue not being its essential property, it is
only valuable as it super-adds that to the other
ends of its existence. The direction which
Voltaire gave to his talents, has spread their

43

celebrity and his infamy together : Machia-
vel's baseness and his policy are inseparable
in the memory : and the apostacy, cruelty, and
treachery of Napoleon Bonaparte, will for
ever disgrace the genius by which he subju
gated France and awes the world. Dr. John
son has said, that the chief glory of a country
arises from its authors. But then, that is only
as they are oracles of wisdom : unless they
teach virtue, they are more worthy of a halter
than of the laurel. As for the civic wreath,
we see statesmen, who, to maintain a pro
vince, will take pains to ruin the morals of a
nation And though common sense ought
not to require being told, that every trium
phant warrior is not a hero; yet this gross
mistake hath so often been made, that justice
demands its confutation. The natures of am
bition and glory are essentially different. Am
bition is like a whirlpool, which absorbs every
thing into itself. Glory is like the sun, which
pours its life-giving rays over all the globe. —
Ambition has no end but its own gratification :
to attain which, it would sacrifice friends, re
lations, and country ; all affinities, all rights^.

44

are trampled on in ascending its ladder of
hope. The tyrant cares not what mankind
think of him, provided they dare not but
speak well of him, and must obey him: he is
king Midas, whose absolute sceptre turns his
subjects into statues. On the reverse, the
candidate for true glory seeks, above all things,
to deserve glory. His wish is, to win the
race; the badge of victory is a secondary con
sideration. Devoted to the public good, he
would rather, by some unwitnessed, unwhis-
pered action, administer to its welfare; than
hear himself the applauded idol of millions,
whom the pageantry of martial spoils, or the
finesse of state intrigue, had deluded to such
enthusiasm: Give me the heart! (he says),
and the lips may be mute! But should for
tune desert him, and his countrymen view his
actions through a perverse medium, he is no
Coriolanus, to take up arms against their in
gratitude : the treachery of men can never
urge him to betray himself: and the ungrate
ful obloquy or violence of those whom he
hath defended, can never tempt him to abjure
his duty to the laws which guard their safety:

45

many may rebel, a fe\v may be faithful, and
"for ten righteous the city shall I >e saved."
He can bear with any thing but his own re
buke; and as he will rather die than incur it,
there is nothing on earth that can intimidate
his virtue. Whatever he thinks, whatever he
does, is directed to the promotion of the gene
ral weal. Were he to write it would be to in
spire men with just and heroic sentiments. —
Should he be stationed in the senate, he main
tains his post, as the sentinel of the people's
liberties, and of the lawful prerogatives of the
crown: neither can be transgressed with im
punity to public happiness. When he draws
the sword, it is not for chaplets, trophies and
stars, but to repel the enemies of his country;
to conquer for its peace, or to die in its de
fence : the God of Battles, the great Jehovah
is the judge of his motives, the only spectator
whose approbation he seeks ; and when the
applause of the world succeeds, it seems as
the radiance of the sun, which (produced by
internal brightness) illuminates surrounding
objects, while itself is unconscious of the
glory. His animating principle is the love of

virtue, and the labour of his life the expansion
of her reign: to love her and to love his
country (which she commands him to love,)
is one; for love is measured by obedience. —
By her laws, he has marshalled all his talents ;
and his consequent conduct cannot be shaken,
because he stands, not upon opinion, but prin
ciple. His voice is the voice of virtue, and
its echo is glory. Sublime, adorable ray from
the Divine Nature! Thou animating emana
tion from the throne of God, that turns man
into an angel ! that immortalizes him on
earth ; that catches him from the common
paths of men; and wraps him in such a man
tle of light, that we forget he is a brother, and
are almost inclined to worship his transcendent
greatness. Ah ! when mortal glory is thus
beautiful, thus commanding, thus entrancing,
what must that effulgence be, of which this is
only a spark — a glittering dew-drop in a bound
less ocean !

MAGNANIMITY. -

1.

REMEMBER, that in all miseries, lamenting
becomes fools, and action, wise folk.
2.

Confidence in one's self, is the chief nurse
of magnanimity. Which confidence, not
withstanding, doth not leave the care of ne
cessary furnitures for it; and, therefore, of all
the Grecians, Homer doth ever make Achil
les the best armed.

Remark.

Had Sir Philip Sidney remembered this just
sentiment, on the fatal morning in which
he received his death, he might, perhaps, have
spared England the sudden loss of its chief
glory. When the stand was to be made be
fore Zulphen, he entered the field, as was his
custom, completely armed; but meeting the
marshall of the cainp in slighter armour, the

43

emulation of -his heart to do all that man dare
do, made him disdain the inequality of his ha
zard to that of his officer,, and he threw off his
cuirass: by which act, as his friend Lord
Brook says, " it seemed by the secret influence
of destiny, that he disarmed the very part
where God had resolved to strike him." A
musket ball from the trenches broke the bone
of his thigh ; and of that-wound he died. To
present our body to the chance of war, and to
expose it to all its shafts, are as different actions
as bravery and rashness. Life is too precious
to be thrown away : and he who values it not,
(which may be inferred of the man who lays
it open to unnecessary danger,) has no merit
in hazarding what is regarded by him as worth
less. But he who estimates life, with all its
duties, and sources of bliss; and who then
makes himself a shield for his country, de
mands the admiration and the gratitude of
mankind. He will not shrink from the fight;
but prudence tells him, that it is not valour to
unbrace his naked breast to the enemy. That
Sir Philip Sidney fell into thjs error, is one in
stance, out of many, that even our virtues

49

will betray us to excess, if they be not con-
troled by v/isdom. Impulse is apt to lead
astray. The virtues are principles, not pas
sions. When (instead of remaining, like the
machine of Archimedes, on firm ground,
tv hence they may guide the world,) they take
wing ; and so obey, or struggle with contending
elements, their resistless property, with their
purity, is lost; and forfeiting even a claim to
their name, they become the sport of fortune.

3.

As the arrival of enemies makes a town to
fortify itself, so that ever after it remains
stronger ; and hence a man may say, that ene
mies were no small cause to the town's
strength $ so, to a mind once fixed in a well-
pleasing determination, who hopes by annoy
ance to overthrow it, doth but teach it to knit
together all its best grounds; and so, per-
chuuce, of a chanceable purpose, make an un
changeable resolution.

4.
Let us prove that our minds arc no slaves

VOL, I.

to fortune; and in adversity, triumph over
adversity.

Remark.

Adversity is the field in which true greatness
displays itself to most advantage. When mis
fortunes pour down upon a man, to sustain
them, is like contending with and beating up
against the rolling tide of the ocean : the re
solute swimmer is sometimes overwhelmed ;
but he rises again, and mounts on the wave
that covered him, to strike with a yet firmer
arm against the flood. Faint spirits sink un
der calamity, repine, and die 5 brave ones
erect themselves, breast every adversity as it
approaches, and though " the iron enters
their souls," throw their enemy to the ground-
How admirable is the sight of invincible for
titude struggling with misfortune ! How low
and contemptible seem all the appendages of
factitious greatness, when opposed to the son
of affliction standing unsheltered in the storm,
his noble heart bare to the arrows of unnum
bered foes, and his eye fixed with steady

51

patient observation on the heavens! " Beat
on! ye cannot shake my souH" No; the
soul, in a brave bosom, grows under miseries,
dilates, and becomes almost divine : by strong
self-collection it obtains the mastery over itself;
and by such sway, the world and its assailants
lose half their might. Nothing can have power
over the man who is inflexible in the resolu
tion to Lear ; — and " to bear is to conquer our
fate." Who can view so magnanimous a suf
ferer, without acknowledging his pre-emin
ence over all who enjoy their lives in uninter
rupted prosperity. What thanks need be giv
en to such men, that they are cheerful, grate
ful, and active in the proper use of their
means? Is not their way strewed with roses,
and do not their exertions find luxurious rest
on the lap of abundance? These men may
wear a wreath, but it is the fading one of an
easy triumph ; the crown that binds the brows
of the victor in adversity, though it be twined
with thorns, will yet bloom for ever. So far
the honour due to magnanimity : but not only
the glory which beams from an invincible for
titude, but the benefits produced to the mind,
Pi

which arise from such proof of its powers^
ought to animate us to contend with adver
sity; and to greatly scorn those indolent and
fruitless repinings, which blemish our cha
racters without mitigating our calamities*—*
" Prosperity (says Bacon,) does best discover
vice; but adversity does best discover virtue. >J
(f True virtue (adds the same divine author,,)
is like precious odours,— sweeter the more in
censed and crushed !"

5.

Fortify courage with the true rampart of pa
tience.

Remark,

How nobly did Madame Roland practice
this maxim ! Thus she speaks of herself :
<c The resignation of a patient temper; the
quiet of a good conscience ; the elevation of
spirit, which sets misfortune at defiance ; the
laborious habits, which make hours pass ra
pidly away; the delicate taste of a sound
mind, finding in the consciousness of exist-

53

ence, and of its own value, pleasures which
the vulgar never know: these were my riches "

6.

The great, in affliction, bear a countenance
more princely than they were wont ; for it is
the temper of highest hearts, like the palm-
tree, to strive most upward, when it is most
burthened.

7.

A noble heart, like the sun, sheweth its
greatest countenance in its lowest estate.

Remark.

It is the custom to measure men's minds
by their fortunes; to affix the greater honours
on the higher prosperity: but the nobility of
the soul knows no adventitious distinctions ;
(though it rendereth unto Ceesar the thingb
that are Ccesar'sJ it reigneth even in a pri
son, when the wearer of many a diadem would
grovel in chains.

8.

I call the immortal Truth to witness, that
no fear of torment can appal me, who knows
that it is but a different manner of appareling
death ; and have long learned to set bodily
pain but in the second form of my being.-—
And as for shame; how can I be ashamed of
that, for which my well-meaning conscience
wjll answer for me to God ?
y.

The truly great man is as apt to forgive as
his power is able to revenge.

Remark.

It is difficult to sacrifice pride, as a peace-
offering on the altar of forbearance; but un
less virtue do this, she fails in the sublimest
part of her duty ; she abrogates her own co
venant of forgiveness with heaven.

10.

It is a notable example of virtue, where the
conqueror seeks for friendship of the con
quered.

55

Remark.

Thalcs of Miletus, one of the seven sages
of Greece, was asked, " What is there that
can console us in misfortune?" He replied,
" The sight of an enemy more wretched than
ourselves." How opposite a sentiment from
the above precept ! And these are the men
who are set up by modern philosophers, as
teachers of a morality, as pure, beneficial, and
lovely, as that of the merciful Jesus!

11.

The perfect hero passeth through the mul
titude, as a man that neither disdains a peo
ple, nor yet is any thing tickled with their
flattery.

Remark.

The result of magnanimity, when made the
object of public notice, is generally glory :
but as its principle is, to pass through the
multitude) as a man tliat neitlier disdains

56

them, nor h tickled ly their flattery ; it
would not be less magnanimous, were it to
suffer, to bear, and to surmount, in the se
crecy of a dungeon. Real greatness wants
not the sanction of man, to make it what it is :
the Almighty sees His servant, and needs no
witness to validate his worth.

12.

It is greater greatness, to give a kingdom
than to get a kingdom.

Remark.

By this much in the scale of greatness, doth
Washington outweigh most other popular dic
tators. They, whom history records, gene
rally confirmed their power, by seizing the
throne 3 while he, bent on the establishment
of public freedom, resigned his seat the mo
ment his guidance was no longer necessary.

CONTEMPT OF RICHES.

~;,rt'l.} « '

No man is moved with part that neglect

the whole.

Remark.

The best comment on this aphorism, is the
story of the Roman Fabricius. Whether does
he, who shews himself beyond the influence of
gold ; or he who thinks that " the highest
virtue has its price ;" manifest the magna
nimity of a prince ? Every honest mind can
reply to this question, and every generous one
will subscribe to it, although they cannot but
confess gold to be a good in life. The means
of acquiring is the point in debate : the sor
did shrink from no baseness by which they
may grub up gold; the generous must win it
like men of honour, or are resolved to strive
to be contented without it. Those who plume
themselves on wealth, and those who despise
it, are equally faulty. Riches are, in them-
D 5

53

selves good ; and the tide of kindness never
warmed the heart of him who covets them
not. Is there a man so lost to every benefi
cent feeling, so dead to the sympathies of na
ture, as to be insensible to the pure joy re
sulting from the blessed consciousness of being
extensively beneficial to his fellow- creatures ?
Let such a man, with an unqualifying con
tempt, contemn riches. How happy is that
fortune which every day enables us to do good
to thousands! Are riches to be inveighed
against, because there are men who abuse
them ? By this rule we should inveigh against
genius, against learning, against religion. —
Let men, then, leave off peevish, petulant ex
clamations against wealth, and consider riches
in their true light; namely, a treasury of bles
sings, when possessed by the worthy ; and an
abused good in the hands of the ostentatious
and unfeeling.

FREEDOM.

SHALL virtue become a slave to those that
be slaves to vice. Better is it to consent to
die: what death is so evil, as unworthy ser
vitude ?

Remark.

There is a private vassalage, as well as a
public slavery : and the spirit that was formed
for bondage, will find a yoke for itself, under
any circumstance, and in any country. Pride,
indolence, and the love of pleasure, are the
sources of this baseness. For the sake of gra
tifications for which such men disdain to la
bour, and which they will not want, they sell
their birth-right : sell it for a mere mess of
pottage, when compared with the invaluable
privileges of industry and independence. Ma
ny boast of mental independence, who are for
ever thrusting their persons into the levees of
the great; and if they do not receive tha^ no*

6o

tice, protection, and reward, which their situa
tion or talents seem to merit, they deem them
selves insulted and robbed of a natural right.
But how do these men mistake the relative
duties of society ! The man who, with health
of body and vigour of mind, untrammelled
with any afore-gone circumstances, (and who
lives in a free country,) that complains of be
ing unprotected, places himself on the lowest
step of the ladder of fortune. What protec
tion ought a manly character to seek, but that
of his o\vn abilities and labour ? To be really
independent, is to support ourselves by our
own exertions; never to solicit a favour, that
it is possible to do without ; and never to al
low another's acquisitions to trespass upon
our content. This is true independence ; the
other that assumes its name, rs pride, which
demands every thing with the voice of a ty
rant; and who rails like a shrew, when its in
ordinate and arrogant desires are left unsatis
fied. Such men do not ask for a man's good
offices, but for his purse, his house, his ho
mage. If the rich, who are stewards alike for
suffering worth and fettered genius, if they

61

were to uphold the extravagant idleness of
every coxcomb, who presents himself with a
pamphlet, or a string of bad rhymes, in his
hand, they might soon exhaust the treasury,
which a beneficent Providence confided to
their care. Laziness, conceit, and presump
tion, would banquet on the widow's and the
orphan's portion ; and those sons of real ge
nius, who do not desire to lean wholly upon
any outward support, but only to be assisted
to mount, where they are emulous to climb;
these, like the glorious Chatterton, are left to
perish in solitary desolation; while the impu
dent and the cringing, are taken to the boards
and bosoms of the great. These are the
wretches who can bear to be the hangers-on
of a rich man's table ; who can smile at his
dullness, and applaud his follies. Feeble ta
lents and strong propensities to luxury, make
such men the suitors and the slaves of power.
The possessor of great talents may require that
patronage should open the path of his fame ;
but, conscious of their dignity, it is his pride,
his privilege, and his reward, to gain the sum
mit alone.

COURAGE.

l

IN victory, the hero seeks the glory, not the
prey.

2.

The truly valiant dare every thing, but doing
any other body an injury.

Remark.

Hence, there is no man so brave as the true
Christian: and we no where see men so orace-

D ' "•

fully valiant, so courteously resolute, and alto
gether so enthusiastically heroic, as the an
cient knight who received the stroke of chi
valry at the foot of the cross. The injunc
tions which were given to him at the time of
his profession, and the oath that he took will
best exemplify this remark. Favine, in his
Theatre of Honour, gives a very particular ac
count of the institution. When the person
who invests the knight, receives him^ amongst

63

other ceremonies, he presents him with a
sword, and says, u Take this sword into your
hand. By the clear and bright blade, it in-
structeth you to shine in faith ; the point de-
noteth hope ; and the crossed hilt, charity. —
You are to use and serve yourself therewith,,
first, for your own defence; next, for the
Christian religion; and lastly, for poor widows
and orphans : for you need not fear to expose
your life to perils and dangers, upon so good
and solid subjects t because the famous order
of knighthood received ks prime institution
to recompense virtue, to preserve public soci
ety in union and concord, to maintain the
church and justice, to defend the desolate from
oppression, and for exercising the works of
mercy to all people indifferently. When you
return that sword clean into the scabbard, even
so, have especial care not to soil and pollute it
by drawing it forth unjustly, to offend or
strike any one therewith. The first perfec
tion which ought to be in a knight, is> td be
honest ; for upon honesty dependeth four
principal virtues ; namely, prudence, whereby
you shall knew all things, and preserving them

64

in memory which are past, you will the better
provide for the present, and those that are to
come. The second is justice, which is the -
princess of all the other virtues ; it is she who
conserveth all things in the equal balance of
reason and eouity. The third is fortitude,
which will make you wholly animated with
courage and valiancy against all your enemies.
And the fourth is temperance, which will mo
derate all your actions. You must be cloathed
with all these four virtues, and have them with
you always, if you desire to win the reno\vn of
a brave knight. " The oaths are then severally
put, at the girding of the sword, and at the
giving of the spurs. The oaths are merely an
echo of the injunctions. " I gird you with
this sword, and place it on your side, in the
name of God Almighty, of the blessed Virgin
Mary, and of the glorious Saint George, the
patron of knights ; in honour of whom I give
you the order of knighthood ; to the end, that
as by patience and faith, he was victorious
against his enemies ; even so, you may imitate
him in all actions, that he may obtain for you
the grace of \vell -doing. You see these spurs
4

65

are gilded j whereby you are to understand,
that as the horse is fearful of them, because he
is pricked with them for his better direction
on the way ; in like manner be you fearful of
going forth of your rank, and breaking the
rules of your vow, by committing any dishon
est action, or unfitting a knight : and they are
also (thus gilded,) fastened to your feet, to the
end that you should preserve honour before
gold, or all the riches of the world. Rouse up
your spirits, and dream no longer on earthly
affairs; but be watchful in the faith of Jesus :
and dispose yourself so, as if you were even at
the last affront, and the very latest injury you
were to receive in marching under the cross of
our Lord." The candidate accepts all these
conditions, with an oath to obey them ; and
$o " he puts on him the whole panoply of
Christ*/'

* However we may admire some of the ancient in
stitutions of chivalry, yet (if men knew their best in
terests,) we need not greatly deplore their disuse.—
Every man who acknowledges Christ, is bound by
obligations equally strong as the most solemn oaths ;

66

3.

In a brave bosom, honour cannot be rocked
asleep by affection.

and is excited to consistent action by a far nobler mo
tive, even to please Him, after whose name he is call
ed, and by whose example he is enjoined to model
himself. He is taught to endure hardships as a good
soldier; to achieve honour, with honesty; to be tem
perate in all things ; to wear within him a heart of
mercy, kindness, humbleness, meekness, long-suffer
ing, forbearance of others; and above all, to put on
charity, which is the bond of perfection. He is not
to be overcome of evil, but he is to overcome evil with
good. Pie is to put off unreasonable anger and wrath,
and all malice, and blasphemy, and evil communica
tions. In fine, he is called to approve himself as the
soldier of God, and to be armed with righteousness
on the right hand and on the left. Thus is he to fight
the good jight, to encounter the world and faz Joes of
hi* own bosom; and during the whole of his warfare, he
is animated by the most glorious of objects, the ex
ample of the Son of God, the author and reward of
his faith : and, encouraged by this gracious declara
tion, — "Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give
thee a crown of life !" The oath of chivalry was a kind
of charge to this battle ; was a reminder, a stimulater

4.

The brave man teacheth his son, at one in
stant, to promise himself the best, and to de
spise the worst.

Remark.

When a soldier gives himself to his country^
he does it without reservation. He holds no
secret clause in his heart, of retracting, if he
meet with neglect and ingratitude, instead of
triumphs and trophies. If we trafficked our
time and blood for titles or wealth, we should
basely sell, what we now give. A soldier has
nothing to do, either with pride or vanity : the

to man, when through negligence he might have sunk
into vice, and by the indolence oF unassisted nature
have forgotten that he had power to rise again. No
man ought to despise any aids as superfluous, which
may lead him from sin, or give him warning of its ap
proach. The oath of chivalry had an effect similar to
the marriage vow : though neither increases love to
wards duty, yet the marks of the contract, like the
fairy's enchanted ring, reminds us to fulfil it.

68

highest title that can adorn a man, is that of a.
hero ; and that is his own : and the only use
of riches, is to be above want ; to befriend th^
wretched ; and to appear of consequence in the
eyes we love. All these are powers which be
long to the soldier, with his name. The
brave commands nothing, if he cannot con
quer artificial desires: his arm and his influ
ence protect the weak, and give comfort to
the miserable : and, when a man is so apparel
led in virtue, which is the only true greatness,
he needs not plumes nor embroidery, to ap
pear charming in the eyes of lovely woman.

5.

Courage ought to be guided by skill, and
skill armed by courage. Neither should har
diness darken wit, nor wit cool hardiness. Be
valiant as men despising death, but confident
as unwonted to be overcome.

6.
The first mark of valour is defence.

7.
Whosoeyer in great things will think to

prevent all objections, must be still and do no
thing*

Remark*

Great includes the idea of danger; and
wherever there is danger, an over-cautious or
dastardly nature will start objections. Great
actions are not to be consulted) but done. The
soul of enterprize is confidence; and an ex
traordinary confidence endues us with a na
tural force, ensouls us with courage, and im
pels us forwards to the highest pitch of mortal
daring. So wonderful a prepossession is the
surest pledge of heroic achievements, An
omen so suspicious commands us to substitute
action for counsel, and boldness for delibera
tion. The refined wisdom and unseasonable
caution of Hannibal quenched his own glory,
and laid Carthage in ashes. If, immediately
after the battle of Cannae, he had marched to
Rome, that panic-struck city would inevitably
have been destroyed, and Carthage made mis
tress of the world. But here his genius de
serted him ; and he, who had hitherto shewn

76

himself endued with the spirit and experience
of a complete captain, who had surmounted
real difficulties, and intrepidly confronted real
dangers ; now that victory had smoothed his
way, and fortune bade him advance, paused in
his mid-career; fancied perils which no long
er existed, and armies which had no being but
in his own imagination; doubted, when he
should have been confident; deliberated, where
he should have been enterprising; and, finally,
rejecting " the glorious golden opportunity/'
by a fatal, wretched affectation of prudence,
lamentably contrived his own future defeat
and the fall of Carthage ! Thus, by a similar
sort of wisdom, Pompey's oversight at Dyrra-
chium (where, had he but been bold, and de
spised (i objections," the great Julius must
have been irremediably undone,) drew after it,
the aggrandisement of Csesar, and his own de
struction.

8.

The greatest captains do never use long ora
tions, when it comes to the point of execu
tion*

9.

A brave captain is as a root, out of which
(as into branches,) the courage of his soldiers
doth spring.

Remark.

One of the ancients used to say, that an
army of stags, led ly a lion, was wore for
midable than an army of lions, led by a stag.
Without going so far, we may safely affirm
that, in the crisis of a battle, confidence in a
general goes a great way towards obtaining the
victory. What were the Epirots without Pyr-
rhus ? And the Carthaginians without Xan-
tippus and Hannibal ? What were the Thc-
bans without Epaminondas ; or the Macedo
nians without Philip and Alexander ?

10.

A just cause and a zealous defender, makes
an imperious resolution cut off the tediousness
of cautious discussions.

11.
In combat, prepare your arms to fight, but

72

not your heart to malice ; since true valour
needs no other whetstone than desire of ho
nour.

12.

Courage, without discipline, is nearer beast
liness than manhood.

13.

Victory, with advantage, is rather robbed
than purchased,

14.

Courage used to use victories as an inherit
ance, can brook no resistance.

15.

Over-much confidence, is an over-f9rward
scholar of unconquered courage.

16Y

War ought never to be accepted, until it is
offered by the hand of necessity,

17.

A true knight is fuller of gay bravery in the
midst than in the beginning of danger.

18.

The soldier's thoughts can arm themselve?
better against any thing than bhamc.

73

19.

The brave shew rising of courage, in the
falling of fortune. He hath set the keeping or
leaving of the body as a thing without him
self; and so hath thereof, a free and untrou
bled consideration.

Remark.

To see a brave spirit contending with great
calamities, and breasting them with an uncon-
quered resolution, is to see him in a car of tri
umph. It is to behold the man, divested of
the garments which adorn, or the veil that
conceals him; it is to see him as he is: and
to admire, venerate, and emulate a victory,
which kings often essay in vam ; a victory
which awes oppression, commands respect,
and wins the very soul of sensibility, — who,
like Desdemona,

" Sits such things to hvar;

" And loves him, for the dangers he has past/'

VOL. I. E

74

With some natures such wooing a is witch*
craft!"

20.

I do not see, but that true fortitude, look
ing into all human things with a persisting re-
sol ution, carried away neither with wonder of
pleasing things, nor astonishment of unplea
sant, doth not yet deprive itself of discerning
the difference of evil : but that rather is the
only virtue, which in an assured tranquillity,
shuns the greater, by the valiant entering into
the less. Thus, for his country's safety, he
will spend his life: for the saving of a limb,
he will not niggardly spare his goods : for the
saving of all his body, he will not spare the
cutting of a limb ; where, indeed, the weak-
hearted man will rather die than see the face of
a surgeon ; not having a heart actively to per
form a matter of pain, he is forced, passively,
to abide a greater damage. For to do, requires
a whole heart; to suffer falleth easiliest on
broken minds. Since valour is a virtue, and
human virtue is ever limited, we must not run
so infinitely, as to think the valiant man is

75

willingly to suffer any thing that he can ho
nourably avoid, since the very suffering of
some things is a certain proof of want of cou
rage.

21.

An honest courage will rather strive against
than yield to injury.

Remark.

Forbearance, and dastardly endurance, are
as different in principle and final effects, as
manly courage and brutal ferocity. Forbear
ance disdains to play the whipper-in of inso
lence, chastising it at every fault : some of
fenders are too mean to move his indignation;
and others are so great, that he hopes to teach
them moderation, by his own example. Aris-
tides wrote his name on the shell, which his
fellow-citizen asked him to mark for his ba
nishment; a poorer spirit would have refused,
and answered him with reproaches. Dastard
ly endurance fawns on the hand that strikes it ;
and out of a base fear, without distinctly com
prehending its cause, lies down to be troddea
£ 2

76

on, as it may please the humour of its insult-
er. Such wretches deserve bonds, stripes, and
branding : they abjure the divine prerogative
of man, who was made a Lord in the creation;
a free upright creature, formed in the image
of God ! They bury themselves in the dust ;
and whether men call them kings, princes,
or private citizens, they merit no higher fate
than that of the worm, whose brethren their
grovelling spirits declare them to be. The
annals of the nineteenth century will shew
many examples of such baseness.

22.

Men, disused to arms by a long peace, in
cases of sudden peril, are generally more de
termined to do, than skilful how to do. They
have lusty bodies, and braver armours ; with
such courage as rather grows of despising
their enemies, whom they know not, than of
any confidence for any thing which they
themselves know.

23.

In times of public tumult, it is sometimes
the best measure so to confront the insur-

gents, as to go beyond their expectation;
with danger to av7oid danger.

Remark.

It was by such presence of mind, such a risk
of all to gain all, that the young Richard the
Second quelled the insurrection under Wat
Tyler. When the enraged multitude were
preparing to avenge the death of that rebel, he
suddenly rode forward alone, in the face of
their arrows, and exclaimed, " What is this*
my lieges? Would you kill your king? Give
yourselves no concern about the loss of that
traitor;. Jam your captain; follow me!" say
ing this, he gently turned his horse, and put
ting himself at their head, the rebels, amazed
and confounded by such intrepidity, quietly
obeyed, and followed him to Islington, where
they were peaceably dismissed.

7B

24.
A GENERAL.

But that wherein the brave knight sharpen
ed his wits to the piercingest point, was touch
ing his men, (knowing them to be the weapon
of weapons, and master-spring, as it were,
which maketh all the rest to stir; and that,
therefore, in the art of man stood the quintes
sence and ruling skill of governments, either
peaceable or military;) he chose in number as
many as would, without pestering, serve his
purpose : all of able bodies, and some few of
able minds to direct ; not seeking many com
manders, but contenting himself that the mul
titude should have obeying wits ; every one
knowing whom he should command, and
whom he should obey ; the place where, and
the matter wherein; distributing each office as
near as could be, to the disposition of the per
son that should exercise it : knowing no love,
danger, nor discipline, can suddenly alter a
habit in nature. Therefore would he not em-

;o

ploy the still man to a shifting practice, nor
the kind-hearted man to be a punisher, nor
the liberal man to be a dispenser of victuals ;
but would exercise their virtues in sorts where
they might be profitable; employing his chief
care to know them all particularly and tho
roughly; regarding also the constitution of
their bodies ; some being able better to abide
watching ; some, hunger ; some, labour ;
making his benefit of each ability, and not
forcing it beyond its power. Time, to every
thing, by just proportion he allotted; and as
well in that as in every thing else, no small
error winked at, least greater should be an
imated. Even of vices he made his profit ;
making the coward to have care of the watch;
which he knew his own fear would make him
very wakefully perform. And even before the
enemy's face came near to breed any terror,
did he exercise his men daily in all their
charges ; as if danger had presently presented
his most hideous presence : himself rather in
structing by example than precept; being nei
ther more sparing in travail, nor spending in
diet, than the meanest soldier j his hand and

80

body disdaining no light matters, nor shrink
ing from the heavy.

flemark.

If Alexander received more Iravery of mind
ly the pattern of Achilles, than In/ hearing
the definition of courage) the modern com
mander cannot dress himself by a finer mir
ror, than that which reflects the image of
Charles the Twelfth of Sweden. Though the
murder of Patkul blots the brightness of his
moral character, yet, as a general who dared
all dangers, who shared all hardships, who
was the first in attack, and the last in retreat,
none could exceed him. He was invincible
in suffering : fasting, watching, fatigue, and
wounds could not subdue him. His soul
commanded as a king, while his body served,
endured, and conquered as a soldier.

81

AMBITION.

1.

AMBITION thinks no face so beautiful as
that which looks from under a crown.

2.

An ambitious man will go far out of the di
rect way, even into crooked paths, to win to a
point of height which he desires.

3.

Ambition thinks it well, by humbleness, to
creep, where, by pride, he cannot march.

4.

Ambition, like love, can abide no linger
ing ; and ever urgeth on his own successes,
hating nothing but what may stop them.

5.

In times of anarchy, ambition maketh use
of the people, as ministers to its private views,
and doth but use them to put on their own
yokes. v ..:

6.

Timautus is a man of extreme ambition ;
E 5

82

is one that has placed his uttermost good in
greatness ; thinking small difference by what
means he comes by it : of a commendable
wit, if he made it not a servant to unbridled
desires : cunning to creep into men's favours,
which he prizes only as they are serviceable
unto him. He has been brought up in some
soldiery, which he knows how to set out
with more than deserved ostentation. Servile
(though envious) to his betters; and no less
tyrannically minded to them he has advantage
of ; counted revengeful ; but indeed measuring
both revenge and reward, as the party may ei
ther help or hurt him. Rather shameless than
bold ; and yet more bold in practice than in
personal adventures. In sum, a man that
could be as evil as he lists ; and lists as much
as any advancement may thereby be gotten :
and as for virtue, he counteth it but a school-
name ; disbelieving the existence of that beau
ty, whose image he hath so defaced in his own
soul. O ! snaky ambition, which can winde
thyself to so many figures, to slide whither
thou desirest to come ! O, corrupted reason of
mankind, that can yield to deform thyself with
T

83

so pernicious desires ! And O, hopeless be
those minds, whom so unnatural desires do
not, with their own ugliness, sufficiently ter
rify !

Remark.

There is nothing so base as ambition, ex
cept the creature who willingly submits to be
its tool : and even there we may trace the
workings of a spirit similar with that which
actuates its employer. He that is ambitious
of a crown, engages a traitor in his service,
who is ambitious of the favour of the great ;
and thus the vile principle of living to any
thing but virtue, spreads from the prince to
the peasant ; increasing in desires, conspira
cies, and crimes, ad infinitum ;

ft like a circle in the water,

" Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself,

" Till, by broad spreading, it disperse to nought.**

84

PRIDE AND VIOLENCE.

1.

VALOUR is abased by too much loftiness.

Remark.

Because the man who is proud of what he
lias done, shews that he has done more than
he expected to do; and therefore he has ar
rived at the height of his genius, perhaps gone
beyond it ; for it often happens that fortune
overshoots the aim of the archer; and he plumes
himself on a success, which being without
the compass of his wit, he vainly supposes can
never be exceeded. On the reverse, men of. the
highest talent (when they speak frankly on the
subject,) have ever declared, that in projection
they imagine more than they can perform ;
the execution falls short of the design ; and
they almost always are dissatisfied with what
is the burthen of praise to all around them. —
The reason of this is evident : the design is-

85

imprinted on the soul by the hand of God ;
and the execution, which brings it before the
world, is the faint copy of man. Wherever
there is most genius, most virtue, most desert,
there is always most modesty. The perfect mo
del which is in the hero's mind, throws his own
attempts to equal it at such a distance, that he
is surprised at nothing in his own actions,
but their insufficiency to reach his standard,
and the wondering admiration which they ex
cite in other men.

2.

Like the air-invested heron, great persons
should conduct themselves; and the higher
they be, the less they should shew*.
3.

The proud deem it not so great spite to be
surmounted by strangers, as by their own
allies.

Remark.

This observation is ratified by divine au
thority. " But Jesus said unto them, A pro-

phet is not without honour, but in his own
country, and among his own kin, and in his
own house/'

4.

The fall is greater from the first rank to the
second, Jhan from the second to the under
most.

Remark;

Because there is no comparison between ab
solute command and any degree of obedience.
i

5.

Over-many good fortunes are apt to breed a
proud recklessness in the possessor.

Remark.

Hence, he who has conquered by fortune
rather than by prudence, has often presump
tion to blame for a subsequent defeat.

87

6.

How soon courage falls into the ditch^
which hath not the eye of wisdom.

7.

How many head-achs a passionate life
bringeth to ! He whom passion rules, is bent
to meet his death.

8.

Contentions for trifles can get but a trifling
victory.

Remark.

The trophy must be as contemptible as the
cause of combat, and yet it may be bathed in
blood; for a contentious spirit " hath disqui
eted many, and driven them from nation to
nation ; strong cities hath it pulled down ; and
overthrown the houses of great men. The
stroke of the whip maketh marks in the flesh,
but the stroke of the tongue breaketh the
bones ; whosoever hearkeneth unto it shall
never find rest, and never dwell quietly/' So
saith the son of Sirach.

9.

Kindness is an unused guest to an arrogant
mind.

10.

The will of the violent man is his god;. and
his hand is his law.

Remark.

Many may obey such a man, but none can
love him : he is like Cain, who, by strength
of passion, drives himself from the society of
man; a creature whom beasts behold and
tremble, and whom all men seek to avoid.

II.

Great persons are wont to make the wrong
they have done, to be a cause to do more

Remark.

The generality of men pass from anger to
injury ; but certainly there are a few who first
injure and then become angry. This is an

8Q

odious impudence. Not having the ingenu
ousness to acknowledge their error, they de
termine to obliterate one injury by a greater;
and thus confound and overwhelm what they
have not the justice nor the courage to repair.
He who has the self-denial to confess a fault,
and the firmness to redress it, is more a moral
hero than the self-devoted Regulus : universal
fame is the sure attendant on the one, and al
most general blame is the probable conse
quence of the other. There are few who know
how to estimate the noble candour that prefers
truth before public opinion*

12.

Cruelty in war buyeth conquest ai the dear
est price*

Remark.

For every drop of blood, whether of his mva
men or of his enemy, that a general sheds
needlessly, he is answerable to his conscience
and to man. Uncivilized and barbarous peo
ple deem all acquirement of territory, or any

90

other advantage, to be without honour, that is
without a previous destruction of the rival
party: but the true hero thinks that no laurels
are so estimable as those which are grafted on
the olive.

DUELLING.

SINCE bodily strength is but a servant to the
mind, it were very barbarous and preposterous
that force should be made judge over reason.

Remark.

Duelling is a custom derived from the an-
cient trial of combat ; which rested on the
same superstition that established and upheld
the trial by ordeal. As neither of these in
stitutions afforded any certain test of the in
nocence or guilt of the accused, the first is to
be condemned, and the last abhorred by all

good men. But the trial by combat, unjust
and absurd as it undoubtedly was, must be
confessed to have been the perfection of equity
and reason, when compared with the present
system of duelling. The former was at least
a test of personal valour, and was therefore
conclusive in all cases of alleged cowardice.—
But the latter is no proof even of courage.—
There is great uncertainty in the pistol : many
men, whom the dread of infamy and its incon
veniences has enabled to stand the shots of
their adversaries, without once attempting to
retreat, would have shrunk from the stroke of
a broad-sword, or the thrust of a single ra
pier. The dunghill-cock fights stoutly till he
feels the spur. I maintain that the degree of
hardihood displayed in duels of the present
day, merits not the name of courage; that it
is not the invincible courage of the ancient
knight, which no despair of victory could de
press, fatigue weaken, nor agony extinguish;
that it is not the dauntless courage of the sol
dier, which animates its owner, fearlessly to
rush amidst the bayonets and sabres of the
enemy; nor yet the divine courage of the

92

martyr, which baffled every art of torturer that
malice could invent, or barbarity inflict,, and
enabled the heroic sufferer to smile at the ter
rific apparelling of death : — No, it is none of
these ! Our duellists have no fatigue to un
dergo,- no pain to triumph over, to ensure
general commendation-; they have only to
evince a total absence of all feeling and reflec
tion. But were I to admit the present un-
knightly mode of duelling to be conclusive in
cases of impeached valour, still should I find
it impossible to refrain from ridiculing the
principle, by which a proof of courage is im
proved into a demonstration of honour and
honesty. A man is taxed with improbity;
and in vindication of his character he appeals
to the pistol ; he is accused of being a knave,
and he repels the charge by shewing that he
is not a coward. By this it should seem that
courage and want of integrity are incompa
tible: but does experience warrant such an
opinion? Are all highwaymen and house
breakers cowards? Or are the fearless pirates
of Barbary honest men? Certainly not ! If
then, probity be not necessarily connee-ted

93

with bravery ; if observation assures us that
nothing is more common than the union of
intrepidity with depravity ; how comes it that
society does not indignantly reject the impos
tor who, branded with a violation of principle,
seeks to colour his reputation, and silence his
accuser, by a challenge to arms ? Where cou
rage is not in question, these equally impu
dent and fraudulent appeals should be regarded
as signals of guilt, and cried down like bad
money. A man should not be suffered to re
sent an imputation which he has not blushed
to deserve.

Interested as society undoubtedly is in put
ting a period to the pernicious practice of du
elling, it seems surprising that no measures
should have yet been resorted to for its sup
pression; nor can this patient toleration of a
most alarming evil be attributed to aught, but
the prevalency of knavery in those circles, by
the example and authority of which, this
monstrous imposition can alone receive its
death-blow. Knaves are peculiarly concerned
in defending the cause of duelling: they find
in it a powerful ally, an admirable weapon of

4

intimidation : it constitutes the shield which
guards them from impeachment, protects their
contraband commerce, and ensures them from
being called, what every one knows them to
be. I have known a man boast of the wounds
he had received in different duels, who after
wards, in a case of alleged treason, (though
his principles remained the same,) betrayed
many of his kindred and friends, to obtain his
own pardon. When inevitable death did
stare him in the face, the duellist and the re-
tel sacrificed his honour, his cause, and the
blood of hundreds, to save his life !

It has been said that the abolition of duel
ling would multiply affronts, and leave the
\veak at the mercy of the strong; but is it not
on the contrary manifest, that if the danger
which attends an insult were removed, a man
of spirit would blush to offer one? Were
every shadow of peril at an end, all bravery of
words, all personal violence, would cease ; for
courage lodged in a breast, however turbu
lent and revengeful, would disdain a danger-
less assault; and the cunning braggadocio,
who affects the reputation of valour, would
have wit enough to perceive that big looks

95

and weighty threats would pass no longer for
bravery. But, convinced as I am of the sa
lutary effects which would attend the discon
tinuance of the detestable practice of duelling,
and assured of the facility with which it might
be exploded, I am sensible tha in the present
state of manners no hope of its abolition can
be reasonably entertained. Still, however,
must every man's conscience tell him, that
sanguinary meetings can at best prove no more
than personal courage, or the reverse ; that
the result of a duel, be it what it may, cannot
alter facts, or refute arguments ; and that if a
man embark in a duel, with any other view
than that of vindicating his character, he is
unworthy to be called a Christian. " An
honest man,*' says the immortal Junius, " ap
peals to the understanding, or modestly con
fides in the internal evidence of his consci
ence: the impostor employs force instead of
argument, imposes silence where he cannot
convince, and propagates bis character by the
sword*.0

* The Messiah of the gospel manifests the one j the
Prophet of the Goran the other, In the first case,,

90

Almost every man acknowledges the ab
surdity of requiring, as a means of satisfaction
for an injury received, that the aggressor shall
have an opportunity of taking his life also. —
While reason condemns the practice of du
els, fear of the infamy with which the world
stigmatises the character of cowardice, con
strains men to risk their safety in some une
qual combat with a ruffian, (bearing the name
of gentleman,) who dares to defend the in
sults, which prejudice makes it shame to con
temn : or to challenge their best friend for
some hasty word spoken in ebriety, which the
same vindictive tribunal will not allow to be
pardoned. Thus, to be reputed brave, brave
men become actual cowards; for were they to
speak sincerely, they would say, that it was
dread of the world's contempt, which led them

Truth convinces, persuades, and confirms ; in the
last, Falsehood deludes, or threatens and compels. —
Truth calmly spreads its beams like the sun j Impos
ture launches its bolts like the lightning, and destroys
what it would seem to illumine.

07

to engage in a scene of useless blood ; hazard
ing their life to avoid the whisper of a tea-table,
or the laugh of a drunken revel. Are the fre
quenters of such scenes fit judges of conduct ?
It is certain, that none but the thoroughly
valiant can refuse a challenge, or with-hold
the sending of one, under particular circum
stances. A coward may sneak from a duel ;
but the brave confronts his adversary, and yet
keeps his sword in its scabbard. He that has
virtue may dare any thing : there is a divinity
that doth hedge it in, which no baseness can
undermine, nor violence uproot. An instance
of this manly forbearance may be given, which
happened on the Continent in the campaign
of 1794, at a convivial assembly of officers be-
onging to the combined army. Amongst the
rest were two intimate friends, (both officers
in our Foot-Guards,) who, in the course of
conversation, fell into an argument, ft was
debated very calmly by one, but the other (who
was inflamed by wine,) urged it with great heat;
and at last, in a burst of contradiction, struck
his opponent. On receiving the blow, the
young officer insta tly arose ; and with a
VOL. i. F

98

dauntless composure addressing his impetuous
friend: (f I am well aware," said he, "that
had you been yourself, you would have perish
ed sooner than have been guilty of this out
rage : and I am sensible that to a heart like
your's, the feelings of to-morrow will be the
heaviest of all earthly punishments; — I there
fore forgive you. But," continued he, turn
ing with manly firmness to the company,
e< I should like to see the man, who shall here
after affirm or insinuate that I have borne a
blow — I should like to see him !" The man
ner of this young hero awed his companions.
And the admiration which such conduct com
manded, followed him into the field, where he
fought and died for his country.

A MAN OF FALSE HONOUJl.

HE was of parts worthy of praise, if they
had not been guided by pride, and followed by
injustice. For, by a strange composition of

00

mind, there was no man more tenderly sen
sible in any thing offered to himself, which by
the farthest-set construction, might be wrested
to the name of wrong ; no man that, in his
own actions, could worse distinguish between
valour and violence. So proud, as he could
not abstain from a Thraso-like boasting; and
yet (so unlucky a lodging had valour gotten,)
he would never boast more than he could ac
complish; falsely accounting an inflexible
anger a courageous constancy ; and esteeming
fear and astonishment righter causes of admi
ration than love and honour.

COWARDICE.

1.

WHO, for each fickle fear shrinks from vir
tue, shall embrace no worthy thing.

100

2.

Fear, standing at the gate of the ear, puts
back all persuasions.

3.

Who will adhere to him that abandons him
self!

4.

Fearfulness, contrary to all other vices,
Ttiaketh a man think the better of another, the
worse of himself.

5.

Fear is the underminer of all determinations ;
and necessity, the victorious rebel of all laws.

6.

The present fear is ever, to a coward, the
most terrible.

7.

There is nothing more desirous of novelties,
than a man that fears his present fortune.

8.
Cruel is the haste of a prevailing coward.

9.

Hate, in a coward's heart, can set itself no
other limits than death.

101

10.

Amongst those who want heart to prevent
shame, there are some who want not wit to
feel shame; but not so much repining at it,
for the abhorring of shame, as for the discom
modities which to them that are shamed,
ensue.

11.

As well the soldier dieth who standeth still,
as he that gives the bravest onset.
12.

Fear is far more painful to cowardice^ than
death to true courage.

Remark.

If Cowardice were not so completely a cow-
Ard, as to be unable to look steadily upon the
effects of courage, he would find that there ii
no refuge so sure as dauntless valour. While
the poltroon, by starts and flight, invites in
sult, outrage, and pursuit, the brave man, by
facing the adversary, checks his force ; and ci
ther rids himself of the enemy, or dies with
the manly consciousness of haying defended

102

his life to the last: the coward loses his like a
fool, with his motionless arms spread to the air,
and his cries deprecating the death which snaps
so worthless an existence. Feebleness of spirit
so thoroughly paralises a man, that it renders
him incapable of the commonest duties of ci
vil society. It induces him, not only to cringe
under injuries offered to himself, but to hear
his best friend calumniated, without uttering
a word of vindication. It draws him after
the strongest party, in every commotion of
opinions or circumstances ; and whether his
conscience tell him that the path is right or
wrong, his apprehensions hold him in it : for
the coward is totally at the mercy of the pre
vailing power; and, like a weather-cock, ii
blown about at the caprice of every wind. —
Notwithstanding this despicable picture, there
are persons who speak tenderly of these sons
of the little soul, and say, " That though they
are not as brave as their neighbours, they are
sometimes as good sort of people as those who
will run their heads into a cannon's mouth !"
It cannot be denied that they are inoffensive
enough, while gliding down the untroubled

loa

current of life ; but should their personal safe
ty, or even their personal comfort, and too
often their mere personal indulgences, be put
in competition with the honour of their coun
try, or the reputation of their friend, they
would leave both to their fates, and sit ia si
lent selfish security, while either was perish
ing. There can be no virtue in the coward :
his soul is little better than a surface of sand,
on which no principles can find a steady foun
dation. He is for ever in a panic ; and like a
man in the dark surrounded by banditti, is
ready to stab friend as well as foe ; his dagger
is concealed in the night, and his fears whisper
to him, that his own safety is of more mo
ment than a thousand dear connections. As
Hamlet says, the devil is very potent with
such spirits : when they are in power, jea
lousy makes them tyrants ; and when they are
oppressed, what their patience will not bear
they remove by treachery. If their poig-
nard cannot reach the life, it wounds the cha
racter ; and he who has not spirit to defend a
friend, does not want cunning to defame a foe..

104

COURTESY.

1.

APPROVED valour is made precious by na
tural courtesy.

Remark.

Virtue, without the graces, is like a rich
diamond unpolished; it hardly looks belter
than a common pebble; but when the hand of
the master rubs off the roughness, and forms
the sides into a thousand brilliant surfaces, it
is then that we acknowledge its worth, admire
its beauty, and long to wear it in our bosoms.

2.

The pleasantest hospitality waiteth not for
curious costliness, when it can give cleanly
sufficiency. More cometh of pride and great
er friendliness to your own ostentation, than
to the comfort of the guest.

105

3.

It is more cumber than courtesy, to strive
with a man who is leave-taking.

4.

A mild countenance doth encourage the
looker-on to hope for a gentle answer.

5. v

It is no good manners to be squeamish of
our cunning.

Remark.

Whatever be our learning, we ought to com*
inunicate it freely. Imparting knowledge, is
only lighting other men's candle at our lamp,
without depriving ourselves of any flame. —
Some people are backward in dispensing the
fruits of their minds, from a churlish dispo
sition, that hates communion of any thing ;
and others refuse the exhibition of their ac
complishments, from a poor affectation and
love of entreaty ; but they are not aware that
a liberal manner adorns a favour with charms,
for the want of which no excellence in itself
can compensate. When reluctance to oblige
F 5

106

arises from diffidence of power, the blusn
that accompanies denial, pleads so sweetly for
pardon, that we hardly regret the privation of
amusement, in the admiration of a modesty
which gives Shakespeare's proof of excellence |
The putting a strange face on its own perfec
tion !

6-

It is better with willingness to purchase
thanks, than with a discontented doing, to
have the pain and not the reward.

7.

A churlish courtesy rarely comes but eithef
for gain or falsehood.

8.

There is great difference between rudeness
and plainness.

Remark.

Harsh tempers are fond of cloaking ill-na
tured censures, under the names of plainness
and sincerity. They put themselves in thft
place of a man's conscience, and, without

107

mercy, accuse him to his face, of every error
which falls within their cognizance ; but,
should they see a virtue, there they drop the
character; and for fear of creating vanity,
(considerate creatures!) pass over the disco
very in silence. Such troublers of mankind
ought to be hunted out of society, as a brood
of porcupines, who have a quill for every ob-r
ject, and who are never so happy as when they
find that it draws blood,

9,

Be courteous of gesture, and affable to all
men, with diversity of reverence, according ta
the dignity of the person- There is nothing
that winneth so much, with so little cost. —
He who endeavours to please, must appear
pleased : and he who would not provoke rude
ness, must not practice it..

Remark.

As the obeisance of ceremony gradually de
creases by the approximation of degrees in
rank, what is taken from homage may be

108

compensated for by suavity, the graceful po
liteness of the soul ; and when love, that
sweet leveller, equalises man with man in the
bonds of friendship, each look, from either
party, is honour, each smile, distinction. —
To persons in subordinate stations, conde
scension must bow, and not stoop : the dig
nity of human nature resents the pride that
affects humility, and the hypocrisy that would
impose on its understanding. There is no
thing so clear-sighted and sensible, as a nolle
mind in a low estate.

REVELLING.

GIVE yourself to be merry, but not boister
ous . Let your mirth be ever void of scurri
lity and biting words, which many deem wit ;
-for a wound, given by a word, is often harder
to be cured, than that which is given by the
sword. Use moderate diet; so that after

log

your meat you may find your intellects fresh
er, and not duller; and your body more lively,
and not more heavy. Seldom indulge in
wine; and yet sometimes do, (but always
temperately,) lest, being forced to drink on
some sudden occasion, you should become in
flamed : all that comes of more than this, is
bad.

Remark.

Drunkenness is one of the most degrading^
and, at the same time, is the most mischief
vous, of the sensual vices. In point of de
formity, it is en a par with gluttony, which
seeks enjoyment in gorging a vile appetite,
and doing its utmost to extinguish that ethe
real part, which alone gives man pre-emi
nence over brutes.

Drunkenness can have no positive pleasure;
at best, its feelings are all dormant; if active,
they must produce pain. How can any one
of the senses find gratification, when the eye
sight is rendered indistinct, the hearing con-
fnsed, the very motion feeble and undetermin-.

110

ed, and every power of man paralised and lost
in weakness and stupidity ? The bliss of the
drunkard is a visible picture of the expectation
of the dying atheist, who hopes no more than
to lie down in the grave with the (( beasts that
perish." It is not requisite to describe the
actual pains of the poor besotted wretch, when,
his swoln carcase awakes to sensibility. When
the cup of any sensual pleasure is drained to
the bottom, there is always poison in the
dregs. Anacreon himself declares, that u the
Jhwers swim at the top of the bowl V

COMPASSION.

l.

MEN are loving creatures, when injuries put
them not from their natural course.
2.

Nature gives not to us her degenerate child
ren, any more general precept than> — That

Ill

one help the other ; that one feel a true com
passion of the other's needs or mishaps.

Remark.

The selfish and sordid pursuits of most mo
dern young people, tend to alienate their
minds, not only from general compassion, but
from imparting any happiness to the domes
tic circle. That tender pity, which regarded
our suffering fellow-creatures as brethren, and
that more particular fraternal love, which de
lightfully bound families together, have gone
out of fashion, with many other of our best
affections. A fondness for such low gratifica
tions as the tavern, the stable, the kennel, and
profligate society, smothers those finer feelings
of the heart, which derive their pleasures from
the enjoyment of cultivated minds and tender
confidence. Young men, now-a-days, seem
ashamed of nothing so much as of a character
for sensibility. I do not mean that morbid
irritability of nerve, which trembles like a leaf,
at every sigh that agitates the air: a youth
might to hold such weakness in as much dis-
1

112

daln, as a soldier would the comrade he should
see running from his post. True feeling
melts with compassion at the sight of misery ;
gives relief instead of tears ; and instead of
flying from objects which .excite pity, pursues
every track that may lead to the wretchedness
k can alleviate. The proper manly character
is that, which engrafts the domestic and social
affections on the general humanity of nature.
Man is never more noble than when honour
ing his parents, protecting his sisters, che
rishing his offspring, and administering to the
necessities of his fellow-creatures. There are
talents of the heart, as well as of the mind ;
and woe to him who allows them to rust in
inactivity !

3.

Doing good is not inclosed within any terms
of .people.

Remark.

National antipathy is the basest, because the
most illiberal and illiterate of all prejudices.

113

4.

Compassion cannot stay in the virtuous,
without seeking remedy.
5.

Favour and pity draweth all things to the
highest point.

6.

It is a lively spark of nobleness, to descend
in most favour, to one when he is lowest in
affliction.

Remark.

Such pity the loftiest natures may accept,
without any derogation of their dignity. It
springs from that beneficence of heart, that
commiseration for the lot of humanity, and
that regard for the particular feelings of the
individual, which form themselves at once in
to a tender and respectful interest for the ob
ject in distress : this pity endears the giver,
while it seems to ennoble the receiver. In
imitation of the divine Jesus, it loves to sit
on the ground and bathe the feet of its com
panions, who have sunk down, overcome by

114

toil, weariness, and sorrow. How different is
this description, — the ready hand, tearful eye,
and soothing voice, frona the ostentatious ap
pearance which is called pity ! A suppliant
approaches, and is received with a haughty
demeanour, a chilling promise of assistance,
and a ceremonious bow at parting. fO, the.
proud man's contumely !) An acquaintance
requires sympathy, (the name of friendship
must not be prostituted between such charac
ters ;) and the fashionable comforter " pities
him, from his soul — poor fellow, it is a sad
thing; but the sight of misfortune makes one
miserable. And when he finds his nerves
stronger, he will look in upon him again."-—
Cold, heartless wretches ! Incapable of com
passionating the afflictions of others; how de
solate is your situation, when the hand of ad
versity marks you, in your turn, for calamity !
How like the stricken deer, whom the rest of
the herd flies, for fear that disaster should be
infectious! Then, do you find the solitude of
a kindless spirit: of a soul which cannot re
collect the shedding of one honest tear of pity,

115

to apply as a balm to your own now bleeding
and neglected wounds !

VANITY AND FLATTERY.

1.

ALAS! We are all in such a mould cast,
that with the too much love we bear ourselves,
being first our own flatterers, we are easily
hooked with others' flattery -9 we are easily
persuaded of others' love.
2.

Every present occasion will catch the senses
ef the vain man ; and with that bridle and sad
dle you may ride him.
3.

The most servile flattery is lodged most ca-
•ily in the grossest capacity.

110

Remark.

How gross then must be the capacities of
most men ! for how few, how very few, are
disgusted with its heaviest dose! High, low;,
rich; poor ^ the grave, the gay ; the affable>
the morose; all confess its absolute, but pleas
ing, dominion. One or two very delicate-
tastes may think that like poison, it requires
of all things the finest infusion, being of all
things the most nauseous to swallow : but the
mob, " the great vulgar and the small," who
relish even that nasty weed, tobacco, for the
sake of its intoxicating quality, greedily drink
up flattery, from the same desire of forgetting
their real selves. The flatterer easily insinu
ates himself into the closet, while honest merit
stands shivering in the hall or anti-chamber.

4.

He that receives flattery, becomes a slave
to that, which he who sued to be his servant,
offered to give him.

117

5,

It is the conceit of young men to think
then they speak wiseliest, when they cannot
understand themselves.

Remark.

It were an invidious task, to collect exam
ples of this remark, from the numerous meta-
.physical, sentimental, and marvellous novels,
travels, and poems, with which the younger
sons of Parnassus have lately obliged the
world.

6.

Blasphemous words betrayeth the vain-
foolishness of the speaker.

1.

Weak is the effect of fair discourses, not

• *

waited on by agreeable actions. -

8.

Self-love is better than any gilding, to make
that seem gorgeous, wherein ourselves be
parties.

118

ttemark.

To avoid this betrayer of our respectability
and of ourselves, we must study to improve
the lesson which Pythagoras took and taught^
from the temple of Apollo at Delphos ; that
maxim which the wise Pontanus caused to be
engraven on his tomb, — KNOW THYSELF. — •
The same injunction is enforced in different
words by the sacred David : " Commune with
thine own heart." He, who takes his charac
ter from what dependants say of him, (for
all who use flattery depend on its success for
some advantage ;) is as ignorant of his real
self, as of the Emperor of China, whom he
never saw; and by acting upon so false an es
timate, is continually led into measures, which
expose him to ridicule and contempt. There
is as much difference between praise and flat
tery, as betwixt truth and error: the one is the
sincere approval of virtue, and is only accep
table as it ratifies the previous approbation of
our own hearts ; it repeats but what they have
already whispered. But flattery goes forth on

a voyage of discoveries, and brings home such
surprising returns, that, intoxicated with her
tales, we despise our old possessions, and
resting our whole confidence on these new-
bottoms, sink all at once in a worse than
South-Sea ruin. They who admit flattery,
are seldom praised : the ingenuous mind, that
would gladly pay such tribute to any merit
they may display, retires from a place where
its gold cannot be distinguished from base me
tal; and refrains from breathing sentiments
which the sycoph?.ncy of others would render
suspicious. The amiable Louis the'Sixteenth
(a sufferer, whom the heart would almost can
onize !) observes upon this subject, — " We
must define flattery and praise : they are dis
tinct. Trajan was encouraged to virtue by
the panegyric of Pliny : Tiberius became ob
stinate in vice from the flattery of the sena-

120

FIDELITY.

I.

IT comes of a very evil ground, that igno
rance should be the mother of faithfulness.—
O, no ! he cannot be good that knows not
why he is good ; but stands so far good as his
fortune may keep him unessayed : but coming
once to that, his rude simplicity is either easi
ly changed, or easily deceived ; and so grows
that to be»the excuse of his fault, which seem
ed to have been the foundation of his faith.

Remark.

The firmness of any virtue (which alone con
firms it to be a virtue ; for boasting of a virtue,
that has never been assailed, is an assumption
without a proof;) depends more on the under
standing than is generally supposed. The
sanction of Dr. Johnson may well support the
observation, and he says, " that it ought al
ways to be steadily inculcated, that virtue if

121

the highest proof of understanding, and the
only solid basis of greatness; and that vice is
the natural consequence of narrow thoughts,
which begin in mistake and end in igno
miny."

2.

All honest hearts feel that trust goes beyond
advancement,

3.

A man of true honour is well known to
think himself greater in being subject to his
word given, than in being lord of a princi
pality.

Remark.

Such fidelity is the platform of all the vir
tues.

4.

Joyful is woe for a noble cause, and wel
come all its miseries.

5.

A noble cause doth ease much a grievous
case.

VOL, I. c

122

TRUTH.

1.

HE that finds truth, without loving her, is
like a bat, which though it have eyes to dis
cern that there is a sun, yet hath so evil eyes,
that it cannot delight in the sun.
2.

Surely all truth cannot be sufficiently proved
by reason; considering that many things ex
ceed reason and nature. But yet cannot any
untruth prevail, by reason, (in rational minds,)
against truth ; nor any truth be vanquished
by the judgment of reason. For untruth is
contrary to nature; nature helpeth reason;
reason is servant to truth ; and one truth is
not contrary to another, that is to say, to it
self : for truth cannot but be truth, and rea
son, reason.

3.

Prefer truth before the maintaining of an
opinion.

123

4.

I desire a man to bring his wit, rather than
his will, to investigation: for fore-deemings
and fore- settled opinions, do bring in bondage
the reason of them that have the best wits ;
whereas, it belongeth not to the will to
over-rule the wit, but to the wit to guide the
will.

5.

If men applied their wit as advisedly to
judge between truth and falsehood, godliness
and worltlliness, as every man in his trade
doth to judge between profit and loss ; they
should forthwith, by principles bred within
themselves, and by conclusions following up
on the same, discern the true religion from
the false ; and the way which God hath or
dained to welfare, from the deceitful ways
anci cross and crooked inventions of men.

Remark.

The idea that a religious life obstructs the
temporal advancement of men, and deprives
them of many pleasures, is the greatest ene-
02

124

my of piety which we find in the human
breast. A narrow view of man's nature, des
tination and end, gives rise to this miscon
ception. When Jesus told the young man
who boasted of his virtue, to sell off his goods
and give to the poor, and he should have trea
sure in heaven, " the young man was sad at
that saying, and went away grieved ; for he
had great possessions!" He understood not
the riches of love ; which never considers it
self so wealthy, as when it has expended all,
in obedience to the commands it honours — in
the service of what it adores. The voice of
truth speaking from a hundred lips, utters
only one language. Observe how the learned
Dr. Barrow expresses himself on a subject
which ought to be the study of man ; for it is
the aim, the means, and the completion of
his happiness.

" Of all things in the world, there is no
thing more generally beneficial than light —
By it we converse with the world, and have
all things set before us; by it we truly and
easily discern things in their right magnitude,
shape and colour ; by it we guide our steps

125

safely in prosecution of what is good, and
shunning what is noxious ; by it our spirits
are comfortably warmed and cheered, our
life, consequently our health, our vigour and
activity, are preserved. The like benefits doth
religion, which is the light of the soul, yield
to it. He is extremely mistaken, and in all
his projects will be lamentably disappointed*
who looketh for true profit . (or for wisdom)
without piety. How can he be rich, who is
destitute of the most needful accommodations
of life (the accommodations of a resigned spi
rit) . How can he be happy, who constantly
feedeth on the coarsest and most sordid fare —
the dust of pelf, the dung of sensuality ? who
hath no faithful nor constant friends (the ver
satile beings of this earth cannot be called
such), who is master of nothing but dirt,
chaff, or smoke ? Whereas real riches do
consist, not in what one enjoyeth at present,
but in a presumed ability to enjoy afterward
what we may come to need or desire ;. or in
well-grounded hopes that we shall never
fall into want or distress. How can that man
be rich, who hath not any confidence in God

126

(the giver of all good things) ! who hath not
any interest in him, any reason to expect his
blessing ? yea, who (by such base ingratitude)
hath much ground to fear the displeasure of
Him who disposeth of all the world. There
is scarce in nature any thing so wild, so un-
tractable, so unintelligible, as a man who
hath no bridle of conscience to guide or check
him. He is like a ship, without anchor to
stay him, or rudder to steer him, or compass
to direct him ; so that he is tossed with any
wind, and driven with any wave, none know-
eth whither — whether bodily temper doth
sway him, or passion doth hurry him, or in
terest doth pull him, or example leadeth him,
or company inveigleth and haleth him, or hu
mour transporteth him 5 whether any such
variable and unaccountable causes determine
him, or divers of them together distract him ;
whence he so rambleth and hovereth, that he
can seldom himself tell what in any case he
should do, nor can another guess it ; so that
you cannot at any time know where to find
him, or how to {leal with him : you cannot
with reason ever rely upon him, so unstable is

12;

he in all his ways. He is in effect a mere
child, all" humour and giddiness ; somewhat
worse than a beast, which, following the in
stinct of its nature, is constant and regular,
and thence tractable ; or at least so untract-
able, that no man will be deceived in meddling
with him. Nothing, therefore, can be more
unmanly than such a person ; nothing can be
more irksome than to have to do with him.
But a pioxus man, being steadily governed by
conscience, and a regard to certain principles,
doth both understand himself, and is intel
ligible to others : he presently descrieth what
in any case he is to do, and can render an ac
count of his acting: you may know him
clearly, and assuredly tell what he will do,
and may therefore fully confide in him. —
What, therefore, law and government are to
the public, to preserve the world in order,
peace, and safety, that is piety (the result of a
full knowledge of truth) to each man's private
state. It freeth his own life from disorder
and distraction; and it prompteth him so to
behave to others as to gain their respect ana'
affection. In short, the study and practice of

128

religion, is the employment most proper to us
as reasonable men : for what more pfoper en
tertainments can our mind have, than to be
purifying and beautifying itself $ to be keep
ing itself, and its subordinate faculties, in or
der ; to be attending upon the management
of thoughts, of passions, of words, of actions
depending on its governance ? All other em
ployments soon become wearisome ; this, the
farther we proceed in it, the more satisfactory
it grows. There is perpetual matter of vic
tory over bad inclinations pestering within,
and strong temptations assailing us without $
which to combat hath much delight ; to mas
ter breedeth inexpressible content. The sense
also of God's love; the influence of his grace
and comfort, communicated in the perform
ances of devotion and of all duty; the satis
faction of a good conscience ; the sure hope
of salvation; and the fore-tastes of future
bliss; do all season and sweeten the life of the
true Christian."

I2Q

PRUDENCE.

PROVISION is the foundation of hospitality ;
and thrift, the fuel of magnificence.

Remark.

Carelessness and extravagance are the sign*
of an improvident and vulgar mind ; of a crea
ture that lives but for himself, and who thinks
only of the day that is passing over his head ;
of a waster of his substance for the poor ends
of mortifying others, and of gilding his own
insignificance with the adventitious decora
tions of fortune. Wealth, is to be used as the
instrument only, of action; not as the repre
sentative of civil honours and moral excellence^

2.

The servants, in a well-managed mansion,
are not so many in number as cleanly in ap-
pard, and serviceable in behaviour; testify-
G 5

130

ing, even in their countenance, that their mas
ter takes as well care to be served, as of them
that do serve.

3.

Some are unwisely liberal, and more delight
to give presents than to pay debts.

4.

When presents are nobly brought, to avokl
both unkindness and importunity, they ought
to be liberally received.

5.

Discreet stays make speedy journeys : pre
cipitation may prove the downfall of fortune.

Remark.

Prudence is the wise use of the power which
we have of chusing; and of using the proper-
cst means to obtain the end, which we have
elected as the best. This virtue guides men to
the loftiest heights of human greatness; and
descends with them to the minor duties of
life. She spreads the frugal board, brings the
simple raiment, and displaces the couch of
down for an humbler pallet. Her disciple

131

smiles at mere personal privations; for, by
parting with luxuries, he gains the double
means of supporting his friends, when their
resources fail them; and of succouring the
distresses even of strangers, whom accident
may cast in his way. Such a man abhors the
boasted, and often-quoted sentiment of osten
tatious benevolence; " Justice is a poor hob
bling beldame; and I cannot get her to keep
pace with generosity, for the life of me!" —
Under this sanction, these generous spirits,
more delighting to give presents than to pay
debts, reduce their honest creditors to the
same penury, from which they are so eager to
rescue other objects. But the fact is, no man
can claim thanks for paying what he owes : it
is a sort of necessary act, independent of his
will; if hedo not, by unjustly withholdirig what
is due, tacitly deny the obligation. On the re
verse, donations are free of any antecedent ob
ligatory action ; and the consequent gratitude
of the receiver promulgating the liberality of
the bcstower, gives him a celebrity which, to
some minds, is sweeter than a good con
science. But experience shews, that this

132

golden fruit is like the book in the Apoca
lypse; its grateful taste goes no further than
the mouth ; in digestion it is bitter; it cor
rodes the vitals, and empoisons the springs of
life. The career of the imprudent is seldom
bounded,, until he is stopped by ruin. He
dissipates to-day the provision for to-morrow :
debts are accumulated ; and every creditor is
as a link to a chain, which in time will fetter
the whole man. In" vain he struggles to
numb his feelings ; to hood- wink memory ;
and to impose upon the world by false and
specious glosses : his ostentatious largesses,
whether in splendid treats or glittering acts of
munificence, are drained, and where is his re
source? Look at Timon of Athens, and he
will answer you. Not with the lovers of plea
sure, who have revelled at his board : they
hate any fellowship with complaint, and turn
from him at the first word. Will those whom
his charity dried of their tears, smile upon
him ? Yea, and laugh at him too ; for the
hands of his lawful masters are upon him !
His creditors shackle him with bonds of his
own forging; and commit him to the custody

133

of that justice, whose rights he despised. No
one sincerely thanks an extravagant man, for
the use of his purse: the benefitted person
knows, that pretended beneficence is the traf
fic of vanity ; and temporary flattery supplies
the place of gratitude. The prodigal speaks,
moves, loves, hates, gives and receives, and
all by. vanity : vanity and himself are one :
all is sacrificed to that brazen calf; and strange
to tell, so absurd is the devotion, that the self-
deified fool perishes at last, in the very fire
which he vainly kindled to his honour! This
is the fate of the spendthrift : and though it
be his punishment , yet it is not necessary to
believe that every man who falls into the same
extremities, has incurred them by similar
crimes. There are misfortunes which reverse
the wisest plans, and render the most" honour
able intentions abortive : and there are wretch
es, who having a little brief authority over
such men, enjoy nothing so much as oppress
ing characters which they cannot equal ; and
of making them suffer whom they cannot de*
grade. This happens in particular cases ; but
it does not, for that reason, invalidate the as-

134

sertion, that prudence is the surest founda
tion of that independence which is the best
guard of integrity. The true manly charac
ter, belongs to him who rejects every luxury
that would bribe from him any part of his pro
per self, the free- agency of his mind! that,
he ought to hold subservient to no will but
the will of God. The will of God, and the
dictates of right reason, unite in the same
truth. The Almighty stamped his own image
on our souls at their creation ; and though it
is perverted and obscured by the rebellious
propensities of our present natures, yet we
still have a pattern of the All-good, a luminous
guide to virtue I When we chuse to look up,
the pillar of light is always before us, to lead
us to the promised la?id ; and if we do not ma
nacle our senses, our understandings, and our
liberties, by bartering this noble estate in rever
sion, for the poor trifles of a transitory life, we
may live here not only peaceably, respectfully,
and happily, but probably more magnificently
than our imprudent competitors. Nothing
has such effect in causing a man to be revered,
as a general conviction, that he reverences

135

himself: he that places his temporal conse
quence on his merit, and not on his situation,
fixes it en a ground which all the world cannot
remove. Prudence is this man's steward ; In
dependence, his herald; and Beneficence, led
by Justice, his almoner.

EVIL.

1.

CONTINUANCE of evil, doth of itself in
crease evil.

Remark.

•

The animal economy is worn, by too severe
a tension to support itself under repeated at
tacks of misfortune ; and therefore, persons
of weakened nerves often appear to be mere
affected with the continuance of a calamity,
than by the violence of its first shock.

136

2.

There is nothing evil but what is within us ;
the rest is either natural or accidental.

Remark.

Our griefs, as well as our joys, owe their
strongest colours to our imaginations. There
is nothing so grievous to be borne, that pon
dering upon will not make heavier; and there
is no pleasure so vivid, that the animation of
fancy cannot enliven.

- PAIN.

IT is the nature of pain, (the present being-
intolerable,) to desire change, and put to ad
venture the ensuing.

137

Remark.

For the suffering of pain is like the endur
ance of other evils 5 the spirits are often ex
hausted, while the heart is firm : but tortured
nature requires some relief; and change of
measures, by dissipating irritability, gives a
momentary respite to pangs, which, by tear
ing the frame, deprive its finer parts of their
resisting power.

ADVERSITY AND GRIEF.

1.

O, WRETCHED mankind ! In whom wit,
which should be the governor of his welfare,
becomes the traitor to his blessedness J Beasts,
like children to nature, inherit her blessings
quietly: we, like bastards, are laid abroad even

138

as foundlings, to be trained up by grief and
sorrow.

Remark.

And that such scholars are best taught, we
have only to turn our eyes on the lives of Al
fred the Great, Gustavus Vasa, Demetrius of
Muscovy, and many others, to be convinced
that there is no mode of instruction to equal
the discipline of adversity.

2.

The violence of sorrow is not at the first to
be striven withal ; being like a mighty beast,
sooner tamed with following than overthrown
by withstanding. Would you comfort the
afflicted, give way unto him for the first days
of his woe; never troubling him with either
asking questions, or finding fault with his
melancholy; but rather fitting to his dolour,
dolorous discourses of your own and other
folk's misfortunes : which speeches, though
they have not a lively entrance to his senses
shut up in sorrow, yet, like one half-asleep,

139

he will take hold of much of the matters spok
en unto him ; so, as a man may say, ere sor
row is aware, you make his thoughts bear
away something else besides griefs.

Remark.

Mr. Cowper, the author of the Task, (a
poet who seems to have inherited the harp of
David,) has beautifully versified this senti
ment in a sweet little poem, called the Rose.

3.

Adverse fortunes are to prove whether the
goodly tree of virtue lives in all soils.
4.

Can human chances be counted an over
throw to him who stands upon virtue ?
5.

As in a picture, -which receives greater life
by the darkness of shadows, than by glittering
colours, so the shape of loveliness is perceived
more perfect in woe than in joy fulness.

140

Remark.

Perhaps this impression is made on the
mind, more by the influence of pity, (which
is an endearing sentiment,) than by any ad
dition of positive beauty, which sorrow gives
to an already charming object. The tender
emotions of sympathy may easily be mistaken
for those of her softer brother; they glide in
to each other ; — " Pity melts the mind to
love!"

6.

The widowed heart enjoys such a liberty as
the, banished man hath; who may, if he list,
wander over the world; but is for ever re
strained from his most delightful home !

Remark.

Cicero's grief for the death of his daughter
Tullia, and Lord Lyttleton's lamentations over
his deceased wife, most pathetically prove the
truth of the observation, that " great minds

141

are most sensible of such losses ; and the sen
timents of humanity and affection are usually
most tender, where in every respect there is
the greatest strength of reason." But, it is
not necessary, that what is strong should be
turbulent ; or, that what is lasting should be
ever present to the eye. That grief is the
most durable, which flows inward, and buries
its streams with its fountain, in the depths of
the heart.

7.

Burn not your house to make it clean ; but,
like a wise father, who turns even the fault of
his children to any good that may come of it,
make the adversities of life the accomplisher
of its virtues : for that is the fruit of wisdom,
and the end of judgment.

Remark.

This is an argument against suicide; and
that precursor of self-violence, impatience un
der misfortune, which hurries the afflicted into
desperate execution of rash resolves; and

142

though it stops at death, often, by its precipi
tation, makes a permanent calamity of what
might only have been a temporary disappoint
ment.

8.
Woe makes the shortest time seem long.

9-

The spirits dried up with anguish, leave the
performance of their ministry, where-upon
our life dependeth.

10.

The heart, stuffed up with woefulness, is
glad greedily to suck the thinnest air of com
fort.

Remark.

To brood over sorrows, is to increase them.
When, we have distresses on our minds, the
more we are kept in motion the better: when
these bodies of ours do not bestir themselves,
our cares no longer fluctuate on the surface,
but sink to the very bottom of the heart. —
Company forces us from the contemplation of

143

our miseries : the abstractedness which they
occasion, being inconsistent with politeness,
we must either leave society, or fly from the
remembrance of things, which distract the at
tention and absorb the spirits. This essay,
often repeated, gradually wears away regret ;
and restores the soul to tranquillity and cheer
fulness.

11.

Care stirring the brains, and making thin
the spirits, breaketh rest; but those griefs,
wherein one is determined there is no pre
venting, do breed a dull heaviness, which
easily clothes itself in sleep.
12.

Past greatness increaseth the compassion
to see a change.

13.

The noble nature is such, that though his
grief be so great, as to live is a grief unto him;
and that even his reason is darkened with sor
row ; yet the laws of hospitality give still such
a sway to his proceeding, that he will no way

144

suffer the stranger lodged under his roof, to re
ceive (as it were,) any infection of his anguish.

14.

As in labour, the more one doth exercise,
the more one is enabled to do, strength grow
ing upon work ; so, with the use of suffering,
men's minds get the habit of suffering ; and
all fears and terrors are to them but as a sum
mons to battle, whereof they know before
hand they shall come off victorious.

HOPE.

1*

WHO builds not upon hope, shall fear no
earthquake of despair.

Remark.

The reasonableness of a project ought to
be its foundation ; and hope, the ladder only,

145

which conducts the architect to the heights of

the building.

2.

There is no pain so great, as when eager
hopes receive a stay.

3.

Let us labour to find before we lament the
loss.

4.

While there is hope left, let not the weak
ness of sorrow make the strength of resolution
languish.

Remark.

He who is easily put from Koping, wants
one mark of courage : for the energy which
courage gives to the pursuit of our wishes,
makes that appear practicable to the brave,
which seems impossible to the timid. The
fearful attempt once, twice, are discomfitted,
and despair : the courageous remove difficul
ties, surmount obstacles, contend with disap
pointments, and making the ruin of one

VOL. I. H

140

only the platform on which they plant a new
hope, press on through life, with the same de
termined toil for conquest. Should they gain
their end, (which is the natural consequence
of an undiverted chase,) they are happy: but
should accident (which the most consummate
prudence cannot always controul,) at last
wrest it from them, this comfort is left — the
consciousness that they did not lose their aim
by imbecility. The conduct of a British Of
ficer, (who commanded the Nigthingale fri
gate of 30 guns, in the reign of Queen Anne,)
strongly points out the mighty power of this
valorous hope. The anecdote may not be un
interesting.

It was on the fifth of September, 1*708,
when, as the convoy of thirty-six sail of mer
chant-vessels from the Texel, this honest
seaman was met, nearly at the mouth of the
Thames, by CommodoreLangeron; who was
at the head of six galleys, on his way to burn
Harwich. The Frenchman thought the ships a
desirable prize ; and, making all possible
haste to. ensure his good fortune, gave orders
to have them invested by four of the galleys,

147

while his galley, with that of the Chevalier
Mauvilliers, should attack and master the fri
gate which protected them. The English
Captain having discovered the intentions of
the enemy, directed the merchants to crowd
sail for the Thames : and hoping to employ
the galleys during this movement, he bore
down upon them as if he intended to begin
the battle. An officer, who was on board
Langeron's vessel, thus describes the scene.

" We were soon within cannon-shot; and
accordingly the galley discharged her broad
side. The frigate, silent as death, approach
ed us without firing a gun. Our commodore
smiled at this ; for he mistook English reso
lution for cowardice : < What ! (cried he,) is
the frigate weary of bearing the British flag ?
and does she come to strike without a blow ?'
The triumph was premature — The vessels drew
nearer, and were within musquet-shot, — The
galley continued to pour in her broadside and
small arms, while the frigate preserved the
most dreadful stillness : .she seemed resolved
to reserve all her terrors for close engagement ;
— but in a moment, as if suddenly struck with
H 2

148

a panic, she tacked about and fled. Nothing
was heard but boasting among our officers : —
' We could at one blast sink an English man
of war; and if the coward does not strike in
two minutes, down he goes to the bottom I'
All this time the frigate was in silence pre
paring the tragedy that was to ensue. Her
flight was only a feint, and done with a view
to entice us to board her in the stern. Our
commodore, in such an apparently favour
able conjuncture, ordered the galley to board,
and bade the helm's-man bury her beak in the
frigate. The seamen and marines, prepared
with their cutlasses and battle-axes, to execute
these commands ; but the frigate, who saw
our design, so dexterously avoided our beak,
as to wheel round and place herself directly
along-side of us. Now it was that the English
captain's courage was manifested. As he had
foreseen what would happen, he was ready
with his grappling irons, and fixed us fast to
his vessel. All in the galley were now as
much exposed as on a raft ; and the British
artillery, charged with grape-shot, opened at
once upon our heads. The masts were filled

14*

with sailors, who threw hand-grenades among
us, like hail : not a gun was lired that did not
make dreadful havoc 5 and our crew, terrified
at so unexpected a carnage, no longer think
ing of attacking, were even Unable to make a
defence. The officers stood motionless and
pale, incapable of executing orders, which they
had hardly presence of mind enough to un
derstand: and those men who were neither
killed nor wounded, lay flat on the deck to
escape the bullets. The enemy perceiving
our fright, to add to our dismay, boarded us
with a party of desperate fellows, who, sword
in hand, hewed down all that opposed them.
Our commodore, seeing the fate of the ship
hang on an instant, ordered a general assault
from our whole crew. This made them re
treat to their vessel : but not to relax the in
fernal fire which they continued to pour
amongst us. The other galleys, descrying our
distress, quitted their intended prey, and hast
ening towards us, surrounded the frigate,
and raked her deck from all quarters. Her
men were no longer able to keep their station :
this-gave us courage, and we prepared to board

150

her. Twenty-five grenadiers from each gal*
ley were sent on this service. They met with
no opposition at first ; but hardly were they
assembled on the deck, before they once
again received an English salute. The offi
cers of the frigate, who were intrenched with
in the forecastle, fired upon the boarders in
cessantly j and the rest of the crew doing si
milar execution through the gratings, at last
cleared the ship. Langeron scorned to be
foiled, and ordered another detachment to the
attack 5 it made the attempt, but met with the
same success. Provoked with such repeated
failures, our commodore determined that our
hatchets should lay open her decks, and make
jthe crew prisoners of war. After much dif
ficulty and bloodshed, these orders were exe
cuted, and the seamen obliged to surrender.—
The officers, who were yet in the forecastle,
stood it out for some time longer; but supe
riority of numbers compelled them also to lay
down their arms. Thus were all the ship's
company prisoners, except the captain. He
had taken refuge in the cabin; where, from a
small window in the door, he fired upon us

151

unremittingly, and declared, when called upon
to surrender, that he would spill the last drop
of his blood before he would see the inside of a
French prison. The English officers (who
had by this time been conducted on board our
galley ; and who afterwards acknowledged
that their testimony was part of their orders;)
described their captain, as ' a man quite fool
hardy ; as one determined to How the frigate
into the air, rather than strike:' and painted
his resolution in such colours, as made even
their conquerors tremble. The way to the
powder-room led through the cabin; there
fore, as he had the execution of his threat fully
in his power, we expected every moment to
see the ship blown up, our prize and our pri
soner both escape our hands, and we, from
being grappled to the vessel, suffer almost the
same fate in the explosion. In this extremity,
it was thought best to summon the captain in
gentle terms ; and to promise him the most
respectful treatment, if he would surrender. —
lie only answered by firing as fast as possible.
At length, the last remedy was to be tried; —
To select a few resolute men, and to take him

152

dead or alive. For this purpose, a Serjeant anti-
twelve grenadiers were sent, with bayonets
fixed, to break open the cabin door ; and, if
he would not give up his arms, to run him
through the body. The captain was prepared
for every species of assault 5 and before the
serjeant, who was at the head of the detach
ment, could execute his commission, the be
sieged shot him dead ; and threatening th«
grenadiers with the same fate if they persisted,
he had the satisfaction to see them take to
flight. Their terror was so complete, that
they refused to renew the engagement, though
led on by several of our officers : and the of
ficers themselves recoiled at the entrance of
the passage, and alleged as their excuse, that
as they could advance but one at a time into
the room, the English captain (whom they
called the Devil,) would kill them all, one
after the other. The commodore, ashamed
of this pusillanimity, was forced again to have
recourse to persuasion. A deputation was
sent to the closed door ; and the captain ceas
ing to fire, condescended to hear their mes-
saerc. He returned a short answer. c I shall

153

now submit to my destiny : but as brave
should surrender only to the brave, bring
your commander to me, for he alone amongst
you has steadily stood his ground; and to him
only will I resign my sword.' The com
modore was as surprised as delighted with the
unexpected success of this embassy. Every
thing being arranged, the door of the cabin
was opened, and its dauntless defender ap
peared to us — in the person of a little, hump
backed, pale-faced man, altogether as deform
ed in body as he was perfect in mind. The
Chevalier Langeron complimented him on his
bravery; and added, that ( his present capti
vity was but the fortune of war; and that he
should have no. reason to regret being a pri
soner/ ' I feel no regret, (replied the little
captain,) my charge was the fleet of merchant
men ; and my duty called me to defend them,
though at the expence of my vessel. I pro
longed the engagement, until I saw from my
cabin window, that they were all safe within
the mouth of the Thames ; and to have held
out longer would have been obstinacy, not
courage. In what light my services may be
H5

154

represented to my countrymen, I know not,
neither do I care: I might, perhaps, have had
more honour of them, by saving her Majesty's
ship by flight; but this consolation remains,
that though I have lost it, and my own liberty
together, I have served England faithfully j
and while I enrich the public, and rescue her
wealth from the gripe of her enemies, I can
not consider myself unhappy. Your kind
treatment of me may meet a return : my coun
trymen will pay my debt of gratitude ; for the
Power which now yields me to your hands,
may one day put you into theirs/ The noble
boldness with which he expressed himself,
charmed the commodore: he returned his
sword to him with these words : ' Take, Sir,
a weapon which no man better deserves to-
wear ! Forget that you are my prisoner ; but
ever remember that we are friends/ '

HOPE was the ensign under which this gal
lant commander fought; like the ESPERANCE
on the banners of Hotspur, it guided him to
victory and fame. He proved the efficacy of
Sidney's favourite maxim, — that " while there
ia hope left, we ought not to let the fearful-

155

ness of any adverse circumstance weaken the
strength of our resolution." The same reason
able and steady confidence in hope, may cheer
and conduct us happily, in the pursuits of a
private station, as well as in the more noticed
career of martial exploits. A well-ordered
mind is always consistent.

ANXIETY.

i.

How painful a thing it is, to a divided
mind, to make a well-joined answer!

Reynark.

And yet how rigorously does self-love de
mand, even fixed attention, from that class
of our friends who, evidently torn by distrac
tions, ought to awaken a kinder expectation !
Where is the justice, the hiunanity, of this

139

exaction ? What does it prove ? But that wC
value the devotedness of friendship, rather as
art oblation to vanity, than as a free inter
change of hearts ; an endearing contract of
Sympathy) mutual forbearance, and respect !

2.

Hope itself MS a pain, while it is over-
ifnatched by fear.

3.

It is a hell of dolours, when the mind still
in doubt, for want of resolution can make no
resistance;

Remark.

The Uncertainty of suspense is the cause of
its ever-increasing pangs; Its fears being en
larged by imagination, augment dread over
dread) until every calamity seems pending ;
tod the terrified wretch) self-betrayed, meets
misery in advance) by giving himself up to
phantoms of his own raising. In all cases it
shews a very ill-judging kindness, to leave any
one in anxiety, when it is in our power to de*

157

tide on the object of it, whether good or bad.
If good, it is the cruellest of all robberies to
withhold one moment of happiness which is
the right of another : and if bad, suspense be
ing at an end, the ranging spirits collect, and
form that faculty of bearing a determined and
visible evil, which uncertainty and indistinct
ness totally dissipate. Who is there that
would not rather be led out to the axe, than
live for days and weeks, with the expectation
of death or torture ?

DESPONDENCE.

LOVE is careful ; and misfortune is subject
to doubtfulness.

2.

Nothing is achieved, before it be thoroughly
attempted.

158

3.

Lying still doth never go forward*

4.
Who only sees the ill, is worse than blind.

5.

No man doth speak aright, who speaks in
fear.

6.

Solitary complaints do no good to him
whose help stands without himself.

7.

How weakly they do, that rather find fault
with what cannot be amended, than seek to
amend wherein they have been faulty !

Remark.

These thoughts on Despondency are not
less admonitory to men who delight in ob
scuring the prospects of others, than to that
despairing disposition, which inclines some
persons to regard their own views through si
milar clouds. Such friends may verily be
called Job's comforters : they are the mildews
of life; the blights which wither the spring

150

of Hope, and encumber sorrow with weeds of
deeper mourning. Instead of consoling the
afflicted, they irritate his grief by dwelling on
the circumstances of its cause: instead of en
couraging the unfortunate to new enterprizes,
they lead him to lamentable meditation on old
disappointments; and to waste that time in
regret, which might have been used to repair
loss or earn acquisition. These lachrymal
counsellors, with one foot in the cave of des
pair, and the other invading the peace of their
friends, are the paralizers of action, the pests
of society, and the subtlest homicides in the
world; they poison with a tear ; and convey
a dagger to the heart, while they press you to
their bosoms. Life is a warfare ; and he who
easily desponds, deserts a double duty; he be
trays the noblest property of man, which is
dauntless resolution ; and he rejects the pro
vidence of that All -gracious Being, who guides
and rules the universe.

PATIENCE.

WITHOUT mounting by degrees, a man
cannot attain to high things; and the breaking
of the ladder still casteth a man back, and
maketh the thing wearisome, which was easy.

Remark.

But, in being patient, a man must not be
supine : he should not stand when he ought
to move : his progress forward must be per
severing ; and at length he will see the steep
hills of his long journey, far behind him.

Itfl

CONTENT.

1.

HAPPY are the people who want little, be*
cause they desire not much.

Remark.

As truth is but one, she must speak the
same language wherever she resides ; neither
time nor situation can alter her decrees : what
was truth before the flood, is truth now ; and
what she utters by the lips of a peasant, will
be echoed, by absolute necessity, in the lec
tures of the sage. That happiness (which is
the emanation of content,) springs in the
mind, has been a maxim with all reflecting
men. And what Sir Philip Sidney says upon
the subject, is nearly repeated by the pious and
amiable Louis XVI. " To be happy is to make
our own fortune ; and that fortune consists in
good dispositions, good principles, and good
actions." As happiness depends upon the

162

gratification of our desires, to make their at
tainment probable, it is necessary that they
should be reasonable ; and to make their en
joyment lasting, that they should be virtuous:
The happiness of Titus arose from the indul
gence of a beneficent temper ; Epaminondas
reaped pleasure from the love of his country ;
a passion for fame was the source of Caesar's
felicity; and the satisfaction of grovelling ap
petites gave delight to Vitellius..

2.

He travels safe and not unpleasantly, who
is guarded by poverty and guided by love»

Remark.

Poverty, though a spoiler, cannot dismantle
a brave man of his courage : that armour is
his repellant through all sieges. And as Cu
pid put on the helmet of Mars in sport, so Va
lour, " when need is," seriously extends a
shield over shuddering and defenceless Love.
But poverty, without the guidance of courage,
gives no other ground of security, than an ex-

163

eruption from all those comforts which tempt
men to covetousness and invasion: and though
love must be a pleasant companion to one who
has no other good in life, yet, methinks, the
little god cannot long like the lodgings where
hard fare, sordidness, and base timidity, are
the inmates of his bed.

3.

The highest point outward things can bring
unto, is the contentment of the mind ; with
which, no estate can be poor ; without which,
gll estates will be miserable.

4.

Who frowns at other's feasts, had better
bide away.

5.

A joyful mind receives every thing to a joy
ful consideration: a careful mind makes each
thing taste like the bitter juice of care*

Remark.

A humour that lays great weight on small
matters, and makes much trouble out of littlct
is the very alchymist of misery, who, by a

164

mischievous subtlety, transmutes gold into
base metal j and transforms the fairest para
dise into a barren wilderness. A cheerful
temper spreads like the dawn, and all vapours
disperse before it. Even the tear dries on the
cheek, and the sigh sinks away half-breathed,
when the eye of benignity beams upon the
unhappy. Sweetness softens the obduracy of
melancholy ; and cheerfulness charms it into
an innocent forgetful ness of care.

6.

Blame not the heavens ! As their course
never alters, so is there nothing done by the
unreachable Ruler of them, but hath an ever*
lasting reason for it.

Remark.

Let man study the providence of God, not
only in the Holy Scriptures, (which are the
expositors of the mystery of human life,) but
jn the history of the world at large, and if he
bring an unprejudiced and learning mind to
the search, he will see sufficient proofs of that

[All -directing Power, which is the everlasting
guardian of the universe. Whether it he his
own lot to fall, or to rise, he will be equally
assured, that he is in hands which cannot err.
Whilst he maintains his duty towards his Cre
ator; and confides implicitly in a faith, which
must he true, or creation itself is one tremen
dous falsehood, — despair, nor repining, can
not reach him. He alone is the philosopher,
t the hero, who thus towers above all earthly
calamity. He asks but for virtue: with that
he is master of all : he is the truly great, the
intensely happy. It is hot in the power of
any thing mortal to shake his magnanimity ;
he depends on the Eternal : and he it is, that
L'ould see the globe melt from beneath his
feet, without changing colour.

106

DISCONTENT.

WE should deal ungratefully with nature,
if we should be forgetful of her gifts, and di
ligent auditors of the chances we like not.

Remark.

In estimating our conduct, and our stations
in life, we take our measure by two opposite
standards : we compare our opinions and ac»|
tions, with those of men who are evidently be-I
low us; and our fortune, with that of men who!
are as much above us: by this way of computJ
ing, we allow our vices to increase upon us, HIM
til we become scandalously wicked ; and engenjn
der a discontent, which finally makes us mm
serable.

16*7

HAPPINESS.

EXTREME joy is not without a certain de
lightful pain : by extending the heart beyond
its limits ; and by so forcibly a holding of all
the senses to any object, it confounds their
mutual working (but not without a charming
kind of ravishment,) from the free use of their
functions.

Remark.

Hence it comes, that we cannot make any
use of the first moments, nay hours, of happi
ness, Joy has seized upon all the faculties of
the soul, and we are prisoner to our eyes and
ears. We grasp the hand of a long-absent
and dear friend ; we gaze on him ; we hardly
articulate ; we weep ; we smile ; we embrace
him again and again ; and, confounded with
delight, abandon ourselves to silence and me
ditation. Rare moment, and precious ! Sweet
earnest of those perpetual transports, which

163

the soul is formed to enjoy in eternity, utial-
loyed with that amazement which darkens and
alarms, — Thy joys suit not with the impaired
constitution of man ! like the brightness that
shone out upon the face of Moses, they are
too intolerable for mortal sense; it can only
bear them through a veil.

OPINION AND EXPECTATION.

1.

IT many times falls out, that we deem our
selves much deceived in others, because we
tlyst deceived ourselves.

Remark.

-It is no uncommon thing to see people asso
ciating intimately with the illiterate, unreflect
ing and base part of mankind : they know them
to be what they are; and yet, when in the turn of

109

events they shew their sordid natures to the
bottom, their offended companions affect to
be astonished, outraged, and ill-used ; when,
if they took time for thought, they would re
member, that when men keep company with
thieves, they ought not to be surprised at find
ing their pockets picked.

2.

Ail over-shooting expectation is the most
cruel adversary of honourable doing.

Remark.

And, an over-shooting expectation is the sure
executioner of all the self-denying virtues. —
When expectation of any kind outstrips the
capability of action ; when it seizes the prize
it the outmost goal, before the race has start-

1, the indignant candidate recoils from the
stretch which he is told he must attain 5 and
shrinks back, even from attempting a shorter
circuit. Let expectation move by degrees, if
it would not wither the hopes it wishes to see
bloom. Man will not bear to be made a pro-
VOL. r. i

perty of, by any of his fellows : whether as a
hero, a patriot, or a friend, he gives, but not
when it is demanded ; in the moment that any
sacrifice is exacted from the affections, they
rebel : they withhold what they were just go
ing to bestow ; and become, if not hostile,
neutral and indifferent. Overweening expec
tation is as apparent in cases of private as
sociation, as in public contracts; and it ge
nerally arises from an unreasonable sensibility,
very distinguishable from philanthropic feel
ing. Undirected by reflection, sensibility
leads men to an extravagant expression, both
of social and unsocial feelings ; to an hyper
bolical idea of their own merits ; and to an
exorbitant expectation of that devotion from
others, which no man will consent to pay. —
The possessor of sucli sensibility, regarding it
as an ornament, often gives it indulgence,
without seeking to alleviate the anguish of the
object which put it in motion. By this habit,
the attention of the sympathiser is insensibly di
rected wholly to himself; and instead of heal
ing the wounds of the poor traveller, he pass
es over on the other side, that he may dry his

171

tears, and disengage himself from a painful
spectacle. When once sensibility has taken
this tendency, it changes its nature, into mere
self-conceit ; and instead of pouring itself
out, with Christian benevolence, upon the
wretched, srts like a pampered monk in his
solitary cell, calling aloud for the alms of all
mankind.

3.

In forming a judgment, lay your hearts
void of foretaken opinions ; else, whatsoever
is done, or said, will be measured by a wrong
rule: like them who have the jaundice, to
whom every thing appeareth yellow.

Remark.

A tenacious adherence to " foretaken opi
nions," is noticed by foreigners, as the pecu
liar fault of Englishmen ; and consequently
they have the character of deeming every thing
crooked that does not square with their own
standard. How true this charge is, we may
judge by examining the fact. Whatever be
I 2

172

the first impressions of the generality of our
countrymen, whether with relation to politics,
religion, or party cabals, they are seldom era
dicated. A sort of pride, that disdains to turn
its eyes to look for the possibility of a change
iii the view it has once decided to be good or
bad, holds us too often as stubbornly in error,
as at other times we may be stedfast in right.
The old-fashioned spirit of Whig and Tory
ism is still alive, though like the Devil, whose
name was Legion, it is now separated through
various channels and forms. We have secta
ries and preachers, many of whom wear such
(f jaundiced" spectacles, that every man who
is not of their particular congregations, ap
pears to them dressed in Mammon's own
" yellow," and ready to enter the bottomless
pit. All are {c fools or knaves" who think
not with these modern Corinthians, these
" dividers of the church of Christ/' these
boasters of the names of " Apollos, or of Ce
phas !" They can perceive nothing which
their different masters do not display ; and
the violence of their zeal extinguishes that
light of reason, which shews oil how many

173

points its rays may fall. The same belief of
one's own infallibility in judgment, 'chains us
to the feet of our favourite leaders, whether in
general opinions, or in the senate; and when
the interest or the obstinacy of party com
mands, he who to-day has dragged public
robbery to justice, to-morrow, will assist it,
(if if; wear a partisan's shape,) to skulk away
from deserved condemnation. When man
once surrenders his mind to any other guide
than truth ; when he consents to see through
other men's eyes, and to hear through other
men's ears, neither his reasoning nor his vir
tue is worth a rush. Such men never speak
on the right side of the question, but by good
luck ; hence their votes on either side, with
men of strict probity, go for nothing, but as
they swell the numbers.

To shake off this proneness of the mind to
put itself under the yoke of some dogmatist
at home, whether of the academy or of the
forum ; and to get rid of the prejudices which
partial men, constantly associating together,
impart to each other; the practice of travel
ling was resorted to: but still the evil remains.

174

The rooted disposition thrives in any soil :
and we see, by the manners of most English
men when they are abroad, how they are wed
ded to this imcandid habit; how they move
like men blind-folded, through the most in
teresting scenes. We need only instance one
of their ways, and then judge how far it will
effect the desired end of eradicating those nur
sery prejudices which disgrace the man. I
mean the absurd custom which Englishmen
strictly adhere to, of collecting themselves in
to clubs wherever they may chance to meet.
Surely, such travellers, though they make the
circuit of the world, will be as ignorant of its
inhabitants, as the accidental passengers in a
stage coach are of the owners and histories of
the different mansions which skirt the road.
At this rate, though men go from home, they
get nothing by the removal, but the inconve
niences of a journey, its consequent expenses,
and the useless conviction of having traversed
many miles, seen many cities, nations, and
people, about whom they know as little, as
astronomers do of the internal state of the
moon.

175

To make travelling produce its designed ef
fects on the mind; to unfetter us from pre
judice and unreasonable partialities; to make
us liberal in our opinions of foreign nations,
and be, indeed, citizens of the world, univer
sal philanthropists, and loyal sons to our own
country, we must converse with mankind at
large; study their states; esteem their virtues,
and provide against their vices. By these
means, while we compassionate errors which
arise from bad governments, we avoid the ef
fects on ourselves ; and learn to venerate and
guard the constitution that unites private se
curity with public honour. From these views
of the subject, it will readily be granted, that
military and naval veterans, who have had
frequent opportunities of seeing distant coun
tries while they fought for their own, must,
in general, be the most liberal characters. By
their situations, they are forced to mix with
strangers and enemies, as well as friends; and
the result is, that they see men as they are.—
All human passions, good and bad, being
brought before their eyes; all people, more or
less, exhibiting the same quantity of vicious

176

or virtuous propensities ; they regard the spec-
tacle with candour, modesty, and self-exami
nation; and, when the white flag is hoisted,
are ready to embrace their reconciled enemy,
and to sit down with him to partake the holy
sacrament of peace and amity.

4.

Among the best men are diversities of opi
nions ; which are no more, in true reason, to
breed hatred, than one that loves black, should
be angry with him that -is clothed in white ;
for thoughts are the very apparel of the mind.
5.

We see many men among us, who hold
themselves contented with the knowing of un
truth, without seeking after the truth; and
with mocking of superstitions, without seek
ing the pure and true religion.

Remark.

The reason of this lies with the malignity
of these men. So far are they from the image
of God ; so opposite are they from the dis-

177

position of Him, who raised a beautiful world
out of a hideous chaos; who created man,
and made him happy ; who looked around on
a universe moving in harmony, and said,
€* ALL is GOOD !" So wide are these malig-
nants from any similitude with their benign
Maker, that they exult in destruction ! To
contradict human testimony, to disprove hu
man reasoning, to deny divine revelation, to
destroy the system of nature, and, if it were
possible, to dethrone the Deity, is their study,
their labour, anc- their Satanic enjoyment.

6.
A fool's opinion is no dishonour.

Remark.

Because there is no judgment annexed to it.
A silly person seldom can give any sufficient
reason for his dislike ; and therefore we des
pise his misprision. But when sentiments of
disapprobation are expressed by the worthy,
we are startled as if by a stroke from heaven,
and look about how we may amend our fault.
I 5

178

Gentle rebuke, when our conduct lapses to
wards error, is the kindest office good men
ean do for us : and next to that, is the honest
applause by which they encourage the virtuous
man to proceed cheerfully through his hard
trials. The love of praise is a divine gift, and
was implanted in the human breast, to support
the toils of duty. It is the help-mate of nian<,
the soft bosom on which he reclines, after the
fatigues of a laborious day. There is nothing
substantial in it; nothing that can actually
shorten his work, or lighten his burthen; but
like tender woman, (whose weakness prevents
her sharing the toils of her husband,) its pre
sence beguiles the hour of labour, sweetens
the bitterness of life, and spreads the couch of
affection beneath the wearied body. Direct a
passion for praise towards worthy aims, and
you give wings to virtue: but when that desire
tends towards the vanities of life, its path is
trifling, and its end contempt. It depends on
education, (that holder of the keys, which the
Almighty hath put into our hands,) to open
the gates which lead to virtue or to vice, to
happiness or misery.

170

7,

Who will ever give counsel, if the counsel
be judged by the event? And if it be not
found wise, shall therefore be thought wicked !

Remark.

Who will lead armies to the field, if the
head of the general is to answer for defeat? Or
who will yield private comforts to public du
ty, if opinion estimate the virtue of the actor
by the effects he produces, and not by the mo
tives of his actions? There are few persons
who have the courage, cither in friendship or
philanthropy,, to dedicate, first, their minds
to the objects of their zeal i then, their feel
ings; and lastly, their reputations.. And all
for what ? For the purchase of ingratitude !
So capriciously do men weigh the deeds of
their benefactors, that it is incumbent on every
man who really wishes well to his fellow-crea
tures, to labour for their prosperity, without
ever casting a thought towards their thanks.
If he do not hold himself independent of their
breath, he submit* to a current which is as

180

variable as the winds: when he is successful,
it blows him along with fair and balmy gales;
but when fortune frowns, it gathers in tem
pests around his head, and wrecks him on the
first rock against which it has the force to
drive him. The highest virtue is to persevere
in good, when that good is evil-spoken of:
for, we can no where look on the page of the
world, as it passes under our own eye ; or on
the annals of its past history; without seeing,
that he who builds on popular opinion, (which
almost always judges by the result,) rests on a
foundation that is for ever shifting; a sand
bank, that now leans on the southern, and
now on the northern shore. The murder of
Caesar by Brutus, (the man whom he had
cherished and called his son !} was extolled
by his cotemporaries; and is recorded with
admiration, unto this day: while a purer spi
rit of patriotism, in Timokon, was condemn
ed by his countrymen; and is now, except by
scholars, almost forgotten. The conquest
which this great man attempted over natural
affection; and the caprice of the people for
whom, he accomplished it; are instances of

181

human virtue and human vice, worthy of a
moment's recollection and attention.

Timophanes, the brother of Timoleon, pos
sessed dazzling talents; and an ambition that
aspired to the supreme authority. A desperate
courage, attended by good fortune, procured
him the confidence of the Corinthians; who,
in return for the victories which he gained at
the head of their armies, gave him the com
mand of the troops which guarded the city. —
Timophanes corrupted these men by the spoil
which he promised them; bribed the populace,
with largesses ; and having, by licentious prin
ciples, seduced a number of the young nobi
lity to support his measures, immediately seiz
ed the throne. In the same hour the most
respectable citizens were dragged to the scaf
fold; their estates confiscated; and their
houses sacked by the mob. Till now, Timo
leon patiently, though carefully, had watched
over the safety of the state; but indignant, not
merely at the usurpation of Timophanes, but
at the cruel means which he used to maintain
his power, he forced himself into his pre
sence; and having obtained a private audience,

182

described, with the eloquence of virtue, the hor
rible nature of the crimes which he had com
mitted ; the destructive consequences, both to
Corinth and to himself, of those which were
to follow; and concluded,, with conjuring him
by all that he held sacred in earth and in hea-
veo, to abdicate his illegal power ; and by such,
resignation^ make some atonement to the gods
for the excesses of his mad ambition ! Timo-
phanes derided his counsel. Timoleon was
not to be foiled by one repulse i he assailed,
him again and again, with repeated visits, and
a variety of arguments ; but all in vain. Ti-
mophanes remained in the throne; the streets
of Corinth ran with blood ; and the insatiate
populace fattened in the slaughter. Timo-
leon's last effort was to be tried. He repaired
to the tyrant's apartments with two friends, to
whom he had given his instructions. His pa
triotic arguments were repeated : the rage of
Timophanes would hardly allow him to pro
ceed: Timoleon beseechcd him by every thing
that was honourable in man, and tender as a
brother, to hear him to the end. He was in
terrupted by a threatened blow from Time-

J83

phanes, and a menace of instant death if he
did not cease. " Then (exclaimed Timoleon,
looking at him with mingled horror and pity,)
thou art determined to die sovereign of Co
rinth?" " I am: (replied the tyrant,) and let
him perish, who disputes my authority !" Ti-
moleon covered his head with his robe — but
before he could turn away, his two friends
had plunged their daggers in the heart of Ti-
mophanes. The assassination was soon known;
some few, (the old patriots who yet remained,)
admired the heroic zeal of Timoleon, who
had sacrificed fraternal love to the safety of
his country ; hut as the major part of the
citizens preferred licence before liberty, plun
der before labour, and luxury before virtue,
they loudly accused Timoleon of the most un
natural treason, and demanded that he should
be brought to trial. He cared not for his life,
and submitted : but the little justice that still
existed, acquitted him of deserving punish
ment; while the rancorous multitude (depriv
ed of their privilege to pillage,) pursued him
from the city, loading him with curses and in
sults. Heart-struck with so general a dctesta-

184

tion, his reason was almost dislodged ; and
doubting his own innocence, he wandered
about in solitary places, abandoned to grief;
and bitterly lamenting the error of his virtue,
or the unexampled stupidity and ingratitude
of the Corinthians.

When excessive humility attends the per
former of extraordinary and magnanimous ac
tions, that amiable quality degenerating into
weakness, puts it into the power of cabal,
noise, and accusation, to make the man who
has sacrificed his own affections to particular
demands of virtue, suspect his judgment, start
from himself as from a spectre, and hope
lessly regret conduct which ought to cover him
with glory. Those moralists who say that
the parth of virtue is smooth ; and seek to al
lure the young to enter it, by a description of
its pleasures only ; betray their cause, by pre
ferring its claims with deceit. Though the
consciousness of acting right) like a guardian
angel, accompanies us through every peril,
yet the road is rough and rocky ; there are
gulphs to swim ; mountains to climb ; and
precipices, from which, at the command of

185

Integrity, we must fling ourselves headlong.
Such is the journey : but when we gain the
Munmit, it is then that the triumphant spirit
looks down on the dangers it has passed ;
and mingling with the laurelled sons of im
mortality, enjoys an Elysium, whose pleasures
are as pure as they are sublime, and as raptu
rous as they are eternal.

FRIENDSHIP.

1.

FRIENDSHIP is so rare, as it is doubted,
whether it be a thing indeed, or but a word.

Remark.

It is rare, because its essentials are invalu
able and hard to be found : and as its worth is
so great, we have counterfeits which cheat us
under a raise stamp ; and when we think that

4

186

we have exchanged our heart for real friend-
ship, we find nothing but mens* delusions and
our own bankruptcy. '* In what light (asked
a Grecian philosopher of his friend,) do you
view friendship ?" "As the most delightful
and the most dangerous of the gifts of heaven :
(answered he,) its enjoyments are extatic;
its disappointments, agony."

2.

Be careful to make friendship the child, and
not the father of virtue : for many strongly knit
minds are rather good friends than good men;
so, as though they do not like the evil their
friend does, yet they like him who does the
evil; and though no counsellors of the of
fence, they yet protect the offender.

Remark.

This bias in friendship is pregnant with
evil ; for, when once the eye that we most fear,
is so prejudiced in our favour, as not to per
ceive distinctly the colour of our actions, we
are apt to take advantage of such blindness

187

and to suffer the brightness of our character
to fade, since the change can be no longer
discerned by the person whose approbation
stands highest in our esteem. But the friend
ship which is thus influenced, wants one in-
dispensible qualification for discharging the
duties of that inviolable intimacy ; a detesta
tion of every thing that is degrading ! True,
legitimate friendship, that is perfect in all its
parts, is the most quick-sighted of all the af
fections. Her eye is a microscope, that dis
covers every defect; but the discovery does
not excite any unkind, or upbraiding emotions;
nor does she wish to conceal from the object
of her observations, the knowledge of errors,
that may be amended : she regards the imper
fections before her, with the same tenderness
and delicacy that she would dispense to her
own ; and being only anxious for the well-do
ing and happiness of her friend, she shews
him his default, that it may be rectified, be
fore malignancy descries, and proclaims it to
the world.

188

3.

Take heed how you place your good-will
upon any other grour. d than proof of virtue.
Neither length of acquaintance, mutual secre
cies, nor height of benefits, can bind a vicious
heart : no man being good to others, that is
not good in himself.

Remark.

On what grounds can we expect integrity,
cither in private or political transactions, from
the person who errs in^he first of human du
ties, care of himself, of his character, of his
conscience, of his all that is the man ? What
is a frame of flesh and blood ? What are sta
tions and titles ? What, fine declamation and
profession ? But chaff, dust, — mere wind and
words. Man is built up of honour ; and when
that fails him, he has no more claim on the
august name, than the painted mummy could
pretend to, which defrauds the earth of its
borrowed clay.

13Q

4.

There is no sweeter taste of friendship, than
the coupling of souls in mutuality, either of
condoling or comforting; where the oppressed
mind finds itself not altogether miserable, since
it is sure of one who is feelingly sorry for its
misery. And the joyful, spends not his joy
either alone, or there where it may be envied ;
but may freely send it to such a well-grounded
object, whence he shall be sure to receive a
sweet reflection of the same joy ; and as in a
clear mirror of sincere good-will, see a lively
picture of his own gladness.

Remark.

How beautifully has Dr. Young expressed
this thought !

Celestial Happiness ! Whene'er she stoops
To visit earth, one shrine the goddess finds,
And one alone, to make her sweet amends
For absent heaven, — the bosom of a friend,
Where heart meets heart, reciprocally soft,
Each other's pillow to repose divine !

5.

Between friends all must belaid open; no
thing being superfluous nor tedious.

Remark.

It is in vain to talk of friendship, that
friendship which alone deserves the name, if
the whole heart be not unveiled. That indis-
criminating confidence, which lavishes itself
upon every smiling promiser, is as worthless
as it is undistinguishing: but to withhold even
your dearest secrets from the friend to whom
you have sworn eternal faith, and who has
given you his heart in pledge of his honour, is
to rob him of his right; to defraud him of his
best privilege, — to mingle grief with grief, and
joy with joy, in the mutual interchange of
friendship.

6.

Friendship is made fast by interwoven be
nefits.

Hcmark.

Those friendships are generally the most
tender and firm, which were formed in early
youth. The first kindnesses we receive we
seldom forget: they are remembered with en
dearing comments of the soul ; and on every
revisal, they grow in estimation, and take
deeper root in the heart.

1.

Prefer your friend's profit before your own
desire.

Remark.

And what is more, and a harder duty, pre
fer his profit before his own desire. Rather
lose your friend's love, than allow him in the
gratification of any wish, which you can pre
vent, and which you know would give him
present enjoyment, at the expense of future

1Q2

pain. These duties are the thorns of friend
ship.

8.

There is nothing so great, that I fear to do
for my friend ; nor nothing so small, that I
will disdain to do for him.

Remark.

In fact, as we may exercise all our powers,
for the sake of a friend, without any charge
of selfishness or sordidness ; all our actions,
however dangerous or laborious, which have
his service for their object, are rendered by that
sentiment, delightful and ennobling. Where
no lurking self-interest whispers to the heart,
" Thou art ambitious, or vain-glorious, or
toiling to make a captive ! This is for thyself
alone /" to meet peril at every turning \ to re
pel envy, hatred, and malice; to struggle with
foes in every direction; and "all for thy
friend !" when the conscience declares this,
such a warfare is more glorious than that of
Caesar against the Gauls : for there are no bar-

igi

barians harder to conquer and to civilize, than
the adversaries of virtue, and the oppressors of
misfortune. Happy is that favoured mortal
who is thus privileged to serve and to sustain
i suffering friend ! To have contemplated the
noble character of the gallant Sidney, to have
rejoiced in his fame, to have followed him in
banishment, to have shared in his studies, to
have accompanied him in his deeds of bene
volence, to have fought by him in the field, to
have received him in your arms when he fell,
to have watched his couch day and night
while he lay in anguish, to have taken into
your very heart his last sigh — his last look of
gratitude to man ! And to have had written on
your monument, — " Here lies the friend of
Sir Philip Sidney !" These are the toils, these
are the delights of friendship; and such a
grave would be a place of more honour than
the proudest throne in Christendom.

9.

The man that is faithful, thinks it more li
berty to be his friend's prisoner, than to be
any other's general.

VOL. X. K

194

Remark.

That tenacity of friendship which, lo com
mon observation, appears to be only spaniel-
like endurance, is an admirable proof of the
noblest nature : it bears with the mischances of
fortune, the variableness of humour, the per
versity of human infirmity,, rather than hastily
divorce itself from him, to whom it has, on
mature knowledge, given entire confidence. —
Mutability proves two bad things; a weak in
tellect, and an insensible heart. It builds on
crazy foundations ; and the superstructure
falls, with the shaking of the first stone. That
which is to le loved lo?ig, is to le loved with
reason rather than passion : for reason is wa
ry in choice, restrained in expectation ; and by
temperance in enjoyments, ensures their du
ration and its own constancy.

10.

While we have power to do a service to one
we love, we are not wholly miserable.

Remark.

And while those " we love" find happiness
in us, as well as accept "services" at our
hands, we must " not be wholly miserable."
Is there not a positive happiness in the con
sciousness of producing happiness ? There
is something divine in the prerogative, that
elevates the soul, and gives it an earnest of be
atitude. Absolute misery cannot abide with
virtue in affliction ; and when friendship is our
solace, grief itself is the root of joy.

11.

What is mine, even to my life, is her's I
love; but the secret of my friend, is not mine!
12.

Death is a less evil than betraying a trust
ing friend.

Remark.

The blow which was aimed at the heart of
Pythias on the scaffold, would have occasion
ed him less pain than the thought, that he had

K2

been abandoned to his fate by the desertion of
Damon, We fear not corporeal death, but
the extinction of that mental life which
breathes upon us from the breast,of a beloved
triend. The perfidy of a friend tortures the
soul ; his death merely bereaves it of happi
ness: but

41 Most wretched he who latest feels the blow !
*• Whose eyes have wept o'er every friend laid low ;
" Dragg'd lingering on, from partial death to death,
" Till dying—all he can resign is breath !"

13.

To a heart fully resolute, counsel is tedious,
and reprehension is loathsome; but there is
nothing more terrible to a guilty heart, than
the eye of a respected friend.

14.
Be friendly without factiousness.

Remark.

" Would you comprehend all hell in one
word (says Lord Orrery,) call it party, or a

197

spirit of faction." A graver author shah con
tinue the comment on this necessary maxim.
" It behoves us not to engage ourselves so
deeply in any singular friendship ; or in devo
tion to any one party of men, as to be entirely
partial to their interests, and prejudiced in
their behalf, without distinct consideration of
the truth and equity of their pretences in the
matters of difference : and above all things,
not for the sake of a fortuitous agreement in
disposition, opinion, interest or relation, to
violate the duties of justice and humanity; to
approve, favour, or applaud, that which is bad
in some; to dislike, discountenance, or dispa
rage, that which is good in others. For he
that upon such terms is a friend to any one
man, or party of men, as to be resolved (with
an implicit faith, or blind obedience,) to main
tain, whatever he or they shall affirm to be
true; and whatever they shall do, to be good;
doth, in a manner, undertake enmity against
all men beside ; and as it may happen, doth
oblige himself to contradict plain truth, to de
viate from the rules of virtue, and offend AI-
tnigbty God himself. This unlimited parti-

1Q8

ality we owe only to truth and goodness, and
to God, the fountain of them. He that fol
lowed Tiberius Graccfeus in his seditions, up
on the score of friendship, and alleged in his
excuse, that ' if his friend had required it of
,him, he should as readily have put fire to the
Capitol!' was much more abominable for his
disloyalty to his country, and horrible impiety
against God, than commendable for his con
stant fidelity to his friend. And that soldier
who is said to have told Caesar (in his first ex
pedition against Rome,) that in obedience to
Jiis commands he would not refuse to sheath
his sword in the breast of his brother, or in the
throat of his aged father, or in the heart of his
mother, was, for his unnatural barbarity, ra
ther to be abhorred, than to be esteemed for
his loyal affection to his general. And in like
manner, he that to please the humour of his
friend, can be either injurious, or treacherous,
or notably discoiyteous, to any man else, is
very blameable, and renders himself odious to
all others. Leeliws, who incomparably well both
understood and practised the rules of friend
ship, isj by Cicero, reported to have made

190

this the first and chief law thereof. That
we neither require of our friends the perform
ance of base and wicked things ; nor being re
quested of t/iemy perform such ourselves." No
virtue can be sustained at the expense of ano
ther virtue ; and what we believe to be a vir
tue, even while it tempts us to do evil in its
service, is nothing better than a desperate pas
sion cloked under a privileged appearance : it
is not affection, but dotage; it is not zeal, but
fanaticism : not virtue, but vice !

15.

Friendship doth never bar the mind of it*
partner, from free satisfaction in all good.
16.

Where the desire is such as may be ob
tained, and the party well-deserving, it must
be a great excuse, that may well colour a de
nial. But when the motion carries with it a
direct impractibility, then must the only an
swer be comfort without help, and sorrow to
both parties ; to the one, not obtaining ; to
the otherj not being able to grant.

200

17.

The lightsome countenance of a friend giv-
cth such an inward decking to the house
where it lodgeth, as proudest palaces might
have cause to envy the gilding.
18.

The hard estate of a friend does more vex
the brave heart, than its own mishap; for, so
indeed it is ever found, where valour and
friendship are perfectly coupled in one heart.
The reason being, that the resolute man,
having once digested in his own judgment
the worst extremity of his own case, and hav
ing either quite expelled, or at least repelled,
all passion which ordinarily follows an over
thrown fortune; not knowing his friend's
mind so well as his own, nor with what pa
tience he brooks his case, (which is, as it were,
the material cause of making a man happy or
unhappy ;) doubts whether his friend accounts
not himself more miserable; and so indeed be
jwore lamentable.

201
19.

A PARTING ADDRESS OP FRIENDSHIP.

If I bare thee love, for mine own sake ; and
that our friendship grew because I, for my
part, might rejoice to enjoy such a friend ; I
should now so thoroughly feel mine own loss>
that I should call the heavens and earth to
witness, how cruelly you rob me of my great
est comfort, (robbing me of yourself,) mea
suring the breach of friendship by mine own
passion ! But because indeed I love thee for
thyself; and in my judgment judge of thy
worthiness to be loved, I am content to build
my pleasure upon thy comfort ; and then will
I deem my hap in friendship great, when I
shall see thee, whom I love, happy : let me be
only sure that thou lovest me still ; the only
price of true affection ! Go therefore on, with
the guide of virtue and service of fortune. —
Let thy love be loved ; thy desires, prosper
ous ; thy escape, safe ; and thy journey, easy.
Let every thing yield its help to thy desert !
K 5

202

For my part, absence shall not take thee from
mine eyes ; nor afflictions bar me from glad
ding in thy good ; nor a possessed heart keep
thee from the place it hath for ever allotted
thee. My only friend ! I joy in thy pre
sence, but I joy more in thy good. Tha
friendship brings forth the fruits of enmity,
which prefers its own tenderness before its
friend's advantage. Farewel !

Remark.

Friendship is so rare, as it is doubted whe-
ther it le a thing indeed, or but a u'ord /
There have been, and are, so many pretenders
to the title of friendship, that no man who
has numbered the years which Sir Philip Sid
ney did, will be surprised at seeing the above
sentence at the head of his thoughts on that
noblest of affections. Amongst so numerous
fellowships which assume the name, it is well
to consider the essentials of the sentiment, be-
fore we grant privileges to what may be false
pretensions. Young men meet with other
g men, who are fond of t lie same amuse-

203

ments, who possess similar convivial qualities,
and who, in consequence, are eager to fre
quent the like society: they soon come to an
understanding; congeniality of tastes and
wishes bind their newly-plighted hands ; they
live almost together ; they share each other's
pleasures; they correspond; they are sworn
friends. But let calamity fall on either! The
other flies from the contagion of misery:
they have no longer any sympathies ; and he
leaves his former partner, to go in quest of
some new companion, equally gay, who has
yet his race to run. Then, there are contracts
of interestjiEJwhich are dissolved the moment
that the misfortunes of the one encroaches on
the avidity of the other. Besides these, (who
all prostitute the name of friendship,) we have
a host of friends, who will assist us with ad
monition?, advice, and promises, enough; but
should we presume to draw upon their person
able trouble, or' their purse, \ve lose them en
tirely. There are many who will call them
selves your friends, if you have anv properties
about you which may administer to their pUn-
sure, or their vanity. Some people have no

204

consequence but what they catch by reflection.
Fine accomplishments, wit, beauty and celebri
ty, will attract a crowd of such summer-friends :
they will flutter in your path, glitter in your
beams, and flash your own brightness in your
eyes, until you could almost believe them to
be insensible of any joy out of your presence.
But when the scene changes ; when adversity
clouds your vivacity and obscures your fame*
when you are in sorrow, sickness, and dis
tress ; who will enter the house of mourning?
Not one of all this tribe. It is then, O friend
ship ! thy kingdom comes! The friend ap
pears : not with reproaches in the form of
counsel: not to tell you, how you might have
avoided misfortune; and to insult you with
unavailing regrets: but he opens his arms,
his heart; — his soul is your's ! And the closer
you cling to him, the more confidently you
lean upon him, — the lighter is his own grief,
the greater is the sweet tribute to his af
fection. Such a friend is the character which
Sir Philip Sidney describes in the foregoing
page ; and such a one, the wisest of men eu-
3

205

logizcs in these few simple words, " The price
of a true friend is above rubies." The bles
sing can hardly be doubled to man : he is
not to expect in the course of the longest life,
more than one such gift; for it is as rare as it
is estimable; it is a donation direct from hea
ven; a comforter in affliction; a brightener
of joy; a cheering partner in the labour of
virtue ; a sweet companion to enter with into
the gates of paradise. A sermon might be
written from every text in this section. They
are so pregnant with excellent instructions,
purity of sentiment, and sublimity of love,
that I curtail my own remarks, to exhort the
young reader, to read them again and again;
to write them on the frontlets of his eyes ; and
engrave them on his heart. Such was the
friendship of which we have some few and
beautiful examples. The Scriptures hold out
lo us the affection of David and Jonathan,
which passed tlic love of women : Grecian his
tory presents Harmodius and Arislogitcn : in
modern annals, we have that of the gallant Sid
ney himself with the brave Fulke Lord Brooke;
and if we would see the figure of friend-

205

ship in its full beauty, as it lived in their
hearts, let us turn to its picture, which he has
so divinely delineated in the story of Pyroclea
and Musidorus ! It may well be called the
mirror of nobleness, the glass of friendship^
and the mould of love.

SUSPICION.

1.

SEE whether a cage can please a bird ; or
whether a dog grow not fiercer with tying I
What doth jealousy, but stir up the mind to
think \\ hat it is, from which it is restrained ?
For they are treasures, or things of great de
light, which men use to hide for the aptness
they have to each man's fancy : and the
thoughts once irvvaktned to that, the harder
sure it is, to keep the mind (which being the
chief part, by this means is defiled,) from
thinking and desiring.

207

Remark.

Most worthless persons have an internal
warning of defects which they do not acknow
ledge to themselves, although a thousand mis
givings hint it to them every day. Self-con
ceit having blunted their perceptions, they
cannot see distinctly those images, which con
tinually floating through their brains, would
shew them what they are, had they modesty
enough to profit by the lesson. The only
idea that such a man (if he be married,) is sure
he understands is, that he doubts; and the
choice lies with himself, whether the object of
that doubt shall be his own merit, or his wife's
virtue. He has inward glimmerings, of
grounds of dislike and probable avoidance;
and with that rapidity of vicious calculation,
which runs swiftest in the weakest heads, he
presently closes the natural effect upon the
cause ; and not believing that principle can
retain what there is temptation to relinquish,
lie sets spies over his wife ; determining to
withhold by force the body, ,which might be

too ready to follow the wanderings of the
mind. By this conduct, he sounds an alarm
to the muster of his own errors : the eager
eyes of her whom his fears have insulted,
seeking reasons for such severity, discover?,
in the now giant-faults of her husband, the
motives of his jealousy and her supposed de
reliction; and what is more fatal still, often a
plausible excuse for turning the phantoms of
suspicion into hideous realities. Where there
is any good disposition, confidence begets
faithfulness; but distrust, if it do not produce
treachery, never fails to destroy every inclina
tion to evince fidelity. Most people disdain
to clear themselves from the accusations of
mere suspicion.

2.

Those that be good, will be satisfied as long
as they see no evil.

3.

Open suspecting of others, comes of se
cretly condemning ourselves.

20Q

Remark.

This short observation comprises a fright
ful epitome of what a man incurs by forsaking
a virtuous course of life. Wicked as he is,
and obstinate in wickedness, he cannot hide
the heinousness of his enormities from him
self; nor help imagining that all who surround
him possess as many evil inclinations as he
himself, to do harm to others whenever inter
est points that way. In the bad, he sees no
thing but treacherous rivals j and in the good,
severe judges and inflexible avengers. How
evidently is it written before men's eyes, nay,
does not Wisdom cry it in the streets, that
" the paths of virtue lead to honour and secu
rity; those of vice, to disgrace and punish
ment ?" Why will not men be wise, and lay
this lesson to their hearts ? Its effects will en
ter there in spite of themselves $ and when men
act as if they believed it not, conscience is still
witness on the side of truth: implacable in
her testimony, *' she still condemns the wretch
and still renews the charge j" and though he

210

suffers in secret, the murderer of his own vir
tue (the parent of happiness,) is, like the ago
nized Orestes, a prey to the furies. Man may
escape the world's censure, but he can never
elude his own. He may vaunt otherwise ;
but, as Johns@n said of Pope on a different
occasion — " When he says so, he knows that
he lies."

4.

A dull head thinks no better way to shew
himself wise, than by suspecting every thing
in his way.

Remark.

Any base heart can devise means of vile-
ness ; and affix the ugly shapings of its own
fancy, to the actions of those around him : but
it requires loftiness of mind, and the heaven -
born spirit of virtue, to imagine greatness,
where it is not ; and to deck the sordid objects
of nature, in the beautiful robes of loveliness
and light.

211

5.

Suspicion breeds, the mind of cruelty 5 and
the effects of cruelty stir a new cause of sus-.
picion.

6-

Suspicion is the very means to lose that, we
most suspect to lose.

7.

He that is witness of his own unworthiness,
is the apter to think himself contemned.

INTERFERENCE.

HE that is too busy in the foundations of a
house, may pull the building about his ears*

212

PERSUASION.

1.

HE that persists to persuade us to what we
mislike, is no otherwise than as a tedious
prattler, who cumbers the hearing of a delight
ful music.

2.

We are best persuaded, when nobody is by,
who has heard us say, that we would not le
persuaded.

3.

In the particularities of every body's mind
and fortune, there are particular advantages,
by which they are to be held.

4.
Credit is the nearest step to persuasion.

5.

Words are vain, when resolution takes the
place of persuasion.

Remark.

That the speaker's reputation for truth and
good-will towards the object of his persuasion,

21S

art his most powerful auxiliaries in argument,
no one will deny : and yet, the most active
persuaders are generally people who take no
care to avoid error ; or to enter heartily into
the welfare of the person whom they advise.
These self-called counsellors, commonly ap
proach their client in so pompous an array of
judgment, that he shrinks as much from the
important sweep of their train, as from the se
verity of their sentence. Various are the me
thods by which these volunteer-teachers breathe
forth their homilies, and launch their fulmi-
nations against transgressors. Some, in the
shape of anxious friends, delight in exercising
their rhetoric on subjects which are likely to
prove exhaustless ; and therefore, undertake to
persuade you to relinquish the very things
which they know you most value.

There is a second race, who display their
superiority, by reproving and admonishing
others before company ; and the larger the cir-
ck is, the better; their triumph is more com
plete, and their fame is in the way of spreading
farther. But the most annoying of all public

214

reformers j is the personal satirist* Thougk
he may be considered by some few, as a useful
member of society ; yet he is only ranked with
the hangman^ whom we tolerate, because 'he
executes the judgment we abhor to do our
selves ; and avoid, with a natural detestation of
his office : The pen of the one, and the cord
of the other, are inseparable in our minds. A
satirist, to have any excuse for the inexorable
zeal with which he Uncovers the deformities
of his fellow-creatures, ought to be exempla
ry in his own conduct $ otherwise his hostility
to the vicious is a vice in him ; a desire to
torture, not a love of amending : his lancet
is poisoned, not embalmed ; and he proves by
his acrimony, that such men are often too busy
with other people's faults, to find out and cor
rect their own. But, if the censor were as
virtuous as Cato himself, still experience
shews that personal satire is in most cases both
dangerous and useless ; for he who is exposed
to public infamy, suffers the punishment of
his crime ; and being branded with guilt, is,
by such unmercifulness, deprived of all pro-
1

215

lability of recovering his place in society i
hence, he hates the relentless hand that, in
withdrawing the veil from his nakedness,
leaves him no way to conceal infirmities which
disgust the world ; and despairing, by any
after-amendment, to efface the cruel impres
sion, he abandons himself to his fate. On
the contrary, the general satirist, attack* the
vice, and not the individual acting under its
influence. He paints its enormity; and de^
scribes the infamy which detection incurs. —
The secret culprit sees the portrait; and while
he can yet retreat from being recognised as
the original, steals from his crimes ; and hap
py in the ignorance of mankind, is the more
easily induced to become a good character, be
cause they never knew that he was a bad one.
Public shame often hardens the criminal in
guilt; and drives him to defend what other
wise he would have been led to desert. In
short, it is a paradoxical way to reform men,
by making them hate their teacher. Persua
sion will subdue vices, which virulence and
open exposure cannot conquer. When you
would teach men, win their hearts, and their

216

minds will soon learn obedience. Let the In
junctions of the holy apostles, instruct human
moralists how to lecture their fellow-creatures !
** Brethren, if a man be overtaken in a fault,
ye which are spiritual, restore such an one in
the spirit of meekness ; considering thyself,
lest thou also be tempted : we, that are strong,
ought to bear the infirmities of the weak. A
servant of the Lord must not fight, but be gen
tle toward all ; apt to teach ; patient ; in meek
ness instructing those that oppose themselves. "
Every man (saith the sage,) shall kiss the lips
that Ireathe sweetness ! But all will be ready
to avoid him whose mouth is imbittered witb
reproach, or defiled with revilings.

F

217

CURIOSITY.

l.

INQUISITIVENESS is an uncomely guest.

Remark.

Prying into the private histories of our ac
quaintance, is not only uncomely, but very im
pertinent and insolent. It is never done to
wards those whom we sincerely regard; for
affection supersedes idle curiosity, and makes
us wait for the disclosures, which it would be
indelicate to demand. Hence, all officious'
questions about personal affairs; all canvas
sing the lineage, education, and fortunes of our
associates, arise from mertiuquisitivejiess: and
though such impertinence is most often found
amongst individuals of rank and riches, (who
make leisure to be troublesome,) yet no pri
vileges of situation ought to warrant ill-man
ners; or screen presuming curiosity, from the

VOL. x. L

218

mortifications of disappointment and con
tempt.

2.

The heavenly powers ought to be reverenc
ed, and not searched into ; and their mercies,,
by prayers, sought; not their hidden counsels,
by curiosity.

Remark.

If pryers into futurity were to put a stop to
their curiosity by reflections similar with those
of Caesar, they would avoid much ridicule
much useless uneasiness, and settle a very
troublous spirit.

The following thoughts were written on the
tablets of that great man the night before his
death, when he had retired to his chamber,
rather discomposed by the presages which his
wife Calphurnia drew from her ominous
dreams.

" Be it so. If I am to die to-morrow, that
is what I am to do to-morrow. It will not
be then, because I am willing it should be

4

21Q

(hen ; nor shall I escape it, because I am un
willing to meet it. It is in the Gods whe?i,
but in myself, how I shall die. If Calphur-
nia's dream be fumes of indigestion, and I take
panic at her vapours, how shall I behold the
day after to-morrow ? If they be from the
Gods, their admonition is not to prepare me to
escape from their decree, but to meet it. I
have lived to a fulness of days and of glory :
what is there that Caesar has not done with as
much honour as ancient heroes? Caesar has
not yet died ; — Caesar is prepared to die,'*

CUSTOM.

THEY who would receive the benefit of a
custom, must not be the first to break it; for
then can they not complain, if they be not
helped by that which they themselves hurt.

L2

220

Remark.

The justice of this remark is demonstrated
by the dissatisfaction which is shewn by men
of equalizing doctrines, when persons from a
lower class intrude upon their level. It is ri
diculous to see these demagogues assume sta
tions with the highest ranks, and when their
disciples practise the same lesson, and dare to
approach their masters, they are thrust back
with indignation ; even while the old burthen
sounds in their ears — " The absurdity of res
pecting the customs of society !"

*' That common rules were ne'er design'd
" Directors of the noble mind I"

is their favourite aphorism ; and from this
text they descant upon the innate worthiness
and inherent rights of all men, till the privi
lege of eccentricity is extended to all minds,
ignoble as well as noble. They defend their
cause on the principles of universal freedom^

I

221

and their own zeal to release mankind from
prejudice. The general sameness of manners
gives them the spleen: society is so evenly
arranged, so closely fitted into each other, that
there is no room for speculation ; no opportu
nity for entcrprize : law and custom hold the
different orders in such trammels, that a man
must have the force of Sampson, to burst the
bonds which tie him and his talents down to
the earth ! Such is the substance of most ora
tions in defence of mental republicanism : —
Abundance of words — We must look for ar
guments elsewhere. This talisman of custom,
this sameness, which they complain of, main
tains the harmony of the civilized world ;
holds the dunces and knaves, (to borrow a
term of painting,) in some degree of keeping ;
and the real genius, which starts out of the
canvass by its own strength, stands off with
greater effect and brilliancy, from the deep
shadow that involves the mass. Thus, as
Providence hath ordered it, the world presents
a beautiful picture; in which every object
wears its proportioned consequence. While

• • 222

the plan of our orators, if adopted, would
shew only a toyman's warehouse ; where every
figure, good or bad, tumble over each other in
endless confusion.

END OF VOL. I.

C. Stover, fiinttr, Paternoster #«•».

APHORISMS

OF

SIR PHILIP SIDNEY ;

WITH

REMARKS,

BY MISS

(AUTHOR OF THJDDF.US OF WARSAWj

Fidem non derogat error.

His honour stuck upon him as the sun

in the grey vault of heaven ; and by his light

Did all the chivalry of England move

To<lo brave act*. SHAKESPEARE.

VOLUME II.

HonHott :

PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ANDORME,
P.VTER-NOSTER ROW.

1807.

C. Stower, Printer,
a?, Pater-noster Row.

APHORISMS,

INGRATITUDE, BASENESS, AND

ENVY.

r.

THE ungrateful are sparing of thanks, for
feat that thankfulness may be an introduction
to reward.

2.

Ungratefulness is the very poison of man
hood.

VOL. II. B

3.

The Base, measure all men's marches by their
ewn pace.

4.

Whatsoever the base man finds evil in his
own soul, he can with ease lay upon ano
ther.

Remark.

It is this inward consent to the commis
sion of vices, that makes the tales of the slan
derer be received with such ready belief. The
pure in heart are slow to credit calumnies ;
because they hardly comprehend what mo
tives can be inducements to the alleged
crimes.

5.

There is nothing sooner overthrows a weak
head, than opinion of authority j like too
strong a liquor for a frail glass.

6.

Some hearts grow the harder, the more
they find their advantage.

3

7.

Cheerfulness in others, is ever a source of
envy to die ill-natured.
8.

Base natures joy to see hard hap happen t<*
them they deem happy.

Remark.

The envious, with regard to their co-tem
poraries, are like boys on a see-saw ; in pro
portion as the one is elevated in the air, the
•ther thinks himself sinking to the ground.
When we see this vile passion in the breasts
of people in whom there appears few good
qualities, to preponderate the value of those
which they covet and affect to contemn, we
are not surprised, nor much moved to anger.
We rather compassionate the poor creature,
who sees his own defects so glaringly, as to make
him shut his eyes against the perfections of
another. But when we look to the more fa
voured of the human species, how greatly are
we shocked to perceive that a man may pos
sess eminent talents, and yet have a base na-
B2

ture. When his opinion of himself trans
cends his merits, it is almost impossible that
he should not meet with mortifications to of
fend his pride, and animate his resentment.
If he be not generally applauded, he lays the
blame on any thing rather than his own want of
attraction : the caprice of the world ; the influ
ence of party ; the hatred of rivals; all conspire
to keep him in the back -ground ! When he
sees a rich man, who is respected, he says to
himself—" Had I bee i wealthy, how I could
have bought esteem!" When he hears the
virtuous renowned, he declares, that " had
he been planted at the same post, he would
have achieved greater honours. " On what
ever height he fixes his ambitious eye, there
he sees the station for his actions ; and there
he believes he would have signalized himself
with unexampled glory. But what right has
he (to whom an estate has been bestowed in
the talents of the mind), to repine that the
gifts of fortune were not added to his other
endowments ? Upon what grounds does he
rest the presumption, that had he been a
richer, or a more powerful, he would have

been a better man ? The Almighty divides
his benefits : on some he pours his spirit,
and on others he descends in showers of
gold. It lies with man to appreciate the
gifts : but how he despises the best ! How
murmuring and arrogant are his conclusions !
Let him not disdain the truth — that he who
thinks himself excusable in falling from
duty in any one situation, would always find
some reason for making the same apology in
every other. Magnanimity is above circum
stance; and any virtue which depends on
that, is more of constitution than of prin
ciple.

JUSTICE.

i.

FEW swords, in a just defence, are able t&
resist many unjust assaulters.
2.

Think not lightly of never so weak an arm
which strikes with the sword of justice.

Remark.

fright is now so little regarded, either in the
field, the senate, or the closet, that these sen
timents have past into mere embellishments
of style ; for it is one thing to harangue bold
ly, and another to act bravely. When men
have once sold their consciences, they are
ready to speak, to fight, or to remain still, as
their owners choose to command them. In
terest stimulates all their movements ; and it
is only with an eye to the rewards of promo
tion, places, or patronage, that they either

raise their arms or open their lips. How, then,
can such men comprehend the strength that
braces the sinews of him whose heart swells
with the love of his country 1 how understand
the eloquence of him whose soul expands
with patriotism and overflows with zeal ? He
is the oracle of truth, and utters her dictates
alone. Truth is a holy spirit, which repeatf
the animating promise of Divinity— " When
ye shall be brought before governors, and
kings, for my sake, take no thought how or
what ye shall speak ; for it shall be given ye
in that same hour what ye shall speak ; for it
is not ye that speak, but my spirit which
speaketh in ye !" Truth doth not need
art j she inspires her votaries with spontane
ous oratory; with a force of language, that
pours upon the hearer in a torrent of fire, and
t( makes his heart burn within him !" He
acknowledges the light that bursts upon his
ftoul ; he dares not to prosecute the evil he
meditated ; for there is no darkness to ex
cuse and shroud his error. Such was the elo
quence of Demosthenes, who, supported by

truth alone, maintained the justice of to
cause in a corrupted and fearful city, against
Macedon, and all its gold, and all its generals :
Such was the eternal confidence in justice
with which Leonidas, at the head of a few
hundreds, opposed the millions of Xerxes,
and saved Greece : Such is the dauntless spi
rit with which the private man encounters and
overcomes the world, in the defence of friend
ship or .humanity ! And, when the cause we
espouse, either in the field -or the cabinet, is
that of Right, men need not " think lightly
of our weak arms ; for we strike with the
sword of justice : and few swords, in a just
defence, are able to resist many^injust a&<-
.saulters."

3.

A just man hateth the evil, but not the
evil-doer.

4.

A just punishment may be unjustly
done.

9

Remark.

The first of these two latter observations re
lates to the most difficult precept of our duty ;
a precept that is only to be practised by studying
human nature, which teaches us, that inordinate
desires (and how ready are the most innocent to
break bounds !) are the fountain whence all
errors flow. An accurate knowledge of the
heart, and propensities of man, will shew us
what little reason we have for hating the poor
prodigal, who drinks his cup to the dregs.
The fever is on our own lips 5 and as we esti
mate virtue by the difficulties of its struggles,
we should pity the weakness which complied
with a craving that we found so hard to deny.
Thus, a sincere acquaintance with ourselves,
teaches us humility; and from humility springs
that benevolence, which compassionates the
transgressors we condemn ; and prevents the
punishments we inflict, from themselves par
taking of crime, in being rather the wreakings
of revenge, than the chastisements of vir
tue.

B 5

10

5.

The just, though they hate evil, yet give1
men a patient hearing ; hoping that they will
.shew proofs that they are not evil.

Remark.

For, actions that seem wrong, may, upon
close investigation, be shewn to be right :
good motives are not always crowned with
success \ and misfortune is apt to incur blame.
Cold characters are the least likely to fall un
der censure ; not having stimulus to move
out of the beaten track, they remain behind a
screen all their lives, alike inaccessible to the
praise of the just or the animadversions of the
unjust. In them, dullness is caution ; cow
ardice, discretion; and insensibility, virtue.
It is the ardent character who throws himself,
body and soul, in the way of circumstances
which demand opposition, that is the object
of acclammation or opprobrium. Men must
be superior to the world, while they respect it,
or be its slaves : and though virtue will never
really offend, she must sometimes run th«

II

risk of appearing to do so, if she would not
sacrifice herself to opinion.

6.

Weigh not so much what men say, as what
they prove ; remembering that truth is simple
and naked, and needs not invective to apparel
her comeliness*

7.

Much more may a judge over- weigh him
self in cruelty than in clemency.

8,

It is hard, but it is excellent, to find the
right knowledge of when correction is neces
sary, and when grace doth most avail.

9.

No man, because he hath done well before,
shall have his present evils spared ; but rather
so much the more punished, as having shewed
he knew how to be good, yet would, against
his knowledge, be naught. Reward is proper
to well-doing; punishment to evil-doing j
which must not be confounded, no more than
good and evil are to be mingled.

Remark.

He that allows an admiration of popular
applause, accomplishments, or abilities, to
lessen the account of the imprudences and
faults of the possessor, admits that it is easier
to beat a general at the head of a numerous
and well-disciplined army, than when he
commands a few ill-chosen troops. Such li
berality, or extravagance of candour, is a scan
dalous injustice to weak and unendowed
minds ; and a high treason against the laws of
virtue and of common sense.
10.

Inequality of conjectures, we are not to
take hold of the worse ; but rather to be glad
we find any hope, that mankind is not grown
monstrous : it being, undoubtedly, less evil a
guilty man should escape, than a guiltless
perish.

II.

The end of a judge, is to preserve, and not
destroy mankind.

Remark.

Such ought to be the intention of all cor
rectives, whether moral, judicial, or political ;
for, to prevent disorders, by destroying the
people ; and to maintain the peace by making,
war on the subject, is a very backward kind
of policy. Reason teaches that "To soften
the obdurate, to convince the mistaken, to
mollify the resentful, and to chastise the
transgressor, are aims worthy of a statesman ;
but it affords a legislator little self-applause,
when he considers, that where there was for
merly ail insurrection, there is now a de-
sart!"

14

VICE.

1.

THERE is no man suddenly either excellent-
ly good, or extremely wicked ; but grows so,,
either as he holds himself up in virtue, or lets
himself slide to viciousness.

Remark.

Habits of goodness are a celestial apparel
ing of the mind, which day by day transforms
it to the nature of angels ; and raiseth it, like
the prophet's mantle, even to the highest
heavens. But evil habits are, on the contrary,
of earthly mould ; though, unlike other ter
restrial matters, they do not wear out, but
thicken and grow stronger every hour. They
cleave to the man, while

« Link'd by carnal sensuality

" To a degenerate and degraded state,

15

ft The soul grows clotted by contagion ;
" Imbodies and imbrutes, till she quite lose
" The divine property of her first being/'

2.

Every base occupation makes one sharp in
its practice, and dull in every other.

fiemark.

And by parity of reasoning, base compa
nions, which are the counsellors of base occu
pations, in the course of time totally unfit us
both for honourable employment and honour
able company. The famous William de la
Pole, Duke of Suffolk, in the last admoni
tions he addressed to his son, thus teaches
him, that " it is right for noble minds to keep
ever with their likes." " I charge you, my
son," says he, " to avoid the company and
counsel of proud men, of covetous men, of
men of pleasure, and of flattering men, the
more especially and mightily to withstand
them ; for they seek to betray your fame, and
your very soul. Draw towards you, with all
your strength and power, good and virtuous
men 5 such as be of honourable conversation,

10

and of truth ; and by them you shall never
be deceived, nor have cause of repentance."
It was by such society as this noble fa
ther recommends, that the families of the
Nevilles, the Percies, the Talbots, the Sid
neys, &c. continued so long to be the boast
of England. In those days the most odious
marks of disgrace would have been affixed to
the son of a peer, or even of a commoner,
who had been seen herding with pugilists,
stable-boys, public jockeys, and women
against whom the doors of modesty are closed.
But these are the favourite (and often ap
proved) associates of too many of our British
lords and commons : and, notwithstanding
the rank, riches, or situation, that places them
above the lowest classes of the populace, their
vulgarity, brutality, and indecencies every
hour proclaim, what are their vile occupations
and loathsome companions. The conduct of
these libertines, is more treasonable than a
thousand incendiary writings. The higher
their rank, the more imminent the danger :
like a beacon on a hill, they are seen from
afar : all their actions are scanned, and when
the evil preponderate the good, the conse-

17

quence is to be dreaded. They teach the
hard-working mechanic to despise the great ;
whom, from one bad specimen, they believe
to be all alike iixdolent and wicked. Con
tempt is followed by disobedience ; and dis-N
obedience, if persisted in, must be defended
by rebellion,

3.

Long exercised virtue maketh a falling off
to vice fuller of deformity.

Remark.

The poets tell that the temple of virtue is
on a height : we cannot gain it but by climb
ing ; and as the path is slippery, if we at
tempt to stand still, we slide backwards. St.
Paul says the same thing, when he writes to
the Corinthians — " Let him that thinketh he
itandeth take heed lest he fall."

4.

Unlawful desires are .punished after the ef
fect of enjoying ; but impossible desires are
punished in the desire itself.

18

Remark.

The fruition of what is unlawful must he
followed by remorse. The core sticks in the
throat after the apple is eaten, and the sated
appetite loaths the interdicted pleasure for
which innocence was bartered. Desire of an
impossible good dies with the pang that con
vinces of its impossibility. But an intem
perate gratification of the most blameless pas
sions mixes bitters with their sweets : a pain
ful consciousness pursues all immoderation,
and unhappiness is the consequence. We
do not require the commission of positive
crime, to stand self-accused and self-con
demned. In some cases, we sooner obtain
the world's forgiveness than our own. True
virtue, when she errs, needs not the eyes of
men to excite her blushes : she is confounded
at her own presence, and covered with confu
sion of face.

5.

Sin is the mother, and shame the daughter
of lewdncss.

6*

Wickedness may well be compared to a bot
tomless pit, into which it is easier to keep
one's self from falling, than, being fallen, to
give one's self any stay from falling infi
nitely.

Remark.

Guilt is a spiritual Rubicon. The tide of
passion having once forced us from the shore,
its waves impel us forward, and we emerge
not, till we have incurred a penalty we cannot
pay, and contracted a pollution we cannot
wash out. It has been wisely said, " that
well may thy guardian angel suffer thee to
lose thy locks, when thou darest wilfully to
lay thy head in the lap of temptation ! " Was
it not easier for the hero of Judea to avoid the
touch of the fair Philistine, than to elude her
power when held in her arms ?

7.
Vice is but a nurse of agonies.

20

8.

In extremity, vice is forward to seek the
sanctuary of virtue.

9.

In shame, there is no comfort but to be be
yond all bounds of shame.

10.

To those persons who have vomitted out of
their souls all remnants of goodness, there
rests a certain pride in evil ; and having else
no shadow of glory left them, they glory to be
constant in iniquity,

Remark.

The cruelties of the Roman emperors, in
ancient history, and the enormities of the
French revolutionists, in modern annals, yield
abundant examples to authorise this remark.

21

FALSEHOOD, TREACHERY, AND
SLANDER.

1.

IT often falleth out but a foolish wittiness,
to speak more than one thinks.

Remark.

" Dare to be ivhat you are! is a good
maxim ; but it will only be put in practice by
those who are what they ought to be." Can
dour is the best teacher of Sincerity; and when
she is under its guidance, a man cannot have
a safer companion to walk through life with.
By adhering to her dictates, he will avoid the
embarrassments in which a liberal promiser
entangles himself: and his authority can ne
ver be quoted, to sanction dishonest sur
mises ; nor any other dangerous levities of the
tongue.

22

2.

Gold can gild a rotten stick, and dirt sully

an ingot.

3.

No sword bites so fiercely as an evil
tongue.

4.

How violently do rumours blow the sails of
popular judgments ! How few there be that
can discern between truth and truth-likeness -9
between shews and substance !

5.

They who use falsehood to superiors teach
falsehood to inferiors.

6.

We must not rashly condemn them whom
we have oftentimes considerately approved,
lest the change be in our judgments, and not
in their merit.

Remark.

A golden precept directs us, that A friend
should not le hated for little faults. And to
be alwavs thus candid, we are further taught

23

(both by consciousness and reason) , that
our judgments and actions, may be sug
gested by feeling ; but they must derive
force and stability from reflection. Un
happy are they who have not an established
opinion concerning their friends ; who have
not ascertained by observation, any measure
of their virtues and infirmities ! There is no
affectionate inmate in their bosoms (the vice
gerent of indulgent tenderness), to repel ma
licious aspersions, or to plead in our behalf,
if from inadvertency, or the influence of a
wayward mood on either side, we vary from
our wonted conduct, or act differently from
their expectations. These hearts, which suck
up friendship like water, and yield it again
with the first touch, might as well expect to
squeeze a sponge and find it hold its mois
ture, as to retain affections which they are
for ever dashing from them. Love of every
kind avoids the selfish man.

7.

Those who have true worth in themselves,
can never envy it in others.

24

Remark.

Self-love leads men of narrow mhids to
measure all mankind by their own capacity.
Either indolence or vice will induce their vo
taries to found an opinion of impossibility
upon what appears improbable, and to doubt
the existence of extraordinary instances of
mental grandeur,, because they have no sym
pathetic reverberations in their own breasts'.
This mistake may be corrected, by accustom
ing ourselves- to a steady contemplation of the
most sublime objects. When we see (( what
a piece of work is man ! how noble in rea
son ! how infinite in faculties ! in form and
moving how express and admirable ! in ac
tion how like an angel ! in apprehension how
like a god I" when we have fully considered
the design and end of this leauty of the
world, this paragon of animals — our ambi
tion will be awakened ; our perceptions ren
dered more exquisite ; and real Greatness no
longer appearing chimerical, will call us from
common pursuits, to engage in a career,

25

whose toils are virtue, and their reward ho
nour.

8.

Deceit cannot otherwise be maintained than
by deceit. *

9.

Men are almost always cruel in their neigh
bour's faults; and make other's overthrow the
badge of their own ill-masked virtue.

10.
Build not dishonour on surmises.

Jtemark.

He that easily believes rumours, has the
principle within him to augment rumours. It
is strange to see the ravenous appetite, with
which some deypurers of character and hap
piness fix upon the sides of the innocent and
unfortunate ! They nibble away at first, wjth
ambiguous hints, till their teeth having taken
effect, and the wounds bleed, they pounce at
once on their prey, and with bold assertions
on bare probabilities, tear out the very vitals.
" To build censures and reproaches upon

VOL. II. C

2(5

slender conjectures, or uncertain suspicion^
is the common sport of ill-nature." I must
be allowed to speak a little farther, by^he
same lips ; to utter the sentiments of the
wise and good Barrow, of whom Dr. Tillotson.
says, " He was of all men I ever knew the
clearest from offending in word; coming as
near as is possible for human frailty to do,
to the perfect idea of St. James's perfect
man" — " Occasions of evil-report can never
be wanting to them who seek, or are ready to
embrace them : no innocence, no wisdom,
can anywise prevent them ; and if they be ad
mitted as grounds of defamation, no man's
good name can be secure. It is not every
possibility, every seeming, every faint shew,
or glimmering appearance, which sufficeth to
ground bad opinion, or reproachful discourse
concerning our fellow-creature : the matter
should be clear, notorious, and palpable, be
fore we admit a disadvantageous conceit into
our head, a distasteful resentment into our
heart, a harsh word into our mouth, about
hhn. Men may fancy themselves sagacious
and shrewd, when they can dive into other's

27

breasts, and sound their intentions; when,
through thick mists, or at remote distances,
they can descry faults in them ; when they
collect ill of them by long trains, and subtle
fetches of discourse. But they mistake the
thing : truth is only seen in a clear light ;
justice requireth strict proof; charity think-
eth no evil, and believeth all things for the
best ; wisdom is not forward to pronouncs
before full evidence — H e that answer eth a mat
ter before he heareth it, it is folly and shame
to him ! In fine, they who proceed thus, as
it is usual that they speak falsely ; as it is
casual, that they ever speak truly 5 as they
affect to speak ill, true or false ;— so, wor
thily they are to be reckoned under the de
testable name of slanderers."

11.

Malice, in its false- witness, promotes its
tale with so cunning a confusion 3 so mingles
truths with falsehoods, surmises with cer
tainties, causes of no moment with matters
capital; — that the accused can absolutely
c 2

28

neither grant nor deny, plead innocence nor
confess guilt.

12.

The wicked man, like the craven, crows
upon the afflicted j not leaving out any evil
that ever he hath felt in his own soul, to
charge youth withal. But who can look for
a sweet breath out of a bitter stomach, or
honey from a spider !

13.

All well-doing stands so in the middle be
twixt its contrary evils, that it is a ready mat
ter to cast a slanderous shade upon the most
approved virtues. Who hath an evil tongue,
can call severity, cruelty ; and faithful dili
gence, diligent ambition ; resolute courage,
obstinate rashness ; — and so on of all the vir
tues that enrich a man.

Remark.

Such riches are golden cords, by which the
virtuous draw the hearts of good men to
wards them : but the bad turn them, like

2Q

sanctified and holy traitors, against their
masters; and by the juggling of falsehood,
transform their true shapes into snares, and
fetters of iron. How many cases resemble
that of the brave Sir John Perrott ; whose
unjust condemnation to death was lamented
by Lord Burleigh with tears, and this ardent
reflection on his enemies — Oh, hatred ! the
more unjust thou arty so much the more art
thou sharp and cruel !

14.

Commonly they use their feet for defence,
whose tongue is their weapon.
15.

If they must die who steal from us our
goods, how much more they who steal
from us that by which we gather our
goods i

16.

Look not for truth in him who with his
own mouth confesseth his falsehood.

30

Remark.

He that is perfidious in one case, will be
so in another : he is temptation's slave, and
has a price as common as a pedlar's pack.
Admit this, and little faith will be reposed in
the testimonies of any species of traitors, from
the apostate who forsakes his religion for in
terest, to the wretch who bears evidence
against the criminal, in whose guilt he hath
shared. All deserters (amongst whom false,
friends wear the most abominable stamp ; for
their lives may be called, in the language of
Shakespeare, " a measureless lie!") deserve
the same fate— suspicion and contempt.

17.

False men will bear outward shews of a
pure mind.

IS.

He who doth wound the eternal justice of
the gods, cares little for abusing thei?
names.

31

19.

If ever men may remember their own noble
deeds, it is then when their just defence,
and other's unjust unkindness, doth require
it.

Remark.

Unkindness, indeed! Ungracious, cruel
warfare against our brother ! against the crea
ture who, if he partake of our frailties, par
takes of our sensibility too. My pen pauses
upon a subject so monstrously pregnant with
envy, malice, uncharitableness, and every
species of mischief and misery to man: and,
like the holy sage, I am almost tempted to
exclaim — " O, that I had in the wilderness a
lodging place, that I might leave my people,
and go from them ; for they are an assembly
of treacherous men; and they bend their
tongues like their bows for lies !" Of all the
vices of human nature, there is not one for the
commission of which we may not offer some
excuse, some palliation, some plea for pardon,
—excepting slander 3 and that admits of no ex-

32

tenuation ; it is guilt without temptation ; it
ss is serving the devil for nought ;" a kind of
volunteering in wickedness, which deserves a
double punishment ; — for disobedience to the
laws, and contempt of the court that enacted
them. Its enormity seems to comprise all
the sins of the decalogue. Slanderers must
covet a man's good name, before they take it
from him : and no one will dare to deny, that
slander is positively bearing false witness
against our neighbour. What can be stolen
that is more valuable than character ? and
what theft can be more ruinous to the suffer
er ? For, when it is once gone, no exertions of
his own, nor retraction of his defamers, can
restore what they have destroyed; or even
check the spreading of a tale which they have
disseminated to all the winds of heaven. What
adultery can be more destructive of domestic
peace, than the violation and loss of that re
putation which ought to be dearer to a man of
honour, than even the wife of his bosom ?
And what murder can be more unprovoked
and barbarous, than that which robs an un^
offending fellow-creature of every enjoyment

33

in life ; and abandons him to a disgraced, de
solate, and living death ? Such is my view of
the manifold guilt of the slanderer. But, bad
as it is, vindictiveness is the worst mode of
teaching him a better lesson. The lest man
ner of avenging ourselves, is ly not resembling
him who has injured us ; and it is hardly pos
sible for one man to be more unlike another,
than he that forbears to avenge himself of
wrong, is to him who did the wrong. We
have excellent authorities to speak in favour of
that nobleness, which in instances of great
injuries rises above the littleness of resent
ment. An illustrious Roman writes, that
a if any man speak ill of you, if it proceed of
foolish lightness, it is to be contemned ; if of
madness, to be pitied ; if of despite, to be for
given/' And our Bacon confirms the same,
by saying, that " In revenge, a man is but
even with his enemy : for it is a princely thing
to pardon ; and Solomon saith, it is the glory
of a man to pass over a transgression.'' In
deed, there is something so debasing in the
character of a vilifier, so contagiously dis
graceful in his very contact, that we cannot
C5

34

help considering the man of genius and worth,
who stoops .to resent the calumnies of the en
vious, as we should a conqueror in his trium
phal car, were he to stop the procession, that
he might chastise some yelping curs at its
wheels. Sensibility to such trifles, annihilates
the hero. But although it is not allowable
that slander should be punished immediately
by those whom it attempts to degrade, yet we
must wish that it should not entirely escape
justice ; and the fiat of the Almighty hath al
ready denounced it — (( Vengeance is mine I
saith the Lord." It is no presumption against
Providence, that he chooses to act by agents.
Does not the mind of a general as much in
fluence the movements of the soldier who,
according to a before-arranged plan, at the
extremity of a long line of posts makes a par
ticular sally, as it does the general's own arm
when it grasps his sword ? So it is with the
dispensations of God, whether they appear
miraculous or merely natural ; they have only
one source, and that is the will of Omnipo
tent Benevolence. Hence, as a means of the
awful vengeance declared above, the laws of

35

our country are, in most cases, open to the in
jured party ; for human laws (when they are
just), being established on the rule of right
(which men discovered and elucidated by the
light of reason and of tevelation), they cannot
speak in opposition to the fountain of all jus
tice, the All-perfect Mind. By them the slan
derer is condemned ; and when they can seize
the culprit, it were as great a crime against
self-preservation and our neighbour's safety
to let him pass, as to permit a tiger to range
at large while his chains are in our keep
ing. Legal redress is very different from
revenge : the one proceeds from a love of
justice ; the other from personal hatred of the
offender.. Proper punishments being in
flicted on a few notorious calumniators, others
might learn caution at least 5 and caution in
sensibly leading them away from the exercise
of a vice, not only ruinous to its subject, but
perilous to the practiser, we might hope to
see innocence secure, and virtue without a
risk of misinterpretation. Virtue and vice
have as much resemblance, when they reach
their extremest points, as light and fire : they

3(5

are often mistaken for each other ; but the
first is innoxious though it dazzles, and the
second scorches while it seems to illume.
Virtue, on great occasions, treads on danger
ous precipices ; but she has a steady head,
and stands where Vice would fall : Vice thinks
not so ; and by the voice of Slander, she
sounds the alarm of her rival's destruction.
I never yet heard man or woman much abused,
that I was not inclined to think the better of
them ; and to transfer any suspicion or dislike,
to the person who appeared to take delight in
pointing out the defects of a fellow-creature.
We seldom willingly recur to a subject that
does not give us pleasure ; therefore, he who
dwells on the transgressions of others, proves
one thing certain (though directly opposite to
what he intends), his own malice and evil-
nature; and where they two are, we may
fairly infer, without a charge of scandal, that
injustice and falsehood are the natural twins
of such a union.

(c When a true genius appears in the world,'*
says Dr. Swift, " you may know him by this
sign — the dunces are all in confederacy against

37

him." And as it is with genius, so it hap
pens to every excellence, whether of person,
mind, heart, or fortune : I intend, in this use
of the last word, to exclude the meaning of
riches ; the fortune that brings wealth only,
bestows what may be dispensed to others ;
hence, the selfish, (who are the most indefa
tigable calumniators), seldom unloose their
tongues against the owner of coflers, which
may overflow into their own pockets. Be
sides, where there is no merit to attract esteem,
an.d its follower envy, the display of much
gold, can only be regarded as the " gilding of
a rotten stick," or the splendid setting of a
sorry picture. But pre-eminence in mind,
excites the respectful attention of mankind ;
beauty awakens admiration ; the virtues of
the heart win affection ; and the achievements
of genius command homage. Worthlessness,
or inferiority, cannot bear this brightness ;
and sickening, like " the moon in her ago
nies," malignantly transfers its own blackness
to the fairness which it desires to eclipse.
Ignoble and criminal as such conduct is, yet
so prone are most people to give ear to dis-

33

paraging suggestions, to the supposition of
unworthy motives for the best actions, that
no story is too extravagant to gain credit.
When a man indulges in panegyric, when he
praises the virtues, or talents, of any particu-
Jar character, he is smiled at, and answered
with, It may le ; lut you are partial! But
who ever gives the licentious tongue of the
slanderer such a check ? Who says, It may
not le ; for you are prejudiced ? How con
stantly does any attempt to invalidate malici
ous representations, meet this invidious re
sponse, ce There never was smoke without
fire !" True : but there is no law in nature,
why an ill report may not be a lie. We all
know that a lie needs no other grounds, than
the invention of the liar; and to take for
granted as truth, all that is alleged against the
fame of others, is a species of credulity, that
men would blush at on any other subject.
This hastiness of belief, springs from the cor
ruption of the passions, which are fc hard to
conceive any good thing," but bring forth
monsters that make us shudder. Indeed, the
ferocity with which ill-natured persons prey

39

upon their fellow-creatures, is to me more
horrible than the rage of wild beasts, or of
the Cadmean brethren, who rose to life, only
to fall by each other's swords.

How many might say with David, I have
leen young) and now I am old, and never did
I know any person worthy to be loved, who
had not been the subject of some fable which
tended to banish him society. It would be
well, if the promulgators of these histories
would recal themselves by a few recollections !
If they be true, what honour does it reflect on
the relator, to be the public crier of a crimi
nal's transgression ? Do we compare the vices
of the condemned, with the virtues of the ac
cuser? No; but we say to ourselves — Art
thou a pure temple of holiness ? Art thoti
without spot or blemish ? Or, art thou a
whitened sepulchre ? A hypocrite, that makes
all this stir about others, that we may not ex
amine thyself ! Yes ; Let him who is without
5m, cast the first stone / Let him who hath
never stumbled under the infirmities of na
ture j who hath never trembkd before temp-

40

tation ; nor touched the forliddenfruit (which
is often stolen into the hand) ; let him step
forth, to punish them who fall ! If ye be
Christians, read the beautiful lesson of mercy,
which is taught by the immaculate Jesus.
And if ye be the disciples of nature only, let
that nature teach you, to speak with lenity of
failings which are its own. We are all heirs
of one constitution : affections, passions, ap
petites, are as surely compounds of our being,
as spirit, soul, and body. Some hold a bet
ter rule over them than others do ; but all are
liable to err : and as no one is out of the
reach of adversaries which we carry in our
bosoms, so none can, with security, exult
over the defeat of a fellow- creature, until he
hath himself escaped out of the world, and
left his danger with his body in the grave.

Should any detraction be known by its
promoters to be a falsehood, then their guilt
is too great to be discoursed on; if their
blood could wash out the stains with which
they have blotted a fair character, it would
be only justice that the common executioner

!

41

should shed it on the spot : But, alas ! ca
lumny, like the lightning, scars where it
strikes! It 'comes from hell; and leaves a
burning wound, which no earthly surgery can
heal!

POPULAR OPINION.

1.

THE judgment of the world stands upon
matter of fortune.

Remark.

The vulgar judge by the event ; noble minds
by the intention.

2.

Who knows a people, that knows not sud
den opinion makes them hope ? Which hope,

42

if it be not answered, they fall into hate j
choosing and refusing, erecting and over
throwing, according as the presentness of any
fancy carries them. Even their hasty draw
ing to one leader, makes him think they will
as hastily be withdrawn from him ; for it is
but one ground of inconstancy, soon to takt
and soon to leave.

Remark.

Vladimir, the first Christian prince of Rus
sia, gave an example in his treatment of trea
son, useful both to kings and subjects. In
his war with Yaropolk, prince of Kief, he
contrived to bribe Blude, the confidential
minister of his enemy, to betray Kief and its
sovereign into his hands. It was done ; and
the traitor prepared to derive yet higher re
wards from his treachery. For three days,
Vladimir placed him in the seats of distinc
tion, loaded him with titles of dignity, and
on the fourth, called him before the whole
court, and thus addressed him — " I have ful-

43

filled my promise : thy honours exceed thy
wishes : Three days I have treated thee as my
.friend : To-day, as judge, I condemn the trai
tor and the assassin of his prince 1*' Having
uttered these words, Blude was led out to im
mediate execution.

3.

Factions are no longer to be trusted than
the factious m.ay be persuaded it is for thei;
good.

Remark.

While interests appear irreconcilable, opi
nions will be so to ; but the instant the mob
are led to scent their own advantage, they care
not whether the public derive weal or woe from
their uproar.

4.

A popular licence, is indeed the many-
headed tyrant.

5.
The people's will, having so many circles

44

of imagination, can hardly be inclosed in one
point.

6.

O ! weak trust of the many-headed multi
tude, whom inconstancy only doth by acci
dent guide to well-doing ! Who can set con
fidence there, where company takes away
shame ; and each may lay the fault upon his
fellow ?

7.

The populace are naturally taken with ex
terior shews, far more than with inward con
sideration of material points.

Remark.

We should be at a loss to account for this
foolish result of the congregated opinions ofa
concourse of people (from most of whom, in
dividually, we might expect some well-
grounded judgment), if it were the majority
which always carried the verdict on these oc
casions. But so far from it (as judgment is
the consequence of investigation), while they
deliberate, the cork -brained minority, ready

45

For any man's battlecloor, fly with the wind ;
they consider nothing, but take the evidence
of what they see and hear ; the past is obli
terated by the present ; in vain memory would
recal old benefits; new promises, in fine
speeches, are more attractive ; and any dema
gogue who can prate of virtue, patriotism, and
wealth to come, may put to silence the sober
appeal of moderation and desert, and carry
away the shouting multitude to pull down or
build up, just as their leader bids them. Ig
norance is always clamorous : Aware of her
want of arguments, she resolves that those of
her adversary shall not be heard ; and the mo
ment she makes her election, whether wrong
or right, her shouts and uproar stun the
crowd ; her will is proclaimed by a tumult ;
and often the quieter sort are misled into
thinking it the voice of the people. Such
are the beginnings of most popular riots ; but
at what point they will stop, no wisdom can
foresee. The mob is a sort of bear ; while
your ring is through its nose, it will even,
dance under your cudgel j but should the

40

ting slip, and you lose your hold, the brute
turn and rend you.

PROGRESS OF REBELLION.

1;

THERE is little hope of equity where rebel-*
Hon reigns.

2i

When a mutinous people begin to talk of
their griefs, never bees make such a confused
humming. The town-dwellers demand put
ting down of imposts : the country fellows
require laying out of commons. All cry to
have new counsellors ; but when they should
think of any new, they like them they have,
as well as any other they can remember ; but
especially, they would have the treasury so
looked to as that it should never need to take
any more subsidies. At length, they fell to
direct contraries : for the artisans, they

4?

Will have com and wine set at a lower price,
and bound to be kept so ; the ploughmen>
vinedressers, and the farmers, won't have that*
The countrymen demand that every man may
be free in the ehief towns ; that cannot the
burgesses like. The peasants will have all
gentlemen destroyed j the citizens (especially
such as cooks, tailors, and others, who live
most by gentlemen), would but have them re
formed. And of each side are like divisions,
One neighbourhood beginning to find fault
with another. But no confusion is greater
than that of particular men's likings and dis-
likings ; one dispraising such a one, whom
another praises, and demanding such a one
to be punished, whom another would have
exalted. The finer sort of burgesses, as mer
chants, 'prentices, and cloth-workers, because
of their riches, disdaining they of baser occu
pations ; and they, because of their number,
as much despising them : — All of them
scorning the countrymen's ignorance ; and
the countrymen suspecting as much their

cunning.

48

3.

In that state of uproar, public affairs were
mingled with private grudges; neither was
any man thought of wit that did not pretend
some cause of mislike. Railing was counted
the fruit of freedom ; and saying nothing had
its uttermost in ignorance* At length, the
king's sacred person fell to be their table-
talk 5 ,a proud word swelling in their stomachs,
and disdainful reproaches against so great a
greatness having put on the shew of greatness
in their litcle minds, till at last the very un
bridled use of words having increased fire in
their minds (which, God wot ! thought their
knowledge notable, because they had at all no
knowledge to condemn their own want of
knowledge), they ascended (Oh, never to be
forgotten presumption !) to a direct dislike of
his living amongst them ; whereupon, it were
tedious to remember their far-fetched con
structions ; but the sum was, he disdained
them ! and where the pomps of his state, if
their arms maintained him not ? Who would
call him a prince, if he had not a people ?
When certain of them of wretched estates,

49

and worse minds, (whose fortunes change
could not impair), said, that the government
ought to he looked into •, how great treasures
had been spent ; why none but great men and
•gentlemen could be admitted into counsel ;
that the commons, forsooth, were too plain -
headed to say their opinion — but yet their
blood and sweat must maintain all ? " Let
us," cried they, " do that which all the rest
think ! Let it be said, that we only are not
astonished with vanities, which have their
force but in our force ! Lastly, to have said
and heard so much, is as dangerous as to have
attempted ; and to attempt, we have the glo
rious name of liberty with us !" These words
(being spoken) like a furious storm presently
carried away their well-inclined brains. What
some of the honester sort could do to oppose
them, was no more than if with a puffof breath
one should go about to make sail against a
mighty wind, or with one hand stay the ruin
of a ponderous wall. So general grew this
madness among thrm, there needed no drum
where each man cried; each spoke to other
that spake a.s fast to him ; and the disagreeing-

VOL. II. D

50

sound of so many voices was the chief token
of their unmeet agreement. But as furious
rage hath, besides its wickedness, that folly,
that the more it seeks to hurt, the less it con
siders how to be able to hurt; they never
weighed how to arm themselves, but took up
every thing for a weapon that fury offered to
their hands. Thus armed, thus governed,
forcing the unwilling and heartening the wil
ling, adding violence to violence, and increas
ing rage with running, they came headlong
toward the palace ! No man resolved in his
own heart what was the uttermost he would
do when he came thither ; but as mischief is
of such nature that it cannot stand, but by
strengthening one evil .with another, and so
multiply in itself till it come to the highest,
and then fall with its own weight ; so to their
cninds, once passed the bounds of obedience,
more and more wickedness opened itself; so
that they who first pretended to preserve their
king, then to reform him, now thought that
there was no safety for them but in murdering
him.

51

RcjJiark.

This sketch might be read as an epitome of
the French rebellion, till it martyrized the
king ; and an observation made by Stanislaus
Leczinsky, an ancestor of the virtuous Louis,
and which he transcribed with hris own hand,
might be regarded as a prophecy of bis
fate.

" That a wise king, who knows his duly,
loves and practises it ; who by his goodness
and humanity calls forth that homage which
his dignity alone could not exact ; that a king,
the friend of men, and the man of his sub
jects, should not taste, or be capable of tast
ing, pure and solid happiness, may appear
surprising, and yet it is true. He sees none
around him but false and interested persons,
whom his virtues displease, even at the very
moment when they affect most to applaud
them. He meets only with hearts servile in
their wants, insolent and haughty when in fa
vour, ungrateful when they have nx> longer
any thing to expect ; men, in short, who al-

DC

52

ways fluctuating between passion and interest,
and always clashing, never unite but for the
purpose of perverting his sentiments, weaken
ing his power, and who, under the appearance
of submission, gain his confidence, which they
betray. Notwithstanding his talents, his good
intention, and even his probity, the wicked
suppose him to be vicious, the good faulty,
the culpable harsh, and the innocent too in
dulgent."

Louis, so far from acting by this experience
of his illustrious forefather, made an opposite
sentiment the guide of his life — " A king,"
he used to say, " who reigns by justice, has
the whole earth for his temple, and all good
men for his ministers !" He lived up to this
principle ; and yet so stupid were his people,
so ungrateful and so mad, that they led him
from the throne which he blessed, to perish
on a scaffold ! Well might he say, in the last
letter he addressed to Mons. de Malesherbes,
" The ingrates who have dethroned me will
not stop in the midst of their career: they
would have too much cause to blush, if they
were continually to support the sight of their

53

victim. I shall undergo the fate of Charles I.
and my blood must flow, to punish me for
never having shed any !"

POLICY AND GOVERNMENT.

1.

BLESSED are those well-choosing people,
who (finding that the shining glory so much
affected by nations, doth indeed help little to
the happiness of life), by their justice and pro
vidence give neither cause nor hope to their
neighbours to annoy them ! So as they, not
stirred with false praise to trouble other's
quiet, think it a small reward for the wasting
of their own lives in ravening, that their pos
terity should long after say — They liad done
so.

54

2.

The well bringing up of people, doth serve
as a most sure bond of continuance in, well
doing.

Remark.

True piety, a generous independence of
mind, and a taste for simple pleasures, are the
dispositions which form a virtuous and happy
people. The patriotic poet of Scotland knew
well what were the best foundations for public
worth. After describing a rustic family ex
horting each other to lead honest and useful
lives, and to worship God in. sanctity and
truth, he declares that

11 From scenes like these, old Scotia's grandeur

springs,
That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad !'*

And how nobly does he proceed ! It is the
spirit of Tyrtgeus, animating to courage and
virtue —

55

" O Scotia, my dear, my native soil t
For whom my warmest wish to Heav'n is sent I

Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil,
Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet con
tent!

*• And, O ! may Heav'n their simple live* prevent
From luxury's contagion, weak and vile I

Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent,
A virtuous populace may rise the while,

And stand a wall of fire arouad their much-lov'd
isle 1"

3.

Laws are to have their scope upon any on«
found in the land where they are enacted,
since strangers have scope to know the cus
toms of a country before they put themselves
in it ; and when they once are entered, they
must know that what by many was made,
must not for one be broken.

Remark.

If it be an undeniable position, that " a
competent knowledge of the taws of the so-

ciety in which we live is necessary, even to
the stranger who may occasionally come
amongst us," how much more must it be the
proper accomplishment of every native mem
ber of the community ; and being so, an Eng
lishman^ above all others, ought to study the
constitution of his country, as there is hardly
a reputable person in these realms but must
share in executing the laws, as well as
in obeying them. Blackstone's advice on
this subject, being given in a law-book, it is
scarcely probable that they who most need
such arguments, would ever look there to find
what they have no disposition to seek ; hence,
though he speaks largely, it is so wisely, that
I cannot with-hold from subjoining his goad
counsel.

' ' A knowledge of the laws of our country,
is an highly useful, and I had almost said es
sential, part of liberal and polite education.
All gentlemen of fortune are, in consequence
of their property, liable to be called upon to
establish the rights, to estimate the injuries,
to weigh the accusations, and sometimes to
Dispose of the lives of their fellow-subjects, by

57.

serving upon juries. In this situation, they
have frequently a right to decide, and that
upon their oaths, questions of nice import
ance, in the solution of which some legal skill
is requisite ; especially where the law and the
fact (as it often happens), are intimately blend
ed together. And the general incapacity,
even of our best juries, to do this with any
tolerable propriety, has greatly debased their
authority ; and has unavoidably thrown more
power into the hands of the judges, to direct,
control, and even reverse their verdicts, than
perhaps the constitution intended. But it is
not as a juror only, that the English gentle
man is called upon to determine questions of
right, and distribute justice to his fellow-
subjects ; it is principally with this order of
men that the commission of the peace is fill
ed : and here a very ample field is opened for
a gentleman to exert his talents, by maintain
ing good order in his neighbourhood ; by pu
nishing the dissolute and idle ; by protecting
the peaceable and industrious ; and above all,
by healing petty disputes, and preventing
vexatious prosecutions. But, in order to at*
D 5

58

tain these desirable ends, it is necessary that
the magistrate should understand his business,
and have not only the will, but the power also
(under which must be included the know
ledge) of administering legal and effectual jus
tice. Else, when he has mistaken his autho
rity, through passion, through ignorance, or
absurdity, he will be the object of contempt
from his inferiors, and of censure from those
to whom he is accountable for his conduct.
Yet farther, most gentlemen of considerable
property, at some period or other in their
lives, are ambitious of representing their coun
try in parliament ; and those who are ambi
tious of receiving so high a trust, would also
do well to remember its nature and import
ance. They are not thus honourably dis^-
tinguished from the rest of their fellow-sub
jects, merely that they may privilege their
persons, their estates, or their domestics ;
that they may list under party banners; may
grant or with-hold supplies \ may vote with
or against a popular or unpopular administra
tion ; but upon considerations far more in
teresting and important. They are the guar-

50

dians of the English constitution ; the makers,
repealers, and interpreters of the English laws ;
delegated to watch, to check, and to avert
every dangerous innovation ; to propose, to
adopt, and to cherish, any solid and well-
weighed improvement ; bound by every tie of
nature, of honour, and of religion, to transmit
lhat constitution and those laws to their pos
terity, amended if possible, at least without
any derogation. And how unbecoming must
it appear in a member of the legislature, to
vote for a new law, who is utterly ignorant of
the old ! What kind of interpretation can he
be enabled to give, who is a stranger to the
text upon which he comments ! Apprentice
ships are held necessary to almost every art,
commercial or mechanical ; a long course of
reading and study must form the divine, and
the physician, and the practical professor of
the laws ; but every man of superior fortune
thinks himself lorn a legislator. Cicero was
of a different opinion — ( It is necessary,' says
he, f for a senator to be thoroughly acquaint
ed with the constitution ; and this is a
knowledge of the most extensive nature; a

6o

matter of science, of diligence, of reflection
without which no senator can possibly be fit
for his office/ "

4.

Laws are not made like lime-twigs or nets,
to catch every thing that toucheth them ; but
father like sea-marks, to guide from shipwreck
the ignorant passenger.

Remark.

When we reprobate the laws as deficient,
because they have not compass to seize every
offender, and provide against every possible
crime; and when some horrible culprit es
capes, because they have not devised a judg
ment against him, we ought not to find fauk
•with our laws, but with the over-growing
wickedness of the times. The affair is shortly
this : our ancestors were too innocent to
imagine the possibility of some crimes, which
their posterity find easy to commit.

61

5.

Promises bind faith more than threaten-
ings. But, indeed, a prince of judgment
ought not to consider what his enemies pro
mise or threaten ; but what the promisers and
threateners in reason will do, and in power
can do ; and the nearest conjecture thereunto,
is what is best for their own benefit to do.

6.

For a wise man to take in hand that which
his enemy may, with a word, overthrow, hath,
in my conceit, great incongruity.

7.

Be none of those who think that all is done
for which they have once given directions;
but follow everywhere your commandment
with your presence, which witnesses of every
man's slackness or diligence ; chastising the
one and encouraging the other ; suffering not
the fruit of any profitable counsel (for want of
timely taking,) to be lost.

8.

Be not of the mind to make suitors magis
trates: the unwilling worthy man is fitter to

62

rule than the undeserving desirer. The cun-
ningest pilot does most dread the rocks.

9-

Great is the change, when a minister falls
out with the prince that gave him power;
for, in place of a multitude of followers, si
lence grows to be at his gate, and absence in
his presence: the guess of his mind could pre
vail more before, than now many of his ear
nest requests.

10*

In matters of wisdom, the wise ought to be
believed for the whole nation.
11.

One man's sufficiency is more available
than ten thousand multitude; so evil-balanc
ed are the extremities of popular minds; and
so much natural imperiousness (or power)
there rests in a well -formed spirit.
12.

Citadels of strange soldiers are the nests of
tyranny, and the murderers of liberty.
13.

The saddest mishap that can befal a king-

63

dom is, when it is governed by the worst kind
of oligarchy; that is, when men are ruled in
deed by a few, and are yet not taught to know
what those few be whom they should obey. —
For they, having the power of kings, but not
the nature of kings, use the authority, as men
do their farms, of which they see within a year
they shall go out ; making the king's sword
strike whom they hate, the king's purse re
ward whom they love, and, which is worst of
all, making the royal countenance serve to
undermine the royal sovereignty : for, in this
case subjects can taste no sweeter fruits of
having a king, than grievous taxation to serve
vain purposes ; laws made rather to find faults
than to prevent faults : the court of the prince,
rather deemed as a privileged place of unbri
dled licentiousness, than as the abiding place
of him who, as a father, should give fatherly
example unto his people. Hence, grow a very
desolation of all estates, while the great men
(by the nature of ambition never satisfied)
grow factious among themselves : and the un
derlings are glad indeed to be underlings to
them they hate the least, to preserve them

3

64

from such as they hate the most. Men of
virtue are suppressed, lest their shining should
discover the other's filthiness. And at length
virtue itself is almost forgotten, when it has
no hopeful ends whereunto to be directed. —
Old men, long nustled in corruption, scorn
them that would seek reformation. Young
men, very fault-finding, but very faulty, are
as given to new-fangleness, both of manners,
apparel, and each thing else 5 by the custom
of self-guilty evil, glad to change, though oft
for the worse. Merchandise is abused; and
towns decay, for want of just and natural li
berty. Offices, even of judging souls, are
sold ; public defences neglected ; and, in sum,
wit is abused, rather to feign reason — why it
should be amiss, than how it should be
amended.

Remark.

While each individual considers his own
interest as totally distinct from that of the ge
neral welfare, depredations on the public trust
will continue to be made. The bright su
premacy of honour — that fine spirit which

05

animated our ancestors to prefer their coun
try's good before all other earthly advantages
— is now no more ; and the natural effect en
sues : For honour is to the body-politic, what
the soul is to man ; we cannot describe ex
actly what it is, but it contains the principle
of life; and when it departs, the frame to
which it gave power and virtue, falls, corrupts,
and dissolves to nothing.

KINGS AND TYRANTS.

l.

WHETHER your time call you to live or
die, do both like a prince.

2.

Some froward princes, whose doings have
been smoothed with good success, think no
thing so absurd which they cannot make ho
nourable.

00

3.

How easy a thing is it for a prince, deeply
to sink into the souls of his subjects a more
lively monument than Mausolus's tomb !
4.

Being a prince and father of a people, you
ought, with the eye of wisdom, the hand of
fortitude, and the heart of justice, to set down
all private conceits, in comparison with what
for the public is profitable.
5.

Betwixt prince and subject, there is as ne
cessary a relation as between father and
son.

6.

As the sim disdains not to give light to
the smallest worm, so a virtuous prince pro
tects the life of his meanest subject.
7.

A king who deserves the name, will never
stir up old titles (how apparent so ever),
whereby the public peace (with the loss of
many guilty souls) should be broken; but
contenting himself to guide that ship wherein
the heavens have placed him, he will shew no

67

less magnanimity in dangerless despising, than
others, in dangerous affecting the multiplying
of kingdoms. And as he is most wise to see
what is best, he is most just in performing
what he sees; and temperate in abstaining
from things which are any way contrary. —
Such a prince, especially measureth his great
ness by his goodness ; and if for any thing he
love greatness, it is because therein he may
exercise his goodness.

8.

When a good king is newly come to a
throne, wherein his predecessors held the
reins too loose for the headstrong spirit of
violent natures, he must straightway take up
on himself the regimen to cure the dire
wounds of the state; and by reason of the
long course of abuse, be forced to 'stablish his
will by even some extreme severity. But so
soon as some few (but indeed notable) ex
amples have thundered a duty into the sub
jects' hearts, he soon shews no baseness of
suspicion ; nor the basest baseness of envy,
can any whit rule such a ruler ! Then shineth
forth indeed all love among the people, when

68

an awful fear, engendered by justice, does
make that love most lovely. His first and
principal care being to appear unto his sub
jects such as he would have them to be, and
they be such as he appears ; he makes his
life the example of his laws, and his laws, as
it were, his axioms arising out of his deeds*.
Thus is made a blessed people : for how can
they choose but love him, whom they find so
truly loves them ? He, in reason, disdaining
that they who have charge of beasts, should
love their charge and care for them, and that
he, who is to govern the most excellent crea
ture, man, should not love so noble a charge !
and therefore, where most princes (seduced
by flattery to build upon false grounds of go
vernment) make themselves another thing
from the people, and so count it gain what
they get from them • and (as it were two
counter-balances, that their estate goes high
est when the people's goes lowest), by a fal
lacy of argument, thinking themselves most
kings, when the subject is most basely sub
jected. The good king, contrariwise, virtu
ously and wisely Acknowledging that he, with

69

his people, make all but one politic body,
u hereof himself is the head, even so he cares
for them as he would for his own limbs ;
never restraining their liberty, without it
stretches to licentiousness ; nor pulling from
them goods which they find are not employed
to be the purchase of a greater good : but in
all his affections he shews a delight in their
welfare ; and by persuasion brings that to pass
which tyrants seek to compel : — while by force
he takes nothing, by the love of his subjects
he may take all.

9.

An evil mind in authority, doth not only
follow the sway of the desires already within
it, but frames to itself new desires not before
thought of.

10.

How desperate is the state of the tyrant !
wickedly sad, ever musing of horrible mat
ters; suspecting, or rather condemning all
men of evil, because his mind has no eye to
espy goodness. He is an object as much of
scorn as of detestation ; fearful, and never se
cure; while the fear he hag figured in his

70

ttiind has any possibility of event, he betakes
himself to a toad-like retiredness and close
ness ; nature teaching the odiousness of poi
son, and the danger of odiousness. Think
ing himself contemned, and knowing no
countenance against contempt but terror, he
lets nothing pass which may bear the colour
of a fault, without sharp punishment; and
when he wants faults to chastise, excellency
grows a fault; and it is sufficient to make
one guilty, that he hath power to be guilty :
for having quite lost the way of nobleness,
he strives to climb to the height of terrible-
ness.

11.

AN USURPER.

The high-reaching usurper made not long
delay of discovering what manner of man he
was ; but streight, like one carried up to so
high a place that he loseth the discerning of
the ground over which he is^ so was his mind
lifted so far beyond the level of his own dis*

71

course, that remembering only that himself
was in the high seat oi' a king, he could not
perceive that he was a king of reasonable
creatures, who would quickly scorn follies
and repine at injuries. But imagining no so
true property of sovereignty, as to do what he
listed, and to list whatsoever pleased his fancy,
he quickly made his kingdom a tennis-court,
where his subjects should be the balls ; not
in truth cruelly, but licentiously abusing
them ; presuming so far upon himself, that
what he did was liked of every body ; nay,
that his disgraces were favours ; and all be
cause he was a king. For being in nature not
able to conceive the bounds of great matters,
(and suddenly borne into an unknown ocean
of absolute power,) he was swayed withal, he
knew not how, as every wind of passion puff
ed him. Whereto nothing helped him better
than that poisonous sugar of flattery which
fcome used out of innate baseness of their
hearts, straight like dogs fawned upon the
greatest. Others, secretly hating him, and
disdaining his great rising (so undeservedly,)
bent their exalting him only to secure his over-

12

throw : like the bird that carries his shell-fish
high, to break it the easier with its fall. But
his mind (being an apt matter to receive what
from their amplifying speeches they would
lay upon it), danced so pretty a measure to
their false music, that he thought himself the
wisest and worthiest, and best beloved, that
ever gave honour to royal title.

Remark*

The virtue of a prince is the glory of his
people, and his vices their dishonour. Men
are prone to imitation ; hence, the example
of a sovereign often controls his laws ; for,
should it be evil, though they be good, the
nation will pursue his practice, and neglect
his precepts. Men will not be taught virtue
by a vicious teacher. Some old writer hath
observed, that " it is easier for subjects to op
pose a prince by applause than by armies."
When a brilliant genius attracts the observa
tion of a people to compare his talents, prow
ess, affability, and munificence, with inferior
qualities in the sovereign, the observation the

78

subject excites, is more injurious to the king,
than the arms of a thousand rebels. It dis
solves his empire over the public mind ; and
the royal ordinances are only endured, while
those of the popular idol are executed with
alacrity. By such methods, Bolingbroke de
throned Richard II. and Richmond, Rich
ard III. By such methods, many a hollow
pretender hath usurped the regal authority,
and turned the golden sceptre into an iron
rod. These mighty spirits who, by subtlety
and force vault into seats beyond their level,
are generally, when mounted to the height of
power, tyrants : and being tyrants, are the ve
riest slaves on earth ; their fears are their fet
ters ; for the memory of how they rose, ever
whispers how they may fall : and foreseeing a
traitor in every brave and generous man, vir
tue appears to them as a kind of hostile hypo
crisy, ever ready to rebel. The first ministers,
of a usurper are Jealousy and Despotism ;
and under such rulers there is no safety for
any, but the insignificant and vile.

VOL. II.

WOMAN.

1.

ONE look (in a clear judgment) from a
fair and virtuous woman, is more acceptable
than all the kindnesses so prodigally bestowed
by a wanton beauty.

2.

It is against womanhood, to be forward in
their own wishes.

3.

There is a certain delicacy, which in yield
ing, conquers ; and with a pitiful look, makes
one find cause to crave help one's self.

4.

Silence ought to be, without sullenness ;
modesty, without affectation j and bashful-
ness, without ignorance.
5.

Some women are in that degree of well
doing, to which the not knowing of evil ser-

75

veth for a ground of virtue ; and they hold
their inward powers in better form, with an
unspotted simplicity, than many do, who ra
ther cunningly seek to know what goodness
is, than willingly take to themselves the fol
lowing of it. But as that sweet and simple
breath of heavenly goodness is the easier to
be altered, because it hath not passed through
the trial of worldly wickedness, nor feelingly
found the evil that evil carries with it ; so
these innocents, when they come to a point
wherein their judgments are to be practised
by knowing faultiness by its first \okens, doth
not know whether the pending circumstance
be a thing to be avoided, or embraced ; and
so they are apt to fall easily into the snare.

6.

The sex of womankind, is most particu
larly bound to consider with regardful eyes,
men's judgments on its deeds.

Remark.

A clear reputation must be desirable to
every honourable mind. Lucretia died to

76

maintain her's : but there the sense of repu
tation was stronger than the sense of honour !
A truly noble heart would have preferred the
death that Tarquin threatened ; unsullied pu
rity, with a slandered name ; before contami
nation, with the power of accusation and re
venge. Positive rectitude, ought to be the
first consideration ; a fair character, the se
cond : but first and second, they should ever
be. Virtue demands that, where possible,
they should be substance and shadow; and
where it is not, we should die, rather than
relinquish either; unless the last, as in the
case of Lucretia, must be , preserved by the
sacrifice of the first. For virtue is despotic ;
life, reputation, every earthly good, must be
surrendered at her voice. The law may seem
hard, but it is the guardian of what it com
mands ; and is the only sure defence of hap
piness.

7.

To the disgrace of men it is seen, that
there are women both more wise to judge
what evil is expected, and more constant to
r it when it is happened.

77

Remark.

Such a woman was Madame d'Ancre, who
was burnt at the Greve as a sorceress : and
such men were her judges ; for had their
minds been able to comprehend her's, they
would have admired what they condemned.
When this illustrious woman was questioned
concerning the kind of magic she used to in
fluence the will of Mary de Mcdicis, she an
swered — " I used that power only, which
great souls always have over weak minds/' —
The base minds of the men she spoke to, could
not, or would not, understand this ; and they
hastened her death.

8.

It is strange to see the unmanlike cruelty
of mankind, who, not content with their ty
rannous ambition to have brought woman's
virtuous patience under them, like childish
masters think their masterhood nothing,
without doing injury to her who (if we will
argue by reason) is framed by nature with the

78

same parts of the mind for the exercise of
virtue, that we are.

Remark.

There is always a want in the tyrannical
mind. A perfect judgment would shew, that
there is no real submission where the will is
absent. You may have subjection, but re
bellion lurks under an enforced yoke. The
submission of the heart grants full power;
and when father, brother, guardian, or hus
band, wish to rule absolutely, they should be
gin by winning the affections, and the field is
their own. Compulsion hardly restores right,:
love yields all things.

9,

(Lovely sweetness is the noblest power of
woman ; and is far fitter to prevail by parley
than by battle.

10.

There needs not strength to be added to in-
,violate chastity : the excellency of the mind
makes the body impregnable,

11.

She who complieth in all things with the
desires of love, sheweth an example in her
self, that she esteems the holy band of chas
tity to be but an imaginative rule, and not
the truest observance of nature. It is the
most noble commandment that mankind can
have over themselves ; as indeed both learn
ing teacheth, and inward feeling assureth.
12.

It is the right nature of beauty to work un
witting effects of wonder. The beauty of hu
man persons, is beyond all other beauty ; and
to them only is given' the judgment to dis
cern beauty ; and among reasonable wights,
it seems that the female sect hath the pre
eminence : so that, in that pre-eminence, na
ture countervails all other liberalities wherein
she may be thought to have dealt more fa
vourably towards mankind. How do men
crown themselves with glory, for having, ei
ther by force brought others to yield to their
mind, or with long study and premeditated
orations, persuaded what they would have
persuaded ! And see, a fair woman shall not

80

only command without authority, but per
suade without speaking. She shall not need
procure attention ; for ^ men's eyes will chain
their ears unto it. Men venture lives to con
quer: she conquers lives without venturing.
She is served and obeyed; which is the most
notable, notbeeause she loves to command it,
but because they became laws to themselves
to obey her; and not for her dignity's sake,
but for her own sake. She need not dispute
-whether to govern by fear or by love ; since
without her thinking thereof, their love will
bring forth fear, and their fear fortify their
love. And she need not seek offensive, or de
fensive force, since her lips alone may stand
for ten thousand shields; and ten thousand
inevitable shot go forth from her eyes. Beau*
ty, beauty is the sceptre of female greatness ;
chastity, its crown : which gifts, on whomso
ever the heavens do bestow them, without
question, she who receives, is bound to use
them to the noble purposes for which they are
created : not only to win and preserve, but to
dispense : since that indeed is right happiness*

81

which is not only in itself happy, but can tie-
rive the happiness of another.

Remark.

By deriving the happiness of another, \ve do
not deprive the happy person of any part of
his enjoyment ; and when that enjoyment was
effected by ourselves, such participation in
creases his delight. Happiness is a sun-beam,
which may pass through a thousand bosoms,
without losing a particle of its original ray:
nay, when it strikes on a kindred heart, like
the converged light on a mirror, it reflects it
self with redoubled brightness. Happiness i«
not perfected till it is shared.

13.

Beauty can give an edge to the bluntest
sword.

Remark.

The power of beauty has always been con
sidered as a riddle. It is difficult to. explain
E 5

82

why a set of features, arranged in one parti
cular way, should command the soul, as if by
enchantment. What affinity is there between
the fine proportions of a human figure, and
the equable dispositions of the mind, that the
aight of the one should produce equal com
placency in the soul, as the conviction of the
other ? In fact, the mind toves perfection ;
and one property of perfection is order, and
order comprises all our ideas of fitness and
proportion; and proper quantity, with an
adapted shape, being essential to fitness and
proportion, there cannot be beauty of form
•without order. This sympathy, with every
image of that order, which is laid down as a
map in every sound mind, is the secret of
that mysterious delight which we all feel when
viewing the beauties of inanimate nature : the
green plain, the umbrageous wood, and the
smooth lake, all please the eye, and diffuse se
renity over our thoughts ; the mind consents
to the calm of nature, where every thing wears
the appearance of an undisturbed obedience
to the Will that, in creating the world, de
clared that " All was cood !"

8*3

Turn observation towards the perfection of
that creation, man and woman! In him, the
grandeur of strength and the majesty of mien,
exhibit a beauty which swells the soul of the
beholder with exultation. Though we see at a
distance the war-horse yoked to his car,- —
" his neck is clothed with thunder, the gloif
of his nostrils is terrible : he paweth in the
valley, and rejoiceth in his strength ; he go-
eth on to meet the armed men ; he mock ah
at fear and is not affrighted, neither turneth he
back from the sword; the quiver rattlcth
against him, the glittering spear and the
shield: he swalloweth the ground with fierce
ness and rage; he smelleth the battle afar off",
the thunder of the captains, and the shouts of
victory !"" We admire at his greatness, we re
joice in his glory, though his conquest is not
ours: so, we contemplate with a joyful con
fidence the manly structure, which seems fit
ted to bold and heroic enterprise, although we
stand out of the way of deriving advantage
from its might. To the mind, it is sufficient
that the qualities she esteems are befprc her :
she does not require to put them to the proof,

84

to know them to be what they are. The
beauty of woman having another design, is of
another fabric : her's is meant to compose and
not to arouse; her soft and pliant form, gen*
tie movements, and celestially-beaming coun
tenance, all look and whisper peace! Her
mild eyes speak no other language; her smooth
brow, and sweetly-breathing lips, tell of an
inward quiet, a " heavenly habitant" within,
that persuades the beholder to long to mingle
in its blessedness.

So far beauty of form affects the mind, but
then it must be understood, that it is not the
mere shell that we admire; we are attracted
by the idea that this shell is only a beautiful
case adjusted to the shape and value of a still
more beautiful pearl within. The perfection
of outward loveliness is the soul shining
through its crystalline covering : and that this
is true, I will close with the sanction of Mr.
Locke.— — " There are, (says he,) beauties of
the mind, colouring those of the body, which
take and prevail at first sight ; and whenever
J have met with them, I have readily surren-

85

tiered myself; and have never yet been de
ceived in my expectation."

14.

Nature is no step-mother to the female
sex, how much soever some men (sharp only
in evil-speaking,) have sought to disgrace
them.

Remark.

Nature is an honest parent to her offspring:
she has dealt out her gifts fairly and with good
judgment between them, but to each has dis
pensed a different endowment; and to estimate
the equality and propriety of the distribution,
we must not compare parts with parts, but
the one whole with the other whole : for what
nature withholds from one part she gives to
another. Her laws constitute different orders
of excellency, as well as different degrees in
merit and subordination ; she shews that this
is her system, by all her works; and unless
superiority of power existed, the universe
would yet have been a gulph of confusion;

86

this beautiful machine of the world, an im-
moveable chaotic mass throughout eternity.

Order necessarily supposes an arranger; an
arranger, power ; and power, subordination;
we see it proved on every side of us: com
mand is written in everlasting characters on
the firmament, where the polar-star conducts
the vessels of the deep, by its resistless con
trol over the motion of the magnet. So, the
heavens, " the earth, and all that are contain
ed therein," obey an irresistible decree, Sove
reignty is the prerogative of the Creator, sub
mission, the duty of the created. Why then
should the advocates of woman be offended,
that she is held by an ordinance which binds
the world ? Why should they seek to disorder
nature and unsex her loveliest work ? Why
bring forward claims to invest women with
masculine properties; to place them at the
helm of state and of war ; to put the sword, or
the tablet of laborious calculations into their
hands ; to encumber them with toils which
their bodies are not able to sustain; and affi
ance them to duties, against which their minds
revolt ? Wild enthusiasm mav create a fanci-

87

ful equality for woman ; (for there never was
a chimera too absurd to find a promulgator,)
but the impartial eye of reason sees a radical
difference in the constitution of the sexes,
which for ever precludes the practicability of
their filling the same stations in life.

Nature, in her mode of providing for the
continuation of the human race, evinces her
intention to confine women to domestic occu
pations. How destructive would it prove to
the unborn generation, if they, who expected
to be mothers, were to wear out their strength
and endanger their lives, by the watchings of
the camp, the senate, or the closet ! How ill
would it become the maternal bosom, to un
brace the warrior's steel, to give sustenance to
the infant hanging to so hard a pillow j or to
cradle its tender form amid volumes of juris
prudence, politics, or abstruse philosophy!
Let men, whom nature hath not only endow
ed with adequate vigour, but left free to use it
to effect, let them bear up the political sphere,
and pursue scientific researches, even to the
utmost stretch of human intellect : but the
knowledge of virtue is woman's study. It is

88

comprised in few maxims ; and if she seek it
with sincerity, it alone will raise her soul to a
pitch of sublimity not to be out-soared by
man.

The commonest observation may demon
strate that man and woman, from the first,
had distinct commissions; yet such difference
argues no inferiority in the essential spirit,
which is the intellectual soul; that divine
thing originating immediately from God, must
in all beings be of the same perfect essence;
"but as it observes and acts through the me
dium of the senses, (by which it is enveloped,)
it must, in a certain degree, be affected by
their modifications. The soul we may liken,
to a musician, the body, to his instrument :
accordingly as the keys are arranged and the
notes set, the music will be strong, soft, good?
bad, or indifferent. Man is constructed for
bold and lofty harmonies ; woman, composed
for the gentle melodies of the heart. She was
made to be beloved, not dreaded ; to sooth,
not disturb; to bind up wounds, not inflict
them. She is the help-mate of man, the
handmaid of God : enviable distinction ! (if

89

envy dare intrude on such holy precincts?)
Gracious dispensation from the Most High,
to be the partner of him who, made " a little
lower than the angels, is crowned with glory
and power !" To be heaven's selected agent
throughout all ages, to comfort the wretched,
to soften the pangs of disease, to heal a bro
ken heart, and to lull the troubled soul of man
into a peace that makes him dream of para
dise! Who would barter this sacred privilege,
this office of cup-bearer to the beneficent Je
hovah, this power of shedding the balm of
Gilead upon all that grieve, for the proudest
prerogatives of command ? True it is, that he
who would be the master of all, must be the
servant of all ! Rational empire lies in ability
to influence and effect the happiness of others*
and this empire is not denied to woman ; it
is her inheritance, and she holds it by this
charter, — " Whosoever will be great among
ye, let them be your ministers ; and whoso
ever will be chiefs among you, let them be
your servants/'

If the throne of benevolence be at the feet
of the unhappy, affection owns no power that

00

is not devoted to the object of her vows. Love
is never convinced that he reigns, till he finds
that he may serve ; and woman, from her con
stitution^ is more inclined than man is, to this
generous disposition. The sensitive percep
tions of men are not so delicate, delightful,
and innocent, as those of women j hence they
are not so cherished, nor so stationary. " Man
is stung with passion, woman is touched by
it. In the one instance, torment makes -the
sufferer eager to rid himself of pain, either by
satisfying desire, or extinguishing it ;" and in
the other, the softness of the perception ex
cites only a new feeling, which, by awakening
a thousand tender and pleasing sensibilities^
is welcomed rather than repelled : hence, from
the peculiar delicacy with which the sensitive
soul of woman receives all its impressions^
they are retained and made subjects of frequent
review; the delighted spirit descends into this
cabinet of beautiful pictures, and while listen
ing to the sweet romances which imagination
tells of each, forgets to re-ascend and follow
reason over the hard grounds of disagreeable
probabilities and consequences.

91

It has been said that " the purest flames
burn the longest and the brightest !" By ana
logy, the love of woman is not only more last
ing than that of man, but more devoted. She
regards its object, not with the weakness of
passion, but with the strength of pure affec
tion ; with admiration^ veneration, and a kind
of holy zeal. For what is it that the saintly
Origen says ? " He who carefully imitates
God, is God's best statue !" And was not man
made in the image of God ? And is not his
spirit an emanation from the source of all
perfection ? How then can woman fail to
worship the awful copy of the Most High ?
How refrain from loving the shadow of what
*he adores ?

When man honours his Maker, by not dis
paraging his work, or deserting the standard
of moral greatness which the son of Mary
planted in Palestine, then he stands in his roy
al station, lord of the world; and consequently
the superior of woman. For, it is in life as in
a race, the most vigorous and active, being na
turally fitted to outstrip the rest, wins the ho
nour of the day : and man has this advantage

92

over the weaker sex. But why weaker? We
know not; only heaven hath willed it so. But
how weaker ? may receive a less categorical,
and, to some enquirers, a more satisfactory
answer.

Woman's weakness (and therefore danger)
lies in her imagined security : it arises from
the faintness of her first perceptions, which
allows hostile objects to steal upon her. But
to explain this : the eye sees that man's body
is formed ©f tougher materials than that of
woman; his nerves and the finer ligaments
•which unite the organs of sense to the soul,
are also of a stronger, more irritable and com
bustible nature : (that this is true, we may
look to experience;) hence the moment that
any appetite or passion touches them, like a
spark to a train of gunpowder, the whole is in
conflagration j the citadel must be surrender-^
ed, or the fire quenched. Base spirits submit
to the first ; great ones, by glorious exertion,
do the last. In either case, the decision hath
positive effects. The passion admitted or de
stroyed, is distinct from any other. Love,
ambition, revenge, may all exist in the breast

03

of a man, and burn at the same time with
strong, onward, and unmingtitlg flames : the
rapidity and force of his conceptions give this
impetus to the passions, which keeps them se
parate and powerful. With such a turbulent
army in his bosom, (for the passions are either
the soldiers or the rebels of virtue,) it depends
upon man's imperial part, his mind, whether
they shall rule, or reason maintain the supre
macy. When the last is the victor, how gra
ciously do the insurgents follow in her train !
And how worthily does man use his boasted
free-agency, in chusing good instead of evil !
Woman, on the contrary, in consequence
of the fineness of her animal construction, and
the corresponding delicacy of her sensibilities,
is affected almost imperceptibly. Admiration
of amiability gently moving her spirits, excites
a pleasing warmth about her heart, and by de
grees the glow diffusing itself through her
frame, and around her soul, seems (though she
is unconscious how,) to wrap her in a globe
of 1-ight. That globe is her world : through
its atmosphere she views every object ; the
.medium of her love tinges all creation ; and as

94

it is fair or foul, she is happy or miserable,
virtuous or (alas ! for the perhaps,) the re
verse !

The passions usually attack woman in this
way : but in describing their progress, I select
that of love for an example, it being the one
that in general hath most influence on the sex.
By advancing unperceived, noiseless, and al
most unfelt, it saps the very foundation of re
sistance ; it overflows the heart, and softens
its severities : and a softened heart being not
many degrees from a weakened one, any im
pression made on it to the prejudice of the be
loved object, is like a stamp on the sea-sand ;
the tide of tenderness passes over it, and all i«
washed away.

Woman may struggle, and female philoso
phers declaim of her independence and equality
with man, her heart will still be faithful to the
law which pronounced, "Woman! Thy de
sire shall be to thy husband, and he shall rule
overthee!" Hence, as this law is enforced
even by her wishes, woman must provide
against its probable ill consequences, by tem
pering it with adherence to an anterior ordi-

05

nance: — " Love God and his commandments
above all things!" Those commands oblige
her to admire nothing before virtue ; and ad
miring only that, she cannot love its opposite:
consequently, by directing all her exertions to
wards the soul's excellence in herself; and all
her wishes towards seeing it exemplified in
another; her attention will never be fascinated
by any thing different from virtue ; and when
she does meet with it, judgment consents to
the recognition of sympathy, and her heart
bows to the influence of what was and is the
aim of her soul.

Such is the model of female excellence
which Sir Philip Sidney has set forth in his
beautiful character of the princess of Arcadia.
He thus describes her, when suffering the
Tortures of an unhappy love, and afflictions
from her enemies.

" Pamela did walk up and down, full of
deep, though patient, thoughts : for her look
and countenance were settled ; her pace soft
and almost still of one measure, without any
passionate gesture, or violent motion ; till at
length (as it were,) awaking, and strengthen-
3

96

jng herself, — Well, said she, yet this is best 5
and of this I am sure, that howsoever they
wrong me, . they cannot master God. No
darkness b'linds His eyes ; no gaol bars Him
out. To whom then else should I fly, but to
Him, for succour ? And therewith kneeling
down, even where she stood, she thus said.-—
O All-seeing Light, and Eternal Life of all
things ! To whom, nothing is either so great,
that it may resist ; nor so small, that it is con
temned ! Look upon my misery, with thine
eye of mercy ; and let thine infinite power
vouchsafe to limit out some proportion of de
liverance unto me, as to thee, shall seem most
convenient. Let not injury, CXLord, triumph
over me; and let my faults, by thy hand, be
corrected ; and make not mine unjust enemy
the minister of thy justice. But yet, my God !
if in thy wisdom this be -the aptest chastise
ment, for my inexcusable folly; if this low
bondage, be fittest for my -over-high desires;
if the pride of my not enough-humble heart
be thus to be broken, O Lord, I yield unto
thy will ; and joyfully embrace what sorrow
thou wilt have me suffer. Only, thus much,

07

let me crave of thee! (Let my craving, O
Lord, be accepted of thee ; since even that
proceeds from thee!) Let me crave, even by
the noblest title which, in my greatest afflic
tion, I may give myself, — that I am thy crea
ture—and by thy Goodnq§s ! (which is Thy
self !) Thatthou wilt suffer some beam of thy
majesty, so to shine into my mind, that it
may still depend confidently upon thee. Lei
calamity be the exercise, but not the over
throw of my virtue. Let the power of my
enemies prevail, but prevail not to destruc
tion. Let tny greatness be their prey ; let my
pain be the sweetness of their revenge. Let
them (if so it seem good unto thee!) vex me
with more and more punishment; but, O
Lord ! let never their wickedness have such a
hand, but that I may carry a pure mind in a
pure body!*'

VOL. IT.

LOVE.

1.

WHAT men commonly call ;love, is the
basest and yet the most fruitful of all passions.
Fear breedeth contrivance, anger is the cradle
of courage, joy openeth and ennobleth the
heart, sorrow, as it closeth, so it draweth in
ward to look to the correcting of itself; and
so all of them generally have power towards
some good, by the direction of reason. But
this bastard-love, (for indeed the name of love
is most unworthily applied to so hateful a hu
mour,) as it is engendered between intempe
rate Desire and Idleness ; as the matter it works
upon is nothing but a certain base weakness,
which some gentle fools call a gentle heart ;
as its enjoined companions be unquiet long
ings, fond comforts, feint discontents, hope
less jealousies, ungrounded rages, causeless
yieldings ; so is the highest end it aspires untOj
a little pleasure, with much pain before and
great repentance after. But that end, how

99

endlessly it runs to infinite evils, were fifc
enough for the matter to speak of, but not for
cars in whom there is a true disposition to
virtue. It utterly subverts the course of na.
luro, in making reason give place to sense,
and man to woman. And truly \ think, here--
upon it first stole the name of love : for in
deed the true love hath that excellent nature
in it, that it doth transform the very essence
of the lover into the thing beloved ; uniting-
and, as it were, incorporating it with a secret
>and inward working. And herein do those
kinds of love imitate the celestial ; for as the
Jove of heaven maketh one heavenly, the IO\T
of virtue, virtuous, so doth the love of thfc
world make one become worldly ; and this li
centious love of woman doth so enfeeble mart-,
that if he yield to it, it will so womanize hint,
as to make him an object of disdain to her for
Whom he sold all.

Remark.

There are two things which eyery maiu
must prefer before his mistress: — his God and
F 2

TOO

his honour ! She who admits of any derelic
tion from either, sanctions what will probably
betray herself; for he never can be true to
another, who is unfaithful to his own best in
terests. The woman who could love such
baseness, would not value its opposite; and
by so guilty a licence disparaging not only
the modesty of her sex, but the integrity of
human nature, she deserves the consequences
of her crime. " Love (says the good Atter-
bury,) is the fountain of pleasure ; the passion
which gives every thing we do or enjoy its re
lish and agreeableness." And such love is the
effect of virtue: it lives while the cause exists;
but should that cease, it would expire.—
There is no principle in any other love.

2,

Nothing can so heartily love as virtue,

Remark.

Because virtue shuts out all selfish consider
ations. 2

roi

3.

The two bands of Good-will are Lovtline§s
and Loringness.

4.

Matters are so turned in the lover, that
where at first, liking the manners of the lady
beloved did breed good-will, now good-will
becomes the chief cause of liking her man
ners 3 so that within a while his mistress is
not prized because of her demeanour but the
demeanour is prized because it is her's. Then
follows the most natural effect of conforming
himself to that which she does like, the not
only wishing himself to be such another in
virtues, but to ground an imitation upon a so
much-esteemed authority: so that the next
degree is to mark all her doings, speeches, and
fashions, and to make them into himself, as a
pattern worthy proceeding on.

Remark.

Love is the only power which, by reciprocal
sympathy, seems to blend and to change two
separate natures into one. The lover's soul is

102

linked with that of the beloved : but which
ever most strongly attracts, that absorbs the
other, and makes it a part of itself; hence the
consequence of perfect love is perfect peace j
and where the prevailing influence is good,
perfect virtue. This ascendancy of the be
loved object is so imperious that (as it may
sometimes tend to evil,) a woman should be
careful not to model her soul to suit the frail
ties of her companion, but to bear with them.
Though his character may be a trial, it ought
not to be an impediment to her virtue. The
first awakener of legitimate love is an idea of
excellence; whether the sentiment originate
from real or fanciful superiority, it can be nou
rished by no, inferior food : being of celestial
birth, so mustl>e its aliment. And, therefore,
we must either find the object of our love truly
good, or make him so. We may pardon what
we do not approve, prune what we cannot era
dicate, and shew an example of that conduct
which we cannot inculcate by precept.

5.
Love is better than a pair of spectacles to

103

make every thing seem greater, which is seen
through it.

Remark.

And hatred, not less ready to give derogato
ry impressions through its opposite medium,
has this advantage, that her monsters are be
lieved to be" born of women ;" while the ob
jects of love's panegyric are hardly doubted to
be mere " children of the elements !" The
world is lamentably sceptical to good reports,
and ridiculously credulous to bad.

6.

• The force of Jove to those folk who feel it,
is many ways very strong ; but no ways strong
er than that it doth so enchain the lover's
judgment upon her who holds the reins of his
mind, that whatsoever she doth is ever in his
eyes best ! And that best being, by the con
tinual motion of our changing life, turned by
her to any other thing, that thing again be-
cometh best. So, that nature in each kind
suffering but one superlative, the lover only

104

admits no positive. If she sit still that is besty
for so is the conspiracy of her several graces-
held together to make one perfect figure of
beauty ; if she walk> no doubt that is best ;
for besides she maketh the more places happy
by her steps,, the very stirring adds a pleasing
life to her native perfections; if she be silent^
that without comparison is best, since by that
means the untroubled eye most freely may de
vour the sweetness of its object: but if she
speak, he will take it on his death that is best ;
the quintessence of each word being distilled
down into his affected soul !
1.

Liking is not always the child of beauty;
tut whatsoever is liked, to the liker is beau
tiful.

8.

No decking sets forth any thing so much
as affection.

9,

How tender to every motion doth love make
the lover's heart ! How he measures all his
joys by his lady's contentment, and doth,

ros

with a respectful eye, hang all his behaviour
upon her eyes !

10.
Force cannot be the school of love.

11.

True love would not, for his life, constrain
his lady's presence ; but he would rather die
than consent to her absence.

12.

Did ever man's eye look through love, up
on the majesty of virtue shining through
beauty, and not become a captive ? And is it
the style of a captive to write My will and
pleasure ?

13.

Cupid makes it his sport to pull the war
rior's plumes.

14.

I can never deem that to be love which, in
haughty hearts, proceeds of a desire only to
please.

F 5

log

Remark.

It is the coquetry of vanity in love with it
self; and the more it pleases, the greater are
the sacrifices made to its selfishness. Some
men and women appear earnest to promote
the pleasure of others, while their real inten
tion is directly contrary; they are beautiful,
polite, and interesting, for no other purpose
than to charm and to betray : they are the sy
rens" who woo with sweet melodies, and when
the vessel strikes, laugh at the crew. Know-
i#g ho satisfaction in yielding delight, the con
viction of exciting pain gives them no unea
siness; nay, they exult in the midst of sighs
and groans ; for hearts are their spoil, and the
temple of vanity is full of them.
15.

With some natures, too much yielding
treedeth cruelty ; and granting desire, causeth
the desire to be neglected.

107

Remark.

Sordid minds cannot comprehend the mag
nanimity of forbearance, nor the generosity of
a free indulgence. This, they denominate
weakness; that, baseness of spirit. Presum
ing on the patience which sutlers without re
sentment, they think that it cannot, because
it will not, revenge; and injury is heaped on
injury, till the bourn is passed which meek
ness herself should defend. Thus, the daught
er and wife are sometimes forced, by the cru
elty of them who ought to have been their pro
tectors, to rebel : if it may be called rebellion,
which is grounded on the first principles of'
humanity ; — Self-preservation and the love of
goodness ! Who can revere the wretch whose
aim is the destruction of peace and life, or es
teem him who lives only to outrage the most
sacred duties of man? The ingratitude which
neglects and contemns the granted good it has
sought^ is a-kin to the tyrannical spirit men
tioned above. Both are ambitious of power,
to wring the possessions of others into their

own hands ; and hate to receive as a gift, what
they might seize as plunder. What is yield
ed, is debased in their eyes : not having suf
ficient generosity in themselves to give any
thing of value, — a consented benefit loses all
worth in their estimation. They know not
the delicacy, taste, and nobleness, which feels,
that the soul of the bestower mingling with
the gift, imbues it with a- richness ' ' more pre
cious than rubies!" That only is worthy of
reception, which is freely offered ; and he who
can take enforced profit, or accept constrained
services, is more sordid, base, and contempt
ible than the pick-lock who steals into his
neighbour's coffers.

16.
Love is the band of love.

Remark.

It is a common remark, that " Love cannot
exist without hope!" 'Tis probable that it
will not, for every reason is against it ; and
when it is in a woman's breast, the modesty as
well as dignity of her sex, will lead her to ex-

109

tinguish, what fails to arouze sympathy, or
has lost the power once possessed, to keep it
awake. There are circumstances under which
the " band of love" being destroyed, love flies ;
but kindness will still remain. A virtuous
heart can never be totally indifferent to ths
happiness of a creature it has once regarded
with peculiar tenderness. It is only the vik
passion, the detestable counterfeit of love,
that, when disappointed, turns into hatred.

H.

When with pity towards a fair and virtuous
object, the heart is once made tender, accord
ing to the aptness of the humour, it receives
quickly a cruel impression of that wonderful
passion, which to be defined is- impossible;
because no words reach to the strange nature
of it : they only know it, who inwardly feel
it : — it is called Love !
13:

Nothing doth more naturally follow its
cause, than care to preserve and benefit,, doth
pursue unfeigned affection.

110

19.

There is no service like his that serves be
cause he loves.

20.

True love is willing to make extremest
danger a testimony that it esteems no danger
as danger, in regard to giving satisfaction to
its beloved.

21.

True love can no more be diminished by-
showers of evil -hap, than flowers are marred-
by timely rains.

Remark.

But rather, like the rain-bow, will shine
brightest in the darkest cloud.

22.

Suffering for the object beloved^ is wont ta
endear affection.

23.

Love maketh obedience stand up against
all other passions.

Ill

•\ . .i 24.

Love, in fear, forgettcth the fear of nature,

Remark.

For, there is no source of fear so dreadful,
as a threat of evil befalling the object of love.
That object being the animating principle of
all our joys, an injury done to it strikes at the
root of our own happiness : we live in those
we love, and their pains produce our death. —
When this affection, jealous of every pang
that pierces the endeared heart, has not only
been born of Virtue, but fostered by Pity,
(which hovers with increasing interest over
unmerited sufferings,) it becomes so intimate
ly entwined with every feeling, \vish, action,
principle, and source of life and thought in
the lover's breast, that no separation, but that
of death, can sever the union. There is a
sublimity in true love, which leaves the sordid
gratifications of sense in the dust: it seems to
seek the soul, alone, of its object ; to bear it in
its arms and bosom, through all the ills of
mortality; to cherish it with the hallowed

112

sympathies of mutual thought, mutual tender
ness, and mutual aspirations after immortal
virtue. Love springs from heaven, and to
heaven it returns : the sacredness of its origin
infuses a holy peace and rapture through the
bosom ; sweet even are the cares of this se
raphic passion. It is a communion of spirits
so ineffable, so blissful, so full of beatified
meditations, that no earthly tongue can de-
dare its thoughts, can describe its joys. Even
sorrow herself, when she loves and weeps,
finds that her tears are balm. One of the
most tender and unfortunate of lovers, thus
pictures, with no fictitious pen, i the effects of
this magic passion.

" The death of nature led me to a still
more interesting subject, that came home to
my bosom, — the death of her I loved. A viU
lage bell was tolling; I listened, and thought
of the moment when I heard the interrupted
breath, and felt the agonizing fear, that the
same, sound would never more reach my ears,
and that the intelligence glanced from my
eyes, would never more be felt. The spoiler
had seized his preyj the sun was fled^ what

ill

was this world to me ? I wandered to another,
where death and darkness could not enter ;
I pursued the sun beyond the mountains, and
the soul escaped from this vale of tears. My
reflections were tinged with melancholy, but
they were sublime. I smiled on the king of
terrors ; the tie which bound me to my friends
he could not break; the same mysterious knot
united me to the source of all goodness and
happiness. I had seen the Divinity reflected
in a face I loved ; 1 had read immortal cha
racters displayed on a human countenance,
and forgot myself whilst I gazed. I could
not think of immortality, without recollecting
the ecstacy I felt, when my heart first whis
pered to me, that I was beloved ; and again
did I feel the tie of mutual affection; fervently
I prayed to the Father of mercies, and rejoic
ed that He could see every turn of a heart,
whose movements I could not perfectly under
stand. My passion seemed a pledge of im
mortality; I did not wish to hide it from the
all-searching eye of heaven. Where, indeed,
«ouid I go from His presence ? And, whilst
it was dear to me, though Darkness might

114

reign during the night of life, Joy
come when I awoke to life everlasting.

25.

Love is the refiner of invention.

26.

Love, one time layeth burthens ; another
time, giveth wings.

27.

There are no thralls like them who have
inward bondage,

28.

True love were very unlovely, if it were half
so deadly as lovers term it.

29.

Love is a passion far more easily reprehend*
cd than refrained.

30.
Love fears the accident of an instant.

31.

The nature of desire is no easier to receive
belief, than it is hard to ground belief ; for,
as desire is glad to embrace the first shew of
comfort, so is desire desirous of perfect assu
rance.

115

Remark.

Love is the accomplisher of delicacy ; and
ft is well known, that " he who too much re
fines his delicacy, will always endanger his
quiet!" The doubts of love are never to be
wholly overcome : they grow with its various
anxieties, timidities, and tendernesses; and
are the very fruits of the reverence in which
the admired object is beheld.

32.

As well he that steals might allege the lore
of money ; he that murders, the love of re
venge; he that rebels, the love of greatness ;
as the adulterer, the love of woman : since
tfeey do in all their speeches affirm they love
that, which an ill-governed passion maketh
them to follow. But love may have no such
privilege: that sweet and heavenly uniting of
the minds, which properly is called love, can
never slide into an action that is not virtuous.

110

33.

Where folly is not the cause of vehement,
leve, reproach will never be the effect,

34.

She that trusleth a libertine, may as welli
think to grasp water,, or to bind the wind.

Remark.

An old writer observes, that a licentious-
man cannot love. Indiscriminate devotion ta
the sex, is a sort of polytheism, inconsistent
with the pure worship demanded by love. In
short, there is as much difference between the
gross passions of the libertine, and the fine
tendernesses of the lover, as betwixt the irra
tionality of the idolater, and the reasonableness
of the Christian, who adores the one Deity in
spirit and in truth.

35.

It is.- folly to believe that he can faithfully
Jove, who does not love faithfulness..

117

Remark.

The virtues, like the Muses, are always seen
"in groupes. A good principle was never found
^solitary in any breast. Actions that assume
-the name of benevolence without arising from
its principle, do not deserve th« name of vir-
!<tue ; they are mere impulses, and at the ca
price of accident to prompt or to withhold.
Kind dispositions ape confirmed to be virtues,
'by reflecting on their nature and design; (for
unless justice be made judge over sensibility,
tat will as likely lead to injure some, as to be
nefit others,) and by frequent use, generous
sympathies become so habitual, that the ex
ercise of them is as natural as standing or walk
ing ; and with as little apparent exertion of
the mind. When the soul understands the
value of goodness, -and the worthlessness of
nee, it must forsake reason before it consents
:o depart from the foundation of goodness,
jvhich is obedience to the eternal laws of jus-
ice ! This obedience is the fountain of moral
irgument ; and diffused through various

118

streams, is the principle of all the virtues. It!
is an unimpeachable and constant will to ren
der to" every one his due ; and, according toj
the covenant of humanity, to promote the!
welfare of our fellow-creatures to the utmost
of our power. What a noble progeny proceed!
from so goodly a parent ! Courage, which;
blames or defends with impartiality; patience,
that sustains the calamities of life without!
shrinking; and perseverance, which bears
through all ills, to the very point of honour!
True honour is subservient neither to fortune
nor to fbrce ; it is an immaculate sense o»
right, that disdains to bend before any cir*
cumstance ; it is the guardian of constitution*
al valour; and the best counsellor of those ve
hement affections which, breaking bomxls,
would betray their possessor to misery, instead
of leading him to happiness. This essential
virtue, teaches man that moderation is- the
ground of magnanimity; and how beautifully
do lessons of humility^ observance, forbear
ance, clemency, affability, amity, temperance,
and chastity, arise from so fair a foundation^
We may easily discern the disciple of honour

no

by his fruits ; and when we see him obedient
to God and faithful to man, can we doubt his
truth to woman ? No ; virtue is consistent !
And though her sons may swerve, they do not
break from her laws. He who is loyal to ho
nour, will not be a traitor to lore : but when
wifaithfulness stands for the reward of jide-
tity, she must be a fool that gives it.

36.

Love, to a yielding heart, is a king ; but to
n resisting, is a tyrant.

37.

Love does not always reflect itself; though
1 cannot tell how, but in noble minds, by a
certain duty, it claims an answering.

38.

True love, well-considered, hath an infec
tive power.

39.

In love, I desire that my desire maybe
weighed in the balance of honour, and let vir-
tu<j hold the beam.

40.
Perfections meeting in divers persons, can-

120

not choose but find one another, and delight

in that they find; for likeness of manners is

likely in reason, to draw liking w-.h affection,

41.

If we love virtue, in whom should we love
it, but in a virtuous creature? Without it be
meant that we should love the word virtue,
where we see it written in a book !
42.

What doth better become wisdom, than to
discern what is worthy the loving? What
more agreeable to goodness, than to love it
so discerned? And what to greatness of heart,
than to be constant in that it once loved.
43.

She is not worthy to be loved, that hath
not some feeling of her own worthiness.
44.

When the perfections are made up of vir
tues, as well as of beauties, in the party be
loved ; as the feeling of them cannot come in
to any unnoble heart, shall that heart, (though
it be in the bosom of one of low degree,)
which doth not only feel them, but hath all
the workings of its life placed in them, shall

121

that heart, I say, lifted up to such a height,
be counted base? Such love bringeth the
lover to the consideration of his mistress's
virtues; and that consideration maketh him
the more virtuous, and so the more worthy.
And in all things it becometh a true lover to
have his heart more set upon her good, than
on his own; and to bear a tenderer respect to
her honour, than to his own satisfaction.
45.

How sweet is the prayer of the virgin heart
to its love ! Thy virtues won me. With vir
tue preserve me! Dost thou love me? Keep
me then still worthy to be loved !
46.

It is the happy lover's duty, in whom his
mistress has rested her estate, her life, and her
honour, to double his former care ; and make
her see his virtue no less in preserving, than
in obtaining. His faith ought to be a faith
as much in freedom as in bondage. He ought
to govern his love towards her, still as to re
tain her worthy of his love. Let not his joys,
which ought ever to last, be stained in his
own conscience. Let no shadow of repent-

VOL. II, G

122

ance steal into the sweet consideration of their
mutual happiness.

Remark.

Of what that subtle thing is, which gives
life to the whole body of love, we are as ig
norant as man is of the substance of the soul
which animates his being. We see many
whom we respect, admire, and esteem ; but
one only that we love. There is a strange
mystery in this sentiment; a sort of fatal in
fluence that infects the heart before it is aware,
and by a means it cannot discover. The
platform or the altar of love, may be analyzed
and explained: it is constructed of virtue,
beauty, and affection. Such is the pyre, such
is the offering: but the ethereal spark must
come from heaven, that lights the sacrifice.
True love cannot exist without the graces of
mind as well as of person : it is still Cupid
and Psyche: love is unblest until it mingles
with the soul ; and the soul wanders from
pleasure to pleasure, unsusceptible of joy, till
she meets it in the bosom of love.

123

MARRIAGE,

l.

HAVE you ever seen pure rose-water kept
In a chrystal glass ? How fine it looks, how
sweet it smells, while the beautiful urn im
prisons it ! Break the glass, and let the water
take its own course j doth it not embrace dust,
and loose all its former sweetness and fair
ness ? Truly so are we, if we have not the stay
rather than the restraint of marriage,
2.

Who doth desire that his wife should be
chaste, first be he true $ for truth doth deserve
truth*

3.

CONNUBIAL HAPPINESS.

The messenger found Argalus at a castle of
his own, sitting in a parlour with the fair Par-
thenia ; he, reading in a book the stones of
C2

124

Hercules ; she by him, as to hear him read j
but while his eyes looked on the book, she
looked on his eyes, and sometimes staying
him with some pretty questions, not so much
to be resolved of the doubt, as to give him oc
casion to look upon her. A happy couple !
He, joying in her; she, joying in herself, but
in herself because she enjoyed him. Both in
creased their riches by giving to each other ;
each making one life double, because they
jnade a double life one ; where desire never
wanted satisfaction, nor satisfaction ever
brought satiety. He, ruling because .she would
obey; or rather, because she would obey, she
therein ruling.

Remark.

Woman may be content, may be gay, with
out love; but she cannot be happy. Created
for the gentle offices of affection, her nature
is predisposed to tenderness; and the usual
plan of female education tending directly to
points that lead to love, she is accustomed to
seek her pleasure in acts of graceful ministra-

125

tion, and to find her best satisfactions in the
acknowledged good she dispenses. What is
the testimony of the celebrated daughter of
Necker on this subject ? " In the career of
female fame, there are few prizes to be ob
tained which can vie with the obscure state of
a beloved wife or a happy mother." Wo
man's heart is too delicate and timid, to desire
Any species of fame for its own sake : to her
it is Jupiter in his thunders, too potent for her
senses. If celebrity be ever pleasing, it is
when she hopes it may be the herald of her
worth, to him she loves; sweet then is the
voice of praise, and dear the homage of the
multitude. But should no ear hear it, no eye
see it, that is of consequence to her, the
world's adulation is worse than insipid; it
mocks her with the shadow of an estimation
that she cannot obtain.

Woman was formed to admire, man to be
admirable. His, are the glories of the sun at
noon-day; her's, the softened splendour of
the midnight moon. Unless man and woman
have these relative ideas of each other's na
tures and reciprocal duties, marriage is no

126

longer a bond of amity. Congenial principles
and a discreet adaption of tastes, affections,
and humours, to each other's constitution,
must be the ground-work of the contract, if
happiness is to be the result. Both sexes
should keep their proper places. Man is to
maintain his station as the guide, protector,
and cherisher of his wife; and woman is to
hold in her duty of observing, obeying, and
comforting her husband.

There is no word in language that has oc
casioned more heart-burnings in female bo
soms, than the matrimonial vow of obedience.
But why should woman hesitate to promise
that which the dispositions of her soul, and
the tenderness of her affection prompts ?
Could her free-will do otherwise than yield
submission to a reason superior to her own?
Could she refrain from acceding all her wishes
to the desires of the owner of that reason,
when she loves him ? Surely no woman will
answer this by saying, t( I love a man whose
reason is inferior to my own, and therefore it
would be shameful to vow-to obey him !" The
shame is her's for so loving ; " not loving first,

127

but loving wrong is blame !" Hence the fault
lies in her choice, and not with the framers
of the marriage ceremony; who made no re
servations for absurd or sordid matches.

According to the degree towards perfection
in the sexual characters of individuals, they
are formed to excite reciprocal affection. It
has been explained that man's excellence arises
from mental sublimity; woman's, in the
beauty of her mind. How lovely is the union
of these opposite yet blending sources of ad
miration'. The lofty mountain of St. Gothard,
standing over the luxuriant vale of Reusse,
and sheltering it from the storms, exhibits
not a more magnificent and charming scene.
When marriage is contracted on these prin
ciples, the graceful, endearing, and lasting
happiness of Argalus and Parthenia is pro
duced. But when the man is contemptible,
or the woman vain, feuds, " never-ending,
still beginning," are the consequence. Some
philosopher hath said that *< men who are in
ferior to their fellow men, are always most
anxious to establish their superiority over wo
men." And by parity of observation, (for

12$

ignorance is the first cause of presumption,)
we may remark,, that silly, thoughtless wo
men make the loudest protest against deference
to husbands.

If the highest proof of sense be moderation,
though a fine mind must know its own value,
it will yet maintain it with gentleness. Who,
that is a Christian, will deny that " the hus
band is the head of the wife." And such a
head ruling by wisdom, must command the
heart (it being a rational one,) that loves it.
But when men of superior endowments match
themselves with women who cannot discri
minate what their merit is, from that of an
inferior, they ought not to be surprised when
they find a tormentor instead of a comforter.
Paradise was a desart to Adam till Eve shared
its delights, for " man, the hermit, sigh'd,
till woman smiled !" But how can genius en
joy its privileges, if the partner he hath chosen
neither understand his talents, nor compre
hend his virtues? It is the living chained to
the dead. His paradise is no paradise to a
creature who, has no taste for the charms of
nature, no enjoyment in the heavenly quali-

ties which declare him, " the lord pre-emi
nent of all below 1" But this description does
not suit with all men : we do not see this stamp
of empire on the soul of every man I Far from
it, if we must call that a soul, a spark of the
divine essence, which propels base appetites,
blows up the vilest passions, and actuates cow
ardice to the most savage crimes ? There are
knaves and villains who, by some unlucky
star, some evil chance, or cruel deception, get
themselves united to women of mind and
feeling. Politeness they leave at the church-
door ; and for the common laws of humanity
and decency, they keep no terms with them.
Contumely, oppression, neglect, outrage, com
prise their matrimonial discipline. They
consider wives as slaves : and horrible are the
tales which many a fair creature might relate
to an admiring circle, if a delicate conscience
would allow her to (f unfold the secrets of her
prison-house!" Irrational commands, un
grateful taunts, brutal insults, mortifying con
tempts, and flagrant acts of profligacy, lead the
way, till outrage upon outrage succeeds, and,
O, shame to man ! to nature I he strikes her I
c 5

130

Tender, confiding woman is wounded by the
hand that ought to have been her defence ; is
held up to obloquy, by the arm that ought to
have been her protection ! Such are the men
who drive their wives, (wretched in so sad a
refuge!) into the seducer's toils: such are the
men who exult in guilt, and put the price of
innocence with their own dishonour, into
their purses. Till the bridal pair consider
mind and heart of greater consequence to mu
tual concord, than their respective fortune
and fashion, calamitous cases of matrimonial
disunion will continue to stain our annals ;
and transmit to posterity most disgraceful
doubts of their own legitimacy, and the ho
nour of their ancestors.

131

SOLITUDE.

1.

THEY are never alone, who are accompa
nied with noble thoughts.

Remark.

The illustrious Scipio, whose " noble
thoughts," like a thousand livery'd angels
lacquey'd him, used to say, " I never am less
alone than when alone."

2.

Solitary life is prone to affection*.
3.

Avoidings of company do but make the pas
sions more violent when they meet with fit
subjects.

132

Remark.

Few objects being present to distract atten
tion, all tends to the point that may happen
to excite interest. Nothing interrupts reflec
tion ; and reflection, by repeating the image,
deepens it in the heart, till to erase it is impos
sible. The story of Petrarch, shews the mad
dening effects of solitude upon lovers.

4.

Vehement love of solitariness is but a glo
rious title to idleness. In action, a man does
not only benefit himself, but he benefits others.
God would not have delivered the soul into a
body which had arms and legs, the instru
ments of doing, but that it were intended the
mind should employ them ; and that the
mind should best know its own good or evil,
by practice: which knowledge is the only way
to increase the one, and correct the other.

133

Remark.

When solitude is sought out as a place for
the mind to dream in, and not to arouse itself
and form plans for future action, it is nothing
better than a tomb loaded with lying epitaphs :

•' Here rests the Great False marble ! Where ?

" Nothing but sordid dust lies here."

Alike are the pretensions of the whimsical in
habitant of solitary places : the man is buried
alive; useless to his fellow- creatures; and fit
only to "vegetate and rot," the burthcned
earth groans to cover him.

Zimmerman has spread a specious lustre
over this subject, and, by the magic of his
painting, hath turned many a silly head into
the affectation of solitude. His enthusiasm
may be contagious : but all are not like him
fated to walk tlie plain with Innocence and
Contemplation joined ! All are not learned
\\'ho put on the doctor's gown : many assume
abstraction, but few meditate; for it is an

134

€asy matter to look grave, and a task of labour
to become wise : the reputation of a thing is
in general more valued than the reality. —
Though Zimmerman declared his love of so
litude, he did not mean an ostentatious dis
play of his own fitness to fill it : his mind
was a little commonwealth in itself, always at
work for the public weal, and solitude was
his study ; or rather, retirement ; for that is
the proper name of the seclusion he eulogises.
His retreat was animated by the graces of con
nubial and filial love, and all the social endear
ments of friendship : these blessings are not
the guests of solitude; she dwells^ like the
hermit of the desart,

5.

Eagles we see fly alone; and they are but
sheep which always herd together.

But it h to jfly that eagles leave their mates f
not to immure themselves in the crannies of
rocks 7 or bury themselves under ground,,

135

amongst the ruins of a charnel-house. New
ton shut out the world, that he might range
through the universe: Locke closed his door
on the crowd of busy bodies, that he might
open his soul to the bright Intelligences who
visited him from above: and Milton traversed
the midnight woods of Ludlow, to mark

« the spiritual creatures that walk the earth,

" Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep-."

Such men, when they withdraw from society,
go on heavenly errands. Genius would want
one of the essentials towards its perfection, if
it were ignorant of its destination : it knows
its own worth and its own uses : it is a minis
ter of the king of kings ; and to fulfil its duty,
that duty must be diligently studied. The great
benefactors of mankind, (they who teach men
to be wise, virtuous, and happy;) when they
have viewed the diseased multitude, usually
retire to consider the cases and the remedies :
the wound is in the soul, and the secret of
cure must be sought in the physician's own
bosom. He goes into the depths of solitude,

130

(C to commune with his own heart ;" to judge
man by man; to tremble at what he is, to
marvel at what he might be; — how prone to-
vice, how adapted to virtue ; how foolish in
pride, how wise in humility ! The sage is
alone : temptation is distant ; and the world
and its snares are at its feet ; for a time he
forgets the earth, and, like the prophet of old,
his soul is in heaven. — " And behold ! THE
LORD PASSED BY ! And a great and strong
wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces
the rocks ; but the Lord was not in the wind :
and after the wind an earthquake ; but the
Lord was not in the earthquake: and after
the earthquake a fire ; but the Lord was not
in the fire: and after the fire A STILL SMALL
VOICE! And it was so, when Elijah heard it,
that he wrapped his face in his mantle/7 Con
science is riot heard amid the tempests of the
world; the aspirations of the soul are over
whelmed in the press of business, in the noise
of pleasure, and the uproar of ambition; it is
only in solitude that we can hear distinctly
the still small voice from heaven, that whis
pers a pleading warning to erring man. How

137

sweet, yet how awful is its sound ! It is (lie
soft cooing of the dove at the ark-window:
the lonely patriarch of a drowned world, starts
from his couch, and listens with a still joy to
the herald of heaven, — the messenger of peace
on earth) and good-will towards man /

LIFE.

How pitiable is that vanity which possess-
eth many, to make a perpetual mansion of this
poor baiting-place of man's life !

Remark*

The baser part of man must obscure and
almost extinguish the nobler, before he can
.be content to set up his rest here and resign
his heavenly country. This abjcctness may
be shewn in men who devote themselves to
llie accumulation of wealth, to the pursuit of

138

idle pleasures, or to the constant excitement
and gratification of the senses: all these crea
tures (and others like unto them,) are mere
earth-worms, and would be happy to lick the
dust to eternity. Neglecting thought, they
can have no imagination; that smiling pro
phetess whose " promised events cast their
shadows before!" They see no heaven in the
sky; they acknowledge no providence in good
fortune; they feel no earnest of immortality
in the deathless affections of the soul! Weak
is the pleasure of the world-encrusted wretch,
when compared with the buoyant emotions
of him who spurns its dross. He knows whose
hand placed him in the world: and as we es
teem presents for the sake of the friend that
gives them, rather than on account of their
own value; and as they acquire new beauty in
our eyes, by reminding us of the good-will of
the donor; so a considerate man finds more
loveliness in the world than the inconsiderate
dqes; because all that is in it he looks on as
bestowed by his best friend, Almighty God!
He admires creation, but he does not love the
gift better than the giver. What man is

13Q

there among us, who would prefer the scarf
wrought by his lady's hands, the bracelets
which she wore, the letters which she wrote,
or perhaps her very picture, which he has so
often pressed to his heart, before her own pre
sence? Who would be such a fool as to he
sitate about throwing all these comforters of
banishment into the wide sea, when she held
out her arms to receive him on the opposite
shore ? If this seems so reasonable in earthly
love, how unreasonable is any contradiction
of the principle when applied to heavenly!
But it is not so with him who estimates life
properly : he exults in accomplishing the task
assigned him here; and though his head be
covered with honours, and his heart filled with
the sweetest affections, he is ready to depart :
but, he consents not to leave what has so
long mingled with his soul. His soul grasps
them yet closer; and in its bosom they are
borne to the footstool of the Most High, to
the infinite fields of ether, to the eternal home
of paradise. When such a man meditates on
the brevity of life, on the near approach of
death, the grave is the last object that passes

140

before him : the garment of his spirit, may
occupy its dark confines j but the spirit it
self, his proper self, ascends to the cheerful
regions of light ineffable. A few observations
from Atterbury, will elucidate this subject. —
(f We see what difference there is between
man and man; such as there is hardly greater
between man and beast: and this proceeds
chiefly from the different sphere of thought
which they act in, and the different objects
they converse with. The mind is essentially
the same in the peasant and the prince ; the
forces, of it naturally equal in untaught man
and the philosopher j only one of these
is busied in mean affairs, and within narrower
bounds ; the other exercises himself in things
of weight and moment ; and this it is that
puts the wide difference between them. No
ble subjects are to the mind what the sun
beams are to a bud or flower; they open and
unfold the leaves of it, put it upon exerting
and spreading itself every way, and call forth
all those powers that lie hid and locked up in
it. Hence meditation on the Divine Nature,
being the sublimest point of thought, enlarg-

141

cth the powers and capacities of our souls, by
setting our faculties on the full stretch; and by
turning them from little and low things, upon
their greatest and noblest object, they are im
proved to all the degrees of perfection of which
they are capable."

TIME.

I.

TIME Is the parent of many mutations.

2.

In extremities, the winning of time is the
wrchase of life.

Remark.

And no man being certain of the prolonga-
ion of his life for one hour, each passing mo-
nent ought to be regarded as the probable li
nk of our time 5 and then how wisely would

4

142

we husband that estate which we now so fool
ishly waste ! Many of our days steal away in
ignorance and idleness; yet the philosopher
reminds us that these same days are imputed
to our account; and we give them for nought;
we incur a penalty and have taken no game !
They are gone, the neglected days of our^
strength, and have not only swallowed up
the season of our duties, but the persons and
things unenjoyed, which we have lost ! Pro
digals that we are and disobedient ! Hours fly,
and the reaper puts in his sickle before wej
tiave sown the seed. What excuse is it, that
we have been eating and drinking, sleeping
and visiting? Are these occupations of suf
ficient consequence to stand in the place of
services to mankind, assistance to our neigh
bour, ministration to our friends, care of our
relatives, and watchful obedience to God?v
Theophrastus says that " expense of time is f
the most precious expense that can be." How j
then can such a valuable thing be better dis
posed of than in the acquisition of sound wis*
dom; true virtue, and a peaceful conscience ?

143

YOUTH AND INEXPERIENCE.

1.

YOUTH will never live to age, without they
keep themselves in breath with exercise, and
in heart with joyfulness. Too much thinking
doth consume the spirits: and oft it falls out,
that while one thinks too much of doing, he
leaves to do the effect of his thinking.
2.

Youth ever thinks that good, whose good
ness or evil he sees not.
3.

All is but lip-wisdom which wants expe
rience.

Remark. . ~

effects of confidence in the pleasurable
property of novelties, arc rashness, inconstan
cy, and regret. Regret induces reflection ; and
reflection produces those prudent determina
tions to which we give the name of experience.

H4

"or

This remembrance should plead with age f<
the errors of youth, and remind it, that " it
is not every irregularity in our movement,
that is a total deviation from our course."

AGE.

1.

NEVER may he be old that doth not reve
rence that age, whose heaviness, if it weigh
down the frail and fleshly balance, it as much
lifts up the noble and spiritual part: and well
might it be alleged, that the talkativeness of
the aged, springeth from a willingness to make
their wisdom profit others.
2.

Old age, in the very disposition of it, is
talkative. Whether it be, that nature loves
to exercise that part most, which is least de
cayed, and that is the tongue ; or that know
ledge being the only thing whereof old men

145

can brag, cannot be made known but by ut
terance; or that man, by all means seeking
to eternize himself, (so much the more as he
is near his end,) doth it not only by the child
ren that come of him, but by ipeeches and
writings recommended to the memory of
hearers and readers.

Remark.

But that old age is not always confined to the
" tongue's utterance," in the setting forth the
fruits of its experience, we can prove from his
tory : and to that end I will repeat a few ex
amples from the eloquent page of the author
of Ximenes.

" Age retains a vigour and vivacity, capable
of good and great action, when it is not un
strung by indolence and excess, or tome by
unseasonable passions. When the coward
shrinks from a manly ambition, and from glo
rious toils, he shelters himself under plausible
unreflected apologies, The history of man
demonstrates that I am not giving way to a
romantic flight, but that I am establishing a

VOL. II. II

146

plain and momentous truth. Illustrious ex
amples, in arts and arms, prove what great
achievements may be performed in old age ;
that, too frequently, desponding period. The
wisdom of Timoleon always determined the
conduct of the Syracusians, on great emergen
cies, long after he had retired from civil and
military employments: in his younger years,
he had acquired and established the liberty of
their state with the force of his arms : in his
old age, he protected that liberty with the vi
gour of his mind. The military strength and
spirit of Camillus, when he was on the verge
of his eightieth year, repeatedly fought and
routed the Volsci; and saved his ungrateful
country. Agesilaus, when he was yet older,
was victorious in Egypt. The god-like So
crates, at the age of seventy, gave his tribute
of a perfect eloquence to the immortality of
the soul, when the hemlock was corroding his
vitals ; and died at the summit of mortal
glory. Our divine Milton wrote the first of
poems in the decline of life ; and Dryden, in
his seventieth year, wrote the famous ode in
which he excelled himself j and which eclipse?

147

all compositions, of that species, of Greece
and Rome, and England. The illustrious
author of the Night Thoughts ; one of the
men who are so strong that they come to four
score years ; at that age, wrote his Conjectures
on original Composition, with all the spirit
and fire of youth. I shall close this account
of aged glory, with reviving the memory of
the celebrated Cornaro, a noble Venetian,
who amply redeemed the irregularities of
youth, by a long and uninterrupted course of
extreme temperance; and who, in his hun
dredth year, chaunted his Te Deum with an
elevation of voice, and with a fervour which
he could not repress ; with an involuntary
and enraptured enthusiasm*/'

* To this catalogue of illustrious veterans, who,
like the aloe, seem to grow in brightness as their years
number with the century, future times will add the
name of him who recorded them. Percival Stock-
dale, who wrote the animated and patriotic tragedy of
Ximenes, in the meridian of his days-, at their sunset,
when he foo approached his seventieth year, completed
Lectures on our great British Poets, which will ren-
M2

148

How can I better sum up this venerable
subject, than by closing it with the per-oration
to the Discourse on the Duties and Advan
tages of Old Age, whence I borrowed my
examples ?

" The progress of the life of man has, in
different respects, often been compared, and
not unaptly, with the course of the sun through
the firmament. Let me endeavour to adapt
this object of comparison to my present pur
pose. Let me view this beautiful and majes
tic luminary, in his best character; in one of
his purest and most benignant days. He rises
alert, jocund, and resplendent; he promises
the charms and the glories of his march. As
he advances in his ethereal progress, as he
f runs his longitude through heaven's high
road;' his flame grows more vigorous and ef-

dcr his name dear to the memories of posterity, as long
as true poesy, generous criticism, and an eloquence,
which like Longinus, " shews the true sublime he
draws," are understood and properly appreciated in
this land.

149

fulgent ; he strikes and dazzles the world : the
light clouds, of fantastic shape and colour,
evaporate by his ardour; or keep their form
and station, to shew their insignificance. In
his descent he retains his beauty and his gran
deur ; but his beauty is then more amiable;
and his grandeur is more easy of access and
communication. He draws around his hori
zon, around the evening of his sublime march,
his bright companions, and worthy of their
lord; clad in rich and magnificent attire;
but, like himself, of a mild and sedate gaiety ^
He benignly salutes the delighted landscape ;
and as he gradually descends ; as he sinks in
to the bed of ocean; the feeling, the elegant,
the pious part of mankind ; the constant ado
rers of the God of nature, eye, with a fine de
votion, his expiring rays ; and send after him
a sigh, rather of love and admiration than of
sorrow and regret. Go, and do thou likewise,
in the evening of Christian morality ; mellow,
soften, and yet dignify the human picture ;
give it the tints, and the keeping of Claude
Lorraine.

" Thou mayest easily (especially if heaven

150

is indulgent to thy honest prayer,) thou mayest
easily recover thy strength before thou goest
hence : but remember one great difference be
tween the fate of the sun, and of thee. He
always sets to rise again ; — if he sets in gloom
to-day, he may set in glory to-morrow; he
may atone for his obscured honours. But
when thou goest hence, thou shalt le no more
seen ! When thy vital sun is set, thou canst
not change the character of thy departed life ;
its unseasonable gusts and its melancholy va
pours ; — a calmer, a serener evening is not to
succeed; it is precluded by an everlasting
night. Oh ! then, how careful should we be
to fill the last scene of life with active and
honourable conduct ! to descend to the grave
with ease and dignity; to take an affection
ate and engaging leave of the world ; instruct
ed and adorned by the best educators of youth,
and accomplishes of age ; by the moral and
religious graces/*

J51

SUICIDE.

KILLING one's self is but a false colour of
true courage, proceeding of a fear of a farther
evil cither of torment or of shame; for if it
were not a hopeless respecting of the harm,
courage would make one not respect what
might be done unto one: and hope being of
all other the most contrary to fear, self-killing
being an utter banishment of hope, it seems
to receive its ground in fear. Whatever comes
out of despair cannot bear the title of valour,
which should be lifted up to such a height,
that holding all things under itself, it should
be able to maintain its greatness, even in the
midst of miseries. God has appointed us
captains of these our bodily forts, which,
without treason to that majesty, are never to
be delivered over till they are demanded.

152

DEATH.

I.

DEATH being a fearful thing, and life full
of hopes, it is want of well -squared judgment
to leave any honourable means unessayed of
saving one's life.

Remark.

With this sentence the glory of the brag
gart falls to the ground. How many petty
heroes do we hear boasting that they never
knew what it was to shrink at the face of bat
tle ! If they speak truth, they bear witness
against themselves; and have no more merit
in meeting danger, than the blind have in not
coveting the beauty which they cannot see ;
they want the sense that would have led
them into temptation: and the man who
rushes on death, because he is insensible to its
horrors, is as much a mere implement of war
as the cannon or the culverin \ lie wants the

153

sense "which might lead to self-preservation.
" He alone is brave, who, influenced by just
motives, and guided by sound reason, knows
the danger, fears, yet valiantly hastens to en
counter it !" So taught the wise instructor of
the hero of Macedon; and so thought the re
nowned prince de Conde, when he was little
more than a boy and stood in his first eam>-
paign : — (( You fear — you are pale — you trem
ble!" said his commander to him, — " My
body trembles (replied the prince, grasping
his sword,) at the actions my soul meditates !"
The valour of this noWe youth (whose answer
ought to have more power over young hearts
than the sound of a trumpet,) was the effect
of meditation : it was no headlong impulse of
the blood which commands its subject to deeds
of courage or of cowardice, as accident in
clines it to ebb or flow. Nothing can conque
the spirit, when it has made up the account
between life and death : the body that contains-
it may be reduced by sickness, or cut to pieces
by the sword, and still the man is whole, the
hero is invincible; his life may be ravished
from him, but his will is inviolate..

H5

154

2.

No expectation of death is so painful, as
where the resolution is hindered by the inter
mixing of hopes.

3.

In pangs of forced death, the stronger heart
feels the greater torments, because it doth re
sist the oppressor.

Hem ark.

These observations relate to cases of death
by unjust execution. In the first, we see how
misery is heightened by the suspense in which
the condemned are often held ; expectation of
escape disperses the spirits to all the avenues
of hope, and when disappointment comes,
and they are suddenly called to bear the mind
through its last trial, the ^distraction of the
poor sufferer is truly pitiable: he who might
otherwise have shewn a pattern of fortitude,
meets his fate like a coward. The evil that
we know to be inevitable, is met by the col
lected soul with firmness and composure; but

155

the smallest intimations of reprieve, would
have probably disconcerted Seneca himself.

The second observation notices a crime,
the commission of which is happily confined
to tyrants ; and woe to them who have such
power to become miserable ! Not all the pa
geants that were played before the eyes of
Elizabeth, could remove from her sight the
bleeding head of Mary Stuart ! And not all
the clangour of Napoleon's mighty triumphs,
can hush the voice that is heard in the wood
of Vincennes, — the blood of Bourbon crying
on his murderer! There is a story amongst
the legends we tell children, that is not a mean
picture of a tyrant and his doom. The moral
is couched in allegory.

" There was once a huge and misshapen
rock which was endowed, by infernal sor
cery, with the power of impetuous motion. —
It rolled through a flourishing kingdom; it
crushed down all opponents ; it laid the land
desolate; and was followed by a stream of
blood. It arrived unwittingly at an awful
precipice; it had no power of returning; for
the bloody stream that pursued it was so

4

150

strong, that it could not roll back : it \va>
pushed from the precipice ; was dashed into
fragments; and the roar of its downfall arose
unto heaven !"

4.

It is no less vain to wish death, than it is
. cowardly to fear it.

Remark.

But how is this so natural a fear, to be ra
tionally subdued ? Divine wisdom hath taught
us, and to this effect it speaks. As " it is
certain that all men must die," the first use
that we ought to make of our reason when we
arrive at years of maturity, is to prepare for
death ; that when he comes we may not be
taken unawares, and, like deserters, loitering-
at a distance from our post. Two advantages
spring from an early consideration of death,
which contribute more to our peace of mind
than all other of our studies. It delivers us
from the fears of death, and consequently from
most other fears : and it gives us arguments

157

to comfort us through the calamities of life ;
for surely the shortness of our lives is a suf
ficient answer to the reasonings against Pro
vidence, which some men deduce from the
prosperity of the wicked and the afflictions of
the good ! All the time that either can pass
in pleasure or distress, is scarcely a moment
when compared with the infinite duration of
eternity. Short as life is, though it comprizes
not the goal of triumph, it is the field where
in we are to run for the prize ; and we win by
the swiftness of our motion, rather than the
length of time allowed for the race. We
must not estimate our lives, as men and
Christians, by days, or months, or years ; that
is the measure of our being ; (a tree might
claim veneration on the same plea;) but to be,
and to live, are two things, and of a distinct
consideration and account. To live, when
we speak of a man, signifies to act like a rea
sonable creature; to exercise his understand
ing and will, his mind and heart, upon objects
that harmonize with the dignity and perfec
tion of human nature ; to be employed in such
actions as are proper to his nature, and dis-

158

tinguish man from other animals. A life of
reason, religion, and virtue, is properly the life
of a man, because it is peculiar to him, and
marks the essential difference between him
and all other creatures : and therefore, he who
improves his essential part the most, his un
derstanding and his heart; who has his pas
sions and his appetites under the best govern
ment ; and who makes himself most useful to
mankind ; though he do not continue longer
in the world, yet he lives more than other men ;
that is, he exerts more frequent and more per
fect acts of rational life. He lives in the con
stant commission of his duty, and needs not
to fear the call of his Almighty "Captain,"
when it summons him to his account: whe
ther he be in the chamber or in the field, he is
still at his station ; and ready to maintain the
ground or to relinquish it, as his Commander
gives the word : he has " fought the fight,"
and the palm of victory awaits him in heaven !

W

159

ATHEIST.

lf

NECLECTFULNESS of honest research is the
very well-spring of atheists ; who (to speak
rightly of them) offend not through reason
ing, but for want of reasoning ; not by abus
ing of reason, but by drowning of reason, or
rather, by bemiring it in the filthy and beast
ly pleasures of the world. Others, match
their pleasures with malice; and to make
short way to the attainment of goods or ho
nours, do over-reach and betray other men ;
selling their friends, their kinsfolk, yea and
their own souls ; and not sticking to do any
evil that may serve their turn, never alleging
er pretending honesty, or conscience, but
to their own profit. Of such kind of stuff
are the Epicures made, who, because they feel
their minds guilty of so many crimes, do
think themselves to have escaped the justice

l6o

and providence of God, by denying it : And
of these we say, that their reason is carried
away and over-mastered by the course of the
world, whereunto it is wholly tied, so as they
can have none other course or discourse than
this.

2.

A REPLY TO AN ATHEIST.

Peace, peace ! Unworthy to breathe, that
dost not acknowledge the Breath -giver ! Most
unworthy to have a tongue, which speakest
against Him through whom thou speakest !
You say — " Yesterday was as to-day." O,
fool ! and most miserably foolish, since wit
makes you foolish ! What doth that argue,
but that there is a constancy in the everlasting
Governor ? Would you have an inconstant
God ? since we count a man foolish that is
inconstant. He is not seen, you say — (Hast
thou ever seen thine own soul ? and yet thou
dost not doubt that it exists !) — and yet you
might see enough of the Creator in his works^

101

if you were not like such who for sport-sake
willingly hoodwink themselves, to receive
blows the easier. You say, because we know
not the causes of things, therefore fear was
the mother of superstition : nay, because we
know that each effect hath a cause, that hath
engendered a true and lively devotion. (Our
fear of God is not an abject and dastardly
fear, but a devout awe of his greatness ; a
soul-impressed admiration of his holiness, a
solemn conviction of his justice, a trembling
acknowledgment of his power, and a filial ar
dour to be received to the mercy of his good
ness ! Such a fear cannot be born in an ig
noble breast ; for it is made up of generous
qualities : its weakness is strength, its humi
lity honourable ; for when it yields, it is to
virtue ; and when it trembles, it is only be
fore God. He who rightly fears God, may
stand unshaken before all men : nothing can
intimidate him ; for he stands in the power
of virtue, and he is armed with the power of
omnipotence). Do we not see goodly cause
for this lively faith in all around ? For this
lovely world of which we are, and in which

162

we live, hath not its being by chance : on
which opinion of chance, it is beyond mar
vel by what chance any brain could stumble.
For if it be eternal, as you would seem to con
ceive it, eternity and chance are things unsuf-
ferable together ; for that is chanceable which
happeneth ; and if it happen, there was a time
before it happened when it might not have
happened 5 or else it did not happen : and so,
if chanceable, not eternal ; and if eternal, not
of chance. And as absurd it is to think that
if it had a beginning, its beginning was de
rived from chance; for chance could never
make all things of nothing : and if there were
substances before, which by chance should
meet to make up this world, thereon follows
another bottomless pit of absurdities ; for then
those substances must needs have been from
ever, and so eternal ; and that eternal causes
should bring forth chanceable effects, is as
sensible as that the sun should be the author
of darkness. Again, if it were chanceable,
then was it not necessary ; whereby you take
away all consequents. But we see in all
things, in some respect or other, necessity of

103

consequence : therefore, in reason we must
know that causes were necessary. Besides,
chance is variable/ or else it is not to be called
chance ; but we see this world is steady and
permanent. If nothing but chance had glued
these pieces of this all, the heavy parts would
have gone infinitely downwards 3 the light
infinitely upward ; and so never have met to
have made up this goodly body. Perfect order,
perfect beauty, perfect constancy, if these be
the children of chance, let wisdom be counted
the root of wickedness ! But if you will say
^It is so by nature ; — that is as much as if
you had said — It is so, because it is so. But
if you mean, of many natures conspiring to
gether (as in a popular government) to estab
lish this fair estate ; as if the elementish and
ethereal parts should in their town-house set
down the bounds of each other's office, then
consider what follows — that there must needs
have been a wisdom which made them con
tour ; for their natures being absolutely con
trary in nature, rather would have sought
each other's ruin, than have served as well
consorted parts, to each other's harmony.

164

For, that contrary things should meet to make
up a perfection, without force and wisdom
above their powers, is absolutely impossible ;
unless you will fly to that hissed-out opinion
of chance, again. But you may perhaps af
firm, that one universal nature (which hath
been for ever) is the knitting together of
these many parts, to such an excellent unity.
If you mean a nature of wisdom, goodness,
and providence, which knows what it doth,
then say you that which I seek of you : but
if you mean a nature as we speak of the fire,
which goeth upward it knows not why ; and
of the nature of the sea, which in ebbing and
flowing, seems to observe so just a dance and
yet understands no music ; it is still but the
same absurdity, superscribed with another
title. For this word One, being attributed
to that which is All, is but one mingling of
many, and many ones ; as in a less matter,
when we say one kingdom, which contains
many cities ; or one city, which contains many
persons ; wherein the under ones (if there be
not a superior power and wisdom) cannot by
nature, regard to any preservation but of them-

165

selves : no more, we see, they do; since the
water willingly quenches the fire, and drowns
the earth : so far are they from a conspired
mity ; but that a right heavenly nature, in-
leed, as it were un-naturing them, doth so
>ridle them. Again, it is as absurd in nature,
hat from a unity, many contraries should
>roceed, still kept in an unity, as that from
he number of contraries an unity should
rise. I say still, if you banish both a singu-
arity and plurality of judgment from among
hem, then do but conceive how a thing,
thereto you give the highest and most excel-
ent kind of being (which is eternity), can be
)f a base and vilest degree of being, and next
o a not-being ; which is, so to be, as not to
enjoy its being. I will not here call all your
senses to witness, which can hear nor see no-
hing which yields not most evident evidence
>f the unspeakableness of that wisdom ; each
hing being directed to an end, and an end of
Bwvation ; — so proper effects of judgment,
is speaking and laughing are of mankind.
But what mad fury can ever so inveigle any
:onceit, as to see our mortal and corruptible

166

selves to have a reason, and that this univer
sality (whereof we are but the least pieces),
should be utterly devoid thereof? as if one
should say, that one's foot might be wise,
and one's self foolish. This heard I once al
leged against such a godless mind as your's,
who being driven to acknowledge this beastl]
absurdity that our bodies should be bette
than the whole universe, if it had the know
ledge whereof they were void ; he sought
(not being able to answer directly) to shift it
off in this sort — that if that reason were true
then must it follow also, that the univei
must have in it a spirit, that could write ai
read too, and be learned ; since that was ii
us commendable. Wretched fool ! Not con
sidering that books be but supplies of defect
and so are praised, because they help 01
want ; and therefore cannot be incident to th<
Eternal Intelligence, which needs no record
ing of opinions to confirm his knowledge
no more than the sun wants wax, to be tl
fuel of his glorious lightfulness. This world;
therefore, cannot otherwise consist, but b]
a mind of Wisdom, which governs it ; whicl

167

Whether you will allow to be the Creator
thereof (as undoubtedly He is), or the soul
and Governor thereof— most certain it is, that
whether he govern all, or make all, his power
is above either his creatures or his govern
ment. And if his power be above all things,
Ihen, consequently, it must needs be infinite,
Since there is nothing above it to limit it.
For, beyond which there is nothing, must
needs be boundless and infinite. If his power
be infinite, then likewise must his knowledge
be infinite : for else there should be an infi-
tiite proportion of power, which he should
not know how to use; the unsensibleness
whereof, I think even you can conceive : —
and if infinite, then must nothing, no not the
Estate of flies (which you with such scorn did
jest at), be unknown to him. For if therfc
were, then there were his knowledge bounded,
and not infinite. If his knowledge and power
be infinite, then must needs his goodness and
justice march in the same rank : for infmite-
Jfcess of power and knowledge, without like
fneasure of goodness, must necessarily bring
forth destruction and ruin; and notdrna-

168

ment and preservation. Since, then, there is
a God, and an all-knowing God, so as he
seeth into the darkest of all natural secrets,
which is the heart of man ; and sees therein
the deepest dissembled thoughts ; nay, sees
the thoughts before they be thought ; — since
he is just, to exercise his might; and mighty
to perform his justice; assure thyself (that
hast so plaguily a corrupted mind, as thou
canst not keep thy sickness to thyself, but
must most wickedly infect others), assure
thyself, I say (for what I say, depends of ever
lasting and unremovable cause), that the time
will come, when thou shalt know that power,
by feeling it ; when thou shalt see his wis
dom, in the manifesting thy shamefulness \
and shall only perceive Him to have been a
Creator, in thy destruction I

Remark.

Lord Bacon observes, that " a little philo
sophy inclineth men's minds to Atheism, but
depth in philosophy bringeth men's minds t«
Religion."

FAITH.

THE mark that faith lookcth at, is the Au
thor of Nature and Principle of all principles.
The rules, therefore, and the principles of na
ture which God hath made, cannot be con
trary unto himself; and he is also the very
reason and truth itself : all other reason then,
and all other truth, dependeth upon him, and
relieth upon him : neither is there, nor can
there be any reason or truth but what is in
lira. So far off is it, that the thing which is
true and reasonable in nature, is, or can be
:alse in Divinity, which (to speak properly,)
s not against nature, but against corruption of
nature, and in very deed above nature.

Remark.

Boundless power, made lovely by an essen
tial union with perfect wisdom, justice, and
mercy, makes up our idea of God, and de
mands the fervent adoration of all creatures.

VOL. II. I

170

The ineffable benignity of His image, as the
beneficent Jesus, hath impressed i*. on our
hearts, like the loadstone that draweth iron
and steel to itself, and communicates to them
the power they obey, doth draw our affections
towards the Divine Original, and imparts to
us some touch of the same virtue; which, by
consequence, renders us happy magnets to
them who follow in the same direction. Per
fect faith is perfect piety, perfect piety is per
fect virtue, and perfect virtue is the perfection
of man. This spirit of God, this influence
of Divine Love, this reflection from the Most
High, is a warm and resplendent luminary
which, like the sun, gives light and bright
ness to innumerable stars, without subtract
ing one ray from its original glory. Such is
the faith that leads to heaven; observance of
God and attention to man: and so the apo
stles teach — " Let us cast off the works of
darkness, and let us put on the armour of
light ! Let us walk honestly as in the day ; not
in rioting and drunkenness, not in chamber
ing and wantonness, not in strife and envying.
Ajid if there be any other commandment, it

171

is briefly comprehended in this saying, name
ly, Thou shall love thy neighbour as thyself.
Love vvorketh no ill to his neighbour, there
fore love is the fulfilling of the law."

GOD AND PROVIDENCE.

1.

HE that seeth but only the portraiture of a
man, falleth by and by to think of the painter;
and the first speech he uttereth is to ask, Who
made it? Now, if a dead work do make us to
conceive a living worker, much more reason is
it, that a living work as man is, should make
us to bethink us of a quickening work -master;
yea, even of such a one as may be (at least,)
as far above man, as man is above the por
traiture of his own making: — and the same is
God.

I 2

172

2.

Gad is goodness itself; and whatsoever is
good is of him.

3.

If thou call him Destiny, thou shalt not de
ceive thyself; for all things depend upon him,
and from him come the causes of all causes.
(Conceive this proposition as it ought to be,
and thou shalt comprehend many truths.)
If thou call him Providence, thou saycst well;
for by his direction, doth the world hold on
its course without swerving, and uttereth forth
his actions. If thou call him Nature, thou
doest not amiss ; for he is of whom all things
are bred, and by whose spirit we live : in very
deed, He is the whole which thou seest ; and
he is in all the parts thereof, bearing up both
the whole world and all that is therein.

Remark.

A certain philosopher once asked a Christ
ian, " Where is God ?" The Christian re
plied, " Before I answer you, first tell me
where he is not r"

173

4.

Chance is only to trouble them that stand
upon chance,
r 5.

The universal and only Wisdom, Almighty
God, which examineth the depth of hearts,
hath not His judgment fixed upon the eveat
of our actions, but the motive.

Remark,

A hundred parallel declarations to the same
effect, may be found in the Scriptures : how
lovely are such assurances from Him wh6
sees the heart, and who judges human frailty
with pity and with mercy. " What .man is
he that desireth life, and would fain see
good days ? Keep thy tongue from evil, and
thy lips from speaking guile: depart from
evil, and do good; seek peace and pursue it.
The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a bro
ken heart, and saveth such as be of a contrite
spirit. Many are the afflictions of the right-

174

eous, but the Lord delivereth him out of them
all."

6.

It is not for us to appoint the mighty Ma
jesty of God, what time he will help us. The
uttermost instant is scope enough for him to
revoke every thing to our desire.
7.

The almighty Wisdom, ever more delight
ing to shew the world, that by unlikeliest
means, greatest matters may come to conclu
sion ; causeth human reason, (which often
disdaineth to acknowledge its author,) to be
the more humbled, and more willingly give
place to Divine Providence.
8.

The heavens do not send good haps in
handfuls ; but let us pick out our good by
little, and with care, from out much bad, that
still our little world may know its king!

173

Remark.

It has been said before, that what men term
the course of nature, is the incessant adminis
tration of Providence ; and that faith in Pro
vidence, or belief in the superintendence of
God, cannot be disputed by any mind which
looks right onward, into the usual succession
of things. If the constant laws which govern
the material world, and the occult influence
which disposes the actions of men, be called
Destiny, Fate, or Necessity, that idea pre
supposes an almighty Lawgiver who laid the
great plan, and set men in it to fulfil their parts
to the end of time. Is a clock that the ma
ker forms to go without stopping for a twelve
month, less the work of his design and hands,
than one which he made to be wound up every
day? General Providence may rule the world,
and particular Providence the individuals of
mankind. To reconcile these alleged incon
sistencies, we have only to suppose that in the
plan of each man's life there are certain sta-
iions (like mountain? in a country,) which h£

176

must reach ; certain temptations, certain tri
als, certain felicities, certain miseries ; but it
depends on himself whether he will follow the
pillar of light that moves hefore him; whe
ther he will go on the plain road of virtue to
these eminences, or " clamber over fences of
duty, break through hedges of right, and tres
pass on hallowed enclosures," as the readiest
way to his journey's end ! In short, whether
his aim be to approach good, or to avoid evil,
it depends on himself to fall carelessly and
headlong down some precipice, or, by calling
on his heavenly Father, to " bear him up that
he dash not his foot against a stone !" to
alight, even as " a bird among the moss.".

Thus the perverse deviations of wicked
men, though they ruin their perpetrators,
cannot disturb the destined course of events
which they must meet; whether we take the
obvious road, the intricate path, or some sub
terraneous passage, yet, in spite of our deter
minations to the contrary, we come out just
where Providence designed we should. We
are apt to murmur at the adversities which
•afflict virtuous men, and to conclude from

177

them that, a particular Providence cannot su
perintend the circumstances of a man's life :
but does not experience, as well as the preach
er teach, that " God thoroughly knows our
constitutions ? What is noxious to our health,
and what may remedy our distempers ? And
therefore accordingly disposeth to us instead
of honey sometimes wholesome wormwood.
We are ourselves greatly ignorant of what is
•conducible to our real good ; and were the
choice of our condition wholly permitted us,
should make very foolish, very disadvanta
geous elections : that which is nu\v our idol,
might quickly become our burdfen ; for we
know not how soon we may be sick of what
we are now sickybr/' Bishop Beveridge cu
riously, but truly, says — " A; cockle-fish may
as soon crowd the ocean into its narrow shell,
as vain man ever comprehend the decreed
of God!"

178

RELIGION.

1.

DEVOTION to God isr indeed, the best
bond which the wisest could have found out
to hold man's wit in well-doing*

Remark.

Religion does not consist in fair professions
and ostentatious pretences, but in real prac
tice ; " It is not every one that saith unto me
Lord ! Lord ! that shall enter into the king
dom of heaven; but he that doeth the will of
my Father which is in heaven!" So pro
nounces the Divine Founder of Religion. —
Neither doth religion consist in a pertinacious
adherence to any sect or party, but in a sincere
love of goodness and dislike of the reverse;
not in vain flourishes of outward perform
ances, but in an inward good constitution of
mind, exerting itself in works of true piety
and love ; not in unreflecting, or political sub-

jection of our judgments to the peremptory
dictates of men, but in a candid affection lor
truth, in a hearty approbation of, and compli
ance with, the doctrines fundamentally good
and necessary to be believed; not iu harsh
censuring and virulently inveighing against.
others, and, like Peter, drawing the sword ort
the sinner, instead of imitating Jesus, and
washing away his crimes with tears, but in
carefully amending our own ways, and gently
exhorting others to follow us ; not in peevish
crossness and obstinate repugnancy to law*
and customs, but in a placable and satisfied
submission to the express ordinances of God,
and lawful decrees of man. This is the spirit
and body of religion: the ceremonies of th't
church are merely trappings, though to be re
spected as necessary to the order and beauty
of holiness.

Because philosophical* discourses stand in
the general consideration of things, they leave
to every man a scope of his own interpreta
tion ; whereas the law of revelation applying

180

itself as well to particulars, folds us within its
bounds, which once broken, man's nature in
finitely rangeth.

3.

Seeing that in revelation it is God that
speaketh, it becometh man to hold his peace ;
and seeing that he vouchsafeth to teach us,
it becometh us to learn and believe.

Remark.

Philosophy having decked herself in the
doctrine and morality of revelation, denies
the existence of the power she has robbed. —
The light of the Gospel shines throughout
the world, like the sun in the firmament: the
infidel feeds on the fruits of its influence and
is comforted by its rays, while he. shuts his
•eyes and will not open them, crying, — " There
is no light; for I cannot see it!" Indeed, to
accept the revelation of the Scriptures, is no
greater a stretch of credulity, than to believe
that Julius Caesar lived and wrote the Com-
i mtaries which go by his name: and to be
lieve that doctrines are true which we do no4

181

fully comprehend, is only to give God credit
for being wiser than ourselves; and not to
treat our Creator worse than we should do
one of his creatures: an Archimedes or a
Newton for instance ! If either of them should
declare some philosophical discovery, the
truth of which we were not skilful enough to
prove, (for, we should bear in our minds, that
•mysteries in religion, are only mysteries to
finite understand ings; the iiifinitemind know
ing everything, hath no mysteries;) we would
blush to say to the philosopher, — " I do not
believe you." We take his assertion on the
faith of his genius and honour: And shall
we be more suspicious of the Maker of this
man ? Shall we doubt the wisdom, and the
.power, and the word of the source of all
might, truth, and reason, and of our own be
ings and souls? O, proud man! to raise thy
head against thy Creator! to dare to argue
with him who formed thee out of the dust,
and breathed into thy body the very soul
which thou movest against him ! What
phrensy is this that thou sayest? " My mind
is the measure of omniscience ; my will, the

181

measure of omnipotence; and God cannot do
any thing that I am unable to conceive !"
Where wert thou, worm ! ten thousand years
ago? Who called thee into being ? Was it
thine own will ? Who sustained thee in in
fancy ? Who shot forth thy tender members
into expansion and strength? Who gave thee
thy reason ? Who preserved thee in life ?
Was it thyself? Could'st thou " by taking
thought add one cubit to thy stature?" Or
could'st thou, by all the arts of man, add one
moment more to the last gasp of thy departing
soul ? If thou art not then lord of thyself,
how canst thou pretend to be equal with Him
who made thee, and who is the Lord of life
and death? Peace! and be grateful that thy
blasphemy has been against the King of Hea
ven, for with Him thou wilt find mercy;
" He is gracious and long-suffering, and of
great goodness !" But hadst thou ff wagged
thy tongue" but half so much against any
earthly potentate, a cruel death would have-
put it to silence for ever.

183

4.

The world is as a shadow of God's bright
ness; and man is his image and likeness : and
if it appear, even by the philosophers them
selves, that the world was made for man, how
greatly then are we bound unto the Creator
thereof? ,How great is the dignity of this
creature ? And what else is his sheet-anchor,,
and his welfare, but to adhere wholly unto
God ? Soothly, he for whom the world was
made, must needs be made for more than the
world. He for whom so durable and substan
tial a thing was made, must needs be made
for another, than this frail and wretched life -r
that is, to wit, for the everlasting life, with
him that is the Everlasting. And that is the
foundation of all religion. For religion ( to
speak properly,) is nothing else but the school
wherein we /earn man's duty towards God,
and the way to be linked most straitly unto
him. Again, in the world, we see a steady
and fast-settled order ; and every creature to
do service in his sort : only man withdraweth
his duty, shrinking from God, and wandering
away in himself. He that is most indebted is

184

lothest to pay, and least able to pay. He for
whom the highest things are made, is become
a bond -slave to the basest and vilest things ;
and the records of all .ages are as indictments
against all mankind, proving him to be un
thankful to God, a murtherer of his neigh
bours, a violator of nature, and an enemy to
himself. Shall not he then, who instead of
doing his duty is not ashamed to offend God,
stand in dread of the death which waiteth
upon him for his offence? Yes; for what is
God, but justice? What is justice, but a
judgment of duty ? And before that judgment
who dareth appear ? What . remedy then is
there both for God's glory, and for man's wel
fare ; but that the debt be discharged by re
lease, and the justice satisfied with free fa
vour ? The duty, therefore, of true religion, is
to convict us by the law, and to justify us by
grace*; to make us feel our disease, and there

* Grace signifies Gift; the free pardon given by God,,
and his assistance given to our weakness. A heathen
king (Marcus Aurelius,) teaches the proud Christian

1

185

withal, to oflcr us remedy. But who shull
purchase us this grace, so necessary for man's
welfare ? Either the world (as we think,) or
else man. Nay, what is there in man, (I say
in the best man,) which burneth not before
God's justice, and which setteth it not on fire?
And what shall become of the world then, if
man, for whom it was created, be unable to
stand ? Soothly, it is the well-beloved Son of
God, that must stand for all : the righteous
for the unrighteous; the mighty for the un-
mighty; the rich for. the poor; the darling
and the well-beloved for them that are in the
displeasure and curse of God his father ; and
the same (say I,) is our Lord Jesus Christ. —
"The fool (saith the Psalmist,) hath said in
his heart, There is no God." And a heathen
man hath passed yet further, saying; " He that

not to contemn assistance : " Be not ashamed (saith
he,) of taking help. Thy business is to do thy duty,
like a soldier in a siege, who being lame and unable
to climb to the battlements by himself, may arrive at
the utmost pinnacle by the assistance cf superior
strength."

180

denieth the one God, and his providence in
all things, is not only witless, but also sense
less. " And his so saying is, because the world,
which ofFereth itself continually unto us, re-
plenisheth our wits with the knowledge of
God : even in this respect, that with one view
of the eye, we see this universal mass furnish
ed with so many, and so diverse things liked
one to another, and tending all to one mark.
Truly, I dare say, and by God's grace, I dare
undertake to prove, that whosoever will lay
before him, wholly in one table, (so as he may
see them together, with one view,) the pro
mises and prophecies concerning Christ, the
coming of our Lord Jesus, and the proceeding
of his gospel, he shall not be able to deny,
even by the very rules of philosophy, but that
he was sent of God ; yea, and that he was
of God himself. Howbeit, in this lieth our
fault, that (whether it be through ignorance,
or through negligence,) we consider not the
incomparable work of creation, and the re
creation, but by piece-meal, without laying
the one of them to the other : like as if a man,
would judge of the whole space of time, by

187

the night ; or by some one season of the year,
by some one of the elements : or of an ora
tion, by some syllables thereof: whereas,
notwithstanding God's wisdom in creating
things cannot be considered, but in the union
of the parts with the whole; and of themselves
among themselves; nor his goodness in re
creating or renewing them ; and in regene
rating mankind, for whom he made the world ;
but by the heedful conferring of all times,
from the first birth of man, unto the second
birth, and repairing of him again ; which it
hath pleased God to ordain and make for him.
As for the world, it is sufficiently conversant
before our eyes ; and, would to God, it were
less graven upon our hearts ! and therefore let
us leave the world, and busy ourselves in the
universal table of man's salvation and repara
tion. When man had, by his sin, drawn
God's wrath and the decay of the world upon
his own head; God's everlasting wisdom,
even the same whereby God had created him,
stepped in and procured his favour ; so, as it
was promised unto the first man, that Christ
should come, and break the serpent's head,

188

and make atonement between God and man.
That was the foundation-stone of the wonder
ful building of the church, and the seed
whereof men were to be regenerated. This
promise was delivered over, from hand to
hand, and conveyed from father to son ; so
lemnly declared to Abraham, Isaac, and Ja
cob ; committed as a pawn by Moses to the
people of Israel ; celebrated by David in his
songs; and renewed, from time to time, by
manyexcellent prophets, which pointed out the
time, place, and manner of his coming; and
set down, plainly and expressly, his stock, his
parents, and his birth, many hundred years,
yea, and some thousand years afore-hand :
which are such things as no man can know,
nor any creature teach or conceive. What
were they else, therefore, but heralds, that
shewed the coming of the king of the world,
into the world ? And certes, by another spirit
than the spirit of the world : after a long suc
cession of these heralds, came the Saviour, in
the self-same manner which they had fore
told and pointed out. Whatsoever they had
of him agreed unto him; and which*

189

more is, could agree to none but him. Who
then can doubt that the promise is performed,
and say, that he is not the bringer of the pro
mised grace to the world? And seeing that
the prophets could not tell any tidings of him,
but from God, from whence can he be sent,
but from God? I know well that this one
thing is a stumbling-block unto us, namely,
that after the sounding of so many clarions
and trumpets, we see a man, in outward shew,
base ; and to the sight of our fleshly eyes,
contemptible, come into the world : whereas,
notwithstanding, if we opened the eyes of our
mind, we should, contrariwise, espy in that
'wretchedness, the very Godhead; and in that
human weakness, the self-same infinite Al-
mightiness which made both the world and man.
He was bom, say you : but of a virgin. He was
weak ; but yet, with his only voice, he healed
all infirmities. He died: but yet he raised
the dead; and rose himself from the dead too.
If thou believe that, thou bclievcst that he was
both sent and sustained of God. Or if thou
wilt doubt thereof, tell me then, how he did
the things after his death, which are witnessed

igo

bythine own histories ? As soon as he was
born, say I, he, by and by, changed the out
ward shape of the world, making it tfc spring
new again, all after another sort : when he was
once crucified, he turned the reproach of his
cross into glory, and the curse thereof into a
blessing. He was crowned with thorns ; and
now kings and emperors do cast down their
crowns and diadems at his feet: what a death
was that which did such things as all the liv
ing could not do ! By ignorance he subdued
learning; by folly, wisdom; by weakness,
power; by misery, victory; by reproach, tri
umphs ; by that which seemed not to be^ the
things which seemed verilv and chiefly to be.
Twelve fishermen, in effect, did in short space,
subdue the whole world unto him; by suffer
ing, and by teaching to suffer ; yea, and by
dying, and by teaching to die. And the great
Christian kingdoms, which we now gaze at,
and which we exalt so much, are but small
remnants of their exploits, and little pieces of
their conquests. If his birth offend thee, look
•upon the heralds that went afore him, and
upon the trumpeters that told the tidings of

him, both in the beginning, and in the chiei
State of the world: from whom could they
come, but from him that made the world ?
And wherefore these messengers in all ages,
but f:>r the welfare of the world ? If his cross
offend thee, see how emperors and their em
pire, the idols whom they worshipped, and
the devils whom they served, lie altogether
overthrown and broken in pieces, fast bound,
and stricken dumb, at the feet of this crucified
man : and how ? But by a power, passing
the power of man, passing the power of kings,
passing the power of angels ; yea, passing the
power of all creatures together. If the little
chew of the apostles move thee; consider how
the silly nets of those fishermen, drew the
pride of the world; namely, the wise men,
the philosophers, and the orators, by igno
rance (as thou termest it,) to believe ; and by
folly, to die for believing ! And for believing
of what ? Even of things contrary to the*
law of the world, and to the wit of man;
namely, that this Jesus Christ crucified, is
the Son of God ; and that it is a blissful
thing to endure all misfortune for his sake.

Behold also how one of them draws me into
his net ; the lesser Asia ; another, Italy j
the third, Egypt ; and some others of them
extend unto the Scythians, the Ethiopians,
and the Indians, and to other places, whither
the power of the most renowned empires did
never attain; and which have hardly come to
our knowledge within these hundred years ;
and yet have we, even there, found very great
conquests of theirs, and like tokens of their
victories, as here among ourselves. Nay,
which more is, see how these conquerors, en
riched with so many triumphs, do die for a
man, and are crucified for a crucified man:
and their disciples also by heaps as well as
they ! And what moved them thereto ? But
that they be sure that their power cometh
from him, and that they be nothing further
forth than they are in him, and for him. —
That is to say, that he liveth, and maketh
them to live, (yea, even for ever,) which die
in him and for him. Surely, upon the con
sidering of this table, we become as men ra
vished, distraught, and besides ourselves; and
have nothing to say, but that he which ere-

193

ated man and the world of nothing, was alone
able to make and regenerate man and the
world again of nothing, even in despite of man
and the world ! This invisible God, which
hath made himself visible, by creating the vi
sible world, hath shewed himself almighty
and all-good, in clothing his express image
with the infirmity of a contemptible man ;
the Redeemer, very God and very man, the
Son of God ! and is come in the flesh, even
Jesus Christ our Lord,

llemark.

When persons seek to investigate the foun
dations of any particular opinion, whether of
a religion or any thing else, they should come
to the task with an unprejudiced and impartial
mind : otherwise, the arguments they meet,
being blunted or perverted by some precon
ceived and favourite notion, they will be as
improper judges of the reasonableness and
force of what has been advanced, as a man is
of the natural colours of a landscape, who
views it through green spectacles. The cause

VOL. II. K

ef the prejudices against which Sir Philip
Sidney raises his pen, is so unreasonable, so
extravagant, that if we did not hear them
every day, we could scarcely credit that ra
tional creatures could be so absurd and so
wicked : for, is it not grievous to observe the
sort of antipathy which many men cherish to
wards every name which belongs to religion,
and particularly to that of the gospel ; de
spising the sacred volume, neglecting its con
tents, and ignorant of all those noble eluci
dations and corroborations of its verity which
may be found by reading ! They do not go
deep enough into the history of mankind to
see how heathen authors bear testimony to the
truth of the prophets and evangelists ; how
Herodotus, Diodorus Siculus, Xenophon, Po-
lybius, Tacitus, and others, throw light on
the pages of Isaiah, Daniel, St. Matthew, and
St. John*. Nay, do not consider the mi
racle existing before their eyes — the manifesta-

* The honey of these numerous hives is concen
trated in the pages of Shuckford, Prideaux,, and Dr.
Thomas Newton.

lion of the fulfilment of one prophecy, which
has held itself to the sight of men, these eigh
teen hundred years ! While the Ninevites
and Babylonians, and even the more modern
Macedonians and Romans, are no more, the
Jews yet live a separate people amongst all
nations ! And this separate people, the
arch-enemies of Christianity, are the very
people who, (bearing witness against them
selves), hold the archives of the prophecies of
the Messiah which are so closely fulfilled in
Jesus Christ : But they, with the sceptic of
the latter days, still exclaim, " What good
thing can come out of Galilee?" Partiality
to former usages, and pre-conceived expecta
tions of a temporal conqueror, had blinded
them ; and they turned from the light to dark-
neis, " they rejected the manna of heaven,
because it was not like the flesh-pots of
Egypt." Prejudice against the amiable and
lowly virtues, which can alone bring man as a
little child to be taught at the feet of Christ,
makes our proud talkers disdain to owe their
wisdom or salvation to any but themselves.
They disdain to receive their right hand from
K 2

196

him who made their left ! Did not God give
them that reason of which they are so proud ?
And may he not add to that, a teacher and a
saviour, to conduct them to himself ? How
convincing is the appeal of Peter — " Lord, to
whom shall we go ? Thou hast the words of
eternal life." And is not the great end of re
ligion, a blessed life after this ? Is it not earn
ing by the labour of a day the felicity of years ?
Is it not obeying God in time, that we may
reign with him through eternity ? How well
does the glory of our protestant church, Dr.
Thomas Sherlock, pursue the subject ! He
is man's best friend ! and what his zeal has
scattered through several discourses, for the
sake of readers who may too much neglect such
studies, I will offer in the few following pages.
He observes, that in this answer to the in
quiry of Jesus to the Twelve, e£ Will ye also
go away ?" Peter expresses the miserable con
dition they should be in if they did forsake
him, having no other in whom they could
trust : — " Lord, to whom shall we go?" He
also refers Fo the great end of religion, being
future happiness ; and consequently the best

1Q7

religion is that which will most surely direct
us to eternal life and eternal felicity. Upon
this ground, St. Peter prefers the gospel of
Christ — " Thou hast the words of eternal
life." lie next relies upon the authority and
divine commission of Chris.t, upon which their
faith and confidence were built — Wt believe,
and are sure, that thou art that Christy the
Son of the living God. To believe, because
we have sufficient reason to determine our be
lief, is a rational faith ; and so we may sup
pose the apostles saying — We believe, because
we have, from the things we have heard and
seen of you, determined with ourselves, that
thou art the Christ, the Son of tfie living
God.

Religion, the only means by which men can
arrive at true happiness, by which they can
attain to the last perfection and dignity of
their nature, does not in the present circum
stances of the world, depend on human rea
soning or inventions : for, was this the case,
we need not go far for religion ; or seek fur
ther than our own breasts for the me£ns of re
conciling ourselves to God. Upon such a

1Q8

supposition, St. Peter argued very weakly, in
saying, To whom shall we go ?

In this state of the case, the necessity of
religion in general is supposed ; and the only
question is, from what fountain we must de
rive it. The dispute can only lie between
natural and revealed religion. If nature be
able to direct us, it will be hard to justify the
wisdom of God in giving us a revelation ;
since the revelation can only serve the same
purpose which nature alone could well supply.
Since the light of the gospel has shone
throughout the world, the light of nature has
been much improving ; we see many things
clearly, many things which reason readily em
braces, to which the world before was gene
rally a stranger. The gospel has given us
true notions of God, and of ourselves ; right
conceptions of his holiness and purity, and of
the nature of divine worship. It has taught
us a religion, in the practice of which our
present ease and comfort, and our hopes of
future happiness and glory, consist. It has
rooted out idolatry and superstition ; and by
instructing us in the nature of God, and dis-

covering to us his unity, his omnipresence,
iii id infinite knowledge, has furnished us even
\\ithprinciples of reasonr by which we reject
and condemn the rites and ceremonies of hea
thenism and idolatry ; and discover \vhereiii
the beauty and holiness of divine worship
must be deduced from the nature of God :
for it is impossible for men to pay a reason
able service to God, till they have just and
reasonable notions of him. But now, it
seems, this is all become pure NATURAL reli
gion; and it is to our own reason and under
standing that we are indebted for the notion
of God and of divine worship ; and whatever
else in religion is agreeable to our reason, is
reckoned to proceed entirely from it : and,
had the unbelievers of this age heard St. Pe
ter's complaint, " Lord ! to whom shall we
go?" they would have bidden him go to
himself, and consult his own reason; and
there he should find all that was worth jind-
ing in religion.

If nature can instruct us sufficiently in re
ligion, we have indeed no reason to go any
where else : — so far we are agreed. But whe-

200

ther nature can or not, is, in truth, a question
capable of demonstration. For the way to
know what nature can do, is to take nature ly
itself, and try its strength alone. There was
a time when men had little else but nature to
?' go to ;" and that is the proper time to look
into, to see what mere and unassisted nature
can do in religion.

Men wanted not reason before the coming
of Christ, nor opportunity, nor inclination to
improve it. Arts and sciences had long ob
tained their just perfection; the number of
the stars had been counted, and their motions
observed and adjusted; the philosophy, ora
tory, and poetry of those ages, are still the
delight of this. Religion was not the least
part of their inquiry ; they searched all the
recesses of reason and nature; and had it
been in the power of reason and nature to fur
nish men with just conceptions and principles
of religion, here, in the golden periods of li
terature, we should have found them : but on
the reverse^ we find nothing but idolatry and
the grossest superstition; the creatures of the
earth advanced into deities; and men degene-*

201

rating, and making themselves lower than the
beasts of the field. The rites of this religion
were a dishonour to their votaries, and to their
gods ; the most sacred part of their devotion
was the most impure; and its only merit was
the secrecy which veiled its filthiness from the
eyes of the world.

This being the case wherever men have been?
left to the direction of mere reason and na
ture, what security have the great patrons of
natural religion now, that were they left to
reason and nature only, they should not run
into similar errors and absurdities? Have
they more reason than their progenitors and
the sages of antiquity I

Can we shew greater instances of civil and
political wisdom, than are to be found in the
governments of Greece and Rome ? Are not
the civil laws of Rome still held in admiration ?
And have they not a place allowed them still
in almost all legislatures ? Since then in no>-
thing else than religion we are grown wiser
than the heathens, what probability is there,
that we should have grown wiser in that, if
we had been left, as they were, to mere rea.-
K 5

202

son and nature ? Why should we-think that
reason would now do that for us, which it has
neve?' yet been able to do in any time, or place
what euer} to our predecessors f

This fact is so very plain and undeniable,
that I cannot but think that would men con
sider it fairly, they would be convinced how
much they are indebted to the revelation of
the gospel, even for that natural religion of
which they so fondly boast: for how comes it
to pass, that there is so much reason, such
natural religion, in every country where the
gospel is professed, and so little of both every
where else? For instance, look at the re
ligious opinions of the Chinese; and those
tracts of India which are taught by the Bra-
inins.

But is there then, (it maybe said,) no such
thing as natural religion? Does not St. Paul lay
the heathen world under condemnation, for
not attending to the dictates of it ? " Because,
(says he,) that which may le known of GOD,
is manifest IN THEM ; for God hath shewed
it to them. For the invisible things of him,
from the creation of the world are clearly seen,

203

being understood by the things that are made,
even his Eternal Power and Godhead; so,
that they are without excuse: because that,
when they knew GOD, they glorified him not
as GOD; neither were thankful, but became
vain in their imaginations ; and their foolish
hearts were darkened. Professing them
selves to be wise, they became fools; and
changed the glory of the Incorruptible Godr
into an image made like corruptible man, and
to birds v and four-footed leasts? and creeping
things:'

Can you say what it wa» that thus debased
the reason and understanding of mankind ?
What evil was it that hail diffused itself through
the whole race, and so possessed their senses,
that " seeing they did not perceive, and hear
ing they did not understand ?" Or do you
think that you alone are exempt from this
common, this universal blindness ; and that
the same reason and nature that hitherto have
misguided all the world into error and idolatry,
would lead you, out of the common road, in
to truth and pure religion ? Is it not the ut
most presumption to think thus; and to ima-

204

gine that we alone are able to surmount the
difficulties which all the world before us has
sunk under? And yet, thus every man must
think* who sets up natural religion in opposi
tion to revelation.

You may boast of Socrates and Plato, and
some few others in the heathen worldr and
tell us of their great attainments upon the
strength of mere reason. Be it so : but must
millions in every age of the world be left in
ignorance, because five or six extraordinary
men may happen to extricate themselves?
Would it be reasonable to suffer a whole na
tion to perish without help in a plague, be
cause some few were not tainted with the dis
temper?

I question not but the wise Creator formed
man for his service; and that He gave him
whatever was requisite, either to the know
ledge or performance of his duty: and that
there are still in nature the seeds and princi
ples of religion, however buried under the rub
bish of ignorance or superstition, I as little
doubt. But what was it, I beseech you, that
oppressed this light of reason and nature for

205

so many ages? And what is it that has now
set it free ? Whatever the distemper was, na
ture plainly wanted assistance, being unable
to disengage herself from the bonds and fet
ters in which she was held: we may disagree,
perhaps, in finding a name for this evil, this
general corruption of nature ; but the thing
itself is evident ; the impotence of nature
stands confessed; the blindness, the igno
rance of the heathen world, are too plain a
proof of it. This general corruption and
weakness of nature, made it necessary that re
ligion should be restored by some othermeans;
and that men should have other helps to re
sort to, besides their own strength and reason.
If natural religion be indeed now arrived to
that state of perfection so much boasted of,
H gives a strong testimony to the gospel,
by whose lights it has seen where to fill up its
ancient deficiencies; and thus it evidently
proves revelation to be an adequate remedy
and support against the evil and corruption of
nature: for where the gospel prevails, nature
is restored ; and reason delivered from bon
dage (by this visitation of almighty wisdom

20(3

to our struggling minds,) sees and approves
what is holy, just, and pure.

Can this truth be evaded or denied ? Then
what a return do we make for the blessing we
have received ! How despitefully do we treat
the gospel of Christ, to which we owe that
clear light, even of reason and nature, which
we now enjoy, when we endeavour to set up
reason and nature in opposition to it ! Ought
the withered hand which Christ hath restored
and made whole, to be lifted up against him ?
Or should the dumb man's tongue, just loos
ened from the bonds of silence, blaspheme
the power that sets it free ? Yet, thus fool*
ishly do we sin, when we make natural re
ligion the engine to batter down the gospel :
for revelation only could, and only has re
stored the religion of nature: and therefore
there is a kind of a parricide in the attempt,
and an infidelity, heightened by the aggravat
ing circumstances of unnatural baseness and
disingenuity.

Nor will the success of the attempt be
much greater than the wisdom and the piety
of it: for when once nature leaves her faithful

207

guide, the gospel of Christ, it will be as un
able long to support itself against error and
superstition, as it was to deliver itself from
them; and it will, by degrees, fall back into
its original blindness and corruption. Had
you a view of the disputes that arise, even upon
the principles of natural religion, it would
shew you what the end will be ; for the wan
derings of human reason are infinite.

Under the gospel dispensation, we have the
immutable WORD q/*GoD for the support of
our faith and hope. We know in whom we
have believed; in Him, who can neither de
ceive nor be deceived ; and, poor as our ser
vices are, we have HIS WORD FOR IT, that our
*' Labour of love SHALL NOT BE FORGOT
TEN." But to them who rely on nature alone,
it is not evident to them, nor can it be, whe
ther any future reward, shall attend their re
ligious service. Well, therefore did St. Peter
say to Christ, " Thou hast the words of eter
nal life;" for no other religion can give any
security of life and happiness to its votaries.
Why then should we go from Christ, or to

208

whom else shall we apply for succour, sines
he only has the WORDS OF ETERNAL LIFE?

It is. true that religion is founded in the
principles of reason and nature; and, without
supposing this foundation, it would be as ra
tional an act to preach to horses as to men. —
A man, who has the right use of reason, can
not consider his condition and circumstances
in this world; or reflect upon his notions of
good and evil ; and the sense he feels in him-
self that he is an accountable creature for the
good or evil he does, without asking himself
how he came into this world; and for wha>t
purpose; and to whom it is that he is, or pos
sibly may be, accountable. When, by tracing
his own being to the original, he finds that
there is ONE SUPREME ALL-WISE CAUSE of
all things : when by experience he sees, that
this world neither is, nor can be, the place for
taking a just and adequate account of the ac
tions of men ; the presumption that there is
another state after this, in which men shall
Jive, grows strong and almost irresistible:
when he considers further the fears and hopes

of nature, with respect to futurity; the fear of
death common to all ; the desire of continu
ing in being, which never forsakes us : and
reflects for what use and purpose these strong
impressions were given us by the AUTHOR OP
NATURE ; he cannot help concluding, that
man was made, not merely to act a short part
upon the stage of the world, but that there is
another and more lasting state, to which he
bears relation. And hence it must necessa
rily follow, that his religion must be formed
on a view of SECURING A FUTURE HAPPI
NESS.

If eternal life andfutiire happiness are what
we aim at, that will be the best religion which
will most certainly lead us to eternal life and
future happiness.

Let us then, by this rule, examine the pre
tensions of revelation ; and, as we go along,
compare it with the present state of natural
religion.

Eternal life and happiness are out of our
power to give ourselves ; or to obtain by any
strength and force, or any policy of wisdom.
Since we have not the power of life and death,

210

even over our natural bodies, without a higher
permission; and since there is One who has,
who governeth all tilings in heaven and in
earth, who is over all, Lord God Almighty;
it necessarily follows, that either we must
have no share in the glories of futurity ; or
else that we must obtain them from God, as
His gift : and consequently, if eternal life be
the aim of religion, and likewise the gift of
God, religion can be nothing else but the
means proper to be made use of by us, to ob
tain of God this most excellent and perfect
gift of eternal life.

Natural religion pretends to no more than
this: it claims not eternal life as the right of
nature, but as the- right of obedience ; and of
oledience to God, the Lord of nature. And
the dispute between natural and revealed reli
gion is not, whether God is to le applied to
for eternal happiness; but only, whether na
ture or revelation can best teach us how to
inake this application.

If we consider God as the ruler of this
world, as well as of the next, religion indeed
will be as necessary a means of obtaining the

211

blessings of this life, as of that which is to
come. But this will make no alteration in
the nature of religion: for if the blessings of
this life are the gift of God, they must be ob
tained by pleasing God ; and the same ser
vices must entitle us to the blessings of this
life and of the next.

Since it is the perfection of religion to in
struct us how to please God : and since to
please God and to act according to the will of
God are but one and the same thing; it ne
cessarily follows, that that must be the most
perfect religion, which does most perfectly
instruct us in the knowledge of the will of
God. Allow nature then to have all advan
tages that ever the greatest patrons of natural
religion laid claim to on her behalf; allow
reason to be as clear, as uncorrupted, as un
prejudiced, as even our fondest wishes would
make it ; yet still, it can never be supposed
that nature and reason, in all their glory, can
be able to know the will of God, so well as
he himself knows it. And, therefore, should
God ever make a declaration of his will, that
declaration must, according to the nature and

212

necessity of the thing, be a more perfect rule
for religion, than reason and nature can pos
sibly furnish us with. Hence it appears, how
extremely vain it is to compare natural reli
gion and revelation together, in order to in
quire which is preferable; for 'tis neither
more nor less than inquiring, whether we know
God's will letter than he himself knows it.
Upon this state of the case then, a revelation
must be entirely rejected as a forgery ; or en
tirely submitted to, as an immediate mandate
from God : and the only debate between na
tural religion and revelation must be, whether
we realty have a revelation or no ; and not,
whether revelation or nature be, in the nature
of things, the lest and surest foundation of
religion: which dispute but ill becomes our
condition ; and is a vain attempt to exalt our
limited reason above the wisdom of omnisci
ence, and to dethrone our Maker.

Since then revelation, considered as such,
must needs be the surest guide in religion,
every reasonable man is bound to consider the
pretensions of revelation, when offered to him;
for no man can justify himself in relying

213

incrcly on natural religion, till he has satisfied
himself that there are no better directions.

But the inquiry into the evidence for any
particular revelation, is excluded by those

! who argue against all revelation a priori, as
being inconsistent with the wisdom of God.
What they say amounts to this; That God,
having given us reason, has bound us to obey

, the dictates of reason ; and tied himself down
to judge us by that rule, and that only: (we
have already seen the effects which this boasted
reason wrought in the religion of the heathens,
for many ages:) and on this ground they af
firm that the rule of reason being sufficient,
all revelation must be useless and imperti
nent; and consequently can never derive itself
from God.

To argue from the perfection of human
reason, that we are discharged from receiving
any new laws from God, is inconsistent with
as clear a principle of reason as any whatever,
and which necessarily arises from the relation
between God and man ; which is, that the
creature is bound to obey the Creator, in

214

which way soever his will is made known to
him.

As to the perfection of human reason, it
cannot be, nor, I suppose, will it be attempted
to be maintained, that human reason is abso
lutely perfect; and therefore the meaning
must be, that reason is relatively perfect, con
sidered as the rule of obedience. But this i&
true, only upon supposition that reason is the
only rule of our obedience ; for if there be]
any other rule besides, mere reason cannot be
the perfect rule of our obedience : and there
fore this argument is really begging the thing;
in question ; for it supposes there is no rule
but reason; which is the thing not to be sup
posed, but to be proved. To say that revela-i
tion is unnecessary, because reason is a perfect]
rule ; and at the same time to affirm (which
infidels do,) that those who have but an im-
perfect use of reason, have no need of revela-j
tion, is a manifest contradiction. Leave thej
reason of every man to form its own indivi-j
dual schemes of religion, and while the philo
sopher is meditating on the unity of the sub-

4

215

lime Essence of all Things, we shall sec the
husbandman on his knees to the sun and
moon ; and the seaman deprecating the wrath
of the deities which rule the winds and the
waves. In such a case, polytheism would
not be long of returning to the earth.

Unbelievers tread one beaten path: they
consider in general, that revelation is subject
to many uncertainties ; it may be a cJiecd at
first, or it may be corrupted afterwards ; but
in natural religion there can be no cheat, be
cause in that every man judges for himself;
and is bound to nothing but what is agreeable
to the dictates of reason, and his own mind :
and upon these general views, they reject all
revelation whatever, and adhere to natural re
ligion as the safer guide. But attend to the
consequence of this reasoning, which is this .
that because there may be a false revelation,
therefore there cannot be a true one ! For, un
less this consequence be just, they are inex
cusable in rejecting all revelations, because of
the uncertainties which may attend them.

But now to apply what has been said to the
Christian revelation : it has such pretences,

216

at least, as may make it worthy of a particu
lar consideration. It pretends to come from,
heaven; to have been confirmed ly undeni
able miracles and prophecies; to have been
ratified ly the Hood of Christ and his apostles
iv ho died in asserting its truth! Its doctrines
are pure and holy; its precepts, just and
righteous ; its worship is a reasonable ser
vice, refined from the errors of idolatry and
superstition ; and spiritual, like the God who
is the object of it : it offers the aid and as
sistance of heaven, to the weakness of nature ;
which makes the religion of the gospel to be
as practicable as it is reasonable : it promises
infinite rewards to obedience, and threatens
lasting punishment to obstinate offenders;
which makes it of the utmost consequence to
us, soberly and seriously to consider it ; since
every one who rashly rejects it, stakes his o:cn
soul against its truth.

Because miracles may be pretended, shall
not the miracles of Christ be considered,
which were not so much as questioned by the
adversaries of the gospel in the first ages ?
Because there may be impostors, shall Christ

217

be rejected, whose life was innocence, and
free from any suspicion of private design ;
and who died to seal the truths he had de
livered ? Because there have been cheats in
troduced by worldly men, endeavouring to
make a gain of godliness ; shall the gospel be
suspected, that in every page declares a:
the world, against the pleasures, the riches,
the glories of it; that labours no one thing
more, than to draw off the affections from
things below, and raise them to the enjoyment
of heavenly and spiritual delights ?

The gospel does not make so mean a figure
in the world, as to justify a total neglect of in
vestigating its evidences: it is entertained by
men of all degree : the light shines forth in the
world, whether you will receive it or no ; if
you receive it not, the consequence is upon
your own soul, and you must answer it. —
Were men sincere in their professions of re
ligion, or even in their desires of immortality,
the controversies in religion would take a dif
ferent turn ; for it is impossible that an un-
feignedly good man should not, for the sake
of his erring fellow -creatures, wish for a re-

VOL. II. L

218

relation of God's will, to guide them by au
thority from vice to virtue, from misery to
kappiness. Were the gospel but a title to an
estate, there is not an infidel of them all, who
would sit down contented with his own gene
ral reasonings against it : it would then be
thought worth looking into ; its proofs would
be considered, and a just weight allowed them :
and yet the GOSPEL is our title,) oiir only title,
to a much nobler inheritance than this world
knows ; it is the patent by which we claim
life and immortality ', and all the joys and
llessings of the heavenly Eden.

' There are but two ways by which we can
possibly arrive at the knowledge of God's
will ; one is natural religion, and the other,
revelation. Between these two, considered
purely as principles of religious knowledge, it
is no hard matter to judge, which is the safest
for us to rely on ; it being a matter that will
bear no dispute, whether our own reason or
God himself can best instruct us in the know
ledge .of his will : upon which single point,
the whole controversy between nature and re
velation turns, as long as they are considered

219

only as principles of religion, without drawing
into the question the merits of ainy particular
scheme or system of natural religion : the
consequence of which is plainly this ; that as
nature is a better guide than any pretended re
velation, so every true revelation, as far as it
goes, is a better guide than nature. For, if
the revelation be false, there wants no argu
ments to make it yield to nature ; and, if it be
true, no arguments can be sufficient.

The gospel is a dispensation of Providence
in regard to mankind, which the reason of
man cannot fathom ; and which the angels
themselves are content to reverence at an hum
ble distance. These methods of salvation are
matter of great complaint with unbelievers:
they think it 'highly unreasonable, that God
should propose such things as objects of 'faith;
and from the unreasonallcness of the imposi
tion, they argue, (\\hich, presupposed, they
conclude not amiss,) that these terms of sal
vation were not of God's contrivance, but are
Bowing to the guile and deceit of cunning im
postors who took pleasure in abusing man.
Though this objection is levelled against the

L 2

220

Christian revelation particularly; yet it must
conclude equally against revelation in general,
considered as ^principle of religion, if it make
any addition to the things to be done or be
lieved, beyond what reason teaches. The'
question then will be, whether it can be rea
sonable for God to propose any articles of
faith, or any conditions of salvation, the raz-
son and propriety of which does not appear
to man ? And this is a question of great im
portance, it being confessedly the case of the
gospel.

In the sense of the gospel, whatever is the
effect of God's secret counsels, in order to the
redemption of the world, is a mystery. That
men ought to obey God in truth and holiness,
that they may obtain his blessing : that sin
ners ought to be puni&hed: are not, nor ever
were, mysteries; because these things were
sufficiently published to the world, when men
were endued with reason. But all the me
thods of religion beyond these were, and still
are mysterious. The intention of God to re
deem the world from sin, by sending his own
Son in the likeness of man, is a mystery im-

221

known to former ages; 'tis a mystery still,
inasmuch as "jce cannot penetrate into the
depths of this divine economy ; or account,
by \\\zprinciples of human reason, for every
step or article of it. But let it be remember
ed, that not human reason, but the will o£
God, is the rule and measure of religious obe
dience; and, if so, the terms of religious obe
dience must be tried by their agreeableness to
the will of God, and not measured by the nar
row compass of man's reason. If reason can
discover, either by internal or external signs,
that the conditions of salvation proposed to
us, are the will of God, the work of reason is
over; and we are obliged to use the means
prescribed by God, as we hope to obtain im
mortal life, which is the gift of God.

A mystery is no positive or real thing in
nature ; nor is it any thing that is inherent or
belonging to the subjects of which it is predi
cated. When we say, this thing or that thing
is a mystery, according to the form of our
speech, we seem to affirm soim-thin£0f this
or that thing; but, in muh, the proposition
I. 3

222

is not affirmative with respect to the thing,
but negative with respect to ourselves : for,
when we say, this thing is a mystery ; of the
thing we say nothing, but of ourselves we
say, that we do not comprehend this thing. —
With respect to our understanding, there is
no more difference between truth that is, and
truth that is not mysterious, than, with re
spect to our strength, there is between a weight
which we can lift, and a weight which we
cannot lift: for, as defect of strength in us
makes some weights to be unmoveable, so
likewise, defect of understanding, makes some
-truths to be mysterious. All the sciences are
different mysteries to the scholar, until he is
taught to comprehend them. So the Al
mighty is our wise master, who will make the
mysteries of the gospel plain to us in the
world to come.

The complaint then against mysteries in
religion, amounts to no more than this — that
God has done something for us, or appointed
something for us to do, in order to save us,
the reason of which we do not understand :

223

and he requires us to believe and to comply
with these things ; and to trust him, that we
shall receive the benefit of them. For this is
ALL the FAITH or positive OBEDIENCE that
is required of us.

But to return to the question, whether it
can be ever necessary for God to reveal mys
teries, or appoint positive duties, in order to
perfect the salvation of mankind ; or, in other
words, to use such means for the salvation of
the world, the agreeableness of which to the
end intended, the reason of man cannot dis
cover? This is certain, that whenever it is
Out of our power by natural means to save
ourselves, if we are to be saved at all, it must
be by supernatural means. And how hard
soever it may be to conceive this perish
ing state to be the case of mankind in ge
neral ; yet of particular men, it will not be
denied, but that they may sin so far, and ren
der themselves so obnoxious to the justice of
God, that it shall not be in the power of mere
reason and nature, to find an infallible method
«f atoning to the justice of the offended Deity,

224

and consequently redeeming the sinner from
destruction. And in this case., which is evi
dent to the reason of every man, there is a
plain necessity for the supernatural means of
salvation before alluded to : the SINNER must
perish, or be redeemed by such means as reason
and nature are strangers to ; since, in the
means that reason and nature can prescribe,
there is confessedly NO HELP FOR HIM.

I wish every man who argues against the
Christian religion would take this one serious
thought into consideration — that he must one
day (if he believe that God will judge the
world) argue the case once more at the judg
ment seat of God ; and let him try his rea-
ons accordingly. Do you reject the gospel
because you will admit nothing that pretends
to le revelation ? Consider well ! Is it a
reason that you will justify to the face of
God ? Will you tell Him, that you have re-
solved to receive no positive commands from
him, nor to admit any of his declarations for
law ? If it will not be a good reason then, it
is not a good reason now ; and the stoutest

225

heart will tremble to give such an impious
reason to the Almighty, which would he
a plain defiance to his wisdom and autho
rity.

FINIS.

C. 9TOWER, Printer, Ptternvster Rw.

Printed for Longman, Hurst, Rees, and
Orme, Pater-noster

1. SIR JOHN FROISSART'S CHRONI
CLES of, ENGLAND, FRANCE, SPAIN, and
the Adjoining Countries, from the latter part of
the Reign of Edward II. to the Coronation of
Hen'-y IV. Newly translated from the French
Editions, with Variations and Additions from ma
ny celebrated MSS. by THOMAS JOHNES,
Esq. M. P. To which is prefixed a Life of the
Author, An Essay on^his Works, a Criticism on
his History, and a Dissertation on his Poetry. —
The Second Edition, in 12 vols. 8vo. Price 71. 4s.
in Boards.

" Froissart is an historian consulted and cited by every
writer v.hose subject leads him to the period in which he
wrote ; he is the chief, if not the only authentic source of in
formation we are possessed cf with regard to one of the
proudest and most striking portions of our national annals.
The engravings from old illuminated MSS. which accom
pany the present portion of the work, are useful as well as
curious ornaments. As the authenticity o/ the --ources from
which they are taken cannot be doubted, they present va
luable pictures of the costume of the times. \Ve consider
the translation of Froissart's Chronicles by Mr. Johnes as an
undertaking of great importance, and even of hi^h national
interest." Critical Rev. " Even the readers of novels and
romances, if ever they have in the course- of their lives read
any thins; of real hi: tory, must be gratified and even charmed
•with Froissart, for there is as mu^h gallantry, love, and ad
venture in the Chronicles of Froissart as in any romance,
Don Quixotte scarcely excepted. Froissart's Chronicles ab
solutely afford more amusement of this kind, were the in
struction to be derived from matter of fact and tiuth en
tirely out of the question." Ann j.cooin.

" The Chronicles of Froiisart have he':d a distinguished
place for centuries in the libraries of the curious. He has
engaged more of the public attention than any historian of
the age in wHich he lived." Literary Journal.

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